jf ‘ .- *. . V;^m jjjlSH 1' V ‘;j3H I I t V.-;7r'-V,-='>^'s7?.’‘'. •■■■■-*-' .■ '•fljky "'Vi >.*• ^ ' '* j{?ir * /• / -' ”'* ft Dk^: i • ■% » i'wjf!:. ■• ■54''i''''^ -, »» ir ’ - ' ■>■ '■ ' '«• •C .;'%^4.l„y -■ Vj, ■. ’ ^>^=: . ■ .4- '. '. ;■ . ';!•■■ ■ X4r. '■«■ ■ '*7,4# :i-' 44-!-1SiF’J‘^*-'’'i^' CENTRAL CIRCULATION BOOKSTACKS The person charging this material is re- sponsible for its return to the library from which it was borrowed on or before the Latest Date stamped below. Theft, mutliotlon, and underlining of books ore reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. TO RENEW CALL TELEPHONE CENTER, 333-8400 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS LIBRARY AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN fWi 24 JS93 When renewing by phone, write new due date below previous due date. L162 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2017 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign Alternates https://archive.org/details/rosalambertOOreyn ROSA LAMBERT. I . / BY GEORGE W. M. AUIHOE OP THE PIEST AND SECOND SEBIE8 OP “ THE MYSTEEIB3 OP LONDON,” “ THE MYSTEKIES OP THE COUET OP LONDON,” “THE 8EAMSTEESS,” “THE BEONZE STATUE,” “ PAU3X,” “ THE NECEOHANCEE,” “ THE MASSACEE OP GLENCOE,” “ POPE JOAN,” “ THE PIXY,” “ EOBEET MACAIEE,” “ .HAEY PEICE,” “ THE DAYS OP HOGAETH,” “ EENNETH,” “ WAGNEE, THE WEHE- WOLP,” “the soldier’s wipe,” “the eye house plot,” “the COEAL island,” “JOSEPH WILMOT,” “MAY MIDDLETON,” “LOUISA THE OEPHAN,” “THE MODERN LIXEEAXUEE OP PEANCE,” &C., &C. WITH FIFTY-ONE ILLUSTRATIONS, , BY FREDEEICK GILBERT. LONDON ; PUBLISHED, FOR MR. REYNOLDS, BY JOHN DICKS, AT THE OFFICE, No. 7, WELLINGTON STREET NORTH, 'STRAND. 1854. I INDEX TO THE ENGRAVINGS. MO, 1. The Parson’s Family . * Sec Page 7 2. The Four Guilty Ones 23 3. The Outcast 22 4. Alvanly and Eosa . 29 5. The Banquet . 38 6. The Opera Colonnade 42 7. The Burglars . 60 8 .. Eegiuald and Eose . 67 9. Eeginald’s Lodging 76 10. Eosa qnd Horace Eoekingham 77 11. Caroline Seymour 87 12. Eosa seen Eiding in the Park 95 13. Eosa and her Maid 104 14. The Insolvents’ Court 115 15. Eosa at Church , 119 16. TJie Bridal Interrupted 128 17. The Mother’s Death 132 18. The Mother’s Grave 143 19. Eosa at Home . 150 20. Parson Lambert in Prison . 160 21. Eosa in Danger , 171 22. Eosa Eescued 172 23. Grayson and Eosa 184 24. Eosa Sitting for her Portrait • 187 25. The Suicide iu the Wood 198 26. A Scene at Eamsgate • 204 27. Joanna and the EufEan 221 28. Horace in Eags # 222 29. Cj'ril’s Arrest . 223 30. The Fire 239 31. Eosa and Beaumont • 246 32. Cyril’s Escape 250 33. The Picture Gallery . , • 266 34. The Den of Infamy . , 274 35, The Escape 278 36. Tlie Cabinet 287 37. Grayson and the Old Gentleman • 299 38. Eosa Chastising Grayson 299 39. Eosa and Arthur Brydges • 305 40. Death of Sir J ohn Haverstock 315 41. Parson Lambert in a Mad- House • 319 42. The Arrest . • 337 43. The Sponging-House . • 339 44. The Accident • 4 341 45. The Nabob a Listener . 352 N. 46. The Dressing-Eoom . • 4 • 363 47. The Yacht Capsized • • 376 48. Death of Ilderton . , 4 4 • • 376 49. The Persian Prince • • 4 382 ^ 60. Eosa and the Prince . • 4 • 0 385 61 . The Prince’s Vengeance . • 9 394 ROSA LAMBERT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN. CHAPTER I. HORATIO ROCKINGHAM. The July evening was glowing and beautiful, as the sun, having well nigh completed his vast circle from east to west, was lighting up with a No. 1 ruddy tinge the fleecy vapours that were floating in the horizon in which he was descending. His golden lustre was shed upon the trees, at that season in their fullest foliage — and upon the thick hedges which bordered the way-sides or separated the emerald meadows : it rested too upon the bosom of crystal streamlets ; and innumerable in- sects disported, with blithe humming sounds, in 2 Tiii; oij' a?; r M i.irrt’N ati: a\.)Mav, i;0RA i,AAn!i:i:T ; tlio riiya oi’ that brilliant sunset. The birds, avIiosc songs had boon faint throughout or two flattering tongues had told me, endowed Avith a more than ordinary Ix'auty - I ap))i'ared to have no chance of settling eomfortahly in lil'e by means of a hajijiy marriagi'. Not a single suitor had as yet offered me his hand. The. sons of the vil- lagers Averc too poor, and also too timid and r(>- tiring — iicrhaps also too jirudent to seek to link their late Avitli the dowerless gentility of the par- son’s daughter: Avhile the sons of tin; wealthy f.ir- mers, scpiircs, and noblemen of that neighbourhood, sought for Avives in the society in Avhich they moved, and travelled not out of the way to seek a dam.sel belonging to a family Avhich Avas seldom in\’itcd out to ])artie3 because too j)oor to give them in return. All this Avas mortifying and humiliating enough to the A^anity of one avIio had onlj’’ to look in the glass to see that she was really beautiful. IMorcover, I could not conceal frenn myself that CA'cn the fcAV families of the district Avhom Avo Avcrc Avont to visit, had Avithin the la.st tvA'O or three years gradually broken off aa ith us, until they at length looked coldly upon us. 1 kncAV that my father’s debts had become the talk of the whole neighbourhood ; and my cheeks gloAved crimson Avith the reflection that he Avas accused of meannesses, trickeries, and dirty Avays, in the obtain- ing of credit, in bolstering up embarrassments, and in staving off luAv-proccsses. That he Avas fast losing the repute of an honest man, and that the sanctity of his profession could not serA’c as a saving-clause for his cliaractcr, I was also but too painfully aware : and that the sins of the sire were being visited upon the children, Avas likcAvise a soul-harrowing truth which it was impossible to shut out from my own conA'ictions. No Avonder therefore was it if beneath such de- pressing influences as these, I could not compel my heart to lie completely in the shine of that gorgeous sunset in whose glory all nature AV'as basking and bathing, as I bent my steps horaeAvard from my ramble on that J uly evening. Though the path which I Avas pursuing between two flower- bedecked hedgeroAA'S, was steeped in golden lustre, yet the pathway of my own existence, when look- ing forAvard, seemed to lie through dark and sullen vistas. I paused upon the brow of a hill about half-a-mile from the village, which lay in the val- ley at my feet. Foliage and verdure stretched up, on either side, to the very backs of the houses which formed the one straggling street constituting Hawthorn : for so I choose to denominate that village, having good reasons thus to veil its real name under a fictitious one. Standing a little way detached from the farther extremity of the hamlet itself, was the parsonage-house — a small shabby- looking dwelling, Avanting all kinds of repairs, and seeming to proclaim by its exterior the poverty which was experienced by its inmates. It stood on the verge of the churchyard ; and the church itself Avas emboAvered in the midst of immense yew-lrecs ; so that even from the eminence on Avhich I had stopped short, only the ancient gray- looking toAver of the little edifice could be seen. I could not help heaving a profound sigh as I thought to jnysclf hoAV much peace and happiness might have been enjoyed by us in that beaut ilul and picturesque village, if my mother’s illness had not Croat ( hI such i)ccuniary dillicultics for my father — and if those pccuniai’y ditliculties had not tended to change his nature, make him iiuliflcrcnt to his oAvn sclf-i'cspect, lead him on to habits of intern- E0:;A LALIBERT ; OK, THE MEMOIRS OF AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN. 3 perance, and thus peril his character and his posi- tion. That sigh had scarcely ceased to convulse my bosom, when I was suddenly startled by the rush of a large Newfoundland dog dashing past me : but as I instantaneously recognised to whom it be- longed, the effeminate yet sweet and melodious voice of its owner sounded on my ears, as it called the animal back. Almost immediately afterwards Mr. Eockingham was by my side. I shoidd observe that this young gentleman — who was about one- and- twenty years of age — was the only son of a very rich man who had a country-seat in the neighbourhood, who was the owner of large estates in those parts, and also the patron of the living which my father held. For this living — poor though it were, as it only produced about one hundred and twenty pounds a year, sometimes less and never more — my father was indebted to Mr. Eockingham senior ; or Squire Eockingham, as he was generally called. They had been school-fellows in their younger days : then for a long period of time they had lost sight of each other ; and when they met again, my father was in poverty, while Mr. Eockingharh had amassed an enormous for- tune, heaven knows by what slimy and tortuous ways. He was not altogether immindful of liis schoolboy friendship ; and having the little living of Hawthorn in his gift, bestowed it upon my sire. That gentleman’s son it was who, with his great Newfoundland dog, overtook me in the manner already described. Though I knew him to be a few weeks past one-and-twenty — as his birthday on attaining his majority had recently been cele- brated by a grand festival at Hawthorn Hall, at which I was present — yet it was difficult to think of him or to treat him otherwise than as a mere innocent youth. He was of an appearance not only delicate, but for one of his ago singu- larily effeminate. Though I myself am not above the medium height of my sex, yet as he stood by my side he was shorter than I, and therefore of very insignificant stature for a man. But his figure was of a remarkable accuracy of proportion ; and though so slender, of a matclilcss symmetry. Yet having neither the advantage of imposing height nor of robust development, his form was that of a mere youth, and seemed fitted rather for a round jacket than for the fashionably- cut frock- coat which he wore. Nor was his countenance of a manliness which could carry off the slightness of his form or diminish the impression made by the lowness of his stature. He had a complexion as fair as that of a girl, and which many a girl might have envied, inasmuch as in its feminine pureness it seemed to bid defiance to the browning influence of a July sun. His hair was light and silky, as well as curling naturally ; and as it was of exceed- ing luxuriance, it might have been worn so as to flow over his shoulders : but he kept it cut compa- ratively short, no doubt to diminish as much as possible the effeminacy of his appearance. His eyes were of a soft blue ; and their habitual expres- sion was that of mildness : but I had more than once noticed a singular flaming-up of those eyes, as if the momentary fierceness of passion blazing in his soul sent forth that sinister lustre, — as the flames of a house on fire are seen to fling their I erubescent glow through the windows, and then all i in an instant are smothered by the roof falling in. That peculiarity of the eyes I had observed when- ever a word was thrown out, in a playful mood, which at all seemed to touch upon the effeminacy of Horace Eockingham ; and I myself, presuming on the intimacy which subsisted between the two fami- lies — his being almost the only one with which we were still on visiting terms — and also having known him for many years, had frequently treated him as a mere pretty boy, though in perfect innocence of thought as well as playfulness of mood, — but really forgetting at the time that he was other than what I addi'essed him as. It was upon such occasions as these that I had seen his eyes sud- denly flame up and flash fire ; while his really beautiful countenance, — for beautiful and not handsome it was, — would assumd an cx2:)ression so singular that for an instant it frightened me. Nor was I the only person who thus regarded him as a pretty boy : all his acquaintances, male and female, treated him in the same manner. No one would even give him credit for anything bordering on mischievous propensities — much less for vicious- ness : the men regarded him as a milksop — the ladies as a mere innocent lad with whom they might laugh and joke, romp and play, as if with a younger brother. In respect to his personal appearance I ought to add that if he had chosen to dress himself up in female apparel, he might full easily have passed for one of the sex. His lips were of the richest red — somewhat pouting — and forming a mouth such as might well be envied by any lovely girl. His teeth were small, and looked like rows of pearls. He had not the slightest appearance of a beard — not even that down which on the youthful countenance gives promise of a harsher and more stubborn growth. His hands and feet were small to a fault : he had a natural lightness and elasticity of tread, and an elegance of carriage altogether feminine. His voice too, as already described, was softly melodious — but by no means weak : it had the rich yet subdued harmony of a contralto. Such was Horatio Eockingham — or Horace, as he was more familiarly called, — the young gentleman who overtook me as I was returning homeward from my evening ramble. “ You were not afraid of Nelson — were you, Eose ?” he asked, alluding to the dog, and thus addressing me by my Christian name according to his wont : for as I have already stated, we had known each other for several years — at least ten. “ He only startled me by the suddenness with which he rushed past,” I replied, as I gave the young gentleman my hand : and then I stooped down and patted the head of the noble animal, who seemed pleased with my caresses. “ Nelson is happy,” observed Horace : and me- thought that he spoke in a somewhat significant manner. “Happy? Yes,” I rejoined, affecting not to notice that significancy. “All dogs like to be made much of.” “ And he is particularly fortunate,” added young Eockingham, “ in being made much of by such a one as you.” “ Have you taken to flatteries and compliments, you silly boy ?” I said, really forgetting at the moment that he disliked that mode of address, and treating him with the innocent familiarity which HOSl LAMBERT ; OR, HIE MEMOIRS OF AN UNFOUrrNATE WOMAN. 4 oiu’ long acquaintiinco appealed to warrant, and ■which at least had become more or less habitual, “ Boy !” ho repeated ; and then his eyes dashed with that singularity of look which I have already described ; but as the sinister dame rapidly died out of them, their expression settled down into a sort of gloating, lingering, devouring regard, as he still kept them dxed upon mo. “ Come,” I said, feeling slightly uneasy at that look, “ I did not moan to offend you, Horace ; and so you must not bo angry. I am proceeding home- ward ” “And therefore I must not detain you?” he added somewhat petulantly. “ Well, but I will accompany you a little way — then, as we slowly walked on together, he observed with a sudden laugh — and his laugh was as melodious as silver bells, blended with flute-like sounds, — “You just now called me a boyj and it was not the first time — nor the fiftieth — since I have really been a man.” There was something which struck mo as so ludicrous in this delicate, effeminate, pretty-looking boy speaking in such a fashion, that all the melan- choly thoughts which had before been agitating in my mind, were suddenly chased thence; and I could not help laughing even more merrily, and perhaps far more heartily, than he had just done. At the same time, as I glanced towards him, I saw that his countenance had become crimson— and that he was biting his rich red lips so that it seemed as if the blood must start out ; while again his eyes flashed forth such fires which made me all in a moment silence the peal of laughter which was thrilling from my own lips. “ Perhaps you will have the kindness t® listen to me, Miss Lambert,” he said, now addressing me with a sort of formal coldness. “ Certainly, Mr. Eockingham,” I answered, choosing to adopt a similar demeanour — for I had my pride as well as he ; and yet it was more in a bantering good-humoured manner than with actual ceremoniousness, that I called him likewise by his surname, with the proper prefix. “ I beg that you will not insult me by laughing this time,” he went on to observe with sedate seriousness, “ when I assure you that whatever my appearance may be — and however much it may please you and others to treat me as a boy — I have the feelings and the passions of a man. Yes — my heart beats with tlie tenderest susceptibilities, as Avell as with perhaps darker and more worldly- minded influences. Of these latter however it would ill become mo to speak at present : but as a proof that my soul is alive to the former, I do not hesitate to make you ray confidant, and to tell you that the most delicious sentiment wliich the human breast can experience, is known — is felt— and is appreciated by me.” “ J*eriiaps,” said 1 gaily, “ you would do well not to make me a confidant; for I am a wretched bad liand at keeping secrets.” “ NeverthelcBs,” he immediately observed, “it suits me to communicate this one to you ; and as we have known each other so long, J may assert u claim upon your friendshij) to listen to me.” “ If it must be so, proceed,” I answered: “but you liad better make your tale short, as our walk will not bo a long one, even if it should extend to tlio parsonage door.” “ My talc will bo shorter or longer,” responded Horace, “in proportion to (ho number of inter- ruptions it receives from your lips. To commence therefore without farther preface, I must inform you that I am acquainted with a young lady of your own age You are eighteen, are you not?” “ It is very rude,” I said, laughing, “ to question a lady upon such a point : but as you know per- fectly well that I am close upon eighteen, it would be useless to strike a year or two off, even if I had silly vanity enough to be so inclined.” “ There is no necessity to do so,” answered Horace Eockingham ; “ inasmuch as eighteen is the most charming ago of your sex. Well, ns I was observing, I am acquainted wdth a young lady of precisely this age ; and for a long time past I have been enamoured of her: but as yet I have not dared No, I should not say dared” ho ejaculated, rapidly catching up the word, as if it expressed that boyish timidity which he so much disliked to have associated with himself. “ I meant to say that a fitting opportunity had not hitherto occurred. But I must describe this lady to you.” “Will the description bo tedious?” I asked, with a smile. “ I will endeavour not to render it so,” he re- plied, calmly but firmly : “ yet it is a very agree- able subject to dwell upon. The lady to whom I allude, is about the middle height ; and her figure is- admirably formed, with a proper slenderness— but rounded — and giving promise of fulness in its proportions.” “ You have been reading the description of a heroine in a novel,” I observed. “ The object of my thoughts is worthy of serving as a model for any heroine,” he at once rejoined. “ But pray listen to the description. She possesses eyes of a clear deep blue — but the expression of which is somewhat bewildering as to whether their looks chiefly denote reflection or feeling. I could fancy that when the crystal tears are standing in those eyes, the simile of ‘ violets bathed in dew ’ must be most appropriate. Her hair is of a light chesnut brown, and is of the finest silk in its texture, with a corresponding softness and rich- ness of gloss. The brows are gently curved— clearly defined — of a darker shade than the hair- hut not too deeply pencilled: the lashes are of a shade darker still — ^long, thick, and gently curling, so as to form a rich fringe or veil for the deep blue orbs when the heroine of my description chooses to conceal them by bending down her looks. Her lips are not so bright as vermilion— but rather of the cherry redness, and covered with a dewy moisture.” “ Ecally, Mr. Eockingham,” I said, as strange feelings began to rise up in my bosom, “ you are becoming tediously minute in this description.” “Have I not appealed to your friendship to listen to me ?” he asked, still with a sedate gravity, anil without turning his eyes upon me as he spoke. “ I’ray suffer me to continue. The complexion of this young lady of whom I am speaking, is daz- zlingly fair ; and though there is but little colour on the cheeks— merely the beautiful and delicate tint of a i)ale pink — yet am I well persuaded that if slio were placed in a sphere whei'o happiness surrounded her, youth and health would lend the richest hue of the rose or the carnation to those ROSA LAMBERT ; OR, THE MEMOIKS OF AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN. 5 damask cheeks. Her countenance forms a perfect oval, the forehead not being too high — (in my opinion a very high forehead is a fault rather than a beauty) — and with a softly rounded chin. The profile presents a perfect regularity of features, — the nose being quite straight, without the slightest inflection. But another word about the pxu'eness of her skin ! It is not of that opaque white which has engendered a comparison to marble or ala- baster: but possesses a pure animation — a vital glow, so to speak — a dazzling polish — a clear trans- parency ” “ I must again interrupt you, Mr. Koekingham,” I said, beginning to feel very much confused : “ for, as I foresaw, your description is tediousness itself.” “ At all events you will acknowledge, Rosa,” he said, slowly turning upon me a singularly expres- sive look— while the colour mantled to his cheeks, and there appeared to be a certain quiver of ex- citement throughout his entire form — that form so slight, so fragile, that the least zephyr of feeling or breeze of passion w^ould inevitably thus shake it, — “ you will acknowledge that the image of the fair one must be very powerfully impressed upon my mind, for me to be enabled to describe it with such accurate minuteness. How listen once more,” he continued, with an increasing excitement, and as if working himself up to some particular point of desperate fortitude, of which without such eflbrt he would be incapable. “ That image, as I have told you, has long been cherished in my heart : I love it — I adore it — I could worship the original ! Oh!” he exclaimed, with a bitter emphasis, “you and others who have called me hoy, little suspected that within this heart of mine was agitating the strong passion of a man. But it has been so : it is so now ! I have sought an opportunity of de- claring the love with which I am thus inspired ; and accident has this evening thrown that oppor- tunity in my way. Rosa Lambert, ’tis you whom I love ! — ’tis you whom I have been describing !” Though to a certain degree prepared, by the unmistakable drawing of my portraiture, for this final avowal, — yet still it struck me, when made, as if it came with a complete abruptness; so much so, that I forgot the boyish appearance of him who thus proclaimed his love — my mind was all in an instant stricken with the seriousness of the proposal I had hea]^. But I did not Love him : love indeed was unknown to me : I had never seen any one who had inspired me with that sentiment, nor for whom I was capable of enter- taining it. As for this youth, I had ever treated him as if he were a mere play-companion — as if I were a school-girl and he a school-boy, and that we might jest and laugh together without the re- motest chance of our words or actions being seri- ously interpreted on either side. But still I was not insensible of all the immensity of the advan- tages to be gained by a matrimonial alliance with the only son and heir of the rich Mr. Rockingham of Hawthorn Hall. A position would be ensmed for myself ; I should have the means of relieving my father from the cruel embarrassments which were closing in around him : I should also be en- abled to do something for my brother Cyril, and place him in a position whereby he might carve out a prosperous career for himself— or at all events gain his own bread according to those earnest as- pirations which I knew filled his heart, and the defeat of which was chafing, ruining, and even demoralizing his naturally noble spii'it. These reflections passing through my mind, occupied two or three minutes — during which we walked slowly on, I with my looks bent downward, and therefore not knowing in what manner Horace Rockingham regarded me, or whether he was re- garding me at all. But still I seemed to have the intuitive conviction that his gaze tvas fixed upon me; and it was therefore with blushing cheeks that I again lifted my eyes, — as I said in a tremu- lous voice, “ This proposal has come so suddenly — so unexpectedly ” “ Ho matter, dearest Rose 1” he interrupted me in an excited voice : “ you can give me an answer at once. For understand me well— now that my proffer is made— now that my love is confessed — I am impatient of all delay to the crowning of my happiness !” “ But your father, Horace ?” I said, still with blushing cheeks and in a hesitating manner : “you cannot hope ” “My father!” he ejaculated quickly: “never mind him ! He will not interfere with my pur- suits. He wishes to see his son more of a man,” added Horace with a sort of sarcastic bitterness, “ than he is deemed to bo ; and he will consider this as one of the first steps to a worldly-minded career.” “I do not understand you, Horace,” I said, somewhat alarmed at the language he made use of : for it was indeed dubious, and admitting of more interpretations than one. “ In the first place, dearest— sweetest Rosa,” hastily responded the young gentleman, “ tell me that I am not indifferent to you. Put my father out of the question : let us think only of ourselves — and if you will, let us act as if there were but you and I in the world. Tell me then — can you love me, if you do not love me yet ? or at all events, will you accept this love of mine ?” My better feelings prompted me to demand delay ere I gave an answer — to commime with myself — to consult my own heart — to ascertain whether I could ever love him who proffered mo his own love — and whether, all things considered, I ought eventually to return an affirmative or a negative response. But on the other hand, selfish thoughts rose up in my mind : my father’s diffi- culties — my brother’s unemployed condition and idle mode of life— my own uncertain future, — a thousand considerations, in short, swept through ! my brain ; and I felt that it would be worse than madness to kick away the golden ball which seemed to be rolling at my feet. “ You do not answer me, Rose,” said Horace, i “ I beseech you to do so ! Let me know the best I or the worst at once : for I love you madly — my soul is bent upon you Answer, I entreat you ! Will you accept my love ?” “ Yes,” I responded, again with blushing checks and in a murmuring tone. He caught me in his arms : he strained me to his breast with a force— I might even say a fierce violence, of which I had not deemed his fragile arms to be capable. He pressed his lips to mine : he literally glued them there — so that through very shame, and almost with a feeling of outraged modesty, I disengaged myself from his embrace. Fortunately no observer was near ; and this scene 6 KOSA LAMBETIT; OE, THE TNfEATOTRfl OF AN UNFOTITUNATK WOMAN. took i)laco in a turning of tho limo wlicro the hedges were high on either side, and embowering trees mingled their overhanging branches. Jiut as the sun, from Jiis -western throne of purple and orange, crimson and gold. Hung his beams upon i tho countenance of Horace liockingliam, tho ejes of this young man appeared to rcllect tho glowing flames : they literally devoured mo with their re- gards — they expressed tho sensuousness of tho strongest passion — their glare enveloped mo as it were with an unholy flood of living light. Again W'as ray modesty shocked : I felt my cheeks blushing and burning ; and I cast down my looks beneath the intense fierceness of those which Avero thus fixed upon me. “ Why do you draw yourself away ? w'hy do you seem displeased ?” ho asked — and his voice was now literally hoarse with the influence of conccn- ■ trated passion : then, as — knowing not what to say, but feeling half oflendcd, yet fearful and unwilling likewise to give offence — I remained silent, he once more caught me in his arms : once more he strained mo with vehement earnestness to his breast, and covered my checks and my lips with kisses. “ We shall be observed, Horace,” I said, making this the excuse for forcibly extricating myself from his vice-like grasp. “And wjho cares ?” he exclaimed, with a sort of reckless wildness : “ you have promised to be mine ! O Rosa, how happy shall we be together ! I will surround you wflth such luxuries as never hitherto you have known : I will bear you away from this secluded nook in Cheshire — I will take you to London — you shall ride in your carriage : that beautiful person of your’s shall be decked with gems Oh, you shall be the admiration of all men and the envy of all women ! Tell me, dearest one — when shall we depart ?” “ Heavens, Horace ! how excitedly and rapidly you are talking,” I said, gazing upon him with mingled alarm and suspicion in my looks. “ Your father’s consent must be obtained to our marriage : or he will disinherit you.” “ Marriage ?” echoed Horace, with so much wild sarcasm and sardonic mockery in his tone and looks, that all my dread suspicions and fears were confirmed in a moment. “ Who dreams of such shackles? who -VAdll voluntarily pass through the ordeal of that mummery Avhich priestcraft has in- vented ? Ifo, dearest Rosa — that wretched farce is not necessary in order to bind my heart to you ” “Enough, sir!” I exclaimed, my cheeks once more glowing Avith indignation: and I felt mad Avith myself to think that I had suffered his lips to pollute those checks Avith tho sensuous kisses of unchaste :ind rabid jjassion. “ You have dared to insult a dcrciicoless girl ; and you may thank mo iff do not risk my bnfllier’s safety by inform- ing him of the flagrant outrage which his sister has experienced at yanir hands. Jicavo mo, sir! My road lies in this direction: your’s in that!” — and having rapidly jahnterl first towards the vil- lage, 1 tluni indicated the eminence in a contrary direction, on which llawthorn Hall Avas sitiiafed, about a mile distant. “Jbw!,” he said, hi:) loiA.s helokcning mingleil nstoniHlimcrd, and rage; “Ihi.s is truly insc'iisato on your jifirt! ^'ou must have iiiKlerslood mo from tho first— you must have known that ray father Avould ncv’cr consent to such a match ! You yourself declared ho Avould disinherit me ; and therefore were you aware that I cannot do Avhat ray heart Avould dictate.” “ Mr. Rockingham,” I replied, now more humi- liated than indignant ; for 1 could not help feeling that my selfishness in so readily accepting his sup- posed offer of marriage, Avas righteously punished ; — “ I will forgive you for Avhat has just passed, on condition that you never again breathe so out- rageous and insulting a proposal to my car. Yea — I Avill forgive you on that condition ; because,” I added, the tears running down my checks, and my heart swelling as if about to burst, “1 enter- tain the hope that you are sufficiently a man of honour not to boast to your acquaintances that you extracted an aflirmativ’c from ray lips — or that for a single moment I Avas Aveak enough to abandon myself to your embrace. No : you Avill not plunge me — unhappy as I already am — more deeply down into the vortex of humiliation ! you Avill not sully the fair fame of her whose virtue is her only dower ! you Avill not lightly mention the name of tho poor clergyman’s daughter !” “ Rose, listen to me,” said Horace, now speak- ing with the strong decision of one whoso soul ap- peared to have suddenly concentrated all its power, and who from the interior of a delicate, feminine, and fragile form, seemed to develop a mind capa- ble of the strongest passions, and those passions endowing him Avith an iron power, — “ listen to me ! I have confessed that I love you madly ; and I will admit more — I am resolved to possess you ! Know me henceforth either as your most ardent and de- voted admirer — or else as your most rancorous enemy. No : I shall boast of nothing, even if you persist in your refusal: because,” he added bit- terly, “ I should not be believed in my boasting. There ! I hav'e frankly unbosomed my thoughts ; because I Avdsh you to comprehend precisely on what terms w’e stand. Therefore consent to fly with me What care you for such a home as you will leave, and for such a family as you will be forsaking p” “Silence, sir!” I ejaculated, once more boiling Avith indignation : “ it is of my parents and my brother that you are speaking thus insultingly !” — and having uttered those w'ords, I moved rapidly onward. “ Only one word more !” he said, clutching me violently by the arm ; and his tones came hissing upon my car as if borne on the breath of a snake. “ You shall hear me ! I am mad with passion. Rose ! Those kisses which I have enjoyed — that contact with your form — has worked mo up to frenzy ! By heaven, you shall bo mine ; or else you shall knoAV me as your bitterest, most impla- cable enemy ! Ah, you begin to imdcrstand me now ? you comprehend that ho Avhom you have treated as a boy, possesses tho mind of a man aye, and the energy of a giant ? Decide — decide quickly ! Am 1 to be friend or foe ?” “ Jh>e,” 1 exclaimed Avildly : “if your friendship can only be piirelmsed by my dishonour.” I broke away IVom him and hurried oiiAvard to tho village, not looking back until I reached its ontskirt,— Avhon, fooling myself secure from far- ther insult, J slackened my pace and did for a moment revert my eyes. Jlorace Rockingham EOSA LA:.IB£ET ; OE, THE MEMOIES OE AN TJNKOETUNATE WOMAN. 1 was no longer to be seen ; and then I grew com- paratively calm. But instead of proceeding home- ward immediately, I took a somewhat circuitous route : for I felt the necessity of collecting my thoughts and composing my features. Bitterly humiliated was I — the more so because I felt that if it ^\ere not for the sad predicament into which my family was plunged, that young man would never have dared address me in such audacious and insidting terms. But it is the nature of the human mind — particularly in the season of youth — to make the best of adverse circumstances and disagreeable occurrences; and I consoled myself with the thought that he would not boast of having wrung from me an avowal (as he might flatter himself he had done) — or that I had for an instant abandoned myself to his caresses ; because the fear of being laughed at as a boyish bDastcr would deter him. Thus cheering myself as weU as I was able, I bent my steps homeward. CHAPTER II. A FAMILY GEOUP. Three months passed away ; and October set in, cold, windy, and inclement. During this interval I had not again seen Horace Rockingham — nor had I heard of him in any direct manner ; though, from certain circumstances, I had but too much reason to fear that his terrible threats of enmity and vengeance had not been mere idle words. The village of Hawthorn was at a distance of about two miles from a town in Cheshire, which I choose to denominate Riverdale, — again informing my readers that for motives which will transpire hereafter, I in some instances give fictitious names alike to persons and to places. In that town dwelt the tradesmen with whom we principally dealt, and wRo w'ere my father’s chief creditors. The same tradesmen were for the most part those who like- wise enjoyed the patronage of Mr. Rockingham of Hawthorn Hall ; and therefore with them his son Horace had a considerable degree of influence. Immediately after the occurrence narrated in the previous chapter, those creditors became more clamorous than ever : law proceedings were rapidly initiated ; and threats of measures to procure the sequesti’ation of my father’s living, were held out. I felt assured that Horace Rockingham was the se- cret and wicked instigator of these more strenuous hostilities than any which had yet been adopted against my father. But what could I do ? To endeavour to propitiate the vindictive Horace, w'as impossible : there was but one means — and from this my mind shrank wdth utter loathing. I could not reveal to my parents and my brother my sus- picions — or rather my convictions — on the subject : because I knew full well that Cyril’s spirit would immediately fire up against the youth who had so basely endeavoured to ruin his sister, and who was now so infamously seeking to involve the whole family in destruction. The wreaking of a ven- geance by Cyril’s hand upon Horace Rockingham, would not stop, nor even mitigate the evil already done : whereas it would be certain to place my brother in the hands of powerful enemies, and leave him entirely at their mercy. 7 Let me now direct the reader’s attention to one particular evening in the month of October, of that year — namely 1840 — with which my narrative opens. In the modestly — I might even say humbly furnished parlour at the parsonage-house, might our family circle be viewed. If that parlour con- tained a few piefUres suspended to the walls, and a few ornaments upon the mantel, they w'ere never- theless of so comparatively valueless a description, that they could scarcely be turned into money at the broker’s : or else assuredly thither would they i have gone. Yet to a mere casual observer — if one had entered at the time of which I am speak- ing — the aspect of that parlour would have de- noted a certain degree of modest comfort. A 1 cheerful fire blazed in the grate : a huge cat was sleeping on a footstool ; and behind where my father sat, a tumbler of hot spirits-and-water was steaming. But, alas ! coals and alcoholic chunk, as well as all the food we had that day tasted, had been obtained by the produce of my father’s watch w'hich my brother had been to Riverdale to pledge. We had no more credit with any of the trades- men— no more income to receive till after Christ- mas; and there w’ere three long months to be passed without the slightest knowledge of whence the necessaries of life were to be obtained. Add to this predicament — which would hi«re been av/kward enough of itself, without other troubles — the exceedingly pressing nature of my father’s liabilities ; and it may easily be supposed that our prospects were by no means cheering. But let me say a few words in respect to my parents and my brother. On one side of the fire sat my father — the Rev. Mr. Lambert; and as I looked at him, I could not help sighing deeply as I observed his countenance bearing all the traces of an intemperance which was now becoming habitual, and big apparel denoting neglect and slovenliness. His countenance, when under the influence of liquor, had an expression partly of jovial warmth, partly of sottish dissipation ; and to tell the truth • — that truth which I could not conceal from my- self — his aspect was mean and sordid, with but little of the sanctity of his profession left to redeem it. Care had driven him to the bottle ; and when the influence of adversity is mingled with that of intemperance, the ravages worked upon the human appearance by those joint fiends are painfully striking indeed. Hear him sat my brother — at that time a young man of a little past two-and-twenty. His hair was much darker than mine : his eyes were also dark : his countenance was naturally handsome — ■ but under the influences which weighed upon him, it was visibly changing into an expression posi- tively sinister and disagreeable. It indicated the temper of one who was chafed and irritated by disappointment, — the spirit, naturally generous, marred and almost broken, — aspirations originally fervid and glowing, now well nigh blighted and crushed. He hated the idleness of that life which | he so unwillingly led. He had sought employment ! as a clerk in the town of Riverdale — but had found | it not ; and his father had not the means to enable him to visit the capital, or go elsewhere, in order to seek his fortune. Moreover, Cyril had to con- template the spectacle of that sire giving way to a degrading habit : he knew likewise that his father j had d me things which, if not actually criminal, 8 KOSA LAMBERT; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN IVN FORTirNATE WOMAN. were so mean, dirty, and dishonest, as to destroy all respect on the part of a son towards his parent ; — ■ and therefore the reader will comprehend what I meant in the preceding chapter by describing my brother’s position as being absolutely ruinous and demoralizing for a young man, no matter how good his principles might naturally bo. On the opposite side of the lire, sat my mother in a largo easy-chair. Slio has already been al- j luded to as a coidirmed invalid; and such, poor creature, she indeed was. ll.or lower limbs wore paralyzed : for some years ])ast she had (mtirely lost tlio use of them — and liad to bo carried by myself and tlie servant-girl whom we kept, IVom ilie bed t(j tlio easy-chair, and fianii the easy-cliair Ijack to the hrai. Orlginidly she was of the mildest, the kiridasl, and tliereby saving my lamily from tlic ruin wbicli was bunging over us. Yes f resolved that 1 would give the apisnntment that was solicited, .but it could not take jdaco on this same day: it was now two o’clock Ibe valet would have (.ore- turn to the Hall and hc<> bis maHi.eu* : in tlial. IS’ovcnjbcr season the dusk set in early; and not lor worlds would i have tho villagers jiotico that 1 went lortb in a stealthy manner when tho veil of darkness was closing in upon the earth. The ap- pointrnent must therefore bo for the morrow, aud during tho broad day light. “ Terence,” I said, beckoning towards mo tho valet, who had remained standing at a little dis- tance whUo I read the note and rcnccted upon its contents, — “ tell your master tliat to-morrow, pre- cisely at the hour of noon, I will be at the crejss- road at the end of this lane. You know it ? It is about half-a-mile distant.” “ Your message. Miss Lambert, shall bo de- livered,” returned the valet : and with another touch of tho hat ho hastened away. CHAPTER IV. THE FOUR GUILTY ONES. Not a syllable did I breathe, on my return home, of the missive which had been sent to me, nor of tho appointment which I had just given. There was hope in my heart : but I did not suffer its light to appear upon my countenance : I would not encourage a feeling on the part of my parents or brother which might bo doomed to the bitterest disappointment. Nor, as the day wore on, did I | myself continue to cling with a very strong te- nacity to that hope : nay, sad experiences of the world’s misfortunes, and likewise of its villanies, had rendered me mistrustful and suspicious. There were even moments when I regretted having made the appointment at all, and when I thought that it would be better not to keep it, inasmuch as perhaps Horace Rockingham’s sole object might be to renew his infamous proposals as a condition upon which his purse would furnish funds for the ■ settlement of all my father’s liabilities. It was therefore in a state of bewildering uncertainty, that I retired to rest that night ; and hours elapsed ere sleep visited my eyes — hours of the most painful reflections, in which the hope of the day had dwindled and diminished down to as feeble a thread of light as that which the first glimmer- ing of dawn sheds through the casement. When the morning came, I rose in a condition of nervous excitement : for this was the day on which the sale was to take place. And how would that day end ? Was it to behold us utterly di- vested of all OUT. little furniture — our very beds taken away from us — my paralysed, invahd mother to be left naught whereon to repose her limbs — our name a byeword and a scandal through- out the village — and, in short, the vortex of utter ruin engulfing us all ? Or would that day behold a sudden change in our position ? was it possible that better feelings had sprung up in the heart of Horatio Rockingham — that he was really inspired by a strong affection towards me, to make honour- able atonement for past outrages and insults — and that by his entreaties and prayers he had moved Ills father to give an assent to our mai*riago? Oh, if all this could but take place ! But then why not have written explicitly and fully in his letter ? wlnu’clbro have penned its contents in so mystical a strain? and what could that imi^rtant topic be, to which lie dared not allude in a written missive, uud for which amount of caution I should express EOSA LAMBERT ; OR, THE MEMOIR^ OE AT? tTNFORTTTNATE WOMAN'. 19 such ferveut gratitude ? I Avas bewildered how to act; and that bewilderment was painful to a degree. When I met my parents and my brother at the breakfast-table, a glance showed me how deeply they also were sulfering. But little was spoken ; they looked ominously and gloomily at each other. I longed to tell them everything which had at any time passed between me and Horace — to show them the note — to confess the appointment which I had made — and to ask their counsel whether I should keep it. But again I reflected that I ought not to encourage a hope which might be fearfully disappointed : I dared not, in the chafed condition of my brother’s spirit, incur the risk of goading him all the more maddeningly by the tale of the past, and by what might possibly occur at the in- I terview which I had agreed to afford Horace Eock- I ingham. Therefore I held my peace: and still was I in a state of uncertainty whether to keep the appointment or not. Soon after ten o’clock the auctioneer arrived : bills announcing the sale were placed in the win- ' dows : several carts and gigs came one after an- other, bringing furniture-brokers from Eiverdale to bid for the goods ; and some of the villagers likewise began to gather in groups near the house. The sale was to commence at eleven, — ^just before which hour Cyril suddenly put on his hat ; and ex- claiming with a sort of wild desperation, “By heaven, I cannot endure this spectacle !” he rushed into the back garden, where he paced to and fro with rapid and uneven steps. My mother remained in her bed-chamber, where I also stayed in order to be with her. As for my father, he walked about from room to room like one whose senses were abandoning him : — sometimes I heard him chuck- ling in an unnatural manner, as if he said to him- self, “ Now at least they are doing their worst !” —and sometimes giving vent to a convulsive sob. The sale commenced in the parlour ; and as the voices of the auctioneer and the bidders reached the room where I was seated with my mother, I beheld the tears trickling down her cheeks. Oh ! then I forgot the base fraud which she had com- mitted towards her sister — I forgot the loss of respect which since the discovery thereof I had experienced for her — I thought only of the kind- ness which in earlier years I had received at her hands — and flinging my arms about her neck, I besought her to be comforted. But she only wept all the more bitterly. My father entered : he like- wise began sobbing and crying like a child. I was unable to endure the sight — and rushed from the chamber. As I glanced at the clock in the passage, I perceived that it only wanted twenty minutes to twelve. I sped up to my own room — put on my bonnet and shawl — descended quickly again — and issued forth from the house. “ At all events,” I murmured to myself, in a fit of utter desperation, “ I can but hear what Horace may have to say to me. If his proposal be honour- able, I wiU accept it : if it be infamous, I will re- ject it. And though in this latter case the ordeal will be planting a fresh dagger in my heart, yet it cannot aggravate the stern reality of those tangible and palpable misfortunes which are so quickly closing in around us.” The lane was reached. I looked behind me to see whether my father or Cyril were following : but no one w^as in sight. I proceeded hastily along ; and as the clock of the village-chui’ch pro- claimed the hour of noon, I reached the place of appointment. Horace Eockingham was there, waiting for me ; and at a distance of about two hundred yards I perceived his handsome curricle- and-pair, — the coachman sitting upon the box, his back being towards the spot where I thus encoun- tered his master. With a rapidly searching glance did I endeavour to gather from the youth’s features whether I might entertain hope, or whether I must expect a renewal of the infamous overtures which he had previously made. But the expression of that delicate countenance was at the moment inscrutable : it was that of a cold firmness — and ' was even of a more manly character than any which I had ever seen those effeminate features wear before. As for myself, I was trembling ner- vously : I felt the colour coming and going in rapid transitions upon my cheeks : I strove eveiy nerve to assume an air of calm and modest dignity — but ! such was my excitement, that I must have ap- I peared full of bewilderment and confusion, “Miss Lambert,” said Horace, not offering to take my hand — nor making the slightest advance | which could be construed either into an impulse of honourable intention or of libertine insolence: “ it is well that you have kept the appointment, as you will presently see. I do not pm-pose to use more words than are necessary. I have a brief tale to tell — for which I claim your attention ; and then matters may be speedily settled between us.” He paused for a moment. I spoke not a syl- lable : I was trembling with the cruellest suspense, — hope mingling with apprehension — but the latter paramount. “ A few days ago,” resumed Horace, speaking with the glacial severity of one who felt that he had the power to assume a high and authoritative | position, “ I was invited to dine with Mr. Pern- | broke, the banker of Eiverdale. I accepted that j invitation : my father, being somewhat indisposed, 1 was unable to accompany me. As the evening was | clear and starlit, I proceeded to Mr. Pembroke’s | house in that open phaeton which you see yonder ; i and the same coachman whom you observe there, drove it. We left the banker’s house to return to the Hall a little before midnight. You are aware perhaps that there is a portion of the road which ; rims between deep cuttmgs, and therefore has high and almost perpendicular walls of mingled chalk and clay on either side. There, in that lonely and darksome part, the vehicle was suddenly stopped by a man wearing a peasant’s smock, and with a i black mask upon his countenance. With a des- i perate blow he struck the coachman from his seat, j — levelling him senseless upon the road. Quick as the eye can wink, the ruffian next sprang upon ! me. I could not wrestle with him. You know, j Miss Lambert, I am but a hoy,” continued Horace, with a bitter biting sarcasm in his accents ; “ and the strength of a boy was as naught against that of a strong and desperate man. I gave him up my purse, which happened to contain a considerable | sum of money. The robber fled like the ivind : ! but even in the excitement of a scene which only lasted for a couple of minutes at the very outside, I recognised him. Yes — I knew ivho that indi- vidual was, though the black mask covered his 20 ROSA LAl^rnERT ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN. ■ 1 countonanco and the peasant’s smock was over liis broadcloth clothes 1 knew him, I say — and you know him also — for that man was your own brother !” “ Holy Glod !” I raurmurod ; and as a dimness suddenly came upon my eyes, I was about to sink down in a swoon, when Jloracc caught me with such abrupt violence that I was in an instant re- called thoroughly to myself, — startled as it were back again into a horribly poignant sense of com- pletcst consciousness. “ Control your feelings as well as you can,” said Horace, as ho thus prevented mo from falling ; for our colloquy is to be short — and as ho thus spoke, he unwound his arms from my waist ; and again we stood confronting each other, — his coun- tenance now displaying the incipient gleam of a fiendish triumph, — mine (for I felt it to be so) ghastly white, and distorted with the excruciating anguish which filled my soul. “Yes,” ho con- tinued, “ the midnight robber was your own brother. My purse contained eighty pounds ” “ O God !” I again murmured, smitten with a horrible conviction that the frightful tale was in- deed too true : for that was the exact sum which the miserable young man had pretended to have received from his fictitious friend at Riverdalo. “Ah!” observed Horace, with an increasing expression of sardonic satisfaction : “ circumstances tell you that every syllable I am speaking is the tremendous truth ! Well, but listen ; and see how generously I have behaved in the matter — see how immense has been my forbearance — and then ex- press your gratitude as best you may. When your brother fled, having plundered me of my purse, the coachman recovered from the effects of the blow he had received ; and fortunately there were no visible traces thereof. I enjoined him to keep the affair a profound secret, — alleging as a reason that we should both be laughed at os arrant cowards for having offered no resistance to the single individual who thus waylaid and stopped us. The fellow has implicitly obeyed my instructions ; and never has the incident passed bis lips. Now you comprehend wherefore I would not commit to paper an occurrence which so vitally concerns your brother, your parents, and yourself. I bade my valet Terence deliver a certain verbal message in order to induce you to read my note : but not even ’ to him did I explain the significancy of the words I thus commanded him to speak. Now, Rose, need I say more ? You comprehend my motives in having shown so much forbearance; and you must be prepared to give me the reward.” “ Horace Mr. Rockingham,” I exclaimed, looking and speaking as if I were frantic ; “ I imj)lore you 1 conjui'c you ” “ Hush, lb>se 1 it is too late for prayers and en- treaties 1” — and as ho thus interrupted mo, his looks expressed a demoniac implacability mingled with the fiercest fires of licentious passi(m ; so that it seemed as if Satan himself had suddenly ! taken possession of the fragile and effeminate form of that vile young man. “ 1 know the vortex of miscricB inUj which your family is plunged — I know that at this very instant the sale of your effects is j)rogressing. Rut look here !” — and ns he Bj>oke, ho drew from his ])()eket a bundle of bank-noters. “ Rven while claiming a reward for my generous forbearance t«nvardfl your brother, 1 do not moan that it shall balance accounts. No: here are five hundred pounds, — they are your’s ” “ Never ! never 1” I shrieked forth, in tones so piercing that the coachman on the box of the cur- ricle looked round in sudden alarm. “ Silence, insensate girl that you are !” ex- claimed Horace, his eyes flashing fire — while at the same time he waved his hand with vehemence towards the coachman, as if to command him to 1 avert liis looks again. “ I have but a few words I more to say — and those arc to place before you i two alternatives for your contemplation.” , “ Horace,” I said, in the low deep tones of inef- ! fable agony, “ if ever I have offended you — if over i I have seemed to insult you — I implore your par- i don — I beseech you mercy On my knees do I beseech it but spare me !” “ No, no !” he ejaculated, as ho caught mo for- cibly by the arms to prevent mo from sinking down to the suppliant posture which I was about to assume : “ you must not kneel — it is useless !” “ Are you implacable ?” I asked, shuddering coldly all over; and there was mo^oss in my brain. “ Yes — implacable !” ho responded : and his voice, natm*ally so harmonious, sounded upon my ears as if fraught with the terrible harshness and discordancy of that of a fiend. “Listen to tho ! alternatives. One is that I go hence to obtain a warrant for the prompt arrest of tho midnight robber : the other is that you suffer me to lead you to that carriage, which will bear us to Riverdalo— and there ” “ Enough, vile boy— onough !” I shrieked forth ; and then I wrung my hands in the rerj bitterness of my despair. “Ah! bo^ again!” ejaculated Horace fiercely. “ Oh, but this is the day alike of love and ven- geance !” — and his voice swelled with a thrilling exultation. “ Now, Rose, I give you but a minute to decide. Away with me ! — or within the hour that is passing, the officers of justice will be at yoirr house — ^your brother will bo captured as a felon — chains will be placed upon his wrists ” “No, no!” I exclaimed wildly: “anything— everything but that /” — and I fainted in tho arms of Horace Rockingham. When I came to myself, I was seated by his side in the curricle, which was speeding rapidly j towards tho town of Riverdalo, the outskirts of which were already close at hand. » « «» 4» tt 4» Some hom’s had passed : it was six o’clock in tho evening— a cold dark wintry evening of No- vember — when I alighted, or was rather lifted out | of tho curricle by Horace Rockingham, within a | hundred yards of the parsonage-house. There j was a delirium in my brain — and methought it j was all a dream. j “Farewell, sweet Rose, for tho present. Tell j the best tale you can devise for your prolonged , absence and for tho possession of that money. | l^^ail not to write to mo to-morrow, as I have sug- i gostod— to lot mo know whether or not you will ' accompany mo to London. If you decide in the | affirmative, I will fulfil all my promises : if in the ! 510SA LAMBEET J OE, THE MEMOIES OE AH TTNEOETHNATE WOMAN. 21 negative, no matter the secret of everything shall be faithfully and honourably kept.” These were the words which were whispered in my ear by Horace Rockingham, as he drew me to a short distance from the curricle ; and his arm was round my waist. Darkness enveloped us; and when he first began speaking, I still thought it was all a horrible dream : but as he went on, the conviction stole into my mind that it was a hideous, terrible reality — and if his arm had not sustained me, I should have sunk upon the ground. I was on the point of murmuring something — I cannot remember what, even if I knew at the time : but my voice was choked — I was well nigh suffocated with the awfvil, horrible, excruciating feelings that were swelling in my heart. “ Farewell, sweet Rose !” — and the vile youth’s lips were pressed to mine. The next moment I was alone ; and the sounds of the retreating curricle came upon my ears through the gloomy darkness of the November evening. I tottered forward : I staggered about like one inebriated : my head seemed to be whirling round : there was frenzy in my brain — despair in my heart. Mechanically I advanced towards the parsonage-house: but as I drew nearer, the in- tense poignancy of my feelings yielded rapidly to a sort of numbing stupor : madness gave place to an awful dismay : I went on as if in a dream and under the influence of a tremendous consterna- tion. I had no power for deliberate reflection. If I had, I believe that I should have rushed away to the river which flowed close at hand — and should have plunged into its dark depths, to seek those still darker and more mysterious profundities which lie beyond the confines of this world. But I had not power nor sense sufficient even for suicide. I tottered up to the front door of the parsonage- house. All appeared silent within : but through a crevice in the parlour shutters a feeble light glimmered forth, resembling dimly illuminated threads. I knocked at the door : it was opened by my brother ; and I started as if suddenly gal- vanized at the sound of his voice, as he exclaimed, “ Is this you, Rose ? Good heavens ! where have you been ?” Yes — I started, because all in an instant the thought flashed to my recollection that this bro- ther of mine was a criminal, and that it was to save him from the consequences of his deep iniquity I had become what I was. There was no light in the passage : he could not therefore see my countenance ; and astonished that I thus stopped suddenly short and spoke no word, he said with impetuous haste, “ Tell me. Rose — where have you been ? what has detained you thus ?” Still I gave no answer : but, entering the house, followed Cyril into the parlour. Ah, the par- lour! it was now utterly denuded of all its furniture and effects — with the exception of the family-bible and the easy-chair in which my mother sat, and which had either been left her from motives of compassion, or else had been bought in by some sympathizing neighbour. And there — in that chair, sat my motheuj looking horribly careworn, with her peaked, angular, elongated coimtenance ; but now her keen eyes rested searchingly upon me as I slowly walked into the room as if I were only the phantom of my own real self. My father stood leaning against the mantel, and his looks also settled upon me. Ho was not tipsy now : instead of the flush of strong drink upon his countenance, there was a dead pallor : his form seemed to have become suddenly bowed — his hair actually appeared to me whiter than it was when I left the house a few hours back. No — he was not completely callous nor hardened : he was not so utterly spoilt by misfor- tune and intemperance as to be altogether indif- ferent. On the contrary, his aspect denoted the mingled humiliation and contrition of a wretched conscience-stricken old man. And Cyril, — he like- wise was horribly pale — he likewise was frightfully careworn : his cheeks were hollow and haggard— but his eyes seemed to shine with a strange sinister light as they Avere fixed scrutinizingly upon me. It was evident that my parents and brother liked not the mystery of my prolonged absence; and that there was little to reassure them in my own looks or demeanour as I slowly entered the room. “Then, everything is gone?” I said, in a low mournful voice, as my eyes swept around the bare walls. “ Everything but that book, that chair, and a little bedding,” replied Cyril, who hastily answered my question. “ But tell us. Rose No, no ! tell us nothing ?” he ejaculated vehemently : and I saAV that he was smitten with some horrible suspicion. “ Come with me, sister ! I wish to speak to you alone.” “ Why take her forth ?” cried my mother in her sharp querulous tones. “Rose, where havo you been ? Speak !” “Ah, I recollect!” I said: and my manner must have seemed singularly wild and listless: “I have something which will soon fill these apartments again :” — and as I thus spoke, I drew forth a roll of bank-notes which at the instant I remembered to be in the bosom of my dress. “ What is that P” exclaimed my father. “ Notes ?” “ Money ?” shrieked my mother. “ Rose, Rose !” cried Cyril, in accents of wildest despair. “ Yes,” I said — and at the moment I was sin- gularly, unnaturally apathetic : “ there ought to be five hundred pounds there.” “ Five h\mdred poxmds !” exclaimed my father. “ Horror !” screamed my mother. “Rose, tell us,” cried Cyril, his coimtenance convulsed with a maddening anguish, — “ say but one word — only one word — to convince us that you have not ” “ Do not all cry out at me thus,” I exclaimed, now experiencing a sudden and strong revulsion of feeling from a sort of stupid apathy to a goad- ing sense of my terrible position. “ Have you not all, one after the other, tried your own resources ? You, father, plundered the farmer of the tithe- money — you, mother, committed a fraud on your sister — you, Cyril, robbed a carriage on the high- way — and what was left for me to do but sell my virtue ?” Never can I forget the awful, horrible, dreadful scene which was then passing. I had spoken in a sort of uncontrollable frenzy : I was mad at the time. My brother shrank back in mingled horror and despair : my father fell upon his knees, mur- muring, “ My God ! my God ! I am righteously punished !”--and in respect to my mother, the spell TlOdA. XA-RrBTTlT • Oil, TTTT? TVTTIMOTnfi OV AV TNPOTITFVATT? WOWATT 23 of paralysis was all in an instant broken — sho rose from her seat — sho stood erect — the cloak which she habitually wore to enwrap her in the winter- time, falling back from her shoulders; and thus, like a ghastly hideous corpse standing forth from its grave-clothes, sho extended her skinny lank arms, crying, “ May heaven’s vengeance fall with its most withering, blighting, blasting effect upon him who has robbed thee, my child, of thy purity !” Then I fell down upon my knees, and torrents of tear§ gushed forth from my eyes. Oh, the cru- ciQxion of anguish which I then endured!— Oh, the horrible tortures which rent my soul 1 But I was suddenly startled up by a loud cry which burst from Cyril’s lips : my mother was falling forward. He rushed to catch her — but too late ; and she dropped senseless upon the bare carpetless floor. Cyril raised her in his arms : she soon opened her e^^es; but the instant they encountered my ghastly pale features, they were averted with even an expression of loathing ; and she cried vehemently, “Out of my sight I begone 1” “No, no, mother!” exclaimed Cyril: but I waited to hear no more. The backs of my father and brother were turned towards me, as they were at the moment placing my mother again in her chair — so that I slipped from the room unper- ceived by them. The front door stood half open, as it had been left on my entrance : and I rushed out into the darkness of the night. On I sped, as if flying from the very plague itself : on I went, the horrible state of my feelings seeming to lend wings to my feet. I had no fixed purpose in taking any particular direction ; but I mechani- cally turned into that very lane whieh led to the noon-day’s place of appointment. I continued to speed onward through the almost complete ob- scurity of the evening, until at length I sank ex- hausted by the way-side. Then again from my eyes flowed the floods of tears : I wrung my hands in bitterest anguish — I was a prey to the wildest despair. Suddenly from a distance it seemed as if I heard my brother’s voice calling after me : I started up again, and fled precipitately. No — not for worlds could I return to that home on which I had brought the crowning infamy ! not for worlds could I go back to that threshold whence my o^vn mother had told me to begone ! I was now in the main road : and I hurried onward with frantic swiftness. But not towards Biverdale — much less towards Hawthorn Hall — was my direction taken : it was the contrary way which I pursued. In this manner did I proceed until I again sank down through sheer exhaustion. After a little while my mind became somewhat more calm; and I had just begun to ask myself what 1 should do, when the sounds of some equi- page approaching reached my cars. I looked in tlie rlirection whence it came — and perceived two lights, evidently the lamps of some chaise or car- riage, rapiilly drawing near, and ])roceeding the same way whi(-h I liad been taking jn’cvious to my halt. It was dashing ])aHt : I saw that it was a travelling-earriag(! drawn by four horses, — when, as t he full glare of the ne.arest lamp was thrown ui)ori mo, a gentleman thrust forth his head from the window anti calleil to the jjoslilions to stop, 'i'his command was iniToediately obeyesd : the door of the vehicle was thrown open — and its occupant (the gendeman alluded to) sprang forth. “ What ails you ? are you ill ?” he said, speaking in a kind tone. “ Yes no, sir thank you there is nothing the matter \^ith mo,” 1 murmuringly stammered forth : and then my bosom was con- vulsed with audible sobs. “1 thought by the sudden glimi)30 I caught of you, that you were no common person,” sairl the gentleman; “and I now sec that you are not. Y'ou are evidently in great distress of mind ” “Yes, sir. But pray leave me!” I answered in despair. “Leave a wretched creature to her- self!” “No — that cannot be,” ho said, taking ray hand and looking more closely and earnestly in my face : “ there is something wrong and unnatural in all this. I would not for the world desert you. Pray tell me if I can convey you to your home.” “ Home, sir?” I repeated, with a frenzied start : “ I have no home ! Ere now I abandoned that which was my home never, never to return to it !” “ Then I must find you one,” said the stranger. “ Permit me to assist you into the carriage, and as we proceed along, you shall tell me just as much as you choose of the circumstances which have rendered you thus homeless. But if you tell me nothing at all, I will not the less assist you.” “ I beg and implore, sir, that you will leave mo where I am,” I said, hastily snatching back the hand which he had kindly taken : then, instan- taneously feeling that I had been guilty of an un- gracious as well as ungrateful action, I observed, “ Accept my sincerest thanks for vour goodness : but ” “I can listen to no remonstrance,” he said firmly. “ I find you here, in circumstances which justify my interference. It would be downright murder on my part to abandon you to the cold night air.” This remark rendered me aU in an instant more keenly alive than I even previously was, to. the horrors of my position. Where was I to sleep that night? where was I to repose my weary limbs — my aching head ? I had not a farthing in my pocket : the whole amount purchased by the sale of my virtue, had been left at the parsonage. While I was thus hesitating and deliberating, the gentleman raised me gently from the roadside, and conducted me to the carriage, in which I suf- fered him to place me, I no longer ofiering the slightest resistance. Then the equipage dashed along ; and for some minutes a profound silence reigned inside. My mind was now growing calmer still ; and if I were touched by the benevolent conduct of him whom accident had thus rendered my companion, I was not the loss sensible of that delicacy on his part which left mo to my own meditations and to the recovery of my composure, without obtruding those queries which curiosity might so naturally have dictated. I felt too that some explanation was duo to this benevolent stranger: but I likewise felt that I was far too wretched and miserable to give it. “ Sir,” I said, at length breaking silence, “your noble treatment of a friendless young woman merits the sincerest gratitude:” — but here I stopped short, and jigain burst into tears. BOSA LAMBERT ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AN UNFORTUNATE WOMAN. 23 “ I can well appreciate aU that your heart would prompt your lips to express,” he said : “ but I beg of you not to give utterance to a word that may re-awaken your affliction, whatever its source may be. I am proceeding to London — but intend to halt, about ten o’clock, at some hotel, where it is my purpose to pass the night. There I will consign you to the care of the landlady ; and to- morrow, when your mind is more calm, you will perhaps be enabled to tell me how I may serve you farther. And now not another word of thanks !” he hastened to add : “ but treat me as if you had known me aU your life. Do not therefore consider yourself under any obligation to me.” I had begun to murmur a few words renewing the expression of my gratitude, when he thus silenced me ; and nothing more was spoken for a long time. My thoughts reverted painfully to the home from which I was now an exile : but I could not help reflecting that it was perhaps better, whatever my own destiny might be, that I should thus have abruptly quitted that home : for how could I ever again anticipate peace or comfort in the presence of those in whose countenances it would be impossible to look without a blush, and who could not look upon me without an equal reddening of shame ! Had I not proclaimed aloud the catalogue of our iniquities ? had I not ad- dressed my father as a cheat — my mother as a fraudulent strategist — my brother as a highway robber ? had I not thus plainly told them that all their misdeeds were known to me ? and had I not wound up the fearful list by declaring my own loss of virtue ? Oh, in that moment when frenzy sent forth those fearful proclamations from my lips, all family ties were in an instant severed — all the dearest and tenderest bonds which had pre- viously held us together, were cut in twain, as the band which binds up a sheaf is torn asunder by the rude hand of the thresher. How, then, was it possible that I could have remained in my home, even if my mother’s frantic command had not gone forth, banishing me from her sight ? But, Oh ! that command — it continued to thrill through my brain — it continued to vibrate in my heart — it con- tinued to echo in my soul : for those were words which, once heard, could never be forgotten ! The travelling-carriage pursued its way : an hour had passed since I became one of its occupants ; and now it stopped to change horses. My stranger- companion courteously and kindly asked if I would take some refreshment ; but I wanted none. I saw that by the glare which was poured into the carriage by the lamp of the hotel where the fresh relay was thus obtained, he studied me with con- siderable attention — yet not with rudeness, nor in a manner to deteriorate from the generosity of the deed which he had done in respect to me. The car- riage rolled on again : we still continued silent — for I had no inclination to converse ; and my companion was evidently of too great a delicacy of feeling to I intrude upon my thoughts. But time was wearing on ; and we were now approaching the town where the night was to be passed. “Perhaps,” said my companion, at length feel- ing it necessary to break the long silence which had prevailed, “ it will be better for you to pass as a relation of mine at the hotel where we shall soon stop. These postilions who are driving us now, know nothing of the circumstances under I ___ which you became one of the occupants of the carriage : therefore they can report nothing dis- agreeable at our halting-place. It may be as well for you to be informed that my name is Alvanly, and that I am a Member of Parliament. If you think fit to adopt this name for the nonce, and therefore pass as my relation — sister or cousin, whatever you choose — it will silence gossiping tongues at the hotel.” I thanked my companion for the considerate delicacy of the hints which he had thrown out ; and I now comprehended wherefore he had studied me with some degree of attention by the light of the lamp at the place where we changed horses. He evidently sought to ascertain whether, by my personal appearance — my apparel — and so forth, I might be passed off as a lady ; and it was evident he was satisfied with the result of that survey. Under these circumstances the hotel was reached ; he assisted me to alight ; and immediately upon entering, he said to the mistress of the establish- ment, “ This young lady — my relative — is very njuch indisposed: let her be shown at once to a chamber, and every attention be afforded her.” I was accordingly conducted to a room, where I lost no time in getting to bed : for I was tho- roughly worn out both in mind and body. Though I slept soundly, yet wild and horrible dreams haunted me throughout the night ; and conspicuous amongst all the images thus conjured up, was that of Horace Rockingham, whose shape appeared to assume by turns the most ghastly, terrible, and hideous aspects. I awoke with a bad headach: but after being up a little while, the physical pain passed away. Would to heaven that the mental pain which was rankling in my soul, could have been dissipated with equal facility ! The mistress of the hotel came herself to the room, bringing me all the necessaries for my toilet ; and from what she said, I discovered that my stranger-benefactor had, with that delicate con- sideration which was evidently characteristic of him, devised a tale of my trunk having been acci- dentally left behind. I was asked whether I preferred taking breakfast in my own chamber— or whether I would join Mr. Alvanly in the sitting- room. I was about to decide upon the former, when it struck me that such a proceeding would appear ungraeious ; and I therefore answered in favour of the latter. While performing my toilet, I saw that I was looking very pale and ill — but yet not quite so bad as might have been expected after all I had gone through on the preceding day. I descended to the sitting-room, where Mr. Alvanly was waiting to receive me ; and we sat down to breakfast. In the trouble of my mind on the pre- ceding evening, I had been enabled to take such little notice of him — and indeed had but such transient opportunities of doing so, these only being when a light was thrown into the carriage, and when we descended at the hotel — that I really had but a vague idea of his personal appearancd. until I now found myself in his company in the morning. He was a gentleman of about thirty — genteel-looking — but by no means handsome. He had hair and whiskers which were so closely bor- dering upon red, that they could only by a cour- teous fiction or an overstrained compliment, be denominated auburn. His eyes were of a light blue; his face was pale — and instead of having 21 llOSA LAMBlillT; Oil, TIIR MEMOlIlfl OF AN tfNFOllTUNATE WOJVTAN tho thoughtful gravity which my imagination had associated with tho idea of a legislator, was re- markably inexpressive, oven to inanonoss. Ko was tall and eomowhat slender — very elegantly dressed— and, at a first glance, evidently somewhat vain and ooncoitod. But ho possessed an agreeable voice and pleasing manners : as for his delicacy of feeling, I had already received what I considered to bo ample proofs of it ; and tho reader may bo assured that I was not many moments in his com- pany on this particular morning, ere I expressed my heartfelt gratitude. He again cut me short — and instantaneously turned tho conversation upon general topics, as if to convince me that he did not seek to penetrate into my circumstances until such time as I might choose to volunteer explanations. Immediately after breakfast Mr. Alvanly rang the bell — called for tho bill — and ordered tho travelling-carriage to bo gotten in readiness. I naturally shrank with instinctive modesty and bashfulnoss from the idea of continuing any longer a burden upon his generosity, as well as of travel- ling in a false and dubious position with him. I knew not however in what terms to commence an expression of these sentiments : but he no doubt judged from my confusion what was passing in my mind — for ho said, “ It is not here that wo can deliberate upon whatsoever may presently have to be discussed between us. You came hither as my relative : you must go away as such — even if you bid me farewell at the next town.” I offered no remonstrance to these observations ; and in the course of a few minutes, was once more seated by his side in the carriage. But now I felt it was absolutely necessary that I should give him some explanations : he had a right to expect them at my hands. Yet what could I say? Reveal everything that had. occurred? No — impossible! for that would be to proclaim my brother a robber, to save whom from a felon’s fate I had sold my virtue ! “ Miss Alvanly,” said my companion,— “ for by that name must I call you until you choose to mention some other — whether your own or a feigned one, it matters not ** Oh, sir !” I exclaimed, while tears started forth from my eyes ; “ you must be dealt with candidly by me! My name is Lambert Rosa Lam- bert and I am the daughter of tho Vicar of Hawthorn. Circumstances “ Permit me. Miss Lambert,” interrupted Mr. Alvanly, to say something which may possibly spare you tho pain of those explanations which you arc evidently kind enough to have the purpose of giving me. If I mistake not,” he went on gently and even hesitatingly to observe, “ you must have quitted your homo through some family quarrel ” “ Yes, yes, sir !” I ejaculated, with a sudden afxiess of excitement; “my mother ordered mo from her presence ! she bade mo to bo gone !” “ Enough, Miss Lambert. I think that I com- prehend you — tlien as tho tell-tale blush mantled in deepest crimson ui)on my countenance, ho went on to say, “We are not all faultless in this world; and witliout anotli(;r syllable of preface lot us ])ro- cecd to discuss what can bo done for you. Now, you must suffer me to o]>servo that circumstances liavo given mo a right to dictate somewhat to you. ’J'b.crcforo I propoeo nay, indeed, I insist that you accompany mo to Londoji. Excuse mo for adding that I am not a married man ; and conse- quently there is no wife’s feelings which can bo at aU chafed or vexed by tho knowledge that accident has made you my travelling-companion. When in London, you shall have apartments pro\ddod for you ; and os your mind becomes more settled, you will bo tho better enabled ” “ Oh, Mr. Alvanly !” I exclaimed ; “ rest assured that so soon as wo reach tho metropolis, I shall cease to be a burthen upon your noble generosity ! I have erred frankly I confess that I have erred,” I went on to say, with averted looks, and with tho crimson glow again mantling and burning upon my countenance : “ but heaven is my witness that it was through no willing frailty on my part !” “ I comprehend. Miss Lambert,” observed my companion softly : “ it was treachery. But no more on that subject : lot us continue the discourse upon tho topic which was interrupted. I can full well appreciate your anxiety to do something which may earn you a livelihood : but you cannot expect that tho moment you alight from my carriage in London, a thousand opportunities will present themselves. I have a duty to perform — and it shall bo done. Suitable apartments shall bo pro- ceed for you in a quiet and respectable house : in a few days you will teU me your plans — and amongst the ladies of my acquaintance I may bo enabled to advance them, whatsoever they may be. Circumstances have made mo your Mentor ; and I claim from you the confidence which a sister would bestow upon a brother.” I wept tears of gratitude : for there seemed to bo 80 much genuine frankness and honest sincerity in my companion’s speech as well as looks, that I really did feel towards him in the sense that he had sug- gested. He hastened to turn the conversation upon other topics, — asking me if I had ever visited the metropolis ; and I answered in the aflirmative, — stating that I dwelt there about four years in my childhood previous to the family’s removal to Hawthorn, one hundred and eighty miles distant, in a remote corner of Cheshire. But I recollected very little indeed of London, and was of course altogether inexperienced in its wiles, its artifices, and its temptations. Mr. Alvanly proceeded to describe to me some of the public buildings : he also gave a sketch of the manners and usages of high-life society; and his conversation was so cheerful, so interesting, and so interspersed with good-humoured sarcasm in respect to the foibles and follies of the fashionable world, that he suc- ceeded in weaning me somewhat from the utter gloom of despondency. Moreover, I did my best to assume as gay an exterior as possible : for I did not choose that as accident had rendered mo his travelling-companion, his own spirits should re- ceive a damp from my too bitter affliction. Wo pursued our journey until the afternoon,— when wo stopped at an hotel to dine ; and there wo rested a couple of hours. Om’ way was then pur- sued again, until about eight in tho evening ; when wo halted for tho night. At tho hotel where wo thus tarried, tho same considerate delicacy on Mr. Al- vanly’s part as that which I had before experienced, led tho landlady to supply mo with aU that was requisite for my toilet ; and retiring to rest ciu’ly, I passed a far more oomfortablo night than thp IIOSA LAMBERT; OK, THE MEMOIRS OF UE FOllTUXA TE M'OMAX. previous one. There was a certain point on which my mind experienced considerable relief : it was the knowledge that I had left my parents and brother in the possession of ample funds wherewith to re- furnish the parsonage — settle all remaining debts — and wipe away as much as possible the disgrace which had overtaken them. Although that money was the price of my vii’tue, yet I covdd not for an instant suppose that my father — blunted as his better feelings had become — would liesitate to make use of it ; and it was therefore a consolation to reflect that instead of having left my family plunged deep down in the very vortex of ^vretched- ness, there were ample resources to enable them to build up a greater degree of prosperity than for many long years they had experienced. In the morning the journey was resumed after breakfast; and between two and three o’clock on that day the travelling-carriage entered London. Mr, Alvanly informed me that his own liouse was No. 4 situated in May Pair ; but h(5 proposed that in- stead of proceeding at once thither, we should alight at an hotel, where I might tarry for an hour or two while he went forth to procure me apartments. He had naturally, from circumstances, acquired a certain degree of influence over me in respect to the guidance of my proceedings ; and indeed I had so much sisterly confidence in him, that I left myself altogether at his disposal. The arrangement was accordingly carried out as he had suggested ; and after remaining alone at an hotel for about two hours, I was joined by him again. He informed me that he had procured me lodgings in the house of a highly respectable widow, to whom his own housekeeper had recommended him ; and as his travelling-carriage had gone to his abode, we proceeded in a hackney-coach to the place of my destination. It was in Queen Square, Bloomsbury, that the lodging-house was situated ; and on alighting, I was at ouce received by Mrs. 26 KOSA LAMRERT ; OR, THE MEMOIRS OF AS ENFORlTNATE M’OMAV. Blicvwood, tbo widow of wlioui lie liad sjioken. 81io was a w'oinan of aliouf fdYy — had a benevolent look — a mild pleasing tone of voice — a kindness of manner — and ckingliam.’’ “ Yes — and now the l^arl’s countenance did indeed express all the ii torest which I had felt assured 1 should bo enabi d to excite : but sub- duing any farther betrayal of that sonsation, ho observed coldly, “ May 1 request to bo informed how that circumstance is connected with your visit P” “ My lord,” I answered — and I felt that there was a bitter emphasis in my words os I spoke, — “your daughter is engaged to a man no, not a man !— a fiend-boy whoso soul is of the blackest dye !” “ These are strong expressions,” said tho Earl, visibly agitated ; “ and you must explain them.” “Your lordship sees before you,” I rejoined, with a crimson glow upon my countenance, “ the victim of that vile wretch’s diabolic perfidy.” “ Young woman, ” answered Lord Eveleigli, slowly rising from the seat which he had taken, and looking upon mo in a sort of stem abhorrence, with which not tho slightest feeling of pity was blended, — “it is perhaps but natural that you should thus express a very strong feeling : but the youthful errors of an individual do not incapacitate him from aspiring to an honourable marriage. I believe there are few men who can look back upon their earlier years, without beholding something which they are compelled to think of with regret and remorse.” “ But mine, my lord, is no ordinary case !” I said, growing very much excited. “ It is a case of the most devilish infamy on the part of him who seeks your daughter’s hand! Listen, my lord ” “ But if I hear you,” interrupted the Earl, “ how do I know but that your tale may be highly- coloured ? It is natural that it should be so. You feel yourself aggrieved — and you are evidently impelled by a vindictive spirit.” “ It is not altogether vengeance, my lord,” I said, “ which now inspires me : though I will not deny that it^ enters largely into my motives for coming hither. But dishonoured though I myself am, I would fain rescue a young lady — who per- haps is amiable and confiding — from the misery which must await her if she link her destiny with one whose soul is capable of the most fiendish actions. Do not think, my lord, that because I have fallen, I am lost altogether to every good feeling. As a proof that I am actuated by delicate consi- derations in the mode of seeking this interview, I will remind your lordship that I might have sought the presence of the Countess of Eveleigh — or even that of Lady Lucia Calthorpe herself : but I did not choose to woimd their sensibilities by parading my shame before them. Therefore I decided on giving my explanations to your lordship.” He had listened with an evidently deepening interest, as well as with a growing uneasiness, to this long speeeh which I made ; and when I had finished, ho reflected for some moments. At length he said, with the air of a man who endeavours to put disagreeable ideas as far away from himself as possible, — “Every victim of treachery considers her own special case to bo tho blackest and the worst. I am sorry for you — I am sorry too that I should have hoard anything in tho least dispai’aging to Mr. Itockingham : but I must again tell you, I ! do not consider you have said aught that should I weigh with mo to that extent which you scorn to I aniicipato. Give mo your name and address : you j have evidently certain leclings of delicacy ; and I j hope that if bucIi j>ccuniary amends as can bo | made, aro afforded you, tho peace of my daughter i will never bo disturbed by tho knowledge of any j KOSA. LAMBETIT. 23 I little en‘oi'a wlilcli lier Intended liusTjand may have fallen into.” , ‘‘ My lord,” I exclaimed, colouring with indig- nation, " have I the appearance of one who comes to extort money.?”— and I glanced down at my dress of good materials, and at the jewellery which I wore. “ I did not mean to insult you, young woman,” was the Earl’s answer, coldly and haughtily given ; and you should have taken my words as kindly meant. But since you choose to regard them in another light, I beg that out* interview may end.” ^ " My lord,” I answered, rising from my seat, “you will bitterly repent the course which you are adopting now : for you leave me no alternative but to address to the Countess of Eveleigh a full and complete narrative of the tremendous wrongs I have endured at the hands of Horace Bockingham.” “Ho, no— you must not do this !” cried the EarL Ho. 6 evidently much alarmed ; and as I moved towards the door, he held me back. “ Tell me everything Perhaps I was wrong not to hear you ” “ But your lordship has given me to understand,” I rejoined, “ that you already prejudge me to the extent as to have the conviction that my narrative will be highly coloured. How, a thought has struck mo ! There is a plan by which the entire truth of my history, in all its saddest and darkest details, may be brought to your conviction.” “And that plan ?” said the Earl of Eveleigh in-* terrogatively. “ It is a plan,” I answered, “ which will not only cou\’ince your lordship that I have in no wise I exaggerated Horatio Eockingham’s guilt towards me — but which will also prove to you that even while engaged to your daughter, and soon to lead her to the altar, he is still a profligate.” “ But your plan ?” ejaculated the Earl. “ Yon forget that you have not described it.” ■ ■pots \ T A -ATr r-HT'. S4 “ It is simple cnougli, my lord. Como you to my residence this afternoon ” “ 1 !” exclaimed Lord Evcleigli, seeming to bo utterly shocked and horrihed at the invitation. “ Then send your son — your solicitor — or any friend,” said I calmly, and somewhat haughtily : ‘'but I insist that this course shall be taken, as the only condition on which I will abstain from direct communication with your wife or your daughter. I will undertake to conceal w'homsoever shall thus come to my residence. I will undertake likewise that Horatio Rockingham shall be there ; and from his own lips shall your lordship, or whoever is delegated by you, hoar the full avowal of the details of his treachery towards me.” The Earl reflected for a few moments — and then said, “No, not my son! It were madness, if things came to the worst, to provoke a duel be- tween him and Mr. Rockingham. As for my soli- citor No, I will come myself. Where ? and at vvhat hour P” I named my address, and specified three o’clock in the afternoon of that very samo day ; having done which, I took my departure. CHAPTER VI. EEVENGE.— THE BANQUET. Returning straight home to Jermyn Street, I immediately sat down and wrote two notes. One was to Horace Rockingham, penned in a very friendly manner, and inviting him to call upon me at half-past three in the afternoon. I likewise enjoined him to be punctual, as we should not have more than an hour to be together, — thereby giving him to understand that I ran some little risk in receiving him at all, and thus piqueing his curiosity to ascertain more than he could have judged at the jeweller’s, of the circumstances in which I was placed. The other note was to Mr. Alvanly, begging him not to come to me until five o’clock, when I would explain the reasons which had induced me to ask this favour, — but assuring him, in a good-humoured style, that I was doing notliing to provoke his jealousy. These two notes I at once despatched to their respective addresses— one to the Clarendon Hotel, the other to May Fair; and tlien I sat down to reflect, with feelings of vindictive satisfaction, upon the plot wliich I had thus initiated for the punishment of nay pitiless seducer. Sliortjy after two o’clock I repah’od to my di c.'idng-room, — where, assisted by Francos, I ap- parelled iriysidf in the most elegant manner, and in a way to set off my cliarrns to their greatest advunluge. I wore a low-l)ofliod dress, so as to di iplay (be wlii(ene.‘;s and ]diiinprie83 of my slioul- dertt, and llio bi;auly of niy bust. My liair show- croil in u tljon -.xnd glo' y ringlets down upon those nbonlders; and I put on jiu:t Hullicient jcsvcllory for ta ilid'ul einb' Hi ilinnnif, but with a careful avoid- anei! of nitTftrifiou'A idleel. J experienced iistrango jn tlignant pliM'.nreiri tlius nialiiiig (Ik; most of tlio lovelme wil li wliicli I WHS endowed : I knew full Well that in tlio boyi ill frame of Horatio lloidiing- liain tlie (ii |-cr.(t volcanic, p n: lions agilated, raged, and boiled j and 1 was dotcrinined to tempt biui to the utmost. Put ere descending to the drawing- room, I threw a scarf over iny Rlirs, and fastened it with a beautiful cameo upon my bnom ; because I bad to receive Lord I'iveleigh first ol' all, and did not wdsh to play off the urlilhiry of my charms upon him. Neither did 1 choose him to form of me a worse opinion than that wliich, as a matter of course, I knew ho already entertained. Precisely at throe o’clock his lordship arrived at the house, on foot; and he was at once shown up to the drawing-room, where I received him. lie was evidently surprised to find me dwelling in such splendid apartments ; and I am equally sure that ho was struck by my appearance : for a woman can always tell wlion her attractions make an impres- sion upon one of the male sex, however strenuous the latter may bo to conceal the susceptibility. Ho Avas somewhat agitated; but as be cintc.nplited mo, was more polite than during our interview of the morning; and I knew that it was the elfcct of my beauty which thus to a certain degree thawed the frigid reserve of his manner towards me. I informed his lordship that in order to give hi n full time to bo beforehand with Mr. Rockinglia n, I had appointed half-past three for the coming of the latter ; and I now stipulated that Avhatsoever his lordship might hear pass between us, he wouhl remain in strictest concealment until I should give some signal, which I would render unmistakably significant, for him to come forth. He pledged himself to follow my directions ; and I then pro- ceeded to ensconce him in his hiding-place. T.iero was a back drawing-room, separated only by fold- ing doors from the front one; and it was quite easy for a person in one room to overhear, if lie did but listen attentively, everything that took place in the other. It was in this back drawing- room that I concealed his lordship, — bidding him keep close to the folding-doors so soon as he should hear Mr. Rockingham announced. I then resumed my seat upon the sofa ; and now loosened the scarf which I had thrown over my shoulders. A glanco in a full length mirror opposite, gave me every reason to be not merely satisfied with my personal appearance, but even vain of it. The excitement of the pi'oceediug lent to my cheeks a rich carna- tion hue : the dress that I wore, displayed to every advantage the symmetry of my shape ; and if it had really been my intention to achieve a conquest, I need not have despaired of the issue. St. James’s church was chiming the half-hour, as a loud double knock resounded through the house; and in a few moments Mr. Rockingham was announced. He was dressed in the very height of fashion— but yet with the most admirable taste. As only about eight mouths had elapsed since the incidents of that memorable July evening on which occasion I so fully described him to the reader, no alteration had taken place in his personal appear- ance. Ho had still the girlish face, without the slightest evidence of nascent beard— the same boy- isli look — the samo transparent beauty of the com- plexion — the same glossy silkincss of the liglifc curling hair. Rut as he advanced towards me with outstretohed hand, the colour rose to his cheeks, and the fires Ilashod from his eyes, as he fixed his devouring regards upon mo. 1 I’oso from the sofa nil I aeoepLiiig his hand, assumed a demeanour of adiihlo frieudliucss : but tlio colour deepened on my own ebooks, and 1 could not help casting down my EOSA LAMBEET. 35 eyes beneath the fierce ardour of his looks— though in my heart I experienced exultant feelings at the effect which my beauty produced upon him : for il filled me with confidence as to the issue of my vindictive scheme. “ This is very kind of you, Eose,’’ he said ; “ and more than I expected. I did not think when I met you yesterday at the jeweller’s, that you would really write to me ; but as you have done- so, I take it as a proof that you no longer cherish any re- sentment towards me. Therefore we are friends once again.” “It is useless to cherish resentment,” I re- sponded, “ since the past cannot be recalled. Sit down and let us converse. I told you in my note that we should have but an hour or so ” “Ah! then there is some happy man who has paramount claims upon your time — perhaps upon your love?” — and Horace Eockingham spoke in all the melting softness of his melodious voice, as he placed himself by my side on the sofa. “ Love indeed I” I ejaculated : and the next mo- ment I affected to laugh merrily. “ Then you do not love him — whoever he may be,” Horace hastened to exclaim, “ who has placed you in this brilliant position ?” “ How can it possibly signify to you,” I asked, what may be the sentiment I entertain towards the gentleman under whose protection I am living ? For that such is my position, you have rightly guessed ; and it were utterly useless to deny it.” “ What can it signify to me ?” repeated Eock- ingham, modulating his voice to a tone of re- proach. “Ought I not to consider that I have the first claim upon your love ? I do not wish to allude to unpleasant incidents of the past; but did you not give me some sort of an avowal that evening, you know — I think it was in July last ” “Yes: because you yourself, Horace,” I inter- rupted him, “ assured me that you loved me with all your heart and soul — that you worshipped my image — that I was the idol of your affec- tions 1” “ And it was true, Eose ! You know it I” he exclaimed vehemently. “Ah! but how fickle is man’s love,” I ob- served, now in my turn adopting a tone of re- proach. “ What am I to you at this moment ?” “ Do you wish to be something ?” he inquired eagerly. “ I might — perhaps I might,” was my response, murmuringly given ; “ but how can I be ? Are you not about to lead a beauteous bride to the altar ? I read the paragraph in the news- paper ” “ And were you sorry, Eose ? tell me, were you sorry ? Answer me, I conjure you !” — and he gazed upon me with the flushed cheeks and devouring eyes of intensely wrought passion. “ Yes — I was sorry,” I answered, bending down my looks, and pretending to become suddenly mournful. “ I was sorry, without exactly know- ing why : for I had no reason to love you after all your dreadful conduct towards me. But still I could not think without emotion of him who was the first that ever folded me in the embrace of love.” “ Eose, you know not what joy you are ex- citing in my heart ?” exclaimed Horace Eocking- ham. “You arc ravishingly beautiful — far, far more beautiful than even yeu were on that evening when I drew your portraiture for your own contemplation, and when I fancied it was impossible to behold a lovelier image. Yes — you are adorable !” — and he stretched out his arms towards me, to encircle me therewith. “No — no!” I said: “not yet! not yet!” — but as I abruptly drew farther away from him on the sofa, I suffered the scarf to fall completely off my shoulders — thus giving to the circumstance the appearance of an accident totally unperceived by myself. “ Not yet !” he echoed ; and then for a few moments he sat gazing upon me with the gloating looks of a passion indomitably sensuous. “ Ah ! I comprehend what you mean by those words, nof yet ! You wish to know on what terms we could henceforth be together. Now listen, Eose : for as you have testified so much generous forgiveness, I will treat you with an unreserved confidence. You saw by the newspaper that I am about to marry Lady Lucia Calthorpe. Well, it is so. But I will 'explain how. You know that my father rose from nothing, and that he made his fortune by all sorts of ways on which it may be rather inconvenient to look back. He is a rich man — but, after all, only -parvenu — a sort of upstart, who has no prescrip- tive right to pass the gilded portals of the fashion- able world, and who therefore could only be tole- rated within the brilliant saloons beyond that threshold. Such as the father is, so must the son be looked upon. Can you not therefore under- stand how, already possessing immense wealth, my father is naturally anxious to escape from a dubious and false position, and obtain as it were a settled one — so that he may enter the lord’iest mansion with head erect, and not feeling as if the invita- tion thither were a boon and a favour for which he ought to be grateful. The same sentiments animate myself. But how could our aims be ac- complished otherwise than by the formation of an alliance with some old, time-honoured, aristocratic family p Now you understand wherefore it is that Lady Lucia has been wooed and won by me.” “ And you do not love her, Horace ?” I asked, having no longer any need to throw an assumed tremulousness into my voice, inasmuch as it vi- brated with a real satisfaction : for I felt that the successful issue of my vindictive scheme was un- erringly certain. “ Love her !” ejaculated Horace, contemptuously as well as vehemently : “ not I ! She is beautiful — I do not deny it — but a cold marble image, which not even the adoration of a Pygmalion could warm into the fervour and glow of passion. Her father is one of those proud haughty aristocrats who deem it necessary to maintain a glacial reserve towards everybody who cannot boast of a descent from the Norman conquerors, or at least from the Barons in the time of the Tudors. His daughter Lady Lucia is a type of himself — though some- what softened down by feminine attributes. Ah ! I know that in their hearts they consider an im- mense honour is being conferred upon mo, and that I ought to b® vastly grateful ! Were it not for the enormous wealth which my father can leave me at his death, I might have sighed, and pleaded, and pom'ed forth love-vows for a thousand years in vain at the feet of Lady Lucia. No, Eose — I do i 36 KOSA I-AMniilir. 1 not lovo her ! But I love you — and I fc('l that I can adore you throughout my life !” “ But tell me, Horace,” I said, scorning to be considerably agitated : “ would you so far forget your duties to a beauteous bride, as to bestow any of youB time on mo ?” I think, Hose,” he answered, with fervour, “ that I sliall be only too glad to escape from the insipid platitudes and cold trivialities of Lady Lucia’s conversation, in order to pass whole hours in your more agreeable society. Say then ” “ Stop !” I exclaimed : “ I can give you no de- cisive response until we have had some farther con- versation. To deal candidly with you, Horace, I know' nofhow to trust you. Pray do not inter- rupt mo. My heart prompts me to one course : prudence urges me in a contrary direction.” I swear to you. Hose,” cried Hockingham im- petuously, “ that you shall never have cause to repent of the fullest and completest reconciliation with me. My father, who will bo in town in a few days, has pledged himself to settle an imme- diate income of twelve thousand a-year upon me. Think you that of this revenue I cannot spare a thousand or two for one whom I love ?” “ But listen, I repeat ! Horace, you need only to cast your eyes around, in order to satisfy your- self that I am under the protection of one who I regards gold as dross when my slightest whims or j caprices are concerned ; — and that I have an entire hold upon his affections, so that there is no cause to apprehend being ever abandoned by him, I have I every reason to believe. Think you, therefore, j that I will lightly resign this position in which he i has placed me ?” “ Hose, I swear to you,” exclaimed the impas- sioned young man, “ that there is nothing I may be enabled to do to give proofs of my sincerity, which shall be left undone. I will provide for you — I will give you a bond ensuring you a handsome revenue for life ” “You cannot speak more fairly,” I interrupted him: “but pause, Horace — and reflect upon the past. Can you wonder if I have mistrusted you ? can you be astonished if I consider your nature to be sclfisli ? Again I say, do not interrupt me : for it is by the calm discussion of the past, that you can alone give me assurances for the future. Hoes not yom’ conscience tell you that you dealt harshly by me ? When you first made certain overtures, did I not reject them with indignation? was 1 not pure and virtuous — proud of my inno- I cence — and embued with so much rectitude of principle that only the foulest treachery no, not treachery, but a cold-blooded resolve to take advantage of the circumstances which throw me in your j^ower,— that only this, I say, could have drawn me down from tlio jnnnaclo of honour ?” ' “ ()h ! why this recapitulation ?” cried Hocking- ham. “The recollccti(ms of tlie past only sour the liopes of present and future bliss.” “ Do you not know', Horace?,” 1 asked, “ that a worn n W'lio has been (dfendod — a woman who has been outraged — a worn ii who lias been made a victim in apito of lier.elf— must be projiitiated : h.r ])ardon must bo sought -there must bo a Kolcmn avowal of conneious guilt towards her, so as to constitute a btarting-jioint for a new and better understundiug. It is tho nature of our sox to rcijuire such atonement U3 this j and if it bo frankly j given, we can pardon the jiast— and we can lovo again for the present and tho future.” { “ Oh ! if this bo all you reejuiro at my hands,” I exclaimed Horace, “most readily do I confess my sins towai'ds you ! Here, upon my knees do 1 avow them !” — and he fell at my feet as he thus spoke. “ Yes — my conduct was bad towards you ” “ Say execrably wdeked, Iforacc,” 1 observed. “ Yes — execrably w icked !” he exclaimed, cpnckly echoing my words : for he was hurried along by tho strong current of his frenzied passion. “ Jb'orgivo me. Hose— and be to mo what 1 have asked j so that I may be to you all I have promised !” “And what if I were to stipulate that you re- peat everything you have spoken, in the px-esenco of a witness ?” “ A witness ?” he exclaimed, starving up *to his feet, and surveying me with alarm. “ Wherefore ? w hat mean you ? Oh, have I not said and done enough ? Let mo embrace you. Hose, — dearest Hose ! — and with kisses let my forgiveness bo sealed !” “Am, sir!” I ejaculated, lirmly rejjulsing him as ho w'as about to snatch me in his arms : then, as he fell back in mingled dismay and wonderment, I added, “ But there is a witness— and he will now appear !” At that instant the folding- doors were burst open ; and the Earl of Eveleigh — white with rage, quivering all over, and his wonted iciness of de- meanour changed into the fury of a thousand con- tending passions— appeared before the astounded and horrified young man. Bitter, most bitter must have been the humiliation, the mortification, and the ire of that old nobleman, to have heard himself and his daughter spoken of in the terms which Horace Hockingham had used; and indeed the success of my plot had extended in all its details beyond my most sanguine expectations : for I did not foresee that my detested seducer would have been led to speak so disparagingly of his intended bride and her father. Eor a few moments Horace Hockingham re- mained ri vetted to the spot, utterly confounded ; but as a full sense of his position evidently flashed to his mmd, he flung upon me a glance of the most fiend-like malignity, — exclaiming, “ By heaven, I will be bitterly revenged for this !” “ Hevenged ?” I echoed, with a mocking laugh. “ I despise you too much to fear you ! What can you do to injure me, vile and execrable boy that you arc ? Hevenge ? it is I who have been re- venged ! But even here my vengeance shall not stop, if you dare to threaten me. Thi'oughout your life will I watch you ; and whenever you obtain admission into the bosom of a family, from which you may seek to bear away some too confiding girl as your bride,— will I proclaim the tale of my own wrongs, and then ask father, mother, brothers, sisters, or friends, w’hether they wdll consent to be- stow an innocent young damsel upon such a venomous reptile as thou art. Oh ! it is the small- est and tho most beautiful of snakes which aro tho most poisonous : and you aro one of those rep- tiles 1” Having thus spoken, I turned away wdlh a look of scorn and abhorrence— while Lord Eveleigh, advancing towards the discomfited young man, said to him, “ Mr. Hockingham, I need not toll I i I ! i ! ( SOSA. LAMBEET. you that everything is at au end between ray daughter and yourself. If you choose, sir, to leave it to me to form a fitting excuse for the breaking-off of this contemplated alliance, do so : and neither my own family nor the world at large shall become aware of the actual truth. Indeed, I claim this at your hands as the only atonement, poor though it be, which you can make for your conduct, which has within the last hour been so completely rmmasked. But if you think fit to assume an arrogant bravado, and go forth into society to boast of your misdeeds, — then assuredly will your life become a sacrifice to the just in- dignation of my son Lord Calthorpe. How then, sir, is it to be ?” ‘‘ Do as you like, my lord,” responded Horatio Eockingham, half-terrified at the menace thus llimg out, and half endeavouring to assume that very air of bravado against which the Eai-1 had warned him : then, the next moment, he abruptly quitted the room, banging the door violently be- hind him. “ Now, my lord,” I said, turning towards the old nobleman, “ did I deceive you when I spoke in such strong terms of the profligate character of Horatio Eockingham ?” “ No, no — you did not deceive me !” said the Earl, sinking upon a chair like one exhausted. I pitied him — and hastened to proffer a glass of wine, which he did not hesitate to accept. There was no icy haughtiness in his demeanour towards me now : he seemed to have forgotten the mingled disgust and abhorrence with which he had sur- veyed me in the morning when I proclaimed my- self to be the victim of that fiend-boy. He was thoroughly humbled — deeply mortified — as well as profoundly afihctedj and again I say I pitied him. “ Miss Lambert,” he observed, when at length he rose to take his departure, “ I know not how to express my gratitude for your conduct in thus saving my daughter from becoming the wife of such a wretch. I fear that if I offered you any- thing you might be offended ” “ I require nothing, my lord — not even thanks,” I hastened to interrupt bam. “But if you ever should need the assistance of a friend,” he rejoined, “ do not hesitate to apply to me.” He shook me by the hand, and then bade me farewell. When he was gone, I sat down to enjoy the gratified feelings of revenge which I was now enabled to experience. There was an indescribable luxury in the thoughts which thus occupied my mind ; and I could well understand that there was but little hyperbole in those earnest cravings for revenge on the part of injured individuals, which are so often depicted in the pages of the novelist. I was still meditating with a sort of gloating satis- faction on the scene which had taken place, when Mr. Alvanly was announced ; and I lost not a mo- ment in telling him everything that had occurred. He had at different times received from my lips partial revelations of the circumstances which had brought about my fall : but I was now completely explicit, — concealing not a single detail — no, not even my brother’s great guilt. He listened with a sedate attention : and I saw that he fancied I had gone somewhat too far in the prosecution of my revenge. But still he did not give verbal expres- 37 sion to this opinion on his part ; and I was too much elated with the success of my scheme to dis- cuss it with him, now that it was over. Dinner was shortly announced ; and when the champagne flowed freely, he forgot the serious impression which my explanations had made upon him — while my own gaiety gave a cheerful impulse to his naturally good spirits; so that the evening was passed as agreeably as possible. On the fol- lowing morning, ere Gustavus took his leave, I begged him to seek some opportunity of mention- ing — as if accidentally, in the course of conversa- tion with Mrs. Harborough, the landlady-*— that Lord Eveleigh and Mr. Eockingham had called upon me with his full concurrence ; as I did not wish it to be suspected that I received visits un- known to my protector. The Friday evening came on which the banquet was to take place ; and in pursuance of Mr. Alvanly’a instructions, I gave orders for a rich as well as elegant repast to be served up. Though it was only the commencement of March, yet green peas and strawberries were amongst the delicacies which were to make then appearance upon the board, — these being a present sent by Mr. Alvanly from Covent Garden Market. As the hoiu ap- proached when the guests were to make their appearance, I apparelled myself in my best rai- ment ; and when Gustavus came at six o’clock, he declared that he had never seen me look more beautiful. Shortly afterwards, those whom he had invited began to arrive. Two or three of the gentlemen accompanied the ladies who were living under their protection : but for the most part the male guests came separately, having merely ap- pointed to meet their mistresses at the house. There were thirteen guests in all — seven gentle- men and six females. With the exception of one of the latter — who was somewhat coarse both in her appearance and her manners — these women were eminently beautiful, and perfectly lady-like in their conduct : that is to say, they could be so if they chose, and were so through all the earlier part of the evening. They were sumptuously dressed ; and two or three of them were decorated with brilliant diamonds of considerable value. Of the male guests, three were peers of the realm — another was a nobleman having a seat in the House of Commons — a fifth was likewise a Mem- ber of Parliament and held a Government post— the sixth was an eminent barrister — and the seventh was a Captain in the Life Guards. The barrister was a middle-aged man, with a large round and very red face, and whose Bardolphian nose indicated a considerable affection for the bottle. He was the protector of the female who has been specially noticed as being of coarse ap- pearance and somewhat vulgar manners : but she had been a celebrated beauty in her time — and having a certain renown, maintained her footing in this particular sort of society. Some of the females were called by the same surname as that which belonged to their protectors : thus, for in- stance, the lady of the barrister, whose name w as Dilkinson, passed as Mrs. Dilkinson. But the mistresses of the noblemen bore their own proper names — or else those which they had chosen to assume. I must observe that the Captain of the Guards was the only one who had no lady living under his JBOSA LAMBERT. 38 protection. His name was lleginald Fortcscuo: he was an exceedingly handsome man — not more than five-and-twenty years of ago — witli dark hair, a glossy black moustache, and an imperial on the chin. He had that peculiar outline of fcatui-os which is generally described as aristocratic, because it gives an air of high-bi’ed haughtiness to the en- tire countenance. His figure was slender and per- fectly well formed : his manners were elegant, but with a certain degree of languid abandonment, which could not however be accurately denominated an affectation : his voice was very agreeable j and though his conversation was for the most part on the frivolous topics of the day, yet from a few occasional remarks it could be discerned that ho by no means possessed an uncultivated intellect. He was one of those young men who, if self- emancipated from fashionable follies and dissipated pursuits, might render themselves very pleasant as well as useful and ornamental members of society. In respect to his personal appearance, I should add that he had fine large dark eyes ; and when he smiled, his moustached lip revealed a set of the most beautiful teeth. He was apparelled in plain clothes for the present occasion ; and this raiment, methought, must be better suited for his figure than the uniform of the Life Guards, which only ought to be worn by tall powerful men, of con- siderable muscular development. I felt exceedingly bashful and confused when first introduced to all these guests. I was em- barrassed not merely on finding myself amongst so many persons who until that moment were total strangers to me — but likewise because, being the mistress of the place, it was my duty to do my best to entertain them. And there was another reason — which w^as that I experienced a certain sense of shame at finding myself reduced to the necessity of seeking such women for associates and friends. The effect of all these sentiments was to produce a despondency of the spirits ; and I took an oppor- tunity to w'hisper to Gustavus that I never should have the courage to seat myself at the head of the table when the banquet was served up. I be- sought liim to let me sit next to him ; and he pro- mised that such an arrangement should be made. Accordingly, when dinner w^as announced, and w'e proceeded to the dining- room, — Captain Fortescue giving his arm to me, — Mr. Alvanly said a few good-humoured words, to the effect that it was Liberty Hall — all restraint and formality were to bo thrown off — and that the gentlemen should preside over the feast, so that they might be all the bettor enabled to pay duo attention and homage to the fair sex. He therefore requested Sergeant Hilkiiison, the barrister, to take his seat at the bottom of tJie table, — Mr. Alvanly placing himself at tli(! t(q), with me on one side and Mrs. Dilkinson fm the olhor. Cajhuin l'’<;rtescuo having escorted ino to flio dining-room, took a chair n(!xt to jno; find perceiving that 1 was timid, bashful, and con- fitraiiied, he did liis b«!ht to amuse and divert )uo, as w(rll II'. to malic me feel myself at home in the toriely hy whicli I wiei surrounded. 'I'ho tahio had a most sjilendid apjiearance : iiUKi'.ive j)lalc) and cut glass glitli'red iqion llio board, wlicm all the elioieest dainlies of the season • and some that- were not in season were served uji. 'I'lie room was Hooded with liislro: the gems and jf ,■ ellery boileeking the femaleu, added to the resplendence of the scene. In massivo wi no- coolers, bottles of champagne were rcptising in ice t the side-board groanerl beneath the weight of the fruits, preserves, and confectionary which were to be placed in their turn upon tho table: two of Mr. Alvanly’s own footmen had been ordcreil from May Fair to assist in waiting; and altogether it was a banquet such as the highest and best in tho land might well have sat down to. But for whom was it served ? Alas ! frequently did a distressing, a humiliating, and an almost agonizing reflection upon this subject sweep through my mind : for I thought to myself that while virtuous industry was elsewhere pining in want, or faring hardly upon a sorry crust — vicious indolence was here surrounded by every luxury that could pamper tho appetite or gratify the palate. The champagne flowed freely ; and as Captain Fortescue insisted upon frequently refilling my glass, — moreover, as 1 myself gladly imbibed tho exhilarating liquid in order to drown my despond- ing and compunctious reflections, — I succeeded in acquiring a degree of gaiety under the influence of the artificial stimulant. The other females soon grew very talkative : the laughter increased —until at length it burst forth into almost continuous peals : and I was astonished at the quantities of wine which the guests of my own sex poured down their throats. When the dessert was placed upon the table, the glasses were filled still more frequently than before : the conversation gradually became more free — so that the witticisms, the repartees, the anecdotes, and the allusions, were not always confined within the limits of the strictest propriety. As the revelry increased, the discourse became still less guarded; and on several occasions I felt my cheeks burning at the looseness of the jests which were glibly sent forth from the tongue, and which elicited the merriest shouts of laughter. My neigh- bour, Captain Fortescue, doubtless perceived that I had more delicacy than the other females pre- sent ; and as he was evidently striving to pleas© me, he did not abandon himself to the same ribald revelry. But as the orgie deepened, and several of those present, not even excepting the females, be- gan to show signs of ebriety, — Mr. Alvanly him- self included, — the young officer ventured to whisper certain flatteries and significant compliments in my ear. I discouraged them as much as possible; for methought that some of them amounted almost to overtures ; and when he perceived that this style of language was distasteful to me, he turned the discourse upon other topics. Then I found him agreeable enough ; and ray gaiety rose again. The revelry continued until near michiight — when several of the guests, both male and female, w'cre much tho worse for what they had taken. Tho Member of Parliament who held the Govern- ment post, was excessively inebrialed: and Mrs. Dilkinson, w'ho sat next to him, delivered herself of some very coarse jest, as she pointed towards him with one luind, and with the other held up her champagne glass,— at the same time exulting at tho idea of herself being enabled to drink more than the genileman alluded to. At length tho iiarty broke up, — tho gontlcmeu all tlianliing me with great fervour for tho hospi- tality they liiid received,— tho females erowding round me, lavishing all kinds of caresses and en- I denrment#, declaring that they wore rejoiced to BOSA LAMBEBT. 89 have formed my acquaintance, and assuring me that they should take the earliest opportunities of returning my kindness. When Captain Fortescue took his leave, he pressed my hand and cast upon me a look of tender meaning ; but I withdrew that hand abruptly, and bowed with a coldness which must have given him to understand that he had nothing to hope. Though myself somewhat excited with champagne, I was not too much so to forget my duty towards Mr. Alvanly ; and though dishonoured and degraded — though forced to mix in such society as that which I have been de- scribing — I had not utterly lost a sense of self- respect. When the guests had taken their depar- ture, Gustavus asked howl had enjoyed myself I replied in a manner which I thought would please him : for I did not choose to appear un- grateful for his endeavour to contribute to my en- tertainment. Besides, he himself was too much overcome by liquor to listen rationally to what- soever observations I might have made upon the subject. But on the following morning, when we were seated at breakfast, I no longer hesitated to hint that I considered the conduct of the females to have been forward and indelicate when once the wine had begun to produce an effect upon them. He admitted that such was the case : and I could not help thinking that he had given this banquet, and had collected together that society, for the purpose of convincing me that I had better thence- forth trust more to my own resources for amuse- ment and recreation, than to such associates as circumstances permitted me to obtain. CHAPTEB VII. THE OPEEA. Theee months passed away from the date of the banquet ; and nothing of any consequence occurred during this interval. Nevertheless my mode of life was not altogether the same as it had been previously to that festival. The noblemen and gentlemen, as well as their mistresses, who were present at the entertainment, frequently called upon me; and though at first I but little liked their visits, yet gradually that repugnance wore off — so that at last I rather welcomed them as a means of whiling away the time which would have otherwise hung heavily on my hands. I did not however accept any invitations to dinner-parties at the residences of the ladies with whom I had thus become acquainted : yet the excuses I made were invariably of a character to avoid giving offence. I found that some of those women lived in the most magnificent style, as I judged from their conversa- tion and from the splendid equipages which they kept. They all resided in the most fasliionable parts of the town — frequented the best places of amusement — and led an existence of luxurious in- dolence, without ever seaming to reflect how it was all to end. One or two of the gentlemen, when first calling upon me, ventured upon certain compliments and flatteries which in themselves amounted almost to overtures— but yet not of so glaring a nature that I could openly resent them. I how^ever treated them in the same way as I had acted towards Cap- ! tain Fortescue, and gave them to understand as plainly as I could, that though they found me in an equivocal position, they must not thence argue that I w'as thoroughly depraved. Captain Fortescue himself was the most frequent of my male visitors ; and though on one or two occasions ho attempted to renew that kind of discourse and demeanour to- wards me which I had at the very outset received coldly and distantly, his manner for the most part was respectful and courteous. But I could not shut my eyes to the fact that I had made, though most unintentionally, a tender impression upon him ; and I could have wished that his calls had been less frequent. I even went so far as to men- tion to Gustavus that I would much rather the Captain would pay me less attention: but Mr. Alvanly, embracing me affectionately, declared he knew that ! was incapable of deceiving him — that he was not jealous — and that he thankfully re- garded the observations I had made as an addi- tional proof of that constancy whereof he was already assured. I must now relate a little incident which occurred at the expiration of the three months that had elapsed since the banquet. One afternoon — it was now the close of May — Gustavus took me to a fashionable jeweller’s shop in Eegent Street, and bought me a vei*y handsome set of diamonds, for which he gave upwards of four hundred pounds. While we were examining the gems, I suddenly observed an ill-looking man peering through the window of the shop, and evidently watching ovn* proceedings. His countenance struck me as being so villanous, and the circumstance altogether smote me with so sudden an apprehension, that I started visibly : whereupon the fellow instantaneously dis- appeared. I mentioned the incident to Mr. Al- vanly and the jeweller, — both of whom had noticed that abrupt display of terror on my part : but they speedily reassxired me by ascribing the man’s con- duct to mere idle curiosity. I thought no more of the occurrence at the time : the diamonds were deposited in a very handsome casket, which was borne to the carriage. From the jeweller’s shop we proceeded in the direction of Jermyn Street : but when crossing Piccadilly, I suddenly noticed the individual whose presence at the shop window had so much frightened me. He was hurrying round a corner, accompanied by another man, at the instant I thus a second lime settled my eyes upon him ; and it occurred to me that his comrade was as evil-looking a person as himself. An ejacu- lation escaped my lips ; and I pointed in the direc- tion which they had taken, — adding that I feared they had been watching the carriage to see whither it was going, and perhaps discover its destination. Again did Mr. Alvanly assure me that I need not be frightened : for even if the men entertained any iniquitous design, it was evident they had now altogether decamped on perceiving that their sus- picious movements were observed by me. StiU I felt a certain vague trouble in my mind — and could not help reflecting on the truth of the maxim that all sweets in this life are more or less mingled with bitters : for even the possession of costly gems was now accompanied with its anxiety and care. We returned to the lodgings : and gradually the disagreeable impression made upon me by the occurrence I have related, wore off. On the following day, while Mr. Alvanly waa J 40 KOS.V LAMBRUT. ab^ ‘nt, Captain Fortoscuo paid me a visit. Ills countenance was somewhat (lushed ; and ho in- formed mo that ho had been to a ehampagno oreakfast, given by a nobleman of his aequaintaneo. no was more or less under the influence of the wine ho had drunk, — though very far from being what might bo termed actually tipsy. Ho rattled away with an unusual volubility — talked with a levity which, being distasteful, I received with coldness — and not observing, or else not choosing to observe, my glacial demeanour, ho began to pay me some of those flattering compliments which had all tho signiflcancy of overtures. I gave him, as pointedly as I could, to understand that this style of discourse was disagreeable; and just at that moment Mrs. Harborough, the landlady, entered the room to bring me a letter, the maid not being at the moment in tho way. Tho letter was merely one from Mr. Alvanly to tell me that he purposed to take me to the Opera in the even- ing, and begging me to be dressed ready by tho time he came. Captain Fortescue, in a manner but little consistent with his wmnted good taste, launched out into praises of Mrs. Harborough’s handsome person, as soon as she had quitted the room; and methought he did this by way of avenging himself for the coldness with which I had received his own half-implied overtures. I listened in silence, and with a marked reserve : so that he suddenly started up, and with evident ill- humour bade me good afternoon. I issued from the di*awing-room almost imme- diately upon his leaving it — and was ascending to my dressing-chamber, when I heard voices talking in the passage below. As I at once recognised them to be the voices of the Captain and Mrs. Harborough, I could not help pausing to listen : but all I caught was an invitation from the land- lady for the Captain to step into her own parlour and take a little refreshment. He accepted it: for I heard that parlour-door close, the front one not being opened to aflbrd him egress. I could not fancy wherefore I should bo suddenly smitten with a feeling of annoyance at the little incident which I have described. Was it that I entertained, in the secret depths of my soul, a certain sentiment in favour of Heginald Fortescue ? Such was the question which I asked myself when ascending to my dressing-room ; and while engaged in the occu- pations of the toilet, I could not possibly banish the circumstance from my mind. If I were jealous at what had occurred, it must be that I really had some little predilection for tho handsome young guardsman. I would not however admit this much to myself : and yet the suspicion that it was the truth, fluttered vaguely and indefinitely in my heart. By tho aid of Frances, I was apparelled in tho most elegant manner : my hair was on this occa- sion arranged in bands instead of in flowing ring- lets ; and 1 wore the diamonds wliich Mr. Alvanly had purchased for me. When my toilet was com- pleted, I descended to tlio drawing-room — where I found Gustavus waiting my presence ; and lie was in perfect raptures with my beauty. Wo hurried over tho dinner ; and at tlio proper time entered tho carriage to proceed to the Opera. Tlio house was crowded with a brilliant assem- blage : tho scene was magnificent; and tho flood of light was reflected in tho costly gems worn by tho female portion of the nndicnce. Never lioforo had I bohehl such an assemhlago of fominino charms. Whichever way the eyes turned, they settled upon some delightful specimen of loveliness ; and mo- thought that it was no wonder if tho gentlemen’s opera-glasses should frequently take the circuit of tho boxes within their range, instead of being altogether fixed upon the stage. I must not bo accused of vanity if I observe that many of those glasses were directed tow'ards me ; and Mr. Alvanly appeared both proud and delighted at tho attention thus bestow’cd upon me. In the course of tho even- ing some of our male acquaintances came to our box, and chatted with us for a while. One or two of them were very anxious that we should go and sup with them and their ladies after the entertain- ments were over : but I threw a glance at Mr. Alvanly to give him to understand that I would rather not accept the invitation ; and it was accordingly declined. It was at a moment when wo were alone to- gether in the box — and at rather a late hour in tho evening — that Mr. Alvanly directed my atten- tion to a very beautiful young female who was seated in the pit, and who was accompanied by a fashionably dressed gentleman. At the moment my eyes w'cre thrown in that direction, the young female was sitting in such a manner as to prevent mo from obtaining a view of her companion’s countenance : but while I was still regarding them, she leant forward — and then, to my mingled aston- ishment and dismay, I at once recognised in her companion my own brother. Yes — it was Cyril who was seated by her side, — Cyril elegantly dressed — with a gold chain festooning over his white waistcoat — and with every appearance of being in good circumstances. Amazement sealed my lips ; or else under the influence of that sudden surprise an ejaculation would have burst forth. Gustavus was at the time looking in some other direction ; and he did not therefore perceive the emotion which agitated me. I was however about to tell him of the discovery which I had just made ; when it struck me that it would be impolitic to do so. The sickening thought flashed to my mind that Cyril could not possibly be pursuing a correct and steady course : for how could he honestly or honourably be possessed of the means to dress like a fashionable gentleman, frequent the Opera, and perhaps keep a mistress ? — for that in this light the young female stood towards him, I had littla doubt. If therefore he were really doing wrong- living extravagantly, plunging recklessly into debt| or perhaps even worse — it would not be wise of me to point him out to Mr. Alvanly as my brother,— inasmuch as by his conduct ho might disgrace me even more deeply than I was already disgraced by my own. If there were an exposure my protectOB might become ashamed of his connexion with mo ; and tho results would bo most disastrous to myself. Such were tho hurried calculations which swept through my mind, and strengthened that seal which amazement in tho first instance had placed upon my lips. I sat back in tho box, so as to avoid being scon by Cyril, if ho had not already observed mo ; and when Mr. Alvanly asked if anything were the matter, I pleaded headache arising from the heat of tho house. He proposed that wo should (ako our departure ; and I gladly, thankfully gave my assent, lie wont forth to see if tho carriage KOSA LAMBERT. 41 vrere already in attendance, it being somewbat earlier than it was ordered to come. I was now alone in the box — and was plunged in painful re- flection as to what course Cyril could be possibly pursuing, — I was also hesitating mthin myself whether I should not let him see me make some sign for him to come up and speak to me — when the door of the box abruptly opened : but instead of Mr. Alvanly re-appearing, Horace Rockingham presented himself before me. His countenance wore an expression of fiendish vindictiveness and sardonic malignity, as he bent his eyes upon me, — 1 those eyes which flashed forth that sinister fire I which at times indicated the fierce working of his evil passions. “ Look, Rose !” he said, in a low rapid whisper, as he pointed towards that part of the pit where I had seen my brother with the young female : “through him will I be bitterly avenged upon you !” No. 6 “Vile boy !” I ejaculated, but in an undertone ; “ what mean you ? Hid I not dearly Oh ! far too dearly, piuchase his safety by the sale of my virtue P” “ Yes : but it is in other ways that I am work- ing out my revenge,” he immediately answered ; “ and perhaps it will include yourself likewise !” With these words, uttered with all the diabolic fierceness of concentrated passion, he quitted the box as abruptly as he had entered it. I had started up from my seat when he made his appear- ance : I now sank back in my chair like one anni- hilated. What could he mean ? — what toils was he weaving around my xmfortunate brother ? If he had explained himself, I should at least know the worst : but there was something horrible in the state of uncertainty in which he left me. Indeed, I was scarcely enabled to recover any degree of composure by the time Gustavus returned to the boxj and then, on perceiving how deadly pale I 42 nOSA LAMBEliT. lookerl, lie expressed his fears that 1 was more in- disposed than 1 Jiad chosen to admit. 'I'lie earria;Te was in readiness; and ho hastened to escort me from the theatre. We descended the stairs — we passed throiif^h j the crush-room, now comparatively empty and we issued forth into the colonnade. Just at that moment a tall, stout, flauntingly dressed female, with painted cheeks and a brazen look — and who was evidently somewhat under the influence of strong liquor — posted herself right in front of me ; and with a terrible imprecation, accompanied by a aoarse Iciiugh, exclaimed, “ Well, anybody can see what you are ! You are no wife, modest as you pretend to look ; and one of these days you will be tramping the pavement as I am now !” 1 recoiled with indescribable horror from the presence of that disgusting woman : the very air seemed to be rendered pestilential by her breath : I shrank back with a loathing as strong as if it were from the contact of a mendicant wrapped in rotting rags ; — and the dreadful words she uttered, overwhelmed me with shame and confusion. They struck me, too, with the frightful force of a pro- phecy ; and if Gustavus had not caught me in his arms, I should have sunk down upon the pave- ment. Several other unfortunate females, — as gaudily dressed and as highly painted as herself, and who were grouped together at a little dis- tance, — burst forth into mocking, jeering laughter ; and as I swept my affrighted looks around, I be- held Horatio Rockingham disappearing behind a pillar at a little distance. But I caught the ex- pression of his vanishing countenance as the glare of the lamp light shone upon it ere the column hid him from my view ; and as there was a horrible keenness in my vision at the moment, I saw enough of that countenance to show me that its natural beauty was distorted by an expression of devilish malignity. Mr. Alvanly bore me half- fainting into the carriage, which at once drove away; and on reaching Jermyn Street, I imme- diately went to bed — ill, feverish, and mentally wretched. Gustavus was most anxious to send for medical assistance; but I assured him tliat I required none, and should be better in the morn- ing. I passed a miserable sleepless night, — my mind haunted with all kinds of horrors : for I had re- ceived more than one proof that Horace Rocking- ham was busying himself with purposes of an implacable vengeance, alike against my brother and myself. That lie had set that impudent woman to insult me in the presence of all the persons assembled at the time at the Opera-door and in the Colonnade, I could not doubt. I had been brought to shame in the eyes of the very lacqueys attached to the carriages in w'aiting; and the loose women of the pavtment had levelled their jeering laughter at mo. But, Oh ! that prophecy- it was i/iis wliich had stricken the cruellest blow: for it seemed fraught - though proclaimed by the tongue of ribald levity — with the awful horror of stupendous truth. No wonder that T j)ashc*d a restless night, and that 1 rose in tlic rnorjiing sick in body and sick at. heart. As J did not however choose to give l\lr. Al- vanly any exphinal ions in re(t])ect to the conduel cf Horace Ihjckingham, for I'ear that lu' sliould tell that I hail brought it all upon myself by the vengeance J had wreaki-d upnii hi a in reMpret to Lady ljueia (’‘allhorp-, ( eo h ivo ireil lo |,i r. suadc liim that J was much la tter tlian I r -.dly was; and under this inqire, .ion he left Tiie -oon after breakfast. Then, on (inding myself almu', I reflected that I had done wrong not to take s eoo measure on tlic iirovious night to coinmunie ite with Cyril. If J had done so, f might at h’ast warn my brother agiiinst the maehinations, what- soever they were, of the vindictive lloruee Itock- ingham. But while 1 was thus mcilitating, a bud knock resounded through the house; and in a few minutes the maid came up handing me a card, w'ith the intimation that the gentleman whogo name it bore requested to see me. That nama was ATr. Cyril Ijamhert. For a few ino nents I w'as overwliclmcd with so many and such con- flicting emotions, that I was unable to give utter- ance to a single word ; and when I raised my eyes, I saw that the maid was contemjilaling me with an earnest attention. She no doubt, from the identity of names, suspected that tlie visitor was my brother; and perhaps fancied tliat I trembled lest he came to reproach me. Recovering from my confusion, I bade her show ilr. Lambert up ; and during the minute whicli elapsed ere he made his appearance, I wondered in torturing suspense how he would greet me — how w'o should dare to look each other in the face ! When the door opened, I could not glance towards him : I sat upon the sofa with averted looks : but I was quickly startled by the tone of reckless roystering jollity and devil-me-care gaiety in which h« ad- dressed me. “ "Well, Rose my girl, so we meet at last !” ho exclaimed : and instead of embracing me, or even so much as offering me his hand, he flung himself upon a chair opposite to whe:^e I was placed. “ Uncommon handsome rooms, these of your’s ! evei*y thing devilish nice and pleasant ! So I sup- pose you are feathering your nest to your heart’s content ?” “ Oh, Cyril !” I murmured, overwhelmed with shame and confusion, and the tears pouring from my eyes: then, obedient to the impulse of that strong love wdiich I bore my brother, I threw myself upon his breast, wound my arms about his neck, and sobbed convulsively. “ Why, what the deuce docs this mean ?” ho exclaimed, suffering rather than reciprocating my caresses. “ Ybu don’t think that I am come to blow you up ? Not I indeed ! On the contrary, I am uncommon glad to see you in such good f.'ather. It was only this morning I knew where you were; or else I should have found you out liefore.” “ Have you been long in London, Cyril ?” I in- quired, returning to my seat, wiping away my tears, and endeavouring to compose myself as well as I W'as able. “ Only about a fortnight,” ho answered ; and I wonder bow it is that you and I have not fallen in with each other before this. But I suppose that you ride in your carriage as well ns I do ; and carriage-folks are less likely to observe each other than those vulgar persons who go on foot.” “■ Your earriago, Cyril P”1 cried, smiKcnwith ♦'VOn a slid worse misgiving in respect to his mode of life than that whicli had seized upon lao th® prccedi -ig iiiglit at (he Opera. “ Well, if not a carriage,” ho answered, “ at all EOSA T.AMBKRT. 43 events an uncommon good substitute for one. Look bere !” — and starting from his seat, he datched me by the arm, and drew me to the window. “ Tiiere !” Jio added ; “ you see as in-etty a turn-out as any in all London.” I observed at tbe door a very handsome cabriolet, with a splendid horse beautifully caparisoned, — the harness indeed being too much covered with silver to be exactly consistent with good taste ; and a youth in an elegant livery standing by the animal’s head. “ Wiiat do you think of that ?” demanded my brother, fixing upon me a look of triiunphant satisfaction, “ But the means, Cyril ?” I said, half urgently, half reproachfully : “ whence do they come ? how do you obtain the resources for this costly mode of life'?” “ ’Pon my soul !” he ejaculated, with a loud boisterous laugh, “ this is rather too good ! Do I ask you how it is you are living in. this splendidly furnished house— how you got that gold watch and chain — how it is you are siu’rounded by luxu- ries ” “ Cyril !” I murmured : and my countenance was flushed with the crimson of shame ; for his woi’ds, so lightly and flippantly uttered, rendered me most excruciatingly alive to the gilded igno- miny of my position ; and I would much rather he had overwhelmed me with reproaches and that he had administered upbraidings, than have thus seemed to rejoice in all the evidences of his sister’s degradation. “What nonsense is this ?” he ejaculated. “You would not have me think you have settled down into a steady married life. If so, you would not be still Miss Lambert, hiever do you mind how I live : for I sha’n^t trouble myself about your pro- ceedings. You see that I am in good feather j and I am glad that you are the same.” “ I do not hesitate to confess, Cyril,” I an- swered, speaking very seriously, “ that having been made the victim of cold hard-heartedness first, and of treachery afterwards, I accept my destiny. But at least I do nothing that can bring me within the reach of the law ” “ What the deuce would you have me under- stand P” exclaimed my brother fiercely ; so that his very manner enhanced all my former misgivings to an excruciating degree. “No more of that, if you please ! I am not come to ask you for money ” “ If you had, Cyril,” I exclaimed vehemently, you should have it — and in welcome !” “ Tiiank you, Bose,” he replied coolly ; “ but I don’t want it.” “ And our parents, Cyril ?” I said, scarcely daring thus to allude to those who were still so dear to me, and of whom I so often thought with bitter tears and a sad tightening at the heart. “Oh, the old people?” responded my brother flippantly. “ I have not heard of them for a long time ; but I dare say that mother is still in her old easy-chair, and father is jogging on, by the help of the brandy -bottle, much alter the old style. You see, I very soon cut Hawthorn when once things had come to a certain pass We won’t however have any unpleasant allusions to bygone affairs. I suppose you know that the jiarsonage was all re- furnished and the debts were paid off? So I told father that if he would give me fifty pounds, I would go and seek my fortune. I knocked about in the country for some time j but falling in with two or throe jovial blades, we made a trip to the Continent, and won a lot of money at cards of .an English gentleman Avhoso purse was ampler than his brains. Then I came to London — about a fortnight back, as I told you just now ; and here I I am in full feather !” , His words, though uttered with a levity against ; which my soul revolted, afforded me some little re- lief, — inasmuch as they gave mo to understand that ' his resources were in the gaming-table, whereas I had feared that they might have been of a far more dangerous and iniquitous character. I “ And how did you find out my place of abode ?” ^ I presently inquired. I “Ah! a very extraordinary and unaccountable ; thing,” ejaculated Cyril. “An anonymous note, written in a vile scrawling hand, little better than mere pothooks and hangers strung together, was delivered at my lodgings in Bond Street at break- fast time this morning. The messenger, — who, it appeared on inquiry, was a slatternly dressed female — a trull of a servant girl, I suppose, — has- tened away directly she had given in the precious billet at the door. I had some trouble in deci- phering it : but when I did succeed in making it out, all it contained was just this— ‘Tom* sister' Miss Lambert is living at No\ Jermyn Street.^ ” I could not help thinking that Horace Bocking- ham was at the bottom of the incident just related ; and I reflected for a few moments how far the bringing together of myself and brother might possibly enter into his scheme of vengeance. At length I said, “Are you aware, Cyril, that Mr. Bockingham — I mean the young man — is in Lon- don ?” “ No — I have not seen him,” he responded. “ I should like to !” he added eagerly : “ for though such a milksop of a boy, he has plenty of money.” “ Beware of him — beware of him, Cyril !” was the passionate exclamation which burst from my lips : then perceiving that my brother was totally at a loss to comprehend me, I went on to say in the same impetuous manner, “ Yes — beware of him ! he is our mortal enemy ! It was he who made me his victim 1” “ Ah !” ejaculated Cyril, as if a light suddenly broke in upon him : “ now I understand ! That accounts for your having become aware of the little incident you know what I mean — and I always wondered how the deuce you came to learn j it. I thought that I must have talked in my I sleep, or something.” I “No, Cyril,” I answered solemnly j “it was to j save you from the consequences of the deed, that I surrendered myself up to Horace Bockingham! But for heaven’s sake do not seek to avenge my wrongs ! I wish you not to peril your life in a duel ” “ Duel be hanged ! Not I indesd !” exclaimed my brother. “ There is no such very great harm done, since it has been the means, directly or indirectly, of leading you. to your present good fortune ” “ Good fortune !” I echoed bitterly : but not choosing to expatiate upon that point, I hastened to observe, “ Yes, Cyril— Horace Bockingham has 44 JIOSA LAMBERT. vowpfl the destruction both of yourself and me. 1 was at the Opera last night ” “ And so was I. How strange ! Hut I did not see you : I suppose you were in one of the boxes — but I was in the pit; and to fell you the truth, juy companion — one of your sex,” he added with a significant laugh, “ though as beautiful as an angel, is a very dragon of jealousy ; and if she had seen mo looking about at the ladies, she would have thought no more of making a scene in the place than I should of lighting my cigar. But what about last night ?” “You did not see lloraco llockingham there? No. Well, but he saw you; and it was with a fiendish delight he came to my box and pointed you out to mo. Then was it that he vowed to bo revenged on me through you — and perhaps like- wise to include my own self in his malignant project.” “ Who cares for such nonsense as this P” ex- claimed my brother contemptuously. “ I am sur- prised at you, liose, giving v/ay to such stupid apprehensions. A miserable whipper-snapper like that 1 will wring his neck for him the next time he happens to fall in my way !” “ Cyril,” I exclaimed, “ if you have the slightest regal’d for me — if one scintillation of that love which you were wont to bear me, remains in your breast ” “ The deuce*! how marvellous sentimental you are, Bose !” interrupted my brother, ivith a loud boisterous laugh. “ One would really think you had been reading all the love-sick, maudlin, wishy- washy novels of the day. But I know what you mean : you want me to promise that I will leave Horace Kockingham alone ? Well, I am sure, if it will please you, I don’t mind giving such a pledge. And now I must say good bye: for I have promised to go and take Caroline out for a drive.” “ And how long,” I asked, “ have you known this Caroline ? — for I presume you are alluding to the young person whom I saw with you last night at the Opera ?” “Exactly so. How long have I known her? Only since I have been in London.” “ A fortnight ?” I said inquiringly. “Yes. The fact is, there were two floors to let at the same time in the house where I am living : and I took one. The very next day the other floor was let : and who should be the new lodger, but this same Caroline Seymour? Wo soon got on friendly terms. The first time wo met on the stairs, wc bowed to each other — the next time we smiled — the third time we stopped and chatted — the fourth I took her hand — the fifth I kissed her — and the sixth wo came to a thorough under- standing together, — all tliis taking place within about forty-eight hours. So you see it was a con- quest rapidly made; and you must give mo credit for good taste.” “ 1 only hope, (!yril,” was my observation, “that she will not lead you into extravagances which you will have no i)ossibl(! means of sus- taining.” “That’s my look out!” ejncnlated my In'othor. “ \ shall come and see you again soon — and with this remark Ik' sauntered emt of the aj'art- men( . 'J'ho eflect rjf Ihis im'etiiig was far from calcu- lated to cheer my si)irits, alrcmly so desponding. Whatever my father and mother might have done, I could not help feeling their i)o«ition deeply,-— abandoned ns they were in their old ago by both their childreii, anrl involved in uncertainty as to our fate. I thought of w-riting them a letter to give some assurances that wc were both alive, in good health, .and doing well : but when I took up my pen for this pur[)ose, it dropped from my hand. How could 1 tr.ansmit to them a falsehood which would betray itself ? how could 1 hope that they would believe my t.alc, when 1 dared not give them the slightest clue to our whereabouts? No; it w’ere better, after all, to lcon rao in the evening; as 1 knew that Mr. Alvanly ha “ But, Gustavus,” I interjected, with some little I degree of uneasiness, “ suppose the error should be , recollected when you present the card ” i “ Banish all misgivings,” he at once replied : ! “ for you must of necessity comprehend that there I is no announcement of each successive arrival’s j name : or else it would destroy the incognito ; which the masqued costumes are intended for us I to preserve— and the disguises would of course be ! unavailing.” i “ I understand,” I said, now completely relieved. I It is to be a ball, then, on a very grand scale ?” “ Such is the report,” answered Gustavus. “ Do j not suffer yourself to bo dazzled or bewildered by j the brilliancy of the scene — appear quite at home I — conduct yourself as if perfectly accustomed to j such entertainments — and all will be well. No doubt you will have to dance — as I also must do; and therefore we may be separated for a consider- able part of the evening.” In such conversation as this about half-an-hour was whiled away until the carriage drove into the grounds, in the midst of which stood the mansion that was our destination. A train of equipages, forming a long lino, was passing in at one gate, setting down at the gratid entrance, and passing out of another gate. What with the lamps of the carriages, of the gateways, and of the portico, as well as with the Hood of lustre that glowed forth from the hall, the immense portals of whieh stood wide (jpen, it was a j)erfect blaze of light. Fvery window too slione as if the interior of the dwelling itself were in a conflagration. Numerous domes- tics, in gorg(!Ous liveries, were in attendance on the steps, the threshold, and within the hall; uud the utmost order was preserved, us well as an extraordinary despatch exhibited, in the setting- down of the company. Gustavus assisted mo to alight : we passed into the hall, where a domestic in plain clothes — the only one so aj)parelled, and therefore most probably the steward or butler— received the card which he j)resentcd. Only just glancing at it, the man droj)p(Tl it into a basket behind liim; and Mr. Alvanly led mo towards the staircase, which was brilliantly lighted with lamps, and artistically arranged with evergreens and flowers that formed an embowering avenue of ver- dure intermixed with floral beauties. A perfect tide of human beings — ladies and gentlemen, dis- playing every conceivable variety of costume, be- longing to all climes and all ages— was pouring up this staircase, which was so wide as to allow, if necessary, four persons to walk abreast with the greatest ease. We reached a landing embellished with some exquisite pieces of sculpture — also decorated with evergreens and flowers; and on the opposite side of which from the staircase, the unfolded gilded portals afforded a view of an immense saloon. Into this sumptuously furnished apartment we proceeded ; and on one side, near the entrance, I beheld an elderly lady, very thin and very ugly,' but dressed in the most elegant manner — indeed, far too elegant for one of her years and withered appearance. She wore no mask — nor was it a fancy costume which she had on ; and therefore I at once concluded that she was the mistress of the house. Besides, I observed that the guests, as they entered, passed round by where she stood, and paid their respects to this lady. I however put the whispered question to Gustavus, whether my conjecture was right, that she was the mistress of the mansion ? ' “ Yes, Kose,” he answered. “ Don’t start, now — don’t utter any ejaculation at what I am going to say That lady is the Marchioness of Sud- bury.” I was astonished : nay, more — astounded : for I had heard that the Marchioness of Sudbury was a sister of the Earl of Eveleigh. No doubt Gus- tavus felt that a sort of electric thrill swept through me as I leant upon his arm : for he quickly ob- served, “ Be cautious, Kose. No emotion, I con- jure you !” I had not time to make any remark, nor put another question, ere we stood in the presence of the Marchioness of Sudbury, and made our bows, which she very graciously acknowledged, — observ- ing in language adapted to the occasion, “ Wel- come, gallant Sir Walter Kaleigh : for your appearance tells me that you are that personifica- tion of chivalrous politeness whom I have named. And you too. Lady of Seville,” she added, now addressing herself to me, “welcome also. You come from your warm Andalusian clime to brighten and embellish our colder and more northern region.” Wo bowed again, and passed on. The saloon led to other apartments, all flooded with lustre- all sumptuously furnished, and decorated with evergreens and garlands. There wore vases, too, which exhaled a delicious perfume — not over- powering in its fragrance, but imparting a fresh- ness to the atmosphere, whieh otherwise would have boon too boated, notwithstanding the pro- i ROSA LAMUlillT. 57 cautions judiciously taken to have tlie suite of rooms well ventilated. At tlie extremity of this suite there was a verandah, with which open easements communicated, and which looked upon the grounds at the back of the mansion. These grounds were lighted with myriads of variegated lamps ; and the scene presented a beautiful coMj? d’oeil when viewed from the verandah. At one end of this verandah, a flight of steps led down into the grounds : but as none of the guests had as yet descended thither, Gustavus conducted me back into the saloons, that we might observe the numerous fancy-dresses more at our leisure than we had hitherto done. I have already said that these costumes were of infinite variety : — I may now add that some were elegant and graceful, others ludicrous and gro- tesque-some picturesque, others quaint — some adopted for the purpose of pleasing, others for that of amusing. But it would be impossible, as No. 8 it would likewise be tedious, to enter on anything like an elaborate description of the fancy-dresses : I must therefore pass over ail details in this re- spect, — simply observing that notwithstanding the caution I had received in the carriage from Mr. Alvanly, I found myself so bewildered with delight — so astonished and dazzled, that if he had not led me along, I should have stood still to gaze in con- fused wonder and admiration upon the tide of masques now pouring through the rooms. Presently a magnificent brass band struck up, sending its grand harmony swelling through the saloons, and adding to the exhilaration of the scene. One of the spacious apartments had the carpet taken up and the floor chalked for dancing. Preparations for the first quadriUe were now being made : gentlemen were choosing their partners— which, as a matter of course, they had to do ac- cording as the figure, costume, and general appear- ance of the ladies respectively struck their fancy : •ROSA LAMBERT. CR for there was no possibility of judging ])y llic countenances^ — all present, with the single excep- tion of the lady of the house, being masked or closely veiled. A gentleman, dressed in some rich fancy costume, came and solicited my hand : I ac- cepted the offer ; and separating from Mr. Alvanly, stood up with my partner in the dance. A few minutes afterwards I observed Gustavus place him- self with a lady as our vis-a-vis ; and the quadrille commenced. My partner — wlio, as far as 1 could judge, was a middle-aged man — was agreeable enough in his conversation, which, without an effort, ho rendered of that sparkling and lively character which was fitted for the occasion. He of course made not the slightest attempt to dis- cover who I was: nor did he drop a hint who he himself might bo. When the quadrille was over, we promenaded two or. three times round the room, with the others Avho had been dancing ; and then he conducted me to a seat, — where I was almost immediately joined by Gustavus. I was about to ask him a certain question, when another masque came and invited me for the next quadrille.j — and, to be brief, I danced four or five consecu- tively with different partners, until I felt both heated and weai’y. The rooms indeed had by this time become almost suffocating in their tempera- ture, notwithstanding the precautions for ventila- tion, the fragrance of the flowers, and the perfume from the vases : so that the guests began to desert the saloons and descend into the grounds. Mr. i Alvanly offered to conduct me thither; and as j the rumour now circulated that there were to : be fireworks, the whole company made for the open air. As Alvanly was leading me towards the centre of the spacious grounds, where the fireworks were ! to be let off from the interior of an elegantly fashioned Chinese pagoda hung with myriads of lamps, — I recollected the question which so many times for an hoixr past I had meant to put to him, but for which I had as yet found no opportunity. “ Tell me, Gustavus,” I said, as we drew a little apart from the throng of masques pressing on to- wards the pagoda, — “ tell me, had you not some particular motive, beyond the bare thought of affording mo pleasure, in bringing me hither ?” What motive could I have had, except the one j you specify ?” — and yet methought there was i something in his accents which justified my sus- I picion. “It seemed so singular,” I responded, “that you should have brought mo to the house of the hiarl of Evcleigh’s sister.” “ It is a mere coincidence. Tho other day, when you were telling me about the antiquated Earl’s overtures,” continued Gustavus, “I sud- denly recollected tliat I had received the Mar- I cbionc'is of Sudbury’s card of invitation ; and 1 tlierelbre I thought I would bring you.” “jAnd do you suppose,” I asked, “ that Lord Eveleigli and his I'urnily are here?” “ My dear girl,” exclaimed Alvanly, “how can I poHsihly answer the (|uestion ? I have not sufil- eient jicnetration to see through all these disguises. This however I do know — lhat tho Countess of Eveleigli anil the rest of the family, who were down in tho country, carno up to Jjoiidon a day or two back ; and it might bo in order to be jiroscnt on this occasion. JUit wJiat does it matter to you. fiosc ? IVo one can penetrate your disguise ono whit more than wo can jicnotralc (ho others.” T was not altogether satisfied by what Gustavus said: methought there was a rcrtaln assumed levity and artificial indifference in (ho tone of his obscrva(ions; and the suspicion (hat ho really had some ulterior motive, lingered in my mind. L ■was about to question him farlhor, when (hero was a sudden explosion of fireworks, accompanied by a general rush towai-ds the jiagoda from the roof of which this ^and pyrotechnic illumination burst forth. Hilarious gaiety— a wild delight- seemed to have taken possession of the hundreds thronging around. These grown-up peojile— many no doubt of mature years, and some evidently far advanced in age,— all appeared to have beconi: children once more : but still above all, tho tone and temper of good breeding and courteou.s pro- priety were universally apparent. A'ollcy after volley of fireworks went up : the effect was really splendid, as tho combustibles burst in the air high over-head, scattering about scintil- lations of all prismatic hues. Thus for a quarter of an hour the pyrotechnic exhibition was most satisfactory and entertaining — until a misadventui-e that might have been of a more serious character, occurred. A firework, instead of whirling straight up into the air to a considerable height, ascended but a short distanee, and that obliquely — and then fell in the midst of the crowded assemblage. Tho effect produced was precisely as if a bomb -shell had suddenly fallen amongst the company : con- fusion and dismay prevailed — shrieks of terror bxu’st forth from the ladies — cries and ejaculations of alarm from the lips of the gentlemen ; and si- multaneously therewith, there was a general rush from the immediate point where the rocket had fallen. Upwards of a thousand persons were there gathered at the time ; and the crowd bursting away from a central point, the entire mass was agitated, broken up, and flung into confusion as if in the eddies of a whh'lpool. T^umbers were thrown down — cries and shrieks redoubled : those on tho outskirts hurried off in every dhection — and as there was a tremendous rush in the very point where I and Gustavus were standing at the mo- ment, we were separated — we were thrust asunder indeed as suddenly and as violently as if a troop of mad bulls had dashed between us. I was seized with a panic terror ; I fancied that flames would burst forth all around — that the ladies’ dresses must be inevitably set in a blaze. I ran as if for my life. Tripping over the tendrils of some creeping plant that twined beyond the border of a parterre, I foil headlong. Three or four ladies who were close at my heels, fell like- wise : it was a wild scramble — and when I sprang to my feet again, my veil and my mask had been torn off in tho turmoil. I rushed madly on, tho terror arisuig from the rocket having all in an instant yielded to one produced by another cause. I was unmasked— unveiled : my countenance was exposed — it was possible I might be recognised — aiul I remembered how urgent had been IMr. Alvanly’s instructions that I should keep myself well disguised. Wildly Hooked around : the com- jiany wore still flying in every direction — for all that I have described was tho woi'k of but a few moments. Ah ! what did I see before mo upon the grass ? A garment ! It was a gray domino. KOSA LAMBEET. 59 1 I I which had evidently either come ofi‘ in the wild flight of its wearer, or else had been let loose in the dread that the combustibles might overtake it. I seized upon this domino: it was of elegant fashion, richly embroidered : and without pausing ' for an instant to reflect on the propriety or im- propriety of self-appropriating it, I put it on. In- deed a single instant was sufiicient for me to envelop myself therewith. The hood was drawn over my countenance : I was once more cfFeetually disguised. Now I stopped short and looked around in ’ search of Alvanly. At that moment a masque, wearing the costume of a King’s Page in the time of Henry VIII, accosted me, and said in a hm*- riod manner, “ This way, Lucia — this way !” Good heavens, it was the voice of Horace Eock- ingham ! I recognised it at once. Astonishment riveted me to the spot ; and between the slight opening which I had left in the hood, did I survey him. His costume was rich and elegant — ad- mhably becoming his slight, short, symmetrical figui-e ; and a black silk mask completely covered his countenance. “ Come, Lucia — come, I say !” he again whis- pered in a huiTied and excited manner, as he doubtless fancied that I hesitated. “Now is the opportunity to converse for a moment, while all is in confusion !” I regained my self-possession in an instant. I saw that I was taken for Lady Lucia Galthorpe : it was evident that there was some appointment, or at least some kind of understanding betwixt Horace Eockinghdln and Lord Eveieigh’s daughter : perhaps everything was not really broken off be- tween them? At all events I was resolved to know, if possible. “Come !” he said: and snatching at my hand, he hurried me along with him away from the vicinity of the pagoda. We phmged into an avenue where the varie- gated lamps were only suspended around the en- trance ; and a few moments brought us into the almost complete obscmdty caused by the over- arching trees. There was a seat at a short dis- tance down this avenue ; and thither Horace led me, placing himself by my side. “ I thought I should never got an opportunity to speak to you,” Eockingham at once went on to say, with the same rapid utterance as before. Your father seemed determined to keep you to himself, just for all the world as if he suspected that you had arranged to meet me here. I did not get your letter and the invitation-card in time yesterday to send you an answer by the messenger w^ho brought them: but of course you felt sure that I should come. You did well to send me a blank card : and I hlled it up with the name of Smith. I made sure that out of such an immense concourse there must be several Smiths, and that it was therefore the safest one to adopt. But to the point, Lucia ! I never saw such a letter in my life as you wrote me : it was half bitterness, half plaintiveness. You say that you can’t pos- sibly conceal your situation much longer — that you are afraid your maid already suspects it — and that I must marry you at once. But my dear girl Why don’t you speak ?” Horace stopped short — and paused for a few moments, evidently waiting for an answer. Though astounded at the revelation which had just fallen upon my ears, I was nevertheless sufficiently col- lected to be aware that some part must be played in order to sustain his belief that it was really Lady Lucia Calthorpe whom he was address- ing. What better could I do — or what would seem more natural under the circumstances — than to sob and weep ? I accordingly pretended to do both. “Well, well, Lucia,” continued Horace, “I have ) no doubt you feel somewhat imhappy ; and I am { really sorry for it. You know very well I meant I to marry you at the time — and would have done so I if your father had not broken it off. But things I are rather altered now ; and though what I am I going to tell you is of course a profound secret, j yet I must reveal it to you, so as to convince you j that I am not trying to shuffle unhandsomely out j of an engagement. The fact is, Lucia, my father has just sustained such a tremendous loss by an unlucky speculation into which he was foolish enough to enter, that it is ten to one he will be totally ruined in a few weeks. Nothing but a miracle can save him. He confessed this to me with tears in his eyes yesterday morning ; and de- pend upon it, it must be a very serious thing in- deed that could bring tears into his eyes. So now, Lucia, you know the truth. Of coimse you will keep it to yourself : indeed, you can have no in- terest in mentioning it ; and yoiu* own good sense will show you that it would be utter madness for me to do as you ask and run away with you. I could not keep a wife : perhaps in a short time I sha’n’t be able to keep myself. You must manage for the best. Make a confidante of yom* mother — or else of your aunt, old Lady Sudbury ; and the affair will be hushed up. You can go into the country or on the Continent ,* and if the child lives But persons are coming ! You go back that way — I will hasten off in this direction !” With these words he darted away, like an arrow shot from a bow, farther along the avenue, and was in a moment lost in the obscurity : while I advanced towards the illuminated entrance — and passing by a group of masques who were entering the shady walk, and whose voices had met our ears, I emerged forth again upon the brilliantly lighted grounds. I had not a minute’s leisure to reflect upon the astounding revelations I had learnt from Horace Eockingham’s lips, ere I beheld Mr. Al- vanly hastening about with my veil and mask in his hands, searching for me in every direction. “ Here I am, Gustavus 1” I said, quickly accost- ing him. “You, Eose?” he ejaculated, in amazement. “ But whence that domino ?” “ I lost those things,” I answered, pointing to what he carried in his hands, “in the con- fusion of the flight. I was bewildered and terri- fied at finding myself suddenly stripped of my disguise — this one lay in my path — I snatched it up— put it on — and have been looking for you ever since :” — for I did not choose to mention a single syllable in reference to the startling adven- ture I had just experienced with Horace Eock- ingham. “ Well, Eose,” he observed; laughing heartily at my explanations, “ you did wisely in one sense ; but this assumption of a garb not your own, might have led to singular complications — particularly,” 60 nOSk LAMBEET. ho added, ia a gay jesting manner, “ if that gray domino had been speeially worn for an appoint- ment of love. However, come amongst those trees, and make the requisite change.” This was soon done. Fortunately my veil was not torn — only a little soiled; and I was once more apparelled as a lady of Seville. “ But what shall we do with the domino ?” I asked. “Leave it where you found it,” he replied, flinging it upon the grass : and fortunately no one observed the proceeding. I now took his arm ; and he led me again towards the pagoda, where a con- siderable portion of the company had re-assembled, the remainder having returned to the saloons ; for they had no doubt seen quite enough of the fire- works. I learnt from Alvanly that no accident had arisen from the misadventiue — and that the alarm was the most serious result of it. It was promptly announced by the pyrotechnist that there would be no farther display ; and the throng dis- persing into small parties, spread over the grounds. Mr. Alvanly and I sauntered along : but it soon occurred to mo that he was searching for some one in particular. That the object of his curiosity was of the male sex, I likewise felt assured : for every time a masked gentleman drew near, he studied him with attention. “You are looking for some one, Gustavus ?” I said. “ To confess the truth, I am,” was his response. “Who may it be ?” I asked. “ You shall see in a few minutes,” he rejoined. “ But how can you hope to discover any par- ticular person, disguised as he is sure to be ? I thought you said just now,” I continued, “ that it was impossible to penetrate these costumes.” “ As a general rule, no doubt,” answered Gus- tavus : “ but the individual for whom I am look- ing, is of such a figure that he cannot so far dis- guise himself as to escape my power of penetration. Ah ! there he is. Now, Rose, take your cue from me— or be silent altogether, if you will — and I promise you a rare piece of sport.” While Mr. Alvanly was giving utterance to these last words, my attention was riveted upon the individual whom he had singled out, and whom he was evidently on the point of accosting. This individual was alone — but appeared to be searching for some one. He was apparelled to represent Voltaire ; and his figure— spare, lank, and bowed — was admirably adapted for the personification of the celebrated French philosopher when in his old age, and as all his portraits represent him. The gentleman who had thus chosen him for his pro- totype, wore a powdered wig — carried his three- cornered hat under his arm — walked with a stick —had the short hut wide-skirted coat worn in those times when Voltaire lived — the knee-breeches — the shoes with high heels and buckles. I need scarcely add that his countenance was concealed with a mask. As I contemplated this figure, a suspicion crept into my mind : the longer I surveyed him, the more the idea was strengthened ; and as Alvanly led mo n(uircr, it dtiopened into the conviction that the porsonifier of Voltaire could bo none other than the Earl of Evcleigh. Ah! then ho was searching for his daughter Inicia, from whom he had no doubt been separated in the same confused turmoil which had led to my own recent adven- ture ? “ Greatest and wittiest of all philosophers,” said Gustavus, disguising his voice as wo approached the Earl, “for whom are you seeking ? Had you a lantern, like that Greek sago who may bo re- garded as one of your ancestors in the schools of learning, I should think you were searching for an honest man. But in the midst of this blaze of beauty, it is more probable — wicked philosopher that thou art ! — it is for a fairer and a softer being whom you are thus anxiously looking.” “ You arc not altogether wrong, gallant Sir Walter Raleigh,” was the response given; and though there was an attempt on the part of the Earl to disguise lus voice, yet it was scarcely dif- ficult to identify it as that nobleman’s. “ Yes,” he continued, “ I am in search of a fair creature : but she happens to be my daughter.” “ Then, most sage philosopher,” rejoined Al- vanly, “you have brought your daughter hither to be a guarantee of your steadiness on this par- ticular occasion : for well assured am I that such is not your general character.” “ What ! is Voltaire to bo maligned ?” ex- claimed the Earl, affecting indignation. “ Not maligned,” answered Gustavus : “ for malignity means untruthful scandal — whereas your amorous gaiety and gallantry, though at so ad- vanced an age, are becoming notorious. Why, it is not long ago that you were sighing, most sage philosopher, at the feet of a rare beauty. Bidding your Encyclopaedias and Dictionaries go to the devil, you were making proposals of the most love-lorn character not a hundred miles from Jermyn Street !” I pressed Alvanly’s arm forcibly, to intimate that I disliked this bantering of the old Earl ; and I noticed that Eveleigh himself was looking un- easily through the eyelets of his mask, first at Gus- tavus — then at me — then back again at Gustavus. He doubtless knew not precisely what to think of my companion’s observations, — whether they were mere random shots thrown out in good-humoured bantering — or whether they had a special signifi- cancy. “ Ah, most sage philospher !” continued Gus- tavus, “ you who have so unmercifully ridiculed the follies of the world — you who have so playfully satirized the foibles of the human race — should be the very last to yield to those weaknesses which you evidently comprehend so well and affect to despise so much. What ! the sage Voltaire throw- ing himself at the feet of beauty — offering her equipages, a mansion, a train of domestics, an in- come of thousands a year ” “ I 1 don’t understand you must be mistaken you are talking of things I know nothing about — and the poor Earl trembled visi- bly from head to foot, so that never was Voltaire typified by any being so craven and so ignomi- nious. As for myself, I was much annoyed at Alvanly’s proceeding. I pitied the old man : I could not forget the zeal with which he had exe- cuted my commission in respect to Arthui’ Brydges; and I thought that gustavus was too hard upon him. “ Now, M. do Voltaire,” ho continued, “ take the advice of Sir Walter Raleigh — who, though , not wise enough to keep his own head upon his ehoulders — may nevertheless be able to afford a lesson even to the sage and erudite philosopher. In future, leave alone the mistresses of young men. Pepend upon it, they are not likely to fall in love with your antiquated countenance — they only laugh and ridicule you behind your back ” Here I pressed Alvanly’s arm so hard that me- thought the poor Earl observed the movement. He again looked very hard at me : he still trembled from head to foot; he was no doubt painfully humiliated— deeply mortified. Alvanly maintained his ground ; he would not yield to my significant intimations that I wished him to put an end to this discourse. But an incident which now oc- curred, had the effect of doing so. For all of a sudden, a lady, clad in the gray domino which I had ere now worn, and which she had therefore evidently succeeded in recovering, came up to the spot where this scene was going on ; and taking the Earl’s arm, murmined in accents which indicated mingled exhaustion and terror, “ Oh ! where have you been, father ? I have searched for you every- where !” “ And I also for you,” responded the old noble- man : and, no doubt infinitely rejoiced to be thus relieved of farther bantering on the part of Al- vanly, he hiirried away with his daughter. “ Now, Gustavus, I imderstand,” I said coldly and distantly, “ wherefore you brought me hither. It was not for the mere purpose of afibrding me recreation. You had another object in view — and it was twofold. In the first place, you wished to punish the Earl for having dared make overtures to me ; and in the second place you sought to create such a breach between his lordship and my- •elf, as to render it utterly out of the question that he will ever renew those overtures. Yoxir first motive has made you guilty of conduct that is unhandsome towards me, inasmuch as you should have consulted me with regard to your intention, and not have brought me hither to serve as a blind agent or tool in the matter. Your second motive proves that you had no real faith in my constancy towards yourself : in your heart you dreaded lest I should be dazzled by Lord Eveleigh’s overtures, and you have taken the present means to make him my mortal enemy. Ah, Gustavus, all this is but little complimentary to me — and but little honourable to yoursfelf ! Of course you intended the poor old man to suspect that it was I myself who was listening to the language in which you addressed him: he will think that I have not merely betrayed that which ought to have been regarded as secret — but that I have likewise vo- luntarily sought to become the witness of his humiliation.” “ Why, Eose !” cried Alvanly, “ is it possible you are offended ? I have been listening in down- right astonishment dt this elaborate piece of reason- ing on your part. As a matter of course I chose to punish the old fellow for seeking to deprive me of a mistress whom I love. Understand me well, Bose ! ^ If he had been a young man, I should have called him out : but an old dotard like that, with one foot in the grave — it would have been downright murder ! Therefore I was compelled to adopt this course. Are you any longer angry ?” “I am not well pleased,” was my response, coldly given. “ And now, with your permission, I will return home. I have had enough of the masque ball to which I was brought for a purpose of your own, and not for my recreation.” “ My dear Hose, pray don’t be offended,” urged Alvanly. “ As for not having faith in you ” “The less that is said upon the subject, the better,” I interrupted him : and as we now reached the steps leading up to the verandah, on which several masques were grouped in hilarious conver- sation, the topic of our discourse could not be con- tinued. “But you will not persist in returning home yet. Hose ?” said Mr. Alvanly, as we entered the saloons. “ It is by no means late : indeed, it is still quite early — and I do not think the carriage will have come yet. Pray get into good humour again ! Have another dance— I will likewise — and let us endeavour to pass at least one hour agreeably.” While he was yet speaking, a thought entered my head ; and in pursuance thereof I assented to his proposal. Dancing was speedily resumed : a gentleman came and invited me for the quadrille ; Gustavus chose a partner for himself ; and thus another half-hour was spent. The quadrille being over, and the usual promenade round the room being likewise finished, my partner conducted me to a seat — made his bow — and left me. I glanced quickly around : Mr. Alvanly was not at the moment to be seen — he had entered the adjoining room with his own partner — and this circumstance afibrded me the very opportunity which I desired. I sped forth upon the verandah — descended the steps— and emerged once more upon the grounds. I will now explain the thought which had suddenly struck me when Gustavus was proposing that we should remain a little longer. It had oc- curred to me that Lady Lucia Calthorpe would be certain to seek some opportunity of saying a few words to Horace Rockingham ; and if so, I was desirous to watch them and overhear, if possible, whatsoever might take place. After my return with Alvanly to the brilliantly lighted apartments, I had looked in vain amongst the throng of masques for the old Earl in his Voltaire garb — for Lady Lucia in the gray domino— and for Horace Rock- ingham in the Page’s dress. I felt tolerably sure that the father and daughter on their side, and Horace on his own part, had remained in the grounds ; and I knew full well that if Lucia should perceive Horace, her ingenuity would by some means or another enable her to separate from her j father for the purpose of having an interview with I her lover — whom I had likewise found to be her ! seducer. j These were the reflections which I had made, ! and which now prompted me to quit the saloons I once more and go forth into the open air. Aided by my dark apparel, I could glide unperceived amongst shady avenues — behind groups of trees — I or even hover at a distance from the centres of light, and observe whatsoever was going on. There were not many masques now walking about in the grounds : there was consequently no confusion of costumes and personages to perplex my view as I looked in every direction for the objects of my search. Presently I beheld Lord Eveleigh in his Voltaire-garb hastening towards the steps of the verandah; he was alone — and every instant he kept looking around, evidently for some one. I felt assured that Lucia had again become separated G2 nOSA LAMUKliT. from liim ; and if so, it must be tliis lime of licr own accord, as there were no circumstances of alainn nor turmoil to sever them. I made a rapid circuit of all that part of the grounds in the midst of which the lights were festooning in all manners of devices; and just as I reached the vicinage of that very avenue into which Koracc Itockinghain liad ere now led me, I beheld two figures, disa]!- pearing rapidly in the darkness that lay beyond the lights burning at the entrance. But that glimpse was sulTicient to show me the well-known gray domino worn by Lucia, and the slight elegant iigure of Horace Ilockingham apparelled as a Page of Henry VIIPs reign. My black dress, as I have already stated, on - abled me to glide unperceived, as a spirit of dark- nc|s, amongst the trees; and my footsteps were noiseless as those of the sprite itself. The half- hushed but nevertheless excited sounds of voices quickly guided me to a particular spot ; and 1 soon became aware that this must be where that very same bench was situated on which I had ere now sat by the side of Horace Rockingham. “ What do you tell me ?” were the first hurried and excited words which distinctly met my ears, as I stopped short to listen to the discourse that w'as going on : and it was a female voice that spoke. “ What strange thing is this you are saying, Horace? Are you beside yourself? or am I my- self frenzied, that I do not understand you ?” “ Why, you must be frenzied,” was young Roek- ingham’s quick and somewhat brutal response. “ Good heavens ! w'hat does he moan ?” ex- claimed Lucia, though still in an undertone. “ You have spoken to me before this night, you say ?” ‘•Certainly,” answered Horace: “here — upon this very seat But I remember that you were crying and would not speak a word yourself. ''i\^hat airs are these that you are putting on ?” “ Airs ?” echoed the unfortunate young lady : and there was the wildest despair in her accents. “Tell me once again, Horace, what you ere now said, that I may see if I can comprehend you !” “ This is almost too much !” cried Rockingham impetuously : “ but if you will make me recapitu- late, be it so. I tell you, then, that scarcely an hour has elapsed since you and I were seated here together. Of course I knew you by the gray do- mino, which you told me in your letter you should wear ; and you likewise knew me, as you enjoined me in that self-same letter to come in this very costume which I have adopted.” “ Horace,” murmured Lucia in almost a dying voice, “ there is some frightful error in all this ! Speak, for heaven’s sake ! Tell me — was it imme- diately after the alarm and panic in front of the pagoda ” “It was,” rejoined Rockingham quickly, and in a tone which licgan to testify bewilderment, if not posi live alarm. “ An error, you say ? Impossible! there is not anotlier masque present wearing a gray domino emliroidered like yours.” “ () heavens, wliat Avill become of mo ? what shall I do?” exclaimed Lm-ia, in an agony ol' grief. “ i lost my domino— some one must have self- appropriated it. It w:is not T, Horace, whom you conducted billier! fi’ell me, tell mo- -did yon say anything that eoiild betray me ? did you addross me by numo ?” “ I think 1 must liavo called you Imeiu,” he re- spondcfl,— “ but that is all. And you aro not, you know, the only Lucia in the world. Ah ! hut I remember ” “ What— what do you rcmeinher ?” demanded the young lady, with feverish, frenzied excite- ment. “ I remember that I speke of your aunt, naming her as Lady yudhury : and therefore — — ” “Ifnavens! identifying mo beyond all iio.ssiliility of doubt ! Horace, Horace, it is not sullieient that you ruined my lionour by tho fouli-st treachery — by violence— by force— but now, by your wilful, wanton recklessness, you have eompromi*<-d mo beyond the possibility of redemption !”— and the unfortunate young lady burst into tho imjst an- guished weepmg. “ Come, come, Lucia — if you mean to rcjiroaoli me in this way,” said Horace, with the most hard- hearted callousness, “ tho sooner our interview ends the better. How the deuce could I suspect that another had put on your domino ?” “No, no — you could not!” murmured the af. dieted Lucia. “ It was doubtless the jest of some masque — but that jest has put the one who played it, in possession of a secret which is death to me ! Oh, be not angry with me — treat me not with in- difference ! More than ever do I x'oquiro your love ! I am at your mercy ! Horace, I am already your wife in the sight of heaven : let me at once become so in that of the world. Need I recapitu- late all that I said in my letter ? Tell mo, dearest Horace — tell me that to-morrow you will make all the atonement which lies in your po-wer ! Where shall I meet you ? I will contrive to steal forth ” “ Listen, Lucia,” interrupted Rockingham ; “ for I see that I must repeat to }X)u what I said to that other whom I just now took to be you. I am sorry, Lucia — but it is impossible.” “Impossible?” she echoed wildly. “No, no — ■ speak not that word — it will be my death !” “ Calm yourself — every moment is precious,” rejoined Rockingham : “ your father will be look- ing for you. Liston — and interrupt me not. Or rather, answer me a question Would you wed a beggar ?” “Oh! this is cruel— too cruel, Horace!” mur- mured the afflicted young lady. “ It is a subter- fuge Great God ! to think that you should have reduced me to this, and now seek to abandon me ! Oh, it is too cruel !” — and low but bitter moans escaped Lucia’s lips. “ It is no subterfuge Would to heaven that it were!” ejaculated Horace: “because then I should not be the ruined being that I am !” “You ruined?” murimu’cd Lucia: and her very accents showed that she was sliivcring and trembling all over in the anguish of her affliction. “ My lather is a ruined man, Lucia,” answered Horace ; “ and you know that I am totally de- pendent on him. Ah ! think you not that this truth is 2 >aiuful enough for mo to sjxcak ? byt it is one that must be (old ! And now I again ask- will you wed a bt'ggar P” “ Yos, yes!” cried Lucia, almost frantic. “I inxist liavo a fathor’suamo (br tlie child that I bear in my bosom !” “i’his is ridiculous, Lucia,” said Horace im- patiently.’ “ J’ovorty will bo bad enough for ouo— BOSA LAMBERT. 63 but intolerable for two — and utter madness to be wilfully sought by three. Do not buoy yourself up with any silly hope. Your father has no money to give you : all his estates are entailed on your eldest brother— and the Earl himself lives beyond his income, and spends thousands on his own plea- sures. Besides, he hates me — and would cast you off if you became my wife.” There was a fresh burst of anguish on Lady Lucia Calthorpe’s part : — from her lips came forth lamentations which cut me to the very soul, as they fell upon my ears : but the heartless monster Eockingham scarcely spoke a word, or bestowed a caress upon his victim, to calm and console her. “ Horace,” she suddenly said, “ hear me — hear me, for the last time ! I am at your mercy : but whatever your fortunes may be — whether pros- perous or ruined — I demand of you the only repa- ration which you have it in your power to make for the monstrous wrong you perpetrated against me. If, when we were on that visit to your father’s house in Cheshire, I had surrendered myself to you in a moment of weakness, you might perhaps deem me a wanton — and you might hesitate to make me your wife. But you know that it was far otherwise. Good heavens ! is it necessary that I should remind you that you acted the part of the ravisher — that you came to my chamber by night — and that you forcibly deprived me of my honour ! 0 Horace ! surely, surely,” cried Lucia, in accents of despau’, “you will not add the crowning out- rage to that wrong which was in itself so foul? you will not abandon me after having made me yoxu’ victim ?” “ And yet, Lucia — methinks,” replied Horace in a tone of ironical reproach, “ you could not have pleaded very hard with your father, when some four or five months back ho took it into his head to break off the match — forbid me the house — deny himself with characteristic patrician hauteur to my father, when he called to ask for explanations and see whether the misunderstanding could not be compromised.” “Horace,” responded Lucia, in an imploring voice which would have touched any heart save that of the fiend- like yoimg man, — “I was in- dignant as well as cruelly afflicted at the intel- ligence that you had sought the love of a degraded female — a lost and abandoned woman — at the very time that you were my affianced husband. I did not then know, Horace,” she con- tinued, in a stiU softer and more plaintive voice, “ that I was destined to become a mother : and therefore perhaps I suffered my anger at the time to predominate over a sense of the necessity for repairing my ruined honour. But afterwards, when the conviction dawned in upon my soul that 1 bore in my bosom the evidence of that which was no weakness on my part, but an outrage on yours ” “Ah, I comprehend!” ejaculated Eockingham sarcastically; “youthen thought you 'had better pretend to love me once more. Now listen once for all, Lucia ! I cannot mai’ry you — I dare not, with ruin staring me in the face.” For a few moments there was a succession of quick convulsing sobs from Lady Lucia’s throat : but all of a sudden they ceased — and she said in a cold firm voice, but which was only thus collected in the utter despair which filled her soul, “ Enough, sir ! No longer will I address you as a suppliant. God only knows what I shall do, or what will become of me ; but there is one last favour which I implore you to grant — and this is that you will keep my secret as inviolable as if your own honour, and not mine only, depended upon it.” “ Oh ! as for that,” exclaimed Eockingham, in a voice which showed that he experienced a sense of relief amounting almost to exultation at having reached the end of what, even for his vilely callous heart, could scarcely have been a very pleasant interview, — “as for that, Lucia, I promise you sacredly and solemnly. And now we must separate. Farewell.” “ Farewell, sh,” rejoined the young lady, still in the calm glacial voice of despair. I now heard their footsteps departing in dif- ferent directions j and I could judge that Horace was hastening farther along the avenue, as he had ere now done after his interview with me— while Lucia was about to emerge forth by the entrance where the variegated lamps were suspended. An idea had stolen into my brain : for I felt a bound- less compassion for that much injured and deeply outraged young lady — a compassion which was scarcely cheeked in its purpose by the manner in which she had alluded to myself. Nevertheless those expressions so keenly cutting, so fearfully galling, so terribly humiliating — “degraded fe- male,” “lost and abandoned woman” — still rang in my ears; and I hesitated to carry out the design which had previously suggested itself. But no : I would not be ungenerous — I would not be unforgiving. It was possible that I might assist a fellow-creature in the extremity of her bitterest need ; at all events I had it in my power to relieve her mind in a moment from the frightful appre- hension under which it was labouring in respect to the revelation of her secret to the masque who had temporarily adopted her gray domino. I emerged from the place of my own conceal- ment ; I hurried along the outskirts of the avenue of trees — I overtook Lady Lucia just as she was entering again upon the sphere of light. She was moving rapidly onward, no doubt anxious to re- join her father, from whom she must have con- trived on some pretext to separate herself; and doubtless also her brain was racked by the most excruciating and agonizing reflections. Oh ! once more was illimitable compassion dominant in my mind; and I forgot the terribly injurious epithets she had applied unto me. “ Pardon me,” I said, suddenly presenting my- self before her ; “ I have one word to breathe in your ears.” She started— and then stopped short : and doubt- less through the slight opening in the hood of her domino, she surveyed me with attention ; for that she quickly recognised me — or rather my costume, was immediately evidenced. “ Who are you P” she inquired, in a voice of breathless excitement. “ I saw you just now with a gentleman Ah ! I recollect — he was dressed as Sh Walter Ealeigh and you were both speaking to my father.” “No matter who I am,” I responded. I know you— and I purpose to befriend you.” “Befriend me ?” echoed her ladyship, the very an- nouncement itself naturally seeming to her in the | light of an avowal that her secret was known to me. | 64. ROSA LAMBERT. “Yes — befriend you,” I enipliatically rejoined. “ Fear nothing; : your secret is safe. It was I who cro now assumed your dress.” “ Good lieavens !” murmured Lady Lucia, evi- j dcntly bewildered by all that she heard, as well as by her own distracting thoughts. “ Fear nothing,” I repeat : “ your secret is safe.” “But who are you?” she cried; “for God’s sake, tell me who you are !” “Not now — not now,” was my quick response. “ Give me an appointment Or stay !” I ejacu- lated. “ The day after to-morrow — at three o’clock precisely — I will walk alone, near the bridge over the Serpentine, in Hyde Park. Can you come ?” “ Yes, yes,” answered Lady Lucia, still in a state of feverish suspense. “ But how shall I know you ? how will you know me ?” “Look!” I answered: and throwing back my veil, I removed my mask. “ Y'ou will recollect this countenance ?” “Yes — it is beautiful — and its expression is kind,” murmured Lord Eveleigh’s daughter, evi- dently experiencing some relief from my behaviour towards her. “And now farewell for the present,” I said, quickly replacing my mask and re-adjusting my veil. “ The day after to-morrow — at three q’ clock — near the bridge of the Serpentine.” I then hurried away — tripped lightly along- gained the steps leading to the verandah — and on ascending to the verandah itself, which chanced at the instant to be imoccupied, lingered there for a few moments to calm my thoughts, which had been thrown into a state of excitement by the scenes which I have just described. I was about to re- enter the saloons, when Mr. Alvanly suddenly came forth upon the verandah; and perceiving me, he said, “I was just looking for you. I hope you have amused yourself. Have you been dancing again ? I have been in the reception-room for the last half-hour, exchanging witticisms and repartees with a tribe of young fellows, who did their best to make me out — but they could not. I hope you have not missed me, dear Bose — and that you have found an agreeable succession of partners for the dance ?” “ Thank you,” I responded : “ I have been suffi- ciently well entertained ’* “What! — still cool? still offended with me?” interrupted Alvanly, in a deprecating tone. “I did not think that you would cherish ill-humour like this.” “ And I should think very little of myself,” was \ my rejoinder, “ if I were to tell you all in an in- stant that I have ceased to recollect your conduct of this eveniTig. I may forgive it — but it is im- possible to forget it readily. And now, with your permission, I will return home. It is getting late —and no doubt tlio carriage lias come.” “If you wisli it, wo will depart,” said Gustavus. “ But in an hour or so there will be supper and a general unmasking ” “You know very well,” I interrupted him, “that 1 cannot incur the risk of being recognised; i and you surely have not forgotten how strict were 1 your injunctions that I should keep myself tho- I roughly disgiusitd.” j “'J’rue, Bose— during all tho early part of the j evening: but just at tho fag-end, when every one will be intent upon taking rofreshinents Be- sides, you know we can keep as much ujmrt us wo choo.se from the bulk of tho company.” “No, Gustavus,” I answered rtisolutely, “ I will neither stand the chance of compromising you, nor of seeking humiliation for myself. Bcmain if you choose : but suffer me to dejiart.” “Then I will go with you,” ho said, “ since you arc determined.” I Having made our bows to the Marchioness of ! Sudbury, we entered the carriage and returned to London. During tho drive Gustavus did all ho could to coax and cajole me back into good- j humour : I suffered myself to unbend somewhat ; I but still in my heart I felt profoundly annoyed with him — for I could not help thinking that I had been badly treated, and indeed that his conduct had amounted sufficiently near to an actual outrage to be deserving of resentment. CHAPTEE IX. CAPTAIN F0ETE8CUE. Mr. Alvanly remained with me until after break- fast in the morning ; and when he had taken his departure, I fell into a train of retlectlons upon the incidents of the .previous evening. What revela- tions had met my ears ! what things had come to my knowledge ! It was but too evident that the unfortunate Lady Lucia Calthorpe had been sub- jected to the most atrocious outrage which one of the sex could possibly experience on the part of man — that her honour had been sacrificed to the fierce lust of the imprincipled violator ! I remem- bered that on the memorable occasion when I had inveigled Horace Eockingham to my lodgings, and the Earl of Eveleigh was concealed in the adjacent room, the fiend-like young man had described Lucia as a cold inanimate image. But was this because she had not voluntarily surrendered her- self to his desires, and that he had found himself forced to employ violence in order to achieve his diabolic triumph? I could scarcely believe she was a cold inanimate image : on the contrary, it appeared to me that she possessed sensitive feel- ings ; — or at least the pathetic and passionate ap- peals she had made to him on the preceding night in the dark avenue, appeared to warrant that esti- mate of her charaeter. But if there were any j doubt as to the precise nature of the unfortunate young lady’s disposition, there was assuredly none in respect to that of her heartless ravisher. Though the hot blood of fiercest desires boiled in his veins, yet w'as it cold as ice at the fountains of the heart. Implacable and pitiless as the Enemy of Mankind himself, w'as Horace Eockingham ! Intensely selfish — tho most thorough egotist that ever the world contained — it was evident that he sought only .the gratification of his own desires, without tho slightest regard for his victims. As it was with mo, so was it with Lucia Calthorpe : no sense of honour could move the petrified heart nor influence tho callous soul of that fiend in an angel’s i shape ! Yes — ^lioartloss indeed was Horace Eockingham ! Full well coidd I judge tho extent of his cold callous indifference towards Lady Lucia, when •seatc^l togctlier upon the bcncli, by the conduct lio had observed towards mjself about an hour pre- viously,. and when under the belief that in me he was addressing the Earl’s daughter. For not once during that interview with me, did he proffer the slightest caress — not once did he so much as modulate his voice to the depth of a soothing tenderness. His behaviour was that of a man who, having gratified his passion, recked no longer for its object. That he was thus utterly uncon- •cerned so far as regarded Lady Lucia, Avas but too evident : she had even ceased to inspire him with those desu-es which he had gratified by vio- lence. But was not retribution overtaking this unprincipled young man ? — unless indeed the tale which he had told of his father’s imminent ruin were all a mere fable, devised as a subterfuge and a pretext for croAvning his detestable conduct to- wards Lady Lucia, and following up the accom- plishment of her dishonour by eventual abandon* Iao. 9 ment. Yet no. As I calmly reasoned upon this point, I thought to myself that Horace llocking- ham AA’as not the person who AA'ould travel out of his Avay to invent an excuse for refusing to make atonement where Avrong was inflicted. It was all very Avell if facts themselves supplied such a pre- text: it was then natural that he should avail himself of it — because no man, not even the very worst, omits an opportunity of justifying a bad action when circumstances seem to afford a ready salve for his conscience. But Horace w'ould sooner have brazened the matter out Avith the boldest hardihood, than have beaten about the bush for such an apology as that which he offered; — and therefore I came to the conclusion that it Avas a true one. Oh ! how my heart rejoiced, and what a gloating pleasure did I experience, at the thought that this unscrupulous young miscreant might in a short time be reduced to distress ! — and I said to myself that if he endeavoured to nn nos A LAMIJKRT. patcli up Ilia fallen forhincs by a inalrimonial nllimice, and by the beauty of bis person captivate the heart of some heiress more lovc-siek than pru- dent, I would wateh all his proeeedinga, and ] would do my best to mar their ultimate triumpli. Tint to resume the thread of my narrat ive. Mr. Alvanly, on taking his departure after breakfast, had informed me that it was possible he might not be able to come and dine with me in the even- ing, as he had some business demanding his atten- tion ; but that he should certainly arrive at dessert-time, so that in a glass of ehampagne together our little differences might be cleared up. Of this however I was by no means so sure. ] 1 is conduet towards me rankled in my breast, lie had given way to jealousy when all the time 1 was innocent and though perhaps there had been j some little grounds, inasmuch as I had concealed from him those very visits which had excited the ! feeling, — still I was vexed and jiiqucd that when i everything was cleared up, he had not put faith in my constancy, but had taken a vast deal of trouble to create an irrejiarablc breach between myself and Lord Eveleigh. I dwelt with a growing invete- racy upon every detail of my protector’s conduct ; and I remembered the foul treachery with which, by means of drugged wine and the aid of an un- principled woman, he had betrayed me on my first arrival in London. I thought to myself that if I had never thus become the victim of his black perfidiousness, I might have pursued a virtuous career, — eating the bread of honest industiy, but far more contented and happy in a humble grade than I now was, though surrounded by all the elegances and luxuries of life. The longer I con- tinued this train of refl.ection, the more embittered did I become against Alvanly; and then, by a transition vvhich was not at the moment altogether intelligible to myself, I found my thoughts set- tling upon the image of the handsome and agree- able Reginald Fortcscue. While the fascinating Captain of the Life Guards was thus occupying my mind, the house- maid brought me in a note, the contents of wLich ran as follow : — “June 14th, 1841. " Captain Fortescue presents his most respectful com- pliments to Miss Lambert, and will do himself the honour of calling on Miss Lambert between four and live o’clock this evening. Captain Fortescue has taken the liberty of making this written announcement, inas- much as lie has transmitted several verbal requests to Mies Lambert, soliciting a few moments’ interview ; and to eacli one he has received an unfavourable response. Esteeming Miss Lambert too highly to feel the en- durance of her displeasure any longer tolerable, Captain Fortescue has at length adopted these means of seeking an opportunity for such self-exculpation or explanation as under circumstances may be requisite.” 1 fibould inform tlic reader ibat ever since tlio riiglit of llie burglary J bad not once seen Captain J''oi’tci;cuc. Jt will bo remombored that on the following morning lio bad rcqiu'sl.ed permission, tlirongli Mrs. JIarborougli, lo jiay bis respects to me but that I bad (leclined to see him. A fort- night and ujiwards bud since elapsed; but I had never reci-ived one of those messages to wliieb ho alliidi-fl in his note so that 1 had not the sliglditst rloubt they had been in(em‘]»ted by Mrs. Ilar- horongh herself, w ho doubt h'SH had her own good reasons for ercutiiig a coolness hetween mo and t he Captain. The arrival of this lett'T ut tin; v .y instant his image was upp^ rmost in my tliought , struck mo ns a curious coincidence. I exj>erienced strange sensations; and seriously set mynlf t * deliberate whether 1 really loved Captain la - tcscue or not. I presently fiund mysr-lf think i g that I would sooner inhabit a cottage with bii ■ and live on the bumblcst fare, than continue to dwell in these handsome apartments under tin protection of Gustavus Alvanly. J now therdore more than Imlf suspected that Reginald Fortes^iu was not altogether indifferent to me : 1 rernemb' red how jealous I bad felt in respect to Mis. II ar- borougli when I bad obtained the conviction of In intimacy with her; and I at length murmured t>; myself, “Tes — this must be love; and I do love Reginald Fortescue !” btill I hesitated somewhat to afford him the in- terview which he sought. What exculpations or explanations could he have to give unless for a specific purpose ? and what specific purpose could he have in view, if not the formal making of these overtures which, at the commencement of our .ic- quaintance a few months back, he had endeavoured to convey by ptressures of the hand and tender glances. Rut was I prepared to break off with Gustavus Alvanly and throw myself into the arms of Reginald Fortescue ? I knew not : I grew be- wildered in my reflections : I felt my heart flutter- ing, and my soul fllled with an anxious uneasy suspense. Rut very certain it was that the longer a comparison between those two was forced upon my mind, the less favourable did it prove to Gus- tavus Alvanly, and the more favourable to Re- ginald Fortescue. I did not go out that afternoon either for a drive or a walk : I was not only wearied with the excitement of the previous evening’s scenes, hut also occupied with the varied reflections which I have been recording. Retween three and four o’clock I ascended to my dressing-room to perform, the evening toilet ; and when Frances consulted me as to the apparel I chose to wear, I caught myself mentioning that which I fancied became me most. Was it because Reginald Fortescue w'as coming to see me presently ? The question which thus suddeiJy flashed to my mind, called up a blush to my cheeks. Shortly after four o’clock I was seated on the sofa in the drawing-room, elegantly dressed in evening costume. The low corsage displayed a sufficiency of my bust to set off its really fine contours, wuthout however a meretricious im- modesty : my bare arms, as they were reflected in the mirror opposite, were of dazzling whiteness — sufficiently robust for healthy plumpness and to he consistent with their sculptuval modelling. I wore my hair in tresses : the flutter of my heart height- ened the colour iipon my cheeks ; and altogether methought that I had never seemed more beau- tiful. Was I vain of this loveliness on its own account alone ? or was I proud of it as a means of fascinating a heart which I in reality longed to ('iisnaro ? In a word, was I deeply in love with Reginald Fortescue? had the reflections of this day impressed that conviction upon my mind? amt was 1 looking forward with pleasure to the niomont when his footsteps should bo heard upon t he stairs ? Not long did I wait cro those sounds met my EOS A LAACBEET. 67 ears : one of tho domestics opened the door— and Captain Fortescue was aunounced. I rose to re- ceive him : I endeavoured to look calm and col- lected, as if I suspected nothing — much less that he meant anything beyond the ordinary courtesies of a visit and that very effort to banish con- fusion rendered me all the more confused. For- gotten at the instant was his amour with Mrs. Harborough: forgotten was everything but the sudden thrill of pleasure which the pressure of his hand and the masculine melody of his voice sent through my entire frame. My hand must have trembled in his own — he must have seen my con- fusion too— he must have imagined that he was not altogether indifferent to me ; for he retained the hand — he pressed it — I did not withdraw it — and he raised it to his lips. Then, with that im- accoimtable access of caprice which often-times seizes upon the heart which nevertheless truly and fondly loves, I snatched away my hand, and re- sumed my seat upon tho sofa, — indicating a chair for Captain Fortescue. “ Miss Lambert,” he said, you have done me the honour to receive me; and perhaps I had better begin by asking whether you really mani- fested your displeasure by returning negative re- sponses to the repeated messages I took the liberty of sending within the last fortnight ” One only of those messages reached me. Cap- tain Fortescue,” I interrupted him; “and that was on the day after the burglary. Perhaps,” I added, tremblingly and hesitatingly, “ I have not shown myself sufficiently grateful for your kind succour on that occasion 1 mean that I ought to have expressed my thanks personally ” “iN’o matter. Miss Lambert,” he exclaimed, “ since I have at length the pleasure of being admitted once more to your presence. My mes- sages have been intercepted — that is clear enough; and answers have been invented which you yoin- self never sent. Of course I imderstand how this is. But Miss Lambert,” he went on to observe, with a deprecating look, “ you surely will not con- tinue displeased if in an hour of foUy — in one of those moods when a man abandons himself to the temptation of the moment — I condescended to a passing amour with a woman who has no earthly claim to any serious or permanent attention on my part.” “ Captain Fortescue,” I responded, with blush- ing cheeks, “ it is not for me to pass an opinion upon your actions.” Ah ! but you were displeased. Miss Lambert — I am convinced you were !” he ejaculated : “ and that displeasure — strange as the assertion may seem — filled me with happiness. Yes — I was happy wffien I found that you were displeased, inasmuch as from that moment I was inspired with a hope which I dared not cherish before !” “ Captain Fortescue,” I murmured, still blush- ing deeply, and feeling myself trembling from head to foot — for I saw that the moment of avowal was approaching, — “ this is a topic which ” “ Cannot be avoided, beautiful creature that you are ! No — it is a topic which I must pursue until you give me my final response., Bose — dearest Hose, I love you Oh ! you know that I love you !” — and he threw himself at my feet. Oh, the happiness of that moment ! — Oh, the ecstacy of those feelings which welled up like a blessed lountain from the very depths of my heart ! It was a pure and chaste love which I experienced for that man : I felt that it was so — a love without the slightest taint of gross passion — a love which my soul was enabled to experience, polluted though my body had become. “Yes — I love you, dearest Hose,” murmured Hcginald, in that low melting voice which, full of a masculine music, sinks down into the profundi- ties of the heart and awakes the echoes of every tenderly responsive chord that vibrates there, — “ I love you, beautiful creature, that you arc ! I adore you — I have worshipped your image from the very first instant that I saw you ! Oh, how I’ have envied that man,” — thus alluding to Alvanly, “ the possession of such a treasure ! And it was in jealousy — in a sort of mad recklessness— in the hope, perhaps, of bringing about an opportunity' for an avowal — that I surrendered myself to that amour the coarseness and unsentimentality of which I now utterly loathe ! Dearest, sweetest Hose, do you accept the love which now on my knees I proflTer you ?” He took my hand — he pressed it to his lips : I did not withdraw it — my heart had no caprice vitiating its ecstatic pleasure at this moment. I experienced a full deep sense of joy such as I had never known before. As, under the influence of those feelings, I bent forward to him, — gazing upon his handsome countenance — looking down into the depths of his dark eyes to read the love of which his lips had spoken, — his arm was gently passed round my neck — our lips met — and they lingered in one long delicious kiss. At that instant the door was thrown open ; and Mr. Alvanly appeared upon the threshold. A half- stifled shriek burst from my lips : but never shall I forget the calm and collected manner in which Heginald Fortescue rose up from his knees, and instantaneously assuming so manly a demeanour that it turned my sudden terror of Alvanly into admiration for himself, — he said, “ Sir, it would be ridiculous to deny one single syllable of anything which I have been uttering to this lady, and of all of which perhaps you have been a listener. No more need now be said : any friend of yoiu’s, sir, will know where to find me.” I did not look towards Gustavus : my eyes re- mained fixed upon Heginald Fortescue, in whom I beheld a champion as well as a lover. But when those words, so feai-fully significant, fell upon my ears, I started up, exclaiming, “ No ! for heaven’s sake let not lives be perilled on my account !” “ Hose — dearest Hose,” hastily whispered Hegi- nald, “tranquillize yourself — leave these things to us — it is inevitable — but you are well worth the risk of a thousand lives, if I possessed them !” — then gently replacing me on the sofa, he advanced to- wards Alvanly, observing, “Perhaps, sii', under circumstances, we had both better withdraw and leave Miss Lambert alone.” “ Certainly, Captain Fortescue — that is the only course,” answered Gustavus : and without bestow- ing upon me a single word of reproach and up- braiding — but with a generous forbearance which smote me with remorse for my conduct towards him — he quitted the room, followed by Captain Fortescue. A faintness came over me : I felt as if I had been guilty of some tremendous crime which sud- KOSA LAMBIiRT. G3 denly converted into mortal foes two men who were intimate friends a few instants before, and which would lead to the risking of lives — perhaps to bloodshed and death — on my account. That faintness however was quickly succeeded by a renewal of wild affright, as I thought of these probabilities ; and in a frenzied state 1 rushed to the window. Alvanly was passing along the street in one direction — Fortescue in another. Tliey had separated — but perhaps only to seek each a friend in order to prepare for extremities ! What was I to do ? Must a duel take place on my ■ account ? Oh, I was powerless to prevent it ! A thousand wild ideas swept through my brain. I would hasten to Gustavus — I would implore him to forgive me — I would consent to remain true and faithful to him if ho would forego this duel ! The thought was ridiculous: though he had so magnanimously forborne from reproaches, yet ' would he doubtless spurn me if I sought him at his own dwelling, Besides, lie had seen my lips pressed to those of his rival — he had seen that rival’s arm clasping my neck — he knew that I had listened with pleasure to the language of love : how could he forgive me ? how could he even confide in me any more ? Then I would hasten to Regi- nald Fortescue — I would vow and declare that if he fought this duel, there should be an end to everything between us — and that I would recall the promise of love which had been given by the kisses from my lips. No : this project was as insane as the other. The world’s code of honour, as fantastic as it is barbaric, would demand that Reginald Fortescue should meet Gustavus in a duel, if the latter thought fit to provoke it ; and could I expect that, even as the price of my love, an officer with a sword by his side would consent to brand himself with diBhonour ? Oh, there was nothing that I could do to prevent this hostile meeting — it must take place — and in the interval what hideous, horrible, excruciating suspense would be mine ! Yes : and such was indeed my portion for many long weary hours. Dinner was served up : I sat down to table — but scarcely a mouthful passed my lips : I only went through the ceremony to prevent the domestics from imagining there was something wrong. That they as yet entertained no such sus- picion, I was assured ; for no disturbance had taken place — the two rivals had conducted themselves not merely with gentlemanly calmness, but also with the utmost discretion. Even Mrs. Harbo- rough herself could have no surmise of what had taken place or what was in progress ; or she would very soon, with her brazen impudence, have come up to mo to worm out explanations. But wbat almost preterhuman efforts it cost me to pre- serve a degree of calmness in presence of the ser- vant who waited at table — and likewise before Frances, when I retired for the night! I was glad to find myself at length alone. Glad 1— no the term is inconsistent with the true state of my feelings : tliough in one sense it was a relief to bo thus enabled, in the solitude of my chamber, to give unrestrained vent to my tears — for they did Ilow profusely the instant Frances had withdrawn. Hours elapsed ore I could close my eyes in slumber; and when slecj) was at lengtli brought on as tlie clfect of sheer exhaustion, it was liaunted with troubled dreams. Methought 1 beheld a gory corpse standing by my bedside, re- proaching me as the autliorcss of its murder : then it seemetl that the corpse itself lay stretched by my side— that my eyes were open— that 1 was gazing upon it in a dread Jiorror which kept mo immoveable— and that its dull glassy orbs. Iked with the stony glare of death, were riveted upon me. These and other equally frightful visions made me pass the most shocking of nights ; and when 1 awoke in the morning I was so ill, but at the same time so nervously excited, that 1 felt as if I must do something desperate — yet I knew not what — to shako off the dreadful sensation which clung to me like a poisoned garment. I looked at my watch : it was past eight o’clock. I remembered having read in novels and in news- papers that duels invariably took j)laco at a very early hour in the morning ere the life of the great city was well awake; and now the agonizing idea Hashed to my mind that perhaps a human exist- ence had already passed away on my account — peradventure even two lives if the worst had been accomplished; or at all events, fearful injuries and ghastly wounds might have been inflicted. It was horrible — horrible ! Oh, the worthless being that I was in comparison with two valuable human lives !— and that such lives, emanating from the Divinity itself, should be endangered, or pei’haps positively lost, for such a creature as I— it seemed a monstrous outrage upon the providence of heaven itself! When Frances entered the room to assist me with my morning toilet, she was evidently struck by my appearance ; and after some little hesita- tion, said, “ I do not think you are well to-day, ma’am ?” ‘‘ No— I have a bad headache : but I hope it will be better pi’esently. Give me my wrapper : I will not linger at the toilet-table now: you shall do my hair presently.” I descended to the breakfast • parlour ; and scarcely had I reached it, when a note was brought up by the servant of the house. I instantaneously recognised Mr. Alvanly’s handwriting ; and the horrible thought flashed to my mind that Reginald Fortescue had been killed. Or else wherefore had not he come ? wherefore had he not written ? A film came over my eyes : the room seemed to be turning round : the note dropped from my hand. But this incident recalled me to full life ; and un- able to endure suspense any longer, I tore open. the billet. Its contents ran as follow : — “ May Fair, June 15th, ISIl. “ Eose, “ As a matter of course everything is at an end be- tween us. I have just encountered Captain Fortescue on hostile ground : my left arm is slightly touched— but it is nothing ; and you need not experience any remorse on that score. We separate : we part, to meet not again— or if to meet, only as mere passing acquaintances. Such is the way of the world. Those who are most inti- mate one day, may become comparative strangers the next. I bear no ill-will towards you : I do not think you have any particular cause to be unfriendly towards me. I have loved you— perhaps better than I ever loved any woman yet : but I neither pay myself such an ill compliment, nor believe you to be so credulous, as to suppose that I shall not be able to surmount the feeling. “ I write this principally to give you the assurance that 1 am not embittered against you : I have another motive ; and it is this :— Knowing something of your disposition, and giving you credit for a great deal of Jo- EOSA LAMUEET. 69 licacy and propriety of sentiment, I consider it as well to convey the positive assurance that everything you have in your possession is entirely your’s, and that you would really offend me, and veritably convert me into an enemy, if you were to attempt to return any little trifle which I have had the pleasure and gratification of bestowing upon you. “ And now farewell ! When we meet— which we must necessarily do, more or less often, in places of public resort— favour me with an acknowledgment of the bow which with frankest courtesy I shall make to you ; and let us not fear to look each other in the face for a mo- ment, while passing. If we can exchange smiles as friends, so much the better. “ GUSTAVUS ALVANLT.” I wag much affected with this letter. It was entirely characteristic of the writer’s disposition, which was a strange medley of good feelings and worldly-minded notions — generous tendencies, blended with the iinscrupulousness of the man- about-town — delicate feelings conveyed in flippant language. The tenour of the epistle was altogether liberal, as well as handsome in its assurances ; and I wept as I reflected that he had been wounded on account of me — but I sincerely hoped that the injury was as trifling as he represented it. Scarcely had I somewhat recovered from the emotions ex- cited by the billet, when a second note was brought up; and the handwriting of the address was immediately recognised by me as Captain Fortescue’s. It contained the following lines : — « Ko , PaU Mall. “ Dearest and best-beloved Rose, I lose not a minute, on my return to my lodgings, to convey the assurance that I have escaped without injury. Alvanly behaved like a man of honour as well as of courage. Shots were only exchanged once ; and my bullet penetrated his left arm, which by his position was exposed more than it ought t© have been. The surgeon whom we had with us, immediately extracted the bullet, and pronounced it to be his opinion that the bone was uninjured, and that the wound would heal speedily. Not being overcome with faintness, and having his right arm perfectly unhurt, Alvanly might have insisted on a second exchange of shots, had he chosen : but he declared him- self satisfied— and shaking me by the hand, said these words : ‘ I bear you no ill-will, Porteecue. The laws of honour are complied with ; and the past can be for- gotten. You possess the love of a very beautiful and well-conducted girl : I sincerely hope your connexion may contribute to the happiness of you both.’ — Thus spoke Alvanly ; and we left the ground in our respective equipages. ^ “ Believe dearest Rose, I am full of anxiety to fly to you; but my, appearance in Jermyn Street at so early an hour might perhaps lead to suspicions in a cer- tain quarter, and produce unpleasantness. Will the following arrangements be acceptable to you ? — that I shall immediately secure you" suitable apartments in an agreeable quarter of the West' End — that all prelimi- naries shall be settled to-day— so that you may remove thither either this evening or the first thing to-morrow morning, before the rumour of the duel can have been well whispered abroad. Rest assured that every atten- tion shall be paid to your comforts in your new home. A line, informing me whether you approve of these ar- rangements— or whether you have other commands to signify — will afford me infinite pleasure. “Accept a thousand kisses, sweetest, dearest Rose, from ** Your ever affectionate, “ REGINALD EORTESCUE. “P.S. By the bye, I forgot to mention that my bankers are Messrs. Cox and Greenwood, Craig, Court, Charing Cross, and that I am forthwith going thither to direct that your cheques are to be honoured.” » I If Alvanly’g letter had brought tears to my eyes, I Fortescue’s conjured up smiles to my lips — save ! and except with regard to that sentence in which he gave me to understand that the wound Gus- I tavus had received was somewhat more severe I than he himself had represented it. Still, however, there was every reason to hope that no more I serious consequences would ensue ; and with this I ' solaced myself. As for all the rest of Eeginald’s ; note, I was pleased by the delicate manner in I which he suggested the most suitable arrange- ments to be carried out, and in which he evidently advised a speedy removal from Jermyn Street, so that I might not be subjected to any annoyance from the effects of Mrs. Harborough’s jealousy. I hastened to transmit an answer, thanking Reginald for his kind communication— assuring him that I left every arrangement to his discretion— but that I should like to remove in the evening, if in the i interval he would let me know the address of my i new home. I hinted as delicately as I could, that j it would perhaps be better for him not to visit me : during the day in Jermyn Street. Having sent I off this note, I at once gave instructions to my j servants to commence packing up my things ; and 1 I bade Frances inform Mrs. Harborough that I j intended to leave in the course of the evening- The domestics were evidently surprised at this suddfen resolve on my part : but as my orders were accompanied with the intimation that they were to follow me to my new place of abode, there was no other feeling beyond that of mere curiosity which they need entertain on the subject. I re- flected whether I ought to write a note to Mr. Alvanly in acknowledgment of his billet : but I came to the conclusion that it was better not — for on the first occasion that we should happen to meet, it would be easy for me to convince him by the affability with which I acknowledged his salu- tation, that I harbom'ed no iU-will against him, and accepted the terms on which he proposed we were thenceforth to stand towards each other. Being now relieved from a state of the cruellest suspense with regard to the duel — and looking for- ward to the pleasure of enjoying the society of a man whom I really loved — I was speedily enabled to shake off that indisposition with which I had risen in the morning. I had more than one motive for having written to Reginald, requesting him not to visit me during the day : I was not merely afraid of a scene with the brazen-faced Mrs. Har- borough — but I had likewise the appointment to keep with Lady Lucia Calthorpe at three o’clock in Hyde Park. Accordingly, at about half-past two I entered a hackney-coach and proceeded to the Park, — going thither alone, and dressed with as much plainness and simplicity as my elegant wardrobe would permit. Shortly after entering the Park, I alighted from the vehicle — ordered it to wait for me — and repaired in the direction of the bridge. Consulting my watch, I found that it wanted five minutes to three ; and I accordingly walked about imtil the exact hour for which the appointment was made. Then I returned to the bridge ; and loitering there for a minute or two, beheld a lady, closely veiled — but of the same height as Lady Lucia — advancing slowly with the air of one who was in search of some person. She also was dressed in as unpretending a manner as possible. She was of rather tall stature— finely 70 IfOSA LAMIIKUT. formed, — elegance and dif^iiity couibiiiin^j in licr gait. As for the condition of the unfortunate young lady in respect to being in the way to be- come a mother, this was not visible to any one who suspected not the circumstance. As she drew near where I stood, she stopped short ; and I saw that she was trembling nervously, as she contemplated my countenance through the thick folds of her veil. “ It is I whom you seek. Lady Lucia,” I said in a kind voice. “ Let us walk away to the most se- cluded spot amongst the trees.” “ You arc very good to have kept this appoint- ment,” she answered in a tremulous voice ; “ be- cause you assured me that it was for a friendly purpose — and I believe it. There is something in your countenance which gives me this con- viction.” “You may indeed believe it. Lady Lucia,” I responded : “ for I have no earthly reason to de- ceive you — but every motive to befriend you. AV^e will not however speak another word until we gain a spot where we may converse without re- straint.” In a few minutes we reached such a spot — and placed ourselves on a bench beneath one of the large trees on the southern side of the Serpentine. Lady Lucia now raised her veil: she evidently thought it would be too coldly formal, and even ungracious on her part, to retain it over her fea- tures, as mine was thrown back. As the reader will recollect, I had not before seen her coimtc- nance : it was eminently handsome; — but even allowing for the present agitation of her feelings, I concluded that it must be naturally inexpressive and passionless. Her hair was of raven darkness, with the richest gloss upon it : her eyes, of cor- responding hue, were largo and bright — but with a meaningless lustre, if the term can be understood. There was no softness of sentiment— no vibrating play of feeling in those orbs. Her complexion was of alabaster fairness — but of that transparency which showed the delicate tracery of blue veins ; so that it was not a dead inanimate whiteness. Her features were Grecian — classically chiselled — ■ the lips of a bright vermilion — the teeth faultlessly beautiful. The brows were nobly arched — darkly but not coarsely pencilled : the lashes formed thick fringes for the fine dark eyes. There was certainly something rigidly statue-like in that countenance ; and I could very well fancy that when entirely anrullled by any particular feeling or emotion, it had a cold inanimate look, with an air of patrician dignity which over-awed and chilled rather than with that true feminine affability which en- courages cheerfulness of conversation. That she was one wlio would have voluntarily surrendered herself up to Horace llockingham’s arms, was not for an instant to bo supposed : her very pride would havo formed the best bidwark of her virtue, even if her toinpei*ament were not naturally cold. ]Jut with the llrst glance which I threw upon lier countenauee, J read in its passionless expression the complete conlirmalion of the tremendous charge of diabolic outrage which, in tlio dark avenue in her aunt’.H grounds, she had levelled against that unscrupulous young miscreant. I (lid not gaz(5 upon lier long eiunigli to ])ro- duei; any conlusion on her part: a lew instauLs’ survey (jf her eounlenunce were sullicient to show me in what it was attractive, aiel in what it was deficient — and that it was the face (;f a beaulilul statue, without the liglit of the mind op the ndlex of tlie heart’s emotions playing iqxni it. “ A''our ladyship had better resume your veil,” I said; “for it were not well that y(m sliould bo recognised by any one passing: and I al..(j will lower mine.” “ A’ou know who I am,” observed Lucia, as she followed my suggestion: “but porhaj)8 you havo forgotten that as yet I know not who you are— and that I can but barely conjecture how my secret should have become revealed to you. Hut even then I am at a loss to co7iceive how your sytjipathics should have been enlisted on my bc- lialf.” “ I am Mrs. Wilton,” w-as my answer : for I had previously matle up my mind not on any account to let Jjady Lucia know who I really was. “ My husband is abroad — in the East India service — and I am for the present living with an elderly female relation in London. As to the manner in which I became possessed of your secret, you liavi) doubtless already surmised it. At all events I will explain. The night before last my veil and mask came off in the confusion which followed the incident at the pagoda. As I fled, fearing to be overtaken by the sparks which the rocket shed forth — and being separated from the gentleman (a cousin of mine, I should observe) by whom I was accompanied — I beheld the gray domino lying on the ground. Half in bewilderment, and half in jest, I put it on: but no sooner had I assumed it, than a gentleman caught me by the hand, ex- claiming, ‘ This way ! this way 1’ I was again seized with a panic-terror. In my confusion I thought he was considerately hurrying me away from some threatening danger — and I aceom- panied him. He led me to a seat, on which I fell half fainting with fright and exhaustion. Then, addressing me as Lucia, he began pouring forth a volley of words, every one of which was a startling revelation. He mentioned the Marchioness of Sudbury as the aunt of her for whom he took me ; and thus was it that I comprehended that I was so taken for your ladyship’s self. I was so as- tounded at all I heard, that I had not the power to interrupt him : my lips were sealed — I was petrified with wonderment. Voices and footsteps were heard approaching — we separated — I threw the gray domino upon the grass, on resuming my own disguise, which my cousin, whom I speedily encomitered, had happened to pick up and re- cognised to be mine. AVhen I was enabled ” “ But to that cousin of your’s, Mrs. Wilton,” said Lucia, with the anxiety of suspense, — “did you breathe a syllable ” “Not a. syllable!” I ejaculated: “I would not for worlds have done so ! But when I subsequently reflected on all I had heard, I could come to no other conclusion than that you must stand in need of a faithful female friend — of one who, when the liour of trial approaches, would render you all possible succour — and who would even help you to veil your secret from the world a friend who from purely sympathetic motives would do all this ! And that friend you havo now by your side, if you choose to trust hci’.” “ r know not how to express my gratitude for so much kindness,” answered Lady Lucia, taking EOSA LAMBERT. 71 my hand and pressing it with more wai'mth than, judging by her countenance, she seemed capable of < displaying. “ Yes — in a short time I shall indeed | require the succour of such a friend as you have j offered to become— though heaven knows how I may even be enabled to render that succour avail- ! able, and escape for a period from the bosom of my family ! Not for worlds would I have my | secret suspected by any scion of that family ! It [ is one of the haughtiest and the proudest in all | England; and my shame — my dishonour — would be regarded as the most terrific of calamities !” After a little more conversation, I gleaned from Lady Lucia that in three months more she might expect to become a mother — that she felt tole- rably confident of being enabled to conceal her j situation for perhaps two months longer — and ( that the only person whose prying eyes she feared, [ was her maid. I represented to her that it was j absolutely necessary to admit this maid into her ^ confidence : for if she were to dispense with her j services at the toilet, it would only confirm what- soever suspicion she already entertained — or would actually engender such suspicion if none were as yet awakened. Besides, I argued that as it would be absolutely necessary for Lady Lucia to leave home on some pretext in about two months’ time, j her maid would have to accompany her ; and thus i sooner or later the woman must be taken into her I confidence. It evidently wounded the young lady’s pride in its most sensitive point to contemplate the necessity of avowing her condition to a menial : but she was forced to admit the justice of my reasoning, and promised to be guided by my counsel. I then assured her that when the time arrived for her to withdraw for a brief space from the world, I would meet her again, to advise with her on the best pretext to be advanced to her family ; and that I would also provide for her a suitable abode in some secluded place, where, under a feigned name, she might pass through the ordeal. Again she thanked me with considerable fervour : she took my hand, pressed it between both her own, and called me her best and dearest friend, — vowing that her gratitude would only terminate with life itself. “ But if, my dear Mrs. Wilton,” she said, I wish to communicate with you before the date of any fresh appointment which we may presently make, where will a note find you ?” “ It would be unsafe to write to me,” I an- swered, being prepared for the question, “ to the house where I am living with my aunt and cousin: for, to tell the truth, my elderly relative is somewhat inquisitive — and if I did not happen to be in the way when the letter came, she would scarcely hesitate to open it. Your ladyship had better address to me at some post-office, where I would call occasionally to inquire whether there be a note for me. Let it be the office in Cavendish Street, Oxford Street.” I “I shall not forget,” answered Lucia: and again did she pour forth the expressions of her gratitude. “Pardon me,” I said, in a hesitating manner, — “pardon me for the question I am about to put, and for the allusion which it involves : but think you. Lady Lucia, that you are likely again to en- counter ” “ I know whom you mean,” she quickly inter. | rupted me. “No, no! our separation is eternal. He will not voluntarily seek me,” she added bit- terly; “and rest assured that I shall not seek him.” “ If it should happen,” I rejoined, “ that you do meet, it will be as well not to mention me in any way. My relatives — my husband too, when he returns home — might be vexed and angry if it came to their knowledge that I had been led by sympathy and friendly feeling to interfere in this matter.” “It would be but an ungrateful return on my part,” responded Lady Lucia, “ if I were to do aught contrary to your interests and wishes. No, dear Mrs. Wilton — I am incapable of such an act! And as for that unprincipled young man — that vile, infamous, fiend- like wretch,” she went on to say with a deep concentrated bitterness of tone ; “ infinite is my regret that I humbled myself to him — that I besought him to make me reparation ! Good heavens, such a husband as that ! to be tied to such a man for life! No, no: exposure and dishonour were even preferable ! Would you be- lieve, Mrs. "Wilton, that some months back — at the very time when arrangements were making for our nuptials — he was debased and profligate enough to pay his court to some loose, abandoned female — some infamous courtezan 1 shudder in giving expression to the word which personifies the foul existence of such a creature in femiuine shape 1” “ You would do well not to excite yourself,” I said : and the reader may suppose with what poignant, lacerating, vulture-tearing feelings I was inwardly agitated as all those expressions fell upon my ears, raining like drops of molten lead upon my heart — piercing like a shower of arrows into my very soul ! “ You are right, my dear friend,” responded the Earl’s daughter, growing completely calm again : “ I am wrong to waste my indignation upon either so cold-blooded a wretch as Horace Kockingham, or so loathsome a creature as that woman to whom I was alluding. But we must separate now ; and once more I beseech you to accept the assurances of my gratitude — my esteem — my love.” Again she wrung my hands in a fervid manner ; and we parted, — Lady Lucia proceeding in one direction, and I taking another in order to regain the hackney-coach which was waiting for me. Ah ! little did the proud patrician’s daughter sus- pect that the very being against whom her ran- corous words were poured forth — the very one whom she had thus mercilessly dragged through the mire, the mud, the dirt, and the feculence of her scorn, abhorrence, and disgust — had been seated by her side, had been in close contact with her, and was regarded as some dear friend whom heaven had sent to succour her when the hour of her need should come ! Oh, if some bird could have whispered at the time in the ear of Lucia Calthorpe — “ That countenance on which you gaze with interest and pleasure, and which you regard as a kind and sympathizing one — those hands which you so warmly clasp and press in both your own — that form which is in contiguity with your’s as you sit together beneath the shade of this tree, — all these belong to her against whom you are levelling such bitter, merciless, pitiless denun- ciations !” — if a little bird, I say, could have thus 72 EOS A LAMBERT. whispered in the ears of the patrician lady, what would have been her wonder ! — and perhaps what her horror and disgust ! But though she was dis- honoured and degraded — though she had lost her virgin purity, and was defiled in body though she still retained the cold glacial chastity of her soul — her heart w'as not touched on behalf of the failings and weaknesses of a follow-creature : but she evi- dently thought that she still stood on the most exalted pedestal in comparison with her whom she reviled, and that she had a right thus mentally to spurn the scorned and abhorred one from her feet ! My interview with Lady Lucia left no very pleasurable impressions on my mind. I was pro- foundly humiliated and acutely hurt on my o\vn account : I was disappointed with regard to her disposition. I found that I had judged her too kindly when I had fancied that the depth of feeling with which she addressed Horace Eockingham in the shady avenue, might be taken as the criterion of her character. I now comprehended her better: I saw that she was habitually cold and passionless, so as to be almost unfeeling — at least constitution- ally callous and apathetic — and that powerful causes alone could excite her into a sense of strong emotions, as the violence of an earthquake could alone agitate the ocean from its very depths. Kevertheless I was determined to befriend her. I had made up my mind to do so : it was no whim nor caprice on my part — it was because I really pitied her ; and methought likewise that a good action disinterestedly, performed, would in the eyes of heaven mitigate the extent of my own errors and frailties. It was five o’clock when I returned to my lodg- ings in Jermyn Street ; and I found a note from Eeginald Fortescue, to the effect that he had hired a furnished house for me in Sloane Street, Chelsea. I was w’ell pleased that he should have fixed upon this locality, inasmuch as it was sufficiently remote from Jermyn Street as well as from May Fair; and as I afterwards learnt, it was for these very reasons that he had looked about in that quarter for what he was in search of. It was also distant from Portman Square, where the Eveleighs dwelt; and though Eeginald Fortescue suspected not that I had the slightest reason for avoiding that par- ticular neighbourhood, the circumstance that he should have chosen mo a dwelling so distant there- from, was a source of satisfaction. To be brief, I removed from Jermyn Street to Sloane Street that same evening, — Mrs. Harborough taking leave of me with so much affability that I felt assured she had not the famtest suspicion under whose protec- tion I was now passing. My servants followed with my trunks and boxes ; and when the house •was reached. Captain Fortescue came forth to welcome mo to my new home. It was a jnoderate-sized but convenient house — liandsoirudy furnished — and with the advantage of having nus letter ” “Detestable youth!” I ejaculated, shivering with rage, tho very fierceness of which rendered mo impotent for energetic action : “you are indeed an adept at anonymous letters, which are tho re- sources of tho dastard and tho coward — tho weapons of the bravo-like maligner !” “ Granting that I am this adept wdtli those weapons, Itosc,” responded Horace coolly, “ you ought to admit to yourself that I arn not a man to be trilled with. Rut let me finish what I had to say, so that you may know precisely how you stand towards me. An anonymous letter, as I was observing, will bo despatched to Reginald For- tescuo, informing liim that you accompanied mo, Horace Rockingham, to a house of a particular de- scription.” “Wretch — fiend!” I exclaimed: “think you for a moment that the vile tale will be believed ?” “ Believed ? Certainly !” cried Rjckingham, with a triumpant laugh : “ believed as firmly as you ere now believed that your protector was in the arms of a rival. For jealousy believes anything !” “ Ah ! then, miscreant that you are,” I inter- jected furiously, “you admit the authorship of that foul calumny against Captain Fortescue.” “ Wherefore should I deny it P” asked Horace, his countenance lighting up with a triumphant look and luxurious smile, as his eyes devoured me : “ I had a purpose to serve — and I succeeded. I knew that on the receipt of that letter, you would fly to yom’ protector’s lodgings : I knew also that you would not find him there. I calculated that your mind would be in such trouble on coming forth again, that you would not notice in which direction the driver of the coach took you. As I have already said, an xmder standing was promptly entered into with him — for I was on the watch in Pall Mall ; and having given him my gold and my instructions, I hurried hither, confident that I should not have to wait long ere you would be at the same destination. Now, Rose, is one who thus coolly combiues, and calculates, and lays his plans, likely to be baffled in the triumphant carrying out of all his aims ?” “ That you are vile and wicked enough for any- thing, I know, sir. Alas, I know it to my cost !” was my bitter exclamation. “ But let me go hence !” I added with passionate vehemence ; and I advanced towards him. “ Stop ! stand back !” he cried, now levelling both pistols at me. “ Hear me out — and in two minutes more the door shall be open for you, if you choose to avail yourself of the freedom thus afforded.” “Go on, go on! — be quick!” I ejaculated. “ What more have you to say ?” “Now that I have kept you a sufficient time hero to answer my purpose,” he resumed, with that bitter mocking laugh which sounded like the mirth of a fiend, “ it is no longer necessary to use intimidation. There ! and there !” he added, toss- ing one pistol after the other upon the bed : “ away with the really useless weapons ! I have fright- ened you desperately, Rose: but they were not ROSA LAMBERT. 79 loaded. Mucli as I love you — mucli as I bum to possess you wholly and solely — I am nevertheless not quite so infatuated as to swing for you on the gibbet. One word more— and then you shall give me your decision. By aid of those pistols I have kept you here for nearly three quarters of an hour — and he coolly looked at his watch as he still leant mth his back against the door. “ The anonymous letter to which I have alluded, will inform Captain Fortcscue that you voluntarily accompanied me to this place. You may deny the tale as you will— you may talk of treachery— you may vow and protest — you may weep and wail— you may play off all your woman’s airs— hysterics, frenzy, raving, shrieks, faintings, and so forth : but rest assured that Fortescue will investigate the matter ! Then he will find every corrobora- tion. The woman of this house will repeat with acciu’acy the tale that I shall put in her mouth — a tale that will bo told with an off-hand business- like ingenuousness, and will prove that you were lovingly complying. But that is not all ! The driver of the coach will tell Ms tale with equal fidelity to my interest — to the effect that I joined you at a certain spot, whence we repaired hither. Now, Eose, will you court all that shame and de- gradation ? will you brand yourself with all that crowning infamy ? — or will you, on the other hand, comply with my terms ?” Again I sank like one annihilated upon the chair : my brain was whirling in confusion, — the only lucid idea being that I was utterly enmeshed in the most inextricable web that ever the devilish ingenuity of a fiend in human shape had woven for the complete destruction of a fellow-creature. But, Ah ! a thought struck me. It flashed in unto my mind through the misty confusion of my brain, as the lightning darts in a moment through the murky clouds. It was a last hope — but was clutched at with the avidity which the drowning wretch displays when grasping at a straw : it was sug- gestive that I might perhaps be in possession of a talisman which in a single moment would change the whole aspect of the scene. “ Mr Eockingham,” I said, slowly rising from my seat and addressing him in a firm cold voice, “ if you only laboured one quarter as much to per- form good actions as you toil to consummate evil ones, you would bo one of the sublimest characters on the face of the earth. But Satan has placed you upon this earth to work out his own infernal purposes. You threaten me with ruin if I refuse compliance with your demands ? Well, be it so. Sooner will I dare everything — sooner wiU I risk everything — than succumb once more to your treacheries !” “Mark well, Eose! — it is either love or ven- geance !” interrupted Horace. “ Either love of that fervid passionate nature as I alone can under- stand it : or else vengeance of that implacable character as only I can wreak it 1” — and his eyes burnt with that terrific expression which I have particularly noticed in the opening chapter of my narrative. “ Let it be revenge, sh, if you will,” I answered, still coldly and firmly : “ for rest assured that never will I court such love as yours. No : the embrace of a reptile were infinitely preferable 1 But re- member, sir, that you will not stand alone in the wreaking of revenge and now I trembled with a fearful suspense as to the success of the talisman which I was about to apply in the hope of chang- ing the aspect of the present scene. “ You, on your side, will do all you can to parade me as a being, sunken down into the lowest pollutions : — I, on my part, will parade your father as a ruined man !” “ Eose !” — and Horace Eockingham started — nay, actually bounded a foot from the floor, as if the most powerful electric shock had suddenly been applied to his very feet. “ Yes !” I ejaculated, the thrill of ineffable de- light and glorious triumph sweeping througli my entire frame, as I was thus in a moment relieved from all uncertainty as to the talismanie power of the secret which the adventures of the masquerade had put into my possession : “ I will tell the world that though Mr. Eockingham, senior, may still maintain the appearance of a rich man, he is in reality a ruined one — that fatal speculations have swept away his colossal fortune — and that with tears in his eyes, six weeks back, he confessed to his son the frightful condition of his affairs I” My triumph, my joy, and my vindictive delight experienced, not the least abatement — but on the contrary, were enhanced by the effect produced on Horace Eockingham by these words. For a moment his eyes flashed upon me with that terrific power which I have before described: then the light seemed suddenly to die in their depths, like burning cinders which go out all in an instant as water is thrown upon them. His countenance became as pale as death — a fearful agitation con- vulsed him visibly — he would have fallen, I verily believe, if he had not been leaning against the door on which he had sunk back after that galvanic spring upward when the power of the talisman was first applied to him . “ Now, sh’,” I said, with the confidence of one whose turn it was to command, “ how stand we in reference to each other ?” “It is for you to dictate conditions, Eose,” responded Horace, in a faint, half-dying voice : “ and I, who ere now dictated them, must submit !” “No doubt of it !” I immediately added : then in an imperious tone, I exclaimed, “ Stand away from that door 1” He at once obeyed : but with a sudden start, he instantaneously observed, “ I understand it all ! The masquerade !” “Yes — you are right,” I answered. “I was indeed there; and it was to me, Horace Eock- ingham, that you addressed yourself in the dark avenue, when you thought you were speaking to another.” “ Good God ! the coincidence ! the accident ! — — it is astounding !” and as he thus spoke, his looks expressed the bewildering wonderment to which he had given verbal utterance. “ Summon hither,” I said, “ the woman of the house.” He called forth the name of Mrs. Simpson from the top of the stahs ; and the female in the black silk dress and the cap with pink ribbons, forth- with made her appearance. The sight of the wretch filled me with an ineffable loathing ; and I stepped back a pace or two as she entered the room — for her very breath seemed to carry con- tamination upon it. 80 llOSA LAMBRRT. “ I have been inveigled hitlier,” I said, “ by the most execrable treachery, in which you have borne a certain part. This unprincipled young man ” — and I glanced with scornful indignation towards Uorace llockingham — “ will tell you that I have not succumbed to his designs upon mo ; and ho will in your presence beseech my pardon for the outrage. ])o you not, sir ?” “ I do, I do,” replied Horace, utterly discom- fited and crestfallen, “Then beware, infamous woman that you are I” I continued, “ how you venture to breathe a single syllable to my detriment. On the condition of ; your good behaviour in this respect, depends my J forbearance from invoking the powers of the law ! to punish you. And now answer me : is that hackney-coach still at the door ?” I “No, ma’am,” replied Mrs. Simpson, very much alarmed, and glancing in consternation from me towards Horace — then back again to myself. “ It has departed.” i “ Enough 1” I exclaimed : and turning towards Eockiugham, I said, “ It is for you, sir, to see the driver of that vehicle to-morrow — or this very evening — and bid /lim keep silence also in respect to this outrage:” — then, as I now perceived the ; woman had descended the stairs again, I added, * “ There is one other point on which I command silence ; and that is with respect to my presence at ’ the masquerade at Lady Sudbury’s house. Ee- ' member that if in one single tittle my injunctions are disobeyed, the world shall that instant know of your father’s ruined fortunes. Henceforth leave me alone, and all connected with me : it is the only condition on which I will spare your father and youi’self.” “ And may I really hope, Eosa,” asked Horace, in the most self-abasing entreaty, “ that you will keep this secret ?” “ I will— on the terms that I have stipulated. Be you equally faithful and guarded on your side.” I then issued from the room, and descended the stairs. The door of the house stood open: I passed forth as quickly as possible, and shrinking as it were within myself like a guilty thing, — feel- ing indeed as if the eyes of the whole world were upon me. I looked neither to the right nor to the left — but sped along, and did not relax my pace, nor even pause to reflect or to inquire in what quarter of the town I was, until I had threaded thi’ee or four streets. Then I began to breathe more freely : it seemed as if I had entered into a purer atmosphere, and had escaped from the range of those eyes which might have seen mo wsue forth from that house of infamy. T looked at my watch : it was a little past six o’clock ; and being in the month of August, was still broad daylight. In a few moments I emerged ' into a square j and looking up to read the name on the corner house, I found it was Eitzroy Square. I now know the district to wliieli 1 had been taken, and had no dilliculty in rcacliing tlie nearest stand of public vehicles, — wliero I entered one, and in duo time reached my own house in Sloano Street. C H A P T E E XI. TUB uninGE. OiT arriving at home, I experienced all the effects of tlio terrible excitement tlirough which I l)ad passed for the previous four or five hours. In- deed, I was exceedingly indisposed; and was half inclined to send for a medical man— only that I knew not exactly what explanation to give him, so as to account for the nervous trepidation into which I had been thrown. I forced myself to cat a few mouthfuls of the dinner that was served up ; and I drank a glass or two of wine,— after which refreshment I felt somewhat better. I lay upon the sofa to reflect whether I should frankly explain to Ecginald I'ortcscuc everything that had occurred between Horace Eockingham and myself : or whether I should keep the wholo iniquitous affair profoundly secret. I decided upon the latter course, for several reasons. In tho first place, I knew that Fortcscuc’s brave and im- petuous character would prompt him at once to hasten off and inflict upon Horace a chastisement wliich would inevitably provoke a hostile meeting : and I shuddered at the idea of my protector being involved in a second duel on my account. Another motive for my resolve of silence, w'as my convic- tion that Horace Eockingham himself would keep tho matter secret ; as it was evident that he was even far more horrified at the bare thought of his father’s circumstances being made public, than I had at first expected he would be. Thus, if there was really no chance of tkc occurrences reaching Eeginald Fortescue’s ears, it would be useless to afflict him and perhaps to endanger his life by making the revelation. Moreover, he might pos- sibly think that a certain degree of blame was to be attached to myself in having so unguardedly fallen into the treacherous snare laid for me ; and what was worse still — his sensibilities might be deeply wounded by the bare thought that I had been in a house of an infamous description. I knew full well that if the delicacy of sentiment which enters into the contexture of love be once hurt, warped, or blunted, the feeling of love itself becomes undermined and its very existence en- dangered. Therefore, all things considered, I de- termined to keep the seal of silence upon my lips in respect to those incidents which have occupied so large a portion of the preceding chapter. On the following morning I looked anxiously for the arrival of Eeginald Eortescue ; and as tho hour drew near when I was aware he would come off guard, my heart began to palpitate with in- creasing violence. That he would forgive me for my jealous fears and for the proceeding which they had prompted, I had no doubt : but I trembled with the apprehension that the old gentleman I had seen at his lodgings, might after all prove to be his father — that he had read the letters I had left unsealed- that ho would thence have gleaned the secret of his sou’s connexion with me — and that he would take mcasiu-cs to put an end to it. These were the alarms which harassed me ; and when I heard, at about noon, Eogiuald’s well- known knock at tho front-door, I felt as if all my happiness now depended on tlic cast of a die. Ho came bounding up tho staircase in his K03A I.A.UKEKT. 81 i ' I wonte^ hurried maimer when anxious to see me after an entire day’s separation : the door opened — and I rushed into his arms. He strained me to his breast, lavishing the tenderest caresses upon me : and thus did I know that I was indeed for- given for my jealousy and its consequences. But still the apprehension in respect to that old gentle- man remained; and when my emotions allowed me the power of utterance, I hurriedly and excitedly questioned him upon the point. “Yes, dearest Eose,” answered Eeginald, as we sat down together, his arm thrown round my waist and my hand locked in his : “ your conjec- ture is the true one — it was my father that you saw.” “ Your father !” I murmured in a dying voice. “ And he will separate us ?” “ Tranquillize yourself, beloved girl,” rejoined Fortescue quickly: “it would be difGcult— nay, impossible for him to do this. In respect to your No. 11 visit to my lodgings, I will not reproach you for i an instant. The letter — that wicked, malicious, I execrable letter which you enclosed for me — was I indeed enough to provoke your jealousy : but as you yourself, in your own dear letter, suggested, I regard that jealousy as a proof of the love which you bear for me. ” • I embraced my protector tenderly : I felt deeply j grateful to him for thus abstaining from reproach ■ at that instant : I loved him, if possible, more than i ever ; and tears of joy trickled down my cheeks as ! I reflected upon the assurance he had just given me that we should not be parted. “ Tell me everything, dearest Eeginald,” I said ; “ 80 that I may know exactly how you are situated in respect to your father. Did he read the letters 1 which, by a fatal oversight, I left unsealed Y’es ‘ — I am confident that he did !” i “Again is your conjecture right,” responded Fortescue: “my father did read those letters. ! 1 But li(> would not linvc done it — ho is too lionour- able und lii^di-niindod io ])ry info (he Koerefs even of his own son, wore if. nof (hat soinefliing hnd occurred to idlord him a i)revions insifrht iido my j position with regard fo yen. For (ho dotostnhlc | system of aTimiymous Avriling lias not been njipliod to you alone, IJoso: it has taken wider ramdica- I (ions— and (he (raiforous hand of our unknown enemy dcsjiafched one of (Imso coward epistles to my fafher in (ho norfli of England.” “Ah!” I (‘jaculafed, Avifh a sudden start of fierce indignation, as I of course instantaneously knew (hat (his was anodier ])hase in Horace Kock- ingham’s deleslnhle machinal ions. “Yes,” conlinucd Reginald, not for an instant ' suspecting the real meaning of that ejaculation nor of that start; “an anonymous letter gave my father to understand that 1 was ruining myself for a beautiful syren ; and the old gentleman at once came up to London to investigate the truth of the matter.” “And the unfortunate step which I took,” I ob- served regretfully, “threw me at tho very instant in his way !” “ Do not blame yourself, dearest Bose — for I I blame you not !” answ<'red Bc'ginald. “ It is true ! tliat the governor, on h.earing from my valet that a lady Avas up-stairs, had his already excited sus- picions at once strengthened — and he Avas deter- mined to see Avho the lady Avas. From the I confusion of your manner ” “ Yes — I wrt.s confused, Eeginald,” I interrupted him mournfully; “because I felt that I had done wrong to A’isit your lodgings.” “Dearest girl, pray cease to reproach yourself: I am only telling you Avhat my father thought, as he has ere uoav explained everything to me. He witnessed your confusion, as I was saying; and it struck him that you might be the very lady concerning A\’hom the anonymous letter aa'us written. He Avould have perhaps questioned you farther ; but you intimated that you had left a letter for me — and he therefore knew that this would afford him all the information he sought. He read the two enclosures you had left. He did not seek me at the guard-house— he did not even send to inform me that he was in London : he re- mained at my lodgings until this morning — when I returned thither. Conceive my astonishment on finding him there, and on learning that you had called yesterday ! My father remonstrated with me gently but firmly : I promised everything, with the intention of fulfilling nothing; and to- morrow he Avill leave London again.” “ Jteginald,” I obscr\'cd, in a deep and low mur- muring voice, “ you must not for my sake fly in the face of your father !” “(iood heavens, Bose !” exclaimed my protector ; “do you think that I Avould consent to a separa- tion ? No— not for Avorlds ! Let me hear nothing more of this kind from your lips; or I must sihuiec you thus:” — and he imprinted a long, tender kiss upon my mouth. “No — dear girl,” he went mi to observe', “1 am not (piite a child to be thus ruled by the governor, 'fo set his mind at rest, and induce liim to leave London all (ho more sjiccdily, I of course jiromisi'd everything. All we have to do is (o be as guarded as jios- bibh; lJut if 1 thought that, .^irs. llarborougli was the aiil.horess of these anmiymous letters,” he suddenly (■jaculntcd, “ I would take some menniii to punish (he vile woman I” “ I do not for a moment think anything of (he sort,” Avas my observation, (|uiekly uttered ; for though liking Mrs. Il trborough as little ns could be, 1 did nor, choose her to bear the brunt of a fault Avhieh she had not committed. “Mr. Al- Amnly had similar letters sent to him, Avhich jiro- voked a quarrel between us: for he susjieeled mo unjustly — ami indeed Avas subsequently found to admit that he had been misled.” “ rVrsons too often have their unknown ene- mies,” remarked Beginald ; “and if it be not Mr.;, irarborough in this case — as from Avhat you have told mo it Avould seem that it is not it i.s doubtless .some cowamlly scounrlrel who is jealous of my happiness in po«se,ssing you. IfoAvever, wo Avill not allow these circumstances to (rouble us any more. And remember, dearest. Itose, that should anonymous letters reach either of us in future, Ave Avill at once show (hem to each other, and trust to explanations to remove every jealous alarm.” “ Best assured, my generous B<'ginald,” I ex- claimed, tlinging my arms round his neck, “ tiiat I shall never more be so foolisli in respect to you ns I yesterday AVas !” A forluiglit passed away after the incidents wbieh 1 liave been relating; and one morning, on sending to the post-office in Cavendisli iStrcet to inquire for letters, I received the long-expected one from Lady Lucia Calthorpe. She therein ob- served that I mAist doubtless feel astonished she had not previously communicated witli me, if only to renew in Avriting the gratitude Avlnch she had expressed at our interview' in Hyde Park : but she assured me that she had trembled at the bare idea of taking a single step which would tend to excite any suspicion ; and that she was so fearful of a letter falling intoother hands than those for whom it might be intended. She requested me to meet her on the following day, at the same place and at the same hour as before, — when we might converse together upon the subject in respect to which she dared write no more. She concluded with renewed expressions of her grateful feelings towards me, and with the assurance that she held herself under an obligation which she could never hope to repay. The letter bore merely the initial “ L,” and was addressed from no place of abode. On the ensuing day, at the appointed hour, I proceeded on foot to the spot where I Avas to meet her, and which was at no considerable distance from my own house : indeed, I may as well observe for the benefit of those readers who are unacquainted with the great metropolis, that Sloane Street is in the immediate vicinage of Hyde Park. I was not kept many minutes AA'aiting, Lady Lucia soon accosting me : she Avas dressed plainly and unob- trusively, as on the former occasion. She was closely veiled ; and, as a matter of course, she came on foot. From her appearance it would have been scarcely possible to suspect that she Avas in a Avay to become a mother : indeed, if I had not previously knowni it, T am convinced that such an idea Avould not have occurred to me. But she Avas tall — rather inclined to embonpoint — and thus, Avith these phy- sical advantages, aided by the artificialities of the (oilct, she was enabled (o conceal her position. Vet she Avas Avithin a month of tho lime at which EOSA LAMBEET. 83 ebc expected her confinement to take place : namely, at the close of September. She shook me warmly by the band— poured forth the most fervid expressions of gratitude — and altogether displayed so much feeling that I thought I must have judged her erroneously to some extent, when, after the previous interview, I had come to the conclusion that she was naturally cold, callous, and apathetic. “ The time approaches, my dear Mrs. Wilton,” she said, “when I must avail myself of your generously promised succour. It will be impossible for me to conceal my position many days longer : I need hardly inform you that it is to the danger of my very life I have hitherto succeeded in veiling it.” “ And your maid,” I asked : “ has your ladyship made her your confidante ?” “ Yes — Maria is in my confidence,” responded Lucia. “ She is a woman of about eight-and- twenty — discreet and reserved — faithful too, I am convinced. Ah ! you may conceive how deep was my humiliation when I had to confess my secret to her ! — but she told me that for some weeks pre- viously she had suspected it, and yet had scarcely dared harbour the thought which nevertheless amounted almost to a conviction in her own mind. I told her of the frightful outrage to which I had been subjected : she was shocked and painfully affected : she embraced me, declaring that she would go through fire and water to serve me. I told her that heaven had sent me a friend in you, my dear Mrs. Wilton ; and she was infinitely re- joiced at this announcement. At present I am staying with my aunt the Marchioness of Sudbury. My father and mother, brothers and sisters, are all upon the Continent ; and this is indeed most for- tunate. I managed to induce my aunt to give me a pressing invitation to remain with her for a few weeks ; and thus my family did not think it at all strange that I should remain in England. In a word, my secret is unsuspected where suspicion was to be so much dreaded; — and now it remains for me to pass through the final ordeal.” The unhappy young lady’s voice sank into the profoundest melancholy as she gave utterance to these last words : a half stifled sob too fell upon my ear; and even through the veil, which she kept down, I could see the tears glistening in her eyes. “ Keep up your spii-its, dear Lady Lucia,” I said ; “ and everything shall be done for the best. I have a plan settled in my head ; and this absence of your family from England is most fortunate — ^ inasmuch as there is but one person now to de- ceive, instead of half-a-dozen to be similarly dealt with.” “ And that one person is my aunt, the Mar- chioness?” observed Lady Lucia inquiringly. “Exactly so,” I rejoined. “Is her ladyship very particular ? does she keep a close watch over you ? Think you that it will be easy or difficult for you to leave her for six weeks or so, if a very excellent pretext be devised for such absence ?” “ My aunt has a great idea of the strictest pro- priety, reserve, and bashfulness being maintained by young ladies,” answered Lucia : “ but having not the slightest reason to suspect me of duplicity or double-dealing, she would no doubt be blinded by any sufficient pretext, if it be possible to invent one.” j “ Oh ! the pretext,” I exclaimed, “ is readily planned. Indeed, I have thought over it — I have I pondered it well — I have considered it in all its bearings during the two months which have elapsed j since last w'e met. Tell me. Lady Lucia, at what boarding-school were you. educated ?” “ At Mrs. Arlington’s at Bath,” was the young lady’s response. “Very good,” I went on to observe. “ Then at Mrs. Aldington’s your most intimate school com- panion was a certain Catherine Livers — or any other name that may suit your purpose better. But be it Catherine Livers. Well, this Catherine Livers has grown up, like yourself — and has married a gentleman high in the service of the East India Company. She is now Mrs. Wilton. Her husband is in India — she remains in England on account of her health — and she has a beautiful little place some thirty or forty miles from Lon- don ; or at least so far that the Marchioness of Sudbury shall not be inclined to take it into her head some fine morning to drive over there to see her niece. Now, do you begin to comprehend me ? I write you a letter from this beautiful place of mine — which, be it understood, has yet to be taken : I remind you of our former friendship — I recall to your recollection the intimacy which sub- sisted between us at school — I recapitulate the vows and promises we exchanged, to the effect that this friendship should last for life : I throw in a few good-humouredly satirical allusions to Mrs. Arlington and the teachers — with perhaps a harder rap at the French governess or the drawing-master. In.short, I make my letter as natural as possible, and give it such a semblance of truth that when you hand it to the Marchioness to read, she shall not for an instant suspect it is otherwise than com- pletely genuine. Of course I give you a most press- ing invitation to come and pass a few weeks with me at my beautiful place ; and thus, you see, dear Lady Lucia, all that remains for you to do is to persuade ycur aunt the Marchioness of Sudbury to permit you to pay the visit to yoiu* old school- fellow.” “ Oh, my dear Mrs. Wilton !” exclaimed Lady Lucia, “how can I sufficiently thank you for ail your kindness ? So much forethought and in- genuity added to so much generosity ! and you a stranger too, to have taken such compassion upon me ! Oh, I have no doubt that my aunt the Marchioness will be completely deceived by such a letter as that which you propose to write. But you have yet the country-house to take — and all this will occupy time !” Not a moment shall be lost, dear Lady Lucia,” I answered. “ I waited but your summons to bring us together ; and pardon me for observing that it ia-yoiu’ own fault if the matter is driven off to the last instant.. However, now that you consent to my plan, I will see about the requisite arrange- ments at once. There are house-agents in London who have upon their books such a country- residence as will suit — small but comfortable, and ready furnished. Then I will go and see it ; and while at the place, will write you the promised letter — so that it may bear the local postmark, and thus have the most genuine appearance in every detail.” “ My dear friend,” said Lady Lucia, in a voice that was mournful as well as hesitating and in- 84 lOSA LAMnTJTlT. dicativc of embarrassment, “ all that you purpose to do will eost a great deal of money ; and I am forcetl to confess, humiliating though it be, that I eannot dispose of sutlicicnt funds of my own for the purpose. As for applying to my aunt, she would wonder wherefore 1 could possibly need such an amount.” “Place yourself at ease upon this point,” I said : “ I have ample resources, which you may future period according to your convenience :” — for I added these words in order to save Lady Lucia from as much humiliation ns possible, and put the advances I w'as about to make in the light of a loan instead of a gift. She again expressed her gratitude, pressing my hands fervently — vowing that she should never forget my goodness — and calling me her angel- saviour. We then separated; and I proceeded at once to a house-agent Avhose office w'as at no great distance from my own residence. This person had recently distributed circulars throughout the neighbourhood, directing attention to his business ; and I had carefully studied the details of that prospectus, because at the time I had already I formed my plan on Lady Lucia’s behalf. I ex- i plained my requirement to the house-agent : namely, a small but genteel and comfortably fur- nished country- dwelling, at least forty miles from London, and to be taken only for a term of three months. “ I think,” said Mr. Perkins, the house-agent, 1 “ that I can accommodate you :” — and having looked I over his book, he went on to observe, “ Here is i the very thing! A neat cottage-residence, situ- ated in the midst of a large garden — genteelly furnished — and with every convenience. The family has gone abroad for some time, and has left me discretionary power in the letting of the j place. An elderly couple are in charge of it, — the i man serving as the gardener, the woman as cook and servant-of-all-work. There are parlour and dining-room — four bed-rooms — kitchen — outhouses — and so forth. The rent is marked at fifty i pounds a-year; and therefore I think that for a j term of three months you will not object, ma’am, I to pay fifteen guineas ?” ! “ Certainly not,” I answered ; “ and you shall j have the amount in advance. But you have I omitted to tell me where the residence is situ- I ated.” “ Ah ! to be sure !” ejaculated the house-agent. “ It is on the outskirt of Sittingbourne — a town in Kent, on the high road between Rochester and (Canterbury. And when I bethink me, it is ex- actly forty miles from London — neither more nor less. When do you wish to take possession ?” “ I will go and see it to-morrow,” was my re- sponse; “and if its appearance be according to ’ your description, I will close with you at once on my return. Here are a couple of guineas as an earnest ; and if 1 do not take the premises, this little fee shall be your own.” The house-agent was satisfied ; and inquired what name he should write upon the card that would have to bo presented to the old people in cliarge of the hf)use, which ho informed mo was called Jasmine Cottage. 1 bade him write the narrio of Mrs. Wilton; for it was indeed a matter of perfect indifierenco whether or not ho subse- quently discovered that it was not my right tmtno. The business was finished ; and I returned home. It was ray resolution to depart the first thing in the morning for Sittingbourne: but T knew not exactly what excuse to make to Reginald Fortescue for this journey, which would keep mo two days absent. I luul embarked heart and soul in the enterprise on Lady Lucia’s account : and I was determined to keep her secret inviolable. Therefore I could neither mention her name, nor say anything that might afford the least clue to the purpose which I had in hand. T could not very well pretend that I had received an invitation from any female friend to pay licr a visit; because, if j so, Reginald would think it strange that I did not, 1 in the spirit of confidence, show him the letter. But an idea struck me. It would be unkind to- wards Lady Lucia to do things by halves, and leave her to find her way alone to the temporary residence that was to be taken for her. I thero- fore resolved to wait at Sittingbourne until her arrival. This would occasion a prolonged absence from London : but the prolonged absence itself suggested a befitting excuse to be made to Regi- nald. I had told him that my parents dwelt in Cheshire : I could now intimate to him that it wag my desire to pay them a visit. I knew that ho would remonstrate : I was sorry to deceive him ; but I had undertaken something from which I could not now retreat — and the best must be made of it. He came at the dinner-hour ; and in the course of the evening, I stated that, with his concurrence, I purposed to set off on the morrow to visit my parents. He was seized with consternation and alarm. I had never entered into any family mat- ters with him ; and he naturally thought that if I once returned to my parents, they would do their best to keep me altogether with them. I however succeeded in quieting his fears, by solemnl_^ assur- ing him that I would return at the expiration of a week — and likewise by hinting that my parents believed me to be otherwise situated than what I really was. To be brief, he assented: but the evening we passed together was a dull and gloomy one, notwithstanding all my endeavours to rally my own spirits and cheer those of my lover. On the following morning, Reginald waited to see me off in the post-chaise that was ordered for my accommodation. He had wished Frances, my maid, to accompany me : but I hinted that this was impossible, as the mere fact of my being so attended, w^ould prove to my parents that I had deceived them as to my actual position. Reginald was satisfied : we embraced each other — I entered the vehicle — and it drove rapidly away. But the instructions given to the postilion by Captain Fortescue, were of eourse calculated to make him take a road which I had not the slightest intention of pursuing. I was therefore compelled to call to him to stop so soon as we were at a suitable dis- tance from the house ; and when I gave him counter-instructions, he stared in astonishment. A guinea how'cvcr soon rendered the man satisfied ; and proceeding in the direction of Westminster Fridge, he urged his horses on towards the Kent Road. It was a little past one o’clock in the afternoon that the post-chaise entered the town of Sitting- bourne, and stopped at the principal inn. This EOSA LAMBKET. 85 town, containing about a couple of thousand inha- bitants, lies upon the high road from London to Pover ; indeed the road itself constitutes the prin- cipal street. Alighting at the inn, and having partaken of some refreshment, I inquired my way to Jasmine Cottage : and speedily reached it. Its outward appearance, being neat and picturesque, fully justified the description given by the house- agent. It was situate on that outskirt of the town which is nearest to Canterbury ; and stood back about thirty yards from the road,— having a large garden attached. An old man, whom I found to be exceedingly deaf, was working in this garden ; and when I displayed the card, he conducted me into the cottage, where I found his wife— a re- spectable, cleanly female, w^hose age bordered upon sixty. Her manners were respectful and agreeable; and I judged her to be obliging, as well as discreet and devoid of impertinent curiosity. She showed me over the house, the interior of which was in all respects as the agent had de- scribed it. I accordingly informed the old couple —whose name was Bunting — that I should take the cottage, and that by the same day’s post I would write to Mr. Perkins to remit the money and close the bargain. The Buntings themselves had the power of letting it, as well as the London agent ; and there was consequently no difficulty in my taking immediate possession. I lost no time in writing two letters, — one to Perkins, enclosing the sum due for the three months’ tenure — and the other to Lucia. This latter was a very long one, and was couched in precisely the terms which I had explained to her at our last interview. I took the letters to the post myself ; as of course I did not wish the Buntings to read the address on the one written to Lady Lucia Calthorpe. On the following day I informed the woman that I had taken the cottage for a Mrs. Richards — a friend of mine — who was coming thither to pass through her confinement. I devised some tale about her husband being abroad, and the London physicians having ordered seclusion as well as change of air ; and I was pleased to dis- cover that my first estimate of Mrs. Bunting’s character was a correct one : for she exhibited no impertinent curiosity — while, at the same time, she evidently put implicit faith in wffiatsoever I told her. I allowed her to make all requisite pur- chases — was lavish with the money I placed in her hands — and not over rigid in examining her account; and though I found her scrupulously honest, yet the confidence I appeared to be so ingenuously reposing in her, evidently flattered and pleased the old woman. The return of post brought no letter from Lady Lucia — a circumstance at which I was both aston- ished and alarmed. I thought that in any case — even supposing her aunt would not permit her to accept my invitation— she would have been sure to write. Indeed, I knew not what to think — but encouraged myself with the idea that the following morning’s post could not fail to bring me an answer. During the day I caused every- thing to be purchased which I believed calculated to administer to the comforts of Lady Lucia : I still acted as if there were no doubt as to her making her appearance — for I did not wish her to come and find the place unprepared for her reception. I was sitting in the parlour between nine and ten o’clock in the evening, endeavouring to be- guile my loneliness — and I may even add, the melancholy which it inspired — when the sounds of an equipage stopping at the garden-gate, reached my ears. It was a beautiful evening ; and I hur- ried forth to welcome Lady Lucia — for she I felt assured it must be. And Lady Lucia it was, — who, attended by her maid, had arrived in a post- chaise. She wore a thick veil, which she kept over her countenance as I assisted her to alight from the vehicle : nor did she raise that veil as she threw herself into my arms. Her maid lin- gered behind to pay the postilion ; while I con- ducted Lucia into the parlour, — Mrs. Bunting fol- lowing, to receive any instructions which the presence of my expected friend might render necessary. “ G-et supper ready,” I said, “ with the least possible delay: for Mrs. JRichards” I added, emphasizing the name, so as at once to make Lucia aware of the denomination I had selected for her, “doubtless needs refreshment after her journey.” “No, my dear friend,” she said hastily, and trembling all over with nervous excitement as she literally clung to my arm; “nothing but some tea — and that I will take in my bed-room. Pray conduct me up to it at once !” Mrs. Bunting hurried off to the kitchen to make the tea ; and Lucia, without offering to lift her veil, followed me up to the best bed-chamber, which I had caused to be prepared for her recep- tion. Then, having closed and locked the door, she lifted her veil — again embraced me, pouring forth her gratitude in the most fervid strain. She next proceeded to take off her bonnet and shawl; and in a hurried and excited manner, asked, “How many domestics are there in the place ?” “ Only the elderly woman whom you have seen — and her husband, who acts as gardener. I knew that you purposed to bring your maid; and I thought that no other servant would be neces- sary.” “Excellent!” ejaculated Lucia, with an air of considerable relief. “ But that woman ” “ Discreet — trustworthy — and without the slightest impertinent curiosity,” I responded. “ Nothing can be better !” said Lucia, still far- ther relieved. “I have given Maria the fullest instructions how to act : and I must trust to you, my dear friend, to tell some tale to that old couple, so that they will not think my conduct extraordi- nary — or at all events, whatever they may think, they will not go gossiping about it.” “ But, my dear Lady Lucia No ! I must call you Mrs. Richards, even when we are alone together, for fear of an inadvertent mention of your real name in the presence of the Buntings.” “ Oh, but I never mean to have them in my presence!” at once exclaimed Lady Lucia. “I have told Maria that she is to bring me up all my meals ” “ That of course she can do,” I answ^ered, “ if 1 you do not choose to be served in the parlour.” 1 “Not for worlds!” cried Lucia. “You do not think, my dear Mrs. Wilton, that I would let the 1 people of the house see my face. Good heavens, ! no !” i 80 KOSA LVMIJKUT. 1 now coinj)rcIieridc(l wheroluro iUo n il luul been so scrupulously kept clown — cincl why Lucia bad locked the door. “ .Lilt, luy dear friend,” I said, “you will have to remain hero a couple of crionths ; and during that interval it is altogether impossible you can bury yourself in your bed-chamber.” “Is there much of a garden Eockingham instructed me to write anonymous letters to Sir Eeginald, who was known to be very particular in respect to his son’s conduct. 1 A few days afterwards— and this was but three weeks ago — Horace dictated to me that letter which you received, which was signed Your Tin- known Friend, and which was full of the vilest misrepresentations with regard to your protector. That very same evening Horace Eockingham told me, with unfeeling abruptness, that he required ; me no more — that ho had had enough to do with | vengeance, for that you were more than a match for him.” “ But ho did not tell you,” I observed, “ how that note which ho prompted you to write, had an intent far beyond tho mere laceration of my feel- ing tlirougli tko medium of my love and jealousy ? Ho did not tell you, perhaps, how 1 was beguiled to a den of infamy, where the fiond-like young man, with weapons in his hands, endoavoured to cocrco mo to his purpose? nor how 1 ovorwhelmod him in a moment by tho revelation of a secret which ho little thought had come to my know- ledge ?” “ No— he told mo nothing of all this,” an- swered Caroline, in amazement. “ And that so- cret ” “ You shall learn it presently,” I said. “ Con- clude your narrative first.” “ Horace Eockingham abandoned mo abruptly, leaving me absolutely penniless. Tho rent was unpaid at the lodgings: the landlady seized my wardrobe, and thrust me forth into tho street. As I ere now said, three weeks have elapsed since that day. I was reduced to despair. 1 had no one to whom I could apply for a single shilling. Once more 1 thought of making an endeavour to re-enter the })atcrnal home. Prom a miserable lodging in wliich I found refuge, I addressed a penitent letter to my father : I told liim how I had been beguiled and who was tho beguiler. I sent this letter by tho womaii of the house in which 1 had taken a humble apartment : she came back, with the intelligence that my father had re- fused to open the letter. Oh ! Miss Lambert, what was I to do? To sink down into the very dregs of society — to go forth into the public streets and add another to the ranks of mifortune and crime w'hich ply their hideous traffic there no, no, I could not ! How these last three weeks have passed away, I can scarcely tell. Turned out of that humble lodging at the expiration of the first week, because I could not pay the rent and had no effects to offer as a guarantee, — I managed to obtain an attic in another house ; and there I sought needle-work. But all in vain. Who would give work to a friendless, characterless being who had no security to offer — no proofs of respectability to advance? Again turned out of even that wretched attic, I have for the last few days known the most terrible privations. At length my miseries, my anguish, and my de- spair yes, and my remorse, reached that point at which they became intolerable. I resolved to hasten to Broad Street — knock at my father’s door — and if refused admittance, lay myself down there, to die! It was between nine and ten o’clock last night that I determined upon this course : but as I entered the street, I was seized with so overwhelming a sense of shame, that I could not proceed. A thousand terrible ideas swept like vultures through my mind. What if I were spurned by the very domestics who had once obeyed me ? what if the pohee were to bear me away as a vagrant and a beggar, from the steps of the very house which was once my home ? A voice whispered in my soul that at my father’s hands no mercy was to be expected ; he had closed the door against me a year back— and but a few days had elapsed since he had returned my [letter unopened. No: I could not encounter those tremendous humiliations which awaited me if I persevered in my intent ! I turned and wan- dered slowly away from tho neighbourhood of my father’s house. Oh, tho anguish of my thoughts ! Good heavens ! if those who hover upon the brink of frailty, could only for a single moment have a I foretaste of tho bitter, bitter eo-'ioeq.iojejs thas 1 must ensue ” I E03A LAMBEltT. 97 j i I i "Go on with your narrative, Caroline — go on with it quick !” I interrupted her, in a hoarse voice : for the words to which she was giving such pathetic utterance, smote me as being prophetic of the doom which must inevitably await all those of my sex who fell from the path of virtue. “Yes, yes — I will not digress again,” she said, in a moment comprehending what was passing in my mind. “ I was wandering onward, listless and indifferent as to whither my vagrant footsteps bore me, — when all of a sudden, by the light of a street- lamp, I found myself face to face with Horace liockingham. I caught him by the arm — I told him that I was reduced to the very lowest degree of destitution and misery — that I had thought of going to my father and imploring his mercy — but that I dared not ! — ‘ No,’ replied Horace, in a most unfeeling manner ; ‘I should think that you would do well not to incur the risk of being spurned from his door. He is even capable of having you sent No. 13 I to the House of Correction by way of punishing and reforming you.’ ” “ Ah !” I exclaimed, “ the fiend spoke to you thus ? — and it was last night ?” “ Yes,” rejoined Caroline, the dark shade coming over her countenance at the recollection thus vividly conjured up. “And it was yesterday,” I thought to myself, “ that Mr. liockingham senior was introduced to this poor girl’s father for the purpose of obtaining a loan. Oh!” I exclaimed aloud, “I can but too well understasid wherefore Horace should have been filled with dismay at the idea of your throwing yourself at your father’s feet last night ! Your father is doubtless in complete ignorance of who the author of your ruin was ?” “ He could not possibly know it,” answered Caroline. “ Cut wherefore say you tliat you can I full well understand the motives of Horace Eock- 1 inghara ” I i i I 1 08 ■ROSA T.AMT^RRT. “ I M'ill exjilnin proPCnMy. I'inisli your nnr- ralivc.” “ It, lu'oda but a fow more words to coinpletc it,” said Ciiroliiic. “1 besought Horace Ibfckingliatn last night to save me from distress; and when he smiled, inetliouglit sui)erciliously, I u])braided liiin l)itterly as my betrayer— my deceiver — tlio worker of my ruin ! A licndisli ex])res8ion a2)i)earcd upon bis countenance ; my upbraidings grew more vio- lent — I was reduced to despair — I even vowed ven- geance against him. He llung insulting taunts at me — declared that he had never loved me — that 1 had served as a toy and a plaything — and that if ever I dared cross his path again But I waited to hear no more. Maddened — frantic— wild with frenzy, I rushed away, not knowing nor caring which direction I pursued. My rapid erratic foot- steps led me towards Waterloo Bridge ; and as I ‘beheld the double line of lights marking the span of the river, and the gates at the entrance of the bridge, I stopped suddenly short. A frightful idea had ilashed to my brain. Oh ! beneath the arches of that bridge rolled the waters in whose dark depths lay the one pearl that was priceless for mo now — oblivion ! To escape from the hideous miseries which had enmeshed me — to lly from a world in which, though so young, I had experienced so much bitter sorrow — the opportunity was at hand ! The idea, at the first instant so frightful, became I the next moment one to be clutched at greedily. A’es — I was bent on suicide. My brain was in wild confusion ; and yet it had a horrible clearness. I said to myself, ‘ I must pass tranquilly and quietly through the gates at the entrance; or else my design will be penetrated ; I shall he stopped and sent to prison.’ — But aji ! a thought struck me. The toll ! With as much desperate suspense as if it were in search for the means ! to piu’chase a penny roll to save myself from I starving, I plunged my hand into the pocket i of my dress. There was just one penny there I One single penny! I had not known that I I was even so rich. A moment before I had I trembled lest poverty would even prevent me from j committing suicide — at least at that particular I bridge. Oh, it was Satan himself who had hidden i that one coin in the depth of my pocket, so that it I should escape my search when I wanted to buy I bread, but should come ready to my hand when I • purposed to pay the toll which led to the path of I contemplated self-destruction !” j “'Unhappy girl!” I could not help exclaiming, i “But, Oh! that miscreant Rockingham! A few I pounds — nay, even a few shillings, might have ! turned all your thoughts into another direction. I But go on — go on.” j “ Assuming as collected an air as possible, I paid the toll — passed through the gate — and felt that there now' remained but one barrier to bo crossed — tlic parapet of the bridge— ere I should obtain relief IVom all my earthly cares. There was a wild and fearful exultation in the lliouglit: 1 quickened 7iiy pace — i)i a few moments 1 ran — 1 was now afraid Jcjst some sudfh'ii scruple should ari.a; and wifli Ibo slrrngOi (A' an outstretched invisible band lujld me liadc. I licard (ho sounds (d‘ sonar e(jui])iige apj/maebing : 1 felt tliat if I suffered the monicnts to glide by, I should vepeni - J should jecaal (iaan (be nu'diluied deed. To leap uj)on liar parajiet was (be work of aninslan* : (he equijrnge came uj) - some one nisheil forward to hold me back (hero was frenzy in my brain — desperate was the bound i took -and then t) horror !” | (Quivering and shuddci ing so (hat the bed again j shook beneath the unhaj»py girl, slie i»regHed her ! hands to licr temples, covering her <'ye.s with the I palms as if to shut out a tcrrilic object from her ' view, i “ 8ay no more, Caroline!” 1 exclaimfrd : “tliink 1 no more of what is passed ! That chaise which came up, was the one that bore me: the man j whose hand was stretched out to draw you buck, was the postilion.” ) “And heaven has sent mo a friend in you!” I murmured the poor creature, — “you whom I hated, and against whom 1 cheri.hed an im- placable vengeance ! "May God forgive me. If 1 bated you deeply, I now love you ten thousand- fold: if I longed to work you an injurv, I would now lay down my life to prevent a single hair of your head from being harmed !” “ I know' it — I know it, Caroline,” I said, taking her hands and pressing them in my own. “ I understand full well your strange inpulsivc nature : all your feelings are in extremes ” | “ Miss Lambert,” she answered, fixing her eyes i upon mo with a deep earnest gaze, “ 1 now love j you as if you were my sister : but I hate Horace Rockingham with an intensity as strong as my worship for him was once potent. Oh, to be re- venged on that devil in an angel shape !” “ And you shall be revenged, Caroline !” I re- joined impressively, “ Revenged ! What mean you ?” she ejacu- lated, her looks suddenly brightening up, so that her eyes flamed and a hectic colour glowed upon her sunken cheeks. | “Just now,” I said, “you were struck by a j question which I put as to your father’s Christian i name ; and but a few minutes have elapsed since you were again surprised that I should have ex- pressed myself as able to comprehend w'herefore Horace Rockingham was so terrified- for it was indeed terror that he experienced last night— lest you should throw yourself at your father’s feet and tell the name of the villain and all his vil- lany. How, Caroline, the means of vengeance are in our hands. I say our hands, because I also, | after everything you have told me — but more on j my brother’s account than on my own — have a j terrible reckoning to take w’ith that being whom j you so well describe as a devil in angel shape. | Were I other than I am, and did such lips of mine | dare sjDcak of holy things, I w'ould even say that i there is the finger of heaven in all this — and that i by preterhuman intervention it is given to me to | bring about the hour of retribution for Horace Rockingham.” “ Oh, explain yourself— explain yourself, my dearest friend !” cried Miss Seymour, almost wild with the excitement of vindictive hope. “A few words will suliice,” I answered. “Yes- terday — and only yesterday — was ]\Ir. Rockingham, senior, introduced to your father to obtain the loan of a sum of money to save him from ruin ! ’ “ Heavens, if tliis w'ero possible !” cried the old usurer’s daugider. “ It is possible ! It is more than possible— it is true,” I ri'spoiuled. “All this has been brought 1 IlOSl LAMBERT. 99 to my knowledge by the strangest of coincidences : I will not pause to tell you bow— because there is work to be done. 1 go straight hence to your father.” “ Oh, Miss Lambert !” exclaimed Caroline, join- ing her hands in impassioned entreaty, “ if you would but avail yourself of this opportunity to breathe in my father’s ear that a penitent and a wretched daughter — a daughter who has been deeply, far too deeply punished— implores permis- sfon to cast herself at his feet ” ‘•'Eest assured, Caroline,” I interrupted her, “ that I shall not forget to plead your cause : but I shall do it in a way that, if from all you have told me I rightly understand your father’s charac- ter, will I think be almost certain of success. Do not however buoy yourself up with hopes that may be disappointed : prepare yourself for the worst — so that if the best should come, the joy thereof will be all the greater.” “ Go, my best and dearest friend,” murmured the unfortunate girl, trembling with suspense : “ and for heaven’s sake, be not long ere you re- turn !” I promised to lose no time; and having em- braced her, took my departure. CHAPTER XIII. THE USURER. I HAD ordered the hackney-coach to wait for me ; and now I directed the driver to take me to Broad Street, City. While proceeding thither, I reviewed all I had learnt from the lips of Caroline Seymour^ — not so much for the purpose of keeping alive the flame of vindictive cravings that burnt in my bosom, as fer that of assuring myself that I had formed an exact appreciation of her father’s cha- racter. According to the standard of that disposi- tion, and the way that I understood its selfishness, its bcartlessness, its weak and its strong points, did I propose to adapt my own plan of proceeding. All the details of this plan were duly settled in my brain by the time that the hackney-coach stopped in front of one of the dingy, dismal-looking houses *in Broad Street. 3- -On alighting, I knocked at the door. An elderly female -servant, with a sour aspect and half-starved appearance, answered the summons at the end of an interval so long that I was just on the point of knocking again. “ Is Mr. Seymour at home?” I inquhed. A'es — he is, ma’am,” responded the domestic : and she looked very hard at me, as if wondering what a person of my sex, apparel, and appearance could possibly want with her master. “ I wish to see him on particular business,” I at once said, with an air of decision. The servant conducted me into a parlour on the j ground-floor, and inquired what name she should 1 take to her master. I replied that it was no use ! j to give any name, as he was unacquainted with ) j mine : hut I added that my business was of the most serious importance. The woman retired ; and during the few minutes which elapsed ere Mr. Seymour made his appearance, I cast my eyes around the room. The furniture was old-fashioned ; ; and had never been vei’y costly : the window- i curtains, once red, were all faded and covered with dust ; the carpet was threadbare ; the walls had not been re-papered for years, nor the ceiling white- washed. It must have been his own house- or else the terms of his lease would have decidedly compelled him to paint the wood-work more frequently than it could possibly have undergone that process. While I was in the midst of my survey, the door opened, and a little old man, with a skull-cap of rusty black silk upon his head, entered the room. His spare stooping figure was enveloped in a dingy dressing-gown: his feet were thrust into buff leather slippers. His sharp angular features — the quick, penetrating, but suspicious glances of his eyes — the knitting of the broivs — and the com- pression of the lips, denoted every trait of his character. Love of gold — pinching parsimony — — miserly greed — hardness of heart— shi’ewd cun- ning — and thorough worldly-mindedness, were as legibly written on that face as in the pages of a book. He bowed very slightly ; and without asking me to take a seat — for I had remained standing — looked at me as much as to imply that he awaited the explanation of my business and that his time was precious. “ I may perhaps detain you, sir,” I began, in a 'tone of firm confidence, “for ten minutes or a quarter of an hour : but I hope and think that when I take my departure, you will have reason to congratulate yourself that you have accorded me so much patience.” “But are you sure, ma’am,” he asked, in a screeching disagreeable voice, while his sinister, searching, speaking eyes were fixed upon me, “ that you have made no mistake, and that I am the right person ?” “I am sure of it,” I answered, — “if I have the honour of addressing myself to Mr. Obadiah Seymour.” “ That is my name,” w'as the old man’s quick business-like response. “Perhaps you v/ill sit down.” “Yes— if you will also be seated,” I said: “for we must converse wdthout restraint.” Again his eyes were fastened upon me in their peculiar searching manner : wLile the old man took a chair exactly opposite to the one in which I seated mj^self. “What would you say to me, Mr. Seymour,” I asked, meeting that gaze steadily and unflinchingly, “ if I had it in my pow'er to save you the loss of a very considerable sum of money ?” “Ah!” ejaculated the old man — and now his eyes twduklcd with an uneasy gleaming ; “ loss of money did you say ?” — and by his look and manner I have no doubt he in a few swift brief moments cast a survey over all his pecuniary transactions, so as to anticipate the point amongst them ail on w'hich I was about to settle his attention. “ TTes — I can save you from an immense loss,” I continued. “ I have no doubt of it !” “ Indeed, ma’am, I do not for a moment mis- trust you,” said Mr. Seymour, trembling nervously : “you speak as if you were serious But where — how — what ” “ Have a little patience, sir,” I interjected : “ the loss cannot possibly take place while we are conversing ; and therefore no time will be lost. I believe your transactions are very large ?” 100 ROSA LAMBERT. “ Some of them,” rejoined Obadiah Seymour. “ I never lend more than a hundred tliousand pounds — never less than two hundred pounds. But what ” “ I shall come to the point presently,” I again j interrupted him. “ Suppose that I could save you ; from the loss of many, many thousands of pounds j — or at all events from the risk of losing them — if, I in a word, I could give such information as would ! render you perfectly safe ” I “ Ah, dear me ! what would I say ? what would ; I do?” ejaculated the miser, his nervous trepi- I dation increasing. “ Don’t you think— don’t you I think you had better leave it to my — my — gene- ■ rosity ?” “ Oh ! understand me well, my dear sir,” I cx- ' claimed ; “ I am making the matter quite a busi- j ness one.” j “ Ah ! well, then, I suppose we must strike a ' bargain. What shall we say ? You shall have your commission upon all you save me. Shall it be an eighth per cent. Come, come ! we will say j a quarter per cent. !” “ Nothing of the sort, Mr. Seymour.” “ Ah !” gasped the old man, as if parting from I life itself : “ we will say — we will say, one per cent. I There, ma’am ! will that suit you ? Only think ! j one per cent, on many, many thousands of pounds !" he added, emphasizing my own words which he repeated. “Now, I will be candid with you, Mr. Sey- mour,” I said, “ and avoid further circumlo- cution ” “ Ah, ma’am !” he interrupted me, “ you ladies arc sometimes more difficult to deal with than gen- tlemen. But I stick to the one per cent. ; and if the sum is very, very large, I don’t mind adding a bonus you understand me, ma’am — a bonus of — of — a five pound note !” and then he looked me very hard in the face with his disagreeable speaking" eyes, as if to impress upon mo the magnitude of his generosity. “ Mr. Seymour,” I answered, “ I do not require any pecuniary recompense at all.” “ Dear me, ma’am ! Then what do you re- quire ?” he cried, now surveying me with mingled suspicion and astonishment. “What am I to think ? You want a recompense — but you won’t take money. Ah, I understand !” he exclaimed, his countenance suddenly brightening up : “ you expect a present 1 To be sure ! a present— a very handsome present ! Oh, leave it to me ! I know what trinkets are fitted for young ladies : earrings — necklaces — perhaps a gold watch ” “ You see, sir,” I said, opening my shawl, “ that I possess all these. You are still very wide of the mark.” “ Grood heavens, ma’am !” almost shrieked forth the little old gentleman, springing up from his seat : “ you don’t want a husband — do you ? I have discounted a thousand bills in my time — have had countless money transactions — but never ne- gotiated on such terms in my life. I — I — ma’am — do not think of marrying again — although really — if 1 could bo tempted — a beautiful ^oung lady like you But how much money, did you say, it was that you could save mo from losing — because that might bo a consideration.” 1 could scarcely prevent myself from bursting ou< into the merriest peal of laughter at Obadiah Seymour’s iudicrous mistake : but I contented my- self with a smile, as I said, “ 1 moan nothing of all this. You had better grant mo your patience, while I explain.” “ This is most singular !” muttered the old man to himself, but in an audible voice, as ho resumed his seat. “ A lady who neither wants money, nor a husband, nor yet presents ” “ Mr. Seymour,” I wont on to say, “ pray don’t interrupt mo any more— but listen. These are the plain facts. 1 can save you from the loss of an enormous sum of money — or at least 1 can jirevcnt you from risking the loss. I crave a re- ward : but it is not either of those recompenses which you have detailed. Neither is tlie boon I which I seek at your hands, to be conferred upon ' myself. It is for another that I am inter- ceding ” “Interceding?” echoed the old man. “Not for that swindler Sir Frederick Roebuck whom I sent to the Bench yesterday ? — nor for those rascals Twister and Yarnley that I struck a docket against this morning ?” “ You see, Mr. Seymour, you will interrupt me,” I exclaimed. “ No, sir — it is not for those persons, with whom I am utterly unacquainted. But I am interceding for some one ” — and then I added impressively, “ I am interceding on be- half of a penitent and wretched daughter, who implores permission to fling herself at her father’s feet.” “ Well, ma’am,” cried the old man at once, “ there’s no harm, you know, in her flinging her- self at my feet — if you forego your per centage.” “ Yes, sir : but what I stipulate for, is that you forgive her — that you solemnly pronounce her pardon in my presence— or alone, if you prefer it — that you receive her back to your house — that you bury the past in oblivion ” “ How many thousand pounds can you save me ?” demanded the miser eagerly. “ Many, many,” I responded, determined not to specify the precise sum, lest it should at once afford him a clue to the nature of the transaction against which I sought to shield him : for if he were thus allowed to penetrate my secret, he might turn round and refuse the boon I re- quired. “ Is it twenty thousand ?” he asked. “ Thirty ? Forty ? Fifty ? Sixty ? Seventy ?” “ Ask me no more,” I interrupted him, having nodded my head in the affirmative to every sum he had named. “Now, sir, what is your de- cision ? Let me assure you that your daughter, the unfortunate Caroline ” “ Refused the best marriage that ever a parent was bent upon in behalf of his child !” cried the old man bitterly. “ Shaw’s father is dead — and Shaw himself is now worth a quarter of a million, if he’s worth a farthing. Ah, he is a very warm man — a very warm man !” “Nevermind all that,” I said: “let us revert to the previous topic. Your unhappy daughter, sir, has been terribly punished : she is proportion- ately repentant. A few days back, when you returned her letter unopened, she was starv- ing ” “Starving?” murmured Obadiah Seymour, evi- dently somewhat touched. “No, no — you don’t exactly mean that ?” ) T^OSA LAMBEKT. 101 I “ But I do mean it 1” I exclaimed emphatically : i “^she was starving! My God, if I could tell you j all But no ! I will not. Oh, sir, for your i daughter’s sake, if not for that of the paltry lucre ! from the loss of which I can save you ” j “ But the woman who came with the letter,” I said the old man, “did not send in word that j Caroline w^as starving— or I might have yes, I I might have yes, yes — I would have sent her j a loaf.” “ Doubtless you loved your deceased wife, Mr. I Seymour,” I urged. “Oh! if that wife were j alive, she would not refuse the appeal of one be- i seeching her to take back a penitent and deeply ! afflicted daughter to her arms !” I “Women, you see, are weak but we men I Starving, did you say ?” — and the old man’s mind was evidently dwelling upon that dreadful word — or rather that dreadful fact, more feelingly than I could have anticipated, j “Yes, sir — starving!” I repeated: “and she j will die in desperation — she will perish as a I suicide, unless you take her back to your arms, j Oh, Mr. Seymour ! if the lifeless corpse of your own and only child were brought to your door, I what would be your emotions — what your feel- ings?” “ True — very true,” he said : and his eyes glis- j tened for a moment as if tears were about to stand j in them : but the hard worldly-minded man kept them back, though not without a visible effort : I and then he said, “ But this money, ma’am — if I j consent to take my daughter home ” I “ And receive her as your daughter !” j “Yes — if she comes, I will receive her. I — I ” I and after another visible effort, he gasped forth, j “ I will forgive her !” “ May I trust you ? If I tell you everything j now, in respect to this pecuniary business, may I j depart with the conviction that your word will not j be recalled ?” “ Ma’am,” said the old miser, almost proudly, “it is evident that you know little of Obadiah Seymour, if you cannot trust his w^ord. That word is as good as his bond. But I forgot — you said it was a pure business transaction. I will give it to you in writing- No, ma’am, no writing is ne- cessary!” he ejaculated wdth sudden vehemence. I “My daughter is starving!” and unable any j longer to restrain his emotions, he turned aside — I but not BO quick as to prevent me from catching a glimpse of the tears upon his cheeks. The spectacle of this old miser’s grief sent joy to my soul. To think that such a heart as his had been thus touched, was to acquire the certainty that his word would indeed be kept, and that his daughter would be forgiven. As if reading my thoughts, Obadiah Seymour ! slowly turned round, and said, “ Madam, Caroline I is pardoned. On my soul, I will overlook the past!” “ A thousand thanks, Mr. Seymour !” I ex- ! claimed, in a voice of exultation ; and I experi- j enced all the delight of having performed a good action. The tears streamed from my eyes, as the voice of prayer went silently up from the depths of my soul, imploring that what I had thus done might be set down on the bright page of my ac- count in the register of Heaven’s Chancery. “ Yes, ma’am,” resumed the old miser, speedily recovering his composure, “ I have pardoned my daughter: the pledge is an obligation as sacred as my name on the back of a bill. And now,” ho continued, the firmness with which he had spoken those words, yielding to a fresh fit of nervousness, “ for your promised explanations.” “ Mr. Seymour,” I responded, “ Accident brought to my knowledge that you were yeeterday applied to for the loan of one hxmdred thousand pounds ” “ Ah, to be sure !” he cried. “ But you don’t mean to say that it is to this transaction you al- lude? Why, the security is excellent. Mr. Eockingham is a gentleman of large estates ” “ All of which are mortgaged,” I rejoined em- phatically. “ Mortgaged, ma’am ?” almost shrieked forth the old miser. “ And I who promised to advance the money to-morrow ! Heavens, what an escape ! It would have killed me ! it would have killed me ! A hundred thousand pounds !” and he qviivered all over with as much nervous trepidation as if just snatched back by some friendly hand from the brink of a precipice up to which he had advanced in unconscious reverie. “ The estates are mortgaged, sir,” I continued. “ Mr. Fleming, a solicitor ” “ Fleming ? 1 know him well,” exclaimed Sey- mour. “ He lives in Bush Lane — a highly respect- able man ” “ Well, Mr. Seymour, if you apply to this gen- tleman, he will give you all the particulars. Mr. Rockingham is indeed a ruined man : he is in- debted to Mr. Fleming’s clients in the enormous amount of one hundred and fifty thousand pounds ; but it appears they had agreed to give him time for fifty thousand, and postpone the sale of his estates, if he could find one hundred thousand.” “ I should have been robbed,” screamed out the old man, “ as completely as if by Dick Turpin on the highway. The scoundrel, to come to me of all people in the world ! Two or three years ago I ad- vanced his son Horace I think his name was — a few hundreds ; and they were faithfully paid back. I thought Mr. Rockingham was a rich man. Of course I was to have two securities : but they were more nominal than real One hxindred thousand pounds — it would have killed me!” “ You need not excite yourself any longer on that account, Mr. Seymour: for you are saved the loss.” “ Ah ! my dear madam, how can I sufficiently thank you ?” said the usurer, still in a voice that was trembling with nervousness. “ If I had a bimdred daughters, I would forgive them for your sake. But I — I must yes, you really must let me send you a little present — such a thing as a — a — pencil-case.” “ Nothing, Mr. Seymour,” I answered emphati- cally. “ Well, ma’am, I sha’n’t attempt to force your inclinations. You are very good. Perhaps you will take a biscuit and a — a — glass of wine. Not that I have got a bottle drawn: but for you ” “ No, I thank you, sir,” I interrupted him. “There is still something else which I have to communicate. You spoke ere now of Mr. Rock- ingham’s son, Horace. That young man, Mr. 1 S(\yiii(iur, is l!i(' villain ulio s ■'liic<*il yoar d: ■i.;h- tcr.” “ ! (lint boy — IbnI. inoro chiM - lhaf girliRli'lookinjT striplings P” shrickcil forth tlio old naan in ninazcrncnt. “That '^drlish-looking sfrii)linfT, as you dononii- natc liiin,” I answered, “possesses tlie )»assion8 of a fiend — the capacity for misehi('f which would render him a worthy lieutenant for Lueifor hini- eelf. Your daughter has told me her talc •” “Poor creature ! and she w'as starving?” inur- mured the miser, bis mind still harping on the same string. And no wonder ! — for if the human heart be susceptible at all — if it bo capable of vibrating with a single compassioviating emotion — it must be when that horrible, frightful, hideously exprossiyo word “ stcirvin(/” smites the car. “I now hasten, Mr. Seymour, to bear the good tidings to your daughter. Perhaps I may accom- pany her in the course of the day : or i)erhaps I may not bring her hither until to-morrow. For she is ill and suffering ” “Let her come to-day,” said the old man. “Shall I— shall I go with you?” “Yo: you had better leave me to break the happy intelligence to her.” “ Well, well, have it all your own way. You would make a capital woman of business. You — you ought to be a discounter : you make such capital terms ! I shall now go and order my clerk to write a very brief note to Mr. liocking- ham to s.ay that I decline the transaction. Shall I tell him the motives?” “ll-Iost ccrta'nly !” I ejaculated. “Tell him that liis son Avas the seducer of your daughter, and that ho himself endeavoured to dupe and de- ceive you in this money-business.” f“ I will,” responded the old man. “One hun- dred thousand pounds! If Jack Sheppard w'as alive, he could not have attempted a more bare- faced robbery. It would have killed me !” I took my leave of the miser, and re-entered the hackney-coach, my heart exultant at the suc- cess of my enterprise. I had not chosen that he should accompany me, because I did not wish him to learn that his daughter had been driven to an attempt at suicide. That incident, which had so well nigh been the crowming one of lier sad career, was much better buried in secrecy. The hackney- coach a])peared to advance at a snail’s pace : every stoppage in the great thoroughfares of the City, filled me with a burning impatience. I could Lave leapt out and w'alkcd ; I could have run — I could have flowm, to bear to poor Caroline tlie joyous tidings wbicli I bad to impart. I thought the journey would never have ended. At length the coach drew up in front of the coffee-house; cund when the door of the private dwelling was opened, 1 could scarcely ])revc!it myself fromp'ush- ing up-slairs at tlie heiglit of my speed. Eut I was fairful lest a too sudden shock — even of joy — might pi’oducj an evil effect; and I ascended slowly. 'I'et notwii iistnndiiig all my precautions, the success ol’ iny enleriiriue was refhjcted in iny cwiuil' iianee : ibr I lie moment I (Oifered the chain- b'l’, Caroline e.\elaiined, ‘'j’liank Cod!” in a tone wf’iidi eonvineed me at Oiiee she read her father’s (b c’-ioii in my looks ;■ and she I'ainfi'd. 1 v.aa not long in recovering lier ; and when slu' eaiii'* lo eoiisciou.oie.^a, i,>:e filing her arms '■ "ind my ji'ch she enlbr.Ki'fl- m,*— xlu* poured falh her gr.alilude in expressions of llic irioftt fervid (uif husiusm - .she vowed tliat she wanibl ever oherisli for me a sister’s love. IVlien Cie gi'ew calm, 1 related (o her the part iculara of my infer- view with her father -at least so far as it was at all lu'cessary to exjilain them — and (piito etiougli to eonvinco her that his forgiveness was genuine, sincere, and even in a measure independent of the service which I had rondcred him in respect lo the Jiocknighains. “ Oh, my dearest INIiss Lambert !” murmured Caroline, “ this is llic happiest Tneinont 1 liave known for a long, long time ! To be restored to ^ the home, wliieli I never should have loft All !” she ejaculated suddenly : “and to think too that j vengeance has been wreaked at the same time —it ; is almost more than I can put faith in! ft ap- pears a dream.” j After some little farther conversation, I said, “ Uo you think, Caroline, that you aro well enough to be removed this day to your father’s house? It is now past four o’clock in the after- noon,” I added, looking at my watch. “ Would it not be better for you to wait until to- morrow ?” “ IS"o,” she exclaimed : “you cannot fancy with what strength I am now nerved. Oh, yes ! I am inspired with the enei'gy of a thousand. Let me go at once ; and jmu shall accompany me. But perhaps I anv occupying your time ?” “Yo,” I answered: “I have ample Icisu/e to devote to you. I will accompany you to your father’s house at once.” I quitted the room to inquire of the landlady whether Miss Seymour’s clothes had been dried and were in a fitting condition for her to wcai'. It was only nccossary to procure another hornet, shoes, and other little articles — and these were speedily obtained. Caroline had not misjudged her strength : she was indeed inspired with an energy which xvas almost miraculous after every- thing she had gone through. She was soon dressed: I remunerated the people of the house liberally ; and by six o’clock I was on my way with Caroline towards Broad Street. As we drew near our destination, she trembled nervously : she showed me the spot xvhere she had halted on the preceding jiight when on her way to lay herself down at her father’s threshold — that threshold over which, she was now on the point of being re- ceived again ! In a few minutes more the coach stopped in front of the house ; and at that very minute, the front door opening, who should hasten forth but Mr. Bockiugbam and his son llorace ? Mr. Boekinghain, senior, was a little above the middle stature— strongly built xvithout being in- clined to corpulency. llis countenance had naturally a look half severe, half self-sufficient, with a certain tincture of ignobility and meanness derived from the many slimy ways by which he hid amassed the fortune that was now scattered lo the winds. • But at the present moment, as ho issued forth from the miser’s house, his features were ghastly pale, witli the anguisli of ilespair ujion them. The word — the awful word “iiuix” was written iqioii tliosn features as legibly as if seared there with rod-hob iron. And Horace — his eouulenance, iKiliuailly so bo.iutifui, was distorted with every agoniriag and evil passion. The father ROSA LA:\rBt:RT. 103 I I I I I i and son were not speaking a word to cacli other as they descended the door-steps. Ihe former ap- peared to walk as if in a dream — or rather under the influcnee of a terrific nightmare : he did not seem to notice the vehicle — but passed hastily on. Horace did observe it: he caught sight of my countenance — but not immediately of Caroline s, for she was leaning back with a faintness that had come over her. Horace started for an instant on thus encountering my looks ; and the light flamed up in h;s eyes, not merely with a sinister expres- sion, but with a fiendish glare. He walked straight up to the coach ; and on looking in at the window, again str.rtcd on beholding Caroline. The appear- ance of his countenance at that window called hex- back to full vitality in a moment : but she did not speak a w'ord. The look however which she threw on Horace, convinced me that whatsoever love she had formei’ly cherished for him, had indeed tui-ned into the blackest hate. “ Ah ! then, it is you, Eosa, who have done this ?■’ he said in a low voice—but a voice. Oh ! so altered from its natural expression, that instead of being soft and full of masculine harmony, it was thick and hoarse ; his eyes too glared upon me with a horrible lustre, and every lineament of his na- turally beautiful face was distorted into hideous- ness. “ Yes— it is you who have done this,” he continued : “ but rest assured that though I may be beggared along with my father, I will yet wreak the bitterest vengeance upon your head !” The mocking laugh of mingled triumph and de- fiance which sounded from my lips, must have reached his cars, notwithstanding the abruptness with which he turned away from the chaise- window and hurried off. I am glad that this has happened,” whispered Caroline to me. “ It has given me the strength and energy which were failing.” All that I have described was the work of a few moments; and Horace had passed away ere the coachman had descended from his seat. He opened he door : that of the house still remained open — for the female- servant, seeing a coach stop, had tarried on the threshold. She had evidently learnt, too, from her master that his daughter was for- given and might soon be expected home again : for when Caroline, leaning on my arm, ascended the steps, the domestic spoke some words of con- gratulation. We passed into that same parlour where my interview had taken place with the old miser ; and in a few moments Caroline — first throw- ing herself at her father’s feet — was raised up by him and clasped in his arms. I will not linger upon this scene — but will con- tent myself with observing that Mr. Seymour dis- played as much feeling as it was in his nature to exhibit : methought however that he really felt more than appeared upon the surface. At all events his forgiveness was sincere ; and when the fu-st excitement of this meeting was ovei-, he said, “ Eow, Caroline, never must a word of the past escape from the lips of either of us !” The happy daughter embraced her father again : then she strained me to her bosom ; and the old man, taking my hand, shook it with a considerable degree of warmth. He even went so far as to in- sist that I should remain to pass the evening — and spoice more emphatically than he had done in the atternoon, about a glass of wine. But I declared that I must now get back to my own home aa speedily as possible. Before however I took my departure, I seized an opportunity— while Mr. Seymour had quitted the room for a fev/ minutes to send off a business-letter — to address Caroline in the following terms : — “ It is evident from the reception your father has just given me, that he knows not who I am. Doubtless he forbore from mentioning to the Eockinghams his authority for the intelligence he had received ; and indeed this much was evident from the words which Horace addressed to me at the coach-window. It was only the coincidence of my appearance at the moment, that sent the con- viction flashing to the young fiend’s mind that I was the authoress of all this. Carohne, you will not expect to see me here again. JS’o — do not in- terrupt me : but listen. You are now restored to the paternal home: you may to some extent re- trieve the past-^ — Would to heaven that I had a similar opportunity ! But your own good sense will tell you, Caroline,” I went on to observe in a quicker voice, so as to keep down the emotions which were swelling up in my heart, — “ your own good sense will tell you that I must not — I ought jiot — I dare not continue to visit you. Farewell then, my dear Caroline-— and may you now be happy 1” She threw her arms round my neck— embraced me with tears in her eyes— coixjured me to re-con- sider my I'esolution and come to see her occasion- ally — and vowed that her gratitude should only cease with her life, I hastened from the room ; and meeting the old usurer in the hall, took my leave of him likewise. During the ride homeward, I could not help thinking most seriously of all that had occurred since the preceding evening : for there was much in those incidents, as well as in the narrative which I had received from Caro- line Seymom’s lips, to conjure up the most solemn reflections. The direful consequences to which frailty may lead, had been painfully developed to my view. I shuddered as I thought of the miseries and privations endured by that young and beauti- ful creature — who was of my own age— and of that dread scene at the bridge in which her life had all but closed. These meditations became too much for me ; and scalding tears ran down my cheeks. In order to divert my thoughts into another channel, I fixed my mental vision on the spectacle of Mr. Eockingham and his son coming forth from the miser’s house with despair in their hearts and ruin imprinted on their countenances. The father had ever deported himself haughtily and proudly towards my family ; and he had refused a ti’ifling succour when our need was the greatest. I- had therefore no sympathy for him. And if none for Mm, what commiseration could I have experienced for his son ? I, who had striven to be virtuous — I, who loved virtue for virtue’s sake — I, whose principles wei’e natmally so good that countless piles of gold placed before my ,, eyes would not have tempted me astray — I it was, nevertheless, who had become, under the pressure of terrific circumstances, the victim of that fiend in angel-shape! It wus for tMs that I .gloated over the revenge I had again wreaked upomhim. I could have forgiven him, almost clxeertully, the demonstrations of his own malignity against my- ( ! f i i ( ! I i K09A LA.MIU'Ur. lO'l. self; and assuredly, if his conduct had been limited to these, I should never have travelled out of my way to accelerate his father’s ruin and his own. But it was the one tremendous crime he had per- petrated, which inspired me with a vengeance tliat was so implacable : and I said to myself as I journeyed homeward, after taking leave of Caro- line, “ 1 may he brought down to miseries, priva- tions, and distresses — I may become houseless, friendless, and foodless : but at all events 1 will never lose sight of an opportunity to reduce my destroyer to the same abject condition. Even if my own career should terminate in a catastrophe similar to that which Caroline voluntarily sought, but only more fatal in its result, — I should take the final plunge resignedly if I knew that I left Horace Kockingham in the world, likewise home- less, friendless, foodlcss ! Forgiveness for all other enemies — but pardon fur him, never !” I reached my house in Sloane Street, wearied almost to exhaustion with the incidents of that busy day. Captain Fortescue being on guard, 1 had to dine alone ; and I purposed to retire to bed early with the hope of obtaining a good night’s rest. As there was no man-servant in the house, I had been in the habit of having all the keys brought up to me the last thing, — the incident of the burglary at Mrs. llarborough’s in Jermyn Street having rendered me cautious. Ac- cordingly, at about ten o’clock, I rang the bell to intimate that I was about to retire, — when Frances, who answered the summons instead of the house- maid (whose place it was to do so), said that the servants were not ready to withdraw as yet. I inquired the reason ; and Frances, who was a very good, attentive, and well-behaved girl — but who nevertheless made some little attempt to screen a fellow-servant — informed me, after a few minutes’ hesitation and cross- questioning, that Margaret the housemaid had gone out and had not yet returned. I was somewhat annoyed that she should thus have issued forth without my permission : but supposing that her absence would not be prolonged, I said that I would sit up until her return ; for tired though I w'as, I did not choose to seek my own chamber until I knew the house was properly se- cured and shut up. I again fell into meditations on recent incidents : and thus for some while I did not notice how time was passing. The jpendule on the mantel an- nouncing eleven with its silver tongue, startled me from my reverie. Again I rang the bell ; Frances replied to the summons: Margaret had not yet come in. I was still resolved to sit up ; and, to be brief, it was past midnight when the housemaid returned. I was exceedingly angry, and desired Frances to order her to come up to me immedi- ately that she might give an account of her con- duct. But instead of obeying, Margaret flaunted up to her own chamber ; and as she passed the drawing-room, the door of which happened to be ajai-, she gave vent to some insolent observation, evidently intended for my ears, but the full mean- ing of which 1 could not catch. I said nothing then, but resolved to dismiss her in the morning — a step whicli 1 had all the less com])unctioii in taking, inasmuch as 1 may say without vanity, that 1 was in the habit of treating my servants with kindness, and therefore merited a better re- turn than this. 1 arose at my usual hour; Frances came, nc was her wont, to assist in my toilet. Sljo had fjc- casion to leave the room to fetch something that I reciuircd : and on her return, she intimated that I Margaret wished to speak to me at once. I “ 1 am afraid, ma’am,” added Frances, “ that she is inclined to be rather impertinent ; and I should be sorry to sec you i)ut out and vexed.” I “Let her come up,” 1 answered; “ and you ro- I main below until 1 ring.” I was at the time seated in front of a i)8ycho, j arranging my hair. In a few moments Margaret entered the room ; and I at once saw that she was armed with a sort of cool insolence, mingled with an air of defiance. “ \ou wish to speak to me ?” I said, surveying her with a firm look. “ To be sure 1 do !” she exclaimed : “ because 1 know very well that you meant to say something to me : and the sooner wo have it out, the bet- ter.” “Here arc the wages which are due to you,” I said ; “ and you can leave my service at once.” “That’s just what I meant to do!” she cried, working herself up into a rage. “ A pretty thing indeed, if a servant can’t go out for an hour or two, without your tearing at the bells and sitting up to watch when she comes home I I suppose you think that I am preciously grieved at leaving ^ without a character: but it isn’t to such as you I that respectable people will apply for references, j A pretty thing indeed,” she repeated, “ that you j may amuse yourself just as you like, and yet I grudge your servants the least recreation !” j “ Leave the room directly, Margaret,” I said ; j “ and the house as soon as your boxes arc ready.” I *'• As for leaving the house,” she exclaimed, “ I I shall be only too glad to get out of such a disre- putable place : but as for leaving the room, I I sha’n’t do it till I’ve told you my mind. A pretty I creature you are to give yourself such airs ! Pray who are you ?” she demanded, assuming an insolent attitude and placing her hand upon her hip. “ A kept mistress — a pensioned hardot ” “ Margaret, begone !” I ejaculated, my coun- tenance beconoing crimson, and my whole form burning with mingled shame and indignation. “ I sha’n’t till I like !” she replied, in a menac- ing manner. “ I am an honest young woman, and well conducted too ; and I am ashamed of myself for having come into such service. There’s cor- ruption in it ! Cook says so too ; and she means to leave. As for that sentimental hypocrite Frances, I dare say you will make her as bad as yourself before long ” “ Margaret,” I exclaimed, “ leave this room directly !” — and I sprang up from my scat. “Well, and what will you do if I don’t choose to obey P” she cried, with an impudent leer. “ AMu give yourself all the airs of a fine lady ; and you are only the scum of the earth. Look at yourself in the glass ! Amu arc very beautiful no doubt ; but you sell yourself for every morsel of bread you cat— for the dress you put on — for the servants tliat wait upon you — for the house you live in — for the carriage you ride in ! And what will it all come to ? 1 low docs it all cud with women of your description ? AMu come down to the streets at last— you Haunt it for a time there— and EOSA LAMBEET. 105 tlien you die in tte workhouse or on a dunghill, or else with a leap from Waterloo Bridge.” No pen can do justice to the state of my feel- ings as I was compelled to listen to this bitter tirade, — all the more bitter because, notwithstand- ing the malignity which prompted and the coarse insolence which characterized it, every syllable seemed fraught with a terribly prophetic truth. , My cheeks were burning at first : then they be- j came pale as death. I sank down upon the chaii', 1 and literally cowered under the mockingly con- temptuous looks and taunting words of that low creature. I w'as completely in her power. My own frailty placed formidable weapons in her hand : my own guilty position rendered the atti- tude which she assumed a perfect tower of strength. I could have flown at her with the fury of a tigress : but I dared not — no, I dared not ; and, therefore, impotent in every point, I cow^ered, and shivered, and shook in her presence. But when those last No. 14 j words smote my ear, — words, which though evi- dently thrown out as mere random-shots, brought so vividly back to my recollection the horrible scene of Waterloo Bridge, a shriek — faint and half stifled, but full of anguish — came from my lips. “ Ah, I have touched you, have I ?” cried Mar- garet, who seemed at the moment to be inspired with a demoniac malignity. “Well, so much the better. Perhaps you are going down hill a little faster than you think. Those whom certain mat- ters most concern, are often the last to hear of them ; and so perhaps you don’t know that your friend, or protector, or keeper, or \vhatever you call him,” she added with a contemptuous sneer, “ is over head and ears in debt, and there wdll be a smash soon.” With these words she turned abruptly awaji and flounced out of the chamber, leaving the door wide open. I hastened to shut it : I turned the key in the lock ; and flinging myself upon a sofa, 710SA T,AMT»r;nT. TOO oiicumlx red heldrc I ('vcr knew you; iiiiil I liavo jjavc way (o all llio ])il.(er anpiiisli (liat. nilcd my liosom. Q’aunts ilio most goadiiij^ ])rrdi('lions (lie most tcvriblo— insults tlie most intok'rahlo, Iiad boon wound up l)y an nnnouiiccmont tliat was all but ovcrwlicdming. .1 was in tliat slato of mind when fancy adojits fbo worst as somctliing certain, instead of socking to lioj)C for tbo best. If tliat intelligence were true, and EeginMld was ruining liiniself for me, — Oli, wbat iiudfablc agony of mind should 1 emlurc ! At length 1 became somewhat calmer; and I said to myself that 1 was wrong to allow the insolence of a vile un- grateful tv Oman to produce such an effect ujion me. ]hit the effect liad been iiroduccd ; and I could not conquer it. Within coinparativcly a few hours I had been stricken a scries of blows, all Laving the fearfully solemn aspect of warnings. Caroline’s narrative, and everything that con- cerned her, seemed not merely t'o belong to her- self alone, but to be typical of the career of every female wlio strays from the path of virtue, — witli this lamentable distinction, that whereas she was ultimately received across the paternal threshold again, the same happy rescue from misery and distress might bo the fortunate lot of none others. And then too, came all the terrible predictions which 3siargarot had uf terod- Oh ! it seemed as if heaven iu a variety of ways was pouring forth omens and warnings aTouud me ! I was v’ery dull and low-sph'ited the whole . morning, until Eeginald Fortescuc made his .ap- pearance. In the meantime Margaret had taken her departure ; and Frances by her looks showed that she knew what had taken place* and that she sincerely commiserated mo. I longed to ask her what were the grounds on which Margaret had spoken so confidently of Captain Fortcscue’s pe- J enuiavy affaira: but I did not consider it delicate j or becoming to enter upon such a subject. It was j about one o’clock when Eeginald made his appear- ance ; and as he immediately saw that something j was the matter with me, I candidly told him all I that had taken place in respect to the discharged i housemaid. Then in his countenance I behold, j alas ! the confirmation of my worst fears ! ■ “ To tell you the truth, dearest Eose,” ho said, j finding that it was useless to conceal his position ' from me any longer, “ I am a little troubled in j certain quarters — because my father has diminished ' the supplies. When he was in London three I or four weeks back, he insisted I should obtain , leave of absence and pay him my usual visit : but i I could not bear to separate from you. He went ; away in auger; and that was the reason of his I abrupt departure from London. You must not be angry because I did not tell you all this before.” “Ho, my dear Eeginald,” I answered; “lam not angry. On the contrary, I am bound to re- gard your silence as a proof of affection. You would not willingly inflict pain upon me: your conduct lias been most generous, most noble — most self-sacrificing : and mine sball now be equally so. Iteginald,” I added in a firm voice, thougli lieuven knows my heart was lacerated as I spoke, “ we must sejiarate.” “Sejiiirate, Rose P” be cried, in perfect conster- nafion: “and wo liavo not been three niouihs iogeflier ! Ho, no- it is iuqiossihle ! I will make any saeriliee sooner (haii part from you. It is nol you wlio liavo got mo into dchl. 1 was much not dared (ell my father (he ex(ent ef my Ijabili (ir.s. Rose, liere on my knee:, I eonjure you not to leave me! I love you — )ou know (hat I love | I you ! I have been wild nial reckless -di: 3ipate(l — .and even debauelied : this is (ho first serious jiassion I luive ever known and it ig a his(ing one ! — ^ — In lieaven’s name, do not snap (lie bonds wliieh bind us (o eaeli odier!” W'liat could I say ? wbat could I do ? Regi- nald was kneeling at my l'eo(,— bis band.'-ome counlonnnee upturned (owards me wi(h a look of so much tender cn(realy (lint 1 liad not the heart (o perform uliat I neverdiekrss felt (o be my duty, i flung my arms around his neck : he strained me to bis breast, exclaiming, “hli, (his is an assurance, Rose, (bat you will not again I speak to mo of sejmration !” I Hcarcely bad we grown somewhat calm after diis little scene- .and senreely bad Eeginald begun to (ell me of sorao jilau wliieh ho was about to adopt in order to raise money — when Frances entered the drawing-room, to say tliat a person desired to speak to Captain Fortescuc. “ What sort of a person?” inquired Eeginald, with a sudden start of uneasiness. “ Hero bo is, sir,” responded Frances, who started in her turn on finding that tho individual bad followed her, hitherto unpcrceivcd, up to the room -door. Tho man entered; and his appearance at once made Eeginald turn pale, — so that on my part, without precisely comprehending the nature of the calamity which was about to explode, I was seized, with a vague terror. “ You can retire, young woman,” said the man, addressing himself to Frances. “I just want a word or two with your master.” The maid, flinging a glance of sympathy upon 1 me, left the apartment; and as the door closed behind her, Eeginald said in a whispering voice, but in a nervously excited manner, as he took my hand and pressed it violently, “ For heaven’s sake, conquer your feelings, Eose 1 — keep up your cour- age — be of good spirits — all will yefc end w'elL Tbis person is a sheriff’s-oflicer — and I know ; wherefore he comes.” I “ A sheriff’s-oflicer ?” I echoed; in a dying tone : for now the horrible conviction smote upon my mind that he wEom I loved was about to be borne to prison. “AVell, Captain Fortescuc,” said the officer, who i seemed anxious to do his work as civilly as possi- i ble, “ I am sorry to have been obliged to come here : but I didn’t like to take you while on guard yesterday. I went to your lodgings in Pall Mall jn.st now — but did not find you there; and as my orders are positive, I was obliged to come down to Sloanc Street. Leg pardon, ma’am,” he continued, turning to me, and making a bow; “but these little accidents do happen to young gentlemen now and (hen— and I dare say the Captain will soon settle his aifairs. Of course, sir, you will come quiet; and so I won’t have my man into the house.” Thus speaking, the officer advanced to the win- dow and made a sign, doubtless to his adjunct who liad waited in the street. Meanwhile Eeginald coni iiHied whispering in my car all the cliecring and reassuring things ho could possibly think of; EOSA LAMBEET. and for his sake I endeavoured to assume an out- ward calmness, though inwardly I was well nigh distracted. He told mo that he must go away with the officer to the lock-up house— that he would at once take measures to sell his commission, in order to emancipate himself— and that in a few ; da3's ho should bo restored to freedom. I besought him to write to his hither ; but he positively, and even vehemently refused to adopt this course : — he doubtless well knew that the only conditions on which Sir Ecginald would come to his succour, must be based on the complete and solemnly pledged separation from myself. I spoke of iny jewels, my diamonds, and all my valuables, as the means of raising money to liquidate the debt for which he was arrested : but, alas ! it amounted to more than two thousand pounds — and between us both, we .had not sufficient personal property whereby to procure such a sum. Besides, llegi- nald declared that he would sooner go to gaol and remain there eternally, than suffer me to part with a single thing which I possessed. I besought him to allow me to share his imprisonment : — deeply, deeply anxious was I to make a fitting return for all the proofs of sincere affection which he demon- strated towards me. The officer, overhearing a portion of our dis- course, said that there was not the least objection against my accompanying Captain Fortescue to the lock-up house in Chancery Lane to which he was about to be conducted ; but he hinted that I could only remain there for certain hours in the day, and not altogether. This permission, qualified I though it were, was a relief to my mind ; and a hackney-coach being procured, we quitted the house. I told Frances to keep the circumstance as secret as possible, — adding that I should be back in the evening. The poor girl, who really loved me, wept as she saw me preparing to accompany my protector to a spunging-house ; and she pro- mised faithfully to attend to my instructions. The dingy-looking head-quarters of the sheriff’s-officer were reached : the dismal interior was entered ; and methought that my heart would burst when I beheld the iron bars to the windows of the room to which we were conducted. Eeginald en- deavoured to assume a cheerful demeanour; and we mutually did all we could to keep up our spirits. He sent off at once for some man of business, to whom he gave instructions for the sale of his commission ; and again were my entreaties I that he would pause and reflect, fruitlessly offered up. When I returned to Sloane Street in the evening, the house seemed as lonely as if it were a desert ; and my pillow was that night moistened with my tears. A week passed away, during which Eeginald remained at the lock-up house ; and I passed the greater portion of every day with him. He con- tinually assured me that he was consoled and cheered by the proofs of devoted love which I afforded him ; and frequently, as he strained me in his arms, did he declare that he would sooner make any sacrifice than consent to separate from me. j He even endeavoured to lead me into solemn vows I and pledges to the effect that under no circum- stances would I consent to part from him : but to these I would not abandon myself, even in moments ^ of melting tenderness. During this week the I arrangements progressed for the sale of Eeginald’s 107 j commission : but unfortunately detainers for other ( debts were lodged against him; and this circum- stance he could not keep from me. The amount to be expected from the commission, was not near sufficient to meet all those liabilities : but Eeginald j buoyed himself up with the hope that his creditors, ! by receiving part of their due, would give him j time for the remainder— so that he should still ho j enabled to accomplish his release. I was too little ^ acquainted with matters of this description to , estimate the feasibility of these plans; I never- | theless had certain misgivings which I could not subdue, though I strove my best to conceal them. The week of which I have spoken, expired. It was my habit since Eeginald’s arrest, to rise very early, and breakfast by eight o’clock — so as to be with him soon after nine. One morning, just as I had hurriedly finished my meal and was about to hasten up-stairs to dress, a loud double knock re- sounded through the house ; and in a few moments Frances announced Sir Eeginald Fortescue. CHAPTEE XIV. SIE EEGINALD EOETESCUE. The Baronet has been described as being above sixty years of age — of middle stature, stoutly buil t, but evidently infirm in his limbs. He dressed like a country gentleman of the old school, with the exception of the top-boots. He wore a blue coat with brass buttons — a buff waistcoat — a broad- brimnied hat; and walked with a gold-headed cane. The expression of his countenance, which, was round and red, was naturally good-humoured : it now had an air of severity, mingled with mourn- fulness and annoyance. The announcement of his name was to my ears the death-knell of love, and hope, and happiness. ‘•'Miss Lambert,” he said, the severity of his countenance gradually disappearing as he assumed a gentle, if not actually kind tone of voice — while he bowed politely ; “ I come for the purpose of occupying half-an-hour of your time ; and I hope that you will not refuse your attention for that brief space.” I could not speak — but I motioned him to be seated, while I resumed the chair from which I had risen on his entrance. He sat down — gazed upon me earnestly for a few moments — and then said, “You cannot be at a loss to comprehend wherefore I have sought you.” “ Yes, sir,” I answered murmuringly ; “ I ought to have been prepared for something of this kind B ut ’ ’ And I stopped short, my voice suffocated with the emotions that swelled up into my throat. “ Miss Lambert,” continued the old gentleman, in a still kinder tone, “ I am not come to reproach ; and you need not fear that a single uncourteous word shall fall from my lips. You and I have met before — you recollect where and when. You left behind you on that occasion a letter for my son. That letter I read. Its contents made me think very differently of you from what I before thought. I do not mean to flatter you : this is an occasion, and we are in the midst of circumstances, that render it necessary for the truth to be told. 108 ROSA LAMBERT. Your letter was written with a dcfjroo of feeling which it was impossible to regard otherwise than as genuine. Besides, I saw enough of you during the few minutes we were together, to justify the belief which your letter itself would almost have been sufficient to engender. Yes : I am convinced that you love my son — I know you do— -and I pity you !” Tears were now trickling down my cheeks : my Ibrm was shaken with the sobs that were inwardly convulsing me. I knew too well to what all this was to lead: I felt as if a gulf had suddenly opened betwixt me and Reginald — and that the moment of eternal separation was come. “ But not only," continued the Baronet, in the flame kind voice and gentle manner, “ did I discover by your letter that you were animated with every possible sincerity of feeling — I likewise saw that you were a young woman of good edu- cation, of intelligence, and of sense. It is this estimation. I have formed of your character, which has led me to seek you now. If you were dif- ferent from what you are — if you were selfish and narrow-minded — if you had neither good feel- ing nor refined intelligence — I should act quite a different part. In that case, I should tell my son sternly that unless he renounced you at once, he might go and rot in a gaol. But this is not the course that I have deemed it expedient, nor even proper to pursue. You love my son; and I appeal to your love to make a sacrifice on his behalf. His present position could not possibly remain a secret from me, though he has done his best to make it so. But I have friends in Lon- don, who have made me aware of it : and there- fore I have lost no time in coming up to the metropolis. Miss Lambert, you understand me: need I say any more ?" The tears flowed faster and more thickly down my cheeks : my sobs became more convulsing. I endeavoured to give utterance to a suitable re- sponse : but I could not speak a word. “ I pity you — most sincerely pity you !" said the Baronet, his voice trembling with emotion. But it is almost insulting to use the word pity : I mean to say that I feel for you. Be assured that it is a painful part which I am performing now — but one which circumstances force upon me. It is a father who pleads the cause of his only son, — not a cause deputed by that son — but a cause which a parent in conscientious sponta- neousness takes up. It is the welfare of my son that I ask at your hands ; it is all the future of his existence towards which I beseech you to ex- tend your mercy. Miss Lambert, shall I plead in vain 'i No : those tears — those sobs, convince me that you are determined to make this noble sacri- fice ; and the pangs which it costs you cut me to the very quick !" Sir lieginald Fortescue rose from his seat — took my hand — and in a voice that grew more and more tremulous, said, “ I’oor creature, I do indeed feel I'or you ! But your own good sense tells you that I, as a father, can adopt no other course. The ruin or the salvation of my son depends upon you. I am an old man. Miss Jjambert — and cannot ex- pect to remain much longer in this world. Fray — Oh ! ])ray, do not let the few years which per- haj)S yet are mine, bo embitlen'd on account of my son. ile is an only soji : hitherto he has been my pride: I have loved him. Miss Lambert— I have placed the sublimest confidence in him too much, too much ! Yet,” added the old man has- tily, “ if lie had never known any other than you, he would not have gone bo for astray os ho has done !” “ Sir Reginald Fortescue," I answered, now re- covering the faculty of speech^ " if I have seemed to require so much entreaty, it was not that I really did: it was that I could not answer you be- fore. Yes, sir," I continued, my voice growing firmer in proportion as I was inspired by the con- sciousness of performing a duty, all the more me- ritorious in consequence of the pangs it cost me, “I wdll place myself entirely at your command: there is no sacrifice of my own selfish feelings that I would not make in order to ensure the welfare of your son. I know that this dream in which I have indulged But no matter! What, Sir Reginald, do you require of me ?” “ Miss Lambert, a thousand, thousand thanks !" responded the Baronet : “ yes — myriads of thanks for these assurances which you have given me I They are precisely those which I expected to re- ceive from your lips. But can you not conjecture what I seek at your hands ?" “ Yes,” I replied, with mournful yet steady firmness : — “ that everything should be at an end between your son and me — that I should retire into some seclusion, where I may be lost to him — that I will allow a long time to elapse ere I even incur the chance of falling in with him again, — so that in the interval he may have learnt — to — to forget mo !" and then my voice sank suddenly into quivering tremulousness. “No — that he may think of you only as a friend who made a most generous sacrifice for his sake !" exclaimed the Baronet. “ Again, Miss Lambert,” he added, resuming his seat, “accept the assurances of my deep, deep gratitude. By your noble conduct you have poured joy into my heart : you have given me back a son ! And now, pray do not deem the course I am about to adopt an offensive one : do not for an instant imagine that I seek to secure your good inten- tions by any low, mean, paltry considerations But it is my duty to do a certain thing ; and you must suffer me to have my own way. This pocket-book. Miss Lambert, contains bank-notes to the amount of five hundred pounds. I beseech you to accept it.” “No, Sir Reginald — I cannot — I will not!” I exclaimed. “Tell your son that I have made this sacrifice: but it is impossible I can afford ground for the belief that I was swayed, even to the extent of one feather’s weight, by selfish con- siderations.” “My son knows you too well,” rejoiced the Baronet, “ to entertain any such injurious sus- picion. I beseech and implore that you will accept this amount. I have no right to ask you to do a particular thing for me, without furnishing the means to carry out that purpose. You will I more than grieve me — you will humble mo — you | will make mo consider myself far too much your • debtor And yet do not for an instant suppose,” he added, hastily catching back the expression, “ that I mean this as anything in the shape of acfjuittal of the vast obligation you are conferring upon me !” E03A LAMBEET. 109 Sir Keginald Fortescue said a great deal more in a similar strain : but still I positively refused to accept the pocket-book. He looked annoyed and grieved : he reflected for some minutes in silence ; and then drawing his chair closer towards mine, he addressed me as follows, in the kindest possible tone ; — I am now. Miss Lambert, going to speak to you as a friend : pray regard in that light all that you may hear from my lips. I do not pretend to any large amount of intelligence, nor any particu- lar powers of penetration : but I have been long enough in yotir presence this morning — and from various circumstances have seen sufficient of your character — to be enabled to judge that you are not a young woman who loves vice in preference to virtue. I am convinced that your fall must have been attended with unusual circumstances — and that you were to be pitied rather than blamed. Forgive me for addressing you in these terms. Oh, Miss Lambert ! I am certain — I judged it by your character — I deduced it from your conduct — I now read it in your looks, that if you had an op- portunity you would turn into another path yes, I am convinced of it ! Now, wiU you consent to regard me as a friend ? will you look upon me as one who, apart from all selfish considerations in respect to Eeginald, has conceived an interest in you? I am an old man — and may address you thus. Take that money. Miss Lambert — leave London this day, or as soon as possible — go into some seclusion — and follow the dictates of yo\u* ! own heart, which I know will lead you into the I right path, and keep you there.” i Again were the tears streaming down my cheeks : I I was profoundly moved. All those incidents which I had occurred a week back, and which had smitten ! me at the time as indirect warnings from heaven, I returned vividly to my memory, — Caroline’s fear- ful leap from the bridge — her narrative of woe and misery — the frightful predictions thrown forth by j Margaret, and which not even her malignant pur- I pose and coarse insolence could rob of their truth j nor divest of their point ! Yes : I did indeed crave ! the opportunity to leave the path of crime ; and j therefore was it that the old man’s language, so ! delicately conveyed, touched me profoundly. ; “ Sir Eeginald,” I answered, wiping away my j tears, “ you have spoken to me as a friend ; and j in accepting your kindness, I will prove myself j worthy of it. Within the hour that is passing, I will leave London. Eemain you here to witness my departure. Can I say more? can I do more ?” “No— nothing, nothing!” ejaculated the Baro- net, pressing my hand with a degree of paternal warmth. ! “ But you will not suffer your son,” I said, in a j low tremulous voice, “ to believe that I have aban- ! doned him unkindly ?” “No— hy heaven, I am incapable of such per- fidiousness!” exclaimed Sir Eeginald. “Leave it to me. Miss Lambert, to acquit you thoroughly in his estimation ; and even though it will cost him all the severer pangs to contemplate this se- paration — and though it will retaiu his memory I all the more lingeringly upon your image, — yet shall he be faithfully made acquainted with all your noble conduct. In process of time, when i passion shall have yielded to reason, he himself will fully appreciate that conduct, and will think of it with admiration. Now, what can I do to serve you ? Are there bills to pay ? have you any domestics to whom you are attached, and whom you wish to be specially provided for ? Command me in every respect.” I walked to the window, and reflected for a few minutes upon the course which I should pursue. I was now perfectly calm though profoundly mournful. The blow had been stricken ; the first sense of its anguish having been endured, had be- come less poignant : I was resigned to my fate. And then, too, I was strengthened as well as con- soled, not merely by the consciousness of having performed a duty, but also by the prospect of being enabled to turn from the path I had been pursuing, into a better one. But what plan should I adopt ? I knew that in a short time I should have to fulfil the promise I had made of returning to Lady Lucia Calthorpe. Had I not better go to her at once? Though possessed of ample means, yet they were not inexhaustible, and I must be economical with my resources. I wanted a seclusion — and a cheap one too : the cottage at Sittingbourne would afford me this. Thus far, therefore, I was decided. Then as to the servants. The cook had already given warning to leave : her case was disposable in a minute. But Frances — the faithful Frances, who loved me? I was loth to part from her ; but the idea of retaining a lady’s-maid was out of the question. It was there- fore necessary to act with decision. I ascended to my chamber — summoned Frances — and said to her, “ My dear girl, we must part. Circumstances have altogether changed with me — and I hope,” I added emphatically, “ for the better. You have told me that you have a mother residing in the country, at no great distance from London. I should advise you to return to her— and I would further counsel you not to seek another situation in the metropolis. In addition to what is due to you, here are ten guineas as a slight tribute of my esteem.” She wept, and besought that she might follow me whithersoever I was going, — vowing that she would sooner serve me without wages than be separated from me. But I assured her of the impossibility of her remaining with me ; and she was compelled to submit. My preparations for de- parture were promptly made : all my jewels and valuables were carefully packed up : I dressed myself in the plainest travelling-apparel, and then descended to the room where I had left Sir Eeginald. “ You shall never want a friend,” he said, with much emotion, “ if you pursue the path on which you are about to enter. Write to me at the end of one twelvemonth from this time — tell me where you are — and give me such an account of yourself as if you were unbosoming your feelings to a friend who had known you from childhood.” “ I will do so, sir — if I am worthy to write to you one twelvemonth hence,” I answered. “ And that I shall be so, I have the strongest conviction in my own heart. And now farewell.” “ Farewell, Miss Lambert,” replied the Baronet, with tears trickling down his cheeks, as he pressed my hands fervidly. “ You are accompanied by the blessings of a father to whom you have re- stored a son !” ROSA Tij A hackncy-coach was at the door toy boxes had hccii convoyed to it— and I hurried forth. The ilriver received instructions to proceed to the coacli-oflice whence started tlie stages that i)ur- sued the Dover road ; and on arriving at the oilice, I took my place for Sittinghournc. Dy the time the hands of my watch marked two o’clock in the afternoon, 1 was already many miles from London. My fellow-passengers inside the coach might have seen that there was a certain mourn- fulness upon my countenance; hut there were assuredly no traees of violent anguish. Think not, reader, that I had ceased to love Ileginald Forlcscuc : you have scon that I loved him enough to make that great sacrifice on his behalf. I was therefore sustained, as I have already said, by a consciousness of duty performed, as Avell as by the idea of self-reformation resolved upon ; and I determined that from that day forth should com- mence a new epoch of my existence, ^ty plan was to remain in the seclusion ot Jasmine Cottage for the present : and if I liked that retreat, to take a farther lease of it, which I had no doubt I should be enabled to obtain. It was not until late in the evening that I reached Sittinghournc ; and my sudden appearance at the cottage, evidently afforded pleasure to the Buntings— but I scarcely think to Maria the lady’s-maid. She appeared to eye me in a half- sullen half-suspicious manner — but only for the first moment : for when I inquired concerning her mistress, she at once became civil and respectful, as if bethinking herself that she had better adopt this demeauoui’. The reader will recollect that it was barely ten days since I had left the cottage, without any intimation that I should come back so speedily— and indeed with the understanding between Lucia and myself that I should await a note from her ladyship. Therefore it occurred to me that the abruptness of my arrival might indeed wear a singular aspect in the estimation of the maid; and I found that it did so likewise in that of Lucia. On ascending to the chamber which she occupied, I knocked at the door ; and when she inquired who was there— evidently in a feigned voice too— I had to answer two or three times before she would believe it was I. However, at length I obtained admittance : but even before she'’ testified any particular feeling at beholding me, she locked the door. Methought that m this little incident— trivial, almost to utter insignifi- cancy, though it were— there was nevertheless an indication of selfishness on Lucia’s part. Her first thought was evidently to ensure her own safety, ere she so much as bestowed a kind look or wel- come word upon the friend who was succouring her in the period of her extreme embarrassment. AVhon tlie door was locked, she embraced me with every show of enthusiasm,— exclaiming, “1 am so glad to sec you, my dear Mrs. Wilton ! But wdiat made you arrive so smhlenly? and how did you come? 1 did not hoar any post-chaise stop ; and when the double knock at tlie door reached my cars, I was quite alarmed. Dear me, what a con- sternation 1 was thrown into!” “In the first jdace,” 1 responded, “ I came- thus fiiiddenly, because my relal i ves-witli wliom, as you are aware, I was staying in JiOndim weie coinjadled fty priissing Inisiness logo (o Scotland; and i did not choose to remain alone at tln;ir house. vrnRUT. I 111 the second jilaco, I came liy the coach, which put mo down at the inn; and my trunks will bo sent round presently.” “Then you are going to stay hero with mo for the present?” said Lucia. “Oh, J am so glad of it! 1 have been so dreadfully dull — I have scarcely known what to do. And then too, between you and me, that Mrs. Bunting is a very indifferent cook : so that sometimes 1 have scarcely been able to oat her meases.” “ I am sorry to hoar that,” I answered, — “ and surprised too : for during the week 1 was here, everything was served up so very nicely; and I even flattered myself that you were plca,sed and contented.” “Oh, I don’t complain, you know!” answered Lucia quickly: “but my aiipctite is delicate ” “Well,” I interjected, “now that 1 am here, you shall be rendered more comfortable. Your health docs not appear to have sulfered much.” “ No— I take an hour or two’s exercise every evening after dusk ; and wo have had such beauti- ful weather. By the bye, 1 wrote to my aunt — and I had a letter from her this morning. Her ladyship desires me to say all kind things on her behalf to you : but fortunately she hints not at even the barest thought of paying Jasmine Cottage a visit. Ah ! my dear Mrs. Wilton, talking of my aunt reminds me that I was on two or three occasions about to ask how it was that you were at the masquerade that night — since it does not appear you are personally known to my aunt the Marchioness ?” “ I was taken thither by some friends, amongst ' whom was my cousin, all of whom were of course j known to her ladyship.” 1 It xvas evident that Lady Lucia considered the , incident somewhat extraordinary; and she was about to put another question, when Maria knocked at the door to intimate that my boxes had just been brought by a porter from the inn. I accord- ingly went down to pay the man for his trouble ; j and for the remainder of the evening I was occu- pied in arranging the contents of those boxes in j the cupboards and drawers of my bed-chamber. On the following day I took an opportunity to question Mrs. Bunting as to the repasts which she had provided for Lady Lucia during my absence. “ I have done my best, ma’am, to give satis- faction,” she answered ; “ but am afraid that I have not altogether succeeded : for Maria is con- stantly complaining that Mrs. Bichards cannot ; enjoy her food. Yet I have served up poultry, roast and boiled — partridges — sweetbreads — and other delicacies. I have made jellies, blancmange, and nice puddings. In short, I have done my | best ; and it is impossible, you know, ma’am, to do more.” “ I do not speak for the sake of reproachmg or complaining,” I answered; “but allowances must bo made for a lady in Mrs. iliehards con- dition.” The dinner which was served up in the evening, was as good a one as ever I sat down to: but Lady Lucia found fault— and therefore I was con- | vinced, as indeed I had previously suspected, that , she complained without reason. I could scarcely j conceal my vexation. I thought it so unkind, so | unbandsomc, so ungenerous, that a young lady i who was umlcr such deep obligations to me who ROSA RAMBERT. Ill was indebted to my purse for the asylum that har- boured her, the food she ate, and the attentions by whicli she was surrounded — should exhibit discon- tent. Even if there had been real ground for some little dissatisfaction, she ought to have ex- erted herself to show a contented demeanour : but as there was really no just ground, her complaints were all the more signilicant of ingratitude. How'- ever, I resolved to let her have her own w'ay, and humour her as much as possible : but I secretly determined to know a great deal more of a person’s disposition in future, ere I precipitately volun- teered such large demonstrations of friendship. Upwards of a fortnight passed away, during which I perceived many evidences of Lucia’s natu- ral coldness of heart and want of proper feeling. She would sometimes talk, for an hour together, of the almost intolerable state of existence which she was leading at the cottage— so that if a stranger had been by, he w^ould really have fancied that I had in some mysterious way been the cause, or at least had played a part in the circumstances, which had led to Lucia’s trouble. It was evident that the morbid condition of her mind required some victim on whom to vent itself: so that her comr plaints and lamentations actually took the charac- ter of upbraidings and reproaches levelled against myself. There were times when I felt my blood positively boiling : but I conjured up every argu- ment to induce me to make allowances for her — and I continued to treat her with the utmost kindness and attention. The crisis was now arriving ; and late one even- ing, in the first week of October, it was necessary I to send for the nurse and the medical attendant. 1 But even while the pangs of maternity were seiz- ' ing upon her, Lucia preserved all that presence of i mind which received its inspiration from the fever- ish anxiety she felt for the concealment of her I countenance. I cannot however linger upon these details, farther than to observe that she had her large thick black veil folded thrice, and carefully secured over her head — so that it was really im- possible to obtain a glimpse of her features. She left entirely to me the disagreeable task of making what excuses I could to the surgeon and the nurse for this proceeding on her part. They however — naturally believing that it was some lady of dis- tinction who had sought that seclusion to conceal her frailty — proved more considerately pliant than I had expected : but I freely lavished money in order to secure their good feeling. In a few hours the crisis was over ; and Lady Lucia became the mother of a female infant. Scarcely was the babe ushered into this w^orld,' than it w'as taken by the nurse to an adjoining | room ; and when apparelled and in a fitting state I to be presented to its mother. Lady Lucia posi- { tively refused to have it brought to her. I sug- j gested that it might perish if, in the first few days i of its existence, the poor little innocent was not j permitted to imbibe its natural nurture from its ! mother’s bosom: but notwithstanding her enfeebled i condition, it was almost with a shriek of rage and | abhorrence that Lady Lucia Calthorpe refused to listen to such a proposal. I w^as not altogether unprepared for this heartless conduct on her part; her previous conversation had led me to suppose that this might be the course she would adopt: but I had lancied that the natural yearnings of a mo- ther towards her offspring would, when the time | came, prove dominant over such worldly-minded j selfishness. I was mistaken. Lucia not only ab- | horred the child as the cause and evidence of her j shame and her trouble, but she w'ould not allow it j to be plaeed to her bosom, for fear lest the natural j indications should remain that she had thus be- j come a mother. She looked forward to the forma- ! tion of some brilliant alliance ; and even in mo- , ments when it might be imagined the soul of a { woman wmuld be softened into tenderness and self- j sacrificing considerations by present circumstances, I she W'as coldly and deliberately thinking of the j means of deceiving whomsoever she might sooner I or later (b'ain as a husband. j I felt for that poor babe : I was resolved that it ! should not be left to die, or to pine in sickliness, i through its mother’s heartlessness. Accordingly, j at an early hour in the morning I despatched Mrs. I Bunting into the neighbourhood to inquire for a j wet nurse. Fortunately the object was gained i more easily and speedily than w’e could have hoped ; or foreseen. A poor couple, who had been married j upwards of a year, had just lost their child ; and i the mother was wdlling to take Lady Lucia’s. The j name of this couple was Milward : they inhabited a | small cottage about a mile from Sittingbourne; i and the man himself was a farm-labourer. Lady ] Lucia had offered to set aside twenty pounds a year j for the maintenance of her child : the Milw'ards j accepted the proposal — which of course was made i through me. I gave them out of my owm pocket a j , present of ten guineas ; and the babe was con- j signed to their care. It was understood that they | were to adopt it — to rear it— and regard it as their j own ; and as they had been for some years ac- | quainted with Mrs. Bunting, they readily took her | word as to my respectability : for the good woman j had conceived an attachment for me, and she was j deeply touched by the way in which I interested j myself relative to the unfortunate babe who w'as [ thus discarded and disowned by its mother. j I am purposely hurrying over this episode, ! inasmuch as its details are not agreeable to dwell ! upon. A week after Lady Lucia’s confinement, | she received a letter from the Marchioness of j Sudbury, engaging her to retmm to the metro- j poils. To this Lucia sent a reply, that her' dear j friend Mrs. Wilton insisted upon keeping her an- other week or ten days— at the expiration of { which she would certainly comply with her aunt’s j request. The invalid recovered rapidly : she strove 1 to get w'ell — and this volition on her part helped her on towards convalescence. It was, as near as I can recollect, the seventeenth or eighteenth day after her confinement, that she was prepared for ; departure. A post-chaise was to be at the door at nine o’clock in the morning: everything was in readiness — and Lucia certainly looked far better than could possibly have been expected. “My dearest friend,” she said to me when I proceeded, to her chamber for the final leavc- i taking, “ you have rendered me a service which, j of course, I never can forget. I am afraid that I have sometimes been fretful and dissatisfied; but I beseech you to pardon me. A'ou may rest assured that by some means or another the money shall be regularly remitted to the Milwards. But I do rely upon you, my dear friend, to keep my secret — ■ — ” 112 nOSA VAMnUTlT, “ Such jm entreaty is altogether unnecessary,” I interrupted her ladyship; “and it hurts me to think that you should for a moment doubt me, after all I have done.” Lucia threw herself into my arms, and em- braced me with a degree of fervour which I could not, for the honour of human nature, consider iinrcnl. “ As for tlie pecuniary obligations under which I labour towards you,” she resumed, “be assured, my dear Mrs. "VVilton ” “Pray do not allude to them,” I interrupted her. “ I am only sorry that my means did not permit me to make better arrangements for your comfort.” “ I shall find an opportunity of testifying my gratitude,” she answered, again embracing me. Then she put on her bonnet, with the veil thickly folded over her countenance; and has- tened forth to the post-chaise, followed by Maria. She waved her hands to me from the window ; and the equipage, rolling away, was soon out of ‘sight. It was not till she was thus gone I was smitten with the recollection that she had not asked me where I should be hereafter found in case I removed from the cottage — or where a letter would reach me. It really seemed as if, having no farther use for my services, she had done with me altogether, and had purposely ' avoided any arrangements for future correspond- ence, in the hope that she would never again behold one whose presence could only call up a blush to her cheeks by reminding her of every- thing that had passed. But scarcely had these reflections passed through my brain, when I said to myself that perhaps I was wronging Lady Lucia— and that I ought to make allowances for the natural perturbation of one who was in a hurry to get away from a place where she lived in constant terror of having her identity disco- vered. A week passed ; and as the term for which I had hired the cottage, was now drawing towards a close, I deliberated on my future plans. The mysterious circumstances attending the confine- ment ot Lady Lucia and the disposal of her child, had been whispered abroad ; so that when I walked out, I found myself the object of attention to a degree that was disagreeable. It seemed as if I were regarded as an accomplice in the very frailty which had evidently been thus shielded at the cottage ; and therefore my original idea of renew- ing the term of occupation of those premises, was abandoned. It happened that at the time I was thus thinking of shifting my quarters, I read in a London newspaper an advertisement aimouncing a beautiful little villa, ready furnished, and with large garden, to be let in Hampshire. The terms were moderate, and not beyond those that I felt myself justified in giving. Application was to be made upon the premises, or to a house agent’s in the nearest town, from which the villa was described as being only about a mile distant. I at once wrote to that agent ; and after some little delibera- tion, resolved to close the bargain, on the faith of tho description given in the newsptti)er, and still more elaborately set out in the agent’s answer to my communication. But beloro I loft Sitting- bourne, I paid a final visit to the Milwards, to see how tho child got on. The adopting parents called her by the Cliristian name of Janet, and tho babo of course bore their surname. I gave them my new address, in case they should wish to write to me : for I had not altogether tho most itnplicit faith in Lady Lucia’s promises to bo punctual in the remittance of money. I rewarded tho Bunt- ings liberally for all thoir kind attentions towarJji me ; and set out for my new homo. CHAI’TER XV. THE insolvents’ COURT. It seemed that I was destined to bo fortunate in my house-hunting enterprises. I had not been deceived in Jasmine Cottage; neither was I mis- led in respect to Clarence Villa. It was situated in the neighbourhood of a town which I choose to designate Mcadowville; and though it was in tho midst of November when I reached that neighbour- hood, there was yet a sufficient remnant of the richness and beauty of autumn to prove how ! charming must the whole district bo in the more | genial seasons of the year. Tho villa stood alone, but at no great distance from some other pretty houses, as well as a large farm homestead. It had been occupied by a family whom misfortunes had overtaken; and as they wbre unable to pay their rent, the result of a compromise had left the fur- niticre in the landlord’s hands. He had not chosen to remove it, and therefore let the place in pre- cisely the condition wherein I found it. A re- spectable widow-woman, without children, was taking care of the place when I arrived ; and as she was competent for the situation of cook, I engaged her to remain. Another female -servant was soon procured ; and thus my domestic esta- blishment was complete. It was not until I had been some days at Clarence Villa, that I thought of asking the name of a village situated at about the same distance as Meadowville, but in the contrary direction. To my surprise I was informed that this village was called Elmwood — the living of which had been procured by Lord Eveleigh for the Rev. Arthur Brydges. I certainly should not of my own accord have come into a neighbourhood where I stood a chance of encountering any former acquaintance : but as it had so occurred, I did not of course choose to remove on his account. Besides, I could have little hesitation in encoun- tering Mr. Brydges, if chance should throw us together : for it was by no means probable he had discovered, while in London, that I was a kept mistress : indeed, I felt assured he was not a per- son who was likely at the time to have made impertinently curious inquiries about me. That he had discovered my name from the furrier where he had lodged, I knew— because he had spoken of mo in terms of gratitude to Lord Eveleigh: but he was not aware— unless he sus- pected it, notwithstanding his lordship’s denial — that it was through mo he had obtained his pre- ferment. Being now settled in my new home, and bemg firmly resolved to lead a quiet and secluded life, I made such arrangements as might contribute to I my amusement and to the employment ot my time. , EOSA LAMEEET. 113 I subscribed to a circulating library in Meadow- ville, whence I obtained books of travels; and I likewise directed a London newspaper to be for- warded to me. While resident in the metropolis, I had been accustomed to read the daily journals : the taste had become a habit — and I could not dispense with it. One morning, while lingering somewhat longer than usual over the newspaper, my eyes settled upon the following advertisement, which was at the head of a column ** MISS E. L. — If this lady, who lately lived at ^0* Sloane Street, Chelsea, will forward her pre- sent address, in strictest confidence, to Messrs. Groom- bndge and Creswick, solicitors. Great Queen Street, Lincoln’s Inn Fields, it will greatly oblige.” This advertisement was addressed to me — there vras no mistake upon the point : for if the initials No. 15 were not sulBcient, the number of the house at which I had dwelt, established the fact. But what could it mean? Conjecture was impossible, and only aggravated suspense. It might be for good — it might be for evil. At all events, I was deter- mined to know. My first thought was to hasten up to London : but then I recollected the pledge I had given Sir Eeginald Tortescue, to avoid the chance of falling in with his son — and I resolved to content myself with writing. I did so ; and the return of post brought me the following letter December 9th, 1841. “ Madam, ** We are in receipt of your favour of yesterday’s date ; and earnestly beg that you will lose no time in coming up to London, on most particular business, I whic 1 can only be explained by a personal interview. I That no pecuniary circumstances may stand in the way, we beg to enclose five pounds for your expenses ; and we j entreat that you will set out to-day, so that we may have ! 114 ■ROSA XAM-RKRT. the pleasure of seeing you to-morrow morning, at our office, at ten o’clock. “We are, madam, “ Your obedient servants, “GROOMBRIDGE and CRESWICK.” My suspense, far from being relieved, was en- haneed by this letter, so urgent and yet so myste- rious. Still was I utterly unable to conjecture whether my presence was thus needed for good or for evil ; and I resolved to repair to London at once. The distance was barely fifty miles ; and I knew that a coach for tho metropolis jiasscd through Meadowville at one in the afternoon. My preparations were promptly made : the coach fortunately had a vacant place inside ; and this I secured. One of my travelling companions was a good-natured old lady, who knew London well ; and as in the course of conversation I stated that I was going thither on a little business, she recom- mended me to take up my quarters at a respect- able family hotel in Piccadilly. This advice I followed, and accordingly stopped at the establish- ment named. On the following merning, I alighted from a hackney-coach at the law'yers’ otficc a few minutes before ten, — my heart liuttering with suspense, and my head aching from the agitated and uneasy night which I had passed. The lawyers themselves had not yet arrived : but the moment I mentioned my name to the clerk, he surveyed me with con- siderable attention, and to a certain extent in a way which I did not like. He w as an impudent- looking man, of about thirty — shabbily dressed, and with an air of faded dandyism mingled with an aspect of dissipation. He and a boy appeared to be the only constituents of the legal staff : the office had a dirty, if not a poverty-stricken appear- ance ; and there were no particular evidences of a large amount of business. I was shown into Mr. Groombridge’s private roorn, and requested to wait till that gentleman should arrive. The desk was encumbered wdth papers : but the office was not much better furnished than the outer one. The fire, just lighted, was making feeble and sickly attempts to struggle against the dampness of the wood employed for the purpose. The atmo- sphere had a mouldy smell : a dispiriting -sensation crept over me. In a few minutes the door opened; and a tall unpleasant-looking man, dressed in a suit of black which had done tolerably good service, made his appearance. He bowed with a sort of awkward politeness, and expressed his satisfaction that I had so promptly complied with his letter. In short, this was Mr. Groombridge, the senior part- ner. “ It is very fortunate, Miss Lambert, you came up yesterday,” he said: “for tho case in which W'c recjuire you, comes on this morning.” “ What case P” I asked, in amazement. “ Of course you don’t know. Indeed, we judged you didn’t by the nature of your letter. You flon’t read the Law JNotices? Of course not. Ladies never do.” “ Might 1 inquire, sir ” “J am coming to tho point, ma’am,” inter- rupted Mr. (irooml)ridge. “A gentlenian with whom you bad Home little acciuaintanco, is about to f»aHH through tho Insolvents’ Oourt.” “ Hut who is he P” 1 demanded, in feverish ex- citement : ami as my mental vision swept rapidly over the whole circle of my acquaintances, itcciuhl not possibly settle on any one in particular “Captain Fortescuc is the gentleman,” rej)lied Groombridge. “Captain i’ortcscuc P” I echoed, but in a faint tone : for this announcement, so utterly unex- pected, seemed to i)roclaim a world of troubles and difficulties endured on Heginald’s jiart since 1 last saw him. “ Yes, ma’am — Captain Fortescuc is going through the Insolvents’ Court to-day. We are concerned in the case ” “ Hut if I understand the meaning and objects of that Court,” I said, full of grief on lieginald’s account, “it is to take cognizance of a person’s debts ” “Just so, ma’am — when he can’t pay them,” added Groombridge, with an attempt to make a sly jest of the mattei’. “ But surely there must bo some mistake P” I said. “ Sir Jieginald Fortescuc would not leave his son ” “ He has left him, ma’am,” interrupted Groom- bridge, “ to get out of this scrape as best he can. Or at least, it looks very much like it : for accord- ing to all I can learn, he has taken no notice of the Captain’s letters, nor of those which the cre- ditors have written. In a word, Captain Fortescuc, tired of being in the Queen’s Bench ” “ Good heavens ! has the Captain been in prison ?” was the ejaculation which burst from my lips : and I had the utmost difficulty in keeping back my tears. “ Been in prison ?” said Groombridge. “ Yes, to be sure ho has — for the last three months or so. But I believe he was arrested at the time when ” “Yes — I knew that he was arrested,” I said faintly: “but for a long time past I had hoped that he was in freedom and relieved of all his embarrassments. If I can do anything to serve him ” “ You would like to serve him — would you. Miss ?” inquired Groombridge, looking at me very hard, as if to penetrate my thoughts. “ I fancied, perhaps, that as you had broken with him — ” “ Sir, spare your observations !” I exclaimed, considering his allusions to me indelicate. “Of course I would serve him if I could : and I pre- sume that you are engaged on his behalf. Tell me, sir, — what do you require of me ?” “ The simplest thing in the world, ma’am,” re- sponded Mr. Groombridge, — “ merely that you will just step round to the Court with me — it is not five minutes’ distance — and answer a few ques- tions that will be put to you.” “ If it would benefit Captain Fortescuc,” I ex- claimed readily, “ I will go with you at once.” “ Good, ma’am !” said the lawyer. “ As a mat- ter of form, I must just give you this little slip of parchment. It is what is called a subpoena— a. necessary j)roccss, sometimes, to enforce the at- tendance of unwilling witnesses. But in your case,’' he added, with another of his unpleasantly familiar smiles, “ it is indeed nothing but a mere form.” “Then, what am I to do with this paper?” I asked, more bewildered thau enlightened by tho proceeding. “Just put it into your reticule or pocket— and EOSA LAMBERT. tear it up when you leave the Court. I believe, ma’am, that is your hackney-coach waiting at the door ; and if you please, we will at once proceed to Portugal Street.” “Do you think, sir,” I asked, “that Captain Portescue will soon obtain his liberty P” — and I felt myself blushing as I put the question. “ It all depends. Miss Lambert— it ail depends,” I replied the lawyer hastily : then looking at his watch— an old-fashioned silver one, of no gi-eat yalue— he added, “It is getting on for eleven o’clock : we Aust be off.” In a few moments I was seated by the attorney’s side in the hackney-coach. I had no hesitation in accompanying him on the present business : I be- lieved that it was for the purpose of benefiting the interests of Captain Portescue- and this idea overcame nearly all the repugnance I should other- wise have felt to appear as a witness before a pub- lic tribunal. I did not consider that I was vio- lating any pledge which I had given to Sir Eeginald Portescue ; because those pledges had been proffered on the understanding that he was to save his son from his difficulties and embarrass- ments. His failure to perform his share of the bargain, was evident enough, though perfectly un- accountable. I had not however much leisure for reflection : for in a few minutes the hackney-coach stopped in front of a mean, dingy -looking building, which stood back from the line of houses in Portugal Street, and was fronted with lofty iron railings. The clerk had accompanied the coach, — ! he riding on the box ; and when the vehicle stopped, Mr. Groombridge bade him go into the Court and ascertain how long it would be ere Cap- tain Portescue’s case came on. As the clerk disappeared, the lawyer said, “It would perhaps be disagreeable for you to wait in the Court ; and therefore I have taken this precaution in sending my clerk to make the inquiry which you heard.” In a few moments the clerk came rxinning forth, with the intimation that the case had just been called. Mr. Groombridge descended from the ve- hicle, and assisted me to alight. He offered me his arm, which I took, with a feeling that I wanted such support and protection in the midst of the novel scene to which I was about to be introduced. We passed along a narrow passage, and in a few moments entered the Court. It was the first time in my life I had been in a tribunal of justice ; and I had pictured to myself a vast hall, fitted up with all appropriate insignia. When, therefore, I found myself in an apartment not larger than my drawing-room was in Sloane Street — only more lofty, and with a lantern or skylight on the roof — and ail the arrangements of a mean description, as well as totally deficient in suitable accommodation, — I was astonished. At the farther end sat the Commissioner at a little desk placed upon an ele- vated platform. In a sort of pew in the middle, were the barristers. A range of seats behind, was crowded with the most unwashed, unkempt, dirty- looking audience that could possibly be conceived ; and in a sort of pulpit on the left hand of the judi- cial bench, stood Eeginald Portescue. My heart palpitated violently as I entered that Court. I knew that I was about to behold the one whom I had loved so fondly, and still loved too well for my own peace of mind. I had anti- cipated a look of fondest recognition ; for even 115 j though his father had failed to pay his debts for him, it never entered my mind that he could have forgotten his solemn pledge to explain, in terms most favourable to myself, the circumstances under which I had taken my abrupt departure from London. When therefore I entered the Court, my glances were swept timidly yet scrutinizingly around. They embraced in a moment all the prin- cipal features of the scene : they settled upon Eeginald — but his countenance was turned towards the bench; and he did not see me. The lawyer hurried me behind the barristers’ seats, round to that part of the Court which was exactly opposite to where Eeginald stood. I now felt that all eyes were turned upon me : or at least in my confusion and embarrassment, such was my thought. I was full of shame. I fancied that every one must be gazing superciliously on me, as the late mistress of the insolvent Captain of the Guards. Groom- bridge stopped for a few minutes to converse with one of the barristers ; and as that gentleman leant over to the lawyer, his person concealed Eeginald from my view. Almost immediately afterwards, the barrister, addressing the Commissioner, said, “ I now propose, sir, to call Miss Lambert, whose name has already been mentioned to the Court and to the Insolvent.” My confusion became so overwhelming that I literally lost the faculty of sight — or at least only beheld objects dimly, as if seeing them through a mist. The lawyer led me forward — he directed me to ascend two or three steps — I obeyed me- chanically — I was like a passive automaton in his hands. But when all of a sudden I found myself in another little pulpit — or in other words, the witness-box — precisely opposite to where Eeginald stood, so that I faced him, — and when my eyes, having regained all their natural power, swept bashfully around, showing me that in this elevated place I was now a focus for all regards— a target for all the arrowy looks of curiosity and whatever other feelings might have inspired those present, — I felt as if I could have cried out in dismay. The glance which I flung across to Eeginald, was one of appeal and entreaty, as if beseeching his pro- tection. But what words can depict my mingled grief and astonishment, when I perceived that his own looks were instantaneously averted, and that he drew himself up with the evident air of a man who feels that all his pride and dignity have sud- deifly become necessary to lift him above the sense of an injury and outrage which he is at the mo- ment sustaining. A horrible suspicion flashed to my mind — that I had been basely deceived, and that my presence there was regarded by Eeginald in the light of a hostility, instead of what I had so fondly believed it to be ; namely, a succour and assistance. But before I could recover from my bewildering thoughts and my conflicting emotions, a book was thrust into my hand — the formula of the oath was gabbled over by an usher of the Court — and I was told to kiss that book. I obeyed mechanically, and then sank back on the seat in the witness-box, covering my face with my kerchief. “We do not wish to cause you any unnecessary annoyance. Miss Lambert,” said the barrister who had whispered to Mr. Groombridge. “ Take time to compose yourself, and when you are ready I shall put a few questions to you.” IIG HOeA LAMTIETIT. Whilo ho was yet speaking, tho thought Hashed to my mind that I must not leave llcginald Fortescuo any longer than I could help in a state of opinion prejudicial to me ; and this eagerness to vindicate myself from tho injurious suspicions which I saw that he entertained, inspired mo with fortitude. Hastily wiping away the tears which had started from my eyes, I rose and glanced to- wards tho barrister, as much os to intimate that I was in readiness. You lived, I believe, under tho protection of tho insolvent P” he began. “ Before I answer any questions," I said, in a voice the firmness of which astonished myself, j I wish to know by whose authority I have been j brought hither ?’* “ What is the meaning of this question ?" asked the Commissioner sternly. “ You ought to know , that you are hero as a witness for the creditors j who oppose the discharge of Captain Fortescue.” “ Then, sir,” I at once responded, “ the falsest pretexts have been used : for I was given to un- derstand that by coming hither, I should be serving the interests of Captain Fortescue.” I glanced across the Court as I thus spoke : I saw that a sudden change was operated by my words throughout Reginald’s entire being ; and his I look— scarcely significant for common observers — ■ was nevertheless a world of meaning for me. It . conveyed astonishment, relief, tenderness, and entreaty for pardon that by his suspicions he had wronged me. j “ Well,” said the Commissioner, “ I can’t help under what circumstances you came hither.” j “lam instructed, sir,” said the barrister, “by Mr. Groombridge, the highly respectable attorney who represents the whole body of opposing credi- tors, that Miss Lambert was duly served with a subpoena, and that she has it about her at this j very moment.” “Well,” resumed the Commissioner, still ad- j dressing me, “you see that it is all legal and ! straightforward ; and now you are here, you must give your evidence.” I “ I appear, sir, on behalf of Captain Fortescue,” said another barrister, rising up as if in a towering rage, “ and I beg to ask by what false pretences ! this young lady has been inveigled into a position ! which places her in direct antagonism with one from whom she received kindnesses— no matter what the ties were that connected them.” This speech had a world of significancy for me ; and it was evidently intended to make me fully t aware of the position in which I stood — so that if j I had previously entertained any doubt or misgiv- I ing as to my own interpretation of the proceeding, so far as it regarded myself, such uncertainty was ! entirely cleared up. ! “We have nothing to do,” said the Commis- j sioncr, “ with tho circumstances under which the witness was brought hither. It is sufficient for I U8 that she is here; and she must give her I evidence.” “ Without tho slightest disrespect to tho Court, sir,” I said, basld'ully yet firmly, “ I am resolved not to answer a single question.” “You hear, sir, how this young woman defies you,” said tho oi)j)08ing barrister. “ It is of the utmost importance that sho should bo examined. Bho was j)r(!Bont iii tho lock-up house when in- structions were given for tho sale of tho insolvent’* commission ; and upon this point she must si>oak. Then, too, we wish to ascertain how far sho herself benefited by tho insolvent’s extravagances ; and by her testimony we shall be enabled to prove that the insolvent kept for her a separate establishment, a carriage, and all suitable appurtenances. In short, sir, tho evidence of this witness is indispen- sably necessary for tho making out of my clients’ case.” “ Really, Miss Lambert,” said the Commissioner, i “ you are wasting tho time of the Court : and you i know very well you will have to give evidence in i the long run. In short, you are bound to give your evidence : and remember, you are sworn to give it truly.” “ I can only repeat, sir,” I responded, “ that I will not answer a word.” “ Then, sir,” immediately exclaimed tho barrister representing the opposing creditors, “ I must call upon the Court to exercise its power by commit- ting this witness to prison.” “ Do you hear ?” asked the Commissioner. “ I am called upon to do a very painful thing — but which I nevertheless must perform, if you con- tinue thus obstinate.” “ Very good, sir,” I rejoined. “ I will go to prison.” There was a murmur of applause on the part of the shabby-looking audience at the other extremity of the Court : but scarcely had the usher vocife- rated “ Silence !” when the door was flung open, and another barrister hurriedly made his appearance- The general sensation showed that every one imme- diately associated this abrupt arrival with the case that was pending, and which had already assumed so large a degree of interest. The new-coming barrister entered the enclosure appropriated to the gentlemen of the long robe ; and amidst breath- less silence, he proceeded to address the Commis- sioner in the following manner ; — “ I appear, sir, on behalf of Sir Reginald For- tescue, the father of the insolvent. Before I state the very satisfactory instructions which I have re- ceived, I am bound to give a few explanations on Sir Reginald Fortescue’s part. That gentleman came up to London about three months ago, for the express purpose of liquidating his son’s lia- bilities. He made certain preliminary arrange- ments, by virtue of which a young person, then living xmder Captain Fortescue’s protection ” Here the barrister engaged on Reginald’s be- half, whispered something to the speaker; and his eyes were at once turned in amazement towards the witness-box, — \ here I had in the meantime seated myself again, and where I was bending down to avoid the general gaze. “I had not noticed that young lady before,” resumed the barrister. “ I am now given to un- derstand that she is the same to whom I was alluding. If I pained her feelings, I hasten to make such amends as my instructions warrant,— by proclaiming that her conduct was most admir- able on tho occasion to which I referred, and that Sir Reginald Fortescue entertains the liveliest gratitude towards her. On tho very same day that sho consented to separate for ever from one to whom sho was attached. Sir Reginald Fortescue, whilo repairing to tho lock-up house to visit his son, was seized with a fit of apoplexy, — which re- ROSA LAMBERT. 117 I I ! ! I suited in a most dangerous illness, leaving him for many weeks at death’s door. Indeed, for this long interval Sir Eeginald Fortescue has been deprived of his mental faculties ; and it was only yesterday that intelligence again dawned in upon him. Then he spoke to those around. I will not pause to describe his grief on learning that for three long months he had been dead to the world — and likewise at the intelligence that his son, in the belief that his father had abandoned him, was about to appear before this Court as the only means of emancipation from a gaol. I have now the pleasure to announce that the whole of Cap- tain Fortescue’s debts shall be this day paid in full ” I heard no more. J oy— wild, thrilling, ecstatic joy deprived me of consciousness : for happiness is frequently more overpowering than misery. When I came to my senses, I was in an apartment,— which I presently learnt to be the barristers’ robing-room; and two females who had formed part of the audience, were administering restora- tives. By the time I completely recovered, and my loosened apparel was re-adjusted, a knock at the door was heard. It was the barrister who had appeared for Sir Reginald Fortescue, and who now entered the room. “ Miss Lambert,” he said, “your conduct to-day in co\irt is a noble sequence to that self-sacrifice on your part which it was my duty and pleasure to proclaim and to eulogize. I shall not fail to report everything to Sir Reginald. But there is some one who desires to see you ” “You need not say, sir, who he is,” I inter- rupted the legal gentleman. “ I know my duty — and I will perform it. Believe me, I should not have come hither, had it not been with the im- pression that my presence would serve instead of injure Captain Fortescue.” I then explained how I had been brought up to London, and I gave the barrister the five-pound note, requesting that he would return it, with ex- pressions of indignation and disgust, to the double- faced, double-dealing, slimy attorney. “ And now, sir,” I said, “ I wiU take my de- parture at once. Do I incur any risk of meeting one whom — much as I should long to see again for a few moments,” I added softly and with a half- stifled sob, “ I dare not encounter.” “ No— he is yet a prisoner for a few hours, until the cheques are drawn to pay his liabilities,” re- sponded the barrister ; “ and he cannot issue from the Court save in the custody of an officer. Come with me — and I will escort you hence.” I remunerated the two women for the trouble I had given them : the legal gentleman offered me his arm — and we issued forth to the hackney-coach, which was still in waiting. The barrister shook me kindly by the hand : I returned to the hotel ; and in less than an hour after my arrival there, was seated in a stage-coach on my way home- ward. ^ When in the evening, I was again by the fire side at Clarence Villa, and giving free scope to m; reflections, I congratulated myself upon the cours I had adopted in refusing to see Reginald in th barristers’ robing-room. He could not think m unkind: he would know that I was only per forming my duty; and he was naturally tO' generous not to appreciate my conduct, howeve much he might deplore it, I was at no loss to un- derstand wherefore his demeanour had exhibited so much prideful coldness as well as an air of wounded feeling, when first he beheld me in the Court. For three long months he must have fancied that I had deserted him wilfully, most ungenerously !— my sudden disappearance from Sloane Street had continued unexplained to him through his father’s illness. I shuddered and wept at the bare thought that for so long an interval he must have naturally regarded me as the most hypocritical and unprin- cipled of my sex : he must have fancied that be- cause he was ruined, I had accepted the overtures of some other person — and that my conduct had been as wanton in its profligacy as it was base in its ingratitude. Then, to have beheld me appear, as he thought, against him, and to assist his credi- tors in opposing his discharge, — Oh! this must have proved the climax of his indignant and in- jured feelings. But it was evident that when I had resolutely declared my intention of answering no questions, a change took place in him. Doubt- less he was smitten with the idea that everything could be satisfactorily explained, if we had but the opportunity: for if this was not his thought, he would not have flung at me that look of mingled tenderness and deprecation which I have already described. But fortunately it needed not that we should come together for the sake of explana- tions: the words of the barrister sent by Sir Eeginald, was a revelation to the Captain in re- spect to the past, so far as I was concerned. The consciousness of having done my duty, filled me with a serene happiness, when once the agita- tion of my reflections in respect to what Reginald must have thought for three long months, had passed away. I amused myself with books — with needlework — with walking out on fine days — and in thinking over the past, that such retrospection might strengthen me in my conduct for the present and the future. But still I was not entirely happy. I thought of my brother; and painfully wondered what he was doing in the world, I thought of my parents ; and longed to see them again. But no ! How could I — lost and degraded as I was — seek the paternal home ? For though my parents themselves were not alto- gether immaculate, yet they were high enough beyond the reach of that shame which had over- taken me, to prevent me from degrading them in the eyes of the villagers of Hawthorn, by my presence. CHAPTER XVI. THE YOUNG- CLERGYMAN. One day — about a fortnight after the incidents of the Insolvents’ Court — I was taking my usual walk, when a turning of the road suddenly brought me face to face with Arthur Brydges. I may re- mind the reader that he was a young man who, if not actually handsome, was nevertheless good- looking — that his features were delicate, with an habitual pensiveness of expression — and that there was a world of feeling in his dark blue eyes. He was of middle stature — of slender figure — well made, and of very genteel appearance. He was ]18 KOflA LAMTJERT. not, yet twenty- five years of ai^c. When last I had seen him, ho was dressed in threadbare ap- j)arel : lie was now neatly attired in a good suit of black — and ids demeanour was that of the well- bi’ed gentleman. Ue recognised mo immediately : joy and amaae- inent were depicted upon his countenance, lie caught my haiid, and pressed it with fervid grati- tude, exclaiming, Oh, Miss Lambert ! 1 am so rejoiced to meet you again. I have so much to thank you for ! I have never forgotten you — I never can forget you ! But perhaps you thought | that I was ungrateful because 1 never wrote to j you Ah ! in a few days you would have heard from me, if I had not thus so fortunately met j you !” “Believe me, Mr. Brydges,” I said, “ a suspicion so injurious to you never entered my head. Pray do not allude to the past in any way ” “ Not allude to it ?” he ejaculated. “ "VVould you seal my lii)3 in respect to that which is ever present to my memory ? Grant me your patience, • Miss Lambert, for a few moments. I know not whether my suspicion was correct, that you indeed were tho good genius who procured for me the | preferment which I now hold Ah ! I see by your looks that I was not wrong ! I felt assured it was you, although I did not question Lora Eveleigh with a closeness that would have been pertinacious and ungenerous. A"ou both chose to | confer the boon in your own way — and I accepted I it as such.” I “ M^'cll, Mr. Brydges,” I answered, seeing that ' it was useless to deny my share in the transac- tion, “ I confess that having, through certain friends, a little interest with Lord Eveleigh, I spoke on your behalf.” “ Miss Lambert,” responded Arthur Brydges, with a voice and looks expressive of deepest feel- ing, I owe you everything. You rescued me from poverty — from misery — from a gaol : you were not contented with a passing act of benevo- lence — you procured for me a settlement for life. It is not the obligation of an hour’s good deed imder which you laid me : my whole existence is^ rendered happy through you. And now, permit me to give a few explanations. You would not tell me your name on that memorable day — so memo- rable for me,” he added with strong emotions, “ when you saved me from ruin. But I learnt it from the shop-keeper. My first impulse was to write, and express more completely on paper that gratitude which my words had so feebly conveyed : but I thought to myself that the very delieacy of the manner in which you had done the good deed, and that very refusal on your part to tell me your name, must be regarded as an intimation that you re- quired no such obtrusive manifestation of gratitude. Bo 1 said to myself, ‘ I will wait until I can repay tho amount so generously advanced ; and then I shall have not merely a pretext, but a right to arldrcsB Miss Lambert in a letter expressive of my life-long tliankfulness.’ — Then came the visit of Lord JOveleigh. Mhen ho had left mo, I wont down upon my knees, imploring heaven to shower its blessings upon your head ; and I said to myself, ‘1 will live frugally, so as to save from my income tho amount wliieli 1 ow(! Miss liaird)(‘rt, and the remittance of which w ill in duo time uiford mo tho wished-l'or oj>portuuity to aildress her.’ — That amount will bo in my jvjssossion in the cresent useless, yet J clung with a natural feel- ing of female vanity f o those articles. What was I to do P ICven if 1 disja^sed of them to pay the debts at Kiverdalc;, I sliould still lack the means of raising money for tin* benefit of my brother Cyril; and 1 eouhl not (mdure tin* thought fhat he was abroad in the world, perhaj)S starving — or j»erh!ij)S living by le of entertaining on my behalf.” I “Jh'ally, Mrs. Wilton,” said Lucia, drawing I herself up with a more dignilied coldness than be- fore, “ I think your own good sense must show that you arc presuming somewhat upon the little claim which accident gave you upon n>c ” “ Presuming ! little claim !” 1 ejaculated, start- ing up from the seat which I had taken unin- vitcdly: “these words to me ! Does your lady- ship know that I rendered you a service such us sister could scarcely render unto sister ?” “ Well, well, Mrs. Wilton — we will not dispute upon the subject,” intcrruj)tcd her ladyship. “ Per- haps, as we have now met, it would be better just to regulate the amount of the obligation. Name a sum — let me know your address — and in the course of a few days it shall be remitted to you.” “And do you think. Lady Lucia,” I asked, bitterly and reproachfully, “ that you can acquit yourself of an obligation which is beyond all price ? Never should I have asserted the least claim upon your gratitude : but you yourself have given this turn to the discourse, — you yourself have put this complexion upon it. Good heavens, what a heart must you possess, that you can fancy mine of so selfish a nature ! A single kind word of grateful remembrance— a really cordial look — and a truly sincere pressure of the hand, would have been more to me, when coming from you, than if you laid down millions of treasure at my feet. Now do you understand what my disposition is? and do you comprehend the extent to which you have outraged me ?” “ I am sure I am at a loss to understand any- thing,” replied Lady Lucia: “I don’t know what you want or what you mean. I have offered to testify my gratitude, so that there may be an end of the business. Again I say let me have your address ; and in the course of a few days I will send you such a sum ” “Enough, Lady Lucia!” I interrupted her proudly: “every additional word 'you utter is a fresh indignity — a renewed insult. I am not ca- pable of mean and paltry revenge for mean and paltry things : but I am terribly vindictive when the outrage is striking and flagrant. The out- rage I have now received at your hands is im- mense ” “ Oh, if this is the construction you put upon it,” said Lady Lucia, drawing herself up to her full height, and really seeming at the moment magni- ficent as Juno, with her aristocratic lips scornfully wreathing, her grand bust upheaved, her nostrils dilating, and her eyes flashing fire, — “if this is the construction you put upon it, the sooner we come to an understanding the better. Look you, Mrs. Wilton — I never from the first believed that you served me through pure disinterested kind- ness. Such a belief would have been preposterous. There is no such thing as unselfish kindness in the world. I was well aware that you sought to obtain a hold over me for your ulterior purposes. But I was on my guard. Now, let us suppose for an | instant that you choose to be vindictive — what can | you say ? what can you prove ? Who would be- j lieve such a ridiculous, outrageous tale? Up till within a month or five weeks of a certain event”— and her voice lowered as she thus alluded to it— “ 1 was seen in society : not a soul could have sus- pected the real truth. Then again, who saw my lace at the cot tage ? who could identify me ? You know not even where the hated and detested off- spring is. Ah, Mrs. Wilton, you see that I all along took my precautions. There is not in your possession a single letter of mine that could betray me : I was not so foolish as to be entrapped into any such snare.” “ Good heavens, Lady Lucia !” I exclaimed, for a space stricken dumb while she was giving vent to this astounding tirade, — “ I could have borne your coldness — I could have endured your ingratitude — I could have submitted to your aristocratic scorn and your haughty pride. But to be thus mis- judged by you — to have those motives which, heaven is my witness, were the purest and the sincerest, thus shamefully tortured into a base self- ishness and a cold-blooded systematic calcula- tion -it is more than I can put up with !” “ Take it as you will, Mrs. Wilton,” said Lucia coldly, and still with scornful defiance wreathing her lips. “ You have betrayed your true character now. Delicacy should in the first instance have prevented you from seeking an interview with me ; 19 never more should you lave sought my presence-, had you possessed the least particle of generosity, j you would not have intruded yourself on me to re- j vive the hateful subject which I would fain bury 1 in oblivion. Y'our very presence here, therefore, | justifies all the conclusions I had from the very j first arrived at. But it is perhaps as well that you are here, since such is really your disposition ; be- ! cause now you know that you cannot coerce me — . that you cannot exercise a dastard terrorism over | me. I am not in your power : beware how you I think so !” ■ At this moment the door was thrown open ; and j who should enter the room but the Earl of Eve- leigh himself ? So startled was I by the sudden apparition of Lucia’s father, that my first impulse was to hide myself, if possible ; and I flew to the window — where I stood with my back towards him and his daughter. “Well, Lucia,” said the old nobleman, either EOSA XAMBEKT 1!03.\ r. ik; rot at llic (irst insiart obsorviiif^ no at all, or oL-o tnkijifj mo for some ore else wliom lie was rot sur- prised to find there, — “ 1 carno across fo fetch you ! after all ” “I am very much obliged to you, my dear father,” responded Lucia cpiickly, but in a voice that was quivering with excitement and terror, notwithstanding all the scornful defiance she had a few moments back been hurling at me : “ but pray retire to another room for a little while — I liave got something to say to this lady ” “How strange you look, Lucia !” interrupted the Earl : “ are you ill ? has anything annoyed you ?” “ No, father,” rejoined Lucia, now speaking coldly ; and theretbre I conceived that she had suddenly recovered her self-possession. “ T3at 1 have a little private business ” “Nonsence, Lucia!” interrupted the Earl, more good-humouredly than angrily : “ what ])rivato business can you have with this lady? Madam, I hope that my presence here has not really dis- turbed you ?” Tlius speaking. Lord Evclcigh advanced straight up to the window where I was standing. I could not possibly prevent him from beholding my coun- tenance : I was all in a prdpitation of confusion and excitement : I knew not what to do. “ Good heavens ! Miss Lambert !” ejaculated the Earl, staggering back as if stricken a severe blow. “ What name was that you uttered, father P” cried Lucia, no longer mistress of herself. “ What name ? Miss Lambert P Not the 3Iis8 Lam- bert ” “ Lucia, how came you to know this— per Miss Lambert P” — and the old Earl spoke sternly, but also under a strong and painful excitement. I had now turned round. from the window; it was useless to attempt any farther concealment. I felt that I \vas pale as death; but yet my forti- tude had suddenly returned; for the recollection flashed to me that the daughter, if not the father, was completely in my, power, notwithstanding all her haughty defiance of but a few minutes back. She had sunk down upon a seat : her countenance, always of alabaster fairness, was now a dead ghastly white : she seemed, figuratively speaking, to be annihilated. “ Lucia Miss Lambertj Lucia :” — and the old Earl’s looks wandered sternly from his daughter to me, and back again to his daughter : “ what means this scene ?” — then as if smitten by a sud- den conjecture, ho advanced straight up to me, and in a low deep whisper, said, “Have you come hither to betray to my own child that which I was foolish enough at one time to propose to you ?” “ No, my lord — I am incapable of such trea- cherous meanness :” — and my words wore firmly spoken, but also in a low whisper. “Ah ! but that scene at the masquerade P” “ 1 swear, my lord, that I was as much dis- troBHcd us y(mrs(‘lf. it was not 1 who provoked Alvunly to act thus towards you.” The Earl gazed very hard In my countenance; and then w'hisjtered, “ Jly heaven, J believe you!” “ I'al licj-,” said hneia, who at this moment rose uj) from (lio sent on which slio had J’alleu like an immimalc ladiig: and approaching her sire, she . clutehcfl Jiiin forcibly by the arm, — “ is this tho Miss Lainlx'i-t wlue who- <,oiveyonlhe infijrinalion you know what 1 mean about llopaeci Ihn'k- inghain ” “Como!” (jaeulatcd (ho fCarl, not heeding tho question, or else not knowing exactly how be should reply to it: “ what business is it that has brought you two together? I must know — 1 in- sist upon knowing !” “Ah ! I see, tlien, that it is that same p<'rsf)n 1” murmured Lucia, whoso son, so of loathing and dis- gust at my presence actually triumpheil for the instant over whatsoever fear she miglit hav(' en- tertained with regard to me: and she looked like one who felt ns if tho very atmosphere itself was fraught with ])estilenco. “Yes, Lady Lucia,” I said, a.ssuming a calndy proud air; “since tlio discovery has taken place, it is u-seless to attempt denial. Yes — I. rtm that same Miss Lambert of whom you have beforo heard.’ And now', wdll you spurn me from your pre- sence P” Lucia again reeled back to the chair from which she had risen; and covering her countenance with her hands, she remained still and motionless as a marble statue. No sigh — no sound — no word escaped her : her very breath w\a3 inaudible : lu-r bosom did not palpitate — there was no quivering of her form. That she was alive, could only be judged by the fact that she retained her seat with- out falling on the floor. Not choosing for many reasons to prolong a scene which was far from agreeable to myself — and whicii, when first I sought Lucia’s presence, I so little expected to take place — I abruptly hastened to the door. The parting glance which I threw back over my shoulder, showed me Lucia still sitting in that same state — while her father was standing at a short distance, gazing upon her in petrified astonishment. The next instant the door closed behind me : I hurried down stairs — gained the street-^ and did not seem to breathe freely until I was beyond the precincts of Eiverdale. CHAPTEE XIX; TEE 1A27E. Tee follow'ing day was marked by a hard frost, but with the sun shining brightly. It was one of those healthy cold days which characterize the Chistmas season. My father was somewhat indisposed with a rheumatic attack ; and my own thoughts being still much agitated from the effects of the previous day’s occurrences at Eiverdale, I sallied forth to take a long wMk, in tho hope that solitary com- muning and tho bracing air would restore me to some degree of cheerfulness. I proceeded in tho direction of Eiverdale— but yet with no intention of going into the town : on the . contrary, I pur- posed, when reaching a particular diverging lane, to turn off into it. I reflected on all that had taken place on the previous day, and w'ondered what explanation Lady Lucia had given to her father in respect to her interview wfith me. That she had told him tho truth, I did not for an instant suii])()se: but J. naturally conceived that, when re- gaining her self-possession, oil being relieved of my presence, she invented some tale to satisfy tho Earl. EOSA LA;jrBEET. 147 rcrhaps tliat tale was not to my credit ? perhaps she represented me as seeking her under false and hypocritical pretexts ? Indeed, this appeared cer- tain : or else how woidd she account for the fact that I had come to her with a fictitious name ?— as the maid herself could tell that I had used that of Wilton. I did not wish to stand ill in the old lord’s estimation : I had always felt grateful to him for the readiness with which he had conferred so immense a boon upon Arthur Brydges. For this reason I was glad that I had found an oppor- tunity of putting myself right with him in respect to that scene at the masquerade when he was so cruelly bantered by Gustavus Alvanly. But now it pained me to reflect that perhaps I had sunk lower in his esteem than ever, in consequence of the tale which his daughter must have devised, of some sort or another, to account for my presence at the hotel, and to divert from herself anything savom’ing of vague suspicion. While I was thus reflecting, I reached the lane to which I have above alluded — and turned into it. I had proceeded about twenty yards, before I noticed that I was followed by some one, and that there was a quick stumping noise behind me. I looked back, and beheld a man dressed as a sailor, with one of his legs bent up behind in such a way that the knee rested on the wooden leg which formed the support for that limb. The left sleeve of his loose blue jacket was empty, and fluttered about : so that my sympathy was increased, as I said to myself, “ This poor man has lost his arm, besides being deprived of the proper use of a leg.” But even these did not seem to constitute the sum of his injuries : for he had a large black patch ■over his right eye: and his face was all bound round with a white bandage, or rather cloth — passing under his chin, coming up to his mouth, and thus being indicative of a fractured jaw or something of the kind. He however was evidently not a common beggar : for there was nothing un- cleanly in his appearance — much less ragged in his apparel. His low glazed hat— his jacket — his • loose trousers — and the black kerchief, tied neg- ligently beneath the falling collar of his clean blue-checked shirt — constituted a decent and com- fortable costume of its kind. “ God bless you, ma’am,” he said, stumping up to me, but speaking in a strange, mmnbling, scarcely articulate voice, so that my suspicion was confirmed that he had received a severe fracture, if not the positive loss of one of his jaws; “pray be- stow a copper upon a poor Jack Tar that’s all kivered with wounds and battered about all over his hull from stem to starn. Shiver my timbers, iVIiss — look what a wreck I be !” Deeply commiserating the poor man’s lot — but averting my eyes quickly from the shocking spec- tacle of a human being so hideously maimed — I drew forth my purse to extract thence a shilling : but scarcely had I taken it out of my pocket, when the false sailor made a clutch at it with his right hand. At the same moment his left arm, hitherto hidden inside his shirt, was slipped into the sleeve that had dangled empty by his side : a quick stooping-down and the unfastening of a strap dis- encumbered him of his wooden leg : the tearing off of the white wrapper round his face and the black 1 patch from his eye, completed this metamorphosis, I which was as rajiidly achieved as any change ui)on the stage effected by the wand of Harlequin. In- deed, literally speaking, the whole affair did not occupy half a minute — during which I. was riveted in mingled terror and amazement to the spot : — and behold ! it was Toby Grayson who thus revealed himself. “Ah, my young lady,” he exclaimed, with a hearty laugh, “ I owed you a turn, you know, after the stage-coach affair some five or six months back. How don’t think of screaming out : because ” and he produced a pistol from the pocket of his capacious breeches. “ Good heavens !” I said, seized with a cold shudder : “ you would not murder me !” “Hot I indeed, my dear girl,” answered Toby, “ unless it was to save my neck from a halter. You are too sweet and pretty a creature for that. Ah ! how I did enjoy that tete-a-tete journey with you, you know, in the fly:” — and now he literally roared with merriment. I made a movement to hurry away: but he clutched me forcibly by the wrist, his uproarious laughter suddenly ceasing, and his voice sternly commanding me to remain. My glances swept to- wards the road : but no one was nigh. I knew the man’s desperate character — and dared not irritate him. The pistol was in his hand ; and though I had often cared nothing for life — but, on the con- trary, had on more than one occasion wished that I was dead — I nevertheless felt all the sweetness of that life, now that I believed it to be in jeopardy. “ Upon my soul, I won’t hurt a hair of your head if you stop quiet,” the fellow went on to say, “and just let me have the pleasure of talking to you for a few minutes. Ah ! as I was observing, how I did luxuriate in the contemplation of your beauty when I was playing the part of Dr. Good- man. Wasn’t it capital? It was heaven’s dis- pensation, young lady, and you had to submit :” — then having uttered these words in the same tone of sedate gravity which he had adopted when we were in the chaise together, he bmst out into a fresh roar of laughter. “I pray you to let me depart,” I said, still imder the influence of terror, because I knew not with what object this desperate villain of many plans and numerous devices was detaining me there. “ Ho — I will not harm you,” he again said, when his mirth had subsided. “ How I did admire that beautiful hair of your’s ! and what would I have given for one of those glossy ringlets of light chesnut brown ! Ho silk is finer. You are the loveliest young lady I ever saw in my life. Eyes of the clearest, deepest blue — lips of cherry red- ness — teeth white as pearls ” “ Have you finished with these absurd compli- ments ?” I demanded, now becoming indignant not- withstanding my apprehensions. “ And that complexion too,” he went on to say, eyeing me in a manner that enhanced my alarm ; “ how dazzlingly fair ! When I saw you in the summer, you were pale : but now you have got the carnation bloom on your cheeks. And your figure too, how exquisitely modelled! what a wasp-like waist — ^what a gorgeous fulness of the bust !” “ Enough !” I shrieked forth, terrified by the burning and devouring regards which the rufiian fixed upon me. TlOflA LAMBETIT. 148 “ Stop !” ho exclaimed fiercely ; “ or hy heaven, much as I admire you, I will spoil your beauty for you ! What a stupid creature you are : I don’t want to hurt you — although I do owe you a turn for your endeavour to get me captured and laid up in lavender that time in the stage-coach. By jingo! I never thought you recognised mo! I fancied those deep blue eyes of yours were too soft and languishing to bo so penetrating. Ah! but I did that young fellow out of the money, though, after all. I got his pocket-book, and sent him home to his father to tell him that notwithstanding he had buttoned it up securely inside his coat, there was such a thing as making him unbutton the said coat again. Bless you ! Toby Grayson wasn’t to be done like that. When I left the stage-coach, I took a short cut to Chester — found out where the young chap had put up — and lo and behold ! in the course of the afternoon he found himself dining with a barrister in his wig, gown, and bands. It was all natural enough; for the Summer Assizes were on at the time. Well, that barrister w'as me — your most obedient servant, Tobias Grayson, Esquire. Of course our young friend was right glad to journey with an eminent barrister who was on his way to Manchester to attend the Assizes there ; and he accepted a seat in the said barrister’s post-chaise. You can ima- gine the rest. When we came to a convenient lonely spot, I pretended to be about to show him a brief— but my pocket gave birth to a pistol. And now that I have amused you, my dear Miss Lam- bert, I will take the only reward I mean to ask for my pleasantry — and the only revenge, barring the purse however, that I purpose to wreak for the affair of the stage-coach. Just one kiss of those delicious red dewy lips !” With these words the brutal ruffian endeavoured to carry his detestable purpose into effect, and to press his lips to mine. He had the power of a giant — his strength was irresistible — he could have bent or broken me like a reed in his grasp. Des- perately I struggled, — wild shrieks thrilling from my tongue. All in a moment there was a rush of footsteps — a gentleman appeared upon the spot — I was torn from Grayson’s grasp — and the scoundrel himself reeled backward with the terrific blow which was dealt him. That blow was instan- taneously followed up by another, which hurled the robber violently against a tree : but quick as light- ning, he dashed away from the spot — cleared the hedge — and was out of sight. And who was my deliverer ? I must candidly confess that a cry of joy had burst from my lips: — he was Beginald Fortescue ! When Grayson fled, Beginald — disdaining to take the trouble to follow him — turned towards mo ; and catching me in his arms, strained me to his breast. 1 had not the courage to disengage myself at once : 1 was agitated and half fainting with excitement ; and my thoughts W’ero all in the whirl of a confusion, lie covered my checks with kisses: but at length I so far recovered my sclf- j)osBeHsion as lo extricate myself from his arms. He gazed uj)On me with joy and deliglit ; and when he perceived that my countenance grew serious, ho said, “ Rose— dearest Rose — is it j)ossil)lo that jny I)re8ence affords you no pleasure P” “Yes: us ii jriend ’' — and 1 ctnjihasized the word — “ 1 am glad to see you, Reginald. My warmest gratitude is likewise dun for rescuing mo from the outrage of that ruffian.” “ Gratitude !” exclaimed Fortescue, “ do not speak of gratitude ! Hut I suppose that you lovn mo no longer ?” “As a friend, Reginald, I have an affection for you: but candidly do I confess that it is nnft/ with friendship that I now regard you:” — for the imago of Arthur Brydges had taken that place in my heart which was once occupied by Fortescue. For a moment he appeared vexed, even afllictcd : but the next instant brightening up, ho exclaimed with all the sincerity of his naturally generous heart, “ And after all it is better that you should regard mo in that light ! Whatever my feeling may be, you at least arc more fortunate : for you have surmounted an impression which might have caused you unhappiness. Dear Rose, I am not speaking thus in a reproachful tone. No — I un- fcigncdly rejoice that we meet as friends : for as a friend have I come into Cheshire to seek you out and make a certain communication to you.” “ How did you know that I was living at homo with my father ?” I inquired, anxious to give the conversation a turn from that delicate topic on which it had rested. “ Accident revealed to me the circumstance that you were at Hawthorn,” responded Fortescue. “Nay, more. Rose — I have likewise learnt that since you parted from me ” “YYs — my life has been such,” I said, under- standing what he meant, “ that I can look back upon it from the date you name, without a blush. Would that it might redeem the past ! — it may in some measure atone for it : but redemption is im- possible !” — and my voice, as I thus spoke, deepened into sadness. “ But you have not as yet told me,” I exclaimed, suddenly assuming a more cheerful air, “ how it was that accident revealed those cir- cumstances to your knowledge.” “ I will tell you frankly. Rose,” answered Regi- nald. “ Two days back I entered the library at my father’s house, when he was not there. His desk was open — some letters were lying upon it. I was searching for sealing-wax, when my eyes rested upon your handwriting. I could not resist the opportvmity and the temptation. I read the letter : it bore a date of some months back — but still I hoped to find you at Hawthorn. I had longed to ascertain your present abode, because I felt myself in duty hound to make a certain com- munication, to which I have already alluded. My father has for a considerable time past reposed ■ in me the utmost confidence ; and it was by no means difficult for me to devise an excuse for absenting myself from home for a few days. I accordingly departed, and arrived at Riverdale an hour back. I set out to walk to Hawthorn, hoping that pos- sibly I might meet you in the neighbourhood, and thus avoid the necessity of calling at your father’s house.” “ And that communication, Reginald, which you have to make ?” I said inquiringly. “ After everything which has taken place be- tween us. Rose,” resumed the Captain, “ I consi- dered that I was bound to acquaint you with a cliango which is about to take place in my condi- tion ” “ I understand you, Reginald,” I interrupted | him. “ You are going to be mai’ried — and I am ROSA LAMBERT. 149 plad of it. Most sincerely do I wish you well. Your welfare and happiness are dear to my heart. I am certain that it will please your excellent father,— to whom, as you saw by my letter, I am under the deepest obligations : for that letter was written when I was in distress for money— not exactly distressed on my own account, but on that of my father’s debts ; and your father most liberally responded to my appeal.” “ He entertains for you, my dear Rose, the very highest opinion,” answered Reginald, giving me this assurance with a generous enthusiasm. “He is a man of kind and benevolent disposition — he has been an excellent father to me ” “ Oh, cherish such a father ! be proud of him ! thank God that you possess him !” I cried, with passionate vehemence : for methought at the time that if I had rejoiced in such a parent, I never should have been dragged astray from the path of virtue, and my brother would never have committed a felon’s crime to obtain possession of gold — that crime to shield him from the consequence of which I had sacrificed my virtue ! “ I can assure you, my dear Rose,” responded Reginald, “ that ever since that dreadful affair in the Insolvents’ Court — in which, by the bye, you acted so nobly — I have studied my best to prove a kind and dutiful son. Yes: it is to oblige my father that I have consented to this marriage. The bride indeed was more or less of his own seeking. Everything is settled ; and a few months hence the ceremony will take place. As I was ere now saying, after all that has occurred between you and me, I considered it my duty to acquaint you with my intention. You would have thought it most unfriendly on my part, if knowing that I had the opportunity to communicate with you, either personally or by letter, I had left you to glean the circumstance of my marriage from the chances of accident, or from the newspapers. When therefore I discovered where you were, I would not write — I resolved to come and pay you a farewell visit.” “ It was kindly meant — it was generous too, on your part,” I observed. “ And yet is there not, Reginald, something unduteous and even perfidious towards your father in the proceeding? — and what would he think of me if it came to his know- ledge that I consented to linger with you even so much as a few minutes, under existing circum- stances ?” “It may be perfidious on my part,” rejoined Fortescue : “ but it is at least natural. Ho — I could not resist the temptation : I was resolved to see you once more : you must not be angry with me on that account. As for yourself. Rose, no blame can be attached to you: for you did not voluntarily seek this interview — it came upon you as unexpected as indeed it was fortunate, consi- dering the danger from which I was happy enough to deliver you. But you must not imagine,” Reginald went on to say, after a brief pause, during which we had walked along in silence, “that my heart’s affections have been transferred from yourself imto her who is so soon to become my wife. Ho — that were impossible ! Tbu, Rose, inspired me with a sentiment such as I never felt before — such as I shall never feel again ” “ Speak not of it, Reginald, I conjure you !” I interrupted him. “ Have I not told you that you can henceforth only regard me as a friend ? and would it not be a real act of perfidy on my part towards your excellent father, if I were to listen patiently or willingly to such language as that ?” “ I will not therefore distress or anger you, my dear Rose,” answered Reginald : “ I will not speak of you — but you must permit me to speak of my- selfi Bear with me, then, while I assure you that my affections are noi given to the lady who is to become my wife. It will be a mere conventional marriage. My father, as you know, experienced a most dangerous illness which lasted for months, and whence he only began to recover a year back : for it is just a year. Rose, since the occurrences in the Insolvents’ Court. He has never recovered the robustness of his health — his constitution was broken by that illness : at his advanced age it was natural it should be so. He begins to think of death ; and for months past he has conjured me to settle in life — so that he may go out of this world devoid of care, whenever the time shall come. How can I refuse to yield to such intercessions from such a father ?” “ You could not, Reginald ! — you could not !” I exclaimed: “it would have been wickedness on your part — and I know you too well to believe you for a moment capable of rendering your father so completely unhappy. But you must endeavour, Reginald, to fix your affections upon her who is soon to be your wife. I am certain that your father could not have coimselled you to become the husband of one who is not in every way worthy of accompanying you to the altar. Reflect therefore that in entering upon this marriage, you are not merely performing a duty to your parent — but that you have one equally to fulfil towards her who is to be your wife. The marriage-ceremony at once imposes such duties ” “ I know, my dear friend,” interrupted Reginald, “ that you are speaking with the best and kindest of purposes — and that you are counselling me in the most generous manner. But I repeat, this marriage on which I have agreed to enter, is purely conven- tional — one of those worldly marriages which a man and a woman both make for purposes more or less interested. My father will leave me the pos- sessor of great wealth ; and that is a consideration for a young lady who naturally seeks a suitable alliance. But my father, too, has his own ambi- tion ; and this ambition is to behold his son form a connexion with one of the highest families in the realm. Perhaps that ambition on my father’s part has blinded him somewhat to the circumstance that marriage should be the result of love ” “ Is your intended wife beautiful ?” I asked. “ She is decidedly handsome,” replied Reginald, — “but still not of a beauty that interests and charms: it is one rather that dazzles and over- whelms.” “ Is she accomplished ?” was my next in- quiry. “ As any young lady in the fashionable world is,” rejoined Fortescue : “ that is to say, she plays well on the piano or the harp — she dances with a sort of majestic elegance — she can draw a little, I think, with her pencil — I know that she has read Byron ” “ Ah, Reginald, you are satirical !” I exclaimed. “ How, you have admitted that she is handsome— 150 llOSA LAMLEKT. you have said enough to convince mo that slio is not wanting in accoxnjjlisluiicnts — she is young too — and she belongs to an excellent family. All these facts were jn’cciscly what J sought to elicit from your lips ; and now you must confess that the alliance is really a most eligible one. Do not again tell me that you cannot settle your aflcctions u 2 )on such a being. You must Iteginald— and you will ! At least it is my fervid hope that you will bo hap 2 )y. And now wo must jxart.” “ One word yet, liosc !” said Dortescue, a shade of sadness deejxening upon his countenance. “ I have not altogether explained the objeets I had in coming hither. I have said that I could not re- sist the temixtation of seeing you once again — 1 have said too that I held it my duty to make a certain communication, which I have made : but there was yet another duty and pardon me, Dose 1 scarcely know how to express myself in terms suiliciently delicate However, there has been that between us which will always leave us friends ; and therefore as a friend I ask permission to insure you against any calamity ” “No, Deginald,” I exclaimed: “I need nothing of the sort. A thousand thanks for your gene- rosity yes, a thousand, thousand thanks ! It is indeed most kind of you ! Dut I have sufEcient for all my wants : I am living in seclusion — and my father’s income, if properly economized, is ample for our support. Eesides, I have still left a considerable amount of the sum which your father so generously remitted me a few months back.” “But if. Dose,” resumed Deginald, “you should ever require a friend — if you should ever be placed in a position when friendship may be made avail- able — you will not hesitate to apply to me ? Pro- mise me this much.” “ I promise you, Deginald,” I answered. “ But on my side, I have also a promise to exact ; and it is that from this day forth you seek to see me no more. When once you are a husband, if you were to accost me I should feel it my duty to pass with a single smile of recognition But if you w'ere with your wife, Deginald,” I added in a lower voice, “ even that smile would not be bestowed : it would be as a stranger that I should pass you. And now farewell !” I proffered him my h^d : he made a motion as if he would again have caught me in his arms — but my demeanour showed him that it must not be ; and with renewed expressions of regard for his welfare, I turned abruptly and hurried away in the direction of the village. E'lie reader has seen that I said not a word rela- tive to all that had taken ixlaco between myself and Arthur Brydges at Elmwood : I did not think it wfU'th while to enter uixoia a narrative which was HO full of painful details for me. I was glad tliat .Reginald Eortescue had yielded to his father’s j wishes in consenting to settle for life: I enter- tained Ibr him a sincere and lasting friendship — and J reaHorx.'d that marriage would confirm him in those steady habits which for the jiast year ho I had adojite.d. hire jiassing away I'rom the subject ' of this particular day’s adventures, J should add . that the purse which 'I'oby (Irayson had snatched from my hand, and which ho hail carried elf with j him, only contained a little silver; and (herelbre j its loHH was neither a source of incojivenienco nor of much regret. Uiiwards of three nmnllis passed away; and it was now the close of March, in the year 18 Id. Au early Sjiring was setting in with all its ajipro- jiriato beauties; and the sun shone with a genial warmth. 1 was now accustomed to seat myself in the garden at the rear of the iiursonage, and while away the time with some instructive book. On those occasions my soul experienced a Bcrenity which was akin to the season itself, and which arose from the satisfaction with wliich L was enabled to look back on the last eighteen months of my life. There was how’cver still one source of trouble and vexation which I had to endure ; and this was connected with my father. Indeed, it wasw'ith infinite pain that 1 saw how ho continued to hanker after strong drink, and how vigilantly I had to watch to prevent him from falling into an excess. I could not always prevent it : for ns tho bills were now regularly jxaid, he was enabled to obtain credit at the village-tavern for an occasional bottle of wine or spirits, which ho would smuggle into his bed-room, and with which he wmuld regale himself until completely intoxicated. It was a shocking spectacle — a drunken father in the 2 >re- scnce of his child ; and I did my best to guard against those ojxportunities for his indulgence in liquor. Indeed, at length I was compelled to take, the precaution of insisting at the tavern that no farther credit should be given him. One morning — at the expiration of that interval of upwards of throe months after the last adven- ture with Toby Grayson and the interview with Deginald — I was looking over a London news- paper, when a familiar name suddenly met my eyes ; and I read a paragraph to the effect that “ Captain Deginald Eortescue was about to lead to the hymeneal altar the beautiful and accomplished Lady Lucia Calthorpe, daughter of the Earl of Eveleigh.” Good heavens, here was a revelation I, Lucia to be Deginald’s bride ! — Lucia who had lost her chastity — Lucia whose stern implacable heart detested and hated the innocent fruit of her own degradation — Lucia whose capability for the blackest ingratitude I had so painfully experi- enced ! No : I resolved that tt should not be ! I declare solemnly that on coming to this deter- mination I was inspired by no vindictive senti- ment: it was not my own wrongs for which I sought to punish her — it was not that the scene at Diverdale, so far as it concerned myself personally, was now influencing me. But it was for Degi- nald’s sake. I experienced too profound a friend- shij) for that man — I was under obligations too great towards his father — to permit him to throw hinjself away on a cold-hearted, feelingless woman. But how was I to prevent it ? Should I write to [ Deginald himself — or to his father ? or should I j 4 dopt any other course ? I deliberated pro- | fouudly. I “ If,” I said to myself, “ I address a letter either to the father or the son, detailing all I know con- cerning Lady Lucia — it may be set down by the father as a feeling of jealousy, tho result of an un- extinguishod or a reviving alfectiou for his son. If tlio letter Avoro shown to Lady Lucia, she would of course indignantly deny all tho allegations con- j tainod therein : she would denounce them as the most detestable ealuinnies — she would dare mo to tlie prool’. Did slio nut give mo to understand at Riverdalo that her measures had been all along EOSA LAMBERT. 151 taken with a view to such defiance, in case of any emergency which might transpire ? Even Regi- nald himself might not believe me ; and indeed it is most serious to proffer such accusations against any woman without the strongest testimony to back them.” Such were the reflections which passed through my mind ; and I was at a loss how to act. Yet something must be done : for I was determined that Reginald For tescue should^ not bo permitted to link his fate with a woman who could not pos- sibly ensure his happiness. At length, after very mature deliberation, I resolved upon risking the effect of a letter to Sir Reginald Fortescue. I sat down to pen it — and detailed all the circumstances as they are already known to the reader, — how I became acquainted with Lady Lucia’s secret at the Marchioness of Sudbury’s masquei’ade — how, through motives of compassion, I offered her my assistance — how I hired Jasmine Cottage near Sittingbourne for the purpose — how Lady Lucia secluded herself there — and how she adopted all possible precautions to prevent her countenance from being seen. I described the birth of the child — gave the name of the medical attendant and likewise that of the nurse — stated how the infant had been consigned to the Milwards— and how I had since learnt that it had been transferred to the keeping of others. I concluded by assm’ing Sir Reginald that if he were to institute inquiries at Sittingbourne, all the main facts in my letter would be fvdly borne out — and that the Mar- chioness of Sudbury herself could, if she chose, prove that at the very period stated, her niece went on a visit to Jasmine Cottage, at the request of one who represented herself to bo an old school- fellow, and at that time was Mrs. Wilton. In a postscript I solemnly averred that in taking the present step I was impelled only by a sense of duty towards Sir Reginald Fortescue and his son — that I had no sinister feeling — much less did I cherish any jealousy or any hope on my own per- sonal account. I read this letter over carefully before I com- mitted it to the post ; and its contents struck me as being powerful enough, in the chain of evidence which they formed, to convict Lady Lucia and to over-rule all the haughty denials and indignant refutations which she might attempt. I took it to the post, and anxiously enough awaited an ac- knowledgment of its receipt. On the second morning afterwards, I received a hurriedly writ- ten answer from Sir Reginald Fortescue, — ear- nestly begging and entreating that I would hasten up to London on receipt of the letter, and take up my quarters at a particidar hotel which he named. He stated that the contents of xny. letter had astounded him — but that I must really excuse him if he abstained from offering any opinion or passing any comment until we should meet in London. This summons I was determined to obey ; and indeed I was not altogether unprepared for some- thing of the sort. It was by no means difficult for me to devise an excuse for temporarily quitting the parsonage, as my father was completely under my influence — save with regard to the use of strong drink. Before I set out, I begged and implored that he would observe moderation in that respect : he faithfully promised that he would — but I con- fess that I left home with some degree of appre- hension as to what might take place in my absence. I arrived in London without any incident worth relating — and at once proceeded to the hotel named in Sir Reginald Fortescue’s letter, and which was situated in Albemarle Street, Piccadilly. It was late in the evening that I reached the metropolis ; and on inquiring for the Baronet, I learnt that he had arrived there a few hours previously, and that he would immediately wait upon mo in my own sitting-room. He soon made his appearance ; and the first glance which I threw upon him, showed me that he was indeed much altered since I had last seen him, eighteen months back. He had lost much of his robustness and of the floridness of his complexion : the traces of a severe illness had been indelibly left upon his features. He gave me his hand — but not exactly with the cor- diality which he would no doubt have shown under other circumstances. On the contrary, he was somewhat distant and reserved — though not abso- lutely cold. I was not altogether unprepared for this demeanour on his part — because the wording of his letter had shown me that he knew not what to think of my communication, and could not at once put implicit faith in it. “ Miss Lambert,” he said, when he had taken a seat, — “in the first place I thank you for so promptly attending to the request which I made with regard to your journey to London. Your communication astounded me ; and I beg that you will at once circumstantially relate, and with a greater minuteness of detail, those allegations which are contained in your letter.” I proceeded to do so, — not omitting a single incident or fact, however trifling, so long as it bore upon the subject. I even mentioned Lady Lucia’s dissatisfaction at the food which was served up to her at Jasmine Cottage, and the great difficulty which Mrs. Bunting experienced in pleasing her. I did not even hesitate to recite all that passed at the hotel in Riverdale when Lucia boldly defied me — when she explained all the precautions she had taken to frustrate the proofs of her shame — and when our interview was interrupted by the sudden entrance of Lord Eve- leigh. Sir Reginald Fortescue listened with the profoundest attention, and never once uttered a word while I was speaking. His countenance continued grave ; so that I could not judge from it the nature of the impression which my narra- tive made upon him. “ I will now address you candidly. Miss Lam- bert,” he said, when I had finished. “On the first receipt of your letter, I was astounded, as I have already stated, at its contents. I must farther admit that I knew not how to believe them ; and yet on the other hand, I could scarcely bring myself to the conclusion that from all I knew of you, you were capable of a tissue of in-^ ventions which would argue the disposition of a fiend rather than that of a woman. I have now heard the tale from your lips — I have followed it carefully ; it is the same, though with minuter details, as that which your letter conveyed. I watched your countenance' — I studied your tones — I tested your sincerity by every evidence of feeling which appeared to inspire you. I ought perhaps to say that I do fully believe you now; 162 nOSA LIMDKRT. but yet I dare not make such an avowal. It is my duty to sift the whole matter to the very bottom ; and until this bo done, you will not ex- pect to receive from my lips another comment thereupon. Will you assist me ?” “ I will, sir,” was my response. “ It is my duty not merely to prove myself truthful upon the whole subject — but likewise to convince you that Lady Lucia Calthorpc is no fitting bride for your son.” “ Iteginald,” said the Baronet, is unaware of what is now taking place. He is at the present moment in London, so that he may be enabled to pay suitable attentions to Lady Lucia: he docs not expect me to join him in the metropolis for the next two or three days— and it is not my purpose to let him know that I am already hero. What course would you suggest. Miss Lambert, towards obtaining proofs of the accuracy of your narrative? — proofs, I mean, which may overwhelm Lady Lucia’s denials when the time comes for her to make them.” “ Permit me to ask,” I said, “ whether you arc acquainted with the Marchioness of Sudbury ?” “Yes — I have that honour,” replied the Ba- ronet. “ Good !” I observed. “ First of all, let us repair together to Sittingbourne and commence our in- quiries there : then, on our return to London, it will be for you to call upon the Marchioness of Sudbury, and in some dexterous manner obtain from her a recognition of the fact that in the autumn of 1841 her niece paid a visit of several weeks to a certain Mrs. Wilton at Jasmine Cottage, Sitting, bourne.” “That shall be our course of proceeding,” said the Baronet. “ Are you too much fatigued with your two days’ travelling to set off to-morrow morning with me in a post-chaise for Sitting- bourne ?” “ Oh, no !” I exclaimed. “ At as early an hour as you please.” “ At nine o’clock,” answered Sir Eeginald : and rising from his chair, he again shook me by the hand — but this time somewhat more cordially than before ; though still the pressure fell short of that warmth which imder other circumstances it would have shown. On the following morning we set off ; and during the journey, which occupied a little more than four hours. Sir Reginald Fortescue conversed upon a variety of general topics, — not once alluding to the business which we had in hand, nor once mentioning the name of either Lady Lucia Cal- thorpe or his son. We reached Sittingbourne a little after one o’clock ; and having taken refresh- mentB, proceeded together to Jasmine Cottage. Some children were playing about in the garden ; and the nurse-maid who was in charge of them, came to speak to us at the gate. The first question which the Baronet put, was whether he could see the Buntings ? — but the servant-maid looked be- wildered at the name. “There are no such persons herb, sir,” she said. “My master and missus are called Jame- son.” “ Indeed ! no such persons here ?” ejaculated Sir Keginald. “ Pray liow long have your master and mistress occupied the Cottage ?” “For the last thirteen or fourlccn months,” was the nurse-maid’s response : “ and 1 came hero with them.” “And when you arrived,” I said— for I com- prehended that the present occupants must have entered very soon after 1 had left the house, — “ was there not an old couple in charge of it ?” “ Yes, to bo sure !” cried the maid : “ a deaf gardener and his wife.” “ The same !” I ejaculated : “ and those were the Buntings.” “ I never heard their name before,” responded the maid : “ for they wont out the very same even- ing that wo arrived.” “ And do you know,” asked the Baronet, “ what has become of them ?” “ Oh, no, sir !” was the response. “ I have never oven seen them since.” We thanked the maid for her civility, and walked slowly away, — the Baronet grave and thoughful, and I myself much perplexed and saddened by this unforeseen circumstance: for the most material witnesses to prove the accuracy of my tale were now wanting. However, I thought to myself that w e might yet hear of the Buntings in the town, or else at the Milwards’ ; and I mentioned this much to Sir Reginald Fortescue. “ Let us proceed to the medical attendant’s house,” he said: and thither I accordingly con- ducted him— or rather, I should say, to the habi- tation which the surgeon who attended Lady Lucia, had occupied at the time. But to my increased vexation another name appeared on the brass- plate ; and on making inquiries, we learnt that the medical man whom we sought, had failed in busi- ness a few months back — had run away without paying his creditors— and no one knew what had become of him. “All this is very unfortunate,” observed the Baronet, with increasing gravity, as we issued forth from the house. “ Let us now pay a visit to the nurse.” I was terribly down-hearted at the second disap- pointment — and began to grow superstitiously pre- sentient of additional ones. We reached the hum- ble cottage where the old woman had dwelt: a young woman, with a babe in her arms, and three or four children dragging at her dress, answered our summons at the door ; and on inquiring for the nurse who had lived there some little time back, we were informed that she was dead. “ Still more unfortunate !” observed Sir Reginald Fortescue, as we moved away from the little cot- tage. “ Whither do you propose to conduct me now ?” “ There is but one other place where we have any inquiries to make,” I answered ; “ and that is the dwelling of the Milwards, who received the child the day after its birth.” “ And even if we find them,” said the Baronet, “ their evidence would only go to the extent of proving that they did receive such a child, but would not show to whom it belonged.” “ True !” I ejaculated, struck with the observa- tion : and I now shuddered at the idea of being unable to make out my case, and of finding myself looked upon as a vile calumniatrix. It was therefore with mournful thoughts, and with a half regret that I should over have meddled in the business at all, that I conducted Sir Regi- nald Fortescue across the fields to the cottage P.OSA LAilBEi.T. 153 where the Milwards had dwelt, and where I hoped to find them dwelling still : for I was naturally anxious to obtain even the slightest scintillation of evidence towards the bearing out of any details of my story. But when I perceived an old man and woman, who w'cre utter strangers to me, seated in front of the cottage, enjoying the Spring sunshine, my heart sank within me to the very lowest depth. We learnt that the Milwards had left the cottage about three months previously : it was supposed tl^t by the sudden death of a relative much better off than themselves, they had inherited some little property, and that they had gone up to London ; but where they were to be found in the metropolis, heboid people had not the remotest idea. Nothing can be more unfortunate, Miss Lam- rt, said the Baronet, with a gravity which could Dot be deepened, “ than the successive inquiiies << V come hither to set on foot.” You do not believe me, — I see that you do not believe my narrative !” I exclaimed, almost ready to wring my hands with vexation: “but I take God to witness that it is true in every parti-* cular 1” “I will offer no farther comment,” said the Baronet ; “ and if you be not too much fatigued, I will take you back to London at once.” “ Yes — let us go back at once,” I said : “ for remember, you have yet to make the inquiry at the Marchioness of Sudbury’s.” Sir Reginald Fortescue gave no answer; and as we retraced our way towards the town, not another word passed between us. I was absorbed in the deepest reflection — and it was of a painful charac- ter too. It did really seem as if circumstances and casualties had combined most wonderfully to serve Lady Lucia’s interests, and most fatally to destroy all the proofs which I had flattered myself would constitute a chain of evidence easily traceable step by step. As I thought of the Milwards, it occurred Tins A T>AMrii;uT. 1 ryi to }no tliafc ])r()l)ably on tlio roccij»t of inlolligoncc to tlic cfi’cct tliat ])i’()j)crfy was loft tlicin, tliey miplit in (lie first instance liavc consulted an attor- ney in iSiltin^bourne ; and if so, it was just ])roba. blc that the nian of business ndfrlit be aetjuainted j with their present jdace of abode. J detennined I to ascertain, — bcinff resolved not to leave unturned a single stone, even the slightest, that might con- stitute a link of the lost ehain of evidence. For I could not blind myself to the fact that if Ijudy Lucia, by making a confidante of the Marchioness of Sudbury, should induce that aunt to deny that her niece had ever paid such a visit as that to IVIrs. "Wilton at Jasmine Cottage — and if she should boldly affirm that Lucia was all the time at some other place — I must inevitably stand stigmatized as a woman who had doncocted a tissue of the most diabolical calumnies against one of her own sex. I shuddered from head to foot at the bare idea : it was horrible to think of. On reaching the door of the hotel, I begged Sir Leginald to grant me half-an-hour before he or- dered the chaise : and he consented to do so. His manner was cold and distant; and I saw that he began to survey me with a degree of suspicion which might in time be enhanced into abhorrence and disgust. The thought of losing the esteem and friendship of that excellent man, and also of ajipeaa-ing infamous and detestable in the eyes of his son Keginald, was as excruciatingly torturing as if molten lead were poured into my veins, or as if boiling oil were dropped upon, the brain laid bare. I hurried along to the office of the only attorney W'ho dwelt in the town ; and I found him at home and disengaged. The instant I mentioned the name of Milward, he at once recollected it — and informed me that he had been the means of ob- taining for Milward the sum of five hundred pounds, his right to which was at first threatened to be disputed. I said that I was most anxious to see j the Milwards, and inquired their address. He responded that he did not bear it in his mind — but that he had it amongst his papers; for the Milwards had written to him once from London, whither they had removed, and where they had settled themselves on obtaining possession of their little fortime. The lawyer searched amongst- his papers : he was very kind, and gave himself a great deal of trouble; but he could not lay his band on the letter that he sought for. He asked me if the business were important, for he beheld vexation depicted on my countenance: I assured him that it was — he renewed his search — but still in vain. He however thought that it was just probable his clerk might recollect the Milwards’ address in London, as it was he who had answered their letter : but the clerk was out, and wmuld not be back I'or a couple of hours. The lawyer kindly ofi'erc'd to tiwismit mo the address, if his clerk 8h(>iild be enabled to recollect it, or if the missing letter should turn up. 1 gi’atefully accepted the ju’rjjjosal — gave him the name of the hotel in Vilhemarle Street — thanked him fur Ids politeness I — ajul look my leave. ! A few juinulcH afterwards J. W'as again s(‘aled by Sir Keginald Idudesciufs side in the ])Ost-chaiso : hut scarcely a word j)ar.Hed ladween us during the rich; hack (o lyoiidoJi; lor the Haronet, conij)laijniig ol’ fatigu'-, lay back in (ho chidsc and a])pearcd to sleep nearly (ho whole way. I say ajiprnrol, bo- cause 1 do not think that he slept in re.ility ; 1 fancied (hat ho merely feigned to slumber* in order to escape from the necessity of conversation. J could well understand that his ])osilion was em- barrassing and ])eri)lexing ( nough : he did not dare tell mo to my face that ho di believed jne utterly and completely — and on the other hand, if he treated me with any degree of friendliness, it would bo as much as to imply that ho (fid believe me. Ilut how could he, as a just and honest man, come to the latter conclu.sion, in the total absence of a single particle of ])roof, and in a matter so terribly and fearfully serious in respect to the reputation of a young lady chosen to be the bride of his son ? As for my own rcllcctiens, they were painful enough : but i will not indict any description of them upon the reader : — they can be full well imagined. It was ])ast nine o’clock in the evening wlicn wo reached the hotel in Albemarle Street: Sir Iteginald Fortescue bade me a cold good night, witliout olfcring me his hand; — bvit 1 said to him, “You will call to-morrow upon the IMarchioncss of Sudbury, according to your promise ? I shall wait in London for the issue of that visit.” “ I will call,” lio responded ; and at once ascended to his own chamber. The next morning’s post brought mo a letter, bearing the Sittingbourne mark: 1 tore it open — and found tliat it contained the address of the Milwards. It was in some street leading out of the Goswell Hoad ; and I took a liacknoy-coach to proceed (hither at once. On arriving at ray desti- nation, I beheld the name of Milward (ovor a hand- some fruiterer’s shop ; and a glance into the in- terior afforded the impression that a thriving and prospei’ous business was being carried on. But what was my astonishment when amongst the persons bustling ^ about inside, and serving fruit and vegetables to customers, I beheld old Bunting! Joy sprang up in my heart,; and. I thought to myself that the tables were now turnings . The moment I entered the shop, I was recog- nised by Milwmrd and his wdfe, and also by the old gardener, who were all rejoiced to see me. I in- quired for Mrs. Bunting, and was hurried by Mrs. Milward into a neat parlour behind the shop, — where I found the old woman busily engaged in making pickles. She likewise was delighted to see me ; and of course I passed amongst them as Mrs. "^Yiltou. Mrs. Milward, being excessively busy, returned into the shop, leaving me alone with Mrs. Bunt- ing,— who with great hospitality proffered me re- freshments. These however I declined — and began to question her as to how she and her husband had been induced to come up to London. She told me that on losing their situations at Jasmine Cottage, they removed first of all to Chatham, where they had some friends — and there they got on comfort- ably enough. One day, about three months back, Mrs. Bunting was passing through the principal slroct in Chatham, when she was hailed from the outside of a coach by the I^lilwards. Some con- vcrsalion ensued: and the result was that in a few (lays the Buntings followed their friends up to Lond )n, to take situations in the nourishing con- cern Nvhich IMilward purchased with the little for- tune I hat had come into his hands. KOSA LAMBEET. 155 Having listened to the old woman’s tale, I Iregan to speak to her about the Mrs. Eichards’ who was confined at J asmine Cottage : for by that name, as the reader will recollect. Lady Lucia Lad passed. “ Ah,” said Mi*s. Eunting, “ I did not choose to tell you so, ma’am, at the time— but I couldn’t bear that friend of your’s. You don’t know all the cross messages she used to send mo by her j servant about the dinners; and the servant her- self too used to order me about just for all the world as if I was a slave. I did not tell you of it at the time, I say, because you were so good, and amiable, and considerate, that I did not choose to vex and annoy you.” “ Yes— I am aware that she gave a great deal ■of trouble,” I said, and that she was exceedingly fastidious — that her servant Maria- too imitated in this respect the airs of her mistress. I told you at the time that I was perfectly satisfied with all you were doing ” “ I have not forgotten your kindness, ma’am,” responded Mrs. Bunting ; “ and as for your con- duct towards Mrs. Eichards, I never saw anything like it !” “ I wish that I could speak of her gratitude,” I observed. “ But ” “Oh, ma’am! excuse me for saying so,” in- terrupted Mrs. Bunting, — “ but from what little I knew of your friend while she was at the cottage, I always thought she was one but little likely to show much gratitude. I was certain that she considered herself before anybody’ else in the world ; and real gratitude seldom goes along with selfishness. It is a great pity — but so it is. Ah ! she took uncommon good care, as she thought, to keep her face concealed: but I managed to get a good sight of it on one occasion, for all that !” “ You did ?” I exclaimed, scarcely able to re- press a shriek of joy at this most unexpected yet important announcement. “ Oh, ma’am,” said Mrs. Bunting, not compre- hending the cause of my emotion, — “ I let that confession slip out quite unawares. I know that it was wrong to pry into your friend’s secrets: but I hope you will forgive me ? I really never , should have done it, only that, to speak the truth, there were times when I was so vexed and an- noyed by her discontented conduct, that, saving your presence, I almost hated her. And I think you know, ma’am, that I am not naturally a person who would do a spiteful action.” “ No, no — I am certain you would not !” I ex- claimed : “ quite the contrary ! As for being angry with the little confession you have just made, I am not. Quite the reverse ! — it has given me, for several reasons, great pleasure to hear it. But go on : tell me how it happened.” “I suppose it was, ma’am, because I enter- tained that little feeling of dislike towards her,” continued Mrs. Bunting, “ that I was curious to get a glimpse of the countenance of a lady who gave herself such uncommon airs. I had no par- ticular motive : I had my suspicions that there 'was something wrong about her — of com’se I couldn’t help fancying that much, when I saw all the precautions she took to keep herself concealed : but when I thought of getting a look at her face, if possible, it was with no intention of ever betray- ing her or doing her a mischief. No, no— she did not offend me enough for all that.” “ I can understand your curiosity,” I observed, on the tenter-hooks of impatience to hear the woman’s explanations. “'But tell me — how did you manage to get a glimpse of her counte- nance ?” “ One night T was kept up late to prepare some jelly, which Mrs. Eichards had suddenly taken a fancy for, and which she wanted for the next day. That was about a w'eek after her confinement. Well, Maria was sitting with me in the kitchen ; and she fell off into a deep slumber in her chair. I had to go up-stairs to my ow'n room, to get the key of a cupboard for something that I wanted ; and as I was passing the . landing, to my surprise I saw that the door of Mrs. Eichards’ chamber was ajar. Now, you know, ma’am, how it always used to be kept locked — and how she would never open it, when she was sitting up, until she first knew who was coming; but while she kept her bed after her confinement, Maria used to lock her in and take the key with her. So it immediately struck me that Maria for once had forgotten to lock the door — and had either inadvertently left it ajar, or else that it had come open : for none of the locks in the house were in a very good condition. At all events, the door teas open ; and my curiosity got the better of me. I listened* at the door, and heard the regular breathing of one who slept. But you are sure you are not angi-y with me for what I am now telling you ?” “ On the contrary,” I hastily responded, “ I am delighted. You scarcely know the service you are doing me ; and so far from being offended, I shall reward you presently for this very intelligence you are giving me. Go on.” “Well, ma’am,” continued the woman, now speaking with complete confidence, “ I took off my shoes — opened the door a little wider, but as gently as possible — and glided in on tiptoe. Mrs. Eichards was in a profound slumber : a light was burning in the room — and I saw her face as plain as I see your’s, Mrs. Wilton, at this very moment.” “ And you would recognise it again ?” I asked, with feverish suspense. “ Oh, out of a thousand !” replied Mrs. Bunting. “ It was a beautiful face : but even in the stillness of sleep, there was a something in its expression — I hardly know how to explain myself — but what I mean is it had a sort of cold pride •” “ Exactly !” I exclaimed. “ And you are sure that you would recognise it ?” “ There is no doubt,” was the woman’s answer. “ I stood for more than a minute gazing upon her ; and I said to myself that I could easily un- derstand how a lady with such an expression of the countenance as that, could give herself airs; and I am by no means astonished to hear that she has treated you with ingratitude. I stole out of the room; and when I returned to the kitchen, I found Maria still fast asleep in the chair — so that when she woke up, I was going on making my jelly just as if I had never been out of the place at all.” “ The information you have given me, is most important,” I said ; and it will prove of the greatest service to me. Now, I tell you what you must do, Mrs. Bunting; and I shall present you with fi.ve guineas as a recompense.” 156 nOffA LATtfUEHT. “ Anything I can do to serve you, ma’am, shall be done cheerfully,” was the woman’s immediate response ; “ and without any reward.” “No — you shall be rewarded,” I rejoined. “And I this is what you are to do : — At about four o’clock this afternoon, put on your best apparel, take a hackney-coach, and come to a certain hotel in Al- bemarle Street, the address of which I shall write down for you. You will inquire for Sir Reginald Fortescue : you will at once be shown up into a room where you will find that gentleman — and I shall be with him.” Mrs. Bunting faithfully promised to fulfil my instructions. I wrote down the address of the hotel ; and taking leave of the Milwards, retraced my w'ay to Albemarle Street. The tables had in- deed turned, and in a manner which I could have little foreseen. All ray fears of being branded as a vile calumniatrix, were placed at rest : I knew that I should triumph. On reaching the hotel at about noon, I desired a waiter to present my compliments to Sir Regi- nald Fortescue, and say that I requested a few minutes’ conversation with him. The Baronet soon made his appearance. He entered my room with a cold politeness — not offering me his hand, but yet ^t treating me with absolute rudeness, much less with insult. My own demeanour was that of calm dignified composure ; so that he sur- veyed me with some little degree of surprise and curiosity. “ You are going, sir,” I said, “ to call upon the Marchioness of Sudbury, according to your pro- mise ?” “ If you insist upon it. Miss Lambert,” he re- plied, “ I shall of course do so ; inasmuch as you are entitled, in justice to your own self, to the fullest investigation in whatsoever quarter you may point out. But really, if you have any appre- hension that my inquiry there will be as futile and as resultless as those inquiries which we yesterday made at Sittingbourne, you might spare me the trouble.” “ I beg, Sir Reginald,” was my answer, “ that you will see her ladyship. I need nOt suggest how, in the course of conversation, you may dex- terously but without the appearance of any ulterior object, put such inquiries as may elicit a response. I do think it is very probable that this response may prove unsatisfactory : but if so, I request you to suspend your judgment until you shall have had another interview with me.” “ Has anything fresh transpired. Miss Lam- bert ?” asked the Baronet, w^hose countenance de- noted a painful suspense. “ Remember that the matter is a most important one — that the wel- fare of my son is intimately connected there- with ” “It was because I entertained this knowledge. Sir lt(*ginald Fortescue,” I answered, “ that I originally took a step which has hitherto proved 80 thanklesH, invidious, and even suspicious. But we will say no more at proaont. Have the kind- ness to pay your visit to the Marchioness of Sud- bury ; and on your return to the hotel, favour me with y(Hir prc8cnc<;.” I'ho Maroiiet lingered for nearly a minute : he regarded me not only with anxiety and suspense, but also with a greater degree of kindness than he hud yet shown since the unfortunate result of our inquiries at Sittingbourne. lie saw that something fresh had indeed transpired, and tbul the confidence of my own mind was renewal, lie however soid no more— but slowly quitted the apartment. CHATTER XX. THE MONEY-LENDER. It was about four o’clock when Sir Reginald Fortescue returned to my sitting-room, where he found me still with that same demeanour of dig- nified calmness vvhich I had worn at our previous interview. I at once rend in his own looks the result of his visit to the Marchioness of Sudbury ; and that result was precisely what I had foreseen. He sat down; and after a few moments’ silence, spoke as follows : — “ I called upon her ladyship, and found her alone. I was of course received as one who is shortly to be connected with the family to which the Marchioness belongs; and therefore my visit was not limited to the short space usually allowed for a morning call. The conversation speedily turned upon the contemplated marriage; and this was natural enough. In the course of that con- versation I mentioned, as if quite incidentally, that I had recently fallen in with a lady bearing the name of Mrs. IV’ilton, who had informed me that Lady Lucia Calthorpe once paid her a visit at her residence near Sittingbourne. The Mar- chioness observed, without the slightest change — much less trouble of countenance, that she had not the honour of Mrs. Wilton’s acquaintance — and that indeed she had never to her knowledge heard the name mentioned before. I then particularized the period when the alleged visit was paid, — men- tioning the months of October and November of the year 1841. The Marchioness reflected for a few moments ; and then said with an air of com- pletest confidence, that it was impossible — that there was some mistake — for that she perfectly well remembered that her niece Lucia, who had been for some little time staying with her, at that period, had paid a visit to some friends at Brighton in those very months of October and November. The Marchioness went on to observe that she was thus confident, inasmuch as she had herself ac- companied her niece in her own travelling-carriage to Brighton — and that during the couple of months Lucia remained there, she (the Marchioness) visited the same house on two or three occasions, stopping a few days eac’a time. Upon hearing this, I of course said that it was evident there must have been some mistake — and that I must have no doubt misunderstood Mrs. Wilton. I have now explained to you. Miss Lambert, the particulars of my interview with the Marchioness of Sudbury, exactly as they occurred.” “ And if the matter were to rest here. Sir Regi- nald Fortescue,” I said, “you would naturally come to the conclusion that I had invented the basest and most detestable falsehood. Yes — to that conclusion you would be necessarily brought ; and I should not blame you : for as a man of justice and of honour, you would scorn, loathe, and abominate a woman who could invent such ROSA LAMBERT. hideous aspersions against the character of one of her own sex. As for the statement which the Marchioness of Sudburj made to you, I w'as by no means unprepared for something of the sort. There cannot be a doubt that the aunt is doing her best to shield the niece : and that Lady Lucia, — having either made a confidante of the Mar- chioness in the entire matter, or else having told her seme well devised tale for the purpose of in. ducing her ladyship to give certain answers if cer- tain questions be put to her,— this, I say, is only an- other step in that cunningly cautious policy which Lady Lucia has pursued from the very first.” “ Miss Lambert,” said the Baronet, “ you must indeed perceive the inconvenience and the impro- priety of indulging in these comments. I am forced to remind you that you have spontaneously constituted me a judge in the matter — that you have brought forward your accusations — but that up to the present moment you have failed to adduce a single scintillation of proof. Yet you have evidently something more to advance upon the case ; and I pray you, for your own sake and for mine, delay not — delay not !” “There will in a few minutes come hither a female to inquire for Sir Eeginald Fortescue,” I observed. “ Perhaps you will give orders to the waiter to show her up to this room ? — and perhaps you will likewise have the goodness to address me by the name of Mrs. Wilton while she remains here ?” “ Certainly,” answered the Baronet. “ But who is this woman ?” Before I had time to reply to the question the waiter entered the room? and addressing the Baronet, said, “ If you please, sir, a female of the name of Bunting wishes to see you.” Let her come up !” exclaimed the Baronet : then turning to me, he observed, in order to main- tain a becoming show of courtesy in the waiter’s presence, “You will allow me to receive this woman here ?” “Most assuredly,” I rejoined; and the waiter hastened from the room. “ How have you managed this ?” inquired the Baronet ; “ how have you so soon discovered her ?” I explained the step which I had taken in re- ference to the lawyer at Sittingbourne on the pre- ceding day — and how I had found the Buntings located with the Milwards in the neighbourhood of Goswell Street. Scarcely had I done speaking, when Mrs. Bunting made her appearance; and bidding her take a seat, I said to the Baronet, “ Now, Sir Eeginald, you can put any questions to this worthy woman, and she will answer them in all frankness. But I should inform you,” I added in a whisper, “ that she is as yet ignorant of the real name of that lady who passed as Mrs. Eichards at Jasmine Cottage ; and for a particular I reason which will presently suggest itself, you had I better suffer her to remain thus ignorant — at least for the present.” It is unnecessary to describe in detail the con- versation which now took place between Sir Eegi- nald Fortescue and Mrs, Bunting. Suffice it to say that she confirmed, so far as she was able, the leading particulars of my own story ; and I bade I her acquaint the Baronet with the circumstances [ under which she had obtained a view of Mrs. 157 Eichards’ countenance. This she did,— conclud- ing w’ith the assurance which she had already given me, to the effect that she should recognise that countenance out of a thousand. Sir Eeginald Fortescue was profoundly moved — deeply agitated. He flung upon me a glance which was almost of the significancy of asking par- don for his recent incredulity and coldness : be even made a movement as if to proffer me his hand with his wonted frankness but still placing a restraint upon himself, he said, “ You will excuse me from making any comment at this stage of the- proceedings.” “ Assuredly,” I answered. “ When everything |, is cleared up, it will be time for you to speak. Would you like to see the Milwards ? You can go to them : or I am confident they would wait upon. ’ you.” “ No — it is not necessary,” replied the Baronet.. “ There needs but one test now ; and that can be easily made. Circumstances are favourable for the purpose. The Marchiones of Sudbury,” he con- tinued in a whisper to me, “ gives a grand dinner- party to-night at her residence at Kensington ; and I received an invitation. I did not however give her ladyship any positive answer. If you, Mrs. Bunting,” he .went on to say, now speaking aloud again, “can afford me an hour or two, I shall be grateful, and shall know how to indemnify you for your loss of time.” The good woman cheerfully gave her assent; and Sir Eeginald bade her accompany him to some place wffiither he was desirous to take her. It was now verging towards six o’clock ; and they lost no time in setting off together. I remained in my sitting-room at the hotel, — perfectly well aware of the course which the Baronet was about to adopt, and tolerably well confident as to tha result. If this confidence on my part were not complete, it was because a slight apprehension hovered in my mind, to the effect that Lady Lucia , when dressed and decorated for a brilliant and fashionable assemblage, might not be so easily recognisable by Mrs. Bunting as to justify her declaration that she could single out Mrs. Eichards from the midst of a thousand. However, I re- solved that if the present test should fail, other means of putting it more satisfactorily should be adopted. I was in the right path to carry out my views successfully : I had already triumphed over a perfect cloud of difficulties which were at first unforeseen — and I was not to be frustrated nor defeated now. I dined; and when the repast was over, I whiled away the time with the newspapers. About two hours passed ; and it was near eight o’clock, when Sir Eeginald Fortescue returned with Mrs- Bunting. Advancing straight up to me, he took my hand — pressed it warmly — and said in a low tremulous voice, “You are the saviour of my son !” My heart experienced a glow of triumph : but I solemnly declare that it was untinged with any pitiful vindictiveness towards Lady Lucia Cal- thorpe. On the contrary, I rather pitied the un- fortunate creature, notwithstanding all her base ungrateful conduct towards myself : but I pitied her, because she had been the victim of Horace Eockingham’s atrocity, and not of a yielding frailty or wantonness on her own part. 158 KOSA LAMDKUT. “ Yos,” resumed the Jtaroiict, still speaking with a display of inueh emotion, “ you have again proved -the saviour of my son — you have again eonferred an infinity of obligation upon myself, I can say no more to-night— excuse mo if 1 leave you thus abruptly — but my feelings are so excited that 1 must calm and tranquillize them in the solitude of my own ehamher. To-morrow morning, after breakfast, J shall do myself thepleasm’c of w aiting ■upon you.” ] laving thus spoken. Sir licginald Fortcscuc again wrung my hand; and bidding Mrs. Uunting good evening, he issued from the room. “Now sit down,” I said to the good woman, “ and tell me what has taken place.” “ I will, ma’am,” was the response. “ The i gentleman took mo in the hackney-coach to a j part of London where I had never been before, I A great mansion w’as blazing with lights; and ' descending from the coach, w o entered the grounds in front. The gentleman spoke to a coui)le of footmen who were lounging on the steps of the entrance : he put gold into their hands — for I saw it glitter in the brilliant gas-light— and I suppose it was a bribe to make them keep silence as to his proceedings. Close by the steps there was a great quantity of superb evergreens ; and behind these I Sir Ecginald Fortescue conducted me. There we j were, completely concealed from view. Almost I immediately afterwards carriages began to arrive j and set dowm company. ‘Now,’ said the Baronet, i ‘watch well every lady who alights; and nudge i me at the moment you recognise any one you have I seen before : but don’t speak a word, much less ! give vent to any ejaculation.’. — Well, ma’am, car- ; riage after carriage set down ladies and gentlemen ; and I felt quite bewildered by the beautiful dresses, j the diamonds, and the feathers that I saw', j However, I kept my eyes fixed on all the ladies : who thus arrived : but carriage after carriage i passed away — and still I saw no one that I knew. I Of course I more than suspected who it was that I had been brought there to point out. Well, at last a carriage handsomer than all the rest, dashed up to the entrance : a very old gentleman stepped out first — he assisted an old dady, but so magni- ficiently dressed, to alight — and then another lady. This last was a young one, and also elegantly attired. There was a perfect blaze thrown out by the lamps ; and at the very first glimpse I caught of that second lady’s countenance, I was struck by her likeness to Mrs. Eichards. I strained my eyes, never once taking them off her as she as- cended the steps, leaning on the old gentleman’s arm ; and I was certain that it was indeed none other than Mrs. Eichards. So I nudged the Baronet; and ho asked, ‘ Which lady is it that you recognise?’ — I told him: he gave a great s’gh ; and when the carriage had dashed away, he hurried m(! from our place of concealment. Wo went back to the liackney-coaeh,.and reiurncd to the hotel. Jlut 1 ought t(; tell you, ma’am,” added Mrs. Bunting, “that during the drive home Sir Eegi- nahl l''ortescuo insisteil on making mo a present of five sovereigns : so that you sec 1 am already more than rewarded for any little trouble that 1 liavc taken in the mutter.” “ NeverthelesH,” 1 answered, “ you must accept the reward which 1 here if is.” J had some difliculty in forcing the giaal woman to take the five guineas which 1 placed in her hand : but 1 eventually succeeded in overcoming her scriiples. “ You will not seek,” 1 said, “ to learn from my lips who Mrs. Eicluirds really is, 1 have not been in3i)ired by any vindictiveness throughout the i)re- sent ])roceeding ” “No, ma’am,” interruj)tcd Mrs. Bunting, “I am sure that you have not ; and 1 would not for the world show any imj)ertinent curiosity. Do not mention the name of that lady, whatever it | is; and I promise that should 1 at any time observe her in the streets, 1 will not mention to a soul that 1 have any i)articular knowledge of her.” Mrs. Bunting took her dei)arture; and I retired to rest that night in a very diflerent frame of mind from that in which 1 had sought my couch on the previous one. In the morning, after break- fast, Sir Ecginald Fortescue entered my sitting- room, and greeted me with a truly paternal kind- ness. “ You cannot blame me,” he began to observe, “ if there were a certain coldness in my manner until the business was entirely cleared up : but 1 can assure you most solemnly that while 1 considered myself bound in honour and justice to treat you thus, there was nevertheless floating in my soul a vague idea that you were truthful and cor- rect.” “ Enough, Sir Ecginald, upon that point !” I said : “ no apology is requisite— and you could not have acted otherwise than you did. And now might I ask what course you intend to adopt with regard to Lady Lucia Calthorpe ?” “ Last evening. Miss Lambert, when I left you abruptly and at an early hour, it was for the pur- pose of retiring to my own chamber to deliberate seriously with myself. I was determined not to take any precipitate or ill-considered step. I felt that, after all, there is some little allowance to be made for Lady Lucia. Your own narrative proved to me that she was the victim of a miscreant’s violence — and that she had not voluntarily sur- rendered up her honour in a moment of wanton weakness. It w'as natural that she should take all possible precautions for the veiling of her degradation : but her cpnduct towards you has been stamped with the blackest ingratitude ” “ Leave that out of the question, Sir Eeginald,” I observed. “Think only of the matter as it regards yourself and your son.” “ It is generous in you thus to speak,” he re- plied. “ I was about to observe that it was not only natural for Lady Lucia Calthorpe to adopt all possible measures to conceal her shame, and to destroy to the utmost of her power all the traces j w'hich might lead to a discovery of the deplorable ! ordeal through which she passed, — but it was likewise natural that she should entertain the hope of forming a matrimonial alliance. Perhaps it was not exactly honourable on her part : but at least it was natui'al, as 1 have already said, and as the world goes. Indeed, it is impossible to avoid tying her.” jkud i loo pity her,” was my sincerely ex- pressed interjection. “ I am sure you do,” exclaimed Sir Eeginald, “ and you will therefore aiq)rove of my conduct, when I inform you that it is not my intention to create an exposure and fuin the unfortunate lady in the eyes of the world for ever. No : the con- templated alliance must be broken off privately ; and it will be for the Marchioness of Sudbury a sufficient punishment for having lent herself to the deception, that I shall insist upon her under- taking the task of communicating to her niece that my son will see her no more. And in addi- tion thereto, the Marchioness and Lady Lucia must devise their own means for explaining as best they can, and in whatever way they may think fittest, to the Earl and Countess of Eveleigh this rupture of a marriage so solemnly agreed upon. At the same time I shall give the Marchioness to understand, that if the slightest whispered rumour reaches my ear to the effect that any aspersion has been thrown on the conduct or character of my son in breaking off the marriage — if it be even hinted that either he or myself proved deficient in propriety or integrity, — then, in that case, I shall without hesitation make known the real facts to all my friends and acquaintances. Do you approve of the course which I have thus sketched out ?” “ It were impossible. Sir Eeginald,” I answered, to conduct the transaction in a more humane, a more generous, or a more considerate manner.” “ I am glad that the result of my deliberations experiences your approval. And now. Miss Lam- bert, I am about to proceed to the Marchioness of Sudbimy ; and when I have seen her, I shall hasten J to my son. A'ou will perhaps excuse me if I do ^ not mention to him by what means Lady Lucia’s unfortunate antecedents came to my knowledge ?” “ You have only expressed a desire which you would have heard from my lips. No, Sir Eegi- nald,” I continued, “it is unnecessary — it would be imprudent — to suffer your son to learn that I had once more appeared upon the stage where a drama in which he himself played a conspicuous part, was being enacted. And now you will give me credit for complete sincerity in all that I have done.” “ I do, I do !” answered the Baronet : “ I regret that for a single moment I should ever have doubted you. Wlien do you depart P” “ Within an hour,” I responded. “My best wishes attend you. Farewell — and recollect that you possess a firm and faithful friend in me.” Thus speaking. Sir Beginald Eortescue pressed my hand warmly and hurried out of the room. But scarcely had the door closed behind him, when I perceived a sealed letter lying upon the table. I took it up : it was addressed to myself, and in his handwriting. He must have placed it there as he quickly passed the table when speeding from the room. I opened it ; there was a brief letter containing bank-notes to the amount of five hun- dred pounds : and the letter itself begged me to accept “ that small testimonial of my old friend’s esteem and regard.” My first impulse was to enclose the money in a letter, gratefully acknow- ledging his kindness, but respectfully and firmly refusing to place myself in the light of one who was being paid for a service rendered as a mere matter of duty. I however reflected that such a proceeding on my part would wound the Baronet’s generous soul — and moreover, that as I had re- ceived pecuniary aid from him before, it would savour of extreme fastidiousness to decline a gift j so delicately bestowed. I considered myself in duty bound to fulfil a | sort of promise I had given Sir llcginald of leav- j ing London within the hour that was jjassing, so j as to avoid the chance of encountering his son. j There was no coach leaving at that time in the i forenoon for the road which I had to pursue ; and ! I accordingly ordered a post-chaise,— purposing to ! travel by it until the evening, pass the night at an i hotel in some town on the way back into Cheshire, I and on the following day take the stage-coach for | the remainder of my journey. The latter portion < of my arrangement was settled in ray mind, not j merely for purposes of economy, but also because j I did not fail to reflect that Toby Grayson might j possibly still be favouring Cheshire witli his pre- I sence, and I had no inclination to become for the ! third time a victim to his predatory exploits. The post-chaise was soon in readiness : I entered it — and was whirled away from Albemarle Street. My journey homeward was accomplished w'ith- out any adventure that merits a single word ; and in the afternoon of the second day I arrived safely at Riverdale. My first care was to proceed tO' the bank, where I had already some money, and pay in the five hundred pounds presented to me by Sir Beginald. I eould not help tliinking that the clerk who attended to me, surveyed me in a somewhat strange manner— with a sort of curiosity which however had nothing impertinent in it : but being conscious of my own tarnished reputation^ and that my fall was no secret in my own neigh- bourhood, I naturally ascribed the man’s demeanour to something that might be passing in his mind in respect to my own peculiar circumstances. In my shame and confusion I did not recollect that he had never treated me in the same manner before when I had occasion to visit the bank : but I was glad wBen my feet had crossed the threshold. I set out to walk to Hawthorn, which was only a mile distant; and I noticed that one or two of | the villagers w'hom I encountered, looked at me in a peculiar manner — so that now a misgiving sprang | up in my mind that something must have hap- j pened at home. I hurried onward, and reached i the parsonage, — my anxiety increasing however at every step I took. The servant-girl opened the door ; and I at once inquired with feverish haste, “ My father— Jiow is he ?” “ Mr. Lambert, Miss ?” said the girl, looking confused and distressed. “ Ah ! then something has occurred ! Good heavens, what is it? Is my father ill ?” “ Oh no. Miss,” cried the girl, as if quite re- lieved at being enabled to give me a consolatory assurance of some kind. “ Mr. Lambert is quite well : but ” “But what? Eor heaven’s sake, speak !” “ He is not at home, Miss — he was taken away yesterday ” “ Taken away ?” I almost shrieked forth in the anguish of my mind. “ Where ? whither ?” It’s nothing. Miss — the two men w'ho came te take Mr. Lambert, said they had no doubt it would all be made right — but in the meantime he must go to prison ” A sensation of faintness came over me : I com- prehended the truth at once — my father was in a debtors’ gaol. I staggered into the parlour : the 100 K03A LAWHKRT. maid-servant brought mo a glass of water— and I began to question her. She could however give me no intelligence as to the amount for which my father was arrested, nor who was the creditor : all she knew was th.at two bailiffs had arrived in the f)renoon of the previous day to arrest him, and that he was in the prison at Riverdalo. Now I understood wherefore the clerk at the bank and the villagers at Hawthorn had regarded me in such a peculiar manner: but I was completely at a loss to comprehend who the creditor could be that had arrested my father — for I had flattered myself ho was entirely out of debt through my means. It was now past five o’clock in the evening; and though I was wearied with travelling, and with the lingering influence of that excitement of mind which I had undergone during my absence, I set out to walk back to Itiverdalc. Avoiding the village, I cut across the fields, and soon reached the town. I repaired to tlie prison, and was informed by the turnkey that it was too late to be admitted that day. lie did not know me personally; hut when I announced who I was, and slipped a fee into his hand, he suddenly re- membered that there were instances on record of the prison-regulations being stretched a point on behalf of a captive’s near relation. lie accordingly bade me follow him ; and he led the way along a stone passage, whence several doors opened on either side. Pointing to a particular door, he in- timated that this was Mr. Lambert’s room, — adding with a sort of leer, “ that I should find my father making himself just as comfortable as if he wasn’t in prison at all.” My heart sickened at a piece of intelligence which I could but too well understand; and just as he W'as turning away, uproarious shouts of mirth coming from within the room, smote my ears. I leant against the door-post for support : for amongst the voices of the drunken revellers I had recognised that of my parent. But feeling it to be a duty to face any spectacle of debauchery, no matter how disgusting or degrading — I opened the door and entered the room. Heavens ! what a scene did meet my eyes ! There was my father, in an advanced state of intoxication — presenting the most slovenly appearance with regard to his .apparel— his feet thrust into slippers — his shirt- front stained with liquor — a tumbler of hot spirits- and-water in his hand — and he himself at the mo- ment shouting out in the chorus of a bacchanalian song. He had three companions in his disgusting orgie. One, who was sitting without his coat, and who by the dingy aspect of his linen appeared to have lost the confidence of his washerwoman, had the air of a decayed sporting character. The second was a lanky mean-looking individual, with an old hat worn with a sort of jaunty rakishness — his ncckercliief all loose — and he himself so tipsy that he could scarcely sit upon his chair. The third was a light-haired man ; and that hair of his was all in disorder, as if he had been engaged in some medley or had been creeping through a bush. Ho was standing up, raising his glass and giving a trememhms “ Hip ! hip ! hurrah!” at the moment I entered the door. Much was the revolting spectacle which disclosed itself to rny view, (lood heavens ! that men who had every reason for saddened and oober rcllection. should thus have sought to stoop their senses in the fumes of strong drink ! I no lou der felt faint : a boiling indignation seized upon ine ; and if I had been a man, I could have forcibly ex- pelled those three ill-looking fellows who were thus encouraging my father in a course which was shocking enough f)r any one to i)ur8uo, but downright infamous when adopted by a minister of religion. “Why, Rose— my girl,” hiccoughed my father, as ho banged his glass upon the table and en- deavoured to rise from his scat, “ is that you ? Hang me if I mustn’t be drunk!” — and ho fell back on his scat. “ Welcome to the fair sox !” exclaimed the light-haired man, again holding up his glass, an 1 bending an impudent leering look upon my coun- tenance. I shrank from that rude licentious regard ; and for a moment losing my fortitude, was about to fly from the hideous scene. But the next instant I'ccovering my presence of mind, I adv'anccd straight up to my father, and said, Have you no shame ? is this the manner in which you deport yourself under your misfortunes.® — or perhaps they are not misfortunes ” “Come, come. Rose my girl — don’t scold me,” said my father, putting on a tipsy look of piteous- ness. “ Grentlemen,” I said — though I can assure the reader it was wdth ineffable disgust I addressed the three fellows by such a denomination, — “ I am Mr. Lambert’s daughter ; and I shall be obliged to you to leave us together.” “And I’ll be hanged,” ejaculated the fair-haired man, “if I shouldn’t like to own such a lovely creature — but I would rather it was as a wife !” “ Silence, sir !” I ejaculated, my cheeks flushing and my eyes flashing with indignation. “ For common decency’s sake insult not one who is already pained enough by what she sees !” “ I am sure, my dear,” hiccoughed my father, “ they are three very nice gentlemen. Let me introduce you. This is what the devil’s your name .®” “ Enough, father !” I interrupted him : “ I have no desire to make these persons’ acquaint- ance.” “ Well, I suppose we had better toddle,” said the sporting character, rising to leave the room. “Just one glass more!” cried my father, evi- dently for the instant forgetting my presence : and snatching up his own tumbler, he shouted forth some bacchanalian chorus. “ Grentlemen, will you leave the room ?” I ex- claimed : and I felt that my countenance was crimson. “ Don’t you hear,” cried the fair-haired man, “ that your father says, ‘ One glass more ?’ ” ^ “ Not another !” I ejaculated : and snatching up the brandy-bottle, I vehemently dashed it into the fire-place. “ Tantivy !” yelled out the decayed sporting character : “ there’s a whole pint of the best bingo settled in a jiffy !” “It would have boon much better down my throat,” cxchviinod the thin man with the hat on. “ But as the liquor’s gone, we had better evapo- rate too.” KOSA LAilBEliT. 161 At length the three fellows quitted the room and I was now alone wdth my father. My deter- mined conduct in destroying the brandy-bottle had somew’hat sobered him, by striking him with a transient dismay. I saw that it was useless to remonstrate with him under present circumstances, and that whatever representations I had to make upon his disgraceful and scandalous conduct, 1 would be better if postponed until another occa- j sion. I therefore contented myself with question- ! ing him for the present j and after a great deal of trouble I succeeded in eliciting facts sufficient, it i seemed, to explain his position. I The reader will recollect that when, in the sum- I mer of the preceding year, I returned home to be j present at my mother’s death-bed, I had questioned j my father relative to my brother Cyril; and he j told me that about six months previously to that j time, Cyril had written to him for some money, j but that there had been no money to send. My No. 21 father had not however chosen to confess to me what had really taken place in addition to Cyril’s fruitless application for pecuniary assistance. It appeared that Cyril was at Chester at the time he thus wrote to my father — for he did not choose to appear in Hawthorn or its neighbourhood. On receiving his father’s letter, to the effect that he had no money to advance, — Cyril wrote back again to say that if his father would run over to Chester and meet him there, he (Cyril) would put him in the way of raising some cash. This was an offer which Mr. Lambert was by no means likely to resist : for until my return home he was always in difficulties, and always in want of ready money. He accordingly repaired to Chester, where he found Cyril living at an hotel in excellent style, well dressed, and faring sumptuously. He had got hold of a money-lender in the city of Chester, and had represented to him that his father was the vicar of Hawthorn and very well off. The money- 1G2 KOSl LAMTIKTIT. lender, whose name was Winter, made some little inquiries— learnt that the Itcv. Mr. Lambert was really the incumbent of Hawtliorn — and therefore at once concluded ho was a highly respectable man : whereas had he pushed those inquiries a little farther, ho would have ascertained sufficient to prevent him from putting any faith in Mr. Lambert’s guarantee for money. Ifowevcr, Mr. Winter agreed to advance five hundred pounds on the joint sccxirity of my father and Cyril. Cyril persuaded his father to content himself with a hundred, while he appropriated the rest to his own use. The arrangement was carried out : Cyril went away with his share of the proceeds— and ray father returned to Hawthorn. It appeared that it was a warrant-of-attorney which my father had been induced to sign; and therefore Mr. Winter was enabled to issue summary process when the time expired for which the amount had been lent Hence the abruptnesss of my father’s arrest.; — and I must add that during the whole nine or ten months I had now been at home, my father had managed somehow or another to conceal from me the circumstance of his heavy liabilities towards Mr. Winter. Such were the particulars which, after a great deal of trouble, and amidst a mass of tipsy non- sense, I succeeded in eliciting from my father. How far they were strictly accurate, the reader will presently see. I did not tell him that I possessed the means of freeing him from his embarrassment : I merely gave him to understand that I should proceed on the following day to Chester and see the money-lender, so as to ascer- tain if any arrangement could possibly be effected. I took leave of my father : but before I quitted the prison, I sought an interview with the governor — and frankly assured him that if he permitted a renewal of the orgie of which I had been a witness, I should make a for- mal complaint to the local magistrates. The governor was frightened at this menace : he be- sought me to spare him, as he would lose his situation if such a complaint were made ; and he promised that orders should be issued against the admission of an undue allowance of wine, beer, or spirits into the debtors’ compartment of the prison. Satisfied with this pledge, I returned home : but the night which I passed was a restless and an unhappy once. Early on the following morning I proceeded to Eiverdsle — took a place in the coach— and re- paired to Chester. Alighting at the hotel where I had stopped with my father on the memorable day of our adventures with Toby Grayson, I in- quired for the abode of Mr. Winter, and was informed of its whereabouts. Thither' I bent my way ; and found that he occupied a fine dwelling, the front-door of which was opened by a man- servant in a handsome livery. Mr. Winter was at home ; and instead of being introduced into an office or counting-house, I was escorted into a sumptuously furnished drawing-room. Thus far everything was entirely at variance with my pre- vious oxpeclations : for I had formed my opinion of the ('liester money-lender’s abode more or less upon the model of that of the London usurer, Mr. Seymour. In(h‘od I had fancied that I shouhl behold a mean and sordifl dwelling : whereas at every step 1 to(;k, 1 observed tho evidences of taste, elegance, and luxury. Nor was I in error in respect to tho house alone : for after I ha my feel, a wild (error in iny s( ul. There 1 blood, on scarcely threo sipiare yards of crag, with the knowledge that the sen was coming in rapiilly, and that in a short time it would cover the little speck that still allbrdcd mo I standing-room. Then to my mind Hashed (ho I recollection of some intelligence relative to the tides which T had received from an old boatman at Broadstairs; and I knew (hat on the path ; which I had boon pursuing under the cliffs, there would })rcscntly be a suHiciciit dci)th of water to drown me. The fragment of crag on which I stood would soon, loo, be covered : the water 1 might even rise several feet above it ray position i was a fearful one ! ! Wildly still— or rather with an increasing wild- ^ ness, did J fling my looks around. There was a ship in the distance— but no pleasure-boat nor tisherman’s vessel was within the range of my regards. I turned, and sent ray glances rapidly wandering over the face of the cliffs, to see if there were any possibility of clambering up them — any ' path, however rugged : but no — there was none ! if there were, 1 would have waded through the i water to the foot of the cliffs — I would have ! essayed the ascent. I scrutinized them more i carefully, more deliberately. If I could even dis- : cern suHicieut j*attings-out, or such irregularities j upon the face of that cliff, as would afford the j slightest hope of scaling the chalky wall and j reaching the summit, I would still make the ! attempt. But no : there appeared not a chance of j self-extrication by such means from the hideous j danger that threatened me. I clasped my hands in despair — and then shrieked forth for help. Good heavens ! was I to perish thus miserably — and perhaps when my I corpse should be washed ashore, to be branded as I a suicide ! Ah, but not many minutes back, when j pondering on my position, I had fancied to myself j that death would be welcome, come in whatever I shape it might. It now seemed as if that impious j rebellion against the wt.js of Providence were 1 doomed to experience speedy and condign punish- i ment — as if the wicked wish were to be awfully fulfilled! Oh, it is so easy for a human being to bid death appear in welcome: but the impious wisher will not the less shudder and be seized with ineffable anguish when all in a moment looking that same death face to face. And I who was so young to die ! — I who was so unprepared ! That world on which but a few minutes pre- viously I had longed to turn my back for ever, now seemed to be invested with a thou- sand charms, hitherto unknown, unsuspected, or at least unappreciated. The fairest scenes of ’ nature on which my eyes had ever rested swept like a panorama before my vision ; and then methought that earth’s trees were of a lovelier green, its (lowers of more delightful hues, and all its beauties more bewitching than ever I had before imagined them to be. Heavens ! was I indeed thus to perish— I who had not yet num- bered my twenty-first year — I who was so beau- tiful— 1 who had all the bloom and freshness of youth still left, — a bloom and freshness which had resisted every excitement of mind, every marring iiiHuenco which I had known! My hands wore clasped in anguish — I rent the air with my cries— every moment my horrified looks were cast around, and rriy imagination made the waters rise more rapidly than they were EOSA lAMBEET. really doing. Again and again did I look to- ■wards the cliff: but no possibility could I discern of scaling that wall of chalk, even if I-could reach the base. But I was at least a hundred yards from the foot of the cliffs ; and the space between them and the crag on which I stood, was a mass of w'ater. I racked my memory to recollect, if possible, the features of that particular part of the shore; so that I might come to some conclusion as to the probable depth— for I thought it better to get to the foot of the cliffs, rather than remain where I was. My memory however served me not in this particular instance: I had been wan- dering in such abstraction of the mind as to take no heed of the nature of the route I had pursued. Then, must I resign myself to die? — and, good heavens, what a death !— to behold destruction advancing upon me by inches ! Oh ! better, better far were it if the sea had been suddenly lashed up to fury by a hurricane passing over it— if one mighty wave had rolled in to engulf me and ex- tinguish life in a moment ! But no : the waters were calm— they had only just rippled around the crag on which I stood : but they were nevertheless approaching nearer and nearer to my feet. Death was shrouded in that placid water as certainly and as inevitably as it would have been in a mighty overwhelming billow : but it was advancing stealthily and insidiously as consumption steals on its victim — and meant not to strike a sudden blow, as it annihilates life with the thunder-stroke of apoplexy or paralysis ! Such were the horrible thoughts which swept through my mind ; and I felt that my brain was beginning to turn. It appeared as if madness were seizing upon me. I endeavoured to pray — but scarcely had I mentally uttered a few words of incoherent entreaty to heaven, when my anguish burst forth in wild and thrilling cries.. At length my horror became so overwhelming that I could no longer give vent even to a cry: the shrieks which I now endeavoured to send forth, died upon my lips. So far as recollection of that hideous scene serves me, my impression is that I was about to plunge off the. crag in wildest despair, — I^^rrified at the thought that darkness would soon come and envelope me in that pall w^hich was only to be succeeded by the still blacker one of death, — w^hen the sounds of human voices reached I my ears. Oh, never did the human voice sound so I sweet — so welcome ! I raised my eyes : there w'ere men standing on the summit of the cliff — their shouts were cheering and promised succour. I cannot find words to convey an idea of the w'ild ccstacy of that hope which now shot through me : I was suddenly galvanized into new life : my thoughts, previously verging upon madness, settled themselves in the various compartments of my brain. I waved my kerchief towards those who were to be my deliverers. One of the men shouted out words to the effect that a rope had been sent for, and that in a few minutes I should be saved. I acknowledged the assurance with fresh wavings of my kerchief, — those wavings that were the indications of a frantic joy '• In a few minutes the men upon the cliff began uncoiling a rope, which had just been brought by their comrade who was sent to fetch it. One of them threw off his coat and waistcoat; and wdth 171 the rope fastened to him, he was lowered down the cliff by those who remained on the summit. There were five altogether— four on the top, and the one who was descending. Yfith what intense feelings of joy and delight did I watch that descent. My bonnet had fallen back from my head — my long hair was flowing all dishevelled— my hands were clasped : I must have had a' strangely wild appearance upon that crag, the bare surlace of which was now reduced to a circumference of but a few feet. The individual who was descending, being lowered by the rope, reached the bottom of the cliff in safety ; and then I perceived that he was up to his knees in the w'ater. Unfastening the rope from about his per- son, he waded out towards me, — speaking cheerily all the time in a fine manly voice. And a fine manly fellow he was too, — not particularly tall, but well formed; and as he approached nearer, I saw by his demeanour that he was a gentleman. He was about thirty years of age— with black hair and whiskers — fine dark eyes— a frank and honest ex- pression of countenance— and a superb set of teeth. Presently the water reached up to his arm-pits : he bade me observe that it would soon be out of his depth — but this was only to prevent me from being frightened ; and striking out, he swam to- wards me. In a few minutes he stood on the crag by my side. I caught his hand and pressed it warmly, giving vent to the most enthusiastic ex- pressions of gratitude, which, with a manly frank- ness, he assured me were most unnecessary, as he was only performing a duty which one fellow- creature owed towards another. “liow,” he said, “you must make up your mind for a ducking ; because I shall have to bear you up while I swim in the deep water. Don’t be afraid — trust yourself to me — and if anything is wanting to nerve me with additional strength and vigour, it is the honour and satisfaction of saving one whom by her appearance the world could not afford to lose.” Though this was a compliment, it was expressed in a good-humoured hearty manner, which showed that my deliverer was not attempting a mere piece of mawkish flattery. With only another word of warning, he took me in his arms ; and descending the slope of the crag, suddenly began to strike out in the deep water. My whole form was immersed : but he kept my head above the surface ; and I need scarcely say that I clung to him with a tenacity derived from the consciousness that my life de- pended upon it. In a very short time we reached the shallow water ; and there I waded by his side, — he still sustaining me with one of his arms thrown round my waist. “ Now,” he said, when we reached the foot of the cliff, “ comes the worst part of it — I mean for you. Not that there is any danger : but you may be frightened.” “No, no!” I-exclaimed: “only tell me what is to bo done !” — and again I thanked him with en- thusiasm. “ You shall see,” he said : and he proceeded to fasten the rope, which was a very stout one, round his person, just under the arm-pits. Then he made a bend of it so as to form a sort of seat ; and these arrangements being completed, he took me in his arms — or rather held me tight round the waist with one arm, while he clung with the other to the rope. I also held fast to the rope ; and the 172 ■ROSA LAMBERT. men at the top bc;jan to draw us up. As we ascended, my head grew dizzy : but my com- panion kept speaking in a cheerful encouraging manner. The summit was reached ; and the instant that I was received in the arms of one of the men who had drawn us up, I fainted. CHAPTER XXIL GEORGE BEAUMONT. I WAS however soon brought back to conscious- ness ; and then, as my eyes opened, it appeared to be a dream. Indeed it was some moments before I could convince myself that it was otherwise. ^My deliverer was standing near mo : but besides him- self,- I now only beheld three men — and these had the appearance of fishermen. “ There’s an empty chaise stopping at the public- house yonder,” said my deliverer ; “ and one of the men has gone to fetch it for you. I suppose you live at Broadstairs P” “ Yes,” I answered, — mentioning my name and my address, not merely in courtesy, but likewise in gratitude. “Well, Miss Lambert,” answered the gentle- man, “ all I can tell you is, you have had a very lucky escape : for if I had not happened to be walking near the edge of the cliffs However, you are saved ; and we need not trouble ourselves with what might have ensued.” I repeated my expressions of gratitude to this gentleman ; and taking out my purse, was about to distribute rewards amongst the fishermen, — when he hastened to interfere, exclaiming, “ Oh, no. Miss Lambert — leave that to me !” I however persisted in giving them money; and almost immediately afterwards the chaise, which had been returning empty from Margate to Broad- stairs, came as near to the spot as the nature of the ground would permit. My deliverer handed me in, — requesting permission to call on the morrow and inquire after my health— a solicitation I was of course compelled to grant. Then, in my drip- ping wet garments, I was conveyed back to Broad- stairs. The distance was not however great ; and in about twenty minutes I reached my destination. The worthy couple at whose house I lodged, were surprised and alarmed to behold me return in such a plight ; and when I explained, in a few hurried words, the adventure I had experienced, they re- peated the assurance already given me by my deliverer, that my escape was indeed a narrow one. 1 lost no time in getting to bed — but much feared that I should feel on the morrow the effects of my immersion and of remaining so long in my wet clothes. Sea-water docs not however give cold under such circumstances near so readily as fresh- water; and 1 was surprised on awaking in the morning to find that beyond a slight sense of weakness, 1 really experienced no evil conse- quences. 1 remained in-doors from motives of courtesy towards my deliverer, who liad promised to pay mo a visit ; ami at about two in the afternoon the ser- vant announced Lieutenant HcMiumont. My de- liverer made his a])pearanco in the uniform of a naval ollicer : for, us I presently learnt, ho was attached to the Coast-guard — and that was the reason he had been upon the cliffs on the preceding evening, dfe had struck mo as being handsome, and as having a fine manly appearance, under cir- cumstances when my mind was little capable of taking particular notice of anything : but that first impression was now fully confirmed in his favour. He had all the characteristic frankness, with some of the bluntness, of a sailor : but yet with a sufficiency of well-bred polish over all, to render him the gentleman. He extended his hand with the half fomiliar yet respectful courtesy of an old friend, — as if he considered that our adventure was one calculated to knock down some of the barriers which a cold fpi:mality establishes between those who form an acquaintance for the first time. I gleaned from his conversation that he was un- married — that his father was an old Admiral in the Navy — that his mother had long been dead — that he resided at his station somewhere along the coast, at a short distance from Broadstairs — and that he had been applying to be put on more active service, as he found his quarters, which were en- tirely secluded, terribly dull. Conceiving that some little explanations as to my own position were called for, in confidential response to those which he had given me relative to himself, I in- formed him that my mother was dead — that my father was -a clergyman living in a distant county — and that I had been recommended by the family doctor to seek the coast of Kent for the benefit of my health. This was not altogether true : but I could not well avoid that little interpolation of fal- sity about the doctor in order to account for my absence from home. Neither did I mind mention- ing that my father was a clergyman, as the dis- tance was too great from Kent to Cheshire for any evil reports to have much chance of reaching the seclusion of Broadstairs. Mr. Beaumont re- mained about half-an-hour, and then took his leave. Frequently during the few weeks which fol- lowed did I encounter the Lieutenant in my rambles : he invariably joined me, and a certain degree of friendliness sprang up between us. To confess the truth — though I had sought the retire- ment of Broadstairs voluntarily in the first instance, I was beginning to get tired of it, when accident thus threw me in the way of George Beaumont. My mind was not in the same state as when I was living at Clarence Villa near Elmwood, nor when at the Parsonage : I was now restless and uneasy at the discovery of my condition. Besides, at Clarence Villa I had Arthur Brydges to visit me— that Arthur Brydges whom I loved : and at Haw- thorn I had at least some one to speak to in the companionship of my father. But here, at Broadstairs, I was unacquainted with a soul until my perilous adventure threw Bea;Umont in my way. At first, therefore, I felt it was at all events a sort of relief to my mind to know some one and to bo enabled to exchange a friendly word with a fellow-creature when walking out. By degrees this grew into a necessity ; and I looked forward with pleasure either to the occasional visit which the Lieutenant paid me, or to the still more frcipient encounters during ray rambles. These encounters, which were in the first instance con- fined to two or throe occasions during the week. EOSA LAMBEET. 173 I soon became daily — though it never struck me that they were otherwise than accidental. Indeed, I there were so few distinct walks about Broadstairs ! that it was scarcely possible to roam for several I hours every day in the neighbourhood without ' meeting the same persons. George Beaumont’s i manner towards me continued of the same honest I friendliness as at first: he never offered me his arm— nor made any attempt to place himself on a I mere familiar footing : he seemed to regard me in the light of an agreeable companion with whom I he could while away an hour or two ; — and it was j precisely in this light that I regarded him. Three months had elapsed from the date when our acquaintance commenced — it was now the end of the month of August— and never was I more taken with surprise in my life than when he one day— on escorting me towards my lodgings after a ramble on the sea-shore — offered me marriage. The proposal was conveyed in a perfectly gentle- manly and respectful manner — but still with so little preface, and therefore with a sufficient ab- ruptness, to make me stop short and gaze upon him in astonishment to assure myself that he was serious. “ Do not think for a moment, Miss Lambert,” he said, “ that I could so far forget my sense of propriety towards an amiable young lady as to utter a word which is lightly spoken, or which I could hereafter wish recalled. We have not known each other long : but what I have seen of you I like— and I love you. My position and prospects are just these : — I shall have the rank of Captain- Commander in a fortnight or so : my father allows me two hundred a year, besides my pay : I am an only son — and at his death shall hav^ a few I thousand pounds. If you will accept my hand, it ! is your’s. You already possess my heart— and it ! is an honest one.” I At first, as he began delivering himself of this I somewhat strange but frankly spoken and well- meant address, I continued to gaze upon him with ‘ mingled incredulity and astonishment: but after I a few minutes I could no longer remain in doubt as to his complete sincerity. My eyes were bent i down in mingled shame and confusion, which he naturally enough took for maiden bashfulness. The idea that I, — lost and degraded as I was — j bearing in my bosom at that very time the fruit ' of no willing amour, but of a diabolical outrage, — : should thus be addressed by an honest-minded, ’ generous-souled, warm-hearted man, — smote me I with even a deeper sense of my own utter un- I worthiness than ever I had experienced before. I Yes, even greater than that which I had felt at , the door of Meadowville Church, when sinking in complete humiliation beneath the withering ! denunciations of Horace Rockingham ! j ■ “ Ah, I read consent in your looks !” exclaimed . George Beaumont in a joyous hearty tone : and ; taking my hand, he pressed it warmly between j both his own. “ Thanks — a thousand thanks ! my I dear Miss Lambert,” he went on to say. “ I am ! not much of a genius at expressing my feelings : but this much I can tell you — that you will have ! a kind and good husband in me, who will do all I he can to study and promote your happiness.” I It was with difficulty I could prevent a shriek j of anguish from thrilling from my lips as the I horrible conviction smote me that the past was be- yond redemption, and that each successive oppor- tunity of settling comfortably in life— in the enjoy- ment of an honourable man’s virtuous love — must be rejected and discarded by a being so utterly undone as myself. But though that cry of mental agony was stopped — called back, as it were, ere it found vent — I could not repress a look A' harrow- ing affliction from flitting across my countenance ; and little experienced though George Beaumont evidently was in fathoming the secrets of the human heart, yet he could not help catching a glimpse of that anguished expression ere it vanished from my features. “ I sincerely hope I have not offended you,” ho said, much moved. “ I would sooner cut my right hand off than anger you !” “No — Mr. Beaumont,” I answered, mustering up all my fortitude to enable me to give this reply; “I am not offended — I am only grieved and afflicted to think that for a moment, you should have misunderstood any portion of my con- duct towards you. I am afraid I shall sink in your opinion — that you will henceforth regard me as thoughtless — or perhaps guilty of levity, in having received your visits and suffered you to beeome the companion of my walks. I implore you to believe me,” I added earnestly, “ when I declare that it was only a feeling of friendship which I entertained, and of which likewise I con- sidered myself to be the object ! Yes, it was a feeling of friendship engendered by a deep and lasting gratitude: for I never ‘can forget that to you I owe my life !” A cloud of sadness had slowly gathered over the frank, honest, handsome countenance of the naval officer, while I thus addressed him : but there was no anger in his looks — and he said, when I had finished speaking, “ Do not be afraid. Miss Lam- bert, that I shall think ill of you. If there were anything wanting to increase my admiration, it is supplied by the frankness with which you have just spoken. You have given me your friendship,”; he went on to observe, his countenance brighten-- ing up : “ do you think it impossible to return my love ?” “ Not for an instant am I capable of deceiving you, Mr. Beaumont!” I responded. “We can never be anything to each other than friends, as we are now.” “Miss Lambert, I respect your decision,” re- plied the Lieutenant: but the shade again over- spread his countenance. “ I will not ask for any explanation : I have no right to do so. But this- I will add — that if your affections be engaged to another, he will be fortunate in possessing such a wife as you.” With these words Beaumont wrung my hand warmly, and hurried abruptly away. I returned to my lodgings, with a profoimd affliction in my soul. Sincerely did I compassionate that frank- hearted man, who had given me his love— but had given it hopelessly. Deeply did I regret that I should thoughtlessly have had even the appearance of affording him encouragement in the passion which was thus strengthening within him, and which was so totally unsuspected by myself until suddenly revealed in the manner just described. But more than all this — I had been smitten with the sense of my own utter unworthiness : and that sense still rankled in my soul ! I ( \ ( 174 nos A LAMIJERT, My mind was now made up to leave Bruadsiairs with the least })03siblo delay. Indeed, in another mouth or so, I should find myself compelled to 1^0 elsewhere, as it would become no longer possible to evade suspicion as to the state 1 was in : — but this occu venco in respect to George .Beaumont, now acccleifticd my departure. 1 saw the neces- sity of repairing to some complete seclusion — or at least to some place where, under another name, I might give birth to that offspring Avhich I feared I should detest and loathe. And now, too, 1 re- membered with what detestation and loathing Lady Lucia Calthorpo had spoken of her own expected infant before its birth, and how she had treated it after. I had blamed her, because I could not then understand the bittcimcss of the feeling which prompted her: but methought I could understand it now. Such were my thoughts. However, I must depart ! — I must stand the chance of seeing George Beaumont no more ! And now arose the consideration of whither I should betake myself. I had acquired such a love for the sea- I side that I resolved to choose some spot which should be near it. But inasmuch as my confine- ment would take place in the middle of winter, I felt the necessity of selecting a watering-place where there wovdd be a mild air. After consulting some Guide Book to the southern counties, I fixed upon Hastings; and early on the following morn- ing took my departure from Broadstairs. I did j not however allow the old couple with whom I had j been lodging, to become aware of my intended i destination : my object was to frustrate the possi- j bility of being tracked by George Beaumont, in ! case the strength of his passion should prompt him j to follow me. I Adopting the name of Mrs. Lambert — and in- I tending to represent my husband as being abroad, — a suggestion that I derived from the policy pur- sued when I enacted the part of Mrs. Wilton at Sittingbourne, — I took a comfortable but econo- mical lodging at Hastings, with the resolve of forming no acquaintances under any cu’cumstances. j Having lived frugally at Broadstairs, I had still i ample funds in my possession : but I must confess i that I often looked forward with horror to the j time when those funds should be exhausted : for I j dared not again think of applying to Sir Eeginald I Lortescue— and I had no other friend to whom I I could address myself. However, situated as I now : was, I felt that I must wait until after the ordeal was over ; and then, if I smwived it, seriously be* I think me of what I should thenceforth do for a j subsistence. Time passed on : it was now the beginning of I December— at the end of which month I might expect to become a mother. I need hardly ob- serve that my condition had for some while past been visible enough : nor had I attempted to con- ceal it— for 1 passed as a married lady, and my conduct was such as to justify my representation, j 1 should observe, ere ])assiiig to the iiext incident ; in my narrative, that 1 had written tlireo or four times t(j my father, alike from Broadstairs and 1 1 ablings; and that his answers had given me the assurance that ho was leading a regular life — avoiding debt, and doing his best to retain his pre- cent pobiti(jn without additional damage to his character. I earelully scrutini::('(l his hand-writing on each occasion, to assure myself that it was not tremulous with intemperance; and the result was always satisfactory. This at least was some little consolation : but, on the other hand, I was con- stantly troubled with misgivings on my brother Cyril’s account, of whom my father had in the in- terval heard nothing or at least, such was the assurance that his letters convoyed. One day — as my time was drawing on — 1 waa walking through 1 fastings, when I observed at a : distance a gentleman in an invalid’s chair— and j another gentleman walking by the side. A man was dragging the chair; and the invalid was evi- dently enjoying the sunshine of a weather truly magnificent for that wintry season of the year. 1 entered a shop to make some purchases — and was detained there for about ten minutes. When I issued forth again, the invalid in the chair, and i the gentleman walking by his side — having turned, ; and now proceeding in the contrary direction— liad j just passed the shop-door. I was struck with i the figure of the individual walking by the chair. At the same instant he looked round — and revealed j the countenance of Eeginald Fortcscue ! An • ejaculation escaped his lips; and evidently forget- i ing his father’s presence (for that invalid was the J Baronet), he sprang towards me. A half-stifled shriek burst from me : 1 could have wished that the very earth would have opened to swallow me j up ! My condition was instantaneously perceived by Eeginald Fortescue; and seizing mo by the j hand, he demanded in a voice hoarse with excite- ment, “Are you married? May I congratulate j you No, you are not!” he exclaimed, as my I tell-tale countenance at once revealed the truth : j and he not merely let my hand drop, but even j flung it from him rudely. I turned, and hastened away as fast as I could under existing circumstances : I did not look once behind me — I did not even begin to breathe freely 1 until I had passed into the next street. I regained j my lodgings — threw myself upon the sofa — and j burst into a perfect agony of tears. Oh, that those who last of all in the whole world I would have had acquainted with my shame, were now i no strangers to it 1 And what would they think ? ! — that I had relapsed into the ways of dishonour ! ■ Perhaps they might even imagine that I had never , really quitted them, and that my conduct had all ' along been fraught with the vilest hypocrisy ! 1 Bitter, burning tears w'ere those which I shed ; , and in the depth of my heart I anathematized ’ Andrew Winter— Oh ! how deeply ! | The pains of child-birth were brought on pre- j maturely by the shock which I had experienced and by the excitement of mind which followed it. j A medical attendant was speedily sent for, and in i the course of a few hours I became the mother of ! a male child. OL, when the infant nestled in my 1 bosom, I forgot the atrocity which had marked its origin 1 — 1 pressed it to that bosom — I felt all a mother’s fondest love for it ! Or if I did not j altogether forget— because I could not — who was its | father, I so. far veiled the recollection as not to I suil'er it to impeile the flow of my genuine ma- ; tcrnal feelings. And then, too, 1 again thought of Lady Lucia Calthorpo ; and 1 wondered, almost in horror, at the cold-blooded callousness which she had displayed. 1 could no longer understand it, — 1 who, until now, for months past had fancied that 1 did comprehend it ! EOSA liAMBEET. 175 1 r~' ) I I 1 I i I I I i ! 1 I I I I i I I i 1 I I i ) But my joy at possessing this infant was not destined to bo of long duration. Within twelve hours after its birth, it was seized with convulsions and expired. No tongue can tell — no pen can describe, the rending anguish which filled my heart. Already within those few brief hours that the existence of the little being lasted, I had ari'anged within my own mind a thousand plans for the future, — how I would remove, when my mouth w'as up, to some other place — hov^ I would economize my present resources — how I would take in needlework, to eke them out — and how I w'ould make every sacrifice to rear my beloved child in comfort and respectability. And then, too, I had flattered my imagination with visions of joy to be experienced while watching the pro- gress of that dear babe— how its little arms would in due time circle my neck — how its lips would lisp the name of “ mother” — and how I should find in its existence a source of serene delight and tranquil happiness hitherto unknown. But now all these plans were set at naught — all these hopes were annihilated ! The bereavement was most bitter. But I will not linger at unnecessary length upon this portion of my narrative. Sufiice it to say that the remains of my poor babe were placed in their little coffin, and were carried to the grave ; the loss retarded my recovery: I felt it so deeply. Six weeks elapsed ere I was able to stir out of doors ; and then I dreaded lest I should fall in with Eeginald Fortescue and his father. I visited the churchyard where my infant had been interred ; and I wept over the little heap of mould which marked its resting-place. That very visit however had the effect — wFen the first gush of anguish was over — of tranquillizing my mind, and of leading me into a more sober train of reflections than I had yet been able to pursue since my babe’s death. I began to perceive that perhaps after all it was for the wisest and best purposes heaven had inflicted upon me this bereavement. The child, had it lived, would have grown up perhaps to acquire the knowledge of its mother’s shame — perhaps to bring the blush to its mother’s cheek by inquiring for its father. And then, who could tell through what scenes of poverty and privation that child might have been doomed to find itself dragged by its mo- ther ? — who could tell what was yet to be my own fate ?— and if penury and distress, then it was enough for me to endure them, without being forced to behold a loved offspring made the sharer thereof! Such reflections as these exercised a beneficent influence upon my mind : I was strengthened with a moral courage hitherto un- known — I was tranquillized — and if not rendered happy, was at least contented and resigned. My recovery was now rapid : m a few more days it was complete — the fresh air brought back the hues of health to my cheeks— and my mirror told me that so far from my beauty having suffered, it ap- peai’ed to be enhanced. The fear of encountering Sir Beginald Fortescue and his son, made me hurry my preparations for departure, now that I was completely recovered; and I issued forth one morning, for the last time, into the streets of Hastings, to make a few pur- chases which were absolutely necessary, as well as to settle some little bills incurred by my confine- ment. I kept looking anxiously in every direction — but beheld nothing of those whom I di-eaded to meet. I was returning home, to deliberate with, myself to whicli place I should proceed— as I was determined to leave Hastings either that after- noon or on the following morning, — when at the tm-ning of the street, I suddenly found myself face to face with Eeginald Fortescue. My cheeks became crimson ; and then the flush left them as suddenly : I was full of trouble and confusion. Not that Eeginald had any right to upbraid me — for everything had long been ended betwixt him and me: but I could not endure the thought that he should fancy I had all along been leading a wanton life, under the guise and pretext of refor- mation, since we parted. “ Eose,” he said, taking ray hand and leading me to a little distance, “you know not the sor- row 1 may even declare the bitter affliction which I have experienced ” “Now listen to me. Captain Fortescue!” I in- terrupted him, all in a moment regaining my for- titude. “ I could tell you a tale which would fully exculpate me— a tale which would convince you that I was made the victim of a diabolic atrocity : but you would not believe me. No,” I continued bitterly ; “ for a woman who has once erred, there is no longer any trust or confidence ! — for one of my sex who has once fallen, all hope in this life is at an end ! She may vainly endeavour to atone for the past : the world would not give her credit for sincerity — and every miscreant in the shape of man would mark her out as a suitable object for his atrocious designs. All this I feel ; and it is enough to disgust me with the bare thought of striving to pursue an honest career !” “ You could not have erred this'last time, Eose,” responded Eeginald mournfully, but yet with compassion in his looks, “under the pressure of want and privation : because it is only ten months since you were with my father in London, on which occasion you became possessed of ample funds. What then would you have me believe ? Well aware am I that I have no right to reproach you — much less to dictate to you. But I did feel a profound interest in your welfai-e — my friendship was most sincere — and you know that the good feeling of my father ■” “ Ah ! it is all this,” I exclaimed, “ that drives me mad ! No, no — you would not believe me if I told you my tale— and it would therefore be use- less ! Perhaps, Captain Fortescue,” I added, with irony in my tone, “you entertain so high an opinion of your own sex, that you think it im- possible any one in the form of a man could per- petrate such an outrage as I have it in my power to describe !” “ I am not offended, Eose, with this species of taunt which you fling out against my sex, myself of course included:”— and Eeginald spoke' with looks and tones full of compassionating mournful- At that moment a loud voice was heard, im- periously and peremptorily summoning Eeginald away. He started ; and a glance showed me his father, at a little distance, in the invalid chair. “ Sir Eeginald too,” I said, “ believes me to be a thoroughly degraded, polluted, wanton creature V* — and there was a terrible bitterness in my ac- cents. “ Gro to him — go to him. Captain Fortes- cue !” I hastily added, as Eeginald still lingered I c I \ i I I 1 I 1 I near me, though his father was calling out with a more peremptory sternness than even at first. Go ! — for it is useless for mo to attempt to vin- dicate myself!” With these words I hurried away — not once looking behind mo as I made a somewhat long circuit in order to avoid passing near the spot whore Sir lieginald Fortescuo had stopped in the invalid chair. I reached my lodging with the bitterest feelings in my heart. No tears fell from my eyes : but my lips wreathed scornfully, as I mentally ejaculated, “Virtue indeed! — of what use is it for me to sock to re-enter virtue’s paths ?” It was in this morbid state of mind— in an al- most utter recklessness as to what might become of me — that I summoned the domestic and bade her go and order a post-chaise at once. “ I need not regard expense,” I said to myself. “When my money is gone, I can casUy procure more. Fool that I have been to seek seclusion — to live frugally — to avoid pleasure, when I might be surrounded by all those luxuries and elegances that I enjoyed in London ! I may ride in my carriage — I may have servants to attend upon me — I may command a servile civility here and ad- miration there, though I may obtain respect no- where ! But it is a mockery — a worse than mockery — it is the most miserable and drivelling of all follies to practise virtue and yet receive no credit for it— to endeavour to atone for the past, and yet find oneself looked upon with mistrust and suspicion ! And then too, to be surveyed with an air of compassion — with pity ! Ah, it is more than I can endure ! No : if I be indeed the lost irretrievable object that the world seems to fancy, let me at least obtain a real benefit by the wantonness which is ascribed to me !” I looked at myself in the glass j and gradually a smile of' haughty triumph and proud satisfaction appeared upon my lips, as I contemplated the re- flection of my own image. My light chesnut brown hair was floating in glossy luxuriance upon my shoulders: never had my eyes seemed of a clearer or deeper blue: never had my brows appeared more gracefully curved— never my lips of so bright a vermilion. My complexion too, had retained all its dazzling fairness; and the fresh sea-air had heightened the naturally delicate pink into a rich carnation upon the cheeks. My bust had expanded into the fulness of the most volup- tuous proportions, — the contours preserving all their roundness and firmness. In a word, the mirror showed me that I was not merely beautiful, but truly handsome. “ And shall such charms as these,” I said to my- self, “ be suffered to decline and wither under the influence of the world’s blighting scorn ? No, no ! — let mo bo what the world supposes I am ! It proclaims me a wanton : and vainly do I deny it. Virtuous poverty wins mo not esteem: let me bonclit by the character that is affixed to my name !” While thus bitterly apostrophizing myself — while thus, from the solitude of my comparatively humble lodging, fulminating a haughty defiance against the world — while endeavouring to persuade myself that there was no advantage in being good, but that the enjoyment of wealth and splendour, ignobly earned, was better than the consciousness I of a rectitude for which society gave mo no cre j)arlial hints— lor if Frances hud really done anything wrong, siudi a course wenild only ho j)utLing her upon her guard, and thus renderijig her doubly cautious in eojieealing her error. 1 (lelermined there(’on> to take a lilllo time for retlection, and also to (rust to eireiim- stances to develop the mystery. I'ranees, with a cheerful air — but 1 felt convinced it was as- sumed — bade me gotjd nigbt, and retired (o her own chamber. Captain Bcaiim(»nt shortlv al'lcr- W'nrds came up : 1 told him what little had (akc/i ])Iaco— and wo agreed to lot the jnatter rest for the presoit. “I wish you would do mo a favour, my dear I Rose,” said George, while contemplating nu! with a look of earnest allection blended with admira- tion, as 1 sat, negligently enveloi)ed in a wrui)per, in an easy chair, previous to retiring to rest. “A favour?” 1 exclaimed. “Of course i will do anything for you that lies in my power.” “ I w ish to have your portrait taken,” continued Beaumont. “JMy portrait?” I ejaculated: and instanta- neously comprehending that this was a fre.di proof of Beaumont’s honest aflectiou for me, 1 adi‘ido — though with tears in the ('yes and anguish at the heart— had Sought an o^qiortunity of assuring him that sbe rel(*ased him from all his ^dodges, as she never would iicconipany (o tho altar any man who had not tlio fullest coididenco in her jirojudety and honour. But now, she assured me, with blushes and smiles, her character would be completely cleared up ; and as she happened to know that Mr. Evans had continued single, she had no doubt of what the result would be. I was much interested in this narrative; and I said to Frances, “Your conduct towards the poor child deserves to be re- warded ; and rest assured that it shall be.” I lost no time in making known to Captain Beaumont the fresh circumstances which had come to my knowledge in respect to Frances ; and we speedily decided upon the course which should be pursued. Immediately after breakfast, Beaumont ordered post-horses for his carriage — took a carpet- bag containing a few necessaries — and set off. I did not tell Frances what plan was in progress : but I saw she suspected that this sudden journey on the part of her master was in some way con- nected with herself. I thought however that it was better to say nothing, for fear lest I should raise hopes which might possibly be disap- pointed. CHAPTER XXV. TUB "WOOD. It was a beautiful day — and I longed to take a solitary ramble to a good distance in the country : but I was not unmindful of the earnest warning which Grcorge Beaumont had given me in respect to Toby Grayson. I ordered the phaeton to be gotten in readiness for the purpose of taking a drive ; and as I was dressed for going out before the equipage was prepared to receive me, I sallied forth to take a little walk in the neighbourhood, where I felt myself safe from any tricks which Toby Grayson might think fit to attempt. I was on my way homeward again, when my attention was drawn towards a man of very shabby apparel, who was sitting on a large stone by the side of the road — his elbows resting on his knees, and his countenance buried in his hands. I saw that he was sobbing ; and my hand instinctively drew forth my purse. Accosting him, I said in a gentle voice, “ You seem very much afflicted, my poor man ; suffer me to render you some little assistance.” . He slowly raised his head ; and I started back in astonishment and dismay on recognizing the countenance of Mr. Rockingham, the father of Horace. “Ah, Miss Lambert !” he exclaimed: and spring- ing up to his feet, he w’as about to hurry away, when I laid my hand upon his arm to stop him. “ Will you not condescend, Mr. Rockingham,” I asked, “ to accept some succour from me ?” — for his appearance but too plainly bespoke how much he needed it. Poverty had laid its iron hand upon him ; poverty had traced deep lines upon his coun- tenance, and had rendered his face ghastly : poverty had so altered the unfortunate man, that it would scarcely have been a matter of wonder if I had failed to recognise him at all. His linen was dirty — his garments were threadbare, and were even torn in two or three places : he w'as evi- dently steeped to the lips in penury. “ What !” he said, eyeing me with fierceness : “ accept succour from you — i/ou who were the cause of my utter ruin ?” “ Listen to me, Mr. Rockingham,” I said, in a manner which compelled him as it were to stop and hear me. “ Much as I am moved by your distressed appearance, I cannot blame myself for the course which I adopted nearly three years ago in respect to yourself and Mr. Seymour. If it had been a legitimate transaction which you were endeavouring to negotiate with that gentleman, I should not have had the power to injure you: but inasmuch as it was an illegitimate transaction — in plain terms, as you were seeking to defraud Mr. Seymour ” “ Oh, yes !” exclaimed Mr. Rockingham bitterly, and still with a certain degree of fierceness in his looks ; “ you can gloat over my miseries — you who did so much to consummate my ruin ! Ho, Rosa Lambert : I would sooner starve — and I am starving too — than receive the slightest favour from your hands !” “I should not have made the least allusion to the past, Mr. Rockingham,” I rejoined, “ if you had not turned round upon me with a taunt. Let that past be forgotten, so far as you and I are con- cerned : but as for your son ” “Don’t speak of him !” ejaculated Rockingham, in a wild and excited manner. “ He is selfishness incarnate ! — he is a veritable fiend !” My own heart echoed the sentiment : but I was nevertheless stricken with a sort of horror at hearing a father speak in such terrible terms of a son. “Yes: he has no soul — no love — no sympathy!” continued Mr. Rockingham, with the same fierce vehemence as before. “ By some means or an- other he obtains money — he even manages to keep his place in society — he can feed his valet and his dog : but for his own father — no, not so much as a morsel of bread ! Yet if I had continued wealthy, all the riches I had heaped up, would have been his own. This I have told him : and what has been his reply ? A stinging, bitter, soul-piercing taunt, to the effect that I never ought to have lost those riches ! Rosa Lambert, it was but the day before yesterday that I last saw my son. It was not necessary for me to tell him of the cruel penury of my situation : he beheld it in my looks, and in my garments. But, no ! not a guinea — not a shilling — not a penny from his purse, to give me bread ! Good heavens, that I should have lived to see the day when my own son could behold his father starving, and yet refuse him the veriest pittance !” Mr. Rockingham sat down again upon the stone ; and the tears rolled down his ghastly, careworn, haggard countenance. It was a very painful thing to behold that man weep, and to reflect how power- ful must be the feelings which could thus move a heart naturally so hard as his. But adversity is like the wand with which the Israelite leader of old struck the granite rock and made waters gush forth thence : for adversity, when striking upon a heart that is even as hard as adamant, will break up its deep hidden fountains and cause them to well forth in tears. Mr. Rockingham,” I said, profoundly affected, “ I hope that you bear no ill-will towards me. I have not forgotten that my father was indebted to you for his incumbency: will you not therefore nos.v L\:\rBRTiT. ion rop^artl nio as ono wlio feels lierself to bo under an oblif^ation to jou ? will you not fiiiHTer me to nequit myself of some imrtion of that debt of fjratitudo ? Como with mo— my bouse is close by — come with me.” Mr, Eoekinffham suddenly dashed away his tears, and {Tiized upon mo for some moments in a stranfTG vaeant manner which struck me with the conviction that bis reason had become more or loss atfected by the bitterness of his misfortunes. JTo suffered me to lead him towards the villa — but spoke not another word until ho was seated in the well furnished dining-room : then ho looked around him — sighed deeply— and said in a tone of pro- * found dejection, “ I also was once surroundccl by every luxury and comfort.” “Think not of the past,” I said, as a servant entered the room with a tray which I had ordered to be brought in. I sat down at the table with the unfortunate man, and pretended that ray walk liad given me an appet ito for my luncheon, in order that I might induce him to cat with all the less restraint, For a few minutes ho ate ravenously : it was evident that he had been a considerable time without food — and by his appearance he seemed to have been wandering throughout the previous night, having no bed to lie upon. Eut at the expiration of those few minutes he laid down his knife and fork : a sickness had come over him, and the food had done him more harm than good. I poured him out wine : ho drank it, and seemed better. In as de- licate a manner as possible, I hinted (hat he would do well not to take his food too quickly ; and with another strange vacant look, which did me harm to encounter it, he said with a wild unnatural laugh, “ You see that I have been starving !” He ate a little more — then rose abruptly from his seat— and exclaimed, “ I thank you for this meal. Your kindness is well-meant — I know it is : but all kindness does mo harm now. It comes too late — too late !” lie snatched up his old battered hat, and was rushing to the door, when I stopped him, — saying, “ Pray, Mr. Eockingham, do not leave me thus. Suffer me to assist you with a loan,” I added, endeavouring to proffer my ‘pecuniary help in as delicate a form as possible. “A loan?” he ejaculated ironically. “Why, I never shall be enabled to repay it !” “ No matter ! Take this money !”— and I thrust five sovereigns into his hand. “ Gold !” ho exclaimed, looking at the coins with a sort of vacant doubt that he was clutching a reality. “ Gold in this palm of mine once more ! 1 can scarcely believe it. If any body an hour back had told me that within that hour I should I be possessed of gold, I should have considered the prophecy as an insulting taunt upon my bitter, j bitter poverty. But gold from you, Itosa Lambert I — you wbom my son ruined! — for you see that the circumstances arc not unknown to me By lieaven, it is scarcely credilile 1” “(!orne liitber again, Mr. Rockingham,” I said, deiiply affected at all that was jiassing ; “ and you will lind one,” 1 continued, thus allufling (o Beau- mont, “ who will perhaps do Hometliing for you.” “No, no, Miss Lambcirt,” bo (piiekly rejoined ; “ I rawer Hindi come near you again ! But this action of your’s Ah ! it is ono on which you may ever aflcr think with deep heartfelt satisfac- tion.” His look for a moment lost all its mingled fierce- ness and vacancy — all i(s wild excitement and savqgo inaneness: it expressed for (hat brief moment an illimitable gratitude. Again was tbo naturally hard heart of the worldly-minded man profoundly touched : but (ho next instant ho hur- ried from the room, closing the door behind him. I behold him hastily threading his way towards the gate; and in a few instants more ho disap- peared from my view. This scene which I have just described, left a very painful impression upon my mind. Though Afr. Itnckingham’s conduct in the days of his pro- sperity had never been such as to win my esteem, secure my friendship, or command my respect — though bo had always borne himself towards my family with the haughty arrogance of an upstart, and had incessantly refused the little trifling pe- cuniary assistance which my father in his necessi- ties hud from time to time solicited — yet the spectacle of his downfall and his alqcct wretched- ness had not failed to touch my heart. And then too, methought that for whatsoever presumption he might have displayed in the period of his pro- sperity — for whatsoever prideful bearing ho had assumed — ho had been more than punished. Yes, terribly punished! — i)unished not merely in the ruin of those fortunes which were the element of his arrogance — but punished likewise in the fear- ful ingratitude which he had experienced on the part of his son. While I was in the midst of those meditations, a servant entered to announce that the phaeton had been some time in readiness; and glad to escape from my painful reverie, I went forth and entered the vehicle. I bade the coachman drive into the country ; and we proceeded for some con- siderable distance. I got out and walked for about half-an-hour along a shady lane, — taking good care however not to get too far from the equipage which was following me ; as in the stalwart arras of the coachman there was a safe- guard against any outrage on the part of Toby Grayson, should he happen to be in the neigh- bourhood and on the watch. However, I saw nothing of him; and ascending again into the vehicle, gave orders to drive homeward. We were within about two miles of the villa, and proceeding along a road skirted by a little wood — or rather straggling grove — when I all in a moment perceived Mr. Rockingham a short dis- tance ahead. As suddenly however as I thus caught a glimpse of him, did he disappear from my view, — plunging into that wood. 1 called to the coachman to stop : for a presentiment of evil struck to my mind — though so vaguely and in- definitely that I could not explain its nature to myself. The strange and vacant looks which Mr. Rockingham had thrown upon me a few hours back, continued to haunt me: I felt convinced that his reason was unsettled, and that it was unsafe for him to bo alone. It naturally struck mo as singular, too, that ho should have wandered forth into the country in this evidently restless manner, rather than have made use of the pecu- niary succour I had alfordod him, to improve his toilet and procure a comfortable lodging. In a word, some unaccountable inlluenco prompted mo nOSA LAMBERT. 197 <0 njipbt from the phaeton with the intention of following him into the wood, to anticipate any desperate design which in the uneasy condition of his thoughts he might have formed. A hedge bordered the road: but there was a gate a little way ahead, leading into the wood; and by that means had Mr. Eockingham pene- trated thither. Just at the moment that I reached the gate, a person on horseback came galloping up ; and the moment our eyes met, ejaculations burst from our lips. “ Ah, Eosa ! is it indeed your most delectable self?” ci'ied Horace Eockingham, with mocking irony in his accents, “ Ah, the fiend!” were the words which escaped from me, as his father’s words of that morning came vividly back to ray recollection. “ Call me what you will,” Horace at once re- sponded : “ but you must confess that it was a pleasant scene the other day at the artist’s.” “Mr. Eockingham,” I said, with a look and manner which at once riveted his attention, “you would perhaps diminish that air of insolent joy- ousness and reckless gaiety, if you had overheard the complainings of your own father a few hours back, as I myself heard them !” “ My father ! "What, have you seen the old boy ?” “ Disgusting flippancy !” I ejaculated, in mingled loathing and indignation. “And yet what else can be expected from you, devil that you have always shown yourself !” “I can brook hard names from you, Eosa,” responded Horace: “because I know that sooner or later there will be another phase in my ven- geance — and his eyes suddenly flashed with those unnatural fires which at times so vividly reflected the evil feelings of his heart. “ But you say that you saw my father ” “I saw him steeped to the very lips in wretch- edness,” I answered, in a tone of grave re- proach. “ All his own fault !” cried Horace. “ He ruined himself — he ruined me ” “ He is not the less your father,” I interrupted the vile unfeeling speech : “ and if you had seen him weep, as I saw him, you would have been moved, if anything on this earth could move you. But no 1” I quickly ejaculated : “ that is impos- sible. Your’s is a heart which, for the honour of humanity, exists alone of its kind.” “ I have no doubt my father went on against me in fine style,” said Horace : and being evi- dently curious to ascertain whether I bad done anything for him, he added, “ I suppose that as you yourself are well off, under your new protector Beaumont, you flashed your gold about and paraded an ostentatious charity P” “ Mr. Eockingham,” I responded coldly, “ if I tell you that my purse afforded your father some assistance ” “ It is not to make a boast of it Oh no, not at all !” ho cried contemptuously : “ it is no doubt with the very best possible intention — to move my heart— eh ?” “Would that it were capable of melting on behalf of a father who is driven almost mad by his misfortunes, and is goaded to frenzy by the sense of the son’s black ingratitude ! Know you that he is wandering about in such an uneasy state I I of mind, that I shall not bo surprised ” then not daring to give expression to the thought which was nevertheless uppermost in my brain, I quickly ejaculated, “ Y’our father is nearer than you think ! He plunged into this wood the in- stant ho saw my chaise approaching ” “ What ! is he here ?” cried Horace. “ I don’t believe it. “ Do as you like, sir,” I observed with cold indignation. “ I had descended from my carriage to follow him into this wood : for if no one else in the world will speak a syllable of soothing sym- pathy to the forlorn and desolate man, it shall bo my task to console him. Pursue your own course, sir, and leave me to mine.” “ And I wish you joy of it,” said Horace : and the next instant he was galloping away. I watched the retreating horseman until be had disappeared from my view : for had he lingered on the spot, or near it, I should not have entered the wood, for fear lest the miscreant might take it into his head to follow and attempt some outrage against me. But when he was no longer in sight, — and as I calculated that in his utter hcartless- ness he would rather avoid his father than endea- vour to seek him, — I no longer hesitated to pass the gate and enter amongst the trees. I should observe that the phaeton had remained at such a distance from the gate, that the coachman could not overhear the discourse which took place be- tween me and Horace : and though our conversa- tion was but little friendly, yet it was unaccom- panied by any gesticulations or outward signs to make the man suspect that it was anything more than what was passing in an ordinary manner be- tween two acquaintances who thus happened to meet. I entered the wood, — impelled by that same secret and scarcely comprehensible influence which had prompted me to alight from the phaeton and follow Mr. Eockingham. I had no settled purpose in view ; beyond the endeavour to find the unfor- tunate man if possible — and lead him, if I could, into a serious train of conversation. But yet there was in my mind a certain inexplicable under- current of feeling, swaying me like a presenti- ment, and which seemed to be totally apart from the aim that I believed myself to be pursuing. I wandered about in every direction — but beheld him not. Thus nearly half-an-hour passed ; and I was on the point of giving up the search and returning to the phaeton, when all in a moment I came upon a spectacle which made me shriek out in wildest horror. For there was the object of my search, suspended by a cord to the bough of a tree, — his countenance swollen and livid — his eyes seeming about to start from their sockets, but fixed with the stony glare of death. Yes, there he hung, the wretched suicide ; and his coat, which he had taken off, lay upon the grass above which he dangled lifelessly. Scarcely had that wild shriek burst from my lips, when a cry of horror sounded near me ; and glancing round, I beheld Horace Eockingham. There could be no doubt that the fiend-like young man had resolved to intercept me in the wood, for the purpose of committing an outrage upon me— that his quick galloping away from the gate had only been a feint to throw me off my guard — but that he had made a circuit and had thus regained ROSA LAMDUIJT. lOS tho wood in tlio opposite direction from that wlicrcby I had entered it. Yes— it was indeed an ejaculation of liorror which burst from the lips of Horace Ilockingham, as he beheld his father hangin;j to the tree. It was a spectacle too tremendously fearful for even him. to Avithstand — a sight sullieient to startle tho most callous heart from its cold-blooded, inhuman apathy. As for myself I averted my eyes in horror from tho pendant body; and staggering against a tree, felt as if I were about to faint. “Cut him down!” I exclaimed, as a sudden thought struck me — tho hope that life might not yet bo extinct. “ No, not I !” said Horace, recovering his pre- sence of mind, and thci’ewith his wonted callous- ness. The next instant he turned upon his heel, plunged into tho wood, and was lost to my view. 1 was alone there with the hanging man : 1 felt that there was a duty to bo performed — but I could not perform it. Tho spark of life might yet linger in him— but I could not cut him down: I had no knife for the purpose. My horrified feelings were prompting ine to flee away — but I dared not yield to them while something might yet be done. Ah ! tho sounds of persons approach- ing met my cars ; and I cried out for help. Two labouring men were in a few moments upon the spot. Their horror paralysed them : but I vehe- mejitly urged them to do what I myself would have performed if I had possessed the means ; — and tho body was cut down. But it was indeed a corpse : life was extinct ! I bade them bear the body to the nearest public-house, — giving them money for the pur- pose. I then hurriedly retraced my way to the phaeton; and the coachman, on perceiving the ghastliness of my looks, inquired if I were ill. “No — yes,” I faltered out, scarcely knowing what I said : “ something horrible has happened ! You saw that man who just now entered the Avood Avhen I ordered you to stop P” “ Yes, ma’am — it was the same unfortunate person you relieved in the morning.” “And his intellects were deranged,” I continued, speaking hurriedly and in broken sentences : “ that Avas the reason I bade you stop— a presentiment of evil made me follow him — I felt interested in him — I had known him in better days — when he Avas a rich man ” “ dood God, ma’am! Avhat has happened.^” inquired the coachman, judging by my looks, my speech, and my manner that it Avas something terrible indeed. “Ho has made away with himself — I found him hanging to a tree Bid you not hear me shriekP” “No, infi’am — or I should haAm run to sec what AV'as the matter. But has be hung himself P” — and the coiu'linian’s looks reflected all the horror that still lingered in mine. “'rius’e! (here!” J. exclaimed, ])ointing in a certain tlireeliim. ’I’lio man Hung his looks thitlier; and ho per- ceived what I saw- namely, the two labourers enitTging from the wo(jd Into a lield, carrying I lie corpse between tlieni. “ l,(;t lii. go homo as quickly us wo cun,” .1 said; “for I feel very ill.” aMy thoughts were all in a whirl and in u sfatr) of confusion during tho roccoded to give certain exidanations to the Marchioness in re8j)ect to the manner in which it liad been discovered how Lady Lucia’s child was disposed of. lie went on to say that Frances was about to bo married to a gtxjd and steady man and that it was arranged tliat tliey sliould thenceforth take eharge of the little girl (who was * still to ho called .Jemima Miller) on a suitable ^ maintenance being guarajiteed. Lady Sudbury at once consented to give such guaninteo; and Beau- mont required a BCttlomcnt of sixty pounds a yciur upon Jemima, — thus leaving it to the future good feeling and generosity of those concerned to do more for her as she grew up. The Marchioness besought him that ho would not suffer Mr. Kvans and Frances to know whoso child it was; and to this ho readily gave his assent. Jlcr ladyship also prayed him to use his influence with mo to spare Lady Lucia’s honour for the future: where- upon ho somewhat haughtily replied that I was not a person to make her misfortunes a subject of idle gossip and scandal, lie then took his leave, well satisfied with the lesson which ho had given Lady Lucia Calthorpe, and the arrange- ment which had been effected in regard to her child. Such was the narrative which George Beaumont gave mo of his visit to the Marchioness of Sud- bury’s ; and shortly afterwards I had a long con- versation with Frances, describing to her the plans which had been formed and which had thus far progressed. She had no objection to urgo against them : on the contrary, she was delighted at the idea of being entrusted with the care of the child. It appeared that Mr. Evans had writ- ten a most affectionate letter ; and her blushes, as well as her joyous smiles, told me that he would not have to plead in vain for a renewal of their engagement and their speedy marriage. I now suggested that Frances should at once return to the country-village, taking the child with her; and I told her that Captain Beaumont would write to Mr. Evans, to intimate that the settlement upon the little girl would be duly made, and that the marriage had better take place as soon as circum- stances would permit. All these things were duly carried out. Frances bade me a most affectionate farewell; and in heartfelt terms she expressed her gratitude to Cap- tain Beaumont for all his kindness. She received the child from Mrs. Stirling, to whom the pro- mised ten guineas were presented ; and George’s own solicitor arranged the business in respect to the settlement, which was effected in the shape of an annuity. Lady Sudbury privately furnishing the requisite sum for the purpose. Within the month we received a letter from Frances, stating that she had become Mrs. Evans — and that those who had formerly been most prominent in the village in propagating scandalous reports with regard to her, were now the foremost to flock round and offer their felicitations. Before concluding this chapter, I must observe that through the bounty of Captain Beaumont, the remains of the unfortunate Mr. llockingham re- ceived decent burial. An inquest was holden upon the corpse ; and the two labouring men wore the witnesses who wore examined. My name did not in any way transpho in connexion with the pro- ceeding, — which was indeed brief enough, it being a clear case of suicide. The five sovereigns which I had given the unfortunate man, were found in his pocket ; and, as I have already stated, Beau- mont’s purse supplied the remainder of the sum | requisite for his interment. His heartless son was j ncitlier present at the inquest nor at the funeral ; and I a man who had once rolled in riches, and had been | surrounded by liosts of friends in the days ot his | [)ros[)oi ily, was followed to the grave by the mcr- j I liOSA LAMDEUT. 201 ceuary mourners whom the undertaker’s establish- 1 ment afforded. i CHAP TEE XXV L EAMSGATE. The shock which my nerves had sustained by the horrible spectacle in the wood, was more severe j than I had given Beaumont to understand. I kept my bed for some days, and was unable for a fort- night to leave my chamber. When however I once more got into the open air and was enabled to take exercise, my health rapidly improved ; and in another fortnight I was entirely restored to con- valescence ; — though I could not so speedily divest my mind of the painful impression produced upon it by that scene in the wood. Xo. 26 Scarcely was I thus beginning to enjoy the j blessings of health again, when a circumstance oc- curred which threatened to interrupt the happi- ness I was experiencing in my connexion with Beaumont. One morning, amongst the letters delivered at the breakfast-table, there was a long- shaped packet, with a very large seal, and with the words, “ On Her Majesty’s Service,” printed on ! the envelope. Beaumont’s countenance fell ; and ! I at once saw that there was something unplea- sant in store for me. He glanced uneasily at me and hastily opening the packet, read the contents of the official letter thus forwarded. I watched him with increasing anxiety; and when he had ' finished, he said in a voice full of emotion, “ This has indeed come most unexpectedly ! I am afraid ! that my father ” “ What is it, George ?” I inquired, will feverish haste. “ Eor heaven’s sake keep me nol in suspense !” 202 KOSA LAAini'RT. “• i uiji nppoinfod to tlio command of Mio Juno corvette,” ho answered ; ‘‘ and it is destined for service in the Cliinesc Seas.” ‘‘ Can I go with you r” I cafrcrly asked. “ Alas, no, dearest .lvo.;e,” he responded gloomily : then catching mo in his arms, ho cj:- claimed, “ Ihit a thousand thanks for this i)roof of your love! No, dearest girl — you cannot accompany me !— it would bo impossible for you to encounter the hardships of such long voyages — nor indeed should anything induce me to consent that you should dare them.” “ The hardships are notliing,” I responded, the tears streaming down my cheeks. ‘'You have been so kind and so good to mo— so indulgent and so fond — that I look u])on you as the best and dearest friend I ever possessed, (ieorge, I cannot separate from you !”— and I besought him to let me accoinpauy him. “ It will be anguish indeed for me to part from ^ you, Eose,” he said: “but it must be. We part however only for a time — four years at the out- side. During this interval you shall continue to enjoy the same position as if I were with you. I will not insult you, dearest Eose, by enjoining you to be true to lue : I know that you will And on my return,” he added, scarcely able to repress his emotions, “ you shall have the reward which you will merit — 1 will make you my wife.” I experienced so much grief at the idea of part- ing from one whom, even if I did not love him in the same sense that I had loved Arthur Brydges, I nevertheless regarded ae my dearest friend, — that my voice was choked with the intensity of my feelings ; and I could only utter a few broken and inarticulate words. “ We have need, dearest Eose,” he said, “ of all our firmness ; and let us not sadden the last few days we have to be together, by unavailing re- grets. I have no doubt that my father, thinking to afford me pleasure, has secretly used his in- fluence to obtain this appointment; and my duty as a naval ofEcer compels mo to accept it.” “ When must you depart ?” I inquired, exer- cising all my fortitude to keep my emotions under restraint. “ In three days I must be at Portsmouth,” be answered; “and it will perhaps take altogether a men til to commission toy vessel and fit her for sea.” “Oh, then,” I exclaimed, with a feeling of joy, “ we shall not be immediately separated ! You will permit me to go with you to Ports- mouth ?” Beaumont’s assent was unhesitatingly and cheerfully given ; and we mutually agreed that we Mould keep up our spirits and maintain a hapjiy demeanour to the utmost of our ability. in tliree days we went to Portsmouth, aud took lodgings while tlie .Juno was being lilted out. I will ijot dwell upon details wliich cun be of little interest to the readers. Sullieo it to say that it was to me a source of pleasure— or ut all events of salisfuction — to supcriiitend the a]>puintments of (leorgc’s cabin, so tli;it ho might bo rendered as comfortable as possible: and i must say that 1 felt pnmd of him when J bclield liiin, in liis Oaplaiii’s uniform, standing on the (luartcr-deck, the com- mander of that beautiful little vessel carrying (•ighteen guns. Ilia complement of seaiucu wa soon made up; and by the end of .luly, the .Tuno was in readiness t(j sail. Then came the parting moment; an n you, mv fair cou .ill ! ’ r.pli.- l i I aver.UocIi . “ 1 1 .t.v. v. ig you must really suli'-T ok! (o d., soirifthiiig lo amuse you. 'W'hai. say yon fo ajdc-ide ? It shall he upon (he sea-slmre ; 1 will invite tlie Mar.inis and a few other line lellowa of my ucjuaintanee. Some will liave their wives with tinmi — ” “And 1, you know,” was my grave rc.spoiise, “ am no wife !” “'What the deuce does that matter P” cried Sir John. “They will bo none the wiser.” “ It is nevertheless a cheat which I do not choo.'jc to practise,” was my rejoinder. “Well, well -just as you like,” exclaiuied th.j Baronet. “ But what cun 1 do to help you to while away tlie timeP You are fond of reading : you nearly alw’.ays have a book with you. May I come and pass an hour with you at your abode P I will read anything you like. You will (Iml rne a most amiable and attentive cousin. I will hold your skciii.s of silk for you — I will sing with you — for of course you are fond of music. I will sketch with you : for I am a famous hand with the pencil ” “ Y/^hat) countless qualifications!” I exclaimed, laughing, “ You are a regular lady’s man. Y^ou ought to marry.” “ Ob, marriage be hanged !” cried the Baronet, iiut since you have mentioned the subject, I will speak to you in confidence of my views and hopes. Of course, between cousins there may be a friendly and genuine unbosoming of tlie thoughts. The fact is, I have been rather gay — as all young men with plenty of money, are. You would not believe me if I told you that I was a saint in respect to the fair sex : and I will candidly confess that I am nofci Well, I know no living thing in nature except bees and butterflies that can for ever go on flitting from flower to flower, culling their succes- sive sweets, without becoming sated by the very variety of pleasure’s self. I am thus sated and thus wearied in that respect ; and I would give the world to find some beautiful, intellectual, and amiable being who would be unto me as a wife without the shackles of marriage. I am sure I could attach myself to such a being, and prove fiiithful, devoted, and constant.” “Never!” I exclaimed, laughing. “If you were thirty or forty, you might settle down thus tranquilly : but at two-and-twenty, the idea is simply ridiculous. We are speaking as cousins ; and of course in making me your confidante, you wish for my opinion. It is therefore this— that the element of fickleness is too strong in a young man of your age ” “Y'ou wrong me, my dear cousin — you wrong mo, I can assure you !” interrupted Haver- stock. “ When you come to know me better, you will alter your opinion. I have explained my views ; and I am perfectly sincere. To speak more candidly still, I know that a mistress is to be picked up in any place and at any moment : but it is not a creature, liowcver beautiful, who throws herself into the arms of the richest bidder, that I could love or from whom I should expect love in return. My object is to find some one who would lovo mo for myself alone. As a matter of course, I sliould render my riches available to ensure her well-being lor the present and her independence for tho rest of her life. This would be a duty ; EOSA LAMBEET. 211 but I should like it not to prove the selfish incen- tive to her own conduct in agreeing to become mine.” “ I am afraid, cousin,” I responded, still laugh- ing with every appearance of light-hearted gaiety, “you will have some difficulty in finding this paragon of perfection in the form of a mistress, I when it is even difficult to discover it in the shape ! of a wife.” “ And yet there are such beings in the world,” rejoined Haverstock, fixing his eyes upon me sig- nificantly for a moment : “ and when I do succeed in finding the charming creature who has hitherto constituted my ideal, the very rarity of the species will render me all the more solicitous to cherish and retain so great a treasure. I was just now- illustrating my meaning on one point by referring to the butterflies and bees. Let us go back to the same flitting and inconstant creatures for another illustration. Suppose a butterfly in a garden crowded with floral beauties : he culls the sweets of a lily — he flies to a pink — he settles for a few j moments on a honeysuckle — he wings his way to a gaudy tulip — thence to a blushing peony — he j coquettes with a dahlia — and he hovers upon the j tendrils of the jasmine. But suppose, at length, j when sated with that succession of sweets — when wearied as it were with his own inconstant flittings I — he finds a lovelier flow'er than any with which he has as yet disported say a rose, for in- j stance do you not think he would be a very j silly butterfly indeed, if he did not thenceforth re- main faithful to that charming and ravishing rose ?” This simile was so pointed, even in the delicately ingenious manner in which it was conveyed and wrapped up, that it was in itself a sort of over- ture : for the reader will perceive that it was my own name which he had chosen for the particular flower that was to rivet the love and constancy of the butterfly afiTording the illustration. But still I did not choose to have the air of comprehending it as an avowal directed expressly towards myself : ; it suited my purpose to wait until some future occasion when my cousin should become more ex- , plicit still, for fear lest if I prematurely displayed my indignation, he should turn coolly round upon me with the assurance that I had utterly and completely misapprehended his meaning. So I laughed, — exclaiming in the same tone of apparent I gaiety as before, “ You are so exceedingly poetical, I that I am more confirmed than ever in my j opinion of your unconquerable fickleness and want I of stability.” ! “ It is precisely because I am poetical,” he an- j swered, “ that I feel a capacity for loving tenderly j and well.” j “Poets are dreamers,” I rejoined; “and the love which exists in poems, is rather different from I -that which belongs to the real world.” ' “ This is an argument which I shall be glad to hold with you, fair cousin of mine,” answered the young Baronet. “I see that you are willing to 1 humour me so far as to give mo your advice; and j this is of course a duty between relatives. May I I call upon you at your own abode, and point out I passages in some of our finest poets, which I think w’ill convince you that the love they depict is the , same which the human heart in reality expe- I riences P” “ Oh ! I never should have the patience,” I ex- claimed, “ to enter seriously upon such an argu- ment. As for calling upon me, cousin, I am out of doors so much that the little time I pass at my lodgings is wholly taken up by reading and writing letters, and so forth. Besides, to speak very candidly — and of course between cousins an honest frankness can give no ofience~I could not receive the visits of one person without being at home to others ; and there is nothing I abominate more in the world than the idle ceremony of morn- ing calls.” Haverstock made no reply — and indeed remained silent for nearly a minute. It was evident he knew not exactly what to think of my observations ; and no doubt fearful of going too far on this occasion, Ive turned the discourse into another channel. As the Marquis of Belmore had done, he offered me his arm for a ramble : but I assured him that I much preferred sitting on the sands to enjoy the sea-breeze ; — and in a few minutes he left me. About ten days passed, during which my society was courted alternately by the Marquis of Belmore and my cousin Haverstock. Each one grew more and more significant in the discourse holden towards me ; they plied tender looks and meaning words as far as they thought it safe to venture ; but I always had the air of comprehending neither. During this interval I only saw Alvanly two or three times ; and then instead of accosting me, he merely bowed and passed on his way. The Marquis frequently expressed his desire to pay his respects to me at my own abode : but I invariably gave him a re- sponse which, though perfectly courteous, was suf- ficiently pointed to make him understand that I received no visitors. Sir John Haverstock rallied me on what he called my unkindness and wnint of confidence towards a relation who was desirous to show me every possible attention : but I still re- mained firm in my refusal to let him call upon me, — at the same time couching this refusal in terms that could not give him offence, much less make him suspect that I had any inkling of his real motives. One day, when it was the Marquis of Belmore’s turn to prosecute the siege on his own account, I saw by his look and his manner that he was in- wardly resolved to make a grand attack. I was seated upon the sands, as usual, when he accosted me : but it happened that there were very few per- sons on the same spot on this particular occasion. He took a chair by my side ; and after some few indifferent observations, said, “ Have you heard from Captain Beaumont since his departure ?” “ Yes — twice,” I responded : “ and he assures me that whenever he has an opportunity of send- ing a letter by a homeward-bound ship, he will avail himself of it.” “If I mistake not,” continued the Marquis, “ Captain Beaumont was ordered to the Chinese seas ? He will therefore be a very long time ab- sent.” “ Three or four years,” I answered : and I could not repress a sigh. “ Y'ou arc very much attached to liim ?” said Belmore, in a low voice, and gazing earnestly upon my countenance. “ Very,” was my answer. “ And you can make up your mind,” proceeded the Marquis, “ to all the gloom and dulness you ! I i I I I I I 212 ROSA LAMnERT. will have to experience during this long separation ? Pardon me for expressing the thought : but it ap- pears to me that a lady of your ago — your beauty — will find it difficult to habituate herself to a secluded existence, with no one to accompany her into the circles of gaiety.” “ I care not for them, my lord,” was my answer : and then I added with a smile, “ If 1 remember aright, your lordship assured mo about ten days back that you yourself were surfeited with plea- sure, and longed to settle down into a compara- tively quiet mode of existence.” “ Suffer me, my dear Mrs. Beaumont,” resumed the Marquis, “to explain what my ideas of real happiness and comfort now are. Picture to your- self a beautiful country-seat, sufficiently near a large town to permit the enjoyment of a select range of acquaintances— and sufficiently remote from it to bo charmingly rural. Fancy the dwell- ing to be cheerfully situate on an eminence, in the midst of pleasure grounds, where there are gar- dens, conservatories, and hot-houses — grass plats and ornamental pieces of water, on which stately swans float — a suitable retinue of domestics — car- riages and horses — in a word, everything suitable for the comforts and happiness of the occupants of that mansion. Such a dwelling and such a little domain do I possess : but it is impossible for me to settle down there, unless in the companionship of some charming creature whose presence will ani- mate and enliven the whole scene. Now you begin to comprehend, my dear Mrs. Beaumont, what my views of happiness are. I do not speak of mar- riage, remember : but I feel that I could bo more devoted as a lover than I possibly could as a hus- band. The lady who would consent to be my companion in that charming spot, should find me solicitous for her welfare. In plain terms, I would settle upon her a thousand a year, — so that if our tempers did not agree, or if any circumstances transpired to render a separation expedient, she would enjoy a competency for the remainder of her days. What think you of my views, Mrs. Beau- mont ?” “ Keally, my lord,” I responded, “ I am unable j to offer an opinion upon the matter.” “ Oh !” he abruptly exclaimed, “ it is not an opinion I ask — it is a decision that I solicit. I can keep silence no longer. You are the being I who can alone throw an additional charm upon i the domain of which I have spoken. I love you, dearest Eosa — I love you, adorable creature that you are ! Let not your response be one that will plunge me into despair !” I “ My lord,” I said, without looking him in the face, “ you are addressing me in language ” “ Oh ! you must have seen that you were not I indifferent to me !” cried the Marquis. “ Tell { me— I beseech you to tell me, that I am not j altogether indifferent to you ! Will you bo mine ? j I offer you a loving and affectionate heart : I offer j you all the haijpiness which I have the means of I creating for your enjoyment !” “In j)lain terms, my lord,” I said, still keeping my looks downcast, “ you propose that I should prove faithless to one who has placed confidence in me — ;fou demand that 1 should abandon my alle- giance to the absent Beaumont— and that I should transfer my affections to you whom I have not yet known a fortnight. This offer is in some j respects tempting— I will not deny it: but what j proof have I of your sincerity ? At present I have a position which is secure- ample resource* — a well-appointed residence in London — horse* and carriages ” “ Yes — but no companion to enable you to enjoy the real pleasures of life. You are condemned to a sort of solitude ; and this is to last for three or four years Oh ! as for my sincerity, de- mand of mo what proof you will, and it shall bo given !” “ You speak fairly, my lord,” I said, purposely adopting a subdued and murmuring tone, as if I were yielding more and more to the influence of temptation ; “ and it may appear exceedingly selfish and worldly-minded on my part — but still, my lord, I must have proofs of your sincerity. You do not offer mo marriage — and I am not so foolish as to expect such a proposition at your hands. But you have shadowed forth certain definite proposals -” “ Which I will give you in writing!” exclaimed Belmore, in that tone of exultation which sprang from a heart already glowing with the triumph of anticipated success. “No, my lord,” I rejoined: “I could not possibly barter myself, as it were, on such merce- nary principles. The word of a nobleman will be sufficient, if merely pledged in the presence of a couple of confidential friends.” “ Be it so !” he ejaculated : and the furtive glance which I quickly flung upon him, showed me that his countenance was radiant with joy and triumph. “ Ah, nothing can be better I I behold Haverstock and Alvanly walking yonder ! Have you any objection that my word of honour shall be pledged in their presence ? But perhaps — as I know that you were once intimate with Alvanly — and as Sir John is your cousin, you might hesitate ?” “Not at all, my lord,” I said. “Mr. Alvanly is now an object of as much indifference to me as I know that I am to him ; and as for Sir John Haverstock — although my cousin, he is no straight- laced relative who will chide or remonstrate. Let it therefore be in the presence of those two gentle- men that your proposition shall be renewed and the terms pledged on your word of honour.” My cousin and Alvanly did not appear to be observing us — though I knew full well that they both saw us right well, but had their own separate reasons for not seeming to do so. The Marquis of Belmore hastened towards them — but without go- ing close up, caught their eyes, and beckoned them to come to us. This they did. Alvanly saluted me with a distant courtesy, purposely assumed so as to evade the suspicion that there was any secret intelligence between us. Sir John Haver- stock grasped my hand with his wonted appear- ance of friendly warmth : but I saw that he glanced uneasily from me towards the Marquis. I looked serious and grave, as if conscious of the importance of the step I was taking : while Lord Belmore could not possibly conceal his triumphant feelings — so that they were expressed in the joyous animation of his countenance. “ My friends,” ho said, “ I have asked you to be present at a ceremony of a somewhat singular kind ; and it -is as friends that I have thus sought your assistance. The circumstance likewise affords ROSA LAMBERT. 213 a proof of the confidence which Mrs. Beaumont places in your honour and delicacy ” “ Is it to be a runaway marriage ?” asked my cousin Haverstock, with an endeavour to make a jest of the proceeding ; though his laugh was sickly enough, and his voice hollow with mingled rage and disappointment. “ Hot exactly that,” responded the Marquis of Belmore, evidently enjoying his friend’s discom- fiture, and then flinging a look of mingled tender- ness and triumph upon me. “ Perhaps if Mrs. Beaumont has no objection, she will herself put such questions to me that will elicit the answers whereof I desire you both to be the witnesses, and which will specify conditions that as a man of honour I pledge myself to fulfil.” “Yes— assuredly that will be the best course,” observed Sir John Haverstock, with another feeble attempt at a smile : and he darted a look of re- proach slightly blended with vindictiveness upon me. “ I have not the slightest objection,” said Mr. Alvanly, speaking in a cold voice, “ to act as witness to whatsover may be going forward ; and I beg it to be understood by all present that I am entirely a disinterested party.” “ An understanding being thus come to,” I said, at length breaking silence, “ I can have no objec- tion to put certain questions to his lordship. Ho —they shall not be questions: I will explain to you, gentlemen ” — now specifically addressing my- : self to Haverstock and Alvanly — “ the nature of a discourse which the Marquis of Belmore has done me the honour to hold within the last half-hour.” Then, with some show of modest confusion and embarrassment, I went on to say, “You must know, my dear cousin — and you likewise, Mr. Alvanly — that the Marquis of Belmore has avowed a sincere and devoted love for the humble indi- vidual who is now speaking. His lordship has confessed this passion in the strongest and most emphatic language; and he has displayed every inclination to give me the best proofs of his sin- cerity.” “ Yes — Mrs. Beaumont speaks correctly,” ex- claimed the Marquis, with another glance of tri- umph at Haverstock : “ and I would cheerfully throw myself upon the judgment of the whole world to decide whether the beautiful and charm- ing Eosa does not merit all that I have said to her and all that I purpose to do.” “ Spare your eulogies, Belmore,” said Haver- stock, who, notwithstanding his habit of cringing and fawning more or less towards his noble friend, could not altogether suppress a certain display of acrimony at the apparent result of a love-siege in which he himself had evidently expected to come off victorious. “ His lordship,” I continued, “ proposes to take me to his country-seat, all the charms and at- tractions of which he has depicted in that glow- ing and fascinating language which is so irresis- tible for a poor weak woman.” “ Yes — it is perfectly true,” said the Marquis, “that I purpose to instal my beloved Eosa as mistress of Belmore Manor.” “ You hear, gentlemen ?” I resumed ; “ and though you may possibly consider my conduct not merely as strange, but likewise as selfish, mer- cenary, and worldly-minded to a degree — yet I have given the Marquis of Belmore sufficient explanations on the subject.” “ Assuredly so,” cried the enamoured and tri- umphant Belmore. “ I am perfectly satisfied !” “ His lordship has furthermore pledged himself to settle upon me the sum of a thousand a year for life,” I went on to say ; “ so that whatsoever contingency may arise, he is anxious I should pos- sess a permanent proof of the immensity of his love. His lordship will tell you, my dear cousin — and you also, Mr. Alvanly— whether I have again spoken truly or not.” “ I have given my word of honour as a nobleman and a gentlemap,” exclaimed Belmore ; “ and I call upon you both to attest the solemn sincerity with which I repeat and ratify the pledge.” “I for one am a witness to the compact,” observed Alvanly ; “ and little though I like to have anything to do with such delicate matters,— yet having been thus drawn into the present one, I cannot possibly refuse to hold myself in readiness to give testimony at any time to the verbal bond into which your lordship thus enters.” “ And I of course am a witness also,” added Sir J ohn Haverstock : though he looked very much as if he would rather have been a principal than a second in the bargain. “ How therefore, gentlemen, congratulate me,” exclaimed the Marquis, “ upon the possession of one who is so well worthy of my love !” He was about to seize my hand — but I stepped back ; and with a tone and look which quite bewildered him, said, “Do not go away for a minute or two, my dear cousin— nor you, Mr. Al- vanly. I have spoken of that brilliant and fas- cinating power of language which the Marquis of Belmore possesses, and which I have no doubt wields as much influence in the Legislature of the country as it has done over my poor weak and feeble heart.” “ Eosa !” ejaculated the Marquis, in perfect astonishment, and not knowing whether to take my words in a complimentary or an ironical sense. “ Pray do not interrupt me, my lord,” I con- tinued. “ You have paid me so many flattering compliments, that in justice both to yourself and me I must express my opinion of you in the pre- sence of your friends.” Still the Marquis of Belmore stared in vacant bewilderment, but with a slightly growing uneasi- ness in his looks : while Sir John Haverstock exhibited the deepest interest and curiosity ; and Alvanly appeared cold and indifferent, according to the part which he necessarily had to perform in the progressing drama. “ It is the misfortune,” I continued, “ of women who possess the least claim to personal attractions, to find themselves persecuted, haunted, and beset by a number of arrogant coxcombs and conceited puppies who flatter themselves that they have only to speak a word and ensure their conquest at once. Especially too, if it be a woman’s misfor- tune to be placed in a position at all equivocal, it is taken for granted that she is both mercenary and profligate — that she is selfish and dissolute — incapable of constancy towards any particular individual — and ready to fling herself fnto the arms of any suitor who offers a higher price than that which she has already obtained. Thus is it that females in my position are literally put up to 214 TIOSA LAMnKTlT. auction, almost against their own will, so to speak ; and it is considered as a matter of course that they will transfer themselves like bales of mcrchan- dizo Irom one buyer to another.” “ Good heavens, what docs she mean ?” exclaimed I the Marquis, still uncertain how all this would end, and whether it would bo turned into a com- pliment towards himself, or whether it was really a bitter satire, as his growing uneasiness proved that his fears suggested. “ It means. Lord Belmore,” I continued, now gradually changing my tone from one of sedate seriousness into that of irony and sarcasm, — “it means that though I am a female placed in an equivocal position, I do not consider myself an object for the licentious thoughts and depraved overtures of every worn-out debauchee, though his age bo not more than a few years past twenty. I am not dazzled by a titled suitor. The veriest puppy may bear a fine name : the grovelling spaniel that suffers itself to be whipped, may be called Cmsar, Pompey, or even Nelson. Neither does a moustache upon the lip -prove an index of genuine manliness of the heart. Do you begin to comprehend me? If not, learn in plainer language still, that from the first moment your attentions towards me became marked, I have scorned and despised you. Were I a man, I would inflict personal chastisement upon -you with a horsewhip. Language has no power to convey the utter contempt which I entertain for so paltry a coxcomb. Aristocracy, though already sufli- ciently degraded by its numerous misdeeds, is yet brought down into a still lower depth of abase- ment when it hangs about such a being as you are. And now, my lord, go and tempt others with your beautiful country-seat — its grass plats, its conservatories, and its ornamental water ! — go and find others to accept your settlements of a thousand a year ! I despise them all.” While I was thus speaking — my voice increasing in bitterness of sarcasm, and my looks gathering a still greater power of blighting contempt and withering scorn — the Marquis of Belmore grew white as a sheet : the colour forsook his very lips ■ — he bit them — they quivered with concentrated rage, — until at last his whole form trembled — he clenched his fists visibly with a strong involuntary spasm : he could have flown at me like a tiger. “By heaven!” he ejaculated, “ I will be avenged for all this 1” — and turning abruptly upon his heel, he walked away. “ Mr. Alvanly,” I said, “ I am sorry that you should have been dragged into such a scene as this : but inasmuch as you undertook to become a i witness of whatsoever was to occur, I hope that j you will faitlifully fulfil your promise — and that if the time should come wdien your testimony ' may be requisite, you will give it frankly a)\d i iinjjartially.” j “ J t will ho assuredly my duty so to do,” rc- ' spoiulefl Alvaidy, though assuming the air of one j who ri'lisljcd as little us miglit bo the whole pro- j ceeding into whicii he was thus drawn. “And ^ now, Mrs. lleaumoiil, I beg lo wisli you good day. 1 have no (loul>t y(ni have sitriilii,r injunctions to I give to your cousin us those wliicli I. luivo just re- I ceived.” I I'hus speaking, Alvanly rais(‘d his hat, and j walked oil' in tlio direction contrary to that one which the Marquis of Belmore had alrea. I had therefore no reason to imagine that there had been any treacherous connivance on the par t of any one of my own household: because if so, the door might have been unlocked by means of the key. I directed the attention of one of the male domestics to the circumstance of the door having been thus forced — but gave no explanations of what had occurred. The man attributed it to some mischievous boys who occasionally sought the paddock as a playground ; and I did not think it worth while to disturb him in this belief. I how- ever gave orders that a carpenter should be sent for to board the door completely over on the inner side. When I had leisure to reflect upon the incident I have been relating, I fouAd myself more and more at a loss to conjecture who could be the author of the outrage. It assuredly was not Toby Grayson : for he would have managed matters per- sonally, and not have intrusted them to a deputy. It could not be Sir John Haverstock : for in the first place he was out of town — but even if he were not, he would not pursue such a course at the very time that his sister was visiting me. It could not be Horace Eockingham : for only a few days had elapsed since I beheld him in a state of penury and rags ; and it was by no means probable his fortunes had undergone so sudden a change as to put him in possession of the means to hire a post- chaise and fee the agents of the outrage. Was I to arrive at the conclusion that the authorship thereof must be attributed to the Marquis of Bel- more .P This solution of the mystery certainly appeared the most probable : but it was after all a mere surmise — and the mystery remained one still. But whoever my intending persecutor might be, I felt assured, from the boldness and audacity which had characterized the attempt already made, he would not be diverted from his purpose by this failure : I felt exceedingly uneasy at my position in that secluded villa; and I was half-inclined to remove more into London. But I was never prone to abandon myself with facility to the suggestions 222 nOSA LAMlIKlir. of my fears; and several days passed wliilo I was liositatinpr what course I sliould pursue. I took good care to secure iny cliambcr-door on retiring to rest — to burn a taper tliroughout the iiiglit — iind to have the bell-pull so arranged at my'bcd’a bead that I could ring an alarm in a moment, il'^or the ftrstfew nights, however, after the outrage to Joanna, my rest was broken with troubled and uneasy dreams ; and I caught myself starting up in bed with the apprehension that some one was in the room. J3y degrees however my mind got more settled: days grow into weeks— no farther irianifestation of covert treachery or open violence rcrvealed itself — and thus, with continued security, I gradually lost the impression made upon my mi ud by the incident 1 have related. One afternoon I again encountered lEoraco lie ckingham. The circumstances were precisely live same as on the former occasion about three w( eks previously. I W’as alighting from my car- ri(igo to enter a shop, and he w'as coming along the street with the downcast looks of one who de eply felt his fallen condition, and who dreaded h st he should be thus recognised by those who had k nown him in better days. I hurried forward to- wards the shop-door, in order to avoid him : for I and we separated, — she departing in her own carriage, and I proceeding in mine to the offices of the solicitor whose name and address were indicated in the newspaper-report which had afforded the suggestion. Those offices were situ- ated in Newgate Street, City; and on arriving there, I had to wait until nearly six o’clock before the solicitor came in. I explained to him the dis- tressing purpose which had brought me thither ; and placing on his desk a bank-note for fifty pounds, besought him to spare no expense in con- ducting my unfortunate brother’s case. He at once gave me the assurance that everything should be done that circumstances would permit : but when he asked me for the details of the affair, I was utterly unable to afford them. Seeing how distressed I was, the solicitor kindly offered to go at once to the station-house and see my brother, in order to obtain from his own lips the particu- lars of the case. I begged him to do so — ^bade him take my carriage, which was waiting — and I would remain at the office until his return. He departed, and was about an hour absent. When he came back, he informed me that he had seen my brother, and had learnt that he was in custody on the charge of having forged and uttered a cheque for the sum of one thousand pounds, with tho intention of de- frauding a banking firm at the West End of the town. It appeared that the name he had so forged, was that of a gentleman of property residing in Grosvonor Square, and with whom he had by some In^'^ans or another got acquainted a short time back, Tho forgery was instantaneously detected at the bank ou tho cheque being presented : no money was th‘R’(>foro paid upon the draft; and iny ROSA LA’VfBERT. 225 brother, on seeing the clerk look suspiciously at the document, had fled precipitately from tlie | establishment. A wai’rant had been issued for his ’ apprehension : but he had succeeded in evading ' it until this day, when he was seized upon by the ' two officers in whose custody I had beheld him. ! A hope again arose in my mind. What if I could induce the bankers and the gentleman whoso name was forged, to abstain from prosecuting P I put this question to the solicitor : but he shook his head ominously, — observing that it was a hope scarcely to be indulged in for a single instant. Nevertheless I was determined to yield to the impulse of my own idea. I procured the addresses of the bankers and the gentleman, from the notes which the solicitor had taken at the station-house; and entering my carriage, drove off to the West End. My first visit was paid to the private resi- dence of the managing partner in the bank ; and I obtained an interview with that individual. He No. 29. sympailiizod deeply with the anguish which I displayed, and which was, alas! all too genuine: but he could hold out no hope that my prayer wmuld be acceded to. I remained wdth him nearly an hour, irrging him with the most piteous lamen- tations to give me an affirmative response : but it was all in vain. 1 was compelled to take my departure ; and re-entering the carriage, sum- moned all my fortitude to my aid white being driven to Grosvenor Square. The gentleman ; whom I sought was at home. He was a middle- aged man — a groat sporting character; and it was on the race -course that he had formed my bi’other’s acquaintance. Deceived by the plausi- bility of Cyril’s manners and the various repre- sentations which he made, this gentleman conceived a liking for him — invited him to his house — and treated him in the most friendly' wmy. He also advanced him money; and being in the habit of paying evei*y thing by moans of cheques on his 220 iiosA ]>amrei:t. bankers, be bad thus "iven three or four drafts to Cyril. My wretebed brotber by eomo means obtained possession of a blank cboquo from tbe gentleman’s book, and filled it up in tbe manner already known to me. Towards tbis gentleman I renewed tbe prayers and entreaties wbicb I bad addressed to tbe baidicr, — imploring that be bimstlf would not only show mercy, but that be would use bis influence with the bankers them- selves. All my iutcrccssiou was however unavail- ing ; and I was compelled to take my dc))artiu’c with no better success than I had experienced from the previous visit. It was almost in a heart-broken slate that I now returned homeward. I threw myself back in tbe carriage, weeping bitterly. There was frenzy in my brain : horrible images trooped through ray iimigination. I belield my brother standing in tbe duck of a criminal tribunal ; I heard judg- ment pronounced upon him; and I saw him in a felon’s dress on board a convict-hulk. The agony of my soul was intense ; and I writlicd in poignant excruciations. When I reached (he villa, I was so completely worn out with my mental sufferings — so thoroughly exhausted both in body and mind — that I had to be lifted out of the carriage. The servants were seriously alarmed ; and I remember one of them suggested that a medical man should be immediately sent for — but 1 forbade any such proceeding. Then I heard my maid say that Miss Haverstock was waiting for me in the drawing-room ; and I experienced some degree of consolation from this announcement. Leaning on my maid’s arm, I proceeded to the drawing-room, — bidding her retire as I entered ; for I did not choose her to witness that outburst of atlliction which I felt was about to have vent. “Good heavens, what anguish! what misery!” I exclaimed, as I threw myself into the arms that were opened to receive me. “ Console yourself, dear cousin — console your- self, I beseech you ! ’ were tbe words softly breathed in my cars. “ Give not way to this wild grief! It will change nothing of the dreadful calamity wbicb has occurred.” “ Ah, my dear Joanna,” I murmured, sobbing and weeping upon her bosom, “ I feel as if I w’ere going out of my mind. Oh, it was most consi- derate— most kind on your part to come back to me ! But how long have you been here .p” — for as sIjc bad her bonnet and shawl on, I conjectured that she must have arrived not many minutes be- fore my return. “ I have been waiting for you. about half-an- hour,” was tbe response. “I could not endure the tbouglit of leaving you all alone : I knew you would require solace— perhaps advice. An oppor- tunity enabled me to come to you: my mother has gon(( Ibr a couple of days to some I'riends in tbe coiuilry.” ‘•()b, would that you could remain with mo, (learest Joanmi, idlogeLlier !” I said, — “or at least unlil my mind bee(m. ;.s sufli(.denlly Htrcngtbcucd to suj poi't my iilllicl inn ” “ J I is itiipu(;f^d.)le I can leave you thus, dearest Tin; c,” was llie softly < liisjaTed imswer. “No — I caiimJ ! It was ikA ny iniciition to do aught be: ide ing you a bu-.’ri('d visit, to learn what }ou have done willi the lawyer, and to say a l.vw v.cu'dii of syiMjial by iind conboluliuii : but i shall stay with you at least till tbe morrow. You are very ill.” “Yes, Joanna,” 1 murmured faintly, “I am very, very ill. i\Iy feelings have been dreadfully wrought upon: niy ]»rniii is all in a whirl. And yet there is a dimness upon my sight. If I look at an object, it seems to danco in a mist before me.” “Had you not better retire to your cliambcr at once?” said my companion ; “and 1 will bo your nurse. Not for worlds would I leave you in such a state ! No— even if my mother were ut homo, I would not abandon you !” “ Dearest Joanna,” I murmured, embracing her with the warmest gratitude. “ Yes — I will accept your kindly offered services. A'ou shall assist me to my chamber : I have not the strength to pro- ceed thither unsuccoured.” “ Oh, how rejoiced I am that I should have come back ! I never should have forgiven myself if I had abandoned you at such a crisis ! Come, dearest cousin — lean upon my arm: I will conduct you up-stairs. Yes — I will be your nurse : no one shall do a thing for you except myself. Come, dear Bose — lean upon me.” “ How kind of you I” I faintly murmured : for I felt so exhausted and ill that wdien I afterwards thought of it, I could well understand that extreme of lassitude and languor both of mind and body which finds expression in the words “ that one could lay oneself down and die.” My companion, breathing the kindest syllables in my ear, sup- ported me up-stairs; and when we reached the chamber, this zealous assistant aided me to put off my apparel. In a few minutes I was in bed ; and being utterly worn out, I soon fell asleep. When I awoke the room was enveloped in utter darkness ; and the scream which was on the point of thrilling from my lips, was stopped by the hand that was placed over them ; while a well known — too well known voice, now speaking in its own natural accents, and no longer feigned, said quickly, “ If you alarm the house, you proclaim your own dishonour !” “ Wretch 1 miscreant !” T exclaimed, tearing myself away from his embrace ; and I sprang from the couch. CHAPTEE XXIX. IHE WAGER WON. The reader has doubtless fathomed it all. I had become the victim of a villain — and that villain Sir John Haverstock ! I fell upon my knees by the side of the bed — buried my face in my hands — and sobbed with a convulsive bitterness which no language can describe. Oh, the excruciations of soul which I then experienced !— Oh the poig- nant agonies which were mine ! There was a moment when, starting up to my feet, the idea of suicide flashed to my brain ; and I rushed to the window for the i)uvpose of precipitating myself thence. But my foot got entangled in some clotlics which lay upon the lloor — T fell forward — the side of )ny liciulVtnick against the carved leg of tho toilet-table— a)ul consciousness abandoned me. EOSA LAMBEET. 227 I When I awoke, the gray dawn of a winti’y morning was peeping in at the windows : I was again in bed — in the arms of the unscrupulous miscreant Haverstock. Again, too, for an instant did a terrific idea flash to my imagination — but this time it was not that of suicide : it was the idea of wreaking a horrible vengeance upon my cousin : I thought of murdering him then and there. But all in an instant a change took place within me. No — that was not the course which I ought to pursue. It would be a poor vengeance indeed, which would redound upon myself and send me to the scaffold. I must adopt another and a difierent plan. “ You have won your wager,” I said, in a voice which sounded not merely cold, but frightfully unnatural even to my own ears ; and at the same time I descended from the couch. “ Love and vengeance have been simultaneously gratified, my fair cousin,” responded Sir John } Haverstock. “ But how knew you,” he inquired, with a triumphant laugh, “ that there was a wager depending upon it?” I instantaneously saw that I had committed an error, and that the betrayal of Alvanly would be complete unless I said something to produce a contrary effect and even in the midst of the deep blank despair which filled my soul, I had self-possession enough to remain conscious of my duty towards Gustavus. “ How knew I that you had laid a wager of a particular character P” I said, as I hastened to huddle on some of my clothes. “ I will tell you. One day at Eamsgate, when you little thought I was nigh, I overheard you and the Marquis of Belmore discussing the subject which so nearly concerned myself. And now you comprehend wherefore I was so bitter in my taunts and denun- ciations against your precious companion— and all of which w'ere likewise intended for yourself.” “ And you will admit that it is now cleverly done on my part,” exclaimed Sir John, as he sprang from the couch. “It* was cleverly done,” I answered j “and I have no doubt you will receive with infinite satis- faction the amount of the wager.” “ You must not fancy that my sister had any- thing to do with this trick,” cried the Baronet. “I am convinced,” was my rejoinder, “that there is as much difference between your sister , and yourself as there is between the purest stream- let and the foullest ditch.” “ Thanks for the compliment, sweet cousin of mine,” said Sir John, with a mocking laugh. “ I suppose you will tell my sister all about it ?” ‘ “ Before I answer your question,” I said, “have : the goodness to tell me by what means you will convince the Marquis of Belmore that you have won your wager ?” ^ “I have already taken a ^ttle precaution to that effect, my sweet cousin,” replied Haverstock. “ Perhaps you would like a word or two of ex- planation ?” j I remained silent — and continued dressing my- ^ self with a sort of mechanical coldness ; and my ; features, as I glanced in the mirror, were rigid i with despair. 1 “ Of course you understand full well, my dear I cousin,” continued Haverstock, “ that I sent my 1 sister to you in order to further my own views. She is, as you have doubtless found her, an unsus- | picious, artless creature — just the very instrument that w'as needed for such an object. I trusted to the chapter of accidents to develop some plan by which I might achieve success. I thought perhaps that through Joanna a reconciliation might pos- sibly be effected between you and mo after a while : because I did not then suspect that you were acquainted with the existence of the wager. Well, I came back to town yesterday, and learnt from Joanna how intimate she had become with you, and also in what distress of mind you w'ere | plunged on account of your brother. She told j me that you had gone to a solicitor ; and I cal- culated that you would take all sorts of steps to get the matter hushed up. I even foresaw that 1 you would return home miserable, wretched, and ] exhausted. This was my opportunity : I had an j appointment with Belmore : w’e were to dine toge- | ther. I told him what I purposed: I told him likewise what he was to do. To procure some of my sister’s apparel unknowm to her, was an easy matter ; and I trusted to the striking resemblance I bore her, and to the effeminacy of my own looks, to carry out the deception. You see I speak frankly. Instead of being ashamed of that effe- ■ minacy of looks, I rejoice in it, since it has pro- cured me this triumph. Well, I came into the neighbourhood of your villa ; and at a given spot I was joined by the Marquis of Belmore. He saw me enter the house : he himself clambered over the wall and sought some concealment amongst the evergreens. At least this is what I told him to do. — ‘Watch the front door well,’ I said; ‘and if you see that I do not issue forth again ere all the lights in the house are put out, you may take it for granted that I have succeeded in my aim.’ — ■ Those were the words I spoke ere I separated from Belmore ; and there is no doubt that he tarried upon the watch. Now, Eose, you are aware of everything : and perhaps you will be kind enough to tell me whether you purpose to acquaint my sister with what has occurred ?” “ There is one more question which you must answer,” I said, in the same cold voice and with the same glacial manner as before; “and then I will ' respond to your query.” “ And this question, my fair cousin ?” asked Sir John, who all along maintained a certain i flippancy and levity which was intended to express ^ his satisfaction and triumph. i “ Am I to understand,” I inquired, “ that you will make this incident the subject of vaunt amongst your friends and acquaintances P” “Eeally I am not so bad as all that. Matters which regard the fair sex, you know, my sweet cousin, are always sacred with men of honour.” “ I am glad to learn that you are a man of honour,” I said, with cold irony : “because it is a | piece of intelligence altogether new to me.” I “ You are bitter, my sweet cousin,” responded j Haverstock. “But those who win may laugh; j and my satisfaction is so complete, that I can | lightly bear all your taunting and irony. As for | the question which you put to me, I have no j hesitation in declaring that I sLj^ll not make a boast of this pretty little triumph of mine : though I it is certainly an immense sacrifice on my part to deny myself so much self-glorifying pleasure.” | “ But your friend the Marquis of Belmore?” I i I 223 ■ROSA LAMBERT. snicl : “ ho of courso will spread tho scandal every- 1 wlicrc? lie owes mo a grudge — and ho will pay it.” ! Not in that coin, my fair cousin,” answered , Jlaverstock. “ Tho best proof of our sincere [ desire to manage matters with all duo secrecy and delicacy, is to be found in tho plan wdiieh 1 sug- gested as a means of convincing tho Maripiis of my success. No — I would ])lodgo myself for him as well as for myself, that if you really wish tho business to bo hushed up, it shall bo so. Jhit why not accept my protection ? You may as well after all that has occurred ” “ Never, Sir John Jlaverstock ! You may ex- pose me — you may persuade your noble friend ” — and I accentuated tho word printed in italic — “to expose me likewise : but you shall not coerce mo into living with you ! Would you know my 1 opinion of you P” | “ Assuredly, if it will afford you any gratifi- ^ cation to proclaim it :” — and the liaronet still spoke with a heartless levity. “ You may as well become acquainted with my sentiments,” I rejoined. “But let me convey I them in the shape of questions. What think you * of a man who employs his own pure-minded sister to become his agent in the carrying out of a scheme of stupendous villany ? What think you of the man who could throw his sister in the way of the woman whom he has vowed to defile ? What think you of the man who could take advan- tage of the moment when that said woman is plunged into the bitterest aflliction on account of a criminal brother ? What think you of tho man who could deliberately and in cold blood calculate that his nefarious opportunity would be afforded by the mental and physical exhaustion produced by the dreadful distress of mind experienced by ! his intended victim ? In a word. Sir John Haver- j stock, what think you of the man who when his ! crime is consummated, can treat it with the most heartless levity and parade it as a subject for self- 1 glorification and triumph ?” “Perhaps you will allow me to answer you, my fair cousin, by means of a few questions likewise — as this appears to be a style of discourse fraught with special gratification to yourself. What think you,” proceeded Sir John Haverstock, “of the woman who having been tho mistress of divers persons who are known — and doubtless of several others who are not known — nevertheless plays the prude with such cool effrontery ” “ Sir, your language proclaims you to be a mean and paltry coward, as your deeds have already shown you to be a black-hearted villain ! Now,” 1 continued, “if you have the slightest particle of generosity left, you will apparel yourself without delay— you will draw the veil over your counte- nance — you will descend with me to tho hall — you will refuse tho apparently pressing invitation which I will give you to breakfast — and you will take your departure. Will you do all this?” I dcmamled. “ Jf not, you may as well at once pro- claim to all my domestics tho full measure of your villany.” “And about Joanna F” inquired tho Baronet, who was all this time surveying me with an air of insolent and half-mocking triumph. “ JJo as I have suggested,” was my response, “ and your sister shall rcmaiir in ignorauco of what has occurred. But I think you would do well. Sir John, to fake some measuro to prevent her from visiting me for the future. It would be impossible for mo to conceal a certain feeling whensoever your name should bo mentioned by her lips in a word, I would rather see your sister Joanna no more. You wield a potent inllucnco over her— l/iai is evident enough. Use it, then, for tho purpose which I have named.” “Well, if you wish it, tho thing shall of courso be done,” replied Haverstock ; “ though at this moment I don’t see how tho deuce it is to bo managed— for Joanna has conceived such an affoc- tion towards you ” “ You tftusl manage it,” I said peremptorily. “I will even put tho subject in another light. Are you so infamous and so base — have you so little regard for your pui*e-minded and virtuous sister — that you could suffer her to continue tho friend and companion of a woman whom you your- self have pliiTiged more deeply down into the vortex of shame, degradation, and dishonour ” “Well, well,” said Haverstock, “I suppose it must be as you dictate. Now, what is tho uso of your continuing to wear that cold fierce look? I really thought matters would take a different turn “ Will you spare me any farther discussion r” I asked: “have you not injured mo enough? are you not satisfied with what you have done ? will you tell me what frightful injury I have been guilty of towards you, that you should have marked me out as the victim of bitterest perse- cution ? In a word. Sir John Haverstock, will you act at once in the manner that I ere now defined ?” “ I will, if it pleases you,” he said. “Of courso I don’t want to provoke you unnecessarily, my fair cousin.” “ It is somewhat late to think of showing me mercy,” I rejoined : “ but still there is f/iis mercy which you can display — and I crave it at your hands.” “ You must help me, then, with some of these articles of female raiment,” he replied, laughing ; “or else I shall go forth so awkwardly dressed that your servants will penetrate the disguise. Just put my apparel as it ought to be; and trust me for assuming such a feminine gait and so sweetly mincing a pace, as well as such elegant gestures, that the imitation of my sister shall be perfect.” I at once acceded to his request, — though I would have laid my hands with equal pleasure upon a coiled-up snake. He endeavoured to win, by his own looks, good-humour up into mine, and to force a smile from my lips : but my manner continued cold as ice — the expression of my coun- tenance changed not from its glacial rigidity. In a few minutes his toilet was completed ; though for my own sake I rendered it as femininely per- fect as I possibly could. We descended tho stairs together : fortunately we encountered none of the servants ; but when we reached the hall, I gave him an apparently pressing invitation to remain and partake of breakfast, — of course addi’essing him as Joanna; and all this I did that I might bo overheard if any of tho menials wore nigh enough to catch what was said. He acted in ac- cordance with his promise,— assuming his sister’s JLOSA. LAMBERT. 229 voice, and repl^'ing with all suitable endearments, as if it were she herself who was speaking. In- deed I am fain to confess that he played his part so well I could not wonder he bad succeeded on the previous evening in deceiving my own maid, lie left the villa ; and I was once more alone. When he had taken his departure, I sat down at the breakfast-table, feigning to partake of the meal as usual, just as if nothing of so extraordi- nary a character had happened as to render the very sight of food loathsome to me — as indeed it now was ; for I had not the least appetite. What my real feelings were, can be better imagined than described: my only consolation was the hope of vengeance — and this I was determined to wreak most fearfully, if ever the opportunity should serve ; and if one presented itself not of its own accord, I was resolved to study the means of creat- ing it. But what course, the reader will perhaps ask, did I intend to pursue with regard to Beau- mont ? My mind was already made up in this respect. I must be the mistress of somebody : therefore why not continue to be his mistress when he should return? I purposed not to reveal to him what had occurred ; but on the other hand I had no intention of practising so wicked a cheat as to yield to his entreaties that I would become his wife. No : of that honour I was no longer worthy : villany had forced me aside from the path of constancy which I had resolved to pursue. True was it that I had not erred willingly nor wilfully : but, alas for poor unfortunate woman ! this extenuation is worth little indeed. I felt that I must say something to my maid to account for the situation in which I had returned home on the previous evening — not merely for her own satisfaction, but likewise that she might re- port to the other servants what I said. The coachman and the footman were of course already aware that I had been to a solicitor’s and had subsequently called at two houses at the West End of the town : they had seen my agitation — but they had no idea of the cause. I took a speedy opportunity to inform my maid that a relation of mine had fallen into a serious embarrassment, which had much afflicted me ; and that I had en- deavoured to extricate him thence. But I entered into no farther particulars — much less did I suffer her to understand that the individual of whom I spoke was my own brother. No one in the house knew that my proper name was Lambert : for since the departure of Frances, my father’s letters (addressed to me as Miss Lambert) were directed, according to my instructions, at a local post-office where I occasionally called to inquire for them. Thus there was no chance — or at least only a re- mote one, of its being discovered that the Cyril Lambert M'ho was that day to stand before a ma- gistrate, charged with the crime of forgery, was veritably and truly my own brother ! I did not go to the police-office to hear the ex- amination : I knew that my presence there would not benefit Cyril, and that the scene would be un- likely enough to cheer or console me— but, on the contrary, only too well calculated to plunge me all the more deeply, if possible, into the abyss of utter woe. But I was not the less anxious to hear the result. I could scarcely doubt what it would bo ; and yet there was a glimmer of hope in my nuad ihat perhaps the banker and the gentleman whose name was forged, might think better of the negative response they had given to my piteous en- treaties of the preceding evening. Between three and four o’clock I repaired in the carriage to the solicitor’s office ; and as I alighted, he himself reached the door on his return from the police- court. I ascended with him to his own room ; and he at once told me that my brother was committed for trial. The intelligence, though far from unex- pected, nevertheless produced a powerful effect upon me, inasmuch as it destroyed the last faint hope in which I had endeavoured to cradle myself. I inquired what the penalty of Cyril’s crime was likely to be ; and here again the response I received was more than half anticipated. Transportation for a lengthened period would inevitably prove his doom, — unless indeed the prosecutors could yet bo induced to proffer a recommendation to mercy at the time of the trial, in which case there might be some mitigation of the severity of the sentence. On the following day I had a most painful task to perform. This was to write to my father and make him acquainted with Cyril’s crime and pre- dicament : for inasmuch as the case was in the newspapers, it could not possibly be concealed from our parent’s knowledge. I however earnestly counselled and entreated my father not to think of coming up to London to appear in the matter, — adding that he might rest assured I would do all that under circumstances could be done on my unhappy brother’s behalf. By return of post I received a letter from my father, expressing the deepest affliction at the intelligence which had reached him, — and declaring that notwithstanding my injunctions to the contrary, be should certainly have hastened up to London at once, were it not that he had been attacked by the gout and was therefore confined to his room. In the meanwhile I had called upon the banker and the gentleman in Grosvenor Square, in the hope of softening their hearts; and I made some little impression upon the latter, though .1 could not elicit a completely favourable response. In a few days — on the occasion of another visit — I prevailed upon that gentleman to promise that he would recommend my brother to mercy : but the banker held out against all my representations and prayers. Ho dilated at great length upon the heinousness of the crime of forgery — of the necessity of making an example for the sake of society in general and of all banking-houses in particular : he spoke of the impossibility of commercial and financial operations being properly carried on, unless the full stringency of the law were invoked to punish delinquents ; and he interspersed his discourse with a great number of moral maxims, which made me think that though so hard to deal with, the banker must be a man of the sternest and even the most stoical probity. Nevertheless, he still appeared to sym- pathize as deeply with me on my own special account, as he had done the first time I ever called upon him : but towards my brother he continued implacable ; and I was constrained to issue forth from his presence without having succeeded in my object. This was the day previous to the one on which the trial was to take place ; and there- fore the matter stood thus— that the gentleman whose name was forged, would recommend my brother to mercy, but that the banker on whom 230 llOSA T>AAfru;i(T. I 1 ! ! ! tL *3 forged draff was drawn, would not join in tho prayer. Three weeks had now passed since Cyril’s com- mittal for trial ; and in the meantime I liad visited him thrice in Newgate. Thitlier I had bent my way on foot, dressed in my plainest apparel, and stealing as it were to tlie door of tho otninous- looking gaol with a sensation as if I myself were a culprit, dreading to ho observed, and recoiling from tho chance of recognition. 1 found him on each occasion dogged and sullen, or else full of a dev*il-mo-caro recklessness. It was all in vain to speak to him of contrition for his past misdeeds: he looked at me as if he thought that such a recommendation came unsuitably enough from such lips as mine. I felt that he had but too much right thus to regard me, but t he idea only added to the deep, deep bitterness of my harassed and harrowed feelings. I told him what 1 was doing on his behalf in respect to tho prosecutors : but ho was far more interested in the fact that I harl lodged money with the tavern-keeper opposite the gaol, so that he might be supplied with his meals from outside instead of being compelled to take the prison allowance. Altogether I could not conceal from myself the dreadful conviction that the unfortunate Cyril was a lost character. The reader may be assured that the three weeks which thus elapsed from that memorable date which was marked by such a storm of frightful harrowing incidents for me, constituted by no means a happy epoch in my existence. The sense of the diabolic outrage which I had sustained at the hands of my cousin Sir John liaverstock — tlie branding infamy which had affixed itself upon ray brother — the reflection that my own deplorable fate had rendered it impossible that I should any longer aspire to the hope of becoming Cap- tain Beaumont’s wife, sustained a perpetual agita- tion of the brain, which at times made me feel as if I were going mad. And I had no one to con- sole me — no one to whose ear I could reveal my sorrows— no one from w'hose lips I could receive the language of sympathy and solace ! Joanna Haverstock had ceased to visit me; and when alone at the villa — when in the solitude of the sumptuously furnished drawing-room or the ele- gantly appointed bed-chamber, I was yielding per- force to the excruciating current of my thoughts, I regretted that I had enjoined her brother to for- bid those visits, which, despite her close kinship with himself, I now felt would be a relief and a consolation. The morning of tlie trial dawned; and it was with the utmost difficulty I could conceal from my maid tho frightful agitation which was revel- ling and rioting in my brain. It was in the first instance my purpose to remain at home, and await the corning of the solicitor to communicate the result ; but my feverish suspense and my restless anxiety grew into a positive frenzy: the atmo- sphere of a room seemed to stifle mo — I longed for tlie fresh air — I felt tliat I must go out, and that I must do something to occujy myself, or I should become frantic, i had already pretended to have bu^iness of my own in hand at tho solicitor’s ; and tlioro was consequently no need of a pretext to re- jiair tliitlier. 1 went in the carriage, — hut ilis- inis 3 i;() it, observing lo the domoHlics in attendance npim tho eijuipage, that 1 had numerous deeds to I look over (hat f knew not how long I hIiouM bo detained nml that 1 wonhl return homo in a hire I vehicle. Wearily Oh ! how wearily, passed the hours in (hat lawyer’s office. -time seemed to drag itself along with a leaden step, although my thoughts were all in a whirl. Hut at length — at about two o’clock in the aftm-noon -the at- tornoy made liis ajipearanec ; and then 1 learnt the result. Tlic gentleman whoso inine had been forged, faithfully and honourably fulfilled tho pro- mise ho harl made - to me, and strongly recom- mended my unhappy brother to tlie inereyoftho court: while, on (he other hand, the hanker had remained equally true to his declaration, that ho could not, consistently with his own notioi.s of justice, join in that recommendation. Neverthe- less, the gentleman’s humane pleading had its weight ; and as no other circumstance to the pre- judice of Cyril’s charaeder was brought before the court, the judge consirlcred that he might deal somewhat leniently with (lie rase. Instead of transportation therefore, my brother was sentenced lo imprisonment in a convict-hulk for a period of two years. Now that the trial was over, I regained some- what of ray former calmness : that is to say, tho hurrjg the whirl, and the agitation which for three weeks had been raging in my brain, experienced a partial abatement. I thanked tho solicitor for the zeal which lie had displayed in conducting tho case ; and when his account was sent in, I paid it | liberally. But the day succeeding the trial was marked by an incident singularly and painfully illustrating the dark and occult phases of the human character. At about noon on that day, — just four-and-twenty hours after the banker had stood in the witness-box in the Old Bailey, bearing evidence against ray brother, and sternly remain- ing silent at the moment when he might have echoed the other jirosecutor’s recommendation to mercy, — the doors of his bank were closed, a notice was placarded to the effect that payments were suspended, and he himself at once absconded. Within a few hours after this occurrence, it was discovered that he, — that very banker — the rigid moralist — the upholder of society’s laws — the im- placable invoker of the country’s justice against a delinquent,— had committed forgeries to a very large amount, and warrants were issued for his apprehension. I may here add that he never was caught — but that he succeeded in making his escape to the United States; and thi-ee or four years afterwards, my eye chanced to light upon a paragraph in a newspaper, stating that this gen- tleman — once the eminent banker of such-and-such a street at the AVest Bad of London, — was living in a princely manner upon a Virginian plantation, ' which he had purchased — that he was the owner 1 of numerous slaves whom he treated diabolically — but that bo had built a chapel and school-house on his estate; and was therefore regarded as a i pattern of morality by all tho neighbouring planters and slaveholders. To return however to tho thread of my nar- rative. I paid one more visit to my brother before ho was removed to the hulks at AVoohvich ; and his first question was wliethor I had got any money about me ? I inquired of what use money would now bo to him -or how ho hoped to secure it against tho personal exiiinination he would have ROSA LAMBERT. 231 to undergo wlicu borne to the convict-ship ? As for the use, he replied, I might rest assured he would render the cash available for some purpose 1 or another ; and as for the task of concealing it, I that was his business and not mine. He spoke i with an admixture of flippancy and brutality, of I cold-blooded doggedness and hardened recklessness, j which shocked me profoundly. I however con- j coaled my emotions as well as I was able •, and j managed, unseen by any one else, to slip fifty pounds in bank-notes and gold into his hands.] "We then parted ; and I retui’ned, with tears in my eyes and woe in my heart, to my own re- sidence — while he remained within the ominous walls of Newgate, to be thence conveyed on the following morning, along with a number of other delinquents, to his destination at Woolwich. I wrote to my father, acquainting him with the result, and expressing a hope that Cyril’s infamy had not come to the knowledge of the people at Hawthorn. Anxiously did I await my father’s response : because if it should prove favourable to my hopes, I purposed to pay Hawthorn a visit ; for my soul craved for change of scene, and the company of some one to relieve me from a solitude which was becoming intolei'able. But, al^ ! I w'as doomed to be disappointed : the newspapers had so fully reported Cyril’s case, that it was generally known throughout the country ; and I dared not return to Hawthorn to become the object of attention on the part of all my father’s neiglibours. It was one afternoon — a week having elapsed since the trial — that I was seated in the parlour at the villa, wrapped in gloomiest meditation, and half vacantly gazing forth upon the trees on which 'the snow of winter now rested, — when I beheld a gentleman approaching the house, one of the ser- vants having just given him admittance by the garden-gate. A second glance showed me that he was the Marquis of Belmore ; and starting up from my seat, I' was on the point of ringing the bell to deny myself, when the thought suddenly struck me that such a proceeding would seem strange to the domestics, inasmuch as the Marquis had evidently been already informed that I was at home. I therefore resumed my chair ; and when he was announced, I received him with the most glacial manner I could possibly assume. The ser- vant retired : Belmore quietly took a seat j and gazing upon me with a look of cool libertine inso- lence, he observed in a half careless manner, “ So you seem surprised at this visit ?” “ I ought not to be surprised at any deed of un- gentlemanly daring which your lordship may take it into your head to perform — and as I thus spoke, 1 flung upon him a glance of indignation and scorn. “ That air becomes you as admirably as any other, my dear Airs. Beaumont,” he said : “ but really, if you will put it off for a moment, I shall be enabled to enter with all the more satisfaction on the busi- ness which has brought me hither.” “ There is no possible business,” I answered, “ which your lordship can have to transact with me ; and if I were not alone here, and unpro- tected, you would not dare force yourself upon my presence.” “ Think you not, beautiful Bose,” he asked, fix- ing his libertine gaze upon me, “ that your image is ever present in my memory ? And such being the case, you need no longer feel sui’prised that I thus seek your presence ?” “ Surely your lordship,” I tauntingly rejoined, “must have had sufficient experience, at Baras- gate, of the value which I set upon your love and admii’ation ” “ Oh, then, if you mean to be bitter and sarcas- tic,” he cried, “I should perhaps do as well to assume a high tone at once. Look you, Bose ” “How dare you, my lord, address me thus familiarly ?” I demanded, my cheeks flushing with indignation. “Do you possess the feelings of a man that you can thus come hither to insult one who is friendless and unprotected ?” “ It is precisely because I do possess the feelings of a man that I am here now. Those feelings,” he continiied, “ have made me both love and hate you. I love you because you are beautiful : I hate you because you treated me most mercilessly. But give me your love now — and all my hatred vanishes in a moment. Bose, I am come to renew the offers which I made you at Bamsgate, and which you then rejected. Let the past be buried in oblivion. A'ou say that you are friendless: — in me behold a friend. You say that you -are unprotected : — I offer myself as your protector. Grive me your de- cision.” “Is there another wager dependent upon the result ?” I inquired, with a malicious look. “ I know that you are fully acquainted with all the circumstances of that wager,” responded the Marquis, unmoved and unabashed. “Your cousin Haverstock ” “ The villain !” I could not help ejaculating: and I added bitterly, “ He shall yet repent the fiend- like outrage he perpetrated against me ! Yes — I can full well conjecture that not a syllable which passed between him and me on that occasion, re- mained uncommunicated to your lordship And, Oh ! was it not a glorious achievement — that foul treachery practised towards his own cousin ! And was it not a magnanimous exploit* on your lordship’s part — to crouch, and lurk, and hide amongst the trees to watch how long he remained within these wails ? What sublime chivalry ! Truly the English people should be proud of their aristocracy, w'hen its worth or its capacities are illustrated in the deeds thus performed by a Mar- quis and a Baronet !” “ Wherefore so much bitterness ?” inquired Belmore. “ I really hoped and fancied ” “ That I might be induced to receive you more favourably!''” I exclaimed. “Ah! by the bye, my lord — previous to that outrage consummated by your worthy companion in iniquity, was I not right in suspecting that in a certain transaction your handiwork was recognisable ?” For a moment the Alarquis looked confused : but almost immediately an insolent smile appeared upon his lips ; and then he laughed outright, — exclaiming, “ Ah ! you saw through it, did you ? That stupid old procuress Mother Brough— or rather her son Mark spoilt the whole affair by carrying off the wrong person.” “ Then it was your lordship,” I ejaculated, rage flushing my countenance with the deepest crimson, “ who set that iniquitous machinery to work ! And yet you dare come into my presence now ? — you dare obtrude yourself thus ? What would 232 KOSA LAMBERT. jour lordship think if I were to ring the bell nnd Buramon mj male domestics to thrust you hence ?” “Even if you were to summon them for such a purpose,’' answered Belmorc coolly, “ I should soon teach them manners by knocking them both down : for let mo tell you that 1 have not taken lessons of Ned Brallagan, the Champion of Eng- land, for nothing.” “Then, in addition to your lordship’s other maniiold accomplishments,” I observed contemptu- ously, “you excel in the art of pugilism. Perhaps you are attached to the delectable amusement of wrenching off knockers— of beating the police — o^ upsetting apple-women’s stalls— of tearing down barber’s poles — of shifting signs— and, in a word, all those elegant little recreations in which, as 1 have heard, the youthful scions of the British aristocracy so much excel.” “ Go on. Rose, as long as ever you like,” said Behnore, still maintaining a cool insolence both of look and manner. “ Every phase which your countenance assumes, only develops some new charm to enhance my love ; and every word which falls from your lips, only tends to confirm my hatred. I told you just now that if you dared to summon your lacqueys, I would speedily make them repent any audacity which they might think fit to display ; and now I tell you that you will dare to summon them at all. No!— as Mrs. Beaumont you seek to live respectably^' he con- tinued, with a sneer ; “ and you would not risk the chance of my proclaiming that your real name is Rosa Lambert, and that you are the sister of him wdio the other day ” “ My lord,” I interrupted the Marquis, in a low deep voice, as I felt that my countenance grew deadly pale, even to my very lips, — “this is beyond even cow^ardice on your part : it is a diabolic cruelty — a fiendish inhumanity! What do you want with me ?” I ejaculated, with an abruptness which for the moment startled him. “You re- peated certain overtures which were previously rejected : and I reject them again ! Now, will you leave me ? Beware, my lord, how you drive me to desperation. If you think to coerce me by threats and menaces, you are wrong. Nay, more —if you proclaim war against me, and commence the campaign by exposing me in the presence of my domestics, I will at once take up arms in my own defence — I will seek a magistrate, and publicly brand you in a police-court as what you really are —a villanous, unscrupulous, cowardly persecutor of an unoffending and unprotected female !” “It was not my intention,” replied Belmore, still speaking coolly, “ to descend to any such mean and pitiful arts as that of exposing you in the presence of your servants. I came to offer you jriy protection— and you refuse it. You re- ceive me in a way w hich places us in antagonism : — by your own conduct you make us enemies. Tlien, be it so ! As for your threat about the magistrate, I value it no more than your menace to summon your lacqueys. I have sworn you shall be mine- nnd mine you shall bo. Tliero arc a thousand reasons wherofimo I have sworn this. I long to possess you— and 1 will possess you. I long to bo revenged upon you— and J will bo re- venged upon you. J\ly rival in a wager sueeceded in winning you aye, anil in winning tlio wager at the sumo time : and he exults over me. It shall sooner or later l)o for mo to exult. Ah I you would know the truth ? Well, bo it so. There is an- other wager laid. The former one was for five hundred guineas- and I lost it; this is for one thousand — and 1 will win it.” “ Villain !” I interrupted him, starting up to my feet, my blood boiling in every vein, and my eyes flashing fire: “you dare talk thus to my face? Begone begone, I say !— or by heaven, I shall not many moments longer remain the mis- tress of ray own actions !” — and I stamped my foot with an uncontrollable rage. “Yes— I am about to take ray departure,” re- turned the Marquis of Belmore, with a cool and easy insolence which goaded mo well nigh to an infuriate frenzy : “ and if you choose to create exposure, or engender suspicion amongst your domestics, by any intemperate vehemence on your own part, it will bo your fault — not mine. When I came hither just now, I did not think that the conversation would take such a turn : it was my hope that we might manage matters peaceably and amicably — or at all events, that we might discuss them quietly. But it has happened otherwise ; and your’s is the fault. However, we now under- stand each other; and I do not at all regret that I have put you upon your guard as to my inten- tions. The honour of the triumph, when achieved — its glory and its rejoicing — will be all the greater. Then indeed may I exult over your cousin Haverstock : for he took you unawares — whereas I have given due notice of war ; and • the result, if in my favour, will be all the more credit- able for me. Really, Rose, you ought to feel proud to find yourself the object of all this atten- tion — this trouble — this besieging and beleaguer- ing — and this wager-laying. It is not every young lady who holds so lofty a position.” Having thus spoken, the Marquis of Belmore bowed with a sort of free and easy courtesy, and issued from my presence. I had listened to him in silence throughout the delivery of his last long speech, because the warning which he had given me against betraying aught to the domestics, through my vehemence, had suddenly made me aware of the prudence of his suggestion. I had resumed the seat from which I had sprung a few moments before ; and though my countenance wa« averted, as if in sovereign contempt, I nevertheless did listen to every word he uttered, in order that I might become so far acquainted with his inten- tions and hopes as he thought fit to reveal them. When he had taken his departure, I reflected upon all the details of this interview. At first I wept scalding tears to think that I w'as thus made the object of infamous w'agers and abominable plots — ■ that I should bo the focus of the ribald thoughts and libertine competition of two unprincipled pro- fligates : but soon wiping away the tears, I said to myself, “This weakness is unworthy of me! If I yield to its influence, it may seem to my own senses as a harbinger of defeat in the warfare which has just been proclaimed. No — rather let mo arm myself with all my courage to encounter whatsoever devices and machinations an unscru- pulous miscreant may seek to put in force. If I bo ujxjn my guard, how can I be vanquished ? — if my eyes bo open, how can I walk into a snare? I am not again to bo tricked with drugged wine: I 1 am not again td bo deluded by a villaiu in a female EOSA LAilBERT. 233 garb. If violence be attempted, it shall be re- pelled by violence. And now, my lord of Bel- more,” I added in apostrophe to the image of the young nobleman, “ we shall see who will be the victor and who the vanquished !” It was v/ith a sort of scornful exultation that I thus wound up my reflections : it was with a proud confldence that I repudiated all other means of ballliug his intrigues than those wherewith my own energies served to fortify me. To a certain extent a change had taken place within me : there was a sort of cynical bitterness in my heart, as if I were now warring completely with the world, and as if I were resolved to accept the challenge and meet it boldly and bravely. I caught myself laughing the bitter laugh of scorn — indulging in that mockery which in itself is the proof of a dis- eased and morbid mind. I did not think of flying from the villa, nor of hiding myself in some remote place, so as to baffle pursuit and defy libertine No. 30. machination. The very war which had been pro- claimed against me, gave me occupation for my thoughts— weaned them to a certain extent from other and more distressing topics — and almost made me glory in that very solitude which by leaving me the more defenceless, would render my triumph all the more complete in being enabled to defend myself. I returned to my former habits— rode out on horseback, attended by a groom— or went shopping in my carriage. By day, when at home at the villa, I kept a pair of loaded pistols locked up in a table-drawer in the room in which I sat : the key of that drawer was concealed in my bosom ready for use at any moment. By night, when in the solitude of my own chamber, I had the same loaded pistols by my bed-side — the bell-pull close at my bed’s head — a light constantly burning in the apartment — the door locked — and glass ornaments ranged along the top of the lower sashes of the 231 . I,’M-A T.AATllERT. windows, so ilmf; nny atf.cmpt to opon tlioin from tlic outside would iiicvitahly throw down tlic orna- ments and with the crasli startle mo up from my sleep. A month however passed away without develop- in£^ t he slightest sign of plot or stratagem on Bel- more’s part— but, alas ! not without making mo aware that I was again to be, in the most bitter sense, a martyr to the villany of a fiend in human shape. CHABTEK XXX. II ran GATE archway. Yes — a month had passed since Belmore’s visit, and consequently two months since the date of my brother’s arrest and of the outrage which I had ex- perienced from ray cousin Sir John Haverstock. I found l.hat I was a second time in the way to be- come a mother : I could no longer conceal it from myself— though for months yet I might conceal it from the world. But did I shed tears now ? No : I yearned for a deadly, a fearful revenge — a re- venge against Haverstock as terrible as the injury which he had wrought me. Even if after the in- fliction of that injury, I had still clung to the pur- pose of fitting myself by the reformation and the purity of my life, to accompany Beaumont to the altar, that hope would have been now annihilated ; though, as the reader is aware, I in reality had ceased to entertain it from the instant that I was sullied and polluted with tho miscreant Haver- stock’s crowning infamy. No — I shed not any tears now : my eye-balls throbbed as I thought of all my wrongs— but they remained dry : my heart palpitated— but it was with the deep pantings for a fearful revenge. One day I was riding on horseback, attended as usual by my groom, in the neighbourhood of High- gate ; and I had nearly ascended the very steep hill which bears that name, when I perceived a lane branching off to the right, and turned my horse into it. The groom immediately rode up to my side ; and touching his hat, said, “If you please, ma’am, this is Hornsey Lane.” “ Oh, indeed !” I observed, thinking that he was merely giving me a piece of information as to tho particular locality ; though I was certainly somewhat surprised that he should take it into his head to address me, inasmuch as he had never done so before, but had been wont to follow in silence whithersoever I had chosen to lead. “Yos, ma’am,” he continued; “it is Hornsey Lane, aud it loads over tho Arcliway.” “Ah, 1 recollect!” I said; — “that immense liigh arcliway under which wo passed tho other day w'li(!ii wo went along tho Barnet road ? But do you think, ’’—for I now began to comprehend that there was a sort of warning in tho man’s words, — “but do you think that there is any danger P” “ 'I’lio Arcliway is so high, ma’am,” responded Ihe groom, “ that a jiei'son iiassing over on horso- hiick, when looking down, is apt to bo giddy — or at l(!UHt Bomo poojilo are.” “ fUit i am novel’ troubled with giddiness,” I answered, with a smile. “Thank you for your consideration on my account : it is liowever un- necessary.” “ Beg your pardon, ma’am,” persislod tlie grroein, “but your horse is rather fresh and spiriti'd ; and though you do manage him as well ns a lior; e was over managed by any lady that I’ve had the honour to attend upon, — still accidents may liappcn, ma’am.” “But if I mistake not,” I observed, “ tin' re is a high parapet on cither side of tho Arch- way ?” “So there is, ma’am; but not so high,” con- tinued tho groom, “ that a horso could not fling its rider over if it roared or shied, or played any tricks. Horses themselves, ma’am, get friglitcned sometimes at such places, just as humau b 'ings do. I don’t know wliothcr it is with dizzincis or what not— but it is a fact all tlio samf.':” and the man accentuated his words earnestly as ho spoke. “I really have no fear,” I said, making a gesture for the groom to retreat into his proper place. “ Beg your pardon, ma’am,” he perse vcr In gly continued, “ but there was a farmer pitched off Ids horso over the Archway some three or four years ago ; and down ho went crash to the bottom. An- other accident too saving your presence, ma’am, it was a sweep in his cart— about seven or eight years back— for I was living up in Hornsey Lane then, and my master which was at the time, acted as foreman at the inquest Well, ma’am, tho horse jibbed and shied ; the sweep stood up in his cart to thrash the poor animal and make him go on: ho j ust gave one dash towards the parapet— the sweep was pitched right over — he caught tho top of the stone railings, and would have saved himself— but the wheel of the cart, as the horse rushed on, scraped against his hands, making him let go— and down the poor fellow tumbled. I .saw his body afterwards : it was shockingly smashed, as well it might be after a fall of a good hundred and twenty feet.” I must confess that these anecdotes made tho blood run cold in my veins: but just as the groom had done speaking, we came in sight of the bridge over the Archway. A gentleman on horseback was approaching from the opposite direction ; and I felt that it would be an act of cowardice to re- treat. Besides, I wanted to return home ; and I had no relish for the idea of descending the steep of Highgate Hill up which the horses had toiled a few minutes before. So I resolved to proceed ; and tho groom, finding that I was thus obstinate — as he doubtless considered me to be— fell back to his proper station a few yards behind me. Every resident in the metropolis— or at least the greater portion of the dwellers in the multi- tudinous city — must have an intimate acquaintance with Highgate Archway : but for the benefit of provincial readers, I will give a brief description thereof. From tho bottom of Highgate Hill, branches off tho Barnet Hoad, which, though itself an ascent, is novortholcss a cutting through a por- tion of tho hill. The ground on cither side rises, until at tho extreme height it is spanned by a lofty . brick arch, over wbicli, on a succession of arches, | the bridge is carried — thus having the air of a i viaduct over tho deep cutting of a railway, but much Jiighor than tho generality of such viaducts 1 EOSA LAMBEET. are. Indeed, the height of Highgate Archway is, ns already stated, a hundred and twenty feet ; and it must be a strong head which does not experience dizziness when looking down from that eminence, especially if the individual be perched on the top of a vehicle or on the back of a horse. Such was the place which I was now about to cross, and in connexion with which my groom, in his kind con- sideration, had told me such tragic anecdotes to serve as a fearful warning. We entered upon the bridge on one side, just as the gentleman on horseback was entering upon it on the other. He was mounted on a superb chesnut steed, which for the first few moments riveted my attention: for I was ever an admirer of those noble animals which man has subjugated to his uses and trained to his purposes. But my ej'cs soon settled on the countenance of the rider ; and I could scarcely check an ejaculation of astonishment and hatred, when I at once recognised the countenance of Mr. Winter, the gay and dashing money-lender of Chester. This recognition was mutual and simultaneous ; and Winter, in a half-familiar, half-courteous way, nourished his riding-whip to bestow a sportsman-like salutation. Whether it were on account of the whip passing thus suddenly before his horse’s eye — or whether the animal were seized with that species of dread of which my groom had just been speaking, I cannot say : but certain it is that the splendid chesnut steed at once grew restive — shied, and swerved. Wintei*, with an oath, struck his spurs into its flanks, at the same time hitting it a smart cut over the shoulder. I have often noticed that the playfulness or the viciousness of one horse ^vill disturb the temper or excite the mettle of other horses that are near at the time ; and so it was on this occasion : for mine instantaneously began to prance and show every inclination to display its antics. The groom was by my side in a moment ; and his hand caught the bridle of my horse, he imploring me to sit fast. “JSTow then, steady! steady!” cried Winter to his own steed, which was shying and swerving again. “ Ah ! you will have it, will you ?” he exclaimed, as the chesnut reared up; and he lashed the animal unmercifully with his whip. “ Tor God’s sake have a care, sir !” shouted my groom ; “ or there will be an accident.” I never yet was beaten by a horse,” replied Winter, “ and never will be !” At that very moment a sudden gust of wind blew off my riding-hat, the elastic strap yielding to the power of the gust ; and it was carried right across the bridge, only a yard or two in front of the chesnut, — the blue veil fluttering as it rolled. An ejaculation of horror burst from the lips of the groom, instantaneously followed by a cry of mortal terror on the part of Winter: for the chesnut had reared completely up against the parapet — and the next moment its unhappy rider was thrown over. He caught the top of that stone parapet for an instant : I saw him cling to it as his lips sent forth the despairing, anguished words, “ For God’s sake help me !” The groom, leaping from his horse, flew to Winter’s succour; the chesnut bounded away — and whether it were that the saddle grazed against the wretched victim’s hands, or whether in the fearful horror of his position his brain grew dizzy | as he hung over the frightful abyss, I cannot toll — for my own brain was swimming swiftly round ; 1 but certain it was that in an instant he disap* I peared from my view. Appalling and rending to a degree — piercing, wild, and penetrating, were the shrieks and cries of agony which came up from that abyss for a few quick brief moments: and then all was still ! I slid down from my horse : if I had not done so I should have fallen off— for I felt as if about to faint. Several minutes elapsed ere I could in any w'ay collect my thoughts, or persuade myself that what had taken place was otherwise than a dream. At length I looked around. The chesnut was standing at the farther extremity of the bridge — the groom, with a countenance ghastly white and his looks expressing unutterable horror, was lean- ing against the parapet, his back towards it. The thought that now flashed to me was that the finger of Providence was to a certain degree visible in this accident : for there was a sort of retributive justice in the coincidence that the man who had so deeply, foully, and ruthlessly wronged me, should perish thus horribly before my very eyes. Still, profoundly as I had hated him — stupendous as was the injury I had experienced at his hands — and ready as I should have been to wreak a suitable vengeance upon him, — heaven knows that I would have asked not for him to die such a death as this. It was too horrible ; and still did I feel sick at heart — still was there a swimming in my brain, for many, many minutes after it was all over. “ You see, ma’am,” said the groom, approaching me, and speaking in a low, deep voice, “ the warn- ing I gave you was not so uncalled for after all ; though thank God, the thing itself has not hap- pened to either one of us. You seemed to know that gentleman, ma’am ?” “Yes,” I answered, scarcely able to give utter- ance to a syllable : “ he is a gentleman of Chester — I had some slight knowledge of him — his name is Andrew Winter. But let us get away from this dreadful place.” The groom took and led the two horses over the viaduct — and indeed several yards farther along the lane, so as to make sure that when we re- mounted we should be completely out of danger. “Perhaps, ma’am,” he said, “you w'ould rather not ride any more this morning ? I can lead your horse home; and you can ask to sit down in one of these houses till I send the carriage up.” Several of the inhabitants of the houses thus alluded to, had come forth on hearing the frightful cries sent up by the unfortunate man during the two or three moments of his fall ; and perhaps some of them had witnessed the dread spectacle from their windows. Two or three ladies came out and pressed me to walk in and compose myself — an invitation which I was half inclined to accept ; but fearful of being questioned as to my previous knowdedge of the individual whose tragic end had just created such a sensation, I declined the proffered courtesy — mounted my horse, with the groom’s assistance — and rode away. For upwards of a week the incident of High- gate Archway left a most painful impression on my mind — so as almost completely to absorb the 23G nOSA LAMBERT. sense of the fearful wronpf which some time back I had experienced at Winter’s hands. I should observe that my grooni attended at the inquest which was holdcn on his remains, — my own pre- sence being unnecessary. My domestic informed me that he beheld the corpse, which was so horribly mutilated, mangled, and shattered, that he should never again think of it without a cold shudder and a sensation of horror. It was about a fortnight after the tragedy, and when the hideous impression it had produced upon my mind was beginning to wear off, that the following occurrence took place. It was my custom to dine at five o’clock ; and one evening, I had just concluded my repast, when a servant entered and said that a young female requested to see mo. I ordered her to bo admitted; and wdicn she entered the room, I saw that she had a most respectable appearance — that she was tolerably good-looking — with an air of becoming modesty — but yet with a certain anxiety expressed upon her coantenance. She was plainly but neatly dressed, and seemed like a small tradesman’s daughter. The servant retired ; and I asked the young woman her business. “ If you please, ma’am,” she said, “ I come upon a very distressing subject 1 live at Woolwich, with my parents ” Woolwich! — that name immediately smote mo with the idea that the young woman’s visit was in some way connected with my brother. I bade her sit down, and entreated her to tell mo at once whatsoever she had to impart. “I come, ma’am,” she responded, “on behalf of one who is closely connected with you.” “ Cyril ! — my brother !” I ejaculated in feverish anxiety. “ What of him Speak I speak !” “ Pray do not flurry yourself, ma’am,” said the young woman, who had the air of being a kind- hearted creature, and who hesitated to reveal the full truth at once, so that I apprehended some- thing dreadful and was tortured by suspense. “ Mr. Lambert — your brother ” “Yes, yes!” I ejaculated: “he is my brother For God’s sake, speak !” “ Do not be offended, ma’am, if I make an un- pleasant allusion But he has escaped ” “ Ah ! — escaped ?” and for the moment I felt relieved : but another glance at her countenance showed me that there was more yet behind. “ Yes, ma’am — he has escaped,” continued the young woman : “ but — but — he received a shot from a sentinel’s musket ” “ Good God!— and he is dead .P” I murmured shudderingly. “No, ma’am,” rejoined my visitress : “but — but — he is dying !” “ Dying ! And ho has sent you to mo ?” “ 1 came up from Woolwich on purpose, ma’am. Your poor brother besought that he miglit sec you once again before ho breathed his last. lie is very penitent — quite resigned to die ” I will accompany you at onco!” I ex- claimed, starting uj) from my scat in a condition of nervous excitement : but ns a thought suddenly struck rno, 1 hesitated — stoj)pcd short — turned again towards the young woman — and contemplat- ing her with i)iorcing scrutiny, inquired, “ But how did you (ind out my abode P” — for 1 perfectly well remembered that on no occasion of my inter- | views with Cyril in Newgate had I mentioned Iho place of my residence. Indeed, I had purposely , abstained from doing so. j The young woman met my look with all the ! modest composure of sincerity and truthfulness— and unhesitatingly replied, “ Your brother could not tell me, ma’am, where you lived : but he directed me to Mr. , the solicitor in Newgate Street, to whom I explained the object of my visit to London ; and ho told mo to come hero.” “ You are a good young woman,” I answered ; “ and I will prove my gratitude.” I was then about to order the carriage ; but I reflected that if I proceeded in my own equipage, the servants nccomp)anying it would bo almost sure to discover that which I had all along been so anxious to keep concealed from them — namely, my close kinship with the Cyril Lambert whoso trial for forgery was paraded in all the public prints. “ Arc there any means, by public conveyance/’ I said to the young woman, “of reaching Wool- wich this evening and speedily ?” She responded that there would bo a coach leaving Graccchurch Street at seven o’clock, and that it was her purpose to return home by it. I at once said that I would accompany her; and expecting to bo detained away from home until the morrow at least— if not longer — I rang tho bell for my maid. “ This young woman,” I said, “ has brought mo* the intelligence that a near relative of mine is lying dangerously ill at some little distance in tho country. I am going with her : I may be absent for a day or two. Put mo up a few necessaries in the smallest portmanteau ; and bring me down my plainest bonnet and shawl.” These instructions were speedily executed ; and in the meantime I learnt that the young woman’s name was Fanshawe, and that her father was a clerk in the dockyard at Woolwich. I put to her a question or two in respect to the solicitor of Newgate Street, in order to convince myself that she had really seen him : but I did not suffer her to perceive that I was thus speaking for a special motive. Her answers were completely satisfactory ; and if there had been any lingering doubt in my mind as to her truthfulness, it was now completely cleared up. The reader may easily comprehend wherefore I was thus upon my guard : for I had resolved not to be taken unawares, nor easily led into any snare, by the villanous machinations of the Marquis of Belmore. When however I looked at the innocent countenance of Miss Fanshawe — > observed the ingenuousness of her language — and reflected on the perfect consistency of her tale, it was impossible to suspect any longer that there was aught sinister in her mission. My maid entered with the apparel I had or- dered : the portmanteau was in readiness in the hall ; and the groom was summoned to follow us with it to the nearest point at Highbury whore a cab could bo obtained. To bo brief. Miss Fan- shawo and myself reached Graccchurch Street just in time to save the Woolwich coach, and to secure two places inside. As tho other two were occupied, wo were unable to converse on tho sad topic which was uppermost in my mind ; and as I had no heart to talk on other subjects, tho journey was pursued for tho most part in silence. EOSA LAMBERT. It was about half-past eight when the eoach en- tered the town of Woolwich; and wo alighted at the office where it put up, — Miss Fanshawe in- forming me that her homo was only in the next street, and observing that if the portmanteau were left at the office, her father would send some one to fetch it; for that I was welcome to pass the night at their house, if I thought fit. I thanked her most cordially for the invitation that was given with a sympathizing warmth ; and as we proceeded together to our destination, I tremblingly inquired whether she thought that I should find my bro- ther alive ? “ I sincerely hope so, dear madam,” she re- sponded : “ but I dare not prophesy too much nor too confidently. My father sent for a doctor for the poor young man ; and I am bound to inform you that the doctor said the case was hopeless, but that he might linger for several hours yet.” “You have not told mo,” I observed, “how it was that my unfortunate brother found himself beneath your hospitable roof ? And as you said that Mr. Fanshawe is a clerk in the dock- yard ” “ Ah, ma’am !” interrupted the young woman, “ if it were known that my father harboured him, he would lose his situation. But my father is a very kind-hearted man ; and he has run the risk from purely Christian motives. My mother too has done all she could for your poor brother But here we are.” Thus speaking. Miss Fanshawe knocked at the door of a small but respectable-looking house, so far as I could judge of its exterior in the darkness of the evening ; for the lamps in the street where the house was situated, were dim, few, and far between. The door was immediately opened by a good-looking, neatly dressed woman, about forty years of age, who at once said as she beheld her daughter and me, “ Oh, I am so glad Mrs. Beau- mont has come !” “ He still lives then ?” I asked, in the hushed voice which was in keeping with the solemn and painful feelings which filled my soul. “ Yes, ma’am — the poor young gentleman lives,” responded Mrs. Fanshawe ; “ and that is all I can say. Will you walk into the parlour and compose yourself first ? Perhaps you will take a little re- freshment after your journey ?” “Hothing, I thank you,” was my hasty but gratefully uttered answer. “Let me be at once conducted to my poor brother !” “This way, ma’am, if you please,” said Mrs. Fanshawe : and with a candle in her hand, she led me up the narrow but neatly carpeted staircase. “ Softly, madam !” she observed, as we reached the landing, and as she noiselessly opened the door of a back room : “ for Mr. Lambert was sleeping a minute or two ago.” I passed in, — Mrs. Fanshawe standing aside to make way for me; and she did not follow. I found myself in a small but comfortably furnished chamber, — a candle was burning on a little round table in the centre. There was a fire in the grate : the curtains were closed around the bed ; and as the eccupant of that couch moved not on my en- trance, I concluded that he was still sleeping. Gently did I approach the bed, — my heart however palpitating with painful excitement : for I expected to behold the pale wan countenance of the perish- 237 ing Cyril. I drew aside the curtain : there was a sudden movement on the part of the occupant of the couch — all in an instant his arms were thrown around my neck — and I found myself in the em- brace of the Marquis of Belmore ! So terrible was the revulsion of feeling which I experienced — such a horrible shock did this dis- covery give me — so stupendous did the wickedness of the diabolic stratagem smite me as being, that my senses abandoned me. When I came back to consciousness, I was lying in the arms of the mis- creant ; and as he strained me in his embrace, ho said, “ Beautiful Rose, I have won the wager I” Oh ! would to heaven that the strength which now inspired me, had animated me but a little while back, at the moment when his arms were first flung around my neck. With rage and fury in my soul, I dashed my clenched fists violently in his countenance as I sprang from his embrace. “ Miscreant !” I exclaimed ; “ if there be law in England, you shall be punished for this, although at the same time I proclaim my own degradation and disgrace !” “ Silly girl that you are !” said the Marquis, mockingly, “ when I can prove that you came of your own accord to meet me here.” “Liar — coward — devil!” were the words that hissed forth from my quivering lips : but now again did such a revulsion of feeling take place within me — such a sudden reaction from the frightful state of fury and rage in which I had wakened up from the deep swoon into which I had fallen — that I tottered towards a chair and sank upon it. Consciousness did not again forsake me ; but my brain whirled — there was frenzy in my thoughts. “ To be sure,” were the words that I presently caught, as they came from the lips of the Marquis of Belmore ; “ you must see it all in a moment. How you know that you are in a house of very genteel accommodation, where the business is con- ducted in a quiet and respectable way, and where the urbane manners of Mother Fanshawe, together with the modest looks and artless air of her daughter — who, by the bye, is in reality as amorous a young creature as one could wish to know — give an additional gloss to the whole con- cern. Why, my dear Rose, if you went to a magistrate, you would be laughed at. Miss Fan- shawe, with her unsophisticated way of telling a tale, would carry conviction to even the shrewdest and keenest justice-of-the-peace that ever sat upon the bench. And what would she say ? Why, that as a messenger of love from the Marquis of Belmore, she called upon Mrs. Beaumont, and told her that all requisite steps were taken to enable her to kee'p a previously promised appoint- ment with the Marquis of Belmore aforesaid. And then, my sweet Rose, if you did force me to enter upon my defence, I should say with all the cool impudence in the world and I am rather an adept in this sort of thing that because we fell out as to the pecuniary recompense which you were to receive for your favours, you turned round upon me and raised all the hubbub.” I sat aghast and petrified as I listened to this speech. I saw indeed that the whole plan was pre-arranged with a diabolical ingenuity and a fiendish foresight that rendered me utterly power- less in respect to the infliction of condign punish- 238 nos A r.AMTIKUT. ment upon tlio authors of tho outrage. Again was it my lot to exporicnco a wrotchodness of mind which no language can describe i but 1 saw how useless it was to atLeiij])t legal proceedings, and how utterly they would redound, if 1 did initiato them, to my ow)i exposure and branding sliami'. I rose from my seat, and said to the JNlarquis, “ You have triumphed, my lord — you have ac- complished tho foulest crime that ever was ex- ulted in as a glorious achiovemeut. I do not envy you your feelings. You have plunged another dagger into a heart that was already bleeding from recently indicted wounds; your conduct is the basest of the base— the vilest of tho vile : it is a shame beyond all abomination— an atrocity be- yond all execration. Think not that you will prosper ” “ This is pretty language, my sweet one,” in- terrupted the Marquis, with an ironical smile : “ but do you not calmly and deliberately think you would do better to accept my protection ? Let bygones be bygones ” “ Oh, no, my lord !” I exclaimed with the fiercest bitterness of accent : “ never, never shall the word of forgiveness be pronounced by my lip ! There is a justice in heaven even for a lost and degraded one as I am, — more irredeemably lost, more profoundly degraded as I am now become by your stupendous villany ! Yes, my lord — there is justice in heaven on behalf of the meanest of God’s creatures ! Listen to mo for a few minutes longer— and I will tell you a tale.” “ 13y heaven, this is delicious !” cried Belmore ; “ and your voice is so sweet I could listen to it for ever.” “ A fortnight ago, my lord,” I continued, heed- less of the interruption, “ I was riding over High- gate Archway, when I met a gentleman also upon horseback. You must have read the fearful nar- rative in the newspapers ” “ What the deuce is she driving at ?” said the Marquis, gazing upon me with astonishment not unmingled with apprehension'; for he evi- dently thought that my intellects were disor- dered. “ You must have read, my lord,” I went on to say, “ that frightful account of the recent tragedy of the Archway. The gentleman on horseback was thrown over: — down, down he fell from a height of one hundred and twenty feet ! His rending cries of agony pierced my brain; me- thinks that I hear them now. Ah, my lord ! you gaze upon me in surprise aye, even with a growing terror. Think you that there was no retributive justice in the circumstance of that man perishing thus miserably before my very eyes ? — think you that it was a mere accident which took mo to that spot — on that day — at that hour — at that minute? No, it was not a coincidence: the linger of heaven was in it! For that man was not unknown to me : his name was Andrew Win- ter; and by foulest treachery, two years back, ho consummated an outrage similar to that which you liavo this evening perpetrated. Now, ray lord,” 1 continued, my voice rising as 1 spoke — my form drawing itself up — my eyes Hashing — my nostrils dilating — and my j'oelings at tho in- stant being lli(j.«o of an avenging ])rophotoss, — “mnv, my lord, regard (bat tale as a warning; and rest assured that though 1 jjiay not bo euubloil I personally to wreak such vengoaneo upon you as my heart craves and yearns for, yot that sooner or later you will perish miserably, and 1 shall bo by to witness your doom. Vea, jny lord, it will be so ! Oh, tbero is a secret voice speaking witliiu me, tolling mo I bat it will bo so ! it is no random nor reckleiss n’lscrtiun that 1 am maUin r; it is a prophecy cngondcred by an awful and 3uj)crual inspiration !” l\ly words and my manner, ns well as my looks, produced upon tbo prolligato young noblctnari a much more pow'crful efl’oet than I had darofl hopo they w'ould. Jlis countenance, a few minutes before (lushed with triumph, grow pale as (hnvth : his lips quivered— ho had a scared and adViglited look— he was evcii horror-stricken, llo witieed— he shrank— ho cowered— ho writhed, beneath the iullueneo of my language and my bearing, llo spoke not a word ; and I saiil no more. . I readjusted my disordered apparol — dtili- berately straightened iny crushed bonnet — and issued from tho room without experiencing the slightest hindrance or molestation on his part. I descended the stairs : and on reaching the passage, the parlour-door opened, — Mrs. Faushawe appear- ing with a light in her hand. “ What ! so soon away, beauteous one ?” she ox- claimed, her countenance which had at first struck me as being of such kind-hearted and matron-liko placidity, now expressing an insolent leer. “ Stand back, vile woman,” I responded ; “ and let me escape from this den of infamy !” She blurted forth some abusive expressions : but I heeded them not — and do not choose to transfer them to the pages of my narrative. I gained the street : I was now perfectly calm and collected- hut yet with a profound and despairing sense of a mighty wrong sustained. Nevertheless, I had tho satisfaction of knowing that I had left tho author of the outrage completely crushed, overwhelmed, and horror-stricken, by the terrible prediction which I had enunciated ; and this was ah’eady a vengeance achieved. Such being my state of mind, it can be understood wherefore I was thus calm and how I was thus collected. I proceeded straight to the coach-office; and pretending that I had merely been to pay some visit which brought me to Woolwich, inquired for a respectable hotel. One was mentioned to me j and it was at no great distance. A porter fol- lowed with my portmanteau : I reached the hotel, and at once retired to rest in the chamber with which I was accommodated. CHAPTEE XXXI. MK. WELLESLEY. I DO not purpose to trouble the reader with the various coullicting thoughts which agitated in my mind during the first hour that I lay down iu bed, and during which I vainly endeavoured to woo the approach of slumber. But at length sleep stole upon mo: it was however haunted by dreadful visions. Mx'thought that Beaumont suddenly stood be- foro me, -reproaching mo with inlldclitics, and sternly refusing to hear the explanations which I ROSA LAMBERT. j proffered. Then methought ho gradually turned i into the Marquis of Bclmore, whose loud mocking j laugh of triumph rang through my brain. Next I fancied that I was seated at a splendid banquet, together with all those females whose acquaintance I had formed at the time I was living under the protection of Mr. Alvanly. They were splendidly I arrayed — plumes upon their brows, diamonds on their bosoms : their eyes sparkled as brightly as the wine itself— their spirits were as effervescent as the champagne which excited them. But me- thought that as I contemplated the brilliant as- semblage, — amongst whom I was as gorgeously decorated and as exuberant in hilarity as the rest, ■ — a cold chill gradually came over me; at the same time that a change was operating on the part of us all. In the same way that the illusions of the dissolving views change some figures into others — landscapes into towns — trees into ships — human beings into monsters, — so was the transition gra- dually but perceptibly taking place with us female revellers. More icy grew the chill upon me — more haggard and ajmalled grew my looks — as I beheld the rouge and the pearl-powder upon the cheeks of ray companions changing into wanness and ghastliness — as their garments gradiently turned into foul and fetid rags — as the brilliant light which had flooded the saloon subsided into dim- ness — and as the apartment itself took the sem- blance of a narrow, dirty, and obscure street. Me- thought that with madness in my brain, I glanced over my own form, and found that it was passing through the same hideous transition,— until at length, from that splendid banqueting scene, my companions and myself had all sunk down into the street, where we were now dragging ourselves along in the lowest stage of degradation, pollution, and misery to which the most abject courtezans can possibly be reduced. It seemed to me that I was shivering bitterly with the cold ; and that per- ceiving a fire at a distance, I repaired thither to warm my freezing limbs. The intensity of the chill which was on me, made me creep close up to that fire : a sensation of drowsiness came over me —my thoughts fell into confusion, till they glided out of my brain — and my miseries were forgotten in slumber. But all on a sudden it seemed to me as it a wild cry of “Bire !” startled me up ; and I found myself enveloped in flames. Good heavens ! there was some reality in this last portion of my dream ; for I had, started up in bed, and was stricken with fearfuUest dismay as an intolerable light burst upon my unclosing eyes, associated with a powerful heat. The room was on fire. Piercing shrieks thrilled forth from my I lips: but terror paralyzed my limbs. The door j burst open — some one rushed in — I was seized in his arms— and was borne to an adjacent chamber, where he placed me upon a bed; and I fainted through excess of horror. W-hen I came to myself, I found the chamber- maid of the hotel standing by the side of the bed, administering the restoratives which had brought 1 tne back to my senses. A few hastily put ques- j tions were as quickly answered. The curtains of my bed had caught on fire ; a gentleman who oc- cupied the next room — the one in which I now found myself — had heard my screams while he was undressing in preparation for retiring to rest ; and he had saved me in the manner already described. I 239 The landlord and the waiters, alarmed by the same cause, had sped to the room, and had fortunately succeeded in extinguishing the fire before it had done much mischief. Such was the account I re- ceived from the chambermaid; and I recollected that I had left a candle burning on a night-table by the side of the couch. I at once admitted that it was all my own fault, and bade her assure the landlord that I was able and willing to pay the expenses of all the damage which had ensued from my carelessness. The chambermaid intimated that I might remain in the room to which I had been brought, as the gentleman should be provided with another. His own effects were speedily shifted thence : my portmanteau and clothes were brought in to me ; and thus terminated an incident which might have led to an awful sacrifice of life as well as of property. The remainder of the night was passed in uneasy and broken slumbers ; and when the morn- ing came, I was so unwell as to be compelled to take my breakfast in bed. Towards mid-day, how- ever, feeling much better, I rose and dressed my- self. I was now determined to go back to London without delay : but as a matter of courtesy, I was anxious to express my gratitude towards the gen- tleman who had rescued me. I intimated this much to the chambermaid; and she went to in- quire whether he was in at the time ? She re- turned, with an affirmative response, — informing me that he was a Mr. Wellesley, and that he had only arrived at the hotel on the previous evening. I was conducted to a sitting-room ; and in a few minutes Mr. Wellesley was announced. Ho was a man of about seven-and-twenty — tall and well-formed, though the least thing inclined to stoutness — and exceedingly handsome, with dark hair and eyes, fine glossy whiskers, and a beautiful set of teeth. His manners were those of a polished gentleman — totally devoid of affectation— frankly urbane and courteous. As he entered the room, I proffered him my hand, expressing my gratitude for the immense service he had rendered me. “Pray do not thank me,” he said ; “for I only performed a duty. If young ladies,” ho added with a smile, “ will read in bed, these accidents must of course occur.” “ I can assure you, Mr. Wellesley,” 1 answered, “ I was not reading : but I must confess to the un- pardonable carelessness of having left the candle burning too close to the curtains.” “ You look unwell,” he observed, gazing upon me with interest; “and no wonder!— for it was enough to terrify you. Is there anything I can do, Mrs. Beaumont, to serve you? It was my intention to repair to London presently : but my time is my own, and I cheerfully place it at your disposal.” “I thank you, Mr. Wellesley,” was my rejoinder: “but the purpose which brought me to Woolwich, is accomplished ; and I also am about to return to London. Indeed, I have already ordered a place to be taken in the coaeh which leaves at two o’clock.” ^‘In that case, Mrs. Beaumont,” replied Mr. Wellesley, “we shall be fellow-travellers; and it will afford me pleasvne to escort you to your destination.” After a little more discourse, Mr. Wellesley left me for the present : but we soon met again when 240 nos A LAMDEnT. tlio coach drove up to tho door. The landlord of the hotel charged me pretty handsomely for the damage done to tho bed-chamber : I however paid the demand without a murmur, — congratulating myself that tho results of my carelessness had not proved more serious. The reader may possibly marvel wherefore I did not remain in Woolwich to see my brother, or to make any inquiries concern- ing him. But in the first place, I could not endure tho idea of beholding him with a felon’s chain upon his limbs ; and in tho second place, I was fearful of walking through tho streets of tho town, lest I should meet any of tho wretches connected with the den of infamy to W’hich I had been be- guiled on the preceding evening. Moreover, I was anxious to get away from a place which had become hateful to me, and tho very name of which was now associated with one of the most deplorable episodes of my eventful history. IVIr. Wellesley and myself were the only two passengers inside the coach ; and his conversation, which was lively and sparkling, but totally un- affected, tended to cheer my spirits somewhat. Indeed, I did my best to assume a forced gaiety, — fearful lest ho should perceive that there was some deeper cause of anxiety in my mind than the mere impression left by the fire of the pre- ceding evening. I gathered from his discourse that he was a gentleman of independent property —that he was unmarried — that he had been tra- velling for a couple of years upon the Continent — and that he had only just returned to England. He had halted at Woolwich in the hope of seeing a friend who was residing there at the time he left the country : but this friend had in the in- terval removed elsewhere; and thus Mr. Wellesley had nothing more to detain him in that town. He observed, as we approached London, that he presumed my husband would be waiting for me at the coach-oflice ? — but I informed him that Cap- tain Beaumont was absent in command of a ship ; whereupon Mr. Wellesley offered to escort me to my residence. This however I declined; but for courtesy’s sake gave him to understand where I dwelt; and when he solicited permission to pay his respects to me, I could not possibly give a negative answer, considering the deep obligation under which I lay towards him. On arriving in London, we separated at the coach-office, he having first assisted me into n cab. As the vehicle was proceeding along Moor- gate Street, my attention was suddenly caught by a well-known figure; and leaning forward, I waved my kerchief to her. She immediately responded with a similar sign, and beckoned the driver to stop. The next moment the cab drew up by the side of tlic pavement ; and my hand was clasped in tliat of Caroline Seymour. About three years and a half had elapsed since I last saw her : she was now twenty- three years of age, and looking exceedingly handsome. Her figure, which was elight at the time she became known to me, had expanded into somewhat richer proportions: her cheeks were plumj), with a healthy carnation hue upon them. She was dressed with good taste and elegance, but by no means gaudily; and tho light of haj)pincss was playing in her largo dark eyes. “ i\ly sweetest, dearest friend,” slio said, with a gushing enthusiasm, “ how rejoiced t am to sco you! Oh, you know not how ol’teu— how very often I have thought of you! Indeed not a May has passed witliout your imago coming up a d' /cn times into my mind. But wherefore have yor. not been to sco me ? Oh, you know full well w hat a warm welcome you would have had!” — and again she pressed my hands as she stood by tho side of tho cab, the tears of mingled gratitude and joy trickling down her checks. I was deeply affected. I could not help con- trasting tho conduct of Caroline Seymour with that of Lady Lucia Calthorpo. To both 1 Imd rendered the most essential services : the patrician lady had rewarded me with the blackest ingratitinlo — tho old miser’s daughter evidently cherished a deep sense of the obligation she owed me. “ You know, ray dc.ar Caroline,” I whispcringly said, “ that when wo parted three years and a half back at your father’s house, I explained tho reasons which would prevent mo from visiting you ” “ Oh, but my dear friend ! my preserver — my saviour!” responded Caroline, also speaking in such a tone that it should bo inaudible to tho driver of tho vehicle ; I hoped and thought that you would reconsider that resolution. And let mo tell you that my father has often and often spoken of you : ho would bo so rejoiced to sco you ! Will you come ? At all events, assure me that you are happy it would afllict me more than I can de- scribe to think otherwise ! Ah, dearest Rose pardon me for saying that if you should ever need the assistance of a friend, you will know w'hero to find one. I am sure that my father — so cold and stern to the world generally — would gladly do any- thing to testify his gratitude towards you ! Yes, he would, dearest Rose — ho would; for he has grown somewhat a different person since that memorable day on which you restored me to his arms.” “lam rejoiced to hear you speak thus cheer- fully, my dear friend,” I said ; and I could scarcely repress a sigh — for, alas ! it was not in my power to felicitate myself on any earthly subject. “You do not look well. Rose— you certainly have been ill, my sweet friend?” said Caroline, who, as the first excitement attending our meeting was subsiding, had now more leisure to contem- plate my countenance with earnestness. “ Oh ! do not tell me that you are unhappy !”— and tears trickled down her checks. “I have just come from Woolwich,’^ I hastened to observe, — “'whither I w’as compelled to go yesterday on a little business; and last night the curtains of my bed at the hotel caught on fire ” “ Grood heavens ! — no wonder that you look pale and ill, my dearest Rose !” exclaimed Miss Seymour, with an air of tho most sympathizing concern. “ Oh ! if anything had happened to you, how afllictod I should be ! Dearest Rose, I love you as if you wore my sister ! Promise to come and SCO mo ? — will you promise ? I beseech you to do so !” “ I will, Caroline —I will indeed.” “Faithfully you jiromise?” “ Faithfully,” was my response. ■* “Then only on that condition do I now con- sent to part from you and tho warm-hearted, enthusiastically grateful creature wrung both my liauds most fervently. ROSA LAMUERT. 241 We separated — the cab rolled onward — and a"ain did I contrast the behaviour of Caroline Seymour with that of Lucia Calthorpe. I bad no intention however of fulfilling my promise to call upon Caroline : the same motives which had prompted me to refuse her request that I would visit her, on the day that I restored her to the paternal home, influenced me still. But I had given her that sort of half-pledge in order that our interview should be cut short: for, rejoiced though I were to see her happy and in good spirits, I was nevertheless fearful that she would begin talking to me of my brother Cyril, whose case she must have seen in the newspapers. And I was also nervously apprehensive lest she should repeat her kindly meant question, whether I myself were happy— a question which was suflicient to make the tears gush forth from my eyes and rend my bosom with convulsing sobs. For, Oh ! it seemed as if happiness and I had shaken hands for ever, No. 31 and had bidden each other an irrevocable farewell. | Indeed, as I jourheyed homeward after that inter- | view with Caroline Seymour, I asked myself over j and over again what on earth I had to live for ? I had been dragged through pollutions that were as far from my own seeking as the poles them- i selves are asunder ; and the only consolation I had ' was the presentiment that I should yet be directly or indirectly avenged. But, alas ! my present i circumstances seriously occupied my thoughts. I ' was in a way to become a mother ; and it was for j me to decide whether I would pass through the ordeal in some secret seclusion, meet Beaumont i on his return home, and continue to live with him as his mistress— or whether, on the other hand, I 1 should break off everything between us as speedily as possible, and cease to live upon the bounty of an individual towards whom circumstances had ' forcibly rendered me unfaithful. These alterna- 'tives now seriously occupied my mind : but I 242 T A'jjnKUT. (?oul(l 3K)fc in a mnnionl; my t.lioutrlila in any po 'ilivo or decisive manner. St'vcral days ])as.scMl ; and ono aRornoon IMr. ^Vell('sley was announced. i[o remained con- versinq; with me for about lialf-an-liour, — trcatiiinr me with tlic same respectful but I'rieudly courtesy which ho had previously observed towards me, and evidently thinhinqr that I. was a married woraaa and of honourable character. It was this idea which rendered his subsequent visits loss frequent than his inclinations would have otherwise prompted him to pay them : for lie was gradually conceiving an attachment towards mo, the evi- dences of which i)ecped forth notwithstanding his ciuhau’our to conceal them. Thus six weeks passed away from the date of the friglitfid atrocity at W'oolwich : it was now the end of March ; and Miough 1 was four months gone in the family way, yet my condition was still perfectly easy of concealment. One allernoon, at the expiration of that interval, I w'as walking in the garden, when I felt such a sudden indisposition come over mo that I was compelled to re-enter the house and lie down upon i!ic sola in the drawing-room. few minutes that sensation of illness jiassed away as suddenly as it came : and I was well again. I took up a book — but had not been reading it a quarter of an hour, when Mr. Wellesley was announced. He looked pale and melancholy, though he endea- voured to assume cheerfulness of spirits : but I comprehended full well wdiat w'as passing in his mind. Ho loved mo, and he believed this love to he entirely hopeless : he thought that I was an honourably wedded wife, and he dared not address mo in the language of passion. His manner was embarrassed ; and after the first compliments w'ere exchanged and a few observations had passed, he sat silent for several minutes iu an abstracted mood. All this to me was so awkward that I was perfectly at a loss how to act. Though I had fatiiomed Felix Wellesley’s soul, yet I of course could not make any remark in connexion with so delicate a topic. I therefore felt the necessity of measuring every word before it was uttered, and keeping a rigid control over my looks, lest inad- vertence or unguardedness should be taken as en- couragement. d-.Ir. Wellesley seemed all in a moment to feel tlpit his silence must be strange and bis position ridiculous ; and he made some observation with a suddenness which startled me. Again did that abrupt sensation of illness which I had a little while back experienced, seize upon me, accom- panied witli such a dizziness and faintness that I vainly struggled to shake them oil'. Life appeared to he perisliing out of me : I remember that I gav(! a low moan— and then I fell back on the sofa, e(jnRciousn(!ss abandoning me. This swoon, as I .'iflerw’ards learnt, lasted for nearly an hour, — (luring wliicli rc'storativcs were at first vainly np- j/lied. Wlmn I came hack to iny senses 1 was lying on the sofa, — my maid on ono side — a mc- dif'iil man on I ho otlior: my garments were all bjoamicd, Ibo stiy-lact! having be(>n cut. For r(;vcimI minules my thoughts wc'i’O all iu cou- lii'.ion ; luit as they gradually scd tlod i heinselves in my brain, the id('a stole iu amongst lliom that my fsaiditioii could not possibly ho any longer a soeret. y\. Inirning blush Buffused niy countenance, uccoin- paiiieil by a sirong spis.uodic seiveiHon wliie’i an. peared to g ilvanize m<' ; and I t'r.anv mv around to .SCO if Felix Wello:iIey were still m f!i ' room. Hut ho was not there; and a second I'lought told me that for dtdieacy’s sake ho mint Iiavn; witli- (Irawii when my gar:n''nt3 wrire disordi'iaal by the loosening of them to give mo air and relief. The medical man now gently ohitTved that I Bliould bo better presently, and that l»o would sentl mo some medicine, — adding in a still lower lone, that the swoon was attributable to my condition. Again did that blush overspread my counteriauee : the surgeon took his departure— and I was left with my maid. I .scarcely dared raiso Jiiy (>yc 3 to her countenance : but when I did, i saw that slio also felt troubled and embarrassed, as if it were a painful tiling for her to know that I liad proved unfaithful to him whom she, as well as tiie ottuu- domestics, b heved to bo my husband. Hut all in an instant my courage revived : I felt that a crisis had come, and that it was now necessary to con- quer that vacillation in which for weeks jiast I bad been hovering, and to adopt some decisive course in re.spect to Captain Beaumont. “You now know iny secret,” I said to the maid. “ But tell me at once— has a syllable been brcatlied to the other servants ?” “jN'o, ma’am,” was the re.sponse given with much evident sincerity. “ Not for worlds would I “ You are a good young woman,” I interrupted her ; and I thank you. Mr. Wellesley -Ah ! I perceive by your countenance that he knows it !” “Y/hy, you see, ma’am,” said the maid, “it happened very unfortunate. All of a sudden the bell rang, and I hastened to the room. I found you as I thought dead, and Mr. Wellesley quite distracted and bewildered. I begged him to go for a doctor ; and ho ran off as if for his life. I sprinkled water on your face — for I saw that you wei^e not really dead— but all to no purpose. In a few minutes Mr, Wellesley came back with the surgeon ; and he almost immediately said that the swoon arose from the condition you were in. I looked astounded Pardon me for speaking so frankly ” “ G-o on,” I said : “ I wish you to tell me every- thing that took place.” “ Vv" ell, ma’am, the doctor at once ordered me to loosen your garments ; and Mr. Wellesley re- treated to the end of the room — for he was very much agitated and seemed as if be did not know what to do. The doctor asked me how far you were advanced? — and then I begged Mr. Wellesley to withdraw — which he of course did, saying that he should call again in the evening to inquire after you. The doctor seemed surprised that I should look as I did : for he did not know that — that ” “ That Captain Beaumont had been absent since the middle of last year,” I said, perceiving that the woman hesitated. “ I droi)pod a hint, m.a’am,” she continued, “for tlio doctor not to say a word to anybody about it ; and bo at once understood what 1 meant. He treated it very coolly, observing that those things were not unusual iu his professional experience, — adding that medical men never gossiped on these points.” I ! ! I HOSA TAMBEKT. PM “ And now, mj good girl, I must frankly tell you,” I said, “ that I am not Captain Beaumont’s wife : I am merely his mistress. But even if his wife, I should still be in the condition which you now know that I am : for as God is my judge, it is ■ the result of the foulest villany, and not of wanton profligacy on my part. I can scarcely expect you to believe so extraordinary a tale : I ask for no comment from your lips. But this boon I do beg of you, — that you will keep the secret to yourself and not speak of it to the other servants. To- morrow I shall probably bo enabled to tell you how I intend to act.” “ Oh, you may be confident, ma’am, that I will keep the secret !” answered the maid ; “ and any- thing I can do to serve you, shall be cheerfully done.” “ I feel better now. Assist me to re-arrange my dress; and let dinner be served up. I am faint for want of food — I ate nothing at break- fast.” “And if Mr. Wellesley calls in the evening, ma’am ?” I reflected for nearly a minute ; and then said, “ Let him be admitted.” My indisposition had now almost completely passed away : I was enabled to partake of some food when dinner v/as placed upon the table ; and my mind was more tranquil than it had been for some weeks past. It was now made up how to act in respect to Beaumont ; and when once a positive decision is taken by any individual wlio is sorely troubled and afflicted, it is invariably fol- lowed by a sensation of placidity, although there may bo a sort of desperation in it. It is the point at which the bitterness of one’s position is passed. I was perfectly collected when Felix Wellesley was announced at about eight o’clock in the evening; though as I encountered his regards a deep blusli overspread my features. He looked troubled and embarrassed, as well as melancholy and anxious : and as he advanced timidly towards me, it would almost have seemed as if he were the j culprit who ought to bo ashamed, and not I myself I the one who should blush in his presence. { “ Sit down, Mr. Wellesley,” I said, speaking in ' a voice that trembled not, — “ for you may suppose j that as I ordered you to be admitted, it is for the i purpose of giving you some explanation. We j have not known each other very long: but the ! accident which originally made us acquainted, j naturally placed us at once on a more friendly 1 footing than if we had met in a different manner, i Do not think me so lost or so braaen as to be I enabled to address you on so delicate a topic ' without shame upon my cheeks and the sense of ! it in my heart. But on the other hand, I can no i longer suffer you to remain any longer under a ' misconception with regard to me. If I were j Captain Beaumont’s wife, his name would be I dishonoured in me : but I am not his wife — and a I man experiences no dishonour from the degrada- ) tion of his mistress. Captain Beaumont has been kind to me — he has proved my best friend : I have liked him and esteemed him, even if I have not loved him, sufficiently to render me faithful to him. Ah ! you gaze upon me with bewilderment in your looks : but do not think for a moment that I am about to deny that which the keenness of medical experience this day revealed to your knowledge. As there is a heaven above me, Mr. Wellesley, I am a victim and not a willing sinner. To you do I repeat the same observation w-hicli I just now made to my servant, — that I can scarcely expect you to believe so extraordinary a talc ; for if there be a thousand appearances against me, there is nothing but my bare word in my favour.” “ Ob, but I shall believe you, whatever you tell mel” exclaimed Felix Wellesley, with much feeling, sympathy, and enthusiasm. “It is im- possible that you can be otherwise than what you have represented yourself— a victim; for though perhaps not a wife, yet are you evidently very, very different from the generality of those who are in a similar position.” “Listen, Mr. Wellesley,” I said: “and I will tell you a tale. A young man— a cousin of mine — Sir John Haverstock — vowed that he would obtain by stratagem or by force that which was refused to his overtures and entreaties. His sister was a constant visitress at this house at the time. Something occurred to distress me cruelly : what it was you will pardon mo for keeping a secret ; suffice it to say it was something that happened to a near relative of mine. I came homo one even- ing weighed down by affliction —full of bewilderment and w'oe — scarcely conscious of what was passing around me. I thought that I found my cousin Joanna Haverstock here, dressed in a walking- costume and with a veil on. I must tell you that there is a remarkable resemblance between herself and her brother. I was so faint and ill as to be unable to reach my chamber unassisted. Ale- thought it was the well-meant kindness of my cousin Joanna that succoured me to my room, and which prompted the proposal to remain with me for the night. You can conjecture the rest. But I must repeat that I can scarcely expect you to believe this tale !” “ I do believe it ! — on my soul I believe it !” exclaimed Wellesley, with enthusiasm. “ Oh, you are deeply to be pitied!” he said, looking tenderly upon me. “But now, what will you do? Y’ou have spoken to me as a friend: I beseech and implore that you will treat me as one. Hesitate not to command mo in that light : let there be no over-nice scruple nor too delicate punctilio. My purse is at your service ; and I swear to you that I v.'ill never come near you again if you bid me keep away from you. But, no — you will not do this 1 scarcely know what I am saying — in one thing only am I collected — and that is in the sincerity with which I offer all that friendship has to bestow.” “ And most sincerely do I thank you, Mr. Wel- lesley,” was my response : “ my mind is made up how to act. Hot for another day shall I continue to enjoy the luxuries and the comforts which the generous and confiding Beaumont has provided for my use. To-morrow morning, at an early hour, I shall break up this establishment. This being done, I shall take my departure with just a suffi- ciency of money to maintain me frugally for the next six months. I know that Beaumont will not think the worse of me for this— and I shall not feel that I am robbing him. I shall retire into some seclusion, and await the result of the ordeal of pain and shame through which I shall have to pass. And then ” | 211 . nOfl/V LAMnETlT. But I stopped suddenly sliort : the tears flowed from my eyes— sufFocatinpf sobs rose up into niy throat ; for I was about to speak of a future whence my shuddering looks recoiled. It was not a more blank — it was blackness which thus appalled them ! “You will go into seclusion— you will retire from the world?” said Felix 'Wellesley in a gentle voice. “ Am I to understand that I now see you for the last time ? No, no — do not tell mo this ! If you loved another, and in the weakness of that love had forgotten all you owed to Captain Beau- mont, my lips would never have given utterance to that which I am about to proclaim. But it is dif- ferent. I gather from all you have told mo that you love no other- that you have been a victim — and that you bear not in your bosom the fruit of a willing amour. Then hear me ! There is one who loves you, though you may love not him that one is before you ho kneels at your feet — he tells you that ho loves you in spite of every- thing !” “llisc, Mr. Wellesley — rise,” I said; “I conjure you to be calm ! It is impossible I can remain in- different to this touching proof of affection on your part. But listen to what I am about to say. To- morrow I go hence ; and for the next six months must I be as one dead unto you. If however at the expiration of that time I am still a being of this world, — and if you wish to hear from me— tell me where a letter will reach you, and I will write.” “ Oh, a thousand thanks for this promise !” ex- claimed Felix, seizing my hand and carrying it to his lips with a still more gushing enthusiasm than any he had previously displayed. “ Best assured that six months, or six years hence, my feeling towards you will be the same as it is now. No — not the same!— it will be stronger! Once more I thank you ; and Oh I I shall look forward to the term of this period of separation with hope and con- fidence. Here is my address — and as he spoke he laid a card upon the table, for he had risen from his knees at my bidding. “But one word more, dearest Bose,” he went on to say, — “ for you must permit me thus to address you— one word more I Will you not suffer me to act at once as your friend ? will you not accept ” “No, Mr. Wellesley,” I interrupted him, my looks expressing my thanks ; “ I cannot. I know what you were about to say : but as I have already made up my mind to take a small sum from the ample resources which Beaumont has placed at my disposal, I shall adhere to that course. Accept my gratitude all the same. And now leave me. Six months hence you shall hear from me ” “ And before that period, if circumstances will permit ?” responded 'Wellesley softly. “ But, Oh ! should illness overtake you, and you require a friend- a companion— one who will minister unto you all possible attentions — summon mo at once to the place of your seclusion — I entreat and im- plore that you will do so !” “ I low can I possibly answer in a negative to language so kind — so generous? Farewell, Mr. Wellesley — farewell, Felix 1” Jle embraced mo— and 1 did not withdraw my lips from bis; bo pressed my hand to his heart — and then hurriedly quitted the room. I rose early on the following morning ; and summoning the servants one after the other info my presence, dismissed them with a month’s wages and a liberal gratuity in addition. Alleging no reason for this sudden step, I gave them each a written character, and assured them that I should write most favourably of them all to Captain Beaumont, — so that if in future they needed any reference to him they might unhesitatingly malto it. In a few hours I was alone in the house with my own maid, who had not as yet taken her depar- ture. In the meantime I had written a letter to Beaumont, frankly detailing to him every incident that had occurred to me since his departure— the villany of Jlavcrstock as well as of Lord Bel more — and the circumstances which had induced mo to take the measures I was now adopting. I as- sured him that I had vowed and yearned to re- main faithful to him, and that I should have done so 'm fact as I had in thought, were it not that I was rendered the victim of so much abhorrent treachery. I expressed a heartfelt gratitude for all the generous kindness I had experienced at his hands, and assured him it was with bitterest, bit- terest anguish I had found the hope of some day becoming his wife blasted all in an instant. I ex- plained the measures I was taking in respect to the house and property, and referred to a book which I had regularly kept to elucidate the posi- tion of financial matters up to that date. I made a duplicate copy of this letter,— sending one to the Admiralty that it might be transmitted along with the next despatches sent off to Captain Beaumont — and the other I forwarded to his navy-agent, to remain in this gentleman’s hands in case by any accident Beaumont should return to England before the former letter could reach him on the ocean. Thus was ended this most painful duty, — a duty which cost me many scalding tears and racked my heart with a thousand tortures. By the time my task was completed, a house- agent whom I had sent for from Islington, arrived at the villa ; and as I knew him to be a highly respectable man — he being the same who had ori- ginally let Beaumont the house — I had no hesi- tation in trusting him with the business which I am about to explain. I surrendered up into his hands the keys of the villa, desiring him to place some respectable and confidential person in charge, so that the furniture should be properly taken care of against Beaumont’s return. I likewise bade him sell off the horses, — authorizing him to retain the proceeds as payment for the rent as it should fall due. In a word, I handed over all my own responsibilities to this agent, who undertook the trust and promised to execute it faithfully. The maid was most anxious to accompany me,— offering, as Frances had done on a former occasion, to serve me without wages : but I represented to her that I had voluntarily reduced myself to com- paratively humble means; and she took her leave of me with tears in her eyes. That same afternoon I removed to an hotel ; and on the following morning took my place in a coach for Hover, with the intention of proceeding to Franco. But happening at the inn where I took up my temporary quarters, to road in a Kentish Guide-book that Sandgate— a town which lay along the coast at a distance of some half-dozen miles— was a pleasant, healthy, aud retired little place, I repaired thither. Bosumiug my proper name of EOSA LAMBERT. Lambert, but with the prefix of “ Mrs.,” I engaged a comfortable lodging at a moderate rent j and was thus once more installed in a humble seclu- sion. CHAPTER XXXII. SANDGATE. A FEW months passed away : the end of August arrived— and with it the period at which I was again to become a mother. I was delivered of a still-born male infant ; and situated as I was — considering too who was the father of the child, and the odious circumstances in which it had been begotten — I rejoiced that it came not into the world alive. My health progressed favourably; and in due time I was convalescent. During my sojourn at Sandgate, I had often and often reflected very seriously whether I should eventually fulfil my promise to Mr. Wellesley, and accept his protection if he were still inclined to afford it : or whether I should make one more effort to turn into another and a better path. Hitherto I had been unable to come to any settled resolve upon the point: but now that the ordeal was over, and that I was again restored to perfect health, which was becoming vigorous with the bracing air of the sea-side, I saw the necessity of making up my mind as to my future proceedings. But if I determined on the virtuous course, in what manner was I to live? To go and be entirely dependent upon the limited means of my father, was out of the question : indeed I recoiled from the thought of returning at all to Hawthorn, where it was so well known that I myself had strayed from the path of virtue, and that my brother had been stricken with an infamous punishment. Were it not for this latter circum- stance, I might perhaps have retraced my way to that village, in the hope that by fancy needlework, to be disposed of at Eiverdale, I might earn suf- ficient to prevent me from being a burthen on my father’s resources. But I could not endure the thought of looking the villagers in the face, with the knowledge that they must be saying to them- selves, “ Not only did she herself go wrong — but likewise her brother; — and thus both the children of our parson turned out bad !” But what was I to do ? how was I to obtain my bread ? These were the questions which I had to solve, if I adopted the alternative of turning into the path of propriety. I thought over and over again of needlework : but I must candidly confess that my mode of life had rendered me to a certain extent indolent ; and such indolence be- comes a habit which it is by no means easy to shake off. I found too that I had grown so ac- customed to certain comforts, that I could not dispense with them. And then there was the idea continuously floating in my mind — and some- times seizing upon me with an invincible power — that it was my destiny to be what I had hitherto been, and that vainly might I endeavour to escape therefrom, inasmuch as it was a fate that would prove stronger than myself, and would again engulf me in the inexorable flow of its own cir- cumstances. I will also frankly admit that I was proud of my beauty ; and when, again restored to 245 health, I contemplated myself in the mirror, my vanity was piqued. I was now twenty. three years of age — and perhaps handsomer than ever. My form had received still richer developments : care and indisposition had only seared me inwardly, and had not marked mo outwardly. The barbed arrow of anguish — often of despair — had pierced and lacerated my soul : but to look at my face, it would appear as if my life had been hitherto passed amidst the serenest happiness. Yes : I was proud of this beauty of mine ; and it was with no pleasurable feeling I could contemplate the idea of bending from morning till night over needle- work-shut up in a close room, and deprived of that exercise of which I was so fond and which was so necessary for my health and my good looks — those good looks themselves rapidly giving way — the colour fading from my cheeks — my eyes be- coming sunken, my face haggard, and my figuro losing its plumpness and its splendour of con- tours I No, — I could not resign myself to such a fate. Yet heaven knows I struggled hard enough to persuade myself to do so ; and day after day as I took up the pen to write to "Wellesley, I threw it down again, thinking that I would yet reflect a while longer ere I committed so serious a step. One morning when looking over some papers in my writing-desk, I found that I had. inadvertently brought away with me from the villa at Highbury a seal belonging to Beaumont, and on which his armorial bearings were engraved. It was a very handsome seal ; and I knew that he prized it highly, inasmuch as on leaving England, he did not choose to take it with him, but had left it in my care. It had until now escaped alike my potice and my recollection : but the moment I thus dis- covered it, I lost no time in sealing it up in a packet and despatching it by coach to the house- agent in London, that it might be given up to Captain Beaumont on his return to England, whenever this return should take place. Feeling rather anxious as to its safe delivery, I wrote a letter by post to the agent, requesting him to acknowledge its receipt. In three or four days his answer came, to the effect that the seal had reached him, and should be taken care of until Captain Beaumont’s arrival in this country. My mind was by this time made up as to the course I should pursue on my own account. For the various considerations already set forth, I had not sufficient fortitude to keep in the proper path, when I knew that my beauty would at any mo- ment replace me in a position of luxurious ease — • if not with Wellesley, with some other protector. I accordingly wrote to Felix, telling him that I did so to redeem the promise which I had made him at parting six months previously, but that he was by no means to consider that I held him bound by any sort of pledge he had intimated to me at the same time. I took this letter to the post : but I hesitated when reaching out my hand to consign it to the box. I walked away — and was at one moment on the point of tearing the letter into fragments; but my evil genius re- strained me. I rambled far into the country : I struggled hard to resist temptation : — in my an- guish I called upon heaven to inspire me with fortitude. But, alas ! there only^ rose up before me the images of those poor needlew’omen who while toiling for bread, are w.orking their own 24(5 ROSA LAIMKERT. I windinfr-ghocts : — pale, Im^jrard, gliastly, and at- tenuated were those images^ (illing me with horror ! ! And was such to be my doom ? was inj beauty to I be thus wasted P was my young lil’o to bo thus abridged, and its remnant dragged painfully out amidst such crushing labour — such privations — such sorrows ? No, no! — and hastening back to the post otlice, I consigned my letter to the box. No sooner was this done, than a sort of reckless feeling seized upon me — an indilfercnco as to what tliencoforth became of mo— a willing self- abandonment to that which I persuaded myself was ]ny destiny. I remember too that I ordered a more luxurious repast that day than I had been wont to partake of during my seclusion at Sand- gate; and though habitually temperate, I indulged in two or three glasses of wine. My spirits wore artilieially excited ; and I pictured to myself the comfort of once more lounging in a carriage — the exhilaration of riding on horseback — and the en- joyment of having a companion ever at hand for conversation. By these means I endeavoured to drown remorse, and to stifle the still small voice that was whispering in the depths of my soul. On the following day I again roamed into the country ; and seating myself beneath the shade of trees, gave way to those thoughts with which the wine had ins^ured me on the preceding evening. I said to myself, “ Perhaps Wellesley is already on his way to join me at Sandgate : perhaps in a few hours I shall see him. Or at all events, to-morrow ! But what if his mind should have changed? — what if during six mouths’ separation and silence be- tween us, his passion could have cooled down, and he sh(3uld either have found another mistress or travels ? Well, then, in that case I will return to London, where I shall speedily find some protector to my fancy.” I chronicle all this to serve as a warning to those who may be in a position where such warning can possibly exercise a beneficial influence. I cul- pably abandoned myself to those reflections; and the woman who does so is lost. The right path may stretch out, broad, open, and easy of access, before her : but if she yield to the whispered blan- dishments of temptation, she will turn aside— and it will be the same as voluntarily surrendering her- self up to Satan ! Having rambled and lounged about for some hours. I began to retrace my way across the fields I towards Sandgate. I was in the middle of a wide open meadow- thebreezo gently fanning my coun- j tenanco and toying with my hair, — when I beheld I a gentleman advancing from the opposite cx- ircmily', as if ho were coining from the town. My first impression was that this was in reality Felix Wellesley himself: but as he drew nearer, the I appearance of the individual took another simi- litude —one f bat was equally familiar to me. He recognised mo — he quickened his pace — it was Gci>rgo Beaumont who was thus hurrying towards me ! A cry of amazement thrilled from my lips ; and the next instant I was supported in Jiis ; arms fir J. was staggering and was about to fall witl) tho sudden faintness that came over me. “() Itose 1 Jtoi^e !” be exclaimed, in a voice of mingled sorrow and reproach; “was it to learn all this that J came back to lOnglaud P” i “ (food heavens !” 1. cried, his word i and manner instantaneously recalling mo to the full [lossession of consciousness : “ you ut one in tlio mcjrning when I got the irons olf. I'he )iext thing J did was to force open tho chest with I ho file; and lo and behold! it contained cmly a lot of books and stationery — one pair of trousers— two or three shirts— and a couj)lo of handkerchiefs. Jlowfwer, those articles of toggery wore bettor than nothing, for it would have been little short of madness to 08 ca])o in my gonviet^ dress. So I put on the pantaloons and a ch an shirt: I tied one of tho handkerchiefs round my wounded head, for want of a hat ; and then I began to force tho iron bars of the port-holc. I had nothing but tho lilo to work with : but after a little timo I made tho passage free. But now camo the most difficult part of tho job— or at least the most dangerous. Tho morning was just beginning to dawn ; and if the sentinels should hear a splash as I lowered myself into the water, or see something swimming away from tho ship, their musket balls would be sent whizzing after me. However, I thought it better to risk every- thing than to stay in that accursed hulk— par- ticularly as I had gone so far that if I did remain I should be terribly punished for filing off ray irons and doing all the rest which plainly enough showed that I meant to try an escape. It was a ticklish moment, I can tell you. Rose, when I lowered my- self out of the port-hole and began sliding down one of the heavy chains by which the hulk is moored. But I was armed with the courage of desperation: it was neck-or-nothing — and I knew it full well. I don’t think that a feather could fall into the water more gently than I committed my- self to it; and then I struck out with all the power of my arms. It was low tide ; and the distance to the shore was not very great. I reached it in safety, — scarcely believing my own senses when I found that I was safe on dry land. I can’t think what the deuce the sentinels must have been after, or how it was possible they did not hear me strik- ing out in the water. However, it is certain that they did not— or otherwise I might not be here to tell you the tale.” “ Good heavens,” I said, ** what fearful risks you ran ! And was there no pursuit ?” I don’t suppose the escape was disoovered till two or three hours afterwards,” replied Cyril. “ I know that when I found myself safe on shore I cut away as fast as my legs would carry mo- plunged into the marshes — and never ceased walk- ing even to rest for a moment, for three good hours. My clothes dried upon my back — such clothes as they were, consisting only of this very identical shirt I have got on — these pantaloons — and these shoes. The old tattered jacket and the miserable cap you see me wear now, were given me by a poor cottager, who also gave me a meal ; for I pitched him some story which touched his heart.” “ And for six weeks since your escape ” “ For six weeks, Eose, I have been wandering about like a starved and lost dog— sleeping under hedges and haystacks, or in barns— begging my bread — soxnetimes spurned by pampered lacqueys from the doors of country-houses, but generally experiencing charitable sympathy amongst poor peasant people. In short, I don’t know how I have managed to keep body and soul together ; and what with being half-famished and conti- nually in a state of terror at tho thought of cap- ture ” “ You must indeed have suffered dreadfully !” — and tears trickled down my checks. “ But what accident brought you to Sandgate ?” “Oh, I know it was no use to stay in England, whore I stand the chance of being recognised and taken at any moment, because no doubt my de- | EOSA LAMBEET. 251 scription has been advertised in all tbe news- papers. So I thought that by coming to the Kentish coast I might somehow or another get a passage across to France. I did not dare go to such places as Dover or Folkestone in my present plight : the chances of being nabbed there are too great : but I knew that a little bit of smuggling is now and then done by night on this part of the coast— and it struck me that I might get on board some boat running a cargo if I kept a sharp look-out.” « And what will you do when you get over to France ?” I inquired. “ Pray, for heaven’s sake, be upon your guard : for from all I have read in books ” “A berth at the French galleys,” added my brother, with his habituill mocking laugh, “ would be even less comfortable than the hulk at Wool- wich ? Well, so I believe. But never mind the future : let’s think of the present. What can you do for me ?” I examined the contents of my purse, and dis- covered that I could spare exactly fifteen pounds — and not a farthing more. Indeed it was fortunate I had lived so frugally and quietly at Sandgate until within the last few days, or my resources would have been reduced to a still lower ebb. Fifteen pounds were however a perfect fortune in the eyes of my wretched brother, considering the circumstances in which he was placed; and his eyes sparkled with avidity as he beheld me count- ing out the gold. “ Now,” he exclaimed, “I am all right. I can buy some proper toggery ; and by disguising my- self in some fashion or another, shall be able to go boldly to Folkestone and get a passage across to France. Good bye, Eose. You have done me an immense service— and I sha’n’t forget it. Perhaps it will be a long time before we see each other again : for unless you happen to pay a visit to France, it’s not likely our meeting will be a speedy one.” He just shook me in a sort of careless way by the hand— and hurried off towards the town to make his purchases. I must confess that I was glad he had escaped from the hulk at Woolwich — and equally so that he was about to remove to another country : but, on the other hand, I had sore misgivings that his career would be by no means a long one, and that it could not possibly end well. A couple of hours afterwards I entered a post- chaise and repaired to Dover, where I joined Felix Wellesley, who was waiting to receive me in front of the hotel at which we had appointed to meet. CHAPTEE XXXIII. THE YACHT. Feom the little the reader has already seen of Felix Wellesley, it may be surmised that he was of an ardent and enthusiastic disposition, — therein much resembling Eeginald Fortescue. Such in- deed was' the case ; and I soon found that as he loved me with devotion, he expected an equal fervour of passion in return. This however I was scarcely able to bestow, inasmuch as the feeling I experienced towards him was not love, but simply esteem. I had loved Eeginald Fortescue with passion, and Arthur Brydges with sentiment. It did not appear as if I were again destined to love any other in either of these modes. In re- spect to Eeginald, the love I had so passionately entertained for him at the time, was subsequently absorbed in that holier and purer affection with which 1 had sentimentally regarded Arthur Brydges; and this latter feeling had never been altogether subdued in my soul. His image had often and often risen up before me and floated in my mind since the day of our fearful and memo- rable separation at the entrance of the parish church of Meadowville; and it might even be said that I still continued to love him somewhat. At all events the power of loving another ap- peared to be dead within me ; and therefore I could only regard Felix Wellesley in the same way that I had regarded George Beaumont— namely, as a friend, a benefactor, and a pro- tector. I soon however discovered that this would not do for Felix Wellesley. He thought that as he loved me with all the ardour of romance, I should reciprocate the feeling with equal warmth — and that I should never weary of talking of love, of receiving and bestowing caresses, and of whiling away whole hours in the blandishments of tender dalliance. But it w^as impossible for me to pass my existence thus, — especially as there was no romance of feeling on my own part. Neverthe- less, I of course strove to render myself as agree- able as possible to Felix Wellesley ; and for a while I succeeded. I found that he was jealous, — not in the meanest phase of jealousy which con- stantly suspects the sincerity and fidelity of the object of love— but with that feeling which cannot endure even a moment’s separation, and which constantly requires assurances of affection and de- votion. I foresaw that all this sentimentalism on Wellesley’s part would in process of time prove mawkish, and eventually insufferable. I had hoped that we should live together on reasonable terms, — just as man and wife, who when the first flush of romantic love is passed, settle down into that calm and serene state of mutual affection which, being thoroughly understood and known to subsist between them, does not require to be continuously reiterated from the tongue. But in this hope I was disappointed ; and though Felix, being in his twenty-eighth year, had reached an age when it might be supposed that the ardour of youthful romance had become mellowed down, it was very far from being the case ; and in respect to this love of his, he was a mere boy still. I had joined him, as the reader will recollect, at Dover; and he proposed that we should remain there a few days previous to repairing to London, where we were to establish ourselves in some set- tled home. Being fond of the sea- side, I readily consented to remain a short while at Dover ; and we took very handsome lodgings on one of the terraces fronting the sea. I passed by the name of Mrs. Wellesley, and engaged a lady’s-maid — a respectable young woman who had strong recom- mendations. Wellesley secured the services of a valet on his own behalf,— the man likewise waiting at table and performing the other duties of a foot- nOSA LAMHKI{T. mau. Felix was ns generous as ho was ardent; and if I Imd suffered liitn, lie w^ould have pur- chased for ino the contents of linlf tlio jewellers’ and mercers’ shops in the town. JJut this I would not permit ; for knowing exactly what his income was, I did not choose that ho should run into ex- travagances which might make his expenditure exceed his resources. At the end of the first week we liked our quarters so well that wo engaged them for another ; and at tho expiration of that term, wo still decided upon tarrying yet a little longer at Dover. It was tho autumn season : the weather was beautiful— the place vras crowded with visitors— and I enjoyed the scene. Thus, upwards of a month passed aw’ay, — when the inci- dent occurred which 1 am about to relate. One day, as Felix and I were walking together on the Marine Parade, ho was accosted by that very friend whom he had stopped to inquire about at Woolwich on the occasion which first rendered us acquainted. This friend was a Mr. Williams — a man of about forty years of age, by no means good-looking — but with a frank honest expression of countenance, and an off-hand bluntness of manner which if unpolished, nevertheless merged not into rudeness nor coarseness. lie was dressed in a sailor-like costume, and carried a telescope under his arm. The greetings were warm on both sides; and Felix introduced mo as Mrs. Wel- lesley. Whether Williams fancied that I was really a wife, or knew at once that I was only a mistress, I cannot tell— nor indeed has it anything to do with my story. Suffice it to say that he gave me a very cordial shake of tho hand, — declaring himself much honoured and flattered at forming my acquaintance. And how long have you been at Dover ?” in- quired Wellesley, as Williams turned to accom- pany us in our walk. “ I only arrived yesterday,’' was the response. I came round from Cowes in my yacht ; and there she is,” he added, pointing with his telescope to a beautiful little cutter which was riding at anchor within a quarter of a mile of the shore. “ If you are fond of sailing, Mrs. Wellesley,” he continued, turning to me, “I shall be delighted to give you a little cruise in the Gijpsy. I know my friend Wellesley will not want to be asked twice : for he and I had a yacht between us some three or four years ago, before he took it into his head to go travelling on the Continent.” “ I do not think that Kose will like the sea,” eaid Felix. “ Oh ! on the contrary,” I exclaimed ; “ nothing would give mo greater pleasure than to have a Bail. When by the sea-side I have often and. often wished it— but have never obtained the opportunity.” “Well then,” said Mr. Williams, eleven o’clock to-morrow morning I shall bo on tho look- out for you both. Tho boat will be waiting for you on tho beach. I shall have two or three friends besides yourselves ; and 1 can promise you a tolerably rc8j)cclublo collation when tbo sca- breeze has put tbo appetite in order to enjoy it. And now you must excuse rno : for I have got to go and give some orders in respect to this very trip.” “But, my dear Willlamfl,” said Felix, who Boemed rather annoyed ut tho arrangements thus settled for tlio following day’s voernaLion, “you | really must not expect tis : for there is every ; prosj)CCt of tho wind getting up— and 1 know that Hose’s courage will fail when tho time comes.” “Ah! but Mrs. Wellesley has proiniticd,” said i Mr. Williams, in bis off-hand good-natured man- ner ; “ and I reckon upon your company.” Thus speaking, ho raised his hat and hurried away. “ I was in hopes,” said Felix, with a tone and look of tender reproach, “ that wc were to be alto- gether by ourselves while at Dover, and not mingle in society wlierc wo must be separated.” “I am sure, my dear Felix,” I answered, “ I could not for an instant foresee that you woultl object to n little recreation of this kind— or else I should have responded diflerenlly to Mr. Williams’ invitation. But it is now too lato for us to retreat.” “ You heard him say that thcro would ho others of the party,” objected Felix; “and I cannot en- dure the thought of having a restraint upon us for several long hours.” - “ Oh ! but wo shall bo in each other’s society,” I rejoined ; and it was with some difficulty I could, repress a certain display of ill-humour at tho manner in which Felix treated the engagement that had been foi’mcd ; for I thought it rather too hard that he should pin himself continuously to the skirt of my dress, and that I should be deprived of a little pleasure when I had the opportunity of enjoying it. “Ah! we shall bo in each other’s society,” ho exclaimed, — “ but still as much asunder as if there were a wall of adamant between us. Some friend of Williams will perhaps monopolize your atten- tion ” “ And you, my dear Felix,” I interjected, forcing myself to smile as amiably as I could, — “ must render yourself agreeable to any other lady who happens to be of the party.'” “ Rose ! how can you talk in this manner ?” ho said, with a look of mournful reproach. “Why,” I ejaculated, “you do not think I shall be jealous ?” — and I laughed merrily in the hope of cheering him. “Ah! but I shall be jealous of any attentions which are paid to you by another,” he rejoined, sinking into a perfect despondency. To confess the truth, I experienced a feeling which bordered almost upon disgust : for I thought that it was going a great deal too far — and I could not help saying, “ How foolish you are, my dear Felix ! When we mix in society, we must receive and bestow all suitable courtesies. You cannot suppose that we are always to live together without seeing a single soul. I am sure you would get tired of the monotony of such a life.” “ There is no monotony in love,” he responded » and then ho added with a sigh, “Ah, my dear Rose ! you aro difierent from me : for I could be ever alone with you — whereas I perceive you are already yearning for society, pleasure, and gaiety.” I gave the conversation a turn, for I was growing weary of it : but for all tho remainder of that day Felix Wollcsioy was dispirited and dejected. His mind was evidently composed of extremes — being susccptiblo of fervid enthusiasm or of sentimental despondency. I saw that tho very love he cherished for mo would render him a tyrant, if I submitted 4 liOSA T.AMlJTlllT. 25.5 altogetlier to bis maudlin wbims and fancies: but s tbis”l was by no means inclined to do. Nevertbc- ( less, I did not choose to throw off the yoke rudely i and all in a moment— thereby cruelly shocking his ( really generous nature ; but I was resolved gradu- i ally to break him into a better system, if possible ; and I now hailed Mr, Williams’ invitation as the ( means of taking a first step towards the accom- i plishment of that end. ^ • When we arose on the following morning, i Felix looked from the window ; and with an ex- : pression of almost triumphant satisfaction upon : his countenance, he said, “ I told you what it i would be, dearest Eose : we shall have no yachting to-day. The wind is blowing fresh—and the sea already looks dark and stormy.” “And yet,” I responded, “I have been often enough at watering-places to be well aware that pleasure-vessels constantly put out in such weather as this, and that those who are really fond of the sea will rejoice in this breeze rather than be scared by it.” Felix Wellesley looked annoyed, and his counte- nance fell : but after a few moments’ silence, he caught me in his arms ; and making me sit upon his knee, began toying with my ringlets, — at the same time looking up tenderly into my counte- nance, as he said, “ Don’t you think, dearest Eose, that if we took a good long ramble into the country— sat down together under the shade of a tree— and whiled away the time in discourse, it would be more agreeable than joining a parcel of boisterous fellows who will sing songs, eat and drink, and think only of such pleasures as are utterly unconnected with real sentiment ?” “Felix,” I answered, bestowing upon him a coaxing caress, “ you must do me this favour to- day— yes, you really must consent that we accept Mr. Williams’ invitation. I have set my mind on this little trip. Besides, it would be perfectly rude to absent ourselves; and you could not possibly wish to annoy an old friend with whom you have been on such intimate terms.” To be brief, after a little farther discussion, Felix consented that the engagement should be kept : but throughout breakfast-time I saw that he was dejected and dissatisfied, though by no means ill-humoured. At the appointed hour we repaired to the beach, and found Mr. Williams’ boat await- ing us in charge of a couple of his men. One of them informed us that Mr. Williams and thre« friends had already gone on board the yacht, and that our presence was now alone wanting for the vessel to set out on the projected little cruise. We entered the boat : it put off ; and as the wind was blowing fresh, it danced about somewhat on the agitated water. “ If you think you will be sea-sick,” whispered Wellesley, with a half-entreating look, “ there is yet time to put back.” “ Oh, no 1” I answered, purposely assuming a look of smiling confidence : “ I do not for an in- stant apprehend that I shall be unwell. I rather enjoy the motion of the boat as it dances over the waves, than otherwise.” Felix sighed — but urged no farther remon- strance. In a few minutes we drew near the Gijpsy ; and Williams shouted out an uproarious welcome from the deck. There were three gentle- men standing near him; and they all had on sailor-like costumes. But did my eyes deceive me ? or were the countenance and figure of one of those individuals indeed familiar to me? Yes: for in that person I recognised the Marquis of Bel- more ! But not for an instant did I lose my prescneo of mind : nor did Felix notice any change of coun- tenance on my part. I comprehended in a mo- ment that Belmore would not dare insult me in the presence of other gentlemen : but that it was most probable he would be guided by my de- meanour towards himself, as to the bearing ho should observe in respect to me. Felix Wellesley, be it remembered, was unacquainted with the fearful outrage I had sustained at his hands : it was only my cousin Sir John Haverstock’s conduct of which I had spoken to my present protector. He did not even know that I was acquainted with the Marquis of Belmore ; and a very few instants’ reflection determined me to treat that nobleman as if he were a stranger to whom I was being introduced for the first time,— unless indeed ho should at once claim acquaintance with me, in which case I resolved to receive his greetings with an air of ordinary courtesy. As the boat ran along the side of the cutter, I glanced up ; and as I caught the Marquis of Bel- more’s eye, I saw that he w'as evidently uncertain how to act. He made no bow, and gave no visible sign of recognition. I therefore felt convinced that my former idea was correct, and that in his conduct towards me he would take his cue from my own towards himself. In a few moments we were upon the deck of the cutter: Williams grasped our hands with his habitual good-natured warmth j and then the introductions took place. “ This is my friend the Marquis of Belmore — — Mr. and Mrs. Wellesley. Mr. Blake— Mr. Fan© Mr. and Mrs. Wellesley.” The Marquis raised his hat and bowed with the polite air of one who was presented to a lady for the first time ; and I acknowledged his salutation in a corresponding manner. The boat was hauled up to the stern of the cutter — the anchor was weighed— the sails were set— and the cruise com- menced. Mr. Blake and Mr. Fane were evidently fond of yatching and all that pertained thereto : for they made themselves useful in assisting the sailors. The Marquis of Belmore remained in conversation with Wellesley and myself, — he as- suming that well-bred air of polite courtesy which a gentleman adopts towards new acquaintances— and I preserving all my presence of mind so as to maintain a corresponding demeanour. Wellesley evidently purposed to keep by me as much as he could, and to monopolize my attention as far as he dared consistently with the amenities of good society. The breeze speedily freshened more and more ; and it became necessary to take in sail. “Wellesley, my dear fellow!” exclaimed Wil- liams, “come and lend us a hand. Surely you have not forgotten all that you used to be so skill- ful in ? Mrs. Wellesley will spare you awhile : 1 for I see that she enjoys the trip as much as if she had been all her life accustomed to the sea.” ^ I I noticed that an expression of annoyance flitted I over the countenance of Felix on being thus sum- ■ moned away from my side : but he could not pos- L sibly refuse to obey it, nor render himself utterly 254 ) ROSA LAMBKRT. I ridiculous by porsistinf^ in stopping with me. lie accordingly hastened to the torepart of the vessel ; and I and Belmoro were now, so to speak, alone together — that is to say, so far alone tliat any conversation which took place between us, could not bo overheard by the rest amidst the noises of the vessel, the wind, and the ocean. “ Am I forgiven ?” asked Bclmorc, bending upon mo a significant look. “Does your lordship think you do well to refer to the past P” I inquired, in a cold voice, but dart- ing upon him a glance that was full of hatred. “ If you yourself, dearest Rose ” “ I beg, my lord, that you will not address me with a familiarity which is insulting. We are en- joying the hospitality of a mutual friend j and any outrage of word or of look which you may per- petrate towards one of his guests, will bo a flagrant breach of all courtesy and decency.” “Then I will say Mrs. Wellesley,” responded the Marquis, with a transient superciliousness of look and of tone. “ I was about to ask,” ho con- tinued, resuming an air of politeness, “ whether in questioning me as to the prudence of alluding to by- gone matters, you yourself wished that they should be altogether forgotten ?” “ A wrong, my lord, so deep as that which I sustained from you, can never be forgotten,” I re- sponded, in a deep firm voice : “ but it were per- haps in better taste that you should abstain from alluding to it.” “ Am I to understand, then,” he said, “ that my crime is past all forgiveness ?” “Look deep down into your own heart, my lord,” I replied : “ and if you possess the feelings of a human being, ask yourself if it be possible that such a fearful wrong can receive pardon from her who suffered it ? You at least did wisely to meet me as a stranger j and during the few hours that we shall be together in this vessel, you will of course conduct yourself towards me as if I were one whom you thus met for the first time.” “You are terribly vindictive against me,” said the Marquis. “ Do you know that you left me in a strange manner that time ” “Ah! you persist in alluding thereto?” I eja- culated. “Well, my lord, if it be a pleasurable topic for you to dwell upon, I would have you reflect again and again upon the words which I addressed to you on that occasion. Do you re- member the tale I told you in respect to the wretched man who was flung from Highgate Arch- way ? — do you bear in mind the prophetic warning which I gave you ? — have you since bethought yourself that it is impossible for such a crime as yours to go unpunished ?” “I told you that you wore vindictive against me,” exclaimed Belmoro uneasily : “ and your words prove it. Doubtless you wish that some such horrible catastrophe should overtake mo, and that you should bo by to witness it ?” “ I am not altogether so wicked,” was my re- sponse, “ as to invoke the most terrible vengeance which heaven can inflict: though, on my soul! Lord Belmoro, there is a presentiment in my mind that what 1 shadowed out in that den of infamy at Woolwich to which I was so infamously in- veigled, will sooner or lalcr hui)pcn.” “I I' you talk to me in this strain,” said the Marquis, evidently suflering under a vague sensa- tion of uneasiness and o.\|)ori('n(:ing ul .) a ^<•(•ling of spite ngiiinst myself,— “ wlnit is to prevent mo I from taking my revenge ? what if 1 wore to pro- ; claim to helix AVello-iloy all that you doubtless j have left untold P — what if I wore to doriounco 1 you as the veriest j)rollig(ito, w'nnlon, and demiicp, | in the presence of Williams and his other friends ? Men are not over particular, 1 know : but still I could tell enough concerning you to convince them that they have not a man’s mere mis- tress amongst them, but one who has passed from tho arms of a succession of men ” “Lord Belmore, your threat is infamous!” I interrupted him: “but I rock not for it. You dare nut pursue so diabolical a course ; you would bo stamping yourself as a cowardly villain and a re- vengeful calumniator. No — you dure not ! Those gentlemen would take my part ; and every hand would bo raised to strike you down. This you know full well. Your words therefore, when con- veying such a menace, are as empty as tho wind which is sweeping by us.” Belmoro bit his lip with mingled rage and vexation; and after a few moments’ silence, ho said, “ A pretty turn oifr conversation has taken ! I dare swear that tho others fancy we are talking on ordinary topics— that I am bidding you observe the aspect of tho town as it is fading from our view and seeming only a dark shapeless line at tho bottom of the white cliffs— or that perhaps I am holding forth poetically upon the swelling waves over which our bark is so gallantly gliding— or again, that I may bo discussing with you the merits of the last new novel — or perhaps reciting some piece of poetry consistent with the present scene. But if Wellesley, and Williams, and tho other two fancy this, they are marvellously mis- taken — are they not ?” “Marvellously,” was my cold response: and then as I recollected the impression which my warning had made upon the young nobleman at the time it was uttered, and which had not evi- dently worn off, I could not help observing, “ Our friends little think that I have been recalling to your memory the terrible tale of Highgate Arch- way, and the motives for which I told it on a par- ticular occasion. You seem to have marked me out for persecution. At this very moment your mind, instead of being full of contrition for your past conduct, is harbouring spiteful and revenge- ful thoughts — and all because I would not will- ingly listen to your overtures and consent to live with you as a mistress ! Your crime was great towards me, Lord Belmore ; and again I declare ! that my soul harbours an invincible presentiment j that you will sooner or later be overtaken with j condign chastisement, and that I shall be near at I hand to behold it ! If my words be fulfilled, I 1 charge you, my lord, to remember in the moments | of your perishing agony, the foul wrong which you inflicted upon an unfortunate female who never j injured you ” | “Enough of this!” ejaculated Belmore: “let i us talk of something else- since for appearance’ ! sake I must keep by your side ” I “What bettor can wo talk of,” I immediately I said, “than a subject fraught with such infinite importance to us both ? Y\'s, Lord Belmore,” I continued, feeding that in thus pertiuaciously riveting his attention upon such a point, I was ROSA LAMBERT. 255 alroaclj partially avenging the wrong I had sus- tained, by the growing trepidation and vague terror I was exciting in him, — “you will some day be punished for your misdeeds ; and in your last moments will the thought flash to you that if you could obtain my pardon your death would be attended with circumstances all the less bitter. And that pardon, in such a moment but only in such a moment,” I emphatically added, “ should be given !” At this instant there were loud cries of “ Look out ! hold fast !” on. the part of Williams and his friends. Quick as lightning did Wellesley bound towards me; and his arms were thrown around me, as a tremendous sea struck the bow of the vessel. For an instant I was blinded by the spray ; and through my brain rang as wild a cry of mortal anguish as ever vibrated there— a cry as wild as that which the wretched Andrew Winter sent forth from his lips when plunging down into the abyss from the summit of the Archway ! My eyes, which I had closed, were opened again in a moment: the Marquis of Belmore had disappeared from the spot where he was standing a few seconds previously ! All was horror and confusion on board the vessel : my looks were swept around — I beheld something dark on the waves at a little distance — a fresh cry thrilled through my brain — it came from the lips of Belmore — and it was Belmore who was struggling in the water ! Ejaculations of horror had burst forth from the lips of all on board — gentlemen and sailors ; — and while some hastened to alter the sails so as to check the swift progress of the vessel, others lowered the boat. Williams vocif^'ously called upon Wellesley to assist in doing something: but he tenaciously held me in his arms. It was not through cowardice : it was through that devoted and absorbing passion which he cherished for me : — yet at the instant he appeared a coward in my eyes; for methought he was paralysed, or rather bewildered with every kind of alarm. “ For heaven’s sake help, Felix !” I exclaimed. “Leave me! I can take care of myself — I will hold fast to this rope ! Go, go ! — for heaven’s sake, do as they bid you 1” “Wellesley, will you lend a hand here?” thundered forth Williams. “ Your wife is in all safety — and there is a fellow-creature drown- ing _ Then Felix, hastily whispering an entreaty that I would hold fast, sprang to the spot where his succour was required in handling the sails. The boat was lowered by those who were addressing themselves to that particular duty : and again did a wild cry for help thrill from Belmore’s lips, rising high above the din with which the voices of nature herself were speaking in the sound of the ocean and the gushing of the wind. A thousand wild thoughts swept through my brain as I watched with intense anxiety the proceedings that were rapidly being cai’ried out for the succom* of the Marquis. Was it possible that my pre- sentiment — the strength of which I must candidly confess I had exaggerated in my words — was about to be fulQlledP was the author of the tremendous outrage I had sustained, to perish miserably before my eyes ? As in the case of Andrew Winter, I had asked not of heaven the infliction of such ft hideous penalty as this ; and I shudderingly recoiled from the idea that it was to be con- summated. Meanwhile the Marquis of Belmore had kept himself afloat : he was evidently a good swimmer — and the boat was now darting towards him. I watched its progress — and 1 watched his form too, as he struggled and battled for his life against the rolling waters. Williams himself was seated in the stern of the boat, guiding the helm : two of his sailors were plying the oars with all the energy and precision of which they were capable. Williams shouted out encouraging words to the wretched Marquis; and in the meantime the cutter itself was put about, so that it now was turning towards the exciting scene of the struggler in the waters and the advance of the succouring boat. Another loud cry of ineffable anguish thrilled through the gusty air, piei’cing my very brain as if with a barbed arrow : then a high wave bore the form of the Marquis past the boat, and nearer to the cutter. I looked over the side with feelings of the acutest suspense and of unutterable horror: I beheld the ghastly, distorted, terror- stricken countenance of the drowning man for a moment upturned towards me — and, O God ! what a world of frightful eloquence was there in the expression of that face ! I comprehended, as the coldest shuddering swept over me, that my prediction so singularly hazarded, was miraculously fulfilled : I knew as well as if the drowning one himself had sent thrilling forth from his lips a description of all he was at the moment expe- riencing, — I knew, I say, w'hat was sweeping through his harrowed brain then and there ! His very look seemed to say, “ Your prediction is ful- filled ! Bose, you are avenged 1” — and then, after one desperate but ineffectual effort to gain the boat, he disappeared from my view. T was smitten with a sensation so awful — a feeling so terrible — at this stupendous realization of my prophecy, that it appeared as if I received a sudden blow of a hammer ; and I sank senseless upon the deck. When I returned to conscious- ness, I was lying upon a sofa in the cabin, — Wellesley bending over me, administering restora- tives, and beseeching me in the most piteous tones to open my eyes and speak to him. “ The Marquis of Belmore ?” I gasped forth. “ He is gone !” was the response : “ he has disappeared Was it not horrible and shocking to a degree ?” “Yes— horrible and shocking!” I responded: j and if Wellesley’s words had not thus convinced me that the tragedy was an actual and positive occurrence, I should have regarded it as a dream. “ Horrible and shocking !” I slowly repeated : and there was still a sensation of awful solemnity in my soul at the fearful fulfilment which my predic- tion had received. “Ho you feel better now, dearest, sweetest Bose ?” asked Wellesley, throwing his arms around my neck as he knelt by the side of the sofa on which I lay. “You look very, very ill— horror seems stamped upon your countenance — your mind has evidently received a most painful shock “Painful indeed!” I murmured, but in a me- chanical way, for I scarcely knew what I said : a tremendous consternation was upon me — I felt like one who had been smitten down and stunned by an awful calamity. 1 TIOSA LAMunUT. 25G “I am 80 sorry wo came,” whispered Felix softly, but also soothingly. “ It really struck me that some fatality would happen. Promise me, dcai’est Hose, that for the future you will be guided by me and.^follow my advice. Why do you not answer me ? For heaven’s sake speak ! Your eyes seem to bo gazing in wild vacancy ” “ Oh, Felix !” I responded, “ if you had caught the last look of that wretched young noble- man’s ghastly, distorted, horror-stricken counte- nance '* “ For heaven’s sake do not think of it !” interrupted Felix, in a tone of the most earnest entreaty : “ put it away from your memory — banish it from your imagination ” “ I cannot — I cannot !” I answered with a shudder : “ it will haunt me for a long, long time Never, never shall I forget the last look of that countenance which was upturned in the dying agonies of the drowning man !” But now it occurred to me that I must really exercise a power and control over my feelings — or else Felix Wellesley would begin to suspect that there was something beyond the mere horror of the scene which had thus affected me. I rose ! from the sofa— readjusted my dress — and drank some wine-and-water which Felix presented me. The wind was now blowing so strong that we w'ere running back towards Dover ; and the gallant little vessel was dancing over the rolling waves. The spray was beating upon the deck : but I longed for the fresh air, and insisted upon ascend- ing from the cabin, despite the earnest entreaties of Felix to the contrary. I could not however ! remain long on deck ; and in order to avoid being wet through, descended again to the cabin. Williams and his friends presently came down : their looks were profoundly mournful. They 1 drank some wine — but not a word was said of the collation : no one had any appetite under existing circumstances. They all spoke of the incident as a frightful calamity ; and I gathered from what they said that the unfortunate Marquis must have suddenly lost his balance when the vessel was struck by the sea which broke over it, and that he was hurled over the low bulwark before he j could grasp the rope at which he clutched. I We entered Dover harbour in safety ; and sad indeed were the tidings which had to be commu- nicated to those persons who were upon the quay. Wellesley and I hastened home to our lodgings ; and for the next few days I experienced so much of that sensation of awful solemnity which I have already described, that I began to fear I should never be able to shake it off. Amidst all my re- flections upon the subject, it was a matter of real consolation to think that only a few minutes before the dreadful tragedy occurred, I had assured the Marquis of Belmoro that in his last dying agonies, whenever his time should come, he might rely I upon my pardon. I say that it was a consolation, j -—because, though utterly guiltless of the young i man’s death, there was notwithstanding a certain , guilty or at all events painful feeling in my mind at the idea that my own prophecy and his fate should have been so intimately connected. In a few days, however, my mind recovered its ordinary I tone ; but even when enabled to reflect more calmly ui)on the shocking scene I had witnessed, I experienced no revengeful satisfaction at its occur- rence. The body was washed on shore in the course of the week : an inejuest was holdon upon it— and a verdict was returned in accordance with the evidence adduced. The ducal father and other relatives of the deceased came down to Dover to fetch away the remains of the drowned one, and convey them elsewhere to rccciro the rites of osten- tatious sepulture. Before passing on to other matters, I must pause for a few moments to chronicle a reflection which at this period arose more than once in my mind, and which was only a natural sequence of the impression made upon mo by the tragedy of the yacht. From three persons had I experienced an outrage similarly diabolical : two of these had perished before my eyes, both dying miserably, and the last agony of their looks being revealed to my vision. The third remained alive : he was my cousin. Sir John JIavcrstock. Was he destined to experience a chastisement equally dreadful ? and was 1 fated to become its witness ? These were the questions I often and often asked myself during the first few days which followed Belmore’s death, and until the impression made by the tragedy gradually began to lose its vividness and become absorbed amongst the mass of other memories that had settled down into the cells of my brain. Ten days after the catastrophe at sea, we re- paired to London and took up our temporary quarters at an hotel. Then wo busied ourselves in searching about the most agreeable suburbs of the metropolis for a suitable villa-residence. I preferred the outskirts on account of the oppor- tunities they afford for good exercise on foot or on horseback ; and Felix readily fell into my views, as he doubtless thought that by living a little way out of town we should have all the less chances of forming acquaintances and therefore be all the more together. Not that I wish it to be under- stood that his motives were selfish in thus agree- ing to my proposal to dwell in the suburbs : on the contrary, he did his best to gratify every wish of mine so long as it tended not to throw us into society or to separate us. To be brief, we found a suitable dwelling in the neighbourhood of Bays- water ; we furnished it elegantly though not ex- travagantly : Felix purchased carriages and horses ; and in a short time the establishment was com- pletely appointed. As time passed on, I found it more and more difficult to assort my own temper, habits, and inclinations with those of Felix Wellesley. He would constantly be with me : I could scarcely | move anywhere without being accompanied by j him. If leaving him in the drawing-room, I | stayed away too long (as ho thought) in my j own chamber, he would come to look after mo ; | and if I went shopping, he still insisted on I being my companion. Now, there are times when | a woman, with the very best views and intentions, chooses to bo alone for a while in the house, and also to go alone to make purchases ; and there- fore the constant attendance of Felix Wellesley amcftinted almost to a persecuting supervision. It made mo feel supremely ridiculous on occasions to bo accompanied by Felix when visiting mercers’ shops; it m.ado him too appear still more ludicrous — but ho did not see it. And then, on the other hand, it was so difficult to make him comprehend I that there wore really and positively occasAns EOSA LAWEEET. when his companionship was inconvenient : it was painful to wound the feelings of one whose only fault was in the depth of his devotion. Still I found myself leading an existence which was not altogether a happy one. I have before said that I had foreseen his love would become a tyranny, if I did not combat against it : but I found it a more difficult warfare to wage than I had anticipated. He was always so happy when in ray society : he immediately became so dejected and mournful if I I spoke of proceeding anywhere without him, that it 1 actually became as painful an ordeal for me to say ! “ that I had to visit my milliner and must there- I fore go alone,” as if I had committed some grievous I fault which I felt myself imperiously bound to ! confess. And then, too, Felix seemed to think that j we were to live together in an unchanging atmo- ; sphere of love — that love was to be the principal topic of our discourse — that we ought to sit for j hours with hands clasped in each other’s, or with ! No. 33 his arm thrown round my waist and my head re- posing on his shoulder. Often and often did the domestics enter suddenly when he was lavishing caresses upon me, or talking in some such foolish playful strain as one adopts when amusing one- self with a child : and these surprises on the part of the servants filled me with confusion, made the blushes glow upon my cheeks, and the blood tingle to the very edges of my ears and the tips of my fingers. I could elaborate this account of Felix Welles- ley’s behaviour so as to embrace an infinite variety of details : but I have said enough for the present to enable the reader to judge what he actually was ; and it may easily be supposed that my existence grew more and more uncomfortable. I was kept as it were on a continual fidget— always apprehen- sive of being rendered ridiculous in the presence of the servants, and of becoming their laughing-stock. No uxorious old husband who had married a girl f 258 EOSA LAMTTRET. young cnougli to bo his granddaughter, could po3- eibly have pinned liimsclt' more coinplotcdy to Ids ■wife’s apron than my comparatively youthl'ul lover of twenty-seven or twenty-eight attached himself to me. Three or four families in tho neighbour- hood called upon us ; and as I was now getting much less punctilious and scrupulous than was formerly my wont, I wished to cultivate their ac- quaintance, inasmuch as I longed for society. I passed as a married woman : all tho neighbourhood believed mo to be such ; and therefore the oppor- tunity was excellent for forming these friendsliips. d3ut Felix threw a thousand little obstacles in tho •Vi'ay. Not that he was punctilious in respect to my position : on the contrary — he was so proud of me that if I had urged any entreaty for him to make mo his wife, in his infatuation ho would have done so. But I felt that I never could be really happy with him, and foresaw that our connexion would not last very long. In respect to the fami- lies to whom I have alluded, he gave them no en- couragement to repeat their visits j and when I insisted on returning their calls, he had so many excuses that it was with infinite difficulty I could at length compel him to accede to my wishes. But even then he cut short the visits with an abrupt- ness which produced the impression that we merely returned their calls for courtesy’s sake, but that really we did not court society. The consequence was they returned not again ; and I lost the ac- quaintances in whose society I might have whiled away many an hour which was now destined to hang so heavily on my hands. Our villa had a flower-garden in front, and was separated from the road by iron railings. One exceedingly fine day, in the month of December, I availed myself of an opportunity when Felix was temporarily engaged in writing some letters, to take a walk in that garden : but scarcely had I entered it, when I beheld a gentleman on horse- back ride up to the gate and lift his hat to me. It was Mr. Alvanly ; and remembering with how much kindness he had treated me in respect to my cousin and the Marquis at Bamsgate, I 1 hastened forward, and shook hands with him over 1 the gate. 1 “ What a shocking thing,” he observed after the ! usual compliments were exchanged, “ was the death ' of Belmore !” ! “ And you will be surprised to hear,” I said, ! “that I was on board the vessel at the time it happened. Ah ! but do not imagine for a mo- i ment that I had voluntarily sought his society : tho invitation came from a mutual friend — and : I knew not whom I should encounter in that 1 yacht.” i “ J t was indeed a sad thing !” remarked Alvanly : 1 then in a hesitating manner he inquired, “ Is Cap- tain B(!amnoi)t ” 1 “No,” 1 resj)ondcd: for I know wliat he meant, j “I am now living with a Mr. Wellesley.” 1 “.Arifl 1 hoj)o you are happy,” ho rejoined. 1 “ By the bye, your jn-ccious cousin Sir John JEaver- ! stock is going on at a (lesia'rato rate. I am told that sometime ago he lost liri(! 0 }i thousand pounds at one swoop on tho turf. Ih; is making ducks and drakes of his fortune, and will 8i)co(iily got through it.” I saw l)y Alvanly’s manner that ho was i)cr- fcctly ignorant of tho diabolic treacheries perpe- trated towards me by my cousin and tho deceased Mar([uis. AV'e remained conversing attliogale for about ten minutes ; we then shook hands again — and Alvanly cantered away, followcsl by his groom, who had been halting at a little distance. As t turned from tho gate, 1 saw I'elix ni)pear upon the threshold of the front door ; and it immediately struck me that there would bo a scene. But in anticipation thereof, I summoned all my fortitude to my aid, — resolving that if he did really show any unbecoming jealousy, I would resent it. In- deed I longed for an opportunity to break through that web of tyranny which, though formed of silken and golden threads, was nevertheless a web all tho same, and kept me enthralled to a greater or lesser extent. “My dear Hose,” exclaimed Felix, rushing towards mo with a sort of dismay upon his coun- tenance, “ who on earth is it that you have been talking to for tho last ten minutes? I was a great mind to join you But who was he ?” “ An old friend of mine,” I answered, somewhat distantly. “ An old friend P” echoed Felix, looking as if he thought my answer was a very momentous one. “ Yes,” I responded, — “ a friend of some years’ standing. Is it so very strange that I should pos- sess a friend ?” “ If of your own sex, to be sure not !” quickly rejoined Felix. “ But ■” “ But what ?” I inquired. “ Why, my dear Bose, you cannot think it is a very pleasant thing for me to see you stand laugh- ing and talking for ten long minutes with a gen- tleman who is a perfect stranger to myself.” “ Then I am sure, Felix, you are very silly to bo displeased with it,” I replied : “ for if you were to meet some lady of your acquaintance, and stand talking to her for half-an-hour, it would not give me the slightest concern.” Wellesley gazed upon me with a perfect con- sternation; it seemed as if he thought that ho could not have heard aright. But I maintained all my coolness ; and though to a certain extent grieved at the evident torture I was causing him, yet I saw the necessity of seizing the present opportunity for speaking thus frankly and plainly, so as to emancipate myself somewhat from the trammels which his very love itself had woven around me. “You mean this, Bose?” he at length said, with a voice and look of the profoundest dejection: and then with a deep sigh, he added, “ You do not love me?” “ Yes, Felix,” I answered ; “ I esteem you in a rational and sensible manner. I would do much to insure your happiness : in short, I would make it my study if you were to allow me to set about it after my own fashion. But you are so unrea- sonable ” “ Unreasonable to love you as I do ?” he ex- claimed, looking as if every fresh sentence that came from my lips struck him blow upon blow, — ■ dispelling one fondly cherished illusion after an- other. “ Not unreasonable to love mo,” I responded ; “ because if you loved mo not, wo should not be together — but unreasonable to make this love of your’s a source of perpetual torture both for your- self and for me. That gentleman whom you saw at the gate, is Mr. Alvanly, a Member of Parlia- ment; and I have known him for a long time:” — but I did not choose to add that I had been his mistress : indeed I knew very well that it was Felix Wellesley’s idea I was first seduced by Cap- tain Beaumont himself. “ But could you not have contented yourself,” be asked in a voice of mournful reproach, “ with merely acknowledging Mr. Alvanly’s salutation ? Or you might have come straight back into the house ” “ And wherefore should I not converse for a few minutes with an acquaintance ? Keally, Felix,” I continued, now growing somewhat angry, “ I am ashamed of you. Pray let not such a scene as this occur again.” “ It is rather for me, Eose,” rejoined Felix, “ to make such a request:” — and it actually struck me for the moment that he was struggling to keep back the tears which had risen to the brims of his eyes. “ Come now, let us be good friends !” I said, unable to carry my remonstrances any farther; and as it is a beautiful day, we will go out on horseback together.” Felix evidently fancied he had carried the point, and that I should never again stand conversing alone for ten minutes with any male acquaintance. His looks brightened up : he gave the necessary orders to the groom ; and I ascended to my dressing-chamber to put on my riding-habit. This riding-habit fitted me exquisitely ; and by setting tight to my bust, displayed the full, rounded, well- developed richness of its contours. It became me to the highest advantage ; and when I had on my plumed hat, and contemplated myself in the glass, I felt that I had reason to be proud of my beauty, both of face and figure. Being apparelled, I descended the stairs, followed by my maid, who invariably attended to adjust the folds of my riding-habit when I was mounted. Felix was waiting for me in the hall ; and the groom was bolding the horses near the steps of the front door, which stood open. Carried away by irrepressible enthusiasm, and utterly oblivious of the fact that we were seen by both domestics, Wellesley sprang forward ; and exclaiming, “ Sweetest Hose, how ravishing you look !” he threw his arms round my waist and strained me to his breast. “How stupid!” I ejaculated, forcibly disen- gaging myself: for I instantaneously beheld a passing smUe on the lips of the groom, although the next moment he with becoming discretion averted his head as if he had seen nothing. My countenance was crimson ; and in my confusion looking back, I saw my maid also pretending to gaze in another direction. I felt so truly ridicu- lous — so awkward and embarrassed, and at the same time so angry, that I knew not what to do. To add to my confusion, Felix — instead of having the good tact to turn off his proceeding in a jocular manner — stood in the middle of the hall, the very picture of dismay and affliction at the vehemence of my ejaculation and at the abruptness with which I had shaken him off. “ Come,” I said petulantly, “ and assist me to mount.” “ I think, Eose, we had better stay at home,” he dolefully answered. “Nonsense!” was the angry whisper which issued from my lips. “ For heaven’s sake do not render me more ridiculous than you have already done in the presence of the servants.” Without another word— but bending upon me a look of melancholy reproach — Felix assisted me to mount my horse ; and we sallied forth, followed by the groom. “ Shall we ride out into the country p” asked Wellesley ; “for I wish to speak to you very par- ticularly. I am afraid you are offended — I shall not be happy till I hear from your lips that you love me as much as ever.” “Love! love!” I muttered to myself: “it is nothing but love !— sickening and nauseating to a degree !” — and I really felt ineffably disgusted. “ What are you saying, Eose ?” asked Felix. “ I was observing,” was my response, as I en- deavoured to compose my looks, “ that I would rather ride to the Park and see the company.” “ Always a preference for the Park !” exclaimed Wellesley; “and we cannot talk there. I would much rather ” I did not give him an opportunity to finish his sentence : but urging my horse into a smart canter, took the direction of Hyde Park,— he being of course compelled to accompany me. CHAPTEE XXXIV. THE CAPTAIN AND THE LOED. As we entered the Park, I was struck by the appearance of a magnificent horse, which a young officer, in the undress uniform of the Guards, was riding. I have already said that I was fond of admiring beautiful horses ; and perhaps I kept my eyes fixed upon this one with a somewhat marked attention. But it was only the animal I was thus contemplating, and not the rider : though he him- self was by no means an object deserving of indif- ference, for he was one of the handsomest young men I had ever seen in my life. “ Eose, what are you doing p” were the words which suddenly fell upon my ear: and glancing around, I perceived that the countenance of Felix expressed the saddest reproach. “ I was admiring that beautiful horse,” was my answer coldly given. “Come, let us ride on!” said Wellesley: and now it was his turn to urge his steed forward and force me to accompany him. When at some distance we reined in our animals again, Felix said, “ Eeally, my dear Eose, that officer must have fancied that you were looking very hard at him — and he began to stare so impudently.” “ Then you were observing him far more atten- tively than I was,” I said ; “ for all my interest was concentrated on his horse.” At this moment a carriage came dashing on from behind so quickly that my steed began to prance and caper about ; and though an excellent horse- woman, I had some trouble to keep my seat. Scarcely had I managed to pacify the animal, when a party of half-a-dozen ladies and gentlemen, also coming from behind, galloped past : my horse again became restive— and the next moment I was 200 ROSA LAMRRRT. thrown. In an instant one of those riders brought his animal to a halt, and sprang off at the same time that Welleslcj did from his own steed. But the former was beforehand with Felix : ho raised mo up — and I recognised the young officer whoso magniGcent animal I had admired. “ I hopo to God you aro not hurt !” ho said. “Oh, no, I thank you,” was my response. “ Nothing seriously — and I began brushing off the dirt from my riding-habit, while Wellesley pressed hastily forward, so that I am convinced ho would have snatched mo from the arms of tho young officer if I had not in tho first moment disengaged myself thence. “ I am afraid,” said tho Guardsman, “ that tho party whom I have just joined were galloping past at such a rate that it frightened your horse. All our apologies aro your due.” I expressed a suitable acknowledgment. Wel- lesley also thanked tho young officer for his atten- tion— but in a manner as if ho meant to imply there was no farther need for him to linger on tho spot. This the officer did not or would not perceive ; and he said, “ After an accident which might have been so serious, and in tho cause of which I am more or less implicated, I shall feel very uneasy unless permitted to call to-morrow and inquire how you are.” “You are very good,” I answered: and Wel- lesley, utterly unable to repel so much politeness by means of an act of discourtesy, was constrained to give his card to the officer, — who thereupon bowed, remounted his horse, and joined his party which had halted at a very little distance. “ Assist me up again into the saddle,” I said to Felix. “ I feel no effects from the fall.” “ Do you really think you can ride home ?” he inquired, with the deepest concern depicted on his countenance. “Oh, yes!” I exclaimed, smiling: “it is really nothing.” Nevertheless, when I was again in the saddle, I experienced certain pains in the back; and though it was my original intention to persevere I in making the circuit of the Park, I yielded to j Wellesley’s entreaties; and we retraced our way ! homeward. For the remainder of the day I was I compelled to recline upon the sofa : but I would not have medical assistance, although Felix begged and implored that a physician should be sent for. “ Of course,” ho said, on the following morning, as we were seated at breakfast — for I had per- sisted in getting up, although somewhat stiff and suffering from the bruises I had received,—** when that officer calls, as I suppose ho will, the servant will be instructed to deliver him a message at the door.” “ How can you think of such a thing ?” I exclaimed. ** Ilis attentions were most courteous; and it would bo tho height of rudeness to deny him admission.” At this instant tho parlour-door opened ; and tho man-servant entered, saying, ** If you please, ma’am. Lord Alfreton, hearing that you had ex- I I)cricnced an accident, sent last evening to make I in(|uirics ; and his lordship has just sent again this I morning.” “ Lord Alfreton ?” I exclaimed in unfeigned wonder : for 1 had never heard of him before. “Oh, yes,” said Felix;— “tho old gentleman that wo have noticed in tho garden opposite. That is his villa.” ** Indeed,” I said : for though wo had now been several weeks in our present residence, I had never experienced tho curiosity to inquire who our oppo- site neighbour was : then turning to tho domestic, I added, “ Our compliments to his lordship — wo thank him for his polito inquiries — and I am ex- periencing no very serious inconvenience from tho accident.” I was however unable to go out, and lay down upon tho sofa. I begged Felix to take some sort of exercise, either riding or walking : but he would not listen to it, and persisted in remaining with mo. Being slightly indisposed, I was in that mood when I would rather have remained altogether quiet: but ho sat close by my side, toying with my hair, pressing my hands in his own, kissing mo every minute, and asking mo every five minutes, “ How do you feel now ?” All this was kind and well-moant enough: but it was not the less teasing and wearisome. Thus tho morning dragged itself slowly away ; and when the afternoon came, I saw that Felix grew fidgetty and uneasy ; and every time ho heard tho garden- gate open he looked anxiously in that direction, I knew what was passing in bis mind : but I did not choose to notice it. Indeed, I felt hurt, and almost indignant to think that tho courtesy of the young officer should prove a source of jealous vexa- tion and annoyance to my protector. At length came the moment so much dreaded by him ; for an elegant phaeton, drawn by a beautiful pair of horses, and attended by two well-appointed do- mestics, drove up to tho gate. The officer, who was now in plain clothes, leaped forth; and as Felix was seated close by the side of the sofa on which I reclined, I said, ** Pray move to a little distance— or it will seem so strange !” The usual look of sorrowful reproach was bent upon me: but my suggestion was nevertheless complied with; and the room-door being thrown open, the servant announced, ** Captain Syden- ham.” I raised myself to a sitting posture, and was about to rise altogether, — when Cap tain* Sydenham, hastening forward, besought me to retain my seat, — adding, ** I was fearful that you would to-day I experience the effects of your fall — and I see that ; my misgivings are confirmed.” j “ I can assure you,” I answered, ** I suffer much | less than might have been anticipated: but I thank you for your attentions of yesterday and the interest you have shown.” ** Oh no, not at all !” responded Sydenham : ** for I painfully feel that I was more or less to blame:” — then turning to Wellesley, he began dis- coursing with well-bred ease on some leading topic of the day. He remained about a quarter of an hour; and when ho took his departure, it was with a half-implied request that now he had the honour of our acquaintance, we would permit him to call again. The answer which Wellesley gave, was only distantly polite, and certainly not cordial ; and this very circumstance struck me as being so ungrateful a return for Captain Sydenham’s at- tention, that I spoke out somewhat more cu- couragingly to tho young officer as ho took his leave. “ My dear Eose,” said Felix, when we were again alone together, “Captain Sydenham will regard your last words as a permission to repeat his call.” “ And why not ?” I exclaimed, somewhat petu- lantly. “Do you think we should be the worse for a little gaiety ? We see i j one !” “And whom do wo wish to see ?” asked Felix ; “ have we not each other ?” “ Oh, yes-each other !” I rejoined ; “ it is always each other ! Do you know that you were only barely civil to Captain Sydenham ?” “ Would you have had me give him a formal invitation to the house?” said Felix. “Oh, my dear Rose ! I am afraid that you are no longer contented and happy ” “Frankly speaking, Felix,” I interrupted him, “ I shall not be contented and happy long if you give way to these humours which are a source of incessant torment to us both. Once for all, my dear friend, let us love each other rationally and sensibly. I wish you would go and take a good ride or a walk, and do something to amuse your- self instead of moping in-doors.” “ I am sure,” answered Felix, evidently much pained by my words, “ that if I had met with an accident, you would remain at home to nurse me.” “ Oh, yes !” I ejaculated : “ that is a woman’s duty. But assuredly,” I added, with a feeling of contempt which found partial expression in my accents, “ it is not a man’s vocation.” Felix Wellesley was excessively hurt at my observations, which were more or less taunt- ing towards himself : but still he would not leave me, though he presently turned the discourse into another channel. I was pained at being compelled to wound his sensibilities : yet I was not sorry that the opportunity had occurred to enable me to convince him that I did not choose to become a complete slave to his love-sick whimsicalities and jealous caprices. Three or four days passed ; and every morning, as well as every evening. Lord Alfreton, who lived opposite to us, sent over his footman to inquire after my health. I learnt that he was a nobleman who had long been a widower, and that he lived with a maiden sister and his own two daughters for the greater part of the year at Bayswater, — only paying a two or three months’ visit in the autumn to his country-seat. He was very rich — considered to bo exceedingly eccentric — but good-natured and liberal. As for his personal appearance, it was that of a short, shrivelled, pale- faced, white-haired, stooping old man of about sixty; but his manner was agreeable— his smile was amiable— and there was nothing repulsive in his aspect. The three or four days which I have represented as passing since the accident, restored me to my wonted health ; and on the first occasion that I went out, it was to take an airing in the carriage, —Felix of course accompanying me. When we returned home, and while the carriage was stop- ping for the gate to be opened. Lord Alfreton — who was walking in his own garden at the time — came across the road ; and addressing us both very courteously, assured me that he had experienced a neighbourly interest on my behalf when he had heard of the accident. He congratulated me on f I being able to leave the house again, and invited us to call on him some day and inspect his beautiful hothouse plants, of which he was very proud and on which he bestowed great attention. I assured his lordship that we should have much pleasure in accepting his invitation : for Felix, as usual, was disposed to treat it distantly and evasively. Lord Alfreton bowed again; and our carriage entered the enclosure. On alighting, I paused for a few moments upon the uppermost step of the front-door, to enjoy the fresh bracing breeze of which I had been deprived during my few days’ confinement to the house ; and happening to glance across the road, I saw that Lord Alfreton was standing at his own gate, in conversation with another gentleman. The inci- dent would not have been worth notice, were it not that this other gentleman was at the instant staring across the road at me. He raised his hat and bowed ; and I mechanically acknowledged the salutation, — though at the moment utterly at a loss to conjecture who he was. The next moment it flashed to my mind that ho was one of Alvanly’s acquaintances, who had been introduced to me and had dined at my table when I was living in Jermyn Street. I felt considerably annoyed at this recognition : I regarded it as almost certain that the gentleman — though without any studied purpose to do me harm — would say something to Lord Alfreton which should let him know who I was ; and thus I apprehended that the introduc- tion which I had hoped to obtain to his lordship’s family, would now be effectually prevented — so that I should again lose an opportunity of enter- ing into a little society in the neighbourhood. As a matter of course, Felix asked me to whom I was thus bowing ? — and when I simply responded that it was a gentleman of my acquaintance, he said with a profound sigh, “ You seem to have a great many acquaintances, Rose — and to be mak- ing new ones as fast as you can. In process of time the house will be thronged with visitors— so that we shall never have an hour to ourselves.” “And the sooner a few visitors come, the better,” I answered somewhat sharply, as I hastened up- stairs to change my toilet. On the following day Captain Sydenham called again ; and inasmuch as Felix gave him a cold re- ception, I exhibited more cordiality than was per- haps altogether consistent with so short an ac- quaintance. The young officer was however evidently much pleased with the graciousness of my manner ; and when I gave him my hand at parting, methought that for a moment he pressed it gently, and that his look lingered tenderly for the same brief space upon my countenance. No sooner was the door closed behind him, when Felix began expressing the hope, in his usual strain, that he would not renew his visits: whereupon I cut him peremptorily short, by telling him plainly that his love-sick nonsense was beginning to dis- gust me, and that I begged he would desist from such language in future if he wished us to remain friends. On the following day, at about one in the after- noon, I saw Lord Alfreton’s sister and two daughters— (these latter being women of between thirty and forty) — go out in the carriage; and a few minutes after his lordship had seen them off, he came across to call upon us. He displayed 202 nos A LAMBERT. so much courtesy and friendliness that I began to think he was still in complete ignorance of any of my antecedents — and that the gentleman with whom ho was talking, as above described, had let drop nothing to my disparagement. But when, after the exchange of a few observations. Lord Alfroton said that ho had come expressly to take us across to see his conservatories, it struck mo that he had purposely availed himself of the op- portunity when his family was out ; that therefore he did really know who I was ; and that however well inclined ho might be to cultivate my acquaint- ance, he did not choose to present mo to his sister and daughters. For a moment therefore, as this idea struck mo, I was about to give a cold refusal : but then it occurred to mo that my conjecture might possibly be altogether wrong, and that at all events I had better suspend my judgment and ascertain by his lordship’s future conduct whether it were erroneous or correct. Having hastily ascended to my chamber to put on my walking apparel, I returned to the parlour, where I had left the old nobleman and Felix. Ilis lordship, assuming the jaunty air of one who felt proud in escorting a beautiful woman, offered me his arm, and conducted me across to his own resi- dence,— Mr. Wellesley accompanying us. His house was handsomely furnished : he possessed many splendid pictures : and these he exhibited to us. He took us to the conservatories, which were really well worth inspection : and thence he con- ducted us back to a sitting-room, where refresh- ments had in the interval been placed upon the table. Thus we passed nearly a couple of hours with Lord Alfreton ; and as we took our leave, I gave him the assurance that we should always be delighted to see him at any time that he would favour us with his presence. For this I received the usual remonstrances and mawkish reproaches from Felix when we were again alone together : but I cut them short even more peremptorily than I had as yet done— and I inwardly felicitated myself with the idea that step by step I was breaking through the trammels of that silken web in which the love-tyranny of Wellesley had sought to en- mesh me. During the ensuing fortnight, both Captain Sydenham and Lord Alfreton called on several oc- casions: but his lordship seldom alluded to the ladies of his family — much less offered to intro- duce them. I was therefore led to comprehend that he did know something of my antecedents ; and, if so, that he of course suspected, or perhaps felt assured, that I was merely Wellesley’s mis- tress and not his wife. But I had by this time grown accustomed to the old nobleman’s visits, and looked forward to them with pleasure as a source of recreation and as a means of breaking that monotony of existence which, despite all luxuries and comlbrts, I was leading with Felix Wellesley. Besides, my own good sense showed me that Lord Alfreton could not, under circumstances, introduce mo to his sister and daughters; and therefore, instead /of resenting his conduct in this respect, 1 continued to welcome him each time ho visited us. One morning — it was now the month of Feb- ruary, 1810 — Lord Alfreton came across at a somc- what earlier hour than usual, and said, “ I have got curds for admission to a private view of an exhibition of pictures; and as those whom, as in duty bound, I first jiroposod to take with mo have other occupations fjr the day, I come to give you, Mr. and Mrs. Wellesley, the second offer. I saw,” continued his lordship, now addressing himself to me specially, “that when 1 had the lumour of re- ceiving you at my own house, you appeared to bo fond of contemplating fine pictures. I can assure you, Mrs. Wellesley, that you will have a treat if you will accompany mo to this exhibition.” “ We should have the greatest pleasure,” Felix hastened to observe, “ were it not that I have a particular appointment at mid-day with my so- licitor, which I cannot possibly put off. It is to renew the lease of a tenant of mine in the country ; and he has come up to London expressly to have the matter settled to-day.” “But Mrs. Wellesley,” said Lord Alfreton, with a smile, “ is not similarly bound by business, and if you will permit mo, I shall feel happy to servo as her escort to the exhibition.” “ I accept your lordship’s kindness with pleasure and gratitude,” was the answer I hastened to give t but I had barely time thus to check the refusal which I saw was on the very point of being uttered on my behalf from the lips of Felix. Ho con- templated me with a blank dismay, which Lord Alfreton could not possibly help perceiving— although with well-bred tact ho dropped his hand- kerchief at the moment, and was as long as pos- sible in stooping to pick it up, — evidently for the purpose of giving Felix time to regain his self- possession. “ Shall I order our own carriage ?” I inquired of the nobleman : “ or has your lordship already com- manded your’s ?” “ If you will suffer me to accompany you in your equipage, it will be more convenient,” was Alfreton’s response. “To be sure!” I exclaimed: and then, as I rang the bell, I said to Felix, “We can set you down, you know, at the nearest point to your solicitor’s office.” A sigh — which, to borrow a Shaksperian simile, was like that of a furnace — was Wellesley’s only response ; unless indeed I should add that his looks expressed a misery so doleful it was almost ludicrous, but certainly contemptible under the circumstances. I hastened from the room, dis- gusted with his conduct; and ascended to my chamber to dress myself for the expedition. My maid was immediately summoned: I bade her select my very best apparel ; and by the time I was arrayed therein, the carriage was in readiness. But on descending the stairs, I found Felix wait- ing to waylay me at the drawing-room door ; and he said hurriedly, “ Pray step in here for a mo- ment, Eose — I wish to speak to you.” My first thought was to refuse : but I was fearful of some scene in the presence of the maid, whose descending steps at the moment caught my ear ; and I entered the drawing-room. “ You will not do this, Kosc ?” said Felix, as ho closed the door : and I saw that ho was violently agitated. “Do what?” I exclaimed, as if astonished at his words and manner. “ Bo guilty of such impropriety as to accom- i pany Lord Alfreton alone,” answered Wellesley, j his looks full of misery and suspense. EOS A lAMBEET. 203 ‘‘And wherefore should I not?” I indignantly demanded. “ Is he not old enough to be my grandfather ? And even if he were not, what harm is there in my accepting such escort when you are unable to accompany me ? Am I to re- main moping at home ?” “I thought you would have accompanied me to my solicitor’s,” replied Felix dolefully, — “ where you could have sat in a private room.” “ Ridiculous, Felix !” I ejaculated. “ Your lawyer — if he believes you to be married — would regard you as the most uxorious of contemptible dotards : or if he knew otherwise, he would con- sider me to be the most jealous of mistresses. No — we will not render ourselves so perfectly ridiculous ; and you ought to be ashamed of your- self for having made such a proposition. Re- sides, what must Lord Alfreton think of your leaving him to himself ? He will suppose that I required you to fasten my dress and help me on with my shawl. Do you know, Felix, that you are carrying things too far ?” “For heaven’s sake, do not address me thus, dearest Rose, in language that kills me !” cried Felix entreatingly. “ It is my affection which makes me act thus ! I wish you would not go to this exhibition. You might plead an excuse sudden iUness “ Oh, I look like one who has been seized with sudden indisposition !” I contemptuously ejaculated, as I glanced towards the mirror, which reflected a countenance on the cheeks of which there was the carnation of health. “Besides, the carriage is waiting — I am ready dressed ” “Then I will accompany you!” cried Felix emphatically. “ To be sure — it was Intended,” I said, — “ to the nearest point to your lawyer’s office ” “No— to the exhibition !” “ But this appointment with your solicitor ?” “ May shift for itself !” rejoined Wellesley. “ I will go with you.” “Now listen to me, Felix,” I said; and I felt that the colour went and came upon my cheeks in rapid transitions, while my form was quivering with ill-subdued rage: “you shall not treat me thus — I will not become the victim of your ridi- culous jealousy. You just now declared before Lord Alfreton that your appointment with your attorney and your tenant from the country, must be kept ; what on earth would he think if you suddenly altered your mind and went with us P He would take it as an insult to himself and to me, — that you dared not trust him to be my escort, nor myself to be escorted by him.” “ Oh, I will invent some excuse !” said Felix, cruelly bewildered and perplexed, at the same time that he was humiliated and miserable : for he had intelligence enough to comprehend that he was cutting a very ridiculous figure — but he had not the moral courage to act in a dignified manner. “No,” I emphatically exclaimed; “nothing so paltry as an excuse under such circumstances ! Pray show yourself a man, and divest yourself of these moods that would shame the veriest boy. Come, Felix, be reasonable !” “ You drive me mad. Rose 1” he exclaimed : but though his infatuation was in one sense so compli- mentary to myself, yet on the other hand it was BO irksome and tyraimous in its developments as to prove perfectly intolerable. “ I must and will accompany you,” he added vehemently. “Do you regard me as your slave?” I indig- nantly cried : “ do you think that you have pur- chased me with gold ?” “ Good heavens, what accusations 1” exclaimed the wretched Wellesley. “But this scene is all of your own creating,” I retorted: “and it must be put an end to. We are keeping his lordship waiting. You arc throw- ing me into such a state of excitement as to spoil all the pleasure I anticipated ” “ Pleasure when separated from me ?” — and Felix bent upon me a look so lorn and desolate that at any other moment, and under any other circumstances, it would have melted my heart. As it was, it pained me certainly : but I saw that it was imperiously necessary to bo firm if I would save both ourselves from becoming supremely ridi- culous in the eyes of Alfreton — and save the old nobleman himself from feeling that he was in- sulted. “ Felix,” I answered, coldly and severely, “ this conduct is most unworthy of you — while to me it is intolerable. The scene must end at once. The arrangements will stand good : you will go to your lawyer’s— and I shall accompany Lord Alfre- ton to the exhibition.” Wellesley said not another word — but followed me from the room. On returning to the parlour where we had left his lordship, I apologized for detaining him so long. He assured me that it was unnecessary to excuse myself,— adding, with a smile, “ that ladies were privileged to linger over toilets and to keep carriages waiting.” He escorted me forth to the vehicle : we entered, —Felix following. As the equipage drove towards the place indicated by Alfreton, Wellesley sat silent, but fidgetting nervously in his seat, and looking perplexed and miserable, — the state of his mind being all the more apparent from the fruitless efforts he made to conceal it. As w^e entered Oxford Street, he looked at his watch, and said, “ I really think I should have time to accompany you, and go to my lawyer’s afterwards.” “ Your appointment was for mid-day,” I said, in a calm voice, as I looked at my own watch ; then darting upon Felix a significant glance, which was full of a decisive warning not to trifle with me any farther, I added — but still speaking in the same unruffled tone as before, — “It is now a quarter to one ; and thus by the time you reach your solicitor’s, you will be an hour behind hand.” Felix was cowed and subdued by that look which I had thrown upon him : and he said no more. In a few minutes the corner of Regent Street was reached ; and this was where he was to alight. He hesitated ; I threw upon him an- other look : he was compelled to yield — and ho descended from the vehicle. But so bewildered and distressed was he, that he forgot to take leave of Lord Alfreton. “ Is anything the matter with Mr. Wellesley ?” inquired the old nobleman, as the carriage drove on again. “ I think he is disappointed,” I answered, “ in being unable, on account of business, to accom- pany us to an exhibition which he would like to see.” unaA T,AMnT;TiT, 2Cyi As I gave this rcsi)on80, 1 noticed soinctlnng peculiar in Lord Alfreton’s look. There was a certain blending of malicious knowiiignoss and contempt : so that I felt assured he had fathomed Wcllesk^’s jealousy, annoyance, and love-sick sen- timentalism. I know not how it was, but I suppose the sarcasm of that look was infectious: for I could not suppress an ironical smile as I gave utterance to the latter portion of my answer : and Lord Alfrcton, with a deepening significancy of countenance, said — but still in a half-jocular strain, — “ I think my friend Wellesley was afraid to trust you with me.” I was now thrown into confusion, and scarcely knew what response to give : but endeavouring to laugh it off, I at length said, “ lie must have been very foolish if ho entertained any such appre- hension.” “Perhaps,” observed Lord Alfroton slowly, and again fixing upon mo a look of peculiar siguifi- cancy, “ Mr. Wellesley feels that ho does not so completely succeed in ensuring your happiness as to place himself beyond the possibility of danger of your running away from him.” “ My lord !” I ejaculated, not knowing whether to be angry, or to take the remark as a mere pass- ing jest. “ Indeed, perhaps I am more serious than you may think me,” continued the old nobleman. “ Such things have happened. But putting your- c-elf out of the question — for of course,” he said with a smile, “ present company always are excepted — there are instances in wl;(ich young ladies listen to old gentlemen. Indeed, I can fancy some such old gentleman addressing some such young lady in these terms: — ‘You are not happy in your present position; it would afford me the highest gratification to take upon myself the duty of ensuring your happiness. I have wealth ; and I will lavish it upon you, — lavish it, too, all the more munificently, because I am not so imbecile as to conceive for a moment that there is anything in my looks calculated to achieve a conquest. Therefore I must make up for my deficiencies in that respect by the thousand and one ways I shall adopt to prove my devotion. You shall have a sumptuous dwelling of your own, and be entirely your own mistress. Luxuries shall cradle you : all the pleasures that gold can purchase, shall be within your reach. You shall be tormented by no whims or caprices on your old admirer’s part ; he will be contented if you sur- render him up an occasional hour of your time; and all that he will demand of you, is inviolable constancy. Helying upon your honour — I will not say gratitude, in this respect, I shall not harass you with idle jealousies — much less dare to give way to unfounded suspicions. In a word, I offer to take you from the protection of one with whom I BOO that you arc not really happy, and to give you a home of your own, where all the sources of happiness shall bo as it were within your own reach and under your own control.’ ” As Lord Alfrcton went on speaking, his looks became more and more significant— though not so full of an unmistakable moaning as to prevent him, if he saw that I was angered, from falling back on the cxcuRo that ho was merely reciting the langu.'i/;e which ho supposed an elderly admirer circumstances. But at first the strain into which he thus glided, appeared so singular that my countenance expressed no other feeling than amazement; and as ho continued, the thought that ho was in reality addressing hia language directly and purposely to myself, slowly gave birth to an idea in ray mind. What if I were to accept the protection of this nobleman ? For some weeks past I had been growing weary almost to disgust, of my connexion with Felix Wellesley; and the scene of this day had strengthened my aversion to the existence I was leading. Hero was an opportunity to emancipate myself at once, — an opportunity which might not so readily occur again, kept as I was under so perpetual a super- vision by Felix. And then too, such had boon my vassalage to his love-tyranny — as I like to denominate it, for I know not of a better term— that I longed, like the imprisoned bird, for the fullest freedom ; and Lord Alfroton had promised that I should bo entirely my own mistress. But then ho was old ; and if not repulsive in appear- ance, there was at all events something that for the moment revolted me at the idea of submitting to his caresses. Many recent circumstances of my life had however combined to render me more selfish and callous than I had formerly been, and to blunt the edge of those feelings which were once so highly sensitive and so delicately keen. The proftered protection of the old nobleman presented numerous advantages to my view; and some little sacrifice on my part might well bo made to procure them. All these reflections swept in a few moments through my mind, as Lord Alfreton brought his speech to an end ; and then he looked more signi- ficantly still upon my countenance, from which indeed his eyes had not been once withdrawn while he was addressing me. But without suffer- ing him to perceive at once that I veritably took his language as being pointedly directed to myself, and containing an overture which had already engendered serious considerations in my mind, I exclaimed laughingly, “One would almost think that your lordship must have addressed yourself in such terms to young ladies at times : for you seem to be wondrously proficient in that kind of discourse.” At this moment the carriage stopped ; and the old nobleman bending another significant regard upon me, said, “That may or may not be my own language towards a certain young lady, just as the young lady herself thinks fit to take it.” I felt a blush rising to my cheeks— not of modest shame, but of confusion and irresolution; and I cast down my eyes. I however said not a word : the carriage-door was now opened, and his lordship handed me out. Several well-dressed ladies and gentlemen were ascending the stairs to the exhibition-gallei’y ; and the conversation therefore could not bo pursued between us in the same strain as before. Lord Alfreton accordingly glided at once into various indifferent topics with that intellectual case which characterized him. We entered the rooms where the pictures were exhibited, and { which wore tolerably crowded, though it was j merely a private view previous to the day of | opening to the public. The pictures themselves i presented the usual varieties of real genius, j mediocre talent, and iuolfoctual aspirations. Wo I K03A LAMULiii'. 205 I procured a catalogue ; and I soon found that his lordship possessed a good critical taste, — at once singling out those pictures which were by eminent men, and passing with a single glance those that were undeserving of notice. It is astonishing how self-sufficient vanity and complacent ugliness love to foist their own repre- sentations into the picture-galleries of public ex- hibitions: and such was the case here. Some smooth incarnation of inexpressive stolidity was described in the catalogue as “ The Portrait of a Nobleman and then, inasmuch as such noble- man might naturally be supposed to be the pur- chaser of his own portrait, his name upon a card, with the price duly set forth, was stuck in one corner of the frame. Thus, though the catalogue was made to enwrap the identity of the original in a modest mystery, the card cleared up the doubt. Another portrait of smug conceit com- bined with intense ugliness, was described in the No. 34 catalogue as ‘‘The Portrait of a Gentleman:” and here again the card told the tale which the cata- logue kept back. Then, in respect to another species of pictures, there were “ Sketches from Nature ” — so called in the catalogue — which w'ere the most unnatural ever seen ; and “ Sketches from the Imagination ” — again quoting from the catalogue — more tame, more trite, more sober than any which nature in reality could have furnished. On the other hand there were some really excel- lent pictures ; and they wci'e the ones which his lordship had expressed, ere we set out, a desire to behold. In the presence of these he lingered ; and I was much interested by his observations, which exhibited a well-cultivated taste. At length we reached the last room of the suite; and just as we crossed the threshold. Lord Alfreton whis- pered to me, “ Has the contemplation of the pictures expelled from your mind the recollection of the discourse which we were holding in the car- 26G nOSA LAMUERT. riagc? I have purchased some half-dozeu of the best of these pictures— though 1 ortrait; for I laid omitted to leave him my ad- dress, and thus no impiiries could bo made by the executors or trustees conccrjiing tlio original. I endeavoured t(; trace it out — blit failed: tho matter slijiped from my memory, anti your lordship may therefore conceive ray astonishment to find it here.” “ What docs the calaloguo say ?” ho asked. I showed him tho reference : but I now be- camo aware that several ladies and gentlemen worn gathering around, having discovered that tho ori- I ginal of this particular portrait was present. They were contenq)lating both myself and tho pieluro with tho liveliest admiration : indeed tho enthusi- asm of some almost got the better of their polite- ness, insomuch ns their rapturous remarks were uttered loud enough to reach my cars. But ns they wore highly complimentary, it would have been a ridiculous affectation to seem offended : and indeed I scarcely hesitate to admit that I was offended not at all. But I drew his lordship away ; and wo returned to the carriage. “Will you permit me,” ho inquired, “ to take you a little out of your way that wo may call at a certain place ?” “ Most assuredly,” I answered. “ Use tho car- riage, my lord, as if it were your own.” The old nobleman accordingly directed the coachman to drive to the address indicated in the catalogue as that of the present owner of my por- trait. I comprehended what ho purposed to de- but made no observation. Wo reached the place : he descended from the carriage, and requested mo to await his return. In about ten minutes ho came back, his countenance beaming with satisfac- tion; and on re-entering the carriage, he said, “ Will you have any objection to take a drive round the Park before giving any final orders to the coachman ?” For an instant I hesitated — and then replied, “ Pray give such instructions as you think fit.” The order was accordingly issued to drive round Hyde Park ; and when the equipage again rolled off. Lord Alfrcton, tuiming towards me, spoke as follows : — “ I am fortunate in having obtained possession of the admirable representation of that beautiful original who sits by my side. But my ambition extends farther — my hope has a much wider range. It is not merely sufficient that I have obtained possession of the picture : I crave that of the ori- ginal. The canvass is charming — but the living being more charming still. There was no price which could have been asked for the picture that I would not have given : there is no price, — excuse the term— it is not offensively meant, — that I will not give for the possession of the original. In one word, dear Bose, am I understood ? and am I to receive an affirmative answer ?” But I gave not one immediately. Again did I reflect as seriously as in so short a time I could, upon my position with Felix Wellesley, and on what it might be if under the protection of the old nobleman who had spoken so fairly. “ You have seen,” I at length said, “ how Wellesley loves me. What would be your opinion of me if I were to desert him ?” “ I already know 'you sufficiently,” responded Alfrcton, “ to be well aware that you are wearied of that school-boy sentimentalism which constitutes tho atmosplicro wherein you have been recently existing. Do you tliink that one look or sigh on tho part of Mr. Wellesley has escaped me when I liavo visited you? — do you not imagine that I perfectly understood wherefore he left mo alone 1{0«A LAMBEET. 207 in the parlour at his house just now, so that he might endeavour to divert jou from your purpose of accompanying me ?” “And you know also,” I said, “that Mi’. Wel- lesley is not the first person under whose protec- tion I have lived P” “ I learnt by accident that you were first of all under Mr. Alvanly’s protection,” rejoined the old nobleman. “But never mind all that! I offer you my protection now ; and I will realize every- thing that I sketched out when first feeling my way towards a more direct overture. I am rich ; and without the slightest injury to my own family I can provide for your comforts. What is your answer ?” “Would you have me at once leave Felix Wel- lesley ?” I inquired. “ Are you very anxious to return to him within the hour, with the certainty of some distressing scene in consequence of your having accompanied me ?” “ Then what would you have me do P” “ I would have you at once proclaim your in- dependence of him,” answered Alfreton. “You can go to an hotel ; and as quickly as gold can procure you an establishment, shall it be obtained. In a word, nothing shall be left undone to con- duce to your comfort as speedily as possible.” “But there is something so cruel in this abrupt separation !” I hesitatingly remonstrated. “ There will be something more cruel in ex- posing yourself and Wellesley to the renewed excitement of such scenes as I feel convinced must have often passed between you.” “ True !” I said thoughtfully. “ But if we drive to some hotel, the servants of the carriage will tell him where I am — he will come to seek me — there will be a most distressing scene ” “All this I have reflected upon,” interrupted the nobleman. “We can alight here— -and the carriage can be dismissed. We will proceed to some place where you can pen a note to Mr. Wel- lesley, which I myself will drop into a post-office at a distance from the neighbourhood where you write it.” “ But inasmuch as he will know that you have gone with me, he will waylay you at your own door — he will pursue you into your own house ” “ As a gentleman he will create no unseemly disturbance,” responded Alfreton ; “ and as a matter of course I shall totally deny that I am at all connected with your flight. I shall simply tell him that you asked me to escort you to some neighbouring house where you had to make a call — that I did so— that I left you there— and that I am not responsible for any subsequent steps you may have taken. In a word, if you will leave all these things to me, I shall know how to manage them. And now, Bose, your decision P” Again I reflected for a few minutes : but it is unnecessary to reiterate all the arguments which I reviewed for and against my acceptation of Alfreton’s overture. Suffice it to say that without giving him any verbal response, I presented him my hand : he pressed it tO his lips — and thus the compact was sealed. V/e were now close by Hvde Park Corner; and Lord Alfreton, looking out of the window, ordered the coachman to stop. We alighted from the carriage ; and his lordship, addressing the two domestics, said with admirable coolness, “ Mrs. Wellesley has a call to make close by in Picca- dilly. The motion of the carriage has rendered her unwell — and she desires to walk. You can go slowly round the Park ; and if on your return to this spot you do not find Mrs. Wellesley here, waiting to 1)0 taken up, you can proceed home, as in that case she will be passing the remainder of the day with the friends whom she purposes to visit :” — then turning to me, he said with an air of the most respectful courtesy, “ Will you accept of my arm as far as the house to which you are going P” I had kept my face averted, for fear lest there should be some confusion in my looks to excite the suspicion of the domestics : and therefore I did not perceive how they took the old nobleman’s words. But as w’e walked away together, he assured me that he could judge by their countenances that they had no idea of anything wrong. I was how- ever somewhat nervous and agitated : the step I had taken was a serious one ; — and yet again and again I said to myself, “ A separation from Felix must have sooner or later occurred — and therefore as well to-day as any other. Or indeed, better ! — for in proportion as his infatuation increased, my existence with him became all the less to- lerable.” His lordship was a sagacious man, and possessed a wonderful amount of forethought. He took me to a variety of shops where he bade me purchase all such things as I stood in immediate want of; and these he ordered to be sent to a warehouse whei’e he had first of all halted to buy a large trunk. There the articles were packed up ; and as he was acquainted with the persons who kept this shop, he was enabled to render their services available for his purpose. I was shown to a private room — writing materials were pro- vided — and I penned a note to Felix. The task was a difficult one, and cost me some remorse and some tears. In that note I explained that for some weeks past I had seen the impossibility of our living together in happiness and comfort — that my disposition assorted not with his own— and that I felt I had no right to remain with him when having the consciousness that I could not ensure his felicity. I thanked him for his kindness towards me, and was careful to give him credit for the sincerest affection, — observing that the evidences thereof, though so genuine and well-meant, wei’e however the very causes which had led to our misunderstandings and eventually to my present decision. I besought him not to make any endeavour to find me out, as my determination was irrevocably taken. . I begged him to apologize on my behalf to Lord Alfreton for having availed myself of that nobleman’s kindness in taking me to the exhibition, to serve as an opportunity for accomplishing my purpose ; and I concluded by conjuring Felix to exercise a becoming fortitude and to assert a manly control over his feelings. This letter, being sealed and addressed, was by me confided to Lord Alfreton. A hackney-coach was called : he recommended me a particular hotel ; and on taking leave, assured me that he should go at once to a house-agent to procure me a suitable residence. I drove to the hotel— and thus | entered upon another phase of my eventful life. 2G8 1J03A LAArnr.r^T. CIlAriER XXXV. TWO XOVETIS. At about noou on the followin^j day bis lordsbip called; and he now embraced me for tlic first time. I inquired, with much anxiety and suspense, what had happened in respect to Felix Wellesley ? “ I did not get homo till nine o’clock last even- ing,” answered Lord Alfrclon ; “and then I learnt that Mr. Wellesley had been half-a-dozen times across to inquire for me. So I thought the best plan would now bo to go straight across to him. This I did; and of course you would not believe me if I assured you that I found him perfectly calm and collected. On the contrary ho was I dreadfully excited ; and this you must have fore- seen — so that the intelligence takes you not un- prepared and must not unduly distress you. lie had received your note : but not for a single in- stant did the suspicion seem to have struck him that I was in any way concerned with your flight. Indeed, if he had for a moment entertained such a suspicion, the coolness with which I entered his presence must have staggered him and disarmed his mind of it. The reason he had been so anxious to see me, was to ascertain at what house I had left you. I had my tale ready: I told him that I escorted you, as an act of courtesy, into Piccadilly —but that on arriving there, you somewhat ab- ruptly made an excuse to dispense with my farther attendance, and that I therefore took my leave. He showed me the letter you had written ; and I affected to condole with him. Do not think, my dear Rose, that because I give you these explana- tions so coolly, I did not in my heart pity the infatuated man. But, on my soul ! although I am the one who profits so immensely by your separation, I conscientiously declare that it is a Teritable mercy you rendered him in withdrawing yourself from his protection. He will get over his grief in due time, and will then experience a tranquillity which for some months past he has not known : but had you continued to live with him, he would have gone on tormenting both him- self and you almost to death, and his infatuation would have transcended all bounds.” “ And what does he purpose to do ?” I in- quired : for although I recognised the truth and the reason of his lordship’s remarks, yet I could not help compassionating the unfortunate Felix. “ At first ho vowed to search all London over in order to discover you,” answered Alfrcton: “ but then I took upon myself the part of mentor —recalled his attention to your note — and bade him observe that your resolve was irrefragably fixed, and that even if ho found you, it would be useless, as you would not return to him. There- upon ho gave way to bitter lamentations, as you may readily suppose from the intimate knowledge you possess of his disposition : but as the spectacle of a snivelling man is far from being the most iflcasant in the world, 1 took rny departure.” Lord Alfrcton now procceiled to inform me that there was a very nice house to bo let in Woburn Place, Russell Square— that it was liand- Bornoly furnished — and tluit tlio furniture was to be disposed of, us tlio family occupying tlio pro- miaca were immediately going abroad. His lord- ship jiroposod Ihat I sliould accomjiany him to see Mic house— which I dirl; and the splendour of the furniture exceeded all my expectations. J ex- pressed my complete approval ; and Lord Alfrcton, having conducted me back to the hotel, hastened off at once to conclude the business. Mo hired tho house, and bought tho furniture. flo likewise purchased for mo a carriage and a pair of horses — as well as a couple of saddle-horses, one being for myself and tho other for the groom. I was speedily installed in my now residence : servants were engaged ; and by the expiration of a week I was completely settled. Jtesuming my jiropcr name of IMiss Lambert, I of course passed for what I was — tho kept mistress of a nobleman ; and I need not add that none of my neighbours left their cards at my door. I did not at first go out much — for I was fear- ful of encountering Felix Wellesley ; and I had certain qualms of conscience at tho mode in wliicli I had left him, that made mo dread tho idea of such a meeting. But at the expiration of about a fortnight Lord Alfrcton informed mo that ‘Welles- ley had broken up tho establishment at Bayswatcr, and had gone abroad. I was considerably relieved by this intelligence, and now began to ride out in my carriage and on horseback. Lord Alfrcton visited me every day, — passing about a couple of houi's with me on each occasion; and these visits were for the most part paid of an evening. I must add that he very rarely remained throughout the night. His conduct towards me was generous and kind: ho showed himself anxious to study all my wishes and to ensure my happiness to the utmost of his power. He made me numerous and costly presents — was liberal in supplying my purse— and in all respects carried out the promises he had made on the day that he took me to the exhibition. He did not ride on horseback ; and therefore when I fancied equestrian exercise, I was compelled to go out alone— or rather, attended only by the groom : but his lordship sometimes accompanied me in the carriage — on which occasions he would take mo to shops at the West End and lavish his money in purchasing me handsome gifts. One fine afternoon, in the commencement of Spring — and when I had been about two months under his lordship’s protection — I was riding on horseback in Hyde Park, when I met Captain Sydenham. He also was alone— or rather, at- tended only by a groom ; and he was mounted on that beautiful animal which had so much in- terested me the first time I ever saw its owner. He made me a polite bow, and reined in his horse — so that I was compelled to do the same. He uttered a few remarks on common-place topics : but I noticed that he did not address mo by any name; and I felt somewhat awkward and embar- rassed — for I more than suspected he knew that I had left Wellesley, and that therefore I was not his wife. I have already said that ho was a very handsome young man; and ho looked even handsomer now than when I had last seen him. Ho was dressed in plain clothes : ho was tall — of slender figure; and as lie rode admirably, ho appeared to tho utmost advantage when mounted on that magnificent steed. His ago was not above threo-and-twenty : ho had dark brown hair and lino hazel eyes — a somewhat delicate complexion — a classic profile — and a moustache, darker than his EOSA LAMBEET, 2G9 bail-, finely pencilled, and giving effect to the ivory whiteness of his teeth. When we had conversed for a few minutes, I made a movement as if about to take leave and pass on: but he said, though with some little degree of hesitation, “ You are alone : will it be obtrusive if I offer my companionship ?” “ Certainly not,” I responded, now all in a mo- ment recovering my self-possession ; foj?, to confess the t ruth, I was by 'no means sorry to have some one to converse with ; and I had ridden out so often by myself, that I was flattered at now obtaining so elegant and handsome a cavalier in a public resort where so few ladies were without such com- panionship. I observed that Captain Sydenham’s handsome countenance lighted up with a sudden satisfaction at the affirmative reply I had given to his pro- posal ; and as we rode onward together, his con- versation grew gayer and more animated,— though every now and then I saw that he felt a certain degree of embarrassment at his ignorance by what name to address me. Foreseeing that we should perhaps meet again in our rides, and that the ac- quaintance thus renewed might not suddenly drop again, I was determined to relieve him without farther delay from the constraint to which I have alluded. I accordingly availed myself of an op- portunity, during a temporary pause in the con- versation on his own side, to observe, “ You per- haps called at my late residence after I had left it ?” “ I did,” was his response : “ and ” “ And you were surprised to learn that I was gone ? Did you see Mr. Wellesley ?” “ No— only one of the domestics.” “ And from that servant,” I continued, ‘‘ you doubtless learnt certain particulars ? In a word. Captain Sjdenham, you can henceforth address me as Miss Lambert — which is my proper name.” “ Thank you then. Miss Lambert, for these ex- planations,” he said : and then, after a moment’s silence, he added with a renewed hesitation, “ Is it too much to ask permission to pay my respects to you at your new abode, wherever it may be ?” I did not immediately reply to the question : but recollecting that Lord Alfreton had assured me at the very outset of our connexion, that he should torment me with no idle jealousies nor whimsical suspicions, I said, “ Certainly ! I shall be happy to see you at my house in Woburn Place :” — and I mentioned the number. “ I shall only be too happy to avail myself of this permission,” rejoined Sydenham. “ Should I be intruding if to-morrow, between two and three o’clock, I presented myself at your door ?” “I shall doubtless be disengaged,” was my answer : and as we had now completed the circle of the Park, I intimated my intention of return- ing home. Sydenham offered to escort me : there was no objection to his proposal ; and he accord- ingly accompanied me as far as my own door, where we separated. I can assure the reader that in thus giving the young officer permission to call upon me, I had not the slightest intention of affording him en- couragment for any hopes that he might have al- ready entertained. I wanted some sort of society ; and I availed myself of this opportunity to pro- cure it. But when Lord Alfreton came in the evening, I did not tell Iiim that I had met Captain Sydenham. I was fearful that notwithstanding his repudiation of all jealousy and suspicion, he might not be over well pleased that the only ac- j quaintance I had as yet formed in my new dwelling should be that of an exceedingly handsome young man — an officer too in the Horse Guards ! This very reflection made me feel as if I had done wrong and was behaving unhandsomely towards the old nobleman whoso treatment of mo was so kind and generous; and I therefore inwardly re- solved to discourage Sydenham’s visits after the one which he was to pay me on the morrow. But when, on the following day, the young officer made j his appearance at the appointed hour, his conver- sation proved so agreeable, and the time slipped away so pleasantly in his society, that I totally forgot my determination of the preceding evening until he rose to take his departure ; and then I had not the courage to carry it into effect. Ho inquired if he should have the honour ot escorting me for a ride on the ensuing day ?— and though for an instant a negative answer, in the form of a politely worded excuse, was about to issue from my lips, I could not give utterance to it — but, on the contrary, found myself weak enough to let him understand that I should most probably ride in the Park on the following afternoon. A month passed, during which period I saw Claudius Sydenham frequently : but it was much oftener in the Park that we met than at mine own house. He however did call some eight or ten times in the course of that period; and on no occasion did he happen to meet Lord Alfreton. But he knew that I was living under this noble- man’s protection : for I gave him to understand as much, so that he might be in no doubt as to my actual position, and might judge for himself how far he was compromised by appearing in public with me. So far, however, from experiencing any shame on the point, he was only too happy and anxious to be with me as much as possible ; and it at length seemed to be a settled arrangement, as if by tacit understanding between us, that we should meet in our rides, — so that when wo separated of a day he was wont to observe, To- morrow I shall have the pleasure of looking out for you again.” All this had grown as it were insensibly and imperceptibly upon me; and having ceased to reproach myself for ungenerous conduct towards my generous protector, I was now only too careful in studying to conceal from his lordship my intimacy with Claudius Sydenham. Still I did not think that this intimacy would extend beyond the point which it had reached. The young officer’s manner, though friendly and courteously familiar towards me, nevertheless continued per- fectly respectful ; and if I now and then caught his handsome hazel eyes gazing softly, and perhaps with a certain degree of tenderness upon me, yet those looks were instantaneously withdrawn when thus surprised ; and from his lips there came no word expressive of whatsoever thoughts or feelings were passing within him at the time. It now and then occurred to. me that my groom must possibly think it strange that I was constantly met, in one or the other of the Parks, by the same gentleman : but I had passed that point in m}’^ life when I was over scrupulous or nice as to what 270 3103 \ T,AAtl’,i;'?T. was tlioufjht of mo ; — and moreover, lliere wa.s nothing in my conduct lo coiiilrm any evil suspi- cion vvJiich tlio domestic might tlius entertain. I never went out riding without the groom, and never was out of his siglit from the moment ho assisted me to mount my liorso until 1 alighted at my own door again. During the month whicli thus passed from tlic renewal of my acquaintance with Captain Sydenham, Loi'd Alfreton never once mentioned his name to me; and lie evidently was unaware that I liad any such acquaintance. One day I received a note from Lord Alfreton, informing me that he had been seized by a some- what severe illness, whieh would probably confine him to his own house for the greater portion of a week, — but bidding mo divest myself of any alarm whicli this announcement might at first cause, inasmuch as there was nothing really dangerous in his malady. I did not go out to ride that day : I felt much sympathy on behalf of the old noble- man. But on the following day I could not resist the temptation of escaping from the monotony of solitude at home; and I repaired to the Park. There I found Claudius Sydenham expecting me, as usual : and we rode together for a couple of hours. The weather liad hitherto been fine : but the sky now became rapidly overcast; and with little previous warning, a drenching shower came down. I was wet through before we could reach a place of shelter ; and when once ray garments were thus saturated, I determined to push on through the rain towards ray own house, that I might change my clothes as speedily as possible. Sydenham accompanied me ; and when w'e reached Woburn Place, the rain w^as still pouring in tor- rents. I of course asked him to walk in, — my stables having ample accommodation for his own horse and that of his groom. A fire was lighted in the drawing-room that he might dry his clothes as well as he could ; and I lost no time in ascend- ing to my chamber to change my own apparel forthwith. All this brought on dinner-time ; and I invited Captain Sydenham to partake of the repast. There was a sensation of cold upon me ; and I drank a glass or two of champagne in the hope of expelling it. The champagne, too, exhilarated Sydenham’s spirits to a degree that rendered his conversation — which was always interesting — positively bril- liant ; and warmed with the wine, I felt an in- clination to give myself completely up to the pleasure of the society which the rain had thus procured for me. I must even confess that as I thought of Alfreton I rejoiced at his absence ; and I could not prevent myself from mentally con- 1 trusting the appearance of that infirm, w^hite- haired, stooping old nobleman with the handsome person of the young ofiicer. lie continued to deliglit and interest mo with his discourse, — dis- I playing, without pedantry, all the treasures of a ! well cultivated intelhict — sometimes astonishing j me with the readiness of his wit, and telling me I anecdotes which without egotism, malice, or j flcandal, divertc.-d me infinitely with the characters ' to whom they referred as well as those which they I illustrated, lie refilled my glass with cham- pagne; and I (lraid( it without rell(!eling howl was exceeding the bounds of my wonted modera- tion. 'J’lius the wine, the ijlcasuro of (lie young officer’s society, the entertaining nature of Ids discourse, and the l')ol< i lie flung upon irn- fom the depths of his suiierb hazel eyes,— all combineri to bewilder my brain and intoxicate the senses. I was lost as it were in the foldings so inspired: my veins appeared to thrill with lmi)]hncs 3 : no single thought of the past obtruded upon my ro- collcclion — or if it did, only to bo laughed away or set at defiance in the sort of mad recklessness with which 1 w'as abandoning myself to the enjoy- ment of the present. As wo sat over the dessert, Sydenham drew bia chair closer to mine: gradually and imperceptibly was the distance between us diminishing; and at length I found my hand gently taken possession of by his own, and held in the tender jiressuro of his clasp. Jlia eyes were looking down fondly into mine : he drew nearer, and ho became bohler: his arm encircled my waist— my head sank upon his shoulder — ho joined his lips to mine. To bo brief, I forgot all my obligations to Lord Alfreton; and Claudius Sydenham quitted not the house until after breakfast on the following morning. When I was again alone, and enabled to reflect calmly — the fumes of wine and the self-abandonment of sensuousness having passed away — I experienced some degree of remorse at what I had done. I endeavoured to persuade myself that I had con- ceived an affection for Claudius Sydenham— that I loved him — and that it was ray heart which alone had betrayed me into this weakness. But I could not satisfy myself with such sophistry — for mere sophistry it was. I felt that I did not love him either in the way that I had loved Reginald For- tescue, or in the way that I had loved Arthur Brydges. There was no particle of sentiment in the mood wherein I had surrendered myself up to him : my weakness arose entirely from the sense : it wms sheer wantonness— and I blushed as a secret voice seemed to be whispering in my soul that I was now a veritable profligate. Ah ! then I would escape from such thoughts as these : I would not suffer them to oppress my mind and to weigh it down. The servants of the household all knew what I had done ; and I must now assume a bold hardihood and a brazen effron- { tery if I did not wish my looks to sink in shame ' when my eyes met their’s. I had no fear that I they would officiously communicate my misdeed to i Lord Alfreton : — servants never are the first to j meddle in such matters — still less so when they j are well treated; and mine were invariably in- | dulged. But now perhaps the reader — growing j more shocked at my character than he has hitherto | been — may ask whether I intended to pass entirely ' over to Captain Sydenham, thereby abandoning Lord Alfreton — or whether I purposed to retain the old nobleman as a protector and the handsome ' young officer as a paramour? To confess the truth, I did not deliberate much, if at all, upon this point: I was prepared to take all circum- stances just as they settled themselves about me,— to remain as I was in respect to Alfreton as long as those circumstances would permit, and to enjoy the society of Claudius as much as I thought proper. ; I now pass over a period of three or four months, during which All’reton — whose indisposition only j lasted about a week— continued to visit mo as i usual, and Claudius Sydenham with a correspond- ing regularity. The old nobleman remained utterly EOSA LAMBEET. I 271 ignorant of my proceedings witla regard to his young and handsome rival ; and it of course re- quired considerable discretion and prudence to prevent their visits from at any time clashing. Thus I acquired fresh experience in the arts of dissimulation and intrigue : while in proportion as I thus advanced in my career of evil, my soul grew hardened — my better feelings more and more blunted — the whisperings of my conscience all the more easily stifled. I could now, too, look with less and less compunction upon the past, and think with more and more recklessness and indifierence of what might be the future. I clung to the plea- sures of the present ; I was no louder frail through imperious necessity — I was depraved also through sheer wantonness. And still my soul was without a single spark of true and genuine love for the young man who was my paramour I It now becomes necessary that I should say a few words relative to the lady’s-maid whom I had engaged at the time of my installation at my pre- sent abode. Her name was Lydia; and she was recommended from some shop in the neighbour- hood. She had referred me to her last place : but I had not gone to inquire after her character, as she had two or three written testimonials from families in the country with whom she had lived previous to coming to London; and with those documents I was contented. She was a young* woman of about four-and-twenty— I’cserved and quiet in her manner — respectful and attentive. She was good-looking, and of a genteel figure. When she saw the course I was pursuing, her manner continued precisely the same, — acquiring not the slightest undue familiarity : and never had I sur- prised a look of impudent knowingness upon her countenance, nor heard a syllable of pointed allu- sion fall from her lips. She readily assisted me in the divers little artifices which occasionally had to be practised to prevent the visits of the protector and i the paramour from clashing : but these proceedings j she accomplished in the same quiet manner as if I they were a part of her regular duties, — never making herself over-officious, nor rendering me such services with the air of one who felt that she was an important and necessary confidante. Of course I rewarded her liberally and made her handsome presents: but these she received as if they were favours emanating entirely from my own spontaneous bounty, and not merited by herself for services done. Thus, altogether, I flattered myself that I had a perfect treasure in Lydia ; and I reposed in her the fullest confidence. One day I had been out for a little walk in the neighbouring Squares, and was returning home- ward, when just as I entered Woburn Place, I i beheld Horace Rockingham advancing towards I me. If his plight were bad on those two oc- j casions when some time back I had encoun- 1 tered him on alighting from my carriage, it was I now infinitely worse. His garments were torn in I some places— patched in others. That exceeding j personal beauty which he once possessed, had faded beneath the withering, blighting influences of privation, want, wanderings, and distress of mind. He looked haggard and ghastly — thin and miserable. He was dirty too ; and it was evident that poverty had led to personal neglect. Rut when he beheld me, there was that sinister flaming-up of his eyes which I have so often alluded to, and which was pretty nearly all that remained, so to speak, of his former self: for in every other respect ho looked quite another being. I was inclined to pass on without taking marked notice of him, — when he planted himself in front of me, exclaiming, with an insolent laugh, “ What ? beauteous Rose ! you are unmindful of your former friends ?” And now I perceived that this very voice of his, w'hich used to be so mellifluously sweet and so softly dulcet, was changed as well as his person : it was hard and hoarse. The laugh too led to a cough : it sounded deep and hollow,— telling the fearful tale that consumption was doing its insidious and irresistible work with tho wretched Horace Rockingham. “ Perhaps it was in mercy towards yourself,” I answered, “ that I was about to pass you by.” “ Mercy indeed ?” he exclaimed, with a bitter smile, or rather wreathing of tho lips. “ Yes— you in the pride of your own prosperity, may easily make a merit of seeking to avoid inflicting a humiliation upon me : but the fact is. Rose, I am so completely down that to sink any lower is next to impossible — unless it be to grovel at the workhouse-door, or fling myself upon a dunghill— there to die I” He spoke with an exceeding bitterness, as if be regarded all the world in the light of a banded host of enemies, myself not excepted. Indeed, as his eyes flamed up again, their light, rendered still more unnatural than ever by the vivid fires of consumption, darted upon me lightning looks of hatred. I felt indignant — even revengeful : for I thought that after having relieved him as I had done some time back, his demeanour towards me might be of a more grateful character. “ Ah ! I know what is passing in your mind,” he said, with a malignant look : “ you take some of the bitterness of my language as being levelled against yourself. To be sure ! — and so it is. Do I not owe all my ruin to you? Who prevented me from marrying Lucia Calthorpe ? — who pre- vented old Seymour from advancing the money that would have saved my father from ruin ? You, Rosa Lambert — yoit, T he added vehemently ; “ and if you only knew how often and often your name, coupled with the bitterest execrations, is upon my lips ” '•'How dare you address me thus, insolent beggar ?” I exclaimed, my cheeks becoming crim- son: and I was haughtily passing on my way, when Horace caught me forcibly by the arm, his hand fastening upon me as if it were an iron vice. " Eeggar ?” he repeated, with a fearful concen- tration of rage : and as I turned round towards him while shaking off his grasp, I saw that his eyes were flashing fiercer and more sinister fires, and that on either cheek a hectic spot of vivid scarlet had suddenly sprung up, as if all in a mo- ment impressed there with a red-hot iron. “ Dare not lay a hand upon mo again,” I said, haughtily and indignantly ; “ or I will summon the police to take you into custody as a rogue and vagabond.” “ Rogue and vagabond ?” — and if a serpent could speak, not more hissingly would the words come from the reptile’s mouth than they now issued from the lips of Horace Rockingham. “ Ah, by heaven. Rose! if you fling such maddening taunts at me again, I will do you a mischief; I 272 nOSA T.AMTlEriT. 1 I I will spring at you like a tiger — I will dig my nails into your flesh — I will spoil that beauty of which you arc so vain, and which after all is but the slender reed that supports your infamous pros- perity. As for giving mo into charge, you daro not do it. No, no! Hosa Lambert cannot afford to throw down the gauntlet comifletely to Horace liockingham. Ho would proclaim before all the world that her own brother waylaid and plundered him, and that he was some little while back doomed to the hulks for forgery. Ha ! ha I I read it all in the newspapers !” “ Then leave mo ! depart hence ! Wherefore do you retain me in a discourse which can bo agree- able to neither P” — and I spoke tremulously and nervously : for I certainly shrank from the idea of having my name publicly associated with that of the felon-branded Cyril. “ I require money,” said Horace with dogged insolence: for he instantaneously perceived the vantage-ground ho had taken and the talismanic effect of the terrorism which ho had wielded. “ Give me money, and I leave you.” It happened that I had left my purse at home : I had not a single fartliing about me. I had merely gone out for a little exercise, previous to receiving Claudius Sydenham according to an ap- pointment of the previous day : it was close upon the hour when he would be at my dwelling — and I trembled with apprehension at the thought that every moment he might enter the street and see me in discourse with a ragged mendicant. All this added to my confusion, and increased the ad- vantage which Horace Bockingham felt that he had obtained over me. “ I have not my purse about me,” I hurriedly said : “but tell me w'here a remittance will reach you ” “ Where ?” he exclaimed, with ironical bitter- ness. “ Ho you think I possess a home P — do you really imagine I have even a garret that I can name- as my address P Perhaps your words w^ere meant to taunt me anew ” “No, no,” I hastily responded, feeling almost bewildered how to act. “But surely you can specify some place ” “None,” he interrupted me. “I must follow you to your own house, wherever it may be ; and you can send me down a handful of gold to the front door.” The idea of being thus rendered the victim of a hated extortioner, grew for a moment more power- ful than ray fears ; and flinging upon him a glance of indignant defiance, I said, “ A handful of goldp If you think that I will submit to your demands, you err most grievously. No — never ! Had I my purse about me, I would present you with a guinea or two out of charity — 'but nothing more 1” I’herc was something so decisive in my looks and speech, that Horace Bockingham was now staggered in his turn ; and lie doubtless reflected that he had belter take whatsoever I chose to give liitn, and submit to iny own method of bestowing it, rather tliau i)U8h me to an extreme and thus cut liirnKelfout of any succour at all. “Now listen to me,” 1 liastily went on to ob- serve. “ J'ass r(mnd tlio corner— loiter for a few mitmles in tlio next street — but dare not to follow me. If on looking behin nOSA LAMBF.UT. CIIAPTlUi XXXVI. TirK CONSriKATORS. It was an apartment of tho most w'rctclied ap- pearance-dirty, and with scarcely any furniture: the door was a massive one, and had two huf^c bolts to it. Lydia and one of the loose girls instantly bolted tho door ; while the other female, place, my dear lio o,” roforted llockingham. “ Do you remember how nicely I invoiglo l you toalioum) at no great di:;tanco hence, when you were living with Captain Fortcscue?” “Tell mo wherefore I am brought hither,’’ I cried, stamping my foot with rage. “Trill ; not with me : I will raise tho whole neighbourhood w'ith ray screams !” “ In which case,” said Horace, as he seized uj)on putting her arras akimbo, surveyed mo with an the club,t“ I shall be painfully compelled to silence impudent leer. As for Horace llockingham, ho you with this. Come, come, Hose — no nonsciose, was dressed precisely as I had seen him on tho if you please ! You are entirely in our power ; preeeding day; and his looks expressed a malicious and in a few words I will explain what you are to satisfaction and triumph at the utter discomfiture do. Here, one of you girls — where are the writing depicted in mine own. I beheld a bludgeon rest- ing against an old stool ; and it seemed as if it were significantly placed there to convince mo that the wretches into whose powder I had fallen, would not hesitate to have recourse to violence if I refused to submit to whatsoever terms it was purposed to dictate. Tho entire scene, with its associated conviction of treachery, had burst upon me so suddenly that for a few instants I was totally dispossessed of all my natural courage : but my presence of mind suddenly returning, I exclaimed, “ Lydia, what means this vile perfidious conduct P and how could you possibly Ah, you knew that villain before !” I ejaculated, as a reminiscence now all in a moment struck me. The reader will not have forgotten that when on the previous day I mentioned the name of Rock- ingham, as I put the two sovereigns into Lydia’s hand, she suddenly dropped them ; and I naturally supposed at the time that it was a mere accident: but now the conviction smote me that it was on account of being startled by the unexpected men- tion of a name previously known to her,_aud that the protracted search under the bed for the coins W'as a stratagem to afford her leisure to veil the confusion into which she was thus so abruptly thrown. “ To be sure, Lydia knew me before,” said Horace, with a mocking laugh, which was imme- diately iAlowed by a fit of hollow coughing. “ Lydia !” I cried, darting forward to my trea- cherous domestic and clutching her violently by the aim ; “ what is the meaning of this ?” “ Come, ma’am, none of your airs now, if you please !” exclaimed Lydia, completely throwing off the mask : “ wo ain’t missus and servant here, I can tell you.” “ I command you to let me depart !” I said, my courage reviving in proportion as I felt my posi- tion dangerous and desperate. “Oh, yes — command indeed!” echoed Lydia, materials P’ “ Writing materials !” I said: “for what pur- pose P” “ For you to pen a letter to Lord Alfrcton,” rejoined Horace, — “ inventing some excuse to account for tho immediate want of five hundred pounds. You can say, for instance, it is to extri- cate yourself from the fangs of a sheriff’s officer ; and as Lydia will go straiglit off with the letter to his lordship’s residence at Bayswater, you will be careful to insert a few lines to tho effect tliat he must not think of coming to you at the horrible sponging-house— for that you could not endure the idea of his seeing you in such a painful and humiliating position.” “ I have listened attentively to your explana- tions,” I said ; “ and before I make known my answer, you will perhaps be so kind as to tell me what course you intend to adopt if I give a firm refusal ?” “ Nay, we shall not put you on your guard beforehand, fair lady,” replied Horace. “ Then learn my decision at once,” I exclaimed, “ I will not practise this detestable cheat.” “What nice scruples and delicate punctilios,” rejoined Rockingham sneeringly, “ when every day you are practising far n>ore detestable cheats upon the old nobleman !” I felt that this was indeed too true; and the taunt was a home-thrust which for a few moments filled me with shame and confusion : for the two loose girls laughed coarsely and mockingly as they fixed their bold jeering looks upon me. It was the hardened vice which was clad in mean garments, that now stood in the presence of the more refined profligacy which decked itself in silks and satins. “ Ah ! you were touched — were you ?” said Horace : “ my words grated upon the right chord ? Yesterday you called me beggar, rogue, and vagabond : now I am in a condition to fling your with another coarse laugh, which was taken up by j own pleasant vices and agreeable immoralities in the two loose girls and then by Hoi’ace, — but this I your teeth. Which do you think his lordship last in a manner more sardonically mocking and malignant than that of his female accomplices, “ Lyrliii and 1, you sec,” he observed, “arc old acrpiainlances. Vou little thought you wci’C throwing together a couple of friends when you sent her to mo yesterday. Koine three or four years ago, when I was in a little better plight than J am now, tho fair L_ydia did mo tho Jjonour of making mo tlio father ol' a bouncing boy ” “ In a word, sir,” 1 interrupted liim, “what do you re(|uiro of me f I see tliat I am brought to one ol tho lowest dens of ini'amy ” “Not tho first time you have boon in such a would rather know of you — that you tricked him out of a paltry sum of five hundred pounds which at any moment you might have for tho asking, or that you have been proving deliberately and continuously false to him P Como, Rose — you begin to perceive that your scruples arc ridiculous and that your hesitation is in vain. Write the letter : Lydia will take it.” “And afterwards,” I said, for the purpose of obtaining an insight, if possible, into the future plans of my treacherous domestic and tho villain Horace, — “and afterwards, is- it intended that I am to receive Lydia back into my service ?” E08A XAMBEBT. 275 “ I should think not indeed !” cried the young woman herself, tossing her head indignantly. “1 ain going to set up as a fine lady.” “With your friend Mr. Eockingham, doubt- less?” I interjected sarcastically. “Well then, once for all I will not write the letter : and now you may do your worst.” “ We will keep you hero a prisoner until you comply,” said Horace, with a manner fiercely resolute. “ You must understand that, when we concocted and settled this business, we made up our minds to carry it out properly. You now put us in the position of desperate people ; and you must bear the consequences. Ah ! you think that you have but to raise your voice and succour will come ?” he continued, perceiving that I glanced towards the window. “ Must I repeat the warn- ing I have already given— that at the first cry which issues from your lips, this bludgeon shall silence you ?” “And if that won’t do,” said one of the girls, “ we’ll put you down in the cellar and keep you locked up there till we bring you to reason. Don’t flatter yourself that the first cries raised would be sufficient to bring the neighbours into the house : nothink of the sort ! There’s a man on the second flbor which amuses hisself by w’elting of his wife half-a-dozen times a veek, and so the neighbours, as well as the policeman on the beat, is pretty well accustomed to hear them kind of disturbances both day and night.” I stood in profound reflection while the in- famous creature was thus speaking. I certainly would have given a tolerable sum of money to procure my immediate emancipation from this den : but it happened that I had very limited funds at the moment at my command, and had intended to obtain a cheque from Alfreton in the evening. “ You are thinking of what you had better do,” said Horace; “and if you take my advice, you will put an end to the business v/ithout any farther delay, by writing the letter to Alfreton. You can address it from Chancery Lane : Lydia shall set off with it at once : she v/ill know how to tell a good tale to corroborate the statement. If you let time slip away, the hour will draw on for his lordship to go to ‘VVoburn Place ; and then ” “ And then what ?” I inquired. “ And then he will of course be astonished to find you are not there. He will think you have run away : he will make inquiries : one thing will lead on to another — and he is sure to find out the history of your intrigues with Captain [Syden- ham .” “All that I will risk,” I said, in a firm voice: for I thought that by holding out I should be enabled to drive a better bargain with these wretches ; and at all events I was determined not to be coerced into writing the proposed letter for so large a sum and thus allow Horace and my treacherous servant to enjoy a complete triumph over me. I saw very v/ell that they were already somewh?lt disappointed and disconcerted at my refusal to comply with their conditions on the spot, — although they endeavoured to veil their real feelings ‘beneath an air of impudent hardihood and confidence. I had no fears for my life at their hands; though I certainly apprehended that if I did endeavour to raise an alarm, they would treat me with some cruel violence. I therefore thought that by remaining quiet and resolute, calm and decided, I should embarrass them sorely : for as to their keeping mo a prisoner many hours in the place, I did not conceive it to be at all pro- bable. “You say that you will risk the chance of being found out by your protector ?” exclaimed Hdraco in a tone of bravado. “Well, just as you like! it is all the same to us ! V7e know very well you must yield in the long run.” “ And if I do not ?” I said : “ and I shall as- suredly prove myself more resolute than you appear to anticipate.” “ Then we shall give you a taste of the cellar,” rejoined Horace ; “ and before you have been there many hour^, you will succumb.” “Do not think it, detestable villain that you are 1” I ejaculated. “ If anything can nerve me with courage to adhere to my present purpose, it is the certainty of baffling you all in the long run.” “ Do you not comprehend, Eose,” cried Horace, his white lips quivering with rage, “that if you hold out it will be certain ruin for yourself? Alfreton will discover all your proceedings, and will abandon you. Sydenham is not rich enough to maintain you in the same luxurious style ; and moreovei’, I will take very good care that he learns sufficient of your antecedents aye, and of your connexions too,” continued Horace, his countenance expressing a fiend-like malignity as he thus alluded to my brother, — “ to induce Syden- ham to abandon you likewise with loathing and disgust.” “And is there anything else,” I said, forcing myself to speak in a voice of cold defiance, “ which your Satanic ingenuity suggests as a means of injuring me ?’'' “Yes— there is something else,” replied Horace. “Should the evening come and find you still f obstinate, Lydia will go and seek Captain Syden- I ham. She will tell him that she considers it to be her duty to acquaint him of your wantonness and depravity : she will inform him that at the very time she is thus addressing him, you are with another paramour, in a house of infamous descriptitn.” “And he will not believe it!” I exclaimed, no longer able to repress the vehemence of my boiling rage. “ Ho — he will not believe it,” resumed Horace ; “ and he will demand of Lydia the proofs. She will say that she watched you — she followed you— • she traced you to this house. Sydenham will come and knock at the door to inquire for you ; and one ot these girls will answer the summons, exclaiming, ‘Oh, yes, to be sure! Miss "Lambert is here ; and she frequently makes her appearance within these walls !’ — Then Sydenham will depart in disgust; and your infamy will in a few days be so thoroughly spread abroad that vainly may you hope to find another protector.” When Horace had finished speaking, he planted himself near the window, grasping the huge bludgeon — and thus significantly giving me to understand that he was desperate and resolute in his evil purpose. I could not conceal from myself that I was in a very serious dilemma ; for even if ROSA LAMBERT. 270 I should succeed in wearying the wretches out, and compelling them to suiror mo to depart, they would wreak upon mo all the vengeance that lay in their power ; and the exposure of my infidelity to Alfre- ton would in this case bo inevitable. Iloracc was quite right when ho stated that Captain Sydenham was not rich enough to support mo in a stylo at all approaching that which I enjoyed under Alfro- ton’s protection. Indeed, tho young officer -was extravagant and in somewhat embarrassed circum- stances. I had on two or three occasions lent him money ; and though he had repaid it, yet tho mere fact of his accepting such loans from mo proved that his income sufficed not for his expenditure. All things considered, therefore, tho exposure of ray conduct to Alfrcton would prove a serious blow ; and it was on this that Lydia and her accomplice Hockingham were evidently reckoning. Under such circumstances, what better could I do than attempt a compromise ? Besides, the hour of my appointment with Sydenham had long gone by, and he would wonder at my protracted absence from home : ho would even do more than wonder —suspicions would arise in his mind, and ho might naturally conceive that I was now proving as inconstant to him as I had already done towards Alfreton. Though I loved not the young officer with any real sentiment', yet I was too proud of him as a cavalier to escort me in public, and too much accustomed to his society, to bo enabled to regard with any degree of complacency the pro- spect of losing him. All these varied reflections sweeping through'my mind, tamed down my former resoluteness some- what, and suggested the policy of a compromise. “ Mr. Eockingham,” I said, “ I am fully resolved not to write the letter for the sum which you have named. ISTo — I never will submit to so immense an extortion as five hundred pounds. But I have no objection to purchase my immediate freedom for a smaller sum. It however happens that I am at this moment without available resources ” “You can obtain from Alfreton a fresh sup- ply whenever you choose,” answered Horace ab- ruptly. “True,” I rejoined; “and it is in the confi- dence thereof that I am about to propose certain terms which you may accept or reject as you think fit. I will give Lydia the key of my jewel-case : she can return to the house — she can take my diamonds, and raise such a sum as a hundred and fifty pounds upon them. She will give me the duplicate ; and I can redeem them to-morrow.” “ Don’t you think we should be very silly birds indeed to be caught with such chaff?” inquired Horace mockingly. “ Suppose your arrangement to bo carried out— you would go to-morrow morn- ing before a magistrate and accuse Lydia of having robbed you of your jewels.” “ And if I write to Lord Alfreton tho letter you propose,” I immediately asked, “ what is to pre- vent mo from going before a magistrate all the same, and proving tho circumstances under which I was constrained and coerced to write such a letter ?” “The thing is quite different,” was Eocking- liam’s (juick response. “ Tlio taking of tho jewels is a decfl that proves itself: but tho writing of tho letter admits an easy answer from our side. Wo should say tliat wo were all in tho plot ; and that you have only turned round upon us because you were discontented with your eharo of tho spoil. Hero, Lydia, one word with you, my girl !’’ My treacherous domestic, who had hitherto kept near tho door, now approached Eockiughain; and while they carried on a discourse together in low whispers for a few minutes, I sat down ou tho stool. “ Como, Eose,” said Horace, when t he whispered conversation was over; “wo will not bo too hard upon you. Eaiso us three hundred pounds by some means or another— and you shall take your departure, with tho mutual understanding that wo keep silent ns to what we know of eacli other. But it must bo in hard cash— bank notes or gold — and no roundabout way of raising it on diamonds or anything of that sort. Surely you have some friend to whom you can write for a loan, without specifying any reason at all for requiring it — since you are so over-nice and scrupulous.” “ I will not give three hundred pounds under tho circumstances. And now,” I said, with an air of resolute firmness, “ I again tell you all that you can do your worst. It is four o’clock,” I added, looking at my watch: “a certain appoint- ment which I had to keep, has long been past — and half tho mischief which your conduct was so well calculated to accomplish, is therefore already done.” Again did Eockingham and Lydia converse together in whispers, — this time their discourse lasting longer and being evidently more serious and deliberate, than it was before. “We will take two hundred pounds,” said Eockingham, at length addressing mo again,— “ and not one farthing less I” “ And I will give exactly a hundred pounds,” I responded, — “ and not one farthing more !” Again was there a consultation. I continued sitting on the stool with a perfect calmness of demeanour ; for I felt satisfied that my offer would be accepted — and I had no objection to write a note to Alfreton for such a sum ; because I felt that having reduced the mercenary wretches to this fraction of their original demand, the triumph would be proportionately great on my side. My proposition excited a considerable amount of haggling and threatening on the part of Horace and Lydia ; but with all this I need not trouble my readers. Suffice it to say that they at length assented to my terms ; and writing- materials were produced. “ But what guarantee do you offer,” I asked, as I took up a pen, “ that when this money is paid into your hands, I shall be suffered to de- part'?” “Well, I suppose,” said Horace, “you must trust to our honour on that point.” “Your honour indeed!” I ejaculated, with so withering a sarcasm that it made his eyes flame up, and planted tho vivid hectic spots upon his cheeks as on tho previous day I had seen them arise suddenly there, — consumption’s occult fires for an instant glowing up to tho surface, and then subsiding again into tho caverns of tho, system which tlioy wore thus inwardly devouring. “A bargain is a bargain,” resumed IForace, with a groat effort mastering his rage, “no matter by whom it is made. Besides, after all, you must SCO— and there is no uso in disguising it — that we EOSA LAMBEET. 277 don’t want to have the bother and trouble of keep- ing you a prisoner here : though at the same time, after all the pains we have taken — and Lydia losing her place into the bargain — we certainly are not the people to liberate you for nothing. Wo will tak-e the hundred guineas ” “ Pounds !” I emphatically interjected, resolved that the extortioners should not get the better of me even by a few shillings. “Well then, pounds— if you stick to that sum,” said Horace, with fierce sullenness. “ How write the note, and let Lydia be off with it at once.” I had a very great mind to hold out altogether and refuse to give the wretches a single penny, so encouraged was I by the effects of the firmness which I had hitherto displayed. But I reasoned that for the sake of a hundred pounds it would be ridiculous to incur the risk of letting Alfreton go to the house while I was absent — in which case he might question the domestics, and then my pro- ceedings with Sydenham would all come out. • Forcing my inclinations, therefore, to succumb to the suggestions of policy, I penned the following note “August 12th, 1846. “ My dear Lord Alfreton, “Do me the favour to give Lydia exactly one hun- dred pounds in notes and gold, as she is commissioEed by me to use that sum for a special purpose. I require no more for the present j and therefore pray do not, with your wonted generosity, disburse double or treble of the amount that is asked for. I fully mean what I say. “Tour’s ever sincerely, “KOSA LAMBEET.” “ It is now a quarter to five o’clock,” I said, again referring to my watch ; “ and if you take a cab, you will reach Bayswater before his lordship sits down to dinner. Should he not be at home, you can repair to his club, where you would be almost certain to find him. He is sure not to ask you any questions ; and I presume that you will not travel out of your own way to engage him unnecessarily in conversation.” The letter being sealed and addressed, the bolts of the massive door were drawn back ; and Lydia took her departure. When she was gone, the two girls show’ed an inclination to retire also : but I by no means relished the idea of being left alone with Horace Eockingham. “It is now altogether unnecessary,” I said, “ that you should keep watch over me. I am con- fident that the money will be paid : you saw the letter which I wrote : and therefore in a couple of hours— or three at the outside — you will have to restore me to freedom.” “I understand full well,” replied Horace, with his deep hollow laugh of mockery, “ that my pre- sence is by no means agreeable to you ; and con- sidering the scarecrow that I am, I don’t wonder it is rather objectionable to a fastidious and elegant lady. Besides, I have no inclination to play the part of sentinel any longer. If we leave you, the door will be locked on the outside : but will you pledge yourself in the most sacred and solemn manner, that you will not scream forth from the window for assistance ? It would be little use if you did, recollect ! because we should soon rush in upon you before much harm could be done, and the neighbours would think it is merely the wife I I of the second-floor lodger who is undergoing the usual process of a thrashing.” “ The best guarantee I can olTer you for my quietude,” I said, “'is the utter aversion I na- turally entertain to having it known that I have set foot in such a place.” “ Well, under all circumstances, we shall leave you to yourself. By the bye,” continued Horace, “ you may want something to eat and drink ? .Wo have no wish to starve you ” “ Hothing !” I responded, my heart heaving at the bare idea of touching any food which could possibly be served up within the walls of that den. Eockingham and the two girls now left the room, — closing and fastening the door behind them. I rose and walked to and fro for a little while : then sat down again and endeavoured to think upon the most agreeable topics I could pos- sibly conjure up. But unpleasant subjects would nevertheless persist in crowding in upon my mind. Hours had now elapsed since two o’clock, the time of my appointment with Sydenham : — what would he think .? and what explanations could I give him ? Then again, I dreaded lest Lydia should fail by any accident in encountering Alfreton, and that his lordship might call at the house in the evening, before I got back. On the other hand, I said to myself, “ It will not, after all, be so difficult to devise some excuse to satisfy Sydenham : and should his lordship happen to call before I return, he will most probably depart at once on learning that I am out. He would not ask a question which, if repeated to me again, would prove that he was jealous or suspicious : for he has faithfully promised that he will never exhibit himself in such a light— and hitherto he has kept his word.” How heavily hung the time upon my hands in that wretched room, without even a book to amuse me ! Hot however that I should have been enabled to read with any degree of tranquillity ; for I was naturally restless and uneasy under existing cir- cumstances. I was constantly looking at my watch; and when at length upwards of two hours had passed and the dial indicated seven o’clock, it appeared to me as if double that time had dragged its leaden feet along since Lydia departed with the note. She returned not; and when half-an-hour more had as tardily gone by, I fancied that she had not found his lordship at home and therefore had to search for him at his club. But another half-hour passed: darkness set in — it was now eight o’clock — and still no signs of Lydia. What could it all mean ? My nervousness became feverish : an endless variety of bewildering appre- hensions swept through my brain. I heard the key turning in the lock ; and Horace Eockingham made his appearance. “ This is strange, isn’t it ?” he said, with some- thing like uneasiness in his voice, for through the obscurity I could scarcely judge by his looks. “ What the deuce can be keeping her ? You know Alfreton better than she does — and of course better than I do, since I have not the pleasure of knowing him at all. Do you — do you think — that — that he has smelt a rat and given her into cus- tody .P” Had I been in any other humour, and were the circumstances different, I might have gratified my own vindictive feelings by piquing the uneasiness 278 noSA TiVMirmrT. of IToraco Itockinfrham : but I was in no such mood — and 1 thorol'oro said hurriedly as well as iridig. nantly, “Jlis lordship would not treat in such a way any messenger from mo.” “ Tlicn if she doesn’t come hack very shortl}’,” rejoined Ilockingliam, “ I shall begin to think sho has played me a trick and bolted with the money, so as to cheat mo of my share.” “ That will ho your business — not mine,” I an- swered : “lor I am confident that Lord Alfrc ton will honour my demand upon him.” llockingham turned abruptly upon his lieel, muttering something which I did not catch ; and banging the door behind him, ho again locked it. The minutes went lazily by : a neighbouring church chimed half-past eight ; and still Lydia returned not. I was now so excited and nervous, so full of anxiety and trepidation that I felt longer incarceration to be utterly intolerable. That Lydia must either have fallen in with Alfrcton by this time — or, if she had failed in her search, that she would have returned to the house where I was thus incarcerated — appeared to me certain. I therefore adopted Ilorace Itockingham’s suspicion, that she had received the money and lied w'ith it. I pictured to myself the dreadful plight in which he would be thus left, and the terrilic rage that v/ould take possession of him when no longer able to prevent his misgivings from expanding into a conviction. That in the desperation of his circum- stances he w'ould look to me for additional pecu- niary succour, and that he would exert all his powers of terrorism to enforce his extortions, ap- peared beyond all doubt. Night was coming on ; and darkness was favourable to any deed of violence or of villany in such a house as that. In a word, my apprehensions became so poignant as to be no longer tolerable. Escape by the door was not to be thought of : it was massive, as already described — and was fast locked. But what of the window ? It was a ground-floor room in which I was imprisoned: but the house was so built that the floor itself was much higher than the level of the street. There was an area fenced with iron railings ; and the sill of the window was much higher thau the tops of those railings. A leap would be an almost desperate attempt: but still I deemed it prac- ticable. To raise the window and scream for suc- cour, after the terrible warnings I had received, and considering that disturbances in the house were by no means uncommon, — was a proceeding that might only draw down upon me the measures of violence which I so much dreaded. I was re- solved to escape ! The twilight had yielded to darkness— the lamps wore lighted in the street — and as the obscurity increased, so did my apprehension in respect to the (Icn where I found myself and the wretches who were in it. Tlirec or four persons had arrived within the last hour : but they wore all male voices which I heard speaking in the passage ; and the sounds 'ith him for the very reason that he made me improper overtures. Meanwhile I can treat my domestics with additional liberality and indulgence, — thus securing their good oflices in case Alfreton should be led, by any proceedings on Eockinghara’s part, to question them hereafter. As for what the miscreant can reveal in respect to my brother, it will be better to risk that much than to yield to whatsoever fresh extortions he may seek henceforth to accomplish.” My resolves being thus .taken, I enclosed Eock- ingham a ten pound note—for his lordship had left me a cheque on the preceding evening; and the remittance was accompanied by an unsigned billet, to the effect that I hoped Mr. Eockingham would not appeal to my benevolence again. On the following day Sydenham called at the usual hour; and as ho perceived that my looks were melancholy and my manner dull, ho hastily in- quired the reason. “I must bo candid with you,” was my answer. “ His lordship was hero last evening— and ho threw out somo hints in respect to my intimacy with you.” “ I'hcn wo must bo all tho more guarded in fulure,” oxclaimrvl Claudius. “No — wo itiust eej)arato altogether,” I said: “wo must SCO each other no more— or at least only as passing acquaintances when wo happen to meet.” “ 13 ut, my dear Eose, this is too cruel on your part !” cried Sydenham, very much annoyed. “You know that I am fond of you— and tho idea of separation, coming eo suddculy upon mo ” “ But what arc wo to do, my dear Claudius ? It is impossible I can risk discovery nnd exposure. Now that Alfreton’s suspicions aro onco excited, they will lead him to watch ” “ Ob, it will bo strange indeed if wo cannot outwit him !” interrupted Sydenham. “ Prudence perhaps dictates that I should call less frequently — or even refrain entirely from visiting you at your own house. But can you not come to mo ? My apartments are in St. James’s Square ” “ No, Claudius,” I said ; “ much as it grieves me, I am determined that our separation shall take place at onco and finally. Do listen to reason, and let me be frank with you ! If you were in a condition to maintain me, I should unhesitatingly abandon Alfreton for your sake. But you aro not: and it would be utter madness for you to plunge headlong into extravagances, debts, and ruin on my account. Leave me theretorc, my dear friend: wo shall meet sometimes in the Park, or else- where Oh, be generous. You see how seriously you would compromise me if you over-ruled a determination to which I have not come without serious reflection, and also with very painful feel- ings.” “ I am so selfish, dear Eose,” Sydenham replied, winding his arms round my waist and straining me to his breast, “ that I cannot possibly consent to part from you in this manner. At all events grant me one boon.” “ I will, if it be possible,” was my resj)onse : and I found my courage yielding under the influence of the burning caresses he lavished upon me. “ Let me pass one more agreeable evening with you on the first occasion when you shall know beforehand Alfreton will not visit you : and let that evening be followed by a night of love it is all I demand — it is all I implore at your hands— you cannot refuse me this parting fa- vour ?” “No— I cannot,” I murmuringly replied: for Sydenham’s caresses grew ail the more fervid and tender as he spoke, while methought he never before looked so handsome. “ It happens,” I con- tinued, “that Alfreton will not be with me this evening. We will dine together— and all the rest shall be as you have entreated. But recollect, I trust to your generosity and your honour nay, more — I exact the solemn sacred pledge that to- morrow morning when we separate after break- fast, it will be for good and all, and that you take no farther advantage 'of my too yielding weakness. Promise me this, Claudius— promise it most faith- fully !” “ I do— I do, charming Eose !” responded Clau- dius, as he continued to strain mo in his arms. I knew that Alfreton was engaged to dine with some friends on this particular day, and therefore considered myself quite safe in acceding to the handsome young officer’s earnest solicitation. Bui though thus far exhibiting a certain feebleness of purpose, I was on tho other hand sincere in carry- ing out luy resolve of separation from my jiara- IlOc'.A LAMUEKl’, woai*; and wLea I ascended to tny cTiamber to j dress for dinner, I said to myself, “ Yes— assuredly tliis is the last time that I will receive Claudius at the house— the last time too that I will be guilty of infidelity towards Alfreton !” We dined together; the evening was passed most agreeably, — each of us having, as if by a sort of tacit consent, put aside the recollection that it was for the last time we were thus to quaff the sparkling champagne together. Or perhaps it was that Claudius secretly entertained the hope that I should not prove so resolute nor so cruel as 1 had represented that I should be, and that I should consent to visit him now and then at his own chambers in St. James’s-square; and perhaps too, on my own side, there was a gradual yielding of the thoughts in that same direction, under the influence of the wine, his caresses, his interesting discourse, and the contemplation of his great 3^0. 36 I personal beauty. At all events our looks and our : conversation mutually bespoke a gaiety of the I heart ; and thus the time slipped rapidly away. At ten o’clock we retired to my chamber ; but before I pursue my narrative, it is necessary that I should say a few words to describe the situation of the adjoining dressing-room. The windows of my bed-chamber were in the front of the house, and the door of communication was, as a matter of course, from the landing. But in the wall facing the windows, there was another door, leading into the dressing-room,— the window of which looked upon the back-yard. From this dressing-room there was likewise a door upon the landing ; and thus there were in reality two modes of ingress or egress with regard to my bed-chamber. We had not been many minutes in the bed- chamber, and had only just begun to put off our apparel,— v/hen all in a moment it struck me that }!OSA LAAIJlFJiT. 1 beard a footstep upon (lie stairs, — not tlie foot- step of eitlicr of the men-servants, nor the lipfhter one of either of the maids— but the slow, heavv, dragging one of old age; and the idea tlashod to me tliat it must be Lord Alfreton. The same sound met the ear of Claudius at the same mo- ment ; and our ejes, which hitherto had been ex- changing amorous looks, (^uicklj glanced witli dis- may. Instinctively I jiut my linger upon my lip to enjoin silence— or rather a continuation of it; and we listened with suspended breath. Yes— it was but too certain that some one was approaching the door of my bed-chamber ! — and who could this some one be except Lord Alfreton p Yet 1 had not heard any knocking or ringing at the front door; and thus I was seized with the apprehension that I was either betrayed, or that bis lordship’s suspicions had been by some means excited— jier- liaps after all by the villain Horace Eockingham : for, as the reader may have comprehended, it was not true that the old nobleman had spoken to me about Sydenham’s visits, and I had only told the Captain that it w-as so as a pretext for the break- ing otf of our intimacy. However, I had not now much time for rcHec- tion upon all these things which swept hurriedly through my brain : for the footsteps were ap- proaching over the thick carpet of the landing — there was a knock at the chamber-door — and Allreton’s unmistakable voice said in a half-busbed tone. Eose dearest, it is I !” Quick as thouglit I made a sign to Claudius Sydenham— a sign which be at once comprehended ; and snatching his coat and w'aistcoat, as well as his boots, of which arlicles ho had only as yet dis- sppurelled himself,, he passed into the dressing- room. With the speed of lightning I locked the door of communication — drew out the key — and thrust it between the mattresses of the bed. It was all the work of a few moments; and Lord Alfreton had not to knock nor speak again, ere I unlocked the door at which, he was standing, and gave him admittance. He was dressed in evening costume, as if just coming from a party; and the moment the beanrs of the wax-lights fell upon his countenance, I glanced at him to ascertain whether any suspicion liad been really awakened in his mind, or whether it wore a mere caprice which had brought him thither after he had given me to understand that I need not expect him until the mor.vuw. There war. nothing in his looks to justify my apprehen- sions: he appeared to be in nis wonted mood ; and embracing me, said, “You are doubtless surprised to see me— but 1 hope not annoyed ? My sister and daughters went out of town this afternoon flornewliat unexpectedly, to pay a visit in the country ; and I therefore thought that as I had to dine at no great distance Isence, I would come hither instead of reluming to Eayswater.” “My dear Alfreton,” 1 replied, now perfectly comp(i 80 (l, and able to adopt the completcst dis- simulation, “bow can you think that I am an- noyed ?” “Nay, dearest,” ho answered, still caressing mo; “I did not tliiiik you were annoyed — 1 merely ex- prr:sK(;d llio hope that you were nnt. JUit you retire to rent somewhat early (his evening F” “ I generally retire early — tlioiigli perhaps not (jiiito so soon us this as u general rule;” — and again I glanced at Iii.s connfenanco to areertain if there were any covert si; 4 iiili('aucy in his words, or if the remark were nu rely a cu:iual and indif- feront one. “The truth i;,” I coTilinuel, tully satisGod with the result of that look thus llir(nvn upon him, “I hud a slight headache this evening — and therefore came to bed early. Eut I did not hear you knock or ring: if I had, 1 should have run down stairs to too whether you would take any refreshment.” “ Thank you, dearest Eose,” rejoined Alfreton : “I required none. And as to the eircuinstaiice of my ingress,— the footman was just returning by the area, so that ho hastened up to open the front door for me.” I w'as completely satisfied that Lord Alfreton had no suspicion of my infidelity towards him — hut that he had spoken the exact truth in respect to the visit of his sister and daughters into tlio country, and his resolution to avail himself of tho circumstance to visit me. It was exceedingly pro- voking: but, after all, I flattered myself that there was nothing to apprehend ; — for, as I have already explained, there was a door leading out of the dressing-room upon the landing, and 1 had no doubt that Claudius Sydenham would take his hasty and stealthy departure. “Ho you know, my dear girl,” said Lord Aifrc- ton, after a brief pause, “ that I saw two or three very ill-looking fellows lurking about in the street: and after the infamous treatment you experienced the day before yesterday, I am fearful lest there should be an intention of renewed outrage — or perhaps even a burglarious entry into the house.” “Indeed!” I exclaimed, half with a real alarm, and half with a returning suspicion that there was something more in Alfreton’s mind and con- duct than appeared upon the surface. Still his looks were just as they were wont to be; and in his tone, indeed, there was more than an usual tenderness as be spoke of the recent outrage and the supposed impending danger. “ Let us see,” he continued, “ whether the doors and windows be all safe. I intimated to the foot- man that there are ill- looking fellows lurking about, and gave him instructions to see that ail was secure down stairs.” Having thus spoken, the old nobleman took one of the wax-lights in his hand — examined the win- dows — and then advancing to the bed, raised the draperies to peep under it. My idea that there was really suspicion in his mind, was now strengthened : for if he entertained not such sus- picion, his conduct savoured of the ludicrous. “Why, my dear Alfreton!” I exclaimed, affect- ing to laugh; “you surely do not think that a burglarious entry will bo attempted by the win- dows on the second floor, and in tlie front of tho house too? It is really preposterous!” “ My dear Eose,” answered the old nobleman, “ there is nothing too outrageous for people to do or to attempt now-a-days. Besides, what is the harm of seeing that tho M indows are fastened, and that there is no lurking scoundrel under the bed ? Let us look in tho dressing-room— and then I shall ho more at my ease.” 1 had now no longer any doubt that my infidelity was at liast .susi)(’ct('d by him, even if it were not known as an absolute certainty: but I was equally well assured that ho would not find Captain fcjydeu- EOSA LAMBEET. 283 ham in the dressing-room — for several minutes had now elapsed since Alfreton’s entrance, and it was of course to bo supposed that the Captain had availed himself of the interval to effect his retreat. The old nobleman advanced towards the door ; but finding it fast, and not observing the key, he said, Oh, you keep this locked ?” “ Sometimes,” was my answer : and while his back was yet turned towards me, I slipped out the key from between the mattresses. I knew that it would only confirm his suspicion if I refused to produce it : while on the other hand I was convinced that Sydenham must have taken his departure ; — and even if by any accident he had not, the discovery of him in the dressing-room would not be a bit worse than the confirmation of the old nobleman’s suspicion by the refusal of the key. Having therefore whipt the key forth from the mattresses, I hastened to the toilet-table — pre- tended to take it up— and with an air of perfect confidence, as if altogether innocent of anything wrong, I presented it to him,— saying, ‘‘Here it is.” The expression of his own countenance con- tinued unchanged, as he took the key from me and placed it in the lock. It was certainly an anxious moment for me : and the instant the door opened, I plunged my looks into the dressing-room. This first glance was satisfactory enough : but still I could not at the moment embrace every nook and corner of the little apartment. Lord Alfreton entered : I followed him— and was now completely reassured in respect to Sydenham’s escape. He examined the window : it was fastened. He then proceeded to the door communicating with the passage ; and holding the wax-light to- wards it, observed, “Ah! it is locked — and I see that you have taken out the key from this door also.” “ Perhaps — I may have done so,” I returned, not exactly knowing what to say : for the door was assuredly locked, and a glance at the keyhole showed me that the key was not in it at all. But the idea suddenly flashed to my mind that Syden- ham, on taking his departure, had locked the door behind him and had removed the key, — though for what purpose I could not exactly understand ; un- less it were that in case of a search in that room, the fact of the door being found locked and the key taken out, might serve to make his lordship beiieve that no one had departed by that means of egress. Catching at the hint which (as I supposed) my lover had thus left behind him, I ejaculated, “ 1 1 recollect now ! I locked that door and took out fhe key ! It is somewhere on my toilet-table — or else in one of the drawers.” “ Ah ! then that is sufficient,” said Lord Alfre- ton : and he at once retraced his way into the bed- chamber,— closing and fastening the door of com- munication between that apartment and the dressing-room. His countenance continuing unchanged — his manner preserving all its wonted urbanity — and his tone its usual tenderness, I began to think that after all I might be wrong ; or that if my original conjecture were right in respect to his suspicion of my frailty, that this suspicion must now be com- pletely set at rest. We passed the night together : he remained to breakfast in the morning — and then took his departure. I Throughout all that day I certainly expected j some communication from Claudius Sydenliam : j I naturally thought that he would bo anxious to hear from me how the affair terminated with Lord Alfreton. But hour after hour passed — the post- men went by the house, and none stopped at my door. Then it occurred to me that Sydenham might be afraid of a letter being intercepted ; and I fancied that perhaps he might have heard something to justify this apprehension. I was now suspicious of all the servants of the house- hold, notwithstanding my great indulgence to- wards them : for I thought that perhaps if the old nobleman’s suspicions had been excited — though the attempt to confirm them was baffled in the first instance — he might possibly have bribed the domestics to become spies upon ray actions. I did not therefore choose to send out a letter to the post addressed to Claudius : much less did I think it prudent to call upon him at his own lodgings. In the evening Alfreton sent a note to say that he had caught a very severe cold, which was con- fining him to the house ; and that he was feai'ful he should not be enabled to visit me for two or three days. It was worded with his wonted ten- derness : but I could not help thinking that his purposed absence was only a pretext to throw me off my guard and enable him to surprise me with my lover. This however I was resolved he should not do ; and I was therefore glad that Sydenham had not written— glad also that I had not at- tempted to communicate with him either by letter or personally. Indeed, my mind was made up to do nothing that should strengthen suspicion ; and I flattered myself that if Lord Alfreton was com- pelled to arrive at the conclusion that he had wronged me, our connexion would become cemented by ties stronger than ever. I retired to my chamber about half-past ten o’clock ; and quickly dismissing the maid, sat down to finish my night-toilet alone. I feared that she was a spy, as well as the other servants ; and her presence was irksome to me — especially as I chose not to chat with any degree of friendliness or familiarity. But when alone, and having locked the door on the maid’s leaving the chamber, I gradually experienced a strange sort of uneasy feeling coming over me, — a feeling for which I could in no way account, and which I can scarcely even explain. It was not exactly despondency of spirits : it was not remorse for the past, uncer- tainty for the present, nor apprehension for the future. It was rather a vague, dull, numbing terror, — and yet not a terror in respect to the i renewal of outrage on the part of those from whom I had experienced such treatment. Was it, then, a superstitious feeling — a dread of beholding some denizen of the world which lies beyond the grave ? I knew not: I never had been superstitious in that respect — and what cause had I for suddenly becoming so now ? Still it was an unpleasant — a most disagreeable feeling — thoug’n so vague, undefined, and unaccountable. I endeavoured to cast it off : I surveyed myself in the mirror, and strove to fix my attention on the image of my own beauty, — that beauty of which I was naturally proud, having every reason so to be ! But no — the attempt was unavailing — the sensation of uneasiness was augmenting — and T10S\ LAMBERT. 28 i I caiif^ht mvsc'lf ,"lnncin;j with a kind of aubdnod would encounter soino dreadful object. Wliat could it be? Was it an inward warnin;T tliat danger was nigh ? — was it one of those iinac- couutable pi’osentiinents of impending evil which sometimes take possession of tlio human soul ? 1 looked under tho bod — I looked under tho sofa that there was in tho room — I looked also behind the window-draperies and into the cupboards. No individual was anywhere concealed ; and I en- deavoured to persuade myself tliat I was ashamed of my terrors, — though in reality I could scarcely bo so, for tho sensation of uneasiness still i*omained upon me. I resumed my seat at the toilet-table; and as I combed out tho rich luxuriance of my light chesnut brown hair, I felt myself shud- dering with a vague apprehension that some ghastly countenance would suddenly appear over ray ehouldcr. Tho wrapper which I had put on when disapparelling myself, was all loose, revealing my neck and shoulders of dazzling whiteness, and which were reflected in the mirror : but as I sur- veyed myself, I again shuddered lest a death-cold hand should bo laid upon my flesh. Over and over again did I wonder what the feeling could possibly mean; — and now I proceeded to the dressing-room to assure myself that no one w'as concealed there. A glance was sufficient for this purpose : there was no possibility of any evil- disposed person remaining unseen in that little room when once the window-draperies had been examined. I must observe that though it bore the denomination of a dressing-room, I did not use it as such, — habitually performing ray own toilet in the chamber : but it had proved serviceable for Alfreton or Sydenham when either of them passed the night with me. There was a large wardrobe in this dressing-room : it contained my best dresses ; and as I w'as careful in keeping the door securely closed to prevent the dust getting in to the cos- tumes, there was no chance of any one hiding him- self within. Indeed, I was already aggravating my own fears so much by yielding to them, that I did not choose to enhance them any farther, or admit to myself that I was so much a prey to them, by fetching my keys from the toilet-table and opening that wardrobe. I retired to bed, still pursued however by a vague terror which I could neither comprehend nor shake off. I lay tossing about, restless and uneasy, for some hours ; and when sleep at length came upon me, it was troubled with hideous dreams. I rose in tho morning, pale, ill, and dispirited. I waited at home until the afternoon, in case Syden- ham should by any means communicate with me : but no letter nor message came. I then went out for an airing in tho carriage : my despondency wore off— rny spirits rose — and I returned homo to dinner with the idea that I had altogether escaped from that oppressive sensation which had so un- accountably preycfl u{)on mo for hours. The even- ing passofl, and still there was no communication of any sort from tho Captain ; so that I now began to feel rlispleascd with him — for I thouglit that ho certainly might have made some atlctnpt to for- ward mo a lino, if it were only to indicate how I could best communicate with him and make him aware of the manner in which tho scene with Alfreton had terminated. When T retired to my chamber, — and, havinf’- dismissed tho maid, was again alone,— that uneasy sensation gradually came back upon mo — vague, numbing, undefined, as on tho previous night. I was now resolved not to abandon myself to it — at least not more than I could possibly help; and in order to prevent my own mind from admitting how far it was under tho innucnco of this inox- plicablo terror, I would not so much as look behind tho window-curtains nor under tho bed. I sought my couch— but again lay tossing on a sleepless pil- low for some hours until slumber at length came gradually over mo : but my dreams wore again troubled and hideous, though I recollected not their nature when I awoke in tho morning. As the fresh air had done mo so much good on the preceding day, I wont out soon after breakfast to ride on horseback, attended by the groom. My spirits soon rose, and I returned to luncheon with gaiety in my heart and a bloom upon my cheeks. I now began to think that all I wanted was plenty of exercise, and that perhaps those sensations of vague uneasiness which I had experienced, were nothing more than ordinary attacks of low spirits. Accordingly, in the afternoon I went out again — but this time for an airing in the carriage, seeking the Park in the hope of encountering Captain Sydenham. I was however disappointed ; and on returning home at five o’clock, was likewise disap- pointed on hearing that there was no letter for me. The third day since the scene with my old protector and my youthful lover was now drawing towards a close ; and not a line — not a message— not even the slightest attempt to see me on Syden- ham’s part ! I grew alarmed : for a new suspicion flashed in unto my mind. Was it possible that the servants were bribed to intercept any letter that was addressed to me ? Had Claudius really written — and was his billet consigned to the hands of Lord Alfreton ? But if so, why was Alfreton himself so quiet? wherefore did he not come to overwhelm me with reproaches ? or wherefore did he not write to break off with me altogether ? Was he really indisposed, and therefore only wait- ing until he got well in order to take some decisive step ? The state of uncertainty in which I was thus kept, was now becoming intolerable. If Claudius had written, he would be wondering wherefore I did not answer ; his own suspense would be great ; and if Lord Alfreton purposed to dissolve his connexion with me— as I now began to think was most probable — there was not the slightest reason why I should not at once commu- nicate with Captain Sydenham. I therefore sat down to my desk — penned a hasty note, bidding him meet me in the Park on the morrow — and was then about to go up-stairs and dress myself again in order to take the letter to the post with my own hand, when an expedient struck me. I enclosed the letter in an envelope which I addressed to my milliner, just writing a line inside the envelope to the efl’oct that I had a particular reason for wishing that letter to bo conveyed by a stranger hand to its destination, and begging her to allow her own porter to fulfil this commission for me. “ If Lord Alfreton has bribed my servants,” I thought to myself, “ it can only bo for tho inter- ception of correspondence between myself and Sydenbam— and not for tho seizure of letters to my tradespeople.” EOSA LAMBERT. 285 I rang tlio bell— gavo the footman the letter — | and ordered him to take it to the post. I heard i him open the front door : but it did not imme- diately close again — and my ear caught the sounds of voices in conversation. In a few minutes the well - known footsteps of Lord Alfreton were ascending the stairs ; and as he entered the drawing-room, I perceived at a glance that his countenance was cold and severe. Smitten with the conviction that the moment of the disruption of our connexion was now at hand, I assumed what I considered to be a dignified reserve — but what perhaps may be better described as a bold effron- tery. “ Miss Lambert,” said Lord Alfreton, as ho calmly took a seat, “ I see by your manner that you full well conjecture what the purpose of my present visit is.” He paused as if for a reply ; but I said nothing —and affected to gaze in a contrary direction, as if being unaware of his presence. “You have not used me well,” proceeded his lordship. “ I do not for a moment mean to dwell upon any liberality in a pecuniary sense which I may have shown towards you; because at the very outset, I gave you to understand that I was not such a dotard as to imagine that a young and beautiful woman as you are could attach herself to an old man such as I am, unless it were for the luxury and opulence of the position in which he would place her. I do not therefore consider that you are in any way indebted to me on that score. But there was another obligation which was on your part due to me — and that was fidelity. And all the more should you have been mindful of this debt, because my conduct was frank, delicate, and generous towards you. I left you your own mis- tress— I tormented you not with suspicions or jealousies i indeed I entertained none— for I had confidence in you. And how have you rewarded me ? By a continuous series of the basest infideli- ties !” “ And would your lordship be kind enough,” I asked, assuming an air of confidence, “to inform me upon what evidence you have arrived at this conclusion ?” “ Evidence the most unmistakable,” replied the old nobleman. “ When you informed me the other evening of the outrage that was perpetrated upon you, I thought to myself that it was singular a woman of your spirit should yield to the extor- tionate demands of those persons — especially your own maid. Suspicion arose in my mind — but a suspicion faint only as the ringing of far distant bells in the ears,— yet a suspicion, nevertheless, to the effect that there was some secret which the extortioners might reveal, and that you were there- fore not altogether unwilling to purchase their silence. I however said nothing — I even endea- voured to banish the suspicion from my mind : and I succeeded — for you continued to speak so frankly and with so much genuine feeling about your father, and my own family, and the dread you had entertained of exposure for either of us at the hands of those wretches, that I believed you yes, I believed you implicitly at last, and all sus- picion was laid aside. In that trustful spirit I left you. But the following day brought me a commu- nication — a communication from a certain Horace Eockingham !” “ Ah, the villain ! the miscreant 1” I ejacu- lated. “Villain and miscreant he may be,” rejoined Lord Alfreton quietly : “ but his letter neverthe- less bore the impress of truth — and it contained evidence, more or less corroborative, in your own handwriting. Yes, Kose— on the very day after the outrage, you forwarded a ten pound note to the author of that outrage, enclosed in a letter wherein you requested him not to appeal to your benevolence again. How, then, my eyes were opened — I saw that there was indeed a secret which you had been afraid he would reveal — a secret apart from all family concerns— a secret intimately regarding yourself in your position to- wards me! And that secret he did indeed re- veal— namely, your amour with Claudius Syden- ham !” “ And because from motives of compassion,” I exclaimed, — “because having known that young man in better days, I was led to assist him, your lordship accredits all his atrocious calumnies— puts faith in his slanders— and believes the very worst concerning me 1” “ No — I did not arrive at so speedy a con- clusion,” answered the nobleman ; “ I was re- solved to have other and better proofs. I pre- tended that I should not visit you on a particular evening; and under all circumstances, I consi- dered myself justified in setting a spy to watch your house.” “ Go on, my lord !” I exclaimed, with an air of indignation. “ What next P” “ Captain Sydenham came,” ho continued calmly and quietly : “ he passed hours with you : he did not issue forth again ere lights were seen at your chamber- windows. Then was it that I came at once to the house ; and instead of being let in by any servant who was overtaken, as I informed you, while descending the area-steps, I myself entered by those means, — your domestics not having retired to their rooms.” “ And when you had thus entered,” I said, in a sarcastic tone, “ what amount of unmistakable evidence did you discover in respect to my in- fidelity ?” “Your paramour was with you,” rejoined the old nobleman, with a tinge of malignity now for the first time appearing in his accents : “ and he had the satisfaction of passing the entire night in the dressing-room, while I occupied the warm floculent couch which he was to have shared with you. That was my revenge— and beneath a calm placid demeanour I gloated over ^our disappoint- ment and his ludicrous discomfiture.” “Your lordship knows that this is all false !” I exclaimed, with a bold hardihood : “ for did not you yourself inspect the dressing-room ? — and you be- held no one there ! It is truly abominable of your lordship to go on with these odious inven- tions ” “ Stop, Miss Lambert 1” interrupted the old nobleman : “ it will not do for you to assume an air of outraged innocence. Think you that I knew not full well your paramour was concealed in the wardrobe ? But let me give you a few ex- planatory details. First of all my examination of the rooms had his discovery for its purpose : but when I found him not in the places where I looked, I knew full well that the only remaining lurking. 280 JlO?K TAMDETIT. ]i()lc was that wardrobe ; and I thonp^lifc that to leave liiin to pass tiio ni^lit there, would bo the best puiiisliment 1 could possibly inflict. Ah, Miss Lambert !” added Lord AKVeton, the sarcasm of his accents becoming more perceptible, anrl his features now expressing a sardonic malignity, “ I lenevv from the very first that he must bo some- where in the rooms : for I had taken the precau- tion 1 0 bar his egress !” I was certainly puzzled and bewildered by this announcement : but assuming as much composure us possible, I said, “ Your lordship has as yet failed to prove your case.” “ Not so. Miss Lambert,” he rejoined, with a look of truly fiend-like satisfaction ; “ for suspect- ing how it would bo sought to manage your para- mour’s escape, I took the precaution of locking the outer-door of the dressing-room and putting the key in my pocket.” Here I started — but not perceptibly: it was a sort of inward movement ; — and 1 said nothing. “Yes — as I passed on the landing, 1 found that the key happened to be outside the door,” continued Alfreton ; “ and so I made your lover captive. Y^ou may suppose how I chuckled when, on accompanying me into the dressing-room, you assured me that you yourself had locked that door, and that the key was either on your toilet-table or else in one of your drawers, — when all the time it was in my own pocket ! Ah, you disbelieve me ? you are sceptical still ? Here then is the key !” — and he tossed it upon the table. I was more puzzled and bewildered than ever. That Sydenham had escaped, I felt certain: but how or when I was at a loss to conjecture. It was possible that he had got out of the back window, and by a desperate leap had gained the roof of a lower building that projected into the yard: but he must have closed the window behind him on creeping forth upon the sill, for it was found shut in the morning. Or, on the other hand, it was possible that he had passed the v/hole night in that dressing-room, and that when I and Alfreton had descended to the breakfast-parlour in the morning, ho had availed himself of the opportunity to slip out of the house. As for his being concealed in the vv'ardrobe, it now struck me as quite pro- bable, inasmuch as though I usually kept it closed, it might still have happened that the door was left ajar by the negligence of the maid on that particu- lar day. “ Still your lordship’s chain of evidence is totally incomplete,” I observed, after a brief pause : “ and I will so far condescend to vindicate myself, as to direct your attention to the fact that you have not proved Captain Sydenham to have been in that dressing-room at all. In a word, you locked tlio door upon tho furniture and the empty air.” “ No, no. Miss Lambert !” replied the old ]iof)lcin;irj, witli n look that was now perfectly flovilisb in il.H malignity and its sardonic triumph. “!!' I.bero were nothing wrong biitvvccn yourself a)id that the side-door which communicated with the private I ROSA LAMBERT. 295 staircase, as explained to me by Alvanly. Imme- diately facing that private door, was the gate leading into the paddock, which was enclosed by a high wooden wall, or close fence. I opened the gate; and threaded my way through the paddock, with every appearance of stealthiness, — as if studying to keep in the shade of the trees, on which there still remained no inconsiderable por- tion of the foliage that had lately apparelled them — but now no longer green, — on the contrary, yellow and fading— rustling hollowly to the breeze, as if in ominous augury of that death of nature which would soon scatter them upon the ground, leaving naught but skeleton branches behind. Proceeding with this apparent cautiousness, I reached the Pavilion, — the door of which was im- mediately opened by Gustavus Alvanly. He closed it again after I had entered, and conducted me into an elegantly furnished parlour, where refreshments were spread upon a table. I must confess that I experienced a certain excitement — a fluttering of the heart — at the strange adventure in which I was thus engaged. I gladly accepted some wine-and- water ; and as I was partaking of it, Alvanly said to me, “ Everything proceeds as I could wish. From information given me by the valet, the Baronet and the other domestic of whom I spoke to you, have arranged to keep watch in the paddock at no great distance from the Pavi- lion. I have not the slightest doubt that they ai’e there in ambush : they have seen you enter — and they cannot for an instant entertain a sus- picion that it is another than the one who is uppermost in their thoughts. Your stature is the same ” At this moment there was a terrific crash of one of the casements in the parlour where we were seated ; and simultaneously therewith, there was a loud din in the hall. This latter was produced by the door of the Pavilion being burst open. Through the broken casement a livery-servant sprang into the room. Alvanly started up with an air of fiercest indignation ; and according to the tutoring which I had received, I sent a loud shriek pealing forth from my lips. That shriek was still ringing in the air— and Alvanly’s indignant demand of what the intrusion meant, was only half uttered — when in rushed an individual who I had no doubt at the very first moment was the Baronet him- self. “Villain!” he ejaculated, springing towards Al- vanly : “ seducer of my wife ! And you, false wretch 1” he vehemently added, turning abruptly off at a tangent and striding up to me. But never shall I forget the consternation and dismay — the indescribable astonishment — the dream-like perplexity and bewilderment, which seized upon Sir Ealph Horton at the first glimpse which he caught of my features, — being thus sud- denly smitten with the conviction that there was some tremendous mistake, for it was not his wife whom he beheld before him ! And all those same feelings were reflected, though in a more stolid, vacant, and inane manner, in the countenance of the liveried lacquey. Never was discomfiture more complete on the one hand — never was stratagem more successful on the other. For my part, however, I affected to be much alarmed, shocked, and ashamed : while Alvanly, with arms folded across his chest, and with a well assumed sternness of countenance, advanced up to the Baronet, saying, “ Sir Ealph Horton, you per- ceive that you have committed a fearful mistake ; and under the influence of feelings of which you ought to be ashamed, you have dared suspect the honour of your wife and accuse me of that which I should scorn to do.” “ Eascal 1” thundered forth the Baronet : “ it was all your fault !” — and springing towards the unfortunate lacquey, he dealt him a blow which levelled him upon the carpet. “ Were not the master too ready and willing to listen to calumny,” said Gustavus, with the cold- ness of dignified reproach, “ the man would not have been found eager to minister to the morbid feeling.” “For heaven’s sake, Mr. Alvanly,” exclaimed the Baronet, cruelly perplexed, “ let this matter be hushed up ! Good heavens, it would make me the laughing-stock of all my neighbours ! Whatever apology you demand and this — this— per young lady, I mean — whatever apology she consi- ders necessary ” “ Oh, let me depart ! I ejaculated, as if labour- ing under the strongest excitement. “ Good heavens, Mr. Alvanly ! how could you have ex- posed me to this ? Did I not all along tell you that sooner or later these stealthy visits of mine would be discovered ? Oh, it is infamous on the part of all of you! — and never, never, Gustavus, will I see you again !” With these words I rushed from the room — having, as the reader will bear in mind, my bonnet and shawl still on. “ Stop ! — one word !” cried Alvanly, as if ter- ribly afflicted by my seemingly excited words : and he precipitated himself after me. I of course suf- fered him to overtake me at a short distance from the Pavilion; and pressing my hand with the most fervid gratitude, he said in a low hurried whisper, “You played your part admirably ! — nothing could possibly have been better ! The trick has com- pletely succeeded — and Lady Horton is saved ! Eose, I am deeply grateful to you ! Whenever you require a friend, hesitate not to apply to me !” He again wrung my hand; and we separated. I was apprehensive lest the din of the smashed glass, the bursting open of the door, and my loud shriek should have been heard at the Hall, thus bringing forth the household — in w'hich case I might have experienced some little molestation and unpleasant questioning on my way out of the grounds. But it seemed that the Pavilion was siffficiently remote to prevent that din from being heard ; and I effected my escape without encoun- tering a soul. It was about half-past eleven when I regained my lodgings in Bath — my return being thus accomplished earlier than I had anticipated : for little indeed had I thought that the jealous Baronet and his unfortunate myrmidon would burst into the Pavilion so soon after my admission thither. In pursuance of my previously adopted resolve, I left Bath on the following day; and as the Brighton season was now commencing, I repaired to that fashionable watering-place : for it did not suit me to return to London, as only two months and a half had as yet elapsed since the fearful tra- gedy at Woburn Place which had given such pain- ful notoriety to my name. ROSA LAMRERT. CHAPTER XXXIX.. THE BANKER. This was my second visit to Brighton. My for- mer sojourn was, as the reader is aware, exceed- ingly brief; for it was on that occasion I accepted the protection of Captain Beaumont, and we im- mediately afterwards repaired to London. Now I was destined to make a longer stay. Still retain- ing my assumed name of Mrs. Wilton, I engaged handsome apartments in the King’s Road, and hired a splendid equipage, stipulating that the whole turn-out, including the domestics’ liveries, should be in a style to give it the appearance of being my own. As the reader may understand, I was now bent upon obtaining a new protector, and I was determined that he should be one who could afford to maintain me in the luxury to which I had been accustomed. I rode out in my carriage in the fashionable lounges, and at the fashionable hours : in the earlier part of the day I took exer- cise on horseback upon the Downs ; and in the evening I repaired to promenade concerts, the theatre, or other places of recreation which were well attended. I received several overtures in the course of the first few weeks — but not one that I chose to accept ; and I was beginning to think that I should do well to go elsewhere, when acci- dent aided in the accomplishment of my aim. I was riding one day upon the Downs — it was a fine frosty forenoon towards the close of December —when I perceived a pocket-book lying upon the ground. I had been galloping at a rate which somewhat distanced the groom who was following ; and I waited till ho came up, — when, according to my order, he dismounted and took possession of the pocket-book. My sole object was to restore it to its owner : and I thought little more of the in- cident until I returned to my lodging. Then the groom gave me the pocket-book ; and when I had leisure I examined its contents to ascertain to whom it belonged. To my astonishment I found that it contained bank-notes, bills of exchange, railway scrip, and other securities, to an aggregate amount of about five thousand pounds— but no letter nor card to indicate the owner. I therefore at once sent off a message to the police authorities, to acquaint them with the discovery of the pocket- book, and request their intervention in finding the proprietor. 1 was seated at dinner at about six o’clock, when the servant informed me that the gentleman whose card she presented, requested to see me. The card bore the name of Mr. Fenton, the ad- dress being “ Cumberland Lodge, Clapham but in pencil was marked his Brighton address — namely, the Bedford Hotel. Thus the card in- dicated a wealthy individual ; and I immediately conceived that ho must be the owner of the pocket- book. 1 accordingly directed that he should be shown to the drawing-room ; and thither I almost immediately proceeded. I found Mr. Fenton to be u fine, tall, handsome man, about forty years of age — with dark hair and eyes— fine whiskers — a superb set of teeth — and a inost agreeable smile. JIiH manners were good, if not ])rocisely (hiserving the epithet of elegant : there was nothing j)rc- bumptuous in his beuring— but ho looked the gentleman. I noticed that he was much struck as I entered the room; and for a few moments he could not speak — but gazed upon me with an uncontrollable admiration; so that this involun- tary tribute to my beauty was perhaps the most flattering compliment that could possibly be paid it. I requested him to be seated ; while I also took a chair. Jfe began expressing his fears that he had disturbed mo in the middle of my dinner — but apologized for his intrusion, on the plea of his anxiety on account of the pocket-book, of which, as I had anticipated, ho announced himself to bo the owner. “ Of course, Mrs. Wilton,” he proceeded to ob- serve, “ you will require mo to furnish you with as close a specification of its contents as my memory will supply ; and I have accordingly pen- cilled this little list of the notes, scrip, and secu- rities — so that a minute’s comparison with what the book contains, will convince you of the justice of my claim. I may add that I must have lost it while riding out this morning with a young gen- tleman to whom indeed the amount itself belongs — and my impression is it must have slipped fron^ my pocket when we were upon the Downs.” “ It was there, Mr. Fenton,” I answered, “ that I found the pocket-book ; and my memory serves me sufficiently to prove that your list corre- sponds with the contents. Here is your property;” — and opening a writing-desk, I handed him the pocket-book. “ I return you my sincerest thanks,” said Mr. Fenton. “ It was all through the harum-scarum conduct of the young gentleman that I lost it. I must inform you that I am the principal partner in a London bank; and I have acted as guardian to the young gentleman alluded to. He lately came of age ; and he requested me to join him here at Brighton for a day or two, and to bring with me a certain sum of money, together with other securities, which he requires for his purposes. I arrived late last night — and did not see him till about ten this morning. He would not listen to business at that hour — but insisted that I should go out riding with him. I was incautious enough to take the pocket-book with me ; and hence the accident which threatened me with its total loss, and which has kept me for some hours in a state of considerable anxiety. But I am rejoiced that the accident occurred, and cannot regret the sub- sequent anxiety, since the result has been to pro- cure me the pleasure of your acquaintance.” I inclined my head in acknowledgment of the compliment ; and Mr. Fenton, on rising to take his departure, solicited the honour of paying his respects to me on the following day, — adding that he purposed to remain two or three weeks at Brighton. I have no doubt that he lost but little time ic instituting inquiries concerning me — and that finding I had no husband, parents, nor relatives residing with me, he judged that I was a lady of a certain description. Otherwise he would not have sent mo on the following day a beautiful little casket of jewels, which could not possibly have cost less than four or five hundred pounds, and which almost indemnified me for the loss ot those which Mr. Tobias Grayson had thought proper to self-appropriate. The gift was aocom- EOSA LAMBEET. 297 panied with a most couirteously worded note,— begging my acceptance of “that trifling testi- menial of gratitude on behalf of Mr. Fenton, for the restoration of the pocket-book.” In the afternoon be called ; and though on this occasion he made no direct overture, yet I saw full well that he was much enamoured of my beauty, and that in due time the overture would be prof- fered. He visited me every day for a fortnight ; and in the course of conversation, he gave me to understand that be was unmarried— that he was the managing partner in a wealthy banking firm in the City of London— and that he had a beauti- ful suburban residence at Clapham. Every day he grew more and more tender in his looks and lan- guage, — until at length the overture was made; and in delicate terms he suffered me to comprehend that his treatment of me should be most liberal. I affected to hesitate, although my mind was made up to accept his proposal; he conjured me to No. 38 vouchsafe him an affirmative answer, declaring that it worild be the happiest moment of his life when he should see me installed at Cumberland Lodge, Clapham. I promised to give him a decisive re- sponse on the morrow ; and he took his departure, again imploring that it should be a favourable one. When alone, I deliberated with myself whether I should inform him that my real name was Lam- bert, and that I was that very same person who a few months baek had obtained such unenviable notoriety, through the medium of the public press, on account of the aflfair in Woburn Place. I re- flected that I might possibly meet old acquaint- ances at his house, or that accident in a thousand ways might sooner or later reveal to him who I really was. Besides, if I kept the matter a secret, I foresaw that I should be continuously living in I a state of suspense ; and that under such circum- I stances, there would not be the slightest scintilla- 208 KOSA IvAMIir.llT. tioii of happiness or enjoyment. I therefore made up my mind to confess the truth ; and when he came on tlie morrow, 1 revealed to him, after some few prefatory words, my real name. ILo was deeply enamoured of me, and vowed that his fcel- irip^s were not in the least degree changed by the revelation I had just made. The cotnpact was therefore settled ; and two days afterwards, I found myself installed at Cumberland Lodge, Cliipham. 1 was prepared, from Mr. Fenton’s conversation, to find a handsome house, numerous servants, and superb equipages: but the reality far exceeded all that my fancy had depicted. The house was a per- fect mansion, — situated in the midst of grounds which, though not spacious, were beautifully laid out : the domestic establishment was on a very large scale : there were equipages of all descrip- tions, and a magnificent stud. The ‘apartments were sumptuously furnished; and Mr. Fenton’s mode of life, when at home, was as luxurious as that of a prince. But every morning at ten o’clock he left home for the bank in Lombard Street, — returning to dinner at five ; and then the evenings were devoted to those enjoyments in tho midst of which he might full easily forget the anxieties of business. He received a great deal of company, of the male sex : w^e seldom dined alone — for there were regular dinner parties three or four times a week ; and on the other days, he generally brought home two or three friends in his carriage to ban- quet with us. There was consequently always a copious dinner provided ; and it was served up in the most sumptuous style, — thousands of pounds being represented by the massive plate and the exquisite cut glass beneath which the table and the sideboards groaned, and which reflected the light of the superb chandeliers. This was altogether a new kind of life forme. I had never seen so much company — never had been accustomed to so much gaiety: and I de- lighted in it. It appeared to realize all my pre- viously conceived ideas of true worldly enjoyment ; and I wondered how I could possibly have endured the monotony, and often the solitude, which had characterized several former phases of my che- quered career. I had equipages and horses at my command : I had frequently gentlemen to ride out with me — for Fenton was far from jealous, and indeed appeared so proud of me that he seemed to rejoice in the attentions that I received from his friends. I was the complete mistress of that splendid establishment : I passed by his name — but though the servants knew that I was only his mistress, they treated me with as profound a defer- ence as if I were his wife. He lavished the cost- liest gifts upon me ; and if I appeared in the same dress too often, he would insist that I should pay a visit to the milliner’s and give fresh orders. His wealth appeared to bo boundless: no pleasure I seemed to bo too expensive— no luxury too costly — nothing was beyond his means. At first mc- thought that his expenditure was marked by a lavish and reckless profusion : but as I became accustomed to it, my mind settled down into tho idea that it was only the legitimate outlay of one who estimated his income by many, many thou- saiids a year. From all that 1 have said — from tho society whicli wo kept, tho numerous company wo re- ceived, and Fenton’s absence from ten till liv*- at tho bank during the six days of the week ii, will bo easily comprchendeil that wo were s'IiI.hii thrown upon our own resources, when f .g.nlier, for amusement — iinless it v/cro on the Snn-biv. Then he appeared to be altogi'lher out of his element. He never went to church: but he ilul not exactly choose to parade this fact to his neigh- bours’ knowledge by riding out on horseback, except perhaps of an afternoon. All tho forem^on, therefore, he was without occup ition : for ho never read anything except the newspaper -and that was speedily disposed of. When it was lino on the Sunday, he would walk with me into tho garden; or if the weather were bad, he would lounge about from room to room in a sort of rest- less manner. At first I fancied ho had something on his mind, and that the very gaiety and pleasure- seeking mode of his life were adopted to dispel care : but this idea was banished as 1 came to know him better; and in the same way that I had come to a conclusion in respect to the legiti- macy of his profuse expenditure, so did I arrive at the conviction that this apparent restlessness on ! his part was merely arising from the want of those pleasurable or business occupations which on other days he was wont to have. Time passed on — months went by — Spring, Summer, and Autumn shed their varied successive influences upon this terrestrial scene — Winter came once more — and I had been very nearly a year under the protection of Mr. Fenton. I was now twenty-five and a half ; and though I had been leading a more dissipated life than that which had marked any previous portion of ray career, yet neither the lapse of time nor the in- fluence of pleasure seemed to exercise a marring effect upon my beauty. My form expanded some- what more in the voluptuous splendour of its con- tours — but not so as to destroy the freshness and plumpness of those charms, nor to interfere with the perfect symmetry of my shape. But it must be observed that I took a great deal of equestrian exercise, of which I was exceedingly fond ; and thus I not only maintained myself in a condition of vigorous health, but likewise kept down a natural tendency to embonpoint. One fine frosty day, in the month of December, 1847, I was riding out on horseback, attended by a groom; and I was passing along a somewhat secluded road, at a distance of about four or five miles from Cumberland Lodge, — when a turning in that road brought me in view of a singular spectacle. A post-chaise, with one of its wheels off, lay half-overturned against a bank ; the horses, having broken their traces, were dashing away with the pole, which was likewise broken, or else had come out ; the postilion ■ lay motionless upon the ground ; an old gentleman, in a state bordering upon unconsciousness, was stretched at a little distance ; and a fellow was bending over him — rendering, as I at first thought, needful suc- cour. As I advanced towards this scene, the pair of post-horses galloped by, kicking and plunging, and playing their antics as if infinitely delighted to bo loosened from the vehicle. Doubtless the sounds of those madly galloping animals falling 1 upon tho oars of tho individual who bent over tUe old gentleman, prevented him for the first mo- | mont or two from catching tho distinct noise of j EOS A LAMBERT. 299 my own steed’s hoofs ; and thus, as I drew nearer unperceived by the fellow, I saw that he was en- gaged in the pleasant and agreeable occupation of rifling the unfortunate old gentleman’s person. He was just drawing out his watch, when his ear caught the sound of my horse’s steps, as I cantered up to the spot. With a sudden start the plunderer looked around : and his upturned countenance in a moment revealed to me the features of Toby Grayson. An ejaculation burst from his lips — one also from mine : and at the same instant I dealt him such a blow across the flace with my riding whip, that the keenly stinging infliction made him jump up to his feet and roar aloud with the pain. The next moment my groom was upon the spot ; and I exclaimed, “ Down with you ! toss me your bridle, and seize upon that fellow !” Like lightning was the command obeyed. Toby Grayson, half blinded by the blow I had dealt him, was rubbing his eyes, which deluged his cheeks with water: the groom sprang upon him, and hurled him to the ground. ‘‘Hold him fast!” I ejaculated: “for here comes assistance!” — and at the instant I beheld two gentlemen on horseback approaching along the road. I waved my handkerchief vehemently for them to quicken their pace : but Toby Grayson, doubt- less goaded to desperation, with one terrific effort hurled the groom off him — sprang to his feet — dealt the man a terrific blow with the butt-end of a pistol— and darting through a hedge, as if it were but a barrier of tissue-paper, sped across the field. IS'or could he have flown more quickly if blood- hounds had been upon his track. The next moment the two gentlemen whom I had signalled, were upon the spot ; and they proved to be acquaintances of Fenton’s, and consequently of mine. I bade them leap the nearest gate and speed in pursuit of Grayson. The horse of one refused to take the gate— the other cleared it, but threw its rider, hurting him somewhat; and thus the chase was abandoned. I should observe that the blow levelled at my groom, had descended upon his hat which it crushed completely in, — producing for a few minutes a sensation as if he were half stunned, but not seriously injuring him. Meanwhile I had leapt from my horse, and was administering succour to the old gentleman. He was a man ol about sixty -five—stoutly built— in- differently dressed — but in a manner which rather bespoke a negligence ol the toilet, than a poverty of the purse : for the gold watch and chain which .Toby Grayson had dropped on receiving the blow across the eyes, were massive and valuable. The postilion was now recovering : the gentleman whose horse would not take the gate, rendered as- sistance to that individual ; and presently the de- tails of the accident and the subsequent circum- stances were made known. It appeared that the old gentleman — whose name was Morris — was journeying in that post- chaise towards London, when on account of one of the wheels coming off, it upset upon the bank. His head came in violent concussion with the framework of the door : but yet he did not lose his consciousness — nor were his physical powers alto- gether paralyzed. He looked out of the window which was uppermost— and saw that the postilion had been flung into the road by the sudden and violent plunging of the horse on which he was seated. As the man moved not, Mr. Morris con- trived to open the uppermost door, and to get out of the chaise : but just at that minute, up came the ruffian (whom I had recognized to be Toby Grayson) ; and instead of rendering assistance, he dealt Mr. Morris a blow with his bludgeon which knocked him down. Then he began to plunder him ; and it was just at this instant that the en- tire scene burst upon my view, — the horses having a moment before broken away from the upset chaise. Mr. Morris proffered me his warmest thanks for the service I had rendered in saving him from spoliation at the hands of the robber. He felt exceedingly ill and weak, from the effects of the concussion in the chaise and the blow of the ruffian’s bludgeon; and a hasty conference was held as to the best course to be adopted. I pro- posed that my groom, who had by this time re- covered himself completely, should gallop on to Cumberland Lodge and order down a carriage to remove Mr. Morris thither, — where I assured him that he should receive all attention and hospitality. He warmly thanked me for my offer; and the proceeding was about to be adopted, — when, as good luck would have it, up came a retuim chaise on its way back to London. It was empty : Mr. Morris was placed therein, and was conveyed to a very decent inn at a village about a mile and a half distant, — where he preferred alighting, inas- much as Cumberland Lodge was three times as far off' and th© jolting of the chaise inconvenienced him much, I felt so much interested in the poor old gentleman, that I remained for about an hour at the little village inn, to assure myself that he was comfortable and properly taken care of. Meanwhile I had sent my groom onward to pro- cure the assistance of the most eminent physician at Clapham ; and I waited until that gentleman arrived. I was acquainted with him ; and I ear- nestly recommended Mr. Morris to his care. I then took my departure. With an intimation that I should send or call on the following day to ascer- tain how he was. Some little engagement prevented me, however, from calling next day : but I sent one of the grooms across to the village to make the inquiry ; and I likewise rendered him the bearer of some splendid hot-house grapes from one of the conser- vatories at Cumberland Lodge. When the man came back, he informed me that Mr. Morris was somewhat better, though still considerably indis- posed: but he sent his kindest compliments and his thanks for the little present. We had a grand dinner-party that day ; and the usual banqueting hour upon such occasions was six o’clock : but Mr. Fenton did not make his appearance by that time. The company were all assembled in the drawing-room— time was pass- ing on— seven o’clock was proclaimed by the silver bell of the or molu pendule on the mantel : but still no Mr. Fenton. We all as a matter of course concluded that unforeseen business was detain- ing him in the City : I offered to have dinner served up ; but the guests begged that I would accord their entertainer another half-hour’s grace. This interval passed; and I was just on the point of ordering the banquet to be placed on table, when the rolling of the carriage-wheels was heard KOSA TAMHERT. 300 approaching through the grounds. In a few mo- ments Fenton made his appearance. First ex- cusing himself to mo for being so late, — ho next distributed apologies all around ; and informed us that his detention in the City was to be attributed to a splendid linancial enterprise by which his firm had cleared an enormous proGt. lie seemed so gay — so hilarious — so full of spirits, that wo could easily pardon him for having kept us waiting under such circumstances ; and having retired for about a quarter of an hour to his dressing-room, to perform the evening toilet, he took his seat at the table in the banqueting-saloon. Never was there a happier party ! — the table groaned beneath the weight of all the luxuries that were in season, and many that were not : champagne sparkled in the glasses ; and Fenton never appeared more gay —never seemed to enjoy himself more thoroughly than on the present occasion. The company did not separate until long past midnight ; and when I was again alone with my protector, he folded mo in his arms, lavishing caresses upon mo, and exclaim- ing in rapture, “ By heaven, Eose ! I never saw you look so beautiful as you do to-night. IIow proud I ought to be to possess such a charming companion as you are !” In a word, Fenton appeared so supremely happy that I could not help thinking to myself how dif- ferent the world would be if every heart were as light and as free from care as his own — and if every individual could equally appreciate the sources of happiness and enjoyment that might be within his reach. We retired to rest j and slum- ber presently stole upon my eyes. I knew not how long I had slept, — when I was suddenly startled by a loud cry, which appeared to penetrate through my very brain. I was all in an instant wide awake : I had sprung up in bed to a sitting posture ; and my feelings were those of a dread consternation. A taper burnt in the room : I glanced quickly around — Fenton was sleeping by my side ; and all now was perfectly still, except his regular breathing and the audible palpitations of my own heart. I began to fancy that I had heard the cry only in a dream : and yet I could scarcely persuade myself into this solution of the circum- stance : for at the moment I had started up, that cry seemed to be still ringing in my ears — still vibrating upon the atmosphere of the apartment. And I remembered, too, that the impression in- stantaneously made upon me, was that this cry sounded like a wildly mournful one, — as if it were that of a human being, who— either in reality, or else in the ideality of a frightful dream — was undergoing some excruciating physical or mental torture. But as I have already said, everything was now still throughout the house; no one was moving over-head — no one slept in either of the chambers adjoining our own ; and I could not pos- sibly think that the cry came from outside the house — for there was not so much as a dog bark- ing. I was lialf inclined to arouse Fenton, and tell liim what I had heard— or fancied I had heard : but ho was sleeping so profoundly, that I thought it a pity to awaken him. I therefore lay down again : sleep presently stole over mo once more ; — and once more, too, was I startled up to com- plete wakefulness by precisely the same wildly mournful and boding cry ns before. Good heavens ! what could it be ? My heart was palpi- tating so violently that it felt as if it must burst i the perspiration stood in largo cold drops u|)on my forehead : my eyes swept round the chamber in affright ; — and then I became aware that Ken- ton was agitating and tossing uneasily by ray side. My looks settled upon him ; and I was stricken with horror on perceiving how distorted and ghastly was his countenance. Ho was evidently labouring under the influence of a frightful dream ; and I now hesitated not to awaken him. As I shook him by the shoulder, while calling him by name, ho started up, — ejaculating, “ What ! already ? No — no !” “ Good heavens !” I cried, seriously alarmed : “ what is the matter with you ?’* For a moment ho gazed upon mo with a sort of wild vacancy ; and then suddenly appearing to recollect who I was and where ho himself was, he said, “ My dearest Eose, I am afraid I have terri- Ged you ?” “ Indeed you have !” I responded. “ Twice have you cried out in such a shocking manner in your sleep ’* “ Ah; I remember ! it was a nightmare — a hor- rible nightmare !” ho added, with a visible shud- der. “ But, my poor Eose, you are as pale as death !” “ I have been so frightened !” I said. ‘‘ But what caused this nightmare ? Something you ate or drank has disagreed with you, probably ?” “ Yes — it must bo that,” he responded. “ In- deed, I feel that I have an indigestion. I am truly sorry for having so frightened you ” “ You could not help it — and I am now only concerned on your account. Shall I ring for the servants to procure you something ? — a cup of tea perhaps would do you good.” “No — dear Eose, thank you,” replied Fenton: “ I already feel better :” — and regarding his watch, which lay upon the night-table, he observed, “ It is six o’clock in the morning — and in a couple of hours it will be time to get up. Let us compose ourselves to sleep again.” Fenton now appeared to be quite recovered from the effects of the nightmare ; and in a short time he slept again. Hearing that he breathed regu- larly, and not heavily, I was satisGed that he was better— and therefore composed my own self to a renewed slumber. At eight o’clock we arose. Fenton began talk- ing in his wonted blithe and jovial strain: he laughingly alluded to the incident which I have been mentioning — and attributed his nightmare to a truffled turkey of which he had partaken some- what copiously. I was glad to perceive that it was nothing more serious than what it now ap- peared to be : for I had at Grst apprehended that there must be some secret care rankling in his mind. Nevertheless, that supposition was alto- gether incompatible with the excellence of spirits he had displayed on the previous evening, and the statement he had made in respect to a proGtable Gnancial operation. Still however I had enter- tained that apprehension for a brief space : but now it was altogether sot at rest. Wo descended to the breakfast-parlour; and Fenton was in the midst of some amusing auec- doto, when a domestic entered and said, “ If you l)lca 30 , sir, two persons wish to see you.” E08A LAItIBEET. 301 “ I will be with them immediately, answered Fenton ; and then, on the door closing behind the footman, he rose from his chair, patted me caress- ingly on the cheek, and said, “ My dear Rose, I shall bid you good bye now, as I shall start off for the City immediately after I have spoken to these people. Grood bye, my dear girl — and he kissed me. “You will be home at five?” I said: and I know not how it was, but I felt a transient chill sweep over me, as if it were the forerunner of illness, or the effect of a vague mental presenti- ment. “ To be sure — at the usual hour !” — and again he embraced me — methought too with a singular degree of fervour for one who was merely about to depart on his daily avocations, and who would re- turn again in the evening. I could not help gazing somewhat earnestly in his face : there was for a moment a certain pecu- liarity in his look which troubled me : but as if he himself were either aware of it, or else fancied that my own features wore a shade of mournfulness, he gave vent to some jesting remark ; and laughing with his usual hilarity, issued from the room. Still I was not altogether comfortable : there was a certain vague uneasiness floating in my mind that brought to my recollection that feeling which I had experienced for three consecutive nights in my chamber at Woburn Place 1 need not more particularly allude to the occasion. Ten minutes had scarcely elapsed, when I be- came aware that there was something unusual going on in the house, as if the domestics were all hurrying up and down the stairs as well as to and fro in the hall. I listened with a growing sensa- tion of terror : it seemed to me as if something dimly strange and vaguely terrible were taking place around me. I continued sitting for two or three minutes under the influence of this awful consternation : then I suddenly started up to my feet, and was hurrying towards the door, when it opened. One of the footmen stood before me; and his countenance expressed horror and dismay. The tale was soon told. The two men who had come were officers of justice to take Fenton into custody on a charge of forgery ; and the miserable Fenton himself, on quitting me with a parting kiss, had sped up-stairs to his dressing-room, where he had put a period to his existence by means of prussic acid ! CHAPTER XL. MB. MOBBIS. To enter into long details of the mingled distress, consternation, and horror which this fearful an- nouncement caused me to experience, would only be to repeat the description of a state of mind which I had on former occasions known when smitten with the divers calamities that had marked my career. I therefore pass on to other matters. There was now of course a complete explosion in respect to the affairs of the bank with which Fenton had been connected. For the last dozen years it had been hopelessly insolvent; but its actual condition was known merely to himself and his head cashier, who had religiously kept the seeret. The other partners were very old men, who had long abstained from taking any active share in the management, and who believed the concern to be thriving most prosperously under the superintendence of Mr. Fenton. Of late, how- ever, it appeared that such was the desperate necessity to which he was reduced for raising money, that he had forged powers-of-attorney to sell out the stock which some of his friends pos- sessed in the Bank of England, — he being accus- tomed to receive the dividends and manage the financial affairs of those opulent friends. It far- ther transpired that on the evening of the grand party he was detained in the City on account of a rumour which had reached him that an inquiry of a suspicious character had been made at the Bank of England : but after secretly investigating into the source of that rumour, he had some reason to flatter himself with the hope that it was a false one, and that the hour of his utter ruin was not yet striking. Yet no wonder that during the night which followed, he was haunted by terrible dreams: for when slumber enwrapt the physical energies, and he had no control over the mental ones, he could no longer conceal his deep inward anguish beneath the mask of gaiety, smiles, and laughter: but it had found vent in those wild mournful cries which had so startled and terrified me. And, oh! what must the unhappy man’s feelings have been, when at the breakfest-table in the morning he had received an announcement which sent thrilling to his very heart’s core the conviction that his hour was come, — even as according to the wild terrible legends of super- natural horror, warnings are transmitted to those * who have sold their souls to Satan ! Within a few hours after Fenton’s suicide, Cum- berland Lodge was taken possession of by the officials from the Bankruptcy Court, — a docket having been struck that very morning against the banking firm in Lombard Street. I was informed that I was at perfect liberty to remain at the house for the present — that I might retain posses- sion of all my wearing apparel, and as a matter of course of such articles of jewellery as I had be- longing to me when I first took up my abode there ; but that all subsequent gifts of a costly nature which I had received from Fenton must be re- tained by the officers of the court. An inquest was held upon the deceased : a verdict of Felo de se was returned : the obsequies were conducted with the utmost simplicity, as well as with privacy ; and it was after dusk on the fourth evening from the act of self-destruction, that the suicide was borne away to be interred in some unconsecrated ground. Of all the numerous friends who had been wont to throng at the mansion to partake of the banquets and quaff the wine of the deceased, there were only a few — a very, very few — who called now to see me. And these came not to sympa- thize, but to breathe overtures — all of which I in- dignantly declined : for I was not so depraved nor so lost to all good feeling as to remain unshocked at such proposals fallowing with such indecent haste upon such a tragedy. A week had elapsed since that frightful occur- rence, and I was thinking one morning of the necessity of making up my mind to some particu- lar course— for I could not bear to tarry any longer 302 ROSA LAMBERT. beneath that roof— when a domestic entered and announced Mr. Morris. The old gentleman had so I far recovered from the eflects of the upsetting of I the chaise and of Toby Grayson’s treatment, as to I bo enabled to leave the sick room at the village inn ; but ho was still suffering somewhat from in- disposition. Jle walked slowly and painfully ; but as ho entered the- room, he contemplated mo with the prol’oundcst compassion. Taking my hand, ho said, “ This is a very shocking occurrence — and I offer you my sincercst sympathy.” A blush mantled upon my cheeks, as it occurred to me that the old gentleman possibly fancied that, as I passed by Mr. Fenton’s name, 1 must have been his wife. I forgot at the instant that as I was not in mourning, the absence of widow’s weeds must at once jtell the tale of my real position, even if he had not previously known or suspected it. “ I come not hither to wound your feelings,” he said, “but to offer consolation and assistance, if either be needful or acceptable. I cannot forget your kindness towards me; and itViatters not who or what you may be — I am grateful, and I feel for you ! When you found me lying helpless on the road at the mercy of a plunderer, you did not pause to demand who I was ere you succoured me : neither do I now think of you otherwise than as a fellow-creature who is in distress.” I was melted to tears by the old gentleman’s kind words and sympathizing looks ; and I explained to him exactly how I was situated, — that I had hitherto remained in sufferance in the house since my protector’s death, but that I was thinking of a removal elsewhere at the very moment he (Mr. Morris) was announced. Again did he contem- plate me with a compassionating earnestness ; and then he gently said, “ Will you have any objection to tell me as much as you choose of your past life F — and rest assured that I do not solicit this infor- mation through mere impertinent curiosity.” “To tell you my history,” I mournfully re- sponded, “ would be to occupy your attention for hours with mingled details of misfortune and de- gradation, of calamity and profligacy. bTo, no— I cannot enter upon the narrative ! You know what I am — a frail and a lost creature ! But I did not plunge into a career of vice through a love thereof : — no, I abhorred it ! In the first instance I was a victim ; and then I was hurried on by a train of circumstances — in which man’s perfidy was, alas ! too conspicuous— into a career which I need not name. But there came a time — and not long, too, after my first fall — when I loathed and detested the path upon which I had entered, and I turned into another and a better one. For a long interval did I remain virtuous, — repenting of the past, and vowing a continued reformation for the future. But again did man’s perfidy intervene in the blackest manner to precipitate me once more into the gulf. Oh ! my dear sir,” I feelingly exclaimed, “ if you only knew the many, many struggles I have made to drag myself out of the mire of de- gradation and shame — and if you learnt how cir- curnstancos had invariably combined to drag mo down again — you would pity mo Oh, you would pity mo !” “1 do pity you, my poor young woman,” re- sponded tlio old gentleman, as tlio tears trickled down his cheeks. “ The j)ljy8ician whom you caused to bo fetched to attend u])on mo at tho vil- lage inn, whi8i)ored to mo in tlio course of conver- ' satiou that you were not a wife, but a mistress. ' ilo spoko not lightly of you, but with mingled eulogy and compassion, llo expatiated on your lady. like manners— your cultivated intellect -your I agreeable discourse ; and he failed not to mention the absence of levity, and indeed the perfect pro- ! pricty which characterized your conduct towards tho numerous male ac( 4 uaintance 8 who wero thrown ! in your way beneath this roof. I was previously interested in you : tho physician’s remarks inter- ested me all the more. I felt convinced that one who deserved those eulogies, and who had demon- strated such kindness towards an old man like me, could not be thoroughly depraved. You see that I am speaking candidly : and perhaps you can be- gin to comprehend wherefore I just now asked you to tell me as much as you chose of your past his- tory. I will not seek to persuade you to enter into details : it would be wrong — it would be cruel, as well as unnecessary. But you will not continue to bear the name of the unfortunate and criminal deceased indeed it does me harm to think of you by that name ^Tell me by what other Fean address you ?” I saw that the old gentleman entertained a deep sympathy on my behalf ; and I did not choose to deceive him in respect to the point on which he had just questioned me. I therefore said, “ Mr. Morris, 1 ‘ am a clergyman’s daughter — and my name is Lambert.” As I thus spoke, I watched his countenance to observe whether the announcement of my real name produced any peculiar effect ; so that I might judge whether he happened to be acquainted with the tragic occurrence in Woburn Place. But I had no reason for apprehension on that score : he evidently knew nothing about it, notwithstanding it had created so much notoriety and excitement at the time. But I subsequently learnt that Mr. Morris had only been in England a few weeks, after an absence of many long years in a far-off clime ; whereas eighteen months had now elapsed since the affair at Woburn Place. j “Miss Lambert,” said the old gentleman, “if ■ you like not to return to your father, I offer you a j home. You shall be to me as a young relative ; i and if you prove deserving of my good opinion, I j will treat you as a daughter. Let me give you a ' few words of explanation in respect to myself. ; Not many weeks have elapsed since I returned to I this country after an absence of a great number of years. In a distant clime I have obtained wealth ; and when again setting foot upon my own native shore, my hope was to discover at least one living scion of the family to which I belong. But all my inquiries have been useless ; and I have at length found myself forced to come to the mournful con- clusion that I stand alone in tho world, with no kindred whom I can claim or whom my wealth may benefit. That is my position. Think you i not, therefore, it will bo a pleasing thing for to 1 rescue such an one as you from a career to which . you cling not lovingly P— and think you not that it will aflbrd mo satisfaction to have you as my com- panion — to regard you as if you were a relative — and perhaps finally, if your conduct merit it, to adopt you as a daughter ? Besides,” added the old gentleman, in a tremulous voice, “ the con- j duct of my own earlier years was not altogethei BOSA LAMBERT. 303 devoid of blame ; and it may prove some atone- ment for my own past errors if I can succeed in bringing back a straying fellow-creature to the path of purity and rectitude. Now, Miss Lambert, I offer you a home : but I do not wish you to give me your decision hastily — I do not even desire that you should accept my proposition unless having first looked down deep into your own heart, you feel that you can firmly and resolutely direct your footsteps into another and a better path. You tell me that you are at liberty to re- main here for a few days longer, if you choose. Take three days, therefore, to reflect upon my pro- posal, as well as to commune with yourself ; — and on the fourth morning hence, at this same hour, shall I call for your response.” I was at once prepared to give the kind-hearted old gentleman my answer, and with gratitude to accept his offer: but he tarried not another mo- ment to afford me an opportunity to give utter- ance to a word — and abruptly rising from his seat, he quitted the room. I will not weary the reader with all the reflections which I made after he left me : suffice it to say that this last tragedy had produced such an impression upon my mind, and I felt so wearied of the changes, the ups and downs, and the morbidly exciting adventures which until this date had marked my career, that it needed no great amount of self-persuasion to arrive at a re- solve favourable to my kind benefactor’s wishes. On the day and at the hour appointed by Mr. Morris, a carriage of unassuming appearance, drawn by one horse, and driven by a coachman in a plain livery — though the entire equipage was evidently quite new — entered the grounds of Cum- berland Lodge and drove up to the front entrance. The old gentleman was speedily introduced to the room where I awaited him ; and my answer was at once given. “Then come away with me immediately,” he said : “ for during the interval which has elapsed since I saw you last — and foreseeing what your decision would be — I have established a home for your reception.” My boxes were all packed up and in readiness ; I had nothing to do but put on my bonnet and shawl ; and in a few minutes I was seated by the side of Mr. Morris in the brougham. He informed me that he had taken a house in the neighbour- hood of Kentish Town — which suburb of London was well known to me, inasmuch as I had fre- quently ridden about that neighbourhood when living with Captain Beaumont at Highbury. On reaching our destination, I found that the house was one of moderate size, newly constructed, and pleasantly situated, — having a good garden which gave promise of cheerfulness when the warm season should return : but it was now the middle of winter. The dwelling was newly furnished from top to bottom, — everything being good and substantial, without gaudiness or splendour. Three females and the coachman (who also served as groom) constituted the domestic portion of the household. One of those females was a middle- aged woman, of a respectable matronly appear- ance ; and she performed the duties of house- keeper. The bed-chamber which was allotted to me, was next to her own: that of Mr. Morris on the floor below. My boxes were soon unpacked, and the articles stowed away in the various cup- boards and drawers, — the plainest dresses being left handiest for use, as I felt that it would be im- proper under these new and altered circumstances to display that magnificence of apparel which I had been wont to wear while under Mr. Fenton’s protection. I must farther observe that I found in my chamber a selection of volumes arranged upon a shelf, and with my own^ name inscribed upon the fly-leaves. They consisted chiefly of Walter Scott’s novels, some works of history and travels, and a few of a still more serious style of reading. There were two drawing-rooms in the house ; and in one there was a piano, with a varied selection of music: there was a very handsome work-box — a portfolio containing beautiful prints — and other little elegant means of recreation proper for feminine pursuits. In all these varied arrangements I recognised a thoughtful and deli- cate carefulness in respect to myself on the part of him who had, so to speak, constituted himself my guardian and my second father. A month passed away, during which I expe- rienced a certain serene happiness which I had not known for a long time. No guest visited the house — for the simple reason that Mr. Morris had neither friends nor acquaintances, and his habits inclined him not to court society. For the greater part of the day he sat in a room which was called “ the library,” and where he amused himself with | reading. He generally took me out for a walk for I an hour or so : but the chief part of my own day was spent in perusing the books with which he had furnished me, in practising music, or in drawing. I could not however settle myself to needle-work ; the indolence of past years still clung to me some- what — and sufficiently so to render that occupation peculiarly disagreeable. The time did not hang heavily on my hands : but then (here was novelty in this very monotonous retirement itself, when contrasted with the life of pleasure and gaiety which I had led for a twelvemonth with Mr. Fen- ton. Occasionally, I should observe, Mr. Morris took me to the theatre : but as I saw that he did it through a feeling of kindness, though really dis- tasteful to his own inclinations, I would not permit him thus to put himself out of the way very often on my account. His treatment of me was kind — but not what I may term confidential : I felt that I was under- going a sort of probation under the auspices of my new friend. He spoke no more to me of his own private concerns ; and since the day that he first called upon me at Cumberland Lodge, he had not again alluded to the family to which* he belonged, nor to any of the incidents of his former life. I however learnt from a few incidental observations, that he had been for many years in the East Indies, — where, after many arduous stragglings, he had succeeded in amassing aU the wealth that he now possessed. In respect to myself and my own affairs, he maintained an equal reserve : that is to say, he did not again allude to my past career, nor press me for any details : neither did he ex- hibit the faintest curiosity upon those subjects. Yet, as I have already said, he was exceedingly kind towards me ; and our conversation at meal- times, and when we sat together of an evening, was upon intellectual topics. I found that he was a man who having seen much of the world, had 304 ROSA LAMBERT. memory was good — and ho possessed a fund of anecdotes, — but none of a frivolous character — all, on the contrary, conveying some useful information or pointing to some good moral. A month, I said, had elapsed since I became an inmate of the old gentleman’s abode ; and one day ho came up into the drawing-room where I was seated, with the evident intention of speaking to mo on some subject of more or less importance. I was amusing myself with a water-colour drawing, after having laid aside a volume which I had been reading for an hour or two : — the piano was open —and there was music upon it. “ I am pleased to see,” said Mr. Morris, his naturally kind voice speaking in a still kinder tone than it had ever yet assumed towards me, “ that you can manage to amuse yourself even in the midst of this very strict retirement. It speaks well for your disposition, that you can thus con- tentedly pass from a state of luxurious gaiety and dissipated pleasure to the pursuits of such a seclu- sion as this. Let me see what your studies are — then as he took up the book which I had been reading, an expression of satisfaction appeared upon his countenance — for it was a volume of travels. “ Such works as these,” he continued, “ will improve as well as interest you. I am glad too,” he went on to say, glancing at the piano, “ that you practise your music : it is not merely an elegant accomplishment, but a useful one — inas- much as it is a veritable companionship ; and I am a sufficient judge to be aware, when listening to your performance, that you are tolerably proficient. Drawing too” — and now he inspected the water- colour on which I was engaged — “is a delightful recreation. But — ” and as he thus wound up his speech, a certain air of seriousness, yet without severity, appeared upon his countenance — “ this likewise furnishes an occupation which no well- regulated female mind should regard with dis- taste — and he significantly tapped the lid of the shut -up workbox. I blushed, and stammered out an assurance that his well-meant suggestion should be attended to. He shook me warmly by the hand ; and then quitted the room somewhat abruptly and hur- riedly — methought as if to conceal an emotion. I now commenced the endeavour to conquer my distaste for needlework : for I was really most ^anxious to win the esteem and acquire the con- fidence of that good old man. Inspired with this aim, I experienced greater facility in conquering my repugnance than I had anticipated : so that at the end of the first week I was enabled to shake off a considerable portion of my habitual indolence : by the end of the second week I began to like the occupation ; and throughout the en- suing fortnight I betook myself to it with plea- sure. I had now been two months in my new home ; and at the expiration of this period, Mr. Morris paid mo a second visit in ray own drawing-room, — again wearing the aspect of one who had some- thing more or loss important to say. “ Itoso, I am pleased witli you,” ho observed, pressing my hand with a paternal warmth: “you have attended to my wishes — you have surmounted a repugnance — and it is tlio best proof you have yet allorded mo of your detoionination to win the esteem and confidence of one whoso solicitude for your welfare is great. When you wore resirling elsewhere” — thus alluding to Cumberland Lodge — “ you were accustomed to horso-cxcrcise ; and" I cannot forget that it was while thus engaged you rendered mo those disinterested services which first made us acquainted. Come with me.” Ho took me by the hand ; and leading m« from the room, conducted mo to the stable— whore, in- stead of one horse, I behold three ; and in addition to the staid old coachman, I found a groom busily employed in attending upon the now purchases. One of these was perhaps the most beautiful lady’s- horse I had ever seen in my life ; and as I peflectcd upon the delicate way in which the present was thus made me— and moreover comprehended that it was a reward for my attention to the old gentle- man’s wishes in respect to the needle-work — I was profoundly touched with the whole proceeding. I could not find words to express my gratitude : but my looks showed the kind old gentleman all I felt. I now began to take horse -exercise again— at- tended by the groom, for whoso use the third steed had been purchased. I did not however neglect my other occupations — least of all that very needle- work which had raised mo so much more highly in my guardian’s esteem. Thus a week passed away ; and I began to perceive that Mr. Morris was treating me with more confidence in a variety of little ways. Thus, for instance, he one day said to me, “ I told you some time back that I came to England in the hope of finding at least one or two surviving scions of the family to which I belong. I told you also that I had failed — and that I had come to the conclusion that they were all no more. But within the last few days something has trans- pired to make me alter that opinion. My solicitor, who is entrusted with the task of instituting in- quiries, has given me to understand that by some accidental circumstance he has got upon a track which promises to lead — or at least he hopes so — to the discovery of one surviving relative of mine. I shall know more in a day or two ; and I will tell you the result. But rest assured that if my hope be gratified in this respect, I shall not the less con- tinue mindful of your interests and welfare.” I thanked Air. Morris for this generous assurance; and with much sincerity expressed the hope that he would succeed in discovering the relation thus alluded to. Nothing more passed on that occa- sion : but two days afterwards, while we were seated at breakfast, a letter was brought in and handed to him. Its contents were brief : but as he perused them, I noticed that his countenance ex- panded with a benignant satisfaction, and that he immediately afterwards became agitated with much emotion. “Yes, Eoso — my hope is fulfilled!” he tremu- lously exclaimed. “ That relation of mine is living — my solicitor has seen him — he has told him that his own dead father’s brother yearns to fold him in his arms — and he will be here this forenoon. Ho also longs to embrace me: but my solicitor, with a prudential forethought, would not permit the meeting to take place imtil I had received due warning.” I congratulated Mr. Morris upon the intel- ligence which his man of business had thus for- warded ; and when the servant had cleared away the broakliist-things, I was about to leave the EOSA LAMBEET. 305 parlour— but the old gentleman said to me, You eball be present at our meeting, my dear Rose : for you Lave exhibited so generous and disin- terested a feeling on the point, that I cannot treat you as a stranger. Go and fetch a book — your drawing — your needlework — anything you like — and come and sit with me.” Of the occupations enumerated, I chose tne needlework : and having fetched it from the drawing-room, sat down with Mr. Morris in the parlour. It being the month of March, and the weather still cold, a fire burnt in the grate : the old gentleman sat on one side, and I on the other. “ Rose,” he resumed, after a long pause, and speaking in a voice which displayed much inward emotion, “ I have many reasons to be affected by this approaching interview with my nephew. Doubtless he is acquainted with the history of my earlier years : and it does not constitute the finest No. 39 chapter of my life’s narrative. But I have re- deemed the past so far as I myself am concerned ; and I will now redeem it towards this surviving scion of a family which had no great reason to be proud of me.” Having thus spoken, the old gentleman bent his looks mournfully downward, and reflected deeply. I caught the sound of footsteps in the hall: but he heard them not. Those footsteps were approaching the parlour— the handle of the j door turned — it opened slowly. Still the old gentleman heard it not— still were his looks bent 1 down in deep meditation: but as I glanced to- | wards that opening door, I was seized with amaze- ment on recognising Arthur Brydges ! An ejaculation of mingled joy and surprise burst from Arthur’s lips : Mr. Morris raised his head — and glancing rapidly at us both, at once perceived that w© were no strangers to each other. Arthur 30G K08A LAMUJOUT. : bounded forward, and was folded in Ids uncle’s arms — while 1 sat all Iremblini,'-, full of confusion and an;ilation, not knowing what to do. “Oil, my dear uncle !” exclaimed Arthur, as ho turned from his relative towards me, “ what strange surprise is this that you have had in store for me ! Oli, it is too much happiness for one and the same moment, to find myself in the arms of a relative, and in the presence of her who saved me from misery and to whom I owe everything !” Then ho took my hand, pressed it with enthusi- asm, and carried it to his lips, — his looks at the same time proving that my imago had not been efiaced from his heart, but that ho loved me still. 11 is uncle gazed in astonishment upon us both; and I, feeling the necessity of leaving them alone together for the purpose of explanations, rushed from the room. Nearly six years had elapsed since I last saw Arthur Brydges ; nearly six years since that me- morable day in June, 1812, when the terrific ex- posure took place at the door of i\Ieadowville Church, and when I lost a husband tlirough the diabolical malignity of my seducer Horace Rock- ingham. Nearly six years ! — and during that interval I had not once heard of Arthur Brydges, nor had sought to hear concerning him : but nearly six years, during which his own love had evidently lasted, as the fond devotion of his looks Lad ere now so fully proved. And what was the state of my own heart? During that interval of nearly six years I had been forcibly dragged through poUuiions, and had voluntarily plunged into depravities. Nevertheless my love had sur- vived them all : for in my bosom the image of Arthur Brydges had remained, — sometimes slu*ouded in some occult corner — at other times rising into the fulness of- the heart’s space — but never altogether absent from that tabernacle in which love had enshrined it. And I had just beholden liim again— and all this love of mine revived with its pristine force within me. He was nowin his thirty-first year ; but on account of the delicate chiselling of his features, the natural paleness of his complexion, and the slenderness of his symmetrical figure, he seemed younger. His brown hair was parted above his "high alabaster forehead, v/hich seemed the fitting throne for good- ness and intelligence to occupy in joint sove- reignty: Ills dark blue eyes had looked the purest love and the sincerest joy upon me : the well-cut coral lips had parted in a kindred smile. Oh ! was it possible that six long years had thus gone by since last wo saw each other ? It appeared a dream ! On repairing to my own chamber, I was for some time too much agitated for calm and serious rcllection. The circumstances which wore now occurring, appeared to inlertvvino themselves so iiitricaU-ly and so irresistibly with my own destiny, that 1 felt 1 was all in a moment brought upon tlio brink of some important change. But what would that change ho? Ah ! dared i entertain the wilil, wild ho [)0 which tlirillcd through mo like a galvanic influence? dared 1 fin- a mornont iii- rlnlgc in the exiiectal hni tliut Arthur would ad- (IrriiB me as a suitor again - or tliat il' he did, Ids uncle ennld poH.ihly Ite led to yield liis assent to I i I I I I I sneii !i;i alii nice ? j\’o, no ! iind c^ven if it witre other u ISC, dared J. after all i hud gone through, dream of accompanying that pure-miiido I ministi r of the g 08 [jel to the altar? .duit I not cnnicsi ti> both himself anil his uncle, how 1 had h''''n dragg -d involuntarily through the irdrc of ji illations by Andrew Winter, by Sir John 1 1 averstock, and by the Marijuis of Bchnorc— and bow I had v lan- tarily plunged into those depravities whieli have all been unfolded to tho reader ? An hour must have elapsed while I was thus engaged in my varied and eonllicting recollections, — when I suddenly heard tho front door clo e ; hut as my chambei;r window looked upon the garden at tho back of tho house, L could not see who it was that thus went forth. My h iart how- ever told me that it was Arthur Brydges; and a violent pang shot through it: for 1 was smitfen with tho conviction that all my worat fears were confirmed, and that the wild thrilling hop,* whieli I had for an instant dared to entertiin, was utterly anniliilatcd. I sat expecting to receive a Humraous to tho parlour : I thought that Mr. Morris would send for me to make some commu- nication — perljaps to get rid of me, as it would he impossible under existing circumstances that his nephew could visit at the house— and wherefore had ho sought after that nephew, if not fn* the purpose of enjoying his society ? But tlien an idea struck me. Might not the old gentleman display the fullest extent of mercy towanis me after all ? — would ho not make every possible allowance for my own past career? Had he not confessed to me that there was a portion of iiis own life on which ho could not look back with satisfaction ?— and did I not recollect how Arthur Brydges had told rao, on the first occasion that we ever spoke at the furrier’s shop near Coven t Garden, how his father’s brother had gone abroad under circumstances which placed him at variance with his family ? Vfas there not, too, in the fact of his uncle having abandoned his proper name of Brydges and lulopted the assumed one of Morris, — was there not in this fact, I asked myself, tho strongest evidence to prove his antecedents to have been so little satisfactory that on entering upon a new career he had chosen to separate himself from his previous identity, and become as it were a new being under a new name ? Yes : v/hen I thus meditated, there did indeed seem the hope that I Mr. Morris would deal leniently with me, and that he would not perhaps deprive me of the home which he had hitherto accorded. But, ah ! then came the reflection that he had possibly informed Arthur of the course of life I had been leading previous to my entrance beneath this roof : and Arthur would thus know that 1 had relapsed into the path of frailty and vice since we scisarated six years back at the door of Meadowville Church. Another hour passed : still there was no message summoning mo to tho old gentlcmau's presence. It appeared strange for mo to remain away, thus secluded in my own chamber: hut on the other hand, I felt that it would be indiscreet for me to go down stairs without tlie positive assurance that Arthur Brydges had taken his departure. Com- posing my looks, i rang tho bell : a maid answered tho summons— and 1 iiupiired whether Mr. Morris was alone ? “ Oil, yes, M iss !” was (lie domestic’s response ; “]\lr. Brydges- has been gone for more than an Jiour.” HOSA LA->TBKTIT. I thcreu’poa descended to tUo parlour, and found Mr. Morris reading a book with as much serenity — or at least the outward appearance of calmness — as if nothing extraordinary had hap- pened. I entered timidly: I felt awkward and embarrassed : indeed my looks must have been full of confusion. The old gentleman gave me a smile ; and laying down his book, began talking upon in- different subjects— not making the slightest allu- sion to the incidents of the forenoon. Presently he remarked that the day was fine, and recom- mended me to go out and take my usual ride. I was about to excuse myself — for I really had no spirits to enjoy horse-exercise : but I thought that it would appear strange — and therefore I went. I need not weary the reader with trivial inci- dents, nor with a too prolix description of my own thoughts and feelings on that occasion. Suffice it to say, therefore, that a month passed ; and during this interval Mr. Morris never made the slightest allusion to his nephew Arthur. He treated me with the same kindness as heretofore ; and on all other subjects he spoke confidentially. Indeed, the whole tenour of his behaviour seemed now directed to prove that I went on rising in his es- teem : for such evidence may be shown iti a variety of little nameless ways not easy to be de- tailed. But my own mind was not at ease. I felt that I was in the way, I knew that the old gentleman had yearned to discover this relative of his; and I was constantly oppressed with the thought that it was cruel for me to prevent him now from enjoying his nephew’s society. A sense of honour and of good feeling might deter Mr. Morris from cj^epriving me of the home he had spontaneously offered : his generosity might even prevent him from regretting that he had per- formed such a part towards me: but it was not the less a fact that my presence there could be the sole reason wherefore the old man received his nephew no more. Perhaps too, were it not for me, he would have had that nephew to live with him altogether ? — or else he would have gone to settle himself at Arthur’s abode at Elmwood — or wherever else it might happen to be ? All these reflections led me to the conclusion that I was acting unjustly towards Mr. Morris — unjustly too I towards Arthur himself: for my presence alone kept the uncle and nephew apart. “ How then,” I one day said to myself, “ it is incumbent upon me to make a sacrifice for the happiness of this worthy old man who has been so kind to me— and for the welfare of Arthur whom I still love so tenderly. It is but too clear that the uncle deems me unworthy of the nephew : and, alas ! I am only too much so. But if so unworthy, I how can I remain longer in a place where I am i thus looked upon ? And is it right— is it proper that an unworthy interloper should be a barrier to separate an admirable young man from the society of his only living relative — and they too who have already been separated so long ! Ho — I will de- pare !” My mind being once made up, I delayed not in putting my resolve into execution. I penned a letter to Mr. Morris, thanking him for all his kind- ness towards me, and explaining in a pi’oper man- ner my reasons for renouncing the home which he had afforded me. I did not choose to seek his presence before I left him altogether : I feared 307 that my emotions would betray my purpose, j made a compact parcel of my jewellery and a few necessaries: I had about forty pounds in my pos- session ; and. with my purse in my pocket, and my parcel under my shawl, I issued from the house as if merely for the purpose of taking a walk. It was about three o’clock in the afternoon — in the middle of April, 1818— that I thus quitted my benefactor’s dwelling after a residence of a little more than three months beneath that roof. I had no settled plan in view: I had not thought of fix- ing my abode in any particular place. I had no intention however of returning to my father at Hawthorn — for the reasons that I have speciQed on a former occasion. There were two distinct feelings in my mind: one of sadness at having been conapelled from a sense of duty to abandon a dwelling where I had enjoyed a serene happiness — and the other of recklessness as to what I might next do, or as to what should become of me. This feeling of recklessness revived that fatal idea which had previously so often influenced my actions,— the idea that it was of no use to be virtuous, for that I was too deeply degraded ever to re-establish a character for steadiness, and too unworthy ever to be deemed a worthy member of society again. The moment I was out of sight of the house, I .quickened my pace: for I had left the letter to Mr. Morris lying on the table in my bed-chamber — I knew not how soon it might be delivered into his hands — and I was fearful that I might be fol- lowed even before I could get well away from the vicinage of his dwelling. At a short distance an empty cab passed me ; I made a sign for the driver to stop — and entered it. The man asked me whither he should take me ? For a moment the question struck me with a sense of bewilderment : then suddenly recovering my self-possession, I named an hotel at the West End — the same where I had temporarily taken up my quarters when, on having left Felix Wellesley, I was placing myself under the protection of Lord Alfreton. Previous however to repairing to that hotel, I directed the cab to halt at several shops, where I purchased such articles of raiment as I required for changes of toilet, as well as a trunk wherein to pack them. I remained two days at that hotel, afraid to go out for fear of meeting Mr. Morris, or any persons whom he might possibly have charged to search for me. At length I could no longer endure the seclusion and monotony of my present state ,* and I resolved to leave the metropolis. What with my purchases and my hotel expenses, one-third of my available funds had melted away : but I had valuable jewels in my possession and therefore possessed the means of replenishing my purse, if necessary. It was yet too early in the year to think of visiting the watering-places, and I was at a loss to decide upon the destination of my con- templated journey. In this state of uncertainty I happened to glance at a paragraph in the news- paper, which stated that in consequence of the recent visit of the Queen to the Isle of Wight, a great number of fashionable persons were staying in Cowes and the neighbourhood ; and my mind was now made up. I accordingly proceeded by coach to Southampton — and thence by the steam- boat to the town which I have named. 308 nos A LAMBKRT. CHAPTER XLT. COWES. On arriving at Cowes, I took comfortable bul not expensive lodgings; and according to my usual habits, walked out a great deal— for the weather was very fine. I soon noticed that I had attracted the attention of a young gentleman of about two-and-twenty — and who, if not positively good-looking, was nevertheless of a very intcrest- ing appearance. He was tall and slightly formed — with light brown hair, fine blue eyes, and a re- markably good sot of teeth. His manners were evidently genteel : and though ho dressed with the utmost elegance, there was nothing of the fop or coxcomb about him. Sometimes I saw him on foot — sometimes on horseback ; and on every occa- sion I noticed that ho was struck with my appear- ance. 1 did not however give him the slightest encouragement ; for I know full well that a con- quest which is easily made, is not much appre- ciated. Nevertheless I had the presentiment that ho would bo my next protector : for I had not moral strength to arrive at any decision which should alter the general tenour of my career. I must observe that the house in which 1 dwelt, and which was pleasantly situated on the outskirt of the town, had two distinct sets of apartments on the drawing-room floor. Both were to let when I became the occupant of one : the other was taken about a fortnight after my arrival. The new lodger was a lady of about fifty ; and she brought with her a female servant older still than herself. She bore the name of Tennyson, and was believed to be a widow — though merely, I suppose, from the simple fact that she was unaccompanied by a husband. It appeared however, according to what I learnt from the servant of the house, that neither Mrs. Tennyson nor her elderly domestic were at all communicative : the lady had hired the apartments for a month — had paid the rent for the whole time — and had concluded the business with as few words as possible. I met her on the stairs the very day on which she entered ; and I saw that she was a matronly-looking person — evidently genteel in her manners— but that she had a sad mournful air, as if she were either in bad health or else had something upon her mind. Knowing that I was also a lodger in the house, from having just heard me give some order to the domestic, — Mrs. Tennyson said a few civil words as we passed, but showed no inclination to enter into a longer discourse. Another fortnight passed ; and I could not help thinking that Mrs. Tennyson’s habits were some- what peculiar. She never went out during the day; but when it was dusk, she sallied forth to take a walk— sometimes alone, but more generally accompanied by her domestic ; and she invariably had a thick green veil over her countenance. She dressed, too, for her evening excursions in a very mean style, — though during the day she was ap- parelled as became a lady of competent means. Jlut if she did not quit the house while it was light, it was very diflerent with her servant, who was frequently absent for three or four hours at a time ; and whenever she came in, — instead of re- pairing to the kitchen, or up to her own chamber I to put off her things, she made it a rule to ascend ! first of all to her mistress’s sitting apartment, where they would remain for a long time in con- versation together. Some of tticse particulars I myself noticed ; and others were cominunicatcrl to mo by the servant of the house, who was very much prone to garrulity and gossip. As 1 walked out a greet deal, end as old Janet — which was the name of Mrs. Tennyson’s servant — was, as I have said, regularly away for some hours every day, I never knew where she might stumble across mo; and as the house where I lodged was perfectly respectable, and I did not wish to incur a bad repute as long ns it suited mo to lodge there, I was exceedingly circumspect iu my conduct. I walked out in the town much less frequently than during my first fortnight at Cowes — but oftener into the country, which in some parts is exceedingly picturesque and attrac- tive. I varied too as much as possible the direc- tions I took ; so that no one might fancy I had any other purpose than that of enjoying a health- ful exercise. 1 should observe that I called my- self Mrs. Wilton at the lodging-house, and passed as a widow whoso husband had died two or three years previously. I had another reason, too, for walking more in the country than in the town, and for varying the paths which I pursued : — and this was to avoid the appearance of throwing myself in the way of the young gentleman to whom I have ere now al- luded. But it generally happened that he passed mo on whatsoever road I took ; and now that he found I frequented the country, ho rode out constantly on horseback, — but unattended by any groom : so that I felt convinced he scoured about the entire neighbourhood until he caught sight of me. He invariably regarded me with looks of un- mistakable admiration, subdued however by a courteous respect : and I had no difficulty in com- prehending that he was puzzled what to think of me. He always found me walking alone, — my de- meanour being that of a modest and well-conducted lady ; and I never suffered myself to show by my looks that I attributed this daily encountering of ours to any other cause than mere accident. At length I saw by his manner that he was endea- vouring to find some pretext for addressing me : for, on overtaking or meeting me, he would walk his horse as long as he dared without appearing absolutely rude and pointed in his behaviour. Then, if I suddenly diverged from the road into the fields— whither he could not follow me — I caught, with a rapidly furtive glance which I flung upon him, an expression of annoyance and sadness upon his countenance. On three or four occasions I met J anet, Mrs. Tennyson’s domestic, walking in the country ; and this circumstance struck me as singular. The woman appeared to have no settled object in view ; and it was difficult to believe that a lady kept a servant for the purpose of gadding about for seve- ral hours every day. Once or twice I found a vague and indistinct suspicion flashing through my mind — a suspicion to the effect that I myself was being watched by this woman Janet, for some rea- son or another. At length, as this suspicion be- came more definite, I asked myself whether it could possibly bo well founded ? Curious thoughts thereupon arose in my mind. Was Mr. Morris EOSA LAMBEET still interested in ray welfare ? could he by any means have discovered the place of my abode ? and was he setting a watch upon my conduct ? Was Mrs. Tennyson a friend ot his — or employed by him ? and had she come to reside in the same house with myself so as to be the better able to scan all my proceedings ? And yet, if this were really the case, how did it account for her own conduct?— why did she remain in-doors in the daytime when I was out for hours? and why did she go abroad of an evening when I was never out at all? and why did she not seek to place herself on a more friendly footing with me— so that she might judge from my con- versation of what was the frame of my mind ? No —assuredly my suspicion was unfounded: they were not watching my movements ! Yet though I endeavoured to bring myself to this conclusion, there were times when the suspicion that it was otherwise would come back with renewed force. Upwards of a month had now passed since I arrived at Cowes, and during which I had been the object of silent attention and mute admiration on the part of that young gentleman to whom I have alluded, but of whose name I was still ignorant. One day, however, it was destined to be revealed to me by accident. I was in a jeweller’s shop, paying for some little repair which had been made to my watch ; and there were two other ladies in the place at the time. The young gentleman him- self passed the window ; and I had not the slightest doubt he was looking after me. On perceiving those ladies, he stopped, raised his hat — and ad- dressed them by name. From the conversation that followed, I learnt that he was a Mr. Lushing- ton ; and it was evident that he moved in the very first society. “ I did not see you at the Countess of Dash- wood’s last night,” said the elder lady of the two — the other evidently being her daughter. “No,” replied Mr. Lushington : “I was some- what indisposed.” “ Indisposed indeed !” exclaimed the elder lady, with a laugh r “ a young gentleman of your age never ought to plead indisposition as an excuse for keeping away from where you are so much sought after. And Mr. Eobertson,” — thus alluding to her daughter’s husband, as I judged by the name by which Mr. Lushington had addressed the younger lady — “was telling us this morning at breakfast that something has come over you of late : you separate yourself from your friends — you ride out alone — and even your very groom has almost a sinecure, for he never follows you now in your equestrian excursions.” All this was said with that familiar and good- natured banter which may be indulged in amongst persons well acquainted with each other. Just at that moment I was passing out of the shop, having terminated the business which brought me thither; and I noticed that Mr. Lushington’s cheeks displayed a heightened colour. I compre- hended full well what the cause must be : but my own looks were perfectly unruffled. He and the two ladies, who had hitherto occupied the door- way, stood aside to make room for me; and I issued forth. At the end of the street— about twenty yards distant from the jeweller’s — I ran against Janet, who passed me rapidly, merely dropping a respectful curtsey as was her wont : 309 for she was even more reserved than her mistress, and wo had never exchanged a dozen syllables during the whole fortnight that had now elapsed since Mrs. Tennyson became an inmate of the same house where I also dwelt. Again the sus- picion that I was watched struck me : and again too did I repel it the next instant as something too preposterous to be consistent with fact. All of a sudden I recollected that I had left my purse behind me at the jeweller’s shop ; and I hastened back to recover it — for it contained all the remnant of my little pecuniary resources ; and this remnant was of no great amount. On re- entering the shop, I found Mr. Lushington still in conversation with the two ladies ; and as he was at that moment giving utterance to some lively sally, — addressing himself especially to Mrs. Eo- bertson, who was a young, dark-eyed, handsome woman, — I was smitten with a sense of annoy- ance : for I thought that after his many and evi- dent endeavours to recommend himself to my notice, he ought to keep all his homage for me. Not for a single instant however did I suffer my countenance to betray that feeling of annoyance : I passed by him and the ladies without seeming to take any particular notice of them; — and now my eyes fell upon old Janet, who was making some trifling purchase at the counter. The jeweller at once handed me my purse, — remarking in a re- spectful manner that he had not seen it until some minutes after I had left. I thanked him — and took my departure. Now again I asked myself whether Janet was really watching me— or whe- ther it was only a coincidence that she should have a purchase to make at that very shop ? But if she were watching me, had she entered that shop because she had beheld me issue thence, and be- cause she was curious to see who the persons were that I had left there ? But I thought to myself, if it really were a watch that was being set on my actions, old Janet would perceive nothing in the present circumstance to tell suspiciously against me. Yet the constant recurrence of this idea that I was watched, led me to reflect on a serious subject. Would it be better that I should renounce all idea of obtaining a new protector, and that I should remain in the path of rectitude, in the hope that my conduct would eventually recom- mend me to the fullest esteem and confidence of Mr. Morris, and thereby lead to my union with his nephew ? But if I adopted this • course, it would be solely through the idea that there was hope for me yet in that particular quarter ; while on the other hand, I had not the certainty that the hope existed at all — and my idea of a well- meant espial on my proceedings might turn out to be an egregious mistake. In this state of indecision, uncertainty, and be- wilderment I returned to the lodging-house ; and just as I was about to enter my own apartment, Mrs. Tennyson appeared upon the threshold of hers. She accosted me with much kindness of manner ; and after speaking on different subjects, she invited me to walk into her sitting-room. “You must think it strange, Mrs. Wilton,” she said, “ that my conduct has hitherto been so re- served and unneighbourly ; but I have much sor- row upon my mind — and there are circumstances which have led me to court seclusion. I could not however any longer maintain towards you a 310 BOBA T/AJriirUT. (liaf.ninco jvikI a reserve whieli may have appoarol Kt.iulicd — and possibly insultin". J liopo you will aeceph this apology as frankly as it is olfered, and not bear mo any ill will.” “ 111 will, my dear madam !” I exclaimed : “ flint is impossible. Being strangers to each other,” — and I looked at her somewhat searchingly ns 1 spoke, — “it was clearly your riglit to act as you thought fit.” “ But the exercise of a right,” rejoined Mrs. Tennyson, “ may not bo always consistent with ordinary politeness and courtesy. At all events, I hope that during the time wo may remain be- neath this roof, we shall see more of each other. As you may have observed, I am much alone — I luive no friends nor acquaintances in this town — and it would bo a charity on your part to favour me with an occasional half-hour of your com- pany.” “ I shall bo truly happy : for in respect to friends and acquaintances, L am situated precisely ns you yourself are.” “ So I have observed,” said Mrs. Tennyson : and if you will permit mo to make such a re- mark, I have been somewhat astonished that a lady of your age and appearance should be so com- pletely secluded.” “ I have no inclination to plunge into gaiety at present,” was my response, which I thought suffi- ciently guarded to suit any circumstances; that is to say, wdietber the lady were really a spy upon my actions, or w'hcther she were not. “1 presume from what you have just said,” she observed, with a look of melancholy sympathy, “ that the period of mourning for your deceased husband has only recently expired ?” I felt confused, and scarcely knew how to an- swer— or indeed what to think, — when at that very moment I was relieved from my embarrass- ment by the entrance of old Janet; and I rose to leave the room. Mrs. Tennyson invited me to take tea with her in the evening : I answered in the affirmative ; and ere I retired, she shook hands witli me. Wlien once again alone, I reflected on what had just taken place. I was more bewildered than ever, — at one moment feeling confident that she was in reality a spy upon my actions — at another conceiv- ing that I must be entirely mistaken. Having partaken of luncheon, I went out for ray usual afternoon walk ; and rambled to a distance of about three miles into the country. Presently 1 belield by the way- side a poor emaciated beggar- woman, with half-a-dozen starveling children grouped around her; and moved by the spectacle, 1 drew forth my purse to aftbrd them some relief. At that instant my ear caught the sound of a horse’s hoofs coming from behind ; and a quick glance thrown in that direction, showed me it was klr. liushington. I had only just time to place a shilling in the hand of the jjoor woman and to put u[> mv inirso again, when Mr. Lu8hingtouwa3clo.se to the sjjot. “ Benevoleneo is well mated with beauty,” ho said, as it tliiia at length seizing the oppurtmiity to break tin; ice and address mo at the same lime lie likewise hosLow(3d some silver uiiou tlio jioor family. I walked on ; and ho ke])t by my side, — obsorv- ng in a tone of enthusiasm, “ I am so glad 1 sur- pri.ied you in the midst of Unit act of cliarity ! I hud pictured lo myself that you were as generous and aini'.ililo ns you are beaut iful : and it is plcirdiig to havo one’s visunis realized!” “You appear, sir,” t rospondod, with a reserved politeness, “to havo bestowed upon me a sLudiims attention of which I was altogether uncon- scious.” “ In plain terms, iMrs. Wilton,” he answered, “ 1 have experienced a deep interest in you — I. might speak more i'rankly if 1 darerl ” “And yet, ^Ir. Lushington,” 1 interrupted him, “you are not altogether deficient in boldness, you have thus thought fit to address me.” “All ! you know my name ?” ho cried, with an air of satisfaction. “ And you are acquainted with mine,” I said, sulTering my countenance to display an arch smile for a moment. “ I learnt it from the jeweller this morning,” he responded. “ And it was in the same shop I learnt youra, while you were in conversation with those two ladies.” “ To which conversation,” he quickly observed, “you did not appear to be listening. But do per- mit me,” he continued, “ to profit by this occasion, and tell you with the utmost frankness what I feel, but what I just now dared not utter.” “ I cannot of course prevent you from making any communication you think fit, since you have chosen to address me.” “And you will not be angry ? Ho— I am con- vinced you will regard my conduct with leniency ! Yes — I am emboldened to speak out !” With these words, he glided down from his horse ; and holding the bridle in his hand, walked by my side. I did not resent the movement: but beyond tolerating it, I did not give him any fur- ther encouragement, — my looks continuing serious, but perfectly composed. “ Since it appears you overheard some part of my conversation with those ladies in the jeweller’s shop,” he resumed, speaking in a low and tender tone, “ you could not fail to have gathered frpm their discourse, that my habits and manner have somewhat changed of late — that I go not into society as was my wont — that I have separated myself from my former companions : and you have seen too that I am constantly riding about the country, unattended and alone. All this is to be attributed to you !” “ To me ?” I exclaimed with an air of surprise : and as I flung a rapid look upon Lushington, I saw that there was a deep earnest tenderness in the way in which he was regarding me. “Yes — to you, Mrs. Wilton !” he rejoined. “In i a word, from the very first moment I beheld you, [ was inspired not merely with interest, but with afiection. You must havo soon that I have fol- lowed you everywhere. When you ceased to con- iine your rambles to the town, I sought you in the country : I llattoved myself that you oomprehonded I was thus socking you ; and I even fancied that you took a malicious pleasuro in varying your walks as much as possible, so as to give me all the more trouble in finding you amidst the maze ot roads ami lanes. But that idea filled mo with joy: for 1 was vttiu enough to imugino that if you thought of mo at all, it would not long bo with EOSA LAMBERT. 311 complete indifference. Often and often had I made up my mind to address you : but when I saw that yon appeared not to notice me — and that sometimes you would diverge into the fields the instant I overtook you — hope died within me, and you know not how sad I felt ! To-day I was de- termined to relieve myself from, all suspense ; and therefore did I address you.” I continued silent : the overture had not gone far enough to enable me to give any response. I appeared thoughtful— but not angry; and thus my manner was an encouragement for Lushington to proceed. “ I feel all the difficulty of the situation in which I am placed,” he continued : “ I know so little of you— and you know so little of me, that I hesitate to give complete utterance to that which is on the tip of my tongue. Would you deem me rude if I ask whether you have a husband alive— whether you have lost him — or whether ” He stopped short : and I could not help saying with an arch smile, “ Or whether I ever had a husband at all ? Speaking frankly, then, I will admit that I have not” “ Ah, there is hope !” he exclaimed : for the words which I had spoken, were a revelation of my equivocal position in the world. “ Will you listen to me?” he continued. “I am well off — and it would afford me infinite pleasure to be entrusted with the task of ensuring your happiness. All that the tenderest affection as well as money can do to accomplish that aim ” “ Mr. Lushington,” I interrupted him, “ I un- derstand your proposal — I feel flattered by it — I cannot be angry. But on the present occasion I can give you no decisive answer. I must have a short time to reflect upon it.” “ Will you meet me again to-morrow?” he in- quired, eagerly. “ Oh, yes— I am sure you will— you will not prove cruel towards me ! Hame the hour and the place ” , “ Tell me where you are residing,” I interrupted him ; “ and if my decision be in the affirmative, I will write to you. If on the other hand it be negative, my silence must be interpreted as my answer. If you hear from me at all, it will be by noon to-morrow ; and in that case I will give you an appointment. But if you hear not from me, I charge you as a man of honour not to follow me again— not to breathe a syllable of what has now taken place between us — nor to bestow upon me the slightest notice when we happen to meet. Do you promise me all this ?” “ I do most faithfully — because you insist upon it — and I would do anything to win your esteem :” — and as he thus spoke, he seized my hand ; and gloved though it were, he pressed it with enthu- siasm to his lips. * “How let us separate,” I said, hastily with- drawing my hand ; and as he named the place of his temporary abode in the island, I swept my looks rapidly around in apprehension lest they should encounter the bustling form of old Janet. At that spot a gate leading into the fields, stood partially open ; and gliding away from Mr. Lush- ington, I diverged from the road where this scene took place. Old Janet was not in sight; and \/hen at a sufficient distance from the place of our separation, I relaxed the speed with which I had hurried away from the young gentleman. My mind had been previously made up how to act ; but I now reflected more deliberately upon the design which I entertained. I was invited to tea with Mrs. Tennyson ; and I determined, if possible, to discover whether she was really appointed to watch my proceedings— and if so, I would shape my conduct accordingly. There would in that case be the evidence that I was still an object of interest with Mr. Morris : and there would like- wise be the hope that, notwithstanding all my an- tecedents, I might yet become the wife of Arthur Brydges. And if I dared entertain this hope — if I had any sufficient reason to cling to so bright a dream — it would be a negative decision to which I should arrive in respect to Lushington. But if otherwise, then should I follow what would in that case appear the current of my destiny — and I would accept the overtures of a new protector. I returned home — dined at five o’clock— and between seven and eight repaired to Mrs. Tenny- son’s apartment. I need not describe the conversa- tion which took place between us during the two hours that I remained with her: but I must record the impressions left upon my mind thereby. I came to the conclusion that all my former sus- picions — suspicions indeed which had been en- hanced into hopes — were groundless. I carefully watched Mrs. Tennyson’s looks when she spoke to me ; I studied her manner : I was keenly prepared to detect any covert motive which slie might liave in any particular portion of her discourse. But there was not the slightest tittle of evidence to vrarrant the belief that she regarded me in any other light than a comparative stranger. Indeed, she once or twice questioned me in a way which she would scarcely have done, and said things which would not have escaped her lips, if she had entertained the slightest idea of my antecedents. With regard to herself, she was reserved : she mentioned not a word of her own circumstances, nor of the motives which had induced her to seek t’nis seclusion at Cow’es. She did not volunteer the slightest syllable of explanation as to why she remained in-doors all day nad only went out of an evening : so that I concluded it was a mere caprice on her i^art. In a w'ord, vrhen I left her-, ic was with the fullest conviction that so far from iiaving been appointed to watch my proceedings and report upon my conduct, she kaewciothing at ail about me. All hope being thus completely dead in respect to Mr. Morris and Arthur Brydges, I felt deeply saddened, and humiliated that I should have ever entertained it ; and wondered too at my mingled audacity and folly in having so beguiled myself. As the reader therefore may have foreseen, I penned a note in the morning, — giving an appoint- ment for that same day to Mr. Lushington. I took it with me into tho town, and paid a mes- senger to bear it to the hotel at which he was residing. The hour I had named was one o’clock — the place a shady lane about a mile distant from the town. As the time approached, I proceeded in that direction — and found Mr. Lushington there. This time he was on foot ; and there was so much joy depicted upon his countenance that he appeared more than good-looking — he seemed really hand- some. Bounding towards me, he caught me in his arms ; and embracing me fervently, poured forth his gratitude in the most impassioned manner for 312 KOSA XAMBKET. the favourable decision to which I had come, lie was about to explain his views, when I said to him, “ Stop, Mr. Lushington ! — it becomes mo to give certain explanations before wo can consider the compact altogether settled.” He gazed upon me with mingled curiosity and alarm, as if ho feared that some obstacle was about to be started, and that his love might not be crowned with happiness after all. “ Did you ever hear,” I asked, “ of a certain terrific tragedy which occurred some time ago at Woburn Place in London — a tragedy which brought the names of Lord Alfreton and a certain Kosa Lambert prominently before the public ?” “ Yes — I read of it !” he exclaimed : and then as a light evidently flashed in unto his brain, he added, “ And you are llosa Lambert !” “ I am !” was my answer : “ and now I shall not be offended if you recall everything you have said.” “ Be this my response !” ho enthusiastically ex- claimed : and folding me in his arms, he covered my lips and cheeks with his caresses. “Now, dearest Bose,” he continued, as we walked along the lane, his arm thrown round my waist — for we were completely alone there, — “ it is for you to decide how best I can minister to your happiness. There are certain circumstances — which I will not pause to explain now — but which will compel me to make two specific stipulations on my own be- half; and apart thei’efrom everything you wish and want shall be accomplished. In the first place, our connexion must be kept profoundly secret : and in the second place, you must not require me to live with you altogether. My habitual residence is at Southampton : thither will I return whenso- ever you think fit ; and somewhere in the neigh- bourhood of that town, will I take for you a con- venient dwelling. You shall have your carriage and servants : in a word, I can only repeat what I said yesterday — that everything shall be done to ensure your happiness.” “ I have no objection to oflEer to your stipula- tions,” was my response. “But tell me — what are those circumstances to which you have alluded ? Are you married ? Por if so ” “ Married !” he exclaimed, with a laugh : “ Oh, no heaven forbid! But the truth is, I am dependent on relatives for a considerable portion of the income which I enjoy ; and it would cause me serious embarrassment if it were known ” “ But under these circumstances,” I interrupted him, “ you ought to weigh well in your own mind whether you act prudently in rushing headlong into this connexion. It would not contribute to my happiness if I were continually haunted by the fear that any sudden discovery might seriously injure you, and lead to tho abrupt severance of our connexion. I am older than you, and have seen enough of the world •” “ Oh, speak not thus, my dearest Bose !” ex- claimed Lushington ; “ there is not the least danger of detection, so long as you remain satisfied with the basis on which our connexion is to sub- sist. I arn tho complete master of n»y own time, and shall bo enabled to see you frequently — to p iss hours with you every day. Indeed, if you are in no particular hurry to settle down into an abode of your own, what is to prevent us from remaining for a few weeks longer — or even months — in this island? You know tho spot where wo met yesterday. It is about throe miles from tho town; and close by, there is a beautiful furnished villa to bo let. You may have noticed it p It stands in tho midst of pleasuro-grounds well laid out ; and frequently within tho last two or three weeks, when riding by it, have I thought to my- self how happy should 1 bo if permitted to secure that place for your occupation !” “ Bo it so,” I responded : “ and to tell you the truth, it will suit my frame of mind well enough to dwell in so sweet a seclusion for the present. I care not for a carriage while in this island and during the summer weather. But I am fond of horse-exercise ” “Enough, dear Bose!” ejaculated Edwin Lush- ington : “ this very afternoon will 1 make all the requisite arrangements ; and the day after to- morrow at latest shall you be put in possession of Sidmouth Villa.” After a little more conversation, we separated, — an appointment being made for the morrow at the same place, so that he might report progress with regard to the pending arrangements. CHAPTEB XLII. THE PATHWAY ON THE CLIFFS. I DULY kept the appointment for the following day : Lushington informed me that Sidmouth Villa was in readiness for my reception, and that as the outgoing family had been about to dis- charge their servants, he had advised that they should remain for the present so that I might be spared the trouble and difficulty of obtaining others. He likewise informed me that I should find horses in the stable : and he proposed to come with a chaise on the morrow and fetch me away from my present abode. But there was the lingering idea in my mind that it was just within the range of possibility that my former suspicion with regard to Mrs. Tennyson might have some foundation; and though by taking the present step and accepting a new protector, I was in- creasing the number of barriers which already existed between myself and the hope of ever be- coming the bride of Arthur Brydges, — yet still, in case Mrs. Tennyson should, after all, be in corre- spondence with Mr. Morris, a remaining feeling of delicacy made me revolt at the idea that he should learn the intelligence of my relapse within a period of six weeks after I had quitted his roof. I was therefore led to entei’tain the wish that my new position should be veiled as long as possible from Mrs. Tennyson’s knowledge ; and I accord- ingly declined Lushington’s offer to fetch me on the morrow, — alleging some pretext for removing alone to Sidmouth Villa. He readily attributed it to an extreme carefulness on his own account after all ho had told mo : and ho said, “ Dearest Bose, you need not lose your respectability in the neigh- bourhood, as my visits can bo paid to you in the most stealthy manner. To-morrow evening, there- fore,” ho added, with a smile, “ you will receive mo to dinner at your new abode ?” Then, in a very delicate manner, he begged my acceptance of a small packet which he produced ; EOSA LAMBEET. 313 and wo separated for tlie present. He returned towards Cowes — and I walked along the coast in the direction of Newtown Inlet. I opened the packet which he had placed in my hand : it con- tained an elegant purse — and the purse itself con- j tained bank notes to the amount of five hundred I pounds. I was thus well off once more; and I I could not avoid a sensation of thrilling triumph at j the thought that though within two or three ! months of six-and-twenty, I retained the mingled charm and glory of my beauty so unimpaired that it would thus almost at any moment elevate me to I a position of affluence and luxury. Fatal pride ! I fatal, fatal vanity ! Ob, why were such feelings j implanted within me, thus to become the bane of ' virtue — the veritable curse of my existence ? I walked onward, reflecting upon the new posi- tion on which I was about to enter, and wondering how my connexion with Edwin Lushington would 1 last, — wondering likewise whether he would con- I No. 40 tinue to prove as agreeable as I had hitherto found him. I could not help meditating on the fact that Felix Wellesley’s love for me had commenced with an enthusiasm similar to that which Lushington displayed : but I scarcely feared that the latter would merge into an equally monopolizing selfish- ness, a corresponding jealousy, and a kindred mawkish sentimentalism. For if Lushington were content that we should live apart, it was tolerably evident that he was prepared to put faith in me, and not continuously torment us both with love- sick complainings. [ While thus proceeding along the coast, I ex- ! tended my ramble to a considerable distance ; and j the gentle slopes which prevail in the neighbour- I hood of Cowes, were rising into higher eminences | and breaking into cliffs. I was about to turn and j retrace my way, when I perceived a gentleman I advancing towards me from the opposite direction ; 1 and as he drew near, I recognised my cousin Sir SH nOSA LAMBERT. Jolin iravorsiock. ITp was sauntorinp alontr in a lounging manner, and impregnating (lie bountiful fresli air with a cigar, lie was apparelled in a yatehing costume, just ns he was on the first occa- eion that I beheld him at Jlainsgatc nearly four years back. The recognition was mutual and simultaneous : an ejaculation of surprise burst from his lips;— and evidently not exactly knowing liow to address mo — nor whether i should suffer myself* to bo addressed by him at all— ho endea- voured to veil Lis temporary confusion under a sudden outburst of boisterous good-humour tolera- bly well affected. ‘•'Ah, sweet cousin of mine! do wo thus meet again? On my soul,” ho exclaimed, “ I am glad to SCO you: and I hope that we arc friends?” I stood looking at him for upwards of a minute without speaking. Ifo was much altered since I Lad last seen him, which was three years and a lialf back : dissipation and debauchery had com- mitted its ravages upon his countenance ,* and though he was but just my own age — namely, scarcely twenty-six — yet he seemed a dozen years older. I should have turned away from him with mingled abhorrence and contempt, — only that I had a sudden feeling of curiosity to ascertain what had become of his kind-hearted and amiable sister Joanna, whom I had neither seen nor heard of for that same interval of three years and a half which had elapsed since I became the victim of her miscreant brother. “Will you not speak to me, fair cousin?” he exclaimed, after a brief interval of silence. “ And when I call yo\iftiir, it is indeed no compliment ; for, on my soul I you look handsomer than ever.” “A truce to this impertinent vei’biage,” I said, severely. “ Tell me. Sir John Haverstock — how is your sister ?” “ My sister ?” he exclaimed, “ Did you not know that she was married? Ah, bow singular! —her husband is an old flame of your’s ” “ What do you mean, sir ?” I inquired, with a tone and look that v/ere intended to rebuke his air of levity. “ Sir Reginald Fortescue !” rejoined Haverstock, with a significant smile. “ Alethinks that name is not altogether unfamiliar to your ears ? Ah, no ! I see by your countenance that it is not.” “ Sir Reginald Fortescue ?” I exclaimed, in sur- prise. “Then I suppose the father is dead?” “ Yes : and the son now wears the title— and my sister shares it with him.” “ I. hope,” I eagerly said, “ that your amiable sister has continued in perfect ignorance ” “ Of your former connexion with her husband?” cried Sir Jolm Haverstock. “Oh, yes! you may make yourself easy upon that score. It was by Sir ftcginald’s express desire — or else I might pos- sibly have let the cat out of the bag.” “ I need not ask whether Joanna bo happy,”, I obscrvcfl. “ (tertain am I that Sir Reginald Fortescue makes an excellent husband.” I “Ob ! ho 1ms become as steady as possible,” ro- I Hjiondcd Haverstock. seal, and have only been their and a half ago,” “ And 1 HUj)pose,” f said, hesitatingly, sister has learnt the true character of her whom for a time she made her companion and friend?” “ Why, you see, Rose,” answered tlm Hanov t, “ there was that cursed affair of yours about, young tSydenham in nil the newspapers ; and though we did our best to prevent Joanna from hearing any. thing about it, yet we could not kc-p it ullogc t'u r from her knowlcrlgo. And now tell me what are you doing ? and how arc you getting on? Arc wo married yet p are wo fftlled quietly down? or are we still leading a life of gaiety and plea- sure P” “ Sir John Haverstock,” I replied, disgusted with his levity, “ you perhaps best can tell whether after the involuntary pollutions through whieh I was dragged by yourself and your friend Ihdmoro — for I have no doubt he vaunted to you bis suc- cess in the achievement of a villany equal to your own ” “ I sec that you are still bitter against me,” interrupted Sir John, as ho carelessly to'-.-^fl away the remnant of his cigar. “Rut re.llly, Rose, there ought to be a time for forgiveness,” “ There will only bo a time for forgiveness,” I answered, “ w’bcn that of retribution also arrives. Thus I spoke to the Marquis of Belmore ; and the moment of pardon and of punishment came more speedily than I had either presaged or imagined. You know the cii’cumstances of his death : you are doubtless avt^are that I was on board the yacht at the time he was swallowed up in the engulfing waters. Well, Sir John, 1 beheld the last look of his drowning anguish — I caught the last glimpse of his pale countenance as it was upturned in the agony of despair. Never shall 1 forget it!— and I Jiardoned him then !” “ And pray, my sweet cousin,” cried Haver- stock, in a vein of reckless jocularity, “ do you mean me to understand yoUr hatred to be so implacable against me, that never until you behold me perishing in some untimely and horrible man- ner, shall you be induced to accord me your par- don ?” I bent ray eyes sternly upon the Baronet ; and I said, “ Never, untiH/ieJt.' As merciless as you were towards me, so am I implacable towards you. I know not how it is, but it seems as if heaven itself had decreed that all who have by their cold- blooded villany helped to plunge me deeper down into the mire of pollutions, are to experience the chastisement due to their turpitude. Why should I conceal any facts from your knowledge ? No — I will proclaim them that they may strike terror into your soul, and appear to you as the har- bingers of some equally terrific punishment that vi'ill overtake yourself. First of all I was seduced, under circumstances of cold-blooded liideousness, by Horace Rockingham : I have since seen liim dragging out the most miserable existence in penury and rags — hurled down from a position of wealth and luxury into the vortex of misery and destitution. There was another man at whose hands 1 suffered the direst wrong. His name was Andrew Winter. Y'ou read perhaps at the time that ho perished horribly by being thrown from bis horse over the parapet ot llighgate Archway: and I was there to behold the catastrophe. An- 'I’liey live at their country- oneo to Jjoiidon since ' iiiarriiige, -which tooiv jilaco about a year other man — your own bosom friend the Marquis j of Jk'lmoro —was drowned in my sight. Are those your I to be attributed to mere accidental circumstances ? I or were they heaven’s ovsm studied and decreed I retributions ? And bow dare you, Sir John Haver- EOSA L1M13EET. 315 stock, hope to be excluded from the sweeping vengeance which fate levels against all who help to plunge a lost soul deeper down into the vortex of perdition ?” Again — as on the occasion that I spoke with the presentiment of a prophetess to the Marquis of Belmore— did I feel all the solemnity of the fearful presage to which I was giving utterance ; and I was led onwards as it were by a sort of awe- felt inspiration. For a few moments ISir John Haverstock appeared much struck by what I thus addressed to him: but speedily recovering the wonted superciliousness of his looks and the flip- pancy of his manner, he said with a light laugh, “It really becomes you admirably, Kose, to read me a sermon ! A lady of pleasure on the tripod of a Pythoness is somewhat a new spectacle : but perhaps, when you have sinned six days in the week, you go to church to pray on the seventh ?” “ Alas !” I responded, with a deep inward sense of the solemnity of my words, “I believe in God — but I dare not approach his altar !” Having thus spoken, I turned away, and began retracing my steps in the direction of the town. But Sir John Haverstock was speedily by my side : and he said, “ It appears, fair cousin, that our ways lie in the same road. Will you not permit me to escort — or at least to accompany you, if you like this term better — as far as Cowes .P” “ I think. Sir John Haverstock,” I responded, “ that our interview has reached a point whereat it wei'e well for it to close.” “As I bear you no animosity, your company is agreeable to me,” he rejoined ; “ and I can easily pardon you the implacable rancour you entertain towards myself.” I walked on in silence, — he still keeping by my side. We were approaching a spot where three or four labourers were working in a field that stretched to the very edge of the cliff; and as we were now near* enough for them to catch anything that might be said, I did not choose to appear to be engaged in a dispute with my companion : but I re- solved that when we should be at a sufficient dis- tance from those men, I would insist upon his leaving me. The path skirted the brink of the range of eminences, following its irregularities ; and from the foot of the cliffs stretched the ex- panse of sea, glowing in the sunlight, and with the gulls flapping their white wings over its surface. Haverstock was pursing the path ; I was walking farther in the field, with an interval of a couple of yards between us. All of a sudden one of the labouring men shouted out, “ Take care, sir ! — that path is dan- gerous !” But scarcely were the words of warning spoken ' — and while they were yet vibrating in the warm still air— an ejaculation of terror burst from Sir John Haverstock’s lips: the ground was giving way under his feet ! With a desperate effort he strove to save himself and spring upon surer soil : but it was in vain — and back he fell. From my own lips went forth a pealing shriek ; and I was convulsed with the most dreadful feelings. It was all the work of a moment : but in that moment what an age of horror was concentrated, — horror for the victim — horror for the beholder ! I rushed to the very brink to stretch out my hand to save him : — heaven knows that I harboured not a vin- dictive thought at that instant ! Down he fell, — a mass of loose earth upon him,— his left hand crisping in spasmodic agony upon that mass— his right hand for a single instant clutching des- perately at some root or plant which grew out from the side of the cliff; and as his wild shrieks of horror and anguish rang fearfully through the air, he disappeared from my view. A faintness came over me — and I sank back upon the ground, where I lay gasping : but con- sciousness did not altogether abandon me. One of the labourers raised me up ; and they were all ex- changing horrified ejaculations in respect to the tragedy which they had just beheld. I gathered from their hurried remarks that there was not the slightest chance of the unfortunate Baronet having survived the occurrence : but so soon as I could speak, I besought the men to descend by the readiest means to the shore, in case their worst fears should prove to be exaggerated. This they did : and I remained alone for nearly a quarter of an hour on the spot where they left me. My ideas were all in a horrible whirl : but amidst them most prominently was the astounding thought that the prediction I had uttered had been so speedily and so fatally fulfilled. Good heavens ! when I recalled to mind the whole of the solemn language I had made use of to Sir John Haverstock, I did indeed feel that it was not the random speaking of hatred and revenge, but that it was the expression of a presentiment too vague to be entirely compre- hended at the moment, but too truthful in its mys- teriously inspiring source not to be fulfilled ! At length one of the men re-appeared ; and I saw by his countenance that there was indeed no hope, and that all was over. I asked no questions, and gave no instructions : I felt assured that the men would take decent care of the corpse, and con- vey it to v/heresoever it might most conveniently await the inquest. I however put money in the man’s hand for himself and his comrades ; and then slowly retraced my way homeward, — solemnly and mournfully pondering what had occurred. On regaining the lodging-house, I learnt that Mrs. Tennyson had been taken very seriously ill — that a physician was in attendance — and that she was ordered not to be disturbed. I sat down in my own room to write a note to Edwin Lushing- ton, to inform him that I must postpone my removal to the villa for a few days ; and that if he would meet me on the morrow, I would explain to him the reason. This note I took into the town, and sent by a messenger, as on the previous occa- sion. On my return home I inquired of old Janet if I could be of any service to her mistress,— volunteering to sit with her if needful. I was warmly thanked, but assured that it was unneces- sary, as the invalid lady was now enjoying a profound slumber. I retired to rest early that evening : for I myself felt indisposed after the dreadful shock my mind had experienced. I slept however but little; and then my slumber was troubled and haunted by hideous dreams. In the morning I inquired concerning Mrs. Tennyson, and learnt that she was much worse. At the appointed hour I went forth to meet Lushington ; and the instant he saw me, he was struck with the paleness of my countenance. I asked him if he had heard a rumour of any dread- IIOSA LAMnEUT. •.ur, I i’ul filing which liacl hupjionod on the previous (liij ?— and lie exclaimed, “ Good heavens, Hose ! were you the unknown lady who is mentioned as liaving been walking with the unfortunate Sir John ITaverstock at the time ?” “ Yes — it was I,” was my response. “ Sir John Ilaverstock was my cousin : it was entirely by accident that I met him — wo were not on good terms — indeed very far from it ; and I regret to say that I used harsh language towards him just before the accident occurred. Do you think it is necessary for me to attend the inquest? If so, I must give my own name: and is that unfortunate name of mine to be once more paraded before the world ?” “ I do not think there is the slightest necessity that you should go forward,” answered Edwin. “The circumstance is as simple as it is also hor- rible in its details : the men who beheld the acci- dent can explain it sufficiently to enable the jury to arrive at a speedy and suitable decision. Ah ! j my poor Hose, I am now no longer at a loss to un- derstand wherefore you look ill and pale, and why you have postponed your removal to your new home! The shock must have been terriQc; and much as I am anxious for the hour to come when I may find you installed in that beautiful villa, I am not so selfish as to demand an unreasonable sacrifice of feeling on your part !” “ In a few days,” I rejoined, “I shall have got ever the sensation which the catastrophe has left in my mind. Bear with me until then.” “ But each day you will grant me an hour of your company?” he said; “and with that I must content myself.” We then separated : for I knew full well that Lushington felt nervous when we were thus toge- ther, — although in that shady and secluded lane which was the place of our appointments, and al- though too his inclinations prompted him to incur every risk in order to be with me. But I could easily penetrate his motive for apprehension. Cowes is at no great distance from Southampton; and as persons from the latter town were con- stantly coming over to the former, they might ac- cidentally fall upon us in our stealthy ramblings and carry the intelligence to those from whose knowledge he was so desirous to keep our con- nexion. The inquest took place — and I did not attend it : neither was I sought after — nor did my name transpire. As Lushington had predicted, the cir- cumstances of the tragedy — horrible as they ap- peared— were nevertheless too simple and too positive not to guide the jury to a prompt deci- sion ; and it remained perfectly unsuspected at the lodging-house that I was the lady who had wit- nessed the awful occurrence. It was a relief to have been thus enabled to absent myself from the investigation : but the impression of the dread I catastrophe remained strong upon my mind. A week passed away, during which 1 recovered the even tenour of my spirits : for it can not be supposed that after the diabolical outrage which I had experienced from Sir John ilaverstock, 1 could be very much saddened at the chastisement which had overtaken him. The occurrence had naturally given mo a dreadful shock at the time: but when this wore oil', it left no positive grief be- hind. Yet again did 1 reflect, with awe in my soul, upon those remarkable dispensations which had led three of my most detested jxTseculors to perish so miserably before my very eyes; and wlieu in such moods as these I said within myself, “ And what will bo i/our fate, Horace Rockingham?” During this week which thus passed, Mrs. Ten- nyson continued ill ; and old Janet, remaining in constant attendance upon her, was no longer en- abled to take those strange mysterious daily ram- bles which had made mo suspect that she was watching my proceedings. 1 was admitted to the sick chamber occasionally; and the poor larly seemed solaced and cheered by the sympathy which I thus exhibited on her behalf. As it was known in the house that I was about to leave, — the landlady having received warning to tliat clTect,— Mrs. Tennyson one day inquired of mo whither I was going ?— and 1 answered that I had not as yet made up my mind : for the reader will recollect that I have already recorded my motive for concealing my future proceedings from Mrs. Tennyson to the utmost of my power. At the ex- piration of that week she got better, and informed me that by the advice of the medical man she was about to remove back to her own homo in Uarnp- shirc: but where this was, she did not specify. We now parted: for I was on the point of re- pairing to Sidmouth Villa— and she was to leave Cowes on the following day. I had regularly met Edwin Lushington every afternoon in the shady lane : but we. did not re- main very long together on any of these occasions. Yet I saw enough of him to like his disposition more and more, and to experience a growing es- teem towards him : though as for love, that was altogether out of the question. And now came the time that we were to be more together : for at the expiration of that week, I took possession of Sidmouth Villa, — my removal to my new home being so managed that it was not known at the lodging-house whither I was going. I have already said that the villa was pleasantly situated in the midst of its own well laid out grounds ; and I may now add that on being installed there, I found it even far more to my taste than I had anticipated. There were four servants — two male and two female — on the premises : Lushington had purchased two beautiful horses — one for my- self and one for the groom ; and he had most thoughtfully made every arrangement to ensure my comfort. It was thus under favourable aus- pices — so far as I could judge of them — that I took possession of Sidmouth Villa. Edwin Lushington generally came and dined with me every evening, — remaining the night, and going away soon after breakfast every morning. But then we would arrange to meet on horseback somewhere in the country, and ride about to- gether ; and thus he was enabled to give me so much of his society that I experienced no dullness nor monotony in the life that I was now leading, — while at the same time his own measures were taken with a sufficient degree of caution to render it exceedingly impr’obable that our connexion should transpire to any persons who might men- tion it to his relatives at (Southampton. lie con- tinued to improve in my estimation ; and ho became much attached to mo. There was a tinge of sentimentality in his disposition — but not to the maudlin, sickening extent which in Eelix Wcl- EOSA LAMBEET 317 lesley had caused rue so much annoyance : nor was this sentimentality on Edwin Lusliington’s part sufficient to impair the natural gaiety of bis spirits. He w’as young and wealthy — possessed good health— and tliereforo was determined to enjoy life. The only thing that ever annoyed him, was the apprehension of our amour being disco- vered : but I assured him that as he was the best judge of the requisite precautions to be taken, he had only to specify them to ensure my most ready concurrence therewith. Thus some weeks passed away : it was now the middle of August ; and four months had elapsed since I quitted the abode of Mr. Morris in London. On my first arrival at Cowes, I had written to my father to request him to direct his letters to me at the post-office in that town : but during these four months I received no communi- cation from him. For some time I thought nothing of it, as the periods of our exchanging letters bad grown few and far between : but now that so long an interval had elapsed and I heard nothing from him, I began to grow uneasy. Lush- ington saw that something was preying upon my mind ; he questioned me — and I explained to him the reason. I had within the last few days written again to Hawthorn ; and with much kind consideration, he said, “ If you receive no satis- factory answer — or if what is worse, no answer comes at all— you shall go, dear Eose, to see your father. Much as it would grieve me to separate from you, even for a few days, — it would be my duty under such circumstances to resign myself to a temporary severance.” I thanked him; and as another week elapsed without bringing any letter, I grew so uneasy that it became absolutely necessary to take some deci- sive step. But still, — as I had a great repugnance to revisit Hawthorn, unless under circumstances of imperious compulsion, — I resolved first of all to write to the parish-clerk and inquire respecting my father. This I did ; and another week passed without bringing any answer. At length a letter came : it was cruelly and brutally laconic ; and in a few lines it informed me that my unfortunate father was the inmate of a lunatic-asylum at Eiverdale. This intelligence, smiting me like a thunder- bolt, threw me into a state of unconsciousness ; and for nearly an hour I remained in that death- like swoon. When I regained my senses, I found Edwin overwhelmed with grief on my account; and he offered to go at once into Cheshire and see my father. He moreover proposed to do every- thing he could to ensure the old man’s comfort in these distressing circumstances ; and he spoke so feelingly that my esteem for him, already great, was still more considerably enhanced. “A thousand thanks, dear Edwin,” I answered, “ for your goodness : but I have a duty to per- form — and I must accomplish it. I feel much better now ; and with your permission will set off this very day on my journey to Cheshire. I wdll not allow you to accompany me : it is a duty which I must perform alone. During my absence, perhaps you will return to your relatives at Southampton ? — for a temporary sojourn with them, may have the beneficial effect of still farther averting suspicion from that which we are so anxious to conceal.” Ho expressed his intention to follow my advice; and furnishing me most liberally with money, ho begged that I would travel post and spare no ex- pense either on my own journey or in making any provision that might be requisite for ray father’s comforts. Ho did not attempt to limit my ab- senoo to any particular time: he knew that this must depend entirely upon circumstances : but he gave me to understand that the sooner I was re- stored to him,, the happier he should be. We separated — and I set off upon my journey alone; for I did not even choose to take a female dependant with me. I will not dwell at unneces- sary length upon this sad portion of my narrative ; nor will I minutely describe the mournful reflec- tions which occupied me during the whole of the route into Cheshire. At length I reached Kiver- dale — that town which, together with the adjacent village and the surrounding scenery, had so many, many different memories for me. I alighted at an hotel, and immediately instituted inquiries re- lative to my father. I visited the solicitor whom I had employed, five years back, to release him from gaol, — those five years which had elapsed since last I had seen my unfortunate parent ! And now I heard a tale for which I was indeed but little prepared. I have occasionally stated that the letters I received from my father since my separation from him in 1843, had conveyed to me the assurance of his steadiness in money- affairs, his temperance with regard to liquor, and the general reformation of his mode of life. I had believed all these assurances : the style of his letters had been calculated to fill me with that security. And now how different was the state- ment which I received from the attorney’s lips ! It appeared that my fathei*, having for a little while pursued an amended course, gradually relapsed into his old habits of extravagance and intemperance. But what was worse, he had taken a female of equivocal character into his service as housekeeper at the parsonage at Hawthorn ; and she speedily obtained the completest influence over him. The scandal arising therefrom was great : his congregation dwindled away ; and after a while representations were made to the Bishop of the diocese. But it appeared that no persons came actively forward to enable the Bishop to prosecute his inquiry to any decisive result ; and it was therefore abandoned. The proceeding, however, had the effect of rendering my father more guarded in his conduct for a time — though he did not discharge the obnoxious housekeeper. Thus things went on for a period ; but my father’s proceedings again gave rise to the utmost scandal throughout the neighbourhood. He was con- stantly being sued for debts : it was known that for whole days together he was in a state of in- toxication : and the most disgraceful quarrels took place between himself and the housekeeper, — though the latter still maintained a paramount and pernicious influence over him. At length it was represented to him by some of his principal parishioners that unless he withdrew from Haw- thorn and employed a curate to officiate in his stead, active measures would be now decisively taken to strip him of his preferment. He was forced to consent; and sharing his income with the curate, he retired to a lodging in Eiverdale, — still accompanied by the infamous woman who had 31S TlOaA LAMRRnT. C II A I’ T HR A Lin. MV I'ATinni. thus helped to accclonito his downlall. From what the solicitor told me, 1 liad no doubt tliat tills woman had cunningly availed herself of my father’s sober moments to persuade him to writo such letters to mo as should continue to lull rao into complete security with regard to his proceed* j It was about cloven in the forenoon on the fel- ings. Slie had most probably heard how I had | lowing day, that I bent my steps towanls a managed matters when residing at homo at ll iw- gloomy. looking building, situated about a mile thorn; and she feared lest I should either return from Rivenlal;, in a contr.irv direction fro u Lh ) to dwell with my father, or else come to fetcli him village of Hawthorn. IFell had I known tlio e.v- away to tako up his residence with me. A year terior of tliat sombre edifice: often hid I .sliu 1- had elapsed since he had been forced to leave the dored when in bygone times my eKtoiidi-d r.i'n:)!. 9 parsonage and surrender up the parish to the had taken mo near its walls; and c dd fjdin ra of charge of a curate. For the first six or seven months of this year the life that ho had led at Riverdalc was the scandal of the whole place : but latterly his intellects had begun to give way be- neath the influence of an almost continuous in- temperance, — until at length it became absolutely necessary to place him under restraint. lie was overwhelmed with debts — the very limited income he now possessed, was mortgaged and anticipated in every way — and he became a pauper lunatic in the asylum where he had now been for nearly five months at the time that I thus visited River- horror had been wont to creep over mo wh -ii [ thought of the wrecked intellects, the shattered miruh, and the mockeries of humanity whieli had found an asylum there. Ah ! and how little had I then suspected that I should ever bend my way thither to visit ono so closely connected with myself !— little had I foreseen that the day would come when I should ring at that sinister gate, and cross that gloomy threshold to seek admittance to my own father ! Yet all this was happening now. IMy summons was answered by a stout red- faced man, —whose dale. Such were the particulars which I gleaned in re- spect to my unhappy father; and I was over- whelmed with grief. Bitter were my self-reproaches ! I felt that I had been guilty of unpardonable neg- lect towards my miserable parent — that I never ought to have trusted to the letters which I re- ceived — and that during so long a period as five years, I should at least have visited him two or three times to assure myself that his affairs and his conduct were such as he represented them. Y'es — bitter were my self-reproaches ; and I could not help reflecting that while I had been living in I his’n ; pr’aps his daughter as I’ve heard tell of.?” dishonourable luxury under a series of protectors, “ I am his daughter,” was my response : and the author of my being was abandoned by me to | then as tbe man made way for me to enter, I saw the evil influence of an abominably selfish woman, j that he regarded me in a way which showed all I wept in the solicitor’s presence : he did not say a ' too plainly that my antecedents were not unknown single word to console me : be as well as all the i to him any more than they were to the rest of neighbourhood was acquainted with a sufficiency | the neighbourhood. of my antecedents to know what I was. He must j Well, young o’oman,” be said, bis tone and have been aware likewise of the infamy which I manner now all of a sudden losing their former bad branded my brother ; and be might therefore j respectfulness, and assuming a broad insolent j looks, notwithstanding that rubicundity of com- plexion, had something cold-bloodedly saturnino in them: though on perceiving a well-dressed lady at the gate, he touched his hat and eudoavoured to look as civil as possible. I wish to see Mr. Lambert,” I said, scarcely able to speak on account of the sobs that were inwardly convulsing me, though by a mighty effort I kept them down. Have you got a border, ma’am ?” asked the gate-keeper : then perceiving that I was much affected, ho said, “ I s’poso you’re a relation of have thought that the grievous errors of the old man’s children had not been altogether discon- nected with the causes which had confirmed him in those fatal paths of profligacy and intemperance. Perhaps, too, the attorney fancied that what had overtaken my father was a well merited chastise- ment as it redounded upon my own head ; and in a word, what possible solace could ho, under the circumstaucca, have offered to one in my posi- tion ? I went forth from his presence, bitterly afflicted and deeply humiliated. Much of wretchedness as 1 had experienced in my time, I do not think that familiarity; “ this is a bad job, isn’t it For heaven’s sake let me see my father at once !” I said, overwhelmed with the most crashing sense of shame : and I put a sovereign into the man’s hand. “ Thank’ee, Miss,” be said, now again touching his bat, and becoming more cringingly civil tlian he even was at first : so that though for a moment the knowledge of my shame had banished all re- spect from his mind, yet the touch of that very gold which bought my dishonour was suflicient to render him respectful once more. Strange is the power wielded by gold!— it triumphs over all I was over more coinplotoly wreLcliod than I felt I principle: it is a talisman which leads man to the myself now. I had known anguish, too, the most jioignant— the most excruciating: but the cruci- fixion of my feelings on this occasion was the very elirnax of that intonseness of mental sull'ering wliich tlic human brain can know without going mad, or which tho human heart can bear without bursting. I could not that day iriaki' up my mind 1,0 visit my unl'ortiuiato I'atlior : 1 was compollod l>) poet pone tliat sad, sad duty until the morrow. abnegation of bis own privilege to judge the con- duct of his fcllow-croatures ! “ I say, Tom !” vociferated tho gate-keeper : and at that summons unotlicr ollicial made his appear- ance from a room adjoining tho gloomy vestibule. “This lady is Miss Lanibort. She is a lady, too — and no mistake,” ho addod, sull’ering his colleaguo to cateli a glimpse of tho gold piece: “so mind you treats her as sich.” IIOSA LAMBERT. 319 The individual who had thus come forth, was a sturdy, strong-built fellow — with coarse features, which had a certain dogged expression ; so that his look seemed as it wore to mock the flower which he retained between his lips. He carried his hand to his cap, — saying, ‘’Your most obedient. Miss. Please to come this here way.” Catching up a bunch of keys, the man led me along a stone passage separated from the vestibule by massive doors; and at the end of that passage he put a key into the lock of a door as huge as those through which we had just passed. A sick- ening sensation came over me, — a feeling of faint- ness as if I were about to sink down in a swoon : but by a strong efibrt I clung as it were to con- sciousness, and entered the cell the door of which now stood open. As if however I had been brought to the entrance of a yawning cavern which was supposed to contain something dreadful in its obscure depths, — I plunged my first glance shudderingly into that cell ; and I perceived my poor father seated at the extremity— his elbow upon his knee, and his right hand supporting his head. I could not immediately catch a glimpse of the entire countenance : but as much as I saw of it, appeared to be very pale; and his hair was completely white. I sprang forward, without noticing the other persons who were in that cell ; and throwing myself at my sire’s feet, I looked up in anguish at his countenance, — murmuring, ‘‘Pa- ther ! dear father!” He looked upon me with a sort of half-sleepy, hah’ stolid smile: but in the vacancy and inane- ness of his gaze, I beheld no sign of recognition. His looks gradually sank; he muttered a few in- coherent words — and drooped his head again, as if it were heavy and languid, upon his hand. He did not know me: and this was a fresh pang to pierce my already wounded heart. “ Speak to the old genelraan. Miss,” said the keeper: “tell him who you be— just cajole him a bit : that’s the way to deal with them kind of loo-natticks.” “ Father — dearest father,” I murmuringly said, gently taking his hand and pressing it to my lips — while the tears were raining down my cheeks: “ do you not know me ? I am your daughter — your own child — your Rose! Speak to me, dear father — O speak to me, L conjure you!” Again he turned his eyes slowly upon me : again too did his countenance wear a sleepy, meaningless smile : but still he knew me not. I placed myself by his side upon the bench — I re- tained his hand in my own — I spoke softly, and kindly, and entreatingly : but still he knew me not ! He said a few incoherent things ; and then he rocked himself slowly backward and forward, — looking up at his companions and laughing vacantly. Those companions were three in number ; and as, following my father’s looks, I now glanced towards them, i saw that they had the air of being poor harmless creatures like himself. One had bedecked his hair with straws — the favourite coronets for those pitiably demented beings who fancy them- selves monarchs, saints, or deities— and are happy in the idea! The other two were gazing with stupid wonderment upon me : but it was at the straw-crowned idiot that my unfortunate parent specially directed his own looks, and at whose appearance of grotesque solemnity he laughed. Oh, my poor father ! what anguish was there in my soul at that instant when you, unconscious of my presence — or at least recognising me not — were being amused by the stolid majesty of that lunatic who fancied himself a king seated on a throne of state ! I remained for upwards of half-an-hour with my father— but could not succeed in obtaining his recognition. If for a few moments I was enabled to concentrate his looks upon me by the earnest words that I uttered, no light of intelligence flamed up in his eyes — no sudden start of the form afforded the slightest indication that memory was asserting its power once more. The keeper himself at length pronounced the task to be a vain one ; and when I embraced the unfortunate old man, he suffered my caresses, but compre- hended not wherefore they were bestowed. I de- parted — and proceeded straight to the office of the solicitor, whose counsel I required, little as I liked to meet the gaze of that man who evidently thought that I was not altogether blameless in respect to the calamity which had overtaken my sire. I informed the attorney of my wish to place my father in a comfortable asylum v.'here he would be well taken care of, and where every endeavour would be made to restore him to reason. The solicitor recommended an asylum kept by a Doctor Bradfield at Chester ; and he offered to accompany me thither, to efiTect the necessary arrangements. We accordingly took a post-chaise, and proceeded to Chester. The asylum was situated in the im- mediate neighbourhood : it was a large house, standing in the midst of spacious pleasure-grounds, enclosed by a wall of tolerable height. The soli- citor was well acquainted with Doctor Bradfield ; and he introduced me to that gentleman. The annual payment required on behalf of my father was stated to be a hundred and fifty pounds; and these terms I accepted, — at once depositing the first year’s amount in Doctor Bradficld’s hands. It was then arranged that the doctor himself would go and fetch my father on the following day; and I returned to Riverdale with the soli- citor. I spoke to the man of business about ray father’s pecuniary affairs ; and in order that his own income might be rendered available for his support, in case circumstances should prevent me from making the annual payments, — I instructed the solicitor to obtain information with regard to the outstanding debts, so that if it were possible I might liquidate them. On the following day I bad a parting interview with my parent : hut still he knew me not ; and now that I was enabled to reflect more calmly upon the subject, I thought that it was perhaps all for the best that the power of recognition should be thus denied him. I saw him depart in Doctor Bradfield’s carriage ; and the ari’angements which I had thus made for his welfare, took a con- siderable weight off my mind. I was compelled to remain another week at Riverdale, while the solicitor examined into my father’s affairs ; and I eventually found that such had been his extrava- gances under the influence c£ the abominable woman with whom he had lived, that it required upwards of three hundred pounds to liquidate his liabilities. This sum I was enabled to pay, — thanks to the bounty and forethought of Edwin 320 nOSA LAMLKTIT. Lusliington ; and tlius 1 freed rny father’s share of the Hawthorn income from all mortgage and fore- stalment. When I paid the solicitor’s bill, and was about to take ray departure from Itiverdale, be gave mo bis hand, — saying, “You have done your best— you have performed your duty in a way that will atone for much of the past. Rest assured that I shall not forget your father ; and as I am an oceasional visitor at Doetor BradGeld’s, I shall always make a point of seeing the poor old gentleman.” I thanked him — and we separated. I set out on my return to the Isle of Wight ; and my jour- ney thitherward was accomplished in a somewhat happier — or at all events more tranquil frame of mind, than I had experienced when on my w^ay to Riverdale. I bad written from Cheshire to Edwin Lush* ingtou, according to previous arrangement, — addressing my letters to him under a feigned name at the post-oflice at Southampton : for he was compelled to adopt every precaution in order to prevent our connexion from transpiring. My last communication informed him of the exact day when I hoped to be again at Sidmouth Villa ; and I reached home on the very evening that I bad thus specified, after an absence of a fortnight. Edwin was there to receive me. I told him all I had done, more in detail than I had been enabled to explain in my hastily written letters; and I warmly thanked him for having enabled me to provide for my unfortunate father, and to free his income from its embarrassments. I then inquired how Edwin had got on with his relatives ; and laughing gaily, he assured me that everything was quite right in that quarter. But it was now the middle of September ; and he intimated that he could not very well remain away at Cowes more than a month longer — for that when Autumn began to decline into Winter, it would appear strange to his relatives if he were to linger at a watering-place when his own home was situated at one. It was accordingly arranged between us that I should continue to occupy Sidmouth Villa for the next six weeks — that he would remain another month in the island— and at the end of that time he would return to Southampton, so as to have a clear fortnight in order to procure me a suitable home in the neighbourhood of that town. Time passed on — three weeks elapsed — and thus the month was nearly drawing to a close, when one day Edwin came to me with a somewhat troubled countenance, declaring that business of some importance compelled him to repair to Southampton at once— but tliat he hoped to return in tlie course of two or three days, so that we might settle our final arrangements before be quitted Cowes for good. “ i am afraid, Edwin,” I said, “ that your rela- tives suspect our connexion : and if this be the case ” “ It is nothing of the sort, dearest Rose !” he exclaimed : and though he at once resumed an air of clieer fulness, I could not help thinking it was somewhat forced. Hut I did not like to perplex or distress him widi (jnestions — lie was so kind and good luitured (ownitls irie, and appeared so rnucli eoneertu'd at I beirig eianpcllod to leave me sooner than he had anti- I cipated, (dthough our sepuration was to be but for so shore a time, lie d(q)arted : but there wa? some little misgiving in my mind that his con- nexion with me would not bo of v(M-y long dura- tion — or that if it were, it would involve him in some trouble. On the second day after his departure, I had occasion to make some purchases at Cowes; and accordingly, at about the hour of noon, I walked across to the town. As I was passing down one of the principal streets, I met Mrs. Tennyson. Slio was well pleased to see mo — shook me by the hand — and after greeting mo in a friendly manner, said, “ So you arc still residing in the island ?” “Yes,” I answcrccl : “with the exception of a single fortnight’s absence— on a somewhat painful business — I have dwelt hero ever since I last saw you.” “ Ah, my dear Mrs. Wilton !” said the lady, a deep mournfulness coming over her countenance, “ we have all our afilictions in this world : but sometimes they are brought upon us by our own follies ’And such,” she added, after a brief pause, and speaking in a low regretful tone, “ has been the case with me !” I scarcely knew what observation to make ; for the words she had just uttered were a sort of half- confidential revealing of the state of her mind : but without knowing more upon the point, it was diffi- cult for me to shape any expression of sympathy. At length, feeling the prolonged silence to be em- barrassing, I said, “ Are you lodging at the same house where we first became acquainted ?” “ No — I am temporarily staying at an hotel, close by,” answered Mrs. Tennyson. “ I only arrived at Cowes yesterday. It was at first my intention to have occupied the same lodging that I had before: but on making an inquiry, I learnt that the house had fallen into other hands, and is now occupied by a private family. Will you come with me to my hotel?— and we can converse together more conveniently than in the street.” I accepted the invitation : for methought Mrs Tennyson was inclined -to give me her confidence — and I bad some little degree of curiosity relative to this lady whom for a while I had half-suspected to be a spy upon my own actions. On reaching the hotel — which I may as well observe was not the one where Edwin Lushington had lived — I expected to find old Janet waiting for her mis- tress : but I saw nothing of that domestic. Mrs. Tennyson conducted me to her sitting-apartment, and offered me refreshments — which I however de- clined. “You must have thought me a somewhat strange person when we were residing beneath the same roof,” she observed, after we had conversed a little while upon indifferent topics ; “ and you must have likewise thought that old Janet’s pro- ceedings were somewhat singular. I otvc you an explanation — and I will give it. I owe it you,” she repeated, “because you showed me much kindness when I was ill ; and although my own conduct, as well as that of my servant, was but too well calculated to appear eccentric— if not extraordinary— in your eyes, you never displayed an undue curiosity.” Mrs. Tennyson paused for a few moments, and then proceeded in the following manner: — “ Eor the first fortnight that we lived together EOSA LAMBEET. 32L beneatli the same roof, I did not — as you will recollect— court your acquaintance ; and I will tell you wherefore. In the first place, I was guarded in respect to making any acquaintances at all; and in the second place, I considered it somewhat strange that a young and beautiful woman like you should be living so completely alone, without even so much as a female relative with you. And then, too, you were constantly walking out — which, to speak candidly, struck me as something suspicious. I hope that you are not offended at what I am saying — I am old enough to be your mother •” “ Ofiended — no, my dear madam !” I exclaimed : and indeed the worthy lady spoke with so much kind and good-tempered frankness— always tinged however by a certain mournfulness— that it was impossible to take offence at w'hat she was saying. “ Pray continue your explanations,” I added. “Well, since you take them so good-naturedly No. 41 I will do so,” she resumed. “As I was saying, I thought somewhat light of you at first: but when I found that you kept such regular hours, and that you were never out after dusk— when I perceived too that your demeanour was always so correct, and that you never received any visitors — I began to entertain a better opinion. When too I learnt from old Janet that you were invariably alone in your walks — that these were principally in the country, and therefore evidently for the sake of exercise — I felt angry with myself for having done you an injustice. It was in order to repair this injustice that I one day accosted you with kindness and invited you to my room. I was pleased with you ; and your attentions towards me during my illness, confirmed my good opinion. I experienced an interest in you ; — and had it not been that I was compelled for the sake of my health to leave Cowes so soon, our ac- quaintance might have grown into friendship. 323 llOSA LAAIUEltT. Now you understand, iny dear IMrs. Wilton, ! wherefore I was glad to see you just now, and [ why I. am about to speak coiifKlentially to you.” , Knowing how little 1 merited the worthy lady’s good opinion, I might have felt confused and em- barrassed at hearing inysclf thus eulogised,— only that I had for some time passed that period of my existence when the blush of shame was wont to mount very readily to my cheeks. “ Mine is a history,” ])rocecdcd Mrs. Tennyson, “of mingled unhappiness and folly ; and I deserve to be blamed as well as to bo pitied. Ten years ago 1 was left a widow, with a very handsome fortune. When the time of mourning w'as over, I had many suitors : but as I had reached an ago when I could scarcely any longer be ilattcred by compliments, or have any vanity of my own to gratify, I declined all offers — for I knew perfectly well that my fortune and not myself was the attraction. But two years ago I committed the most egregious piece of fully that a woman in rny circumstances could be guilty of. In a word, I did marry again : and I have only experienced the treatment which I might have foi’oseen. It is a painful subject to dwell upon. At the outset I liad intended to give you minuter details — but I cannot —you must pardon me for this brevity at the pre- sent point of my narrative. I said that I have experienced all that which I might have expected —indifference, neglect, almost complete abandon- ment on the part of my husband. I was bitterly punished : but still I was not so foolish, even in the midst of my infatuation, as not to feel that, as I just now said, I w'as as much to be blamed as pitied. My husband is extravagant : but I could have pardoned him this much, were it not for the suspicion which arose in my mind that he was wasting on other women the gold wherewith my purse supplied him : for I should inform you that when we married, I followed the earnest advice of my friends, and had my fortune all settled upon myself, with the exception of a small income of three hundred a year, with which the estate was charged for the benefit of my husband. Well, Mrs. Wilton, as I was saying, I could not endure the thought that my money should be lavishly spent upon other females : and yet I had no cer- tainty that such was the case. I am not an un- reasonable woman ; and I argued that if my husband merely expended the money in those recreations to which men are attached, and which are afforded by horses, dogs, yachts, living at hotels, and giving dinner-parties to their bachelor friends, — I would not stop the supplies which were disbursed upon these proceedings : but that if on the other hand I found my worst fears confirmed, and that the handsome allowance I made him was lavished upon women, 1 would at once adopt an CMjergetic part and withhold the means by which alone such prolligacy could bo supported. l)o you j consider that 1 acted unfairly, Mrs. Wilton t” “ V(nr argued to yourself with the soundest judgment and sense,” 1 responded, “ and your con- duct was characterized by much generosity and considerate forbearance.” “ 1 krnm very well,” resumed Mrs. Tennyson, j “that men will bo men, and that they will not I always remain tied to their wive.s’ apron-strings — particularly under such circumstances But no mutter 1” she ejaculated, catching back hor words as it were, at the very moment she was about to touch upon the jioint which was evidently most delicate and j)ainful for t he poor lady to approach. “ Of that no matter !” she repeated : “ let mo hasten and bring my narrative to a conclusion -. for, after all, I arn merely in citing it in order to afford you an explanation of that conduct on my part as well as on that of .Janet, which must have struck you as so singular. My husband, after passing the winter in London -away from home, bo it well understood, and altogether unaccom- panied by me— took it into his head to pay a visit to Cowes at the time the (^uccn came to stay at Osborne in consequence of the gnuit Chartist de- monstration at the beginning of April of the pre- sent year, lie wrote to t(;ll me that he liked the place so much he should remain hero for a while; and as he had fallen in with a number of his fashionable friends and acquaintances, it was an- other reason to induce him to prolong his visit. ; But a whisper soon reached my oars that he was j leading too gay a life — llirting with all the young I ladies in the place, — and even worse. Thus my j jealousy was aroused ; and I resolved to obtain more positive information relative to his proceed- ings. I accordingly wrote and told him that I was going to pass a few weeks with some relations in London: but instead of taking my way to the metropolis, I came secretly to Cowes. 1 brought with me a w'oman who some years back had been in my service, but who having married ahd then been left a widow, had settled down on some little competency. My husband did not know her ; and therefore she was just the very woman suited for my purpose. She was active and bustling, too, as W'ell as reserved and trustworthy — and if not par- ticularly acute, at all events quite intelligent enough to carry out my views. I took apartments in the house where you and I first met ■” “Ah, I comprehend!” I exclaimed : “your ob- ject was to watch the proceedings of Mr. Tenny- son !” — and more than ever w'as I smitten with my own folly at the time in having fancied that I myself was the object of that espial. “We settled ourselves there — at that lodging- house,” continued Mrs. Tennyson, not heeding my interruption : “ and now you understand why it was that I never went out in the day-time, but only after dusk, for the purpose of necessary exer- cise— and then in mean apparel, and with a thick veil over my countenance, so as to disguise myself as much as possible in case I should happen to en- counter my husband. But on the other hand, if I myself remained in-doors during the daylight, old J anet rambled about, as you could not fail to have observed. She thus kept a watch upon my hus- band to the utmost of her power : for I should in- form you that though I was quite convinced he knew her not, yet she knew him perfectly well by sight. There was a certain married lady— hand- j some and dark-eyed — with whose name his own i had been coupled in the rumours that had I’eacbed j my eai’s and had brought mo to Cowes : and the ; husband of that lady was an intimate friend of | his. Thus at the outset 1 strongly suspected some- thing wrong in that quarter : but I am fain to 1 confess that 1 did a foul wrong to the honour of I Ml’S. Itobertson ” [ “Ah!” I ejaculated. “I have seen that ttdy ” HOSA XAMBEET. I I know you have,” replied Mrs. Tennyson : “it was at a jeweller’s shop ” “ I remember the incident well,” I again inter- rupted her. “ And doubtless, when old Janet saw that lady at the door on the occasion to which you refer, she entered the shop with the pretext of buying something, but in reality to ascertain ! whether Mr. Tennyson himself might be there ?” I “ Yes— it was something of the sort,” continued the lady. “Moreover, to make a long story as I brief as I can, — old Janet failed to discover any- , thing prejudicial to my husband, or to warrant my I jealous feai’s. You may well suppose, Mrs. Wilton, ' that I was pleased with this result — though still per- haps I was not altogether convinced. But then came I my illness; and while it lasted, Janet was com- I pelled to remain in constant attendance upon me [ — so that the watching was altogether discon- j tinned. And no sooner was I convalescent, J when the physician ordered me to return to my , own home But I need say no more on that point : you are already aware of the fact. I have only a few more words to add — and these are to explain that from certain information I have re- ceived, I have every reason to suppose that my husband was too deep for me on the former occa- sion, but that I shall detect him now at last.” “ Is Janet still with you, Mrs. Tennyson ?” I inquired. i “No — she is laid up with illness,” was the lady’s response. “ I however sent over another person ! to Cowes a few days back, in consequence of the I information to which I have just now alluded. I have not seen her since — but I expect to hear I something important in the course of a day or two I — perhaps even this very afternoon.” At this moment a waiter entered the room to j inform Mrs. Tennyson that a female was inquiring ; for her ; and the lady ordered that she should be shown up to her bed-chamber, where she would j presently speak to her. j “ I perceive that you are engaged now, my dear I Mrs. Tennyson,” I said ; “ and I will not occupy j your time any longer.” ; “ But I should like to see you again,” she re- joined. “Where are you living? or will you favour me with another call ?” she hastily in- j quired. “ I will most probably do myself the pleasure of calling again on you to-morrow — and having shaken hands, we separated. On going forth from the hotel, I proceeded to finish my purchases, which I had not completed when I met Mrs. Tennyson ; and then I took my way homeward to Sidmouth Villa. The worthy ! lady’s explanations had, as a matter of course, totally dispelled any lingering remnant of sus- picion which might have been in my mind, to the effect that I was the object of her espial and of old Janet’s vigilance when we were staying at the lodging-house. I had not chosen to tell her where I resided, for fear she should take it into her head to pay me a visit at the villa, — in which case, when Lushington should have returned, she might dis- • cover that I was not the respectable character she so flatteringly took me to be; and though now ! that my curiosity concerning her was gratified, I ' cared little or nothing for her acquaintance, yet I no one chooses to be unnecessarily unmasked where 1 a favourable opinion has been previously formed. 323 On the following morning I received a letter from Lushington, stating that he was sure to be with me in the evening ; and I therefore resolved to have a handsome banquet prepared to celebrate his return. His note was concise ; and in respect to his relatives, it merely intimated that he had every reason to believe it was still all right and secure in that quarter. I again went over to Cowes in the middle of the day, for the purpose of ordering out such delicacies as were needful for the contemplated banquet ; and when in the town, I recollected my promise to call again upon Mrs. Tennyson ; for I had an hour to spare, and thought I might just as well learn the progress of the sin- gular proceedings in which she was engaged in respect to her unfaithful husband. But on calling at the hotel, I was informed that Mrs. Tennyson, had left suddenly that morning. “ Ah !” thought I to myself, “ she has got upon some new track in respect to that Lothario of a husband of hers ; and no doubt she has a pretty exposure in store for the unfortunate wight 1” I began to retrace my way homeward, — soon forgetting all about Mrs. Tennyson and her affairs, and occupying my thoughts with other subjects. I wondered — as indeed I had often and often done since I parted from him at Sandgate — what had become of my brother Cyril, and whether he were doing better for himself on the Continent than for some years he had done in England. I thought too of my poor father — of the recent tragedy in which Sir John Haverstock lost his life— of Joanna’s marriage with Eeginald Eortescue— and of my ap- proaching re-union with Edwin Lushington. It was four o’clock when I reached the villa; and dinner was ordered for six — by which time I ex- pected Edwin to be with me. My evening toilet was performed ; and as the hour for his coming approached, I watched anxiously from the drawing- room window. Presently I saw a fly stop at the garden-gate ; and thinking that it brought Edwin, I sped forth to receive him : but to my astonishment, and not a little to my annoyance, I beheld Mrs. Tennyson alight. Expecting my protector, and hoping to pass a cheerful evening with him, I was by no means well pleased at the prospect of being pes- tered with the matrimonial squabbles of this elderly lady : and whatsoever little amount of cm’iosity I had experienced in respect to the issue of her adventures, it was now all absorbed in the feeling of vexation which her inopportune presence occasioned me. What could I do? To refuse to receive her was out of the question : and af ter her civility towards me, how could I possibly avoid inviting her to dinner ? But Edwin would be j coming : indeed I expected him every moment : ! and when she found that I was thus visited by a ^ single young gentleman, of good looks and fashion- | able appearance, she would naturally put a very : sinister construction upon the circumstance. All these reflections swept through my mind during the few instants that I stopped short ou the threshold of the front door ; and Mrs. Tenny- son was now advancing along the garden-walk. For politeness’ sake I was compelled to go forward to meet her; and the instant my eyes settled upon her countenance, it struck me that she had re- ceived the confirmation of all her worst fears in re- spect to her husband— for there was something so 324 IlOSA tAM-nETlTL ' Bingular in lior looks. Her manner was not hosv- I ever the loss cordial towards me : for shaking mo I fervently by the hand, she said, “ My dear Mrs. I Wilton, pray excuse my visit at this unseasonable hour : but as I leave the island to-morrow, I could not deny myself the pleasure of seeinfj you once more. Indeed, I felt myself bound to do so. It was by the merest accident I learnt the place of your abode from the driver of that lly ; and hear- in{T tliat you dwelt all alone in this charming seclusion, I flattered myself that I might thus venture to intrude upon you.” “No intrusion, I can assure you, my dear Mrs. Tennyson !” I said, putting on the most cordial aspect, — although I wished the elderly lady safe at her own residence in Hampshire, wherever it might be, and all her matrimonial squabbles as far off as possible. “ Pray walk in.” “ I have been across to Newport,” she con- tinued ; — “you can guess about what business and I have had a day of fatigue, worry, and annoyance.” While she was thus speaking, we entered the hall ; and as the dining-room door stood open, and she saw the dinner-cloth laid, she exclaimed, “ You have not dined yet — and I am intruding upon you at such an hour !” “ I have already assured you, my dear Mrs. Tennyson, that it is no intrusion ” i “But dear me !” she ejaculated, again glancing into the dining-room, “ I see that you are about to have company the table is laid for two ” “Yes— but— but— it is only my — my brother f whom I expect :” — and I made up my mind to ; get rid of Mrs. Tennyson as quickly as possible. I “ Oh, if it’s only your brother,” she said, “ it 1 is different ! Indeed, I shall be delighted to form i his acquaintance : for if he be as agreeable as his sister is amiable, such pleasing company will help to cheer my spirits. I have not forgotten how we agreed that, should circumstances permit, our acquaintance was to ripen into friendship : and therefore, my dear Mrs. Wilton,” continued the lady, “ I shall use you as a friend. Though dis- pirited and unhappy, yet I am literally famished ! I Not a morsel of food has passed my lips since an early hour in the morning — and I shall invite myself to dine with you.” » “ I shall be most happy,” were the words which courtesy compelled mo to utter — though I really I felt, if not actually miserable, at all events deeply annoyed at this obtrusive self-invitation on Mrs. j Tennyson’s part.. I “You are most kind,” she exclaimed: “and I shall avail myself of your hospitality Ah, but the fly !” “ Yes, indeed — the fly !” I ejaculated, clutching at the hope that the fact of the vehicle being in j attendance, would lead her to alter her mind about staying to dinner, and cut her visit short. “ There is plenty of room in the coach-house and stable, ma’am, to put up the chaise and horse,” ! was the most inopportune and unfortunate inter- I jeetion of the footman, who at this moment enter- ] ing the hull, caught those last ejaculatory expres- sions from our lips. The man meant no harm : but I nevertheless felt at the moment a bitter indignation against liim. Compelled however to veil it, and for courtesy’s sake to preserve my assumed cordiality of manner, 1 had no alternative but to adopt tho suggestion: and I hastened to say, “Yes— tho vcliiclo can bo put up— and tho driver shall bo taken care of in tho kitchen.” “ You are really too kind,” said Mrs. Tennyson ; “ and I am afraid I am putting you to a groat in- convenience. Has your brother arrived yet?” “ No — I expect him every moment,” was my answer: and just as I had spoken, another vehicle drove up to tho gate. “ Mary !” I cried, thus summoning tho housemaid ; “ show Mrs. Tenny- son up to my chamber, that she may put off her things: ” — then accosting the young woman, 1 hur- riedly whispered to her, “ Itemembcr that IVIr. Lushington is my brother — and his name is— is — Lambert !” Tho housemaid gave me a significant look, as much as to imply that she understood and would obey ; and then I quickly added, in tho same low tone as before, “ And on leaving tho chamber, conduct Mrs. Tennyson to the drawing-room.” The maid now led the way up-stairs, Mrs. Ten- nyson following her ; and I hastened forth into tho garden to meet Edwin Lushington, who was just alighting from the fly that had brought him from Cowes. Ho pressed my hand fervidly; and 1 said, “ I am so rejoiced to see you, my dear Edwin ! — but such a vexatious thing has occurred !” “ Indeed, Rose ! what is it P” he quickly asked, as we stopped short together in the midst of tho gravel-walk. “ Oh, nothing to cause you any apprehension, dear Edwin,” I rejoined : “ only a lady of my acquaintance— a Mrs. Tennyson— has dropped in to dinner. Indeed, she invited herself — I could not possibly get rid of her ” “ Do not annoy yourself on that account,” in- terrupted Edwin, appearing to be relieved by my explanation, as he might very naturally have concluded in the first instance that it was something worse. “ Any friend of yours will be welcome to me ; and though I certainly could have wished that we might be alone together, — yet as it was impossible for you to be guilty of an act of rudeness, we must make the best of it. But who is this Mrs. Tennyson ? I do not remember that you ever spoke to me of her before.” “ I had altogether forgotten her until yesterday, when we accidentally met. She is an elderly lady,” I added, with an arch smile, — “ somewhat of the frumpish species — and therefore I am not at all afraid of your falling in love with her.” “ Were she as beautiful as an angel,” rejoined Lushington, with an affectionate glance, “you would have no cause for jealousy.” “ Como then, Edwin— dinner is ready to be served up. But, by the bye, I forgot something— and it is the most important of all. You are to pass as my brother.” “ Your brother ?” ejaculated Lushington. “ Yes — as my brother — and pray be cautious how you play the part. Tho truth is, Mrs. Tenny- son is a highly respectable lady — she believes me to bo tho same ” “ Then, of course, you must not suffer in her esti- mation,” answered tho willing and good-tempered Edwin. “ Well, dear Rose, I will bo your brother for tho nonce : but do not look too archly at me across tho dinner-table, or I shall burst out laugh- ing. Ah, by tho bye, what name am I to bear ? — .( EOS A. LAMBEET; 325 because it would be somewhat inconvenient not to recognise one’s own special appellation.” “ Lambert is your name, Edwin ; it waS the first that entered into my head.” “ And naturally so, being in reality your own.” We could neither of us help laughing at the comedy which was thus being played : but as up- wards of ten minutes had now elapsed since I left Mrs. Tennyson to the charge of Mary, I feared she would think it strange, or at least somewhat uncourteous, that I did not join her in the drawing-room. “ Come, my dear Edwin,” I said, “ and be in- troduced— as Mr. Lambert, you know— to Mrs. Tennyson.” Again we laughed gaily at the ludicrous scene which was in progress ; and we proceeded to the drawing-room. As I opened the door, the worthy lady was stooping over a book of prints that lay upon the table ; and she had her back towards us. Edwin was a few paces behind me: but the in- stant he reached the threshold, I said, “ My dear Mrs. Tennyson, permit me to introduce my brother, Mr. Lambert.” She slowly looked round. I was struck by the singular expression of her countenance — an ejacu- lation burst from Edwin’s lips — and as I glanced in astonishment towards him, I was still more struck by the aspect of his own features. His cheeks were crimson — his looks were full of con- fusion, bewilderment, and dismay. A light flashed in unto my mind — I comprehended it all — the false Mrs. Tennyson was the veritable Mrs. Lushing- ton ! CHAPTER XLIV. DIFFICULTIES. The silence which reigned for a few moments, and which was so cruelly awkward for Edwin and my- self, was broken by Mrs. Lushington. “ I was not aware, sir,” she said, with bitter sarcasm in her accents, “ that your real name was Lambert: because you espoused me in that of Lushington. Equally ignorant was 1 that you possessed so amiable, so well-conducted, and so virtuous a sister as my very dear friend Mrs. Wil- ton— the sweetest yoxmg widow I ever was ac- quainted with.” The reader may picture to himself the singular appearance which the group of three formed at 1 the time, — Mrs. Lushington with a malignant sar- 1 donism in her looks — myself overwhelmed with i confusion — Edwin stricken speechless with dismay, j and utterly bewildered how to act. i “ Little did I think yesterday, madam,” re- I sumed Mrs. Lushington, now dropping her tone of j irony, and surveying me with mingled disdain and disgust, “ that when I was addressing you as a friend, and revealing the history of my sorrows, I was in the presence of my own husband’s pen- sioned harlot. But I learnt the fact ere you had time to cross the threshold of the hotel on taking your departure ; and if I this evening so far over- came my sense of loathing towards you as to cross your threshold of pollution, it was only that I might have the satisfaction of unmasking you both in my presence. Edwin,” she continued, now turning towards her husband, “everything is at an end between you and me. You have your three hundred a-year — but not another penny from my purse shall find its way into your pocket 1 Be warned likewise that I shall appeal to the tribunals for a divorce. And now I leave you to the delectable society of this woman, whom I do not think you can henceforth afford to keep in luxury and extravagance with your three hundred a-year. Stand aside, sir— and let me pass.” During all the first portion of this long speech, Edwin had stood as if still petrified with dismay and confusion : but when his wife tauntingly alluded to me as “ this woman,” he started— his nostrils dilated — his eyes flashed fire— and his cheeks crimsoned with indignation. I flung upon him an entreating look that ho would not prolong, by recriminations, the painful scene. He bit his lip — and with a haughty dignity stood away from the door to let Mrs. Lushington pass forth. With another glance of mingled disdain and abhorrence flung upon me, she strode out of the drawing-room ; and Edwin, hastily closing the door behind her, caught me in his arms, exclaiming, “ Weep not, dearest Rose ! — for heaven’s sake, suffer not what- soever she may have said, to vex and annoy you !” “ But you, dear Edwin,” I responded, as the tears streamed down my cheeks, “ are ruined— you are altogether undone !” “ Do you like me the less. Rose ?” he asked, in a gentle tone of reproach. “ No, no — for heaven’s sake fancy not that I am selfish ! I implore you not to do me so much injustice! I entreat ” “ Pardon me, dearest Rose — I ought not to have addressed you thus! So long as we are not separated, I care little for the rest. We shall manage somehow — I am not entirely a pauper— and though three hundred a year will not go far But let us not look into the future now,” he suddenly interrupted himself: “let us think only of the enjoyment of the present. Ah ! I hear the fly departing with my wife : let us sit down to dinner— and in a glass of champagne we will endeavour to drown the recollection of all that has just taken place.” I dried my tears, and looked as cheerful as I could, — though I inwardly felt much on Edwin’s account. What a perfect comedy of error had my acquaintance with Mrs. Lushington proved ! All the time I fancied she was watching me, she was. espying the actions of her husband’; and after all, that husband became my protector! No wonder that old Janet should have roamed about in the country at the time he was scouring on horseback in every direction to look after me; — and if I had only given him encouragement at an earlier period than I did, she would have detected us to- gether. But when she found that I stopped not to speak to him — that I diverged into the fields, as if purposely to get out of his way — she must have set me down as the very paragon of prudence and propriety. And then that day, too, at the jewel- ler’s shop, — when she saw that I really returned thither to fetch my forgotten purse, and that not a syllable nor a look of recognition was exchanged between me and Lushington— but that, on the contrary, he was chatting with Mrs. Robertson, — I 82(1 •ROflA TiAMnERT. I I must; have risen still liiglier in .Janet’s estimation. And bo it observed that at the time wlien I used to meet Edwin every day in the shady lane, pre- vious to my removal to Sidmouth Villa, .Janet was in close attendance tipon the sick-bed of her mis- tress ; and the watchinfjs as well as the long ram- bles on the old woman’s j^art had ceased. Thus ' for a period circumstances had favoured my con- nexion with Lushington; and if ho had only dealt frankly and candidly with me in respect to his juarriage, we might have adopted such precautions as to have avoided the unpleasant discovery and exposure which had now taken place. Yet it will be recollected that on the occasion wdicn Edwin I spoke of the necessity of acting guardedly, 1 had ! inquired abruptly and pointedly whether lie was married, — so that by my manner as well as by my ■words at the time, he was led to fancy that if ho avowed his married condition, I should I’efuse to accept his protection. But, as be now informed me, he had often and often had it upon the tip of I his tongue to acquaint me with his true position ; I and he had refrained from the fear of seeming ridi- i culous in my eyes on account of having married a I lady old enough to be his mother. I “ And now tell me, my dear Edwin,” I said, as i we sat together over the dessert, and our spirits were cheered somewhat by the exhilarating juice of Epernay — “ tell me what really took you to South- ampton the other day ?” “ There is no longer any necessity for disguise,” answered Lushingtou : “ and therefore I must can- didly admit that I was alarmed at my wife’s pro- ceedings. But first it is requisite to explain that when she was staying in this island under the name of Mrs. Tennyson — as you have been ex- plaining to me — I thought all the time she was with some relatives in London. When you went to see your father, I returned home to my wife at Southampton ; and a letter wLich I received from one of those relatives in London, showed me that she had never been with them at all. I spoke to her upon the subject ; and she answered me curtly, that as I was accustomed to go away and do as I liked, she was not to be called to an account for her own actions. Of course I did not think for a moment that an elderly woman as she is, had been doing anything wrong : but there was a vague suspicion in my mind that her absence from home under pretext of visiting her relatives, was not altogether unconnected with my proceedings. Still I could form no definite surmise upon the point : but 1 charged a friend of mine at Southampton — 1 ere I rejoined you here on your return from I Cheshire— to drop me a line in case my wife j should undertake another journey from home. A I letter to this effect I received the other day ; and i it informed me that Mrs. Lushiugton had suddenly iJisappeared. So then I thought the best thing 1 I could do, Would be to go across to Southampton and stay at the house for a few days, — a procecd- 1 ing which I hoped would servo a double purpose. In the first jdaco I could make certain inquiries ol the servants, in order to ascertain whether any- thing particular liad tr!inHj)ircd to induce Mrs. Jmshington to (juit her home so suddenly; and in the second place, 1 thought it jn'obablo that if she I by any means heard of my return to the house, she would bo thrown off the scojit and would conto back likewise.” “ She must have known that you wore at home,” r observed: “ or else, on arriving in tlie Islo of Wight, she would not have gone openly about the street as she was doing when 1 met her.” “No doubt one of her own maids hastily de- spatched her tho intelligence of my arrival at home: and equally certain is it that from the same source she must have learnt my intond-d departure from homo again to-day ; so that fore- seeing you and T should bo together in tho evening, she planned that pretty littlo scene which has taken place.” “ But wherefore, my dear Edwdn,” I inejuirod, “ did you tell mo in your note that all was right in a certain quarter, when the coutinued abscnco of INIrs. Lushington from home must havo rnado you suspect that things were all wrong?” “My dear Itose,” answered Lushington, “I had not tlio slightest conception that my wife had coino to Cowes. On tho contrary, — when questioning some of the servants, I was led to belicvo that sho had this time really gone to her relatives in Lon- don ; and so I fancied that it was cither in spito at my absence, or else perhaps to pour out tho tale of her grievances. In a word, i foresaw not the storm that was brewing. And perhaps too,” he added tenderly, “ I was over- anxious to set your mind at rest ; for I saw that when we parted, you were desponding and haunted with misgivings. But tell me, dear Bose, that you Lave forgiven me for not having dealt more candidly with you and confessed my married state ?” “ I cannot bo angry with you, Edwin,” I an- swered : “for you risked everything on my account — and now you will be compelled, 1 fear, to make the most serious sacrifices ” “ You fear V he exclaimed. “But the phrase im- plies an apprehension only on your part : whereas it is certain that everything is at an end between me and the old lady. She will get a divorce ” “ Come, Edwin,” I said, “ we are in better spirits now, and can talk the matter over with less painful feelings than at first. You married that lady for her money ” i “ Precisely so, Bose — because I had none of my i own. She fell so desperately in love with me— j grew so infatuated, and gave me such meaning looks— that I saw I had only to make her an offer to be accepted at once. Candidly speaking, the temptation was too great for a youth of one-and- twenty who was somewhat fond o^ pleasure, and had no means of his own to procure it. Her re- lations endeavoured to their utmost to dissuade her from the match : but she was resolute. They how- | ever succeeded in leading her to stipulate that the j great bulk of her fortune should remain settled j upon herself ; and so here I am, cut off as it were with a paltry three hundred a year, after having ; undergone all the ridicule of marrying a dame old ' enough, as I just now said, to be my mother !” 1 “ There is a point to bo argued, my dear Edwin ;” I resumed ; “ and in the first place you really ! ought not to speak so disrespectfully of her ” [ “What! after tho mauucr sho treated yonT' \ ho indignantly exclaimed. “ It was natural enough,” I rejoined ; “ and I am even grateful that sho did not overwhelm mo with all those reproaches, taunts, and revilings to which sho would have been justified iu giving vent. Now listen to mo ! Sho is not an unreasonable EOSA liAMBEET. 327 woman— she is not an ungenerous one. I have already repeated to you everything she said to me yesterday at the hotel : she knows that as a young man you ai'e not likely to remain tied to her apron strings— she is perfectly willing that you should indulge in all proper pleasures and becom- ing recreations— but it is easy to put one-self in her position and comprehend perfectly well that she must wince at the idea of her own money being used by her own husband for the support of other women. Now, you see I speak candidly ” “And to what, my dear Eose, is this long sermon to lead ?” asked Edwin, with a slight display of impatience. “ Simply to this,” I rejoined, — “ that if you consulted your own interest, you would endeavour to make your peace with your wife ; and from what I know of her, I do not think she will be found implacable.” “ Tell me, Eose,” said Lushington, rising from his chair and speaking severely, “ that because I have suddenly become poor, I am no longer such a protector as will suit your views, — tell me this, and I shall understand you. We will in that case part at once !” “ You see, Edwin,” I responded, throwing my arms about his neck, and caressingly compelling him to resume his seat, “ that I am unfortunately so situated I cannot give you good advice without having a wrong construction put upon my motives. I appear most selfish at the very instant I am in reality most disinterested ” “ Pardon me, Eose!” exclaimed Edwin : “I see that I have done you an injustice. But pray do not again proffer me such counsel, however well- meant it may be. I have had enough of marriage with an old woman ; and if you and I were to separate this instant, nothing would induce me to return to her. When penniless, I married her for her money : I would rather become penniless again than go back to live with her. Now, then, you understand me. If you yourself wish us to sepa- rate, it shall be so; and not a syllable of reproach will I breathe at parting. But if, on the other hand, you are suflaciently influenced by my love for I do sincerely love you, Eose to re- main with me, both of us cheerfully agreeing to struggle on in a pecuniary sense as best we can, with the small means at our command ” “ Not another word, Edwin, upon the point !” I interrupted him : for I was deeply touched by his language, his tone, and his manner. “ It shall h© as you say.” We embraced each other; and as by tacit con- sent, exerted ourselves to pass the remainder of the evening in as good spirits as possible. There was now no longer any necessity for Edwin to be upon his guard, or to visit me stealthily : the discovery had been made in the quarter where it was dreaded — and thus the worst had happened. He therefore took up his abode altogether at Sidmouth Villa ; and a few days after the scene with his wife, we compared the contents of our purses. The result was the some- what unpleasant discovery that in the shape of ready cash we had not twenty pounds in the house; and there were upwards of a hundred owing to different tradesmen in Cowes. Edwin’s income was paid half-yearly — namely, in July and J anuary ; and it wanted three months to the term when the next dividend would be due. That would be only a hundred and fifly pounds; and at the rate of our expenditure, we should owe five or six hundred, — even supposing that the trades- men would go on trusting us. I should observe that Edwin’s income was so settled he could not forestall it, nor could he raise a sum by means of mortgage. I suggested economy : but he would not listen to that. I saw that ho was careless and extravagant in money-matters, — thinking only of the present, and utterly reckless for the future ; and I was filled with serious apprehensions lest he should involve himself in some inexti'icable diffi- culty. I proposed to put down the horses: hut he declared that if we did, the tradesmen would grow suspicious at once and would insist upon im- mediate payment of their accounts. Then I pro- posed that by the sale of my jewellery we should liquidate the outstanding debts at the time of putting down the horses, — 'Which would leave our credit unimpaired. But he vowed that he would never consent to such a sacrifice on my part : he talked recklessly of “ something turning up ” — and speedily led the conversation into another channel. Thus we went on living in our wonted style, — paying nobody, and maintaining the appearance of people with two or three thousand a year. I frequently remonstrated, and ventui’ed upon various economical suggestions: but Edwin always evaded the subject as much as he could ; and if I persevered in the discourse, it rendered him miserable. So at last I desisted altogether from the topic; and when I had no longer the heart to envisage our increasing difficulties, nor the courage to insist upon grappling with them, I abandoned myself to the flow of circumstances with almost as much recklessness as Edwin him- self displayed. At length the bills came pouring in ; and as they remained unsettled, the tradesmen began to look discontented — then suspicious. The servants’ wages too were in arrear— rent was due — and duns were multiplying their visits at the door. Edwin now appeared to feel the necessity of doing something ; and having accidentally heard that his wife was in London, he resolved to go across to Southampton to see two or three friends there, and borrow of them a few hundred pounds. I knew perfectly well that now his separation from his wife was a matter of notoriety, and he was reduced to comparative poverty, he would not succeed in obtaining a single shilling from bis summer-day friends : but I expressed not my fears, — on the contrary, I encouraged him to depart, for I had my own special scheme in view. He went away one morning, promising to be with me by the evening of the next day at latest ; and no sooner was he gone, than I ascended to my chamber to estimate the worth of my jewellery. I had a quantity which I had purchased with a por- tion of the five hundred pounds which Alvanly had given me after I was robbed by Toby Gray- son ; I had likewise the casket which Mr. Fenton I gave me at Brighton as a recompense for restoring his pocket book, and which the bankruptcy officials had suffered me to retain ; and I had several handsome gifts from Edwin Lushington himself. I thought it would be strange if all these would not produce me at least five hundred pounds : for in the aggregate they had cost more than double 328 r.OSA LAMBERT. that amount. But live liuiulrccl pounds would re- lieve us from all our present difficulties. 1 did not choose to apply to a jeweller at Cowes, as I feared that the transaction would become known and completely ruin our credit with the tradesmen, even though our bills should bo paid. I accord- ingly proceeded to Newport— a town in the centre of the island, and where I was totally unknown. On arriving there with my jewellery — which I had done up in a parcel as compact as possible — I en- tered the handsomest-looking goldsmith’s establish- ment, and intimated my desire to raise money upon the property which I produced. The gold- smith— evidently not altogether unaccustomed to such transactions — invited mo to step into his private parlour, as customers might enter the shop at any moment. I did so ; and he examined the jewels one by one with a critical eye. “ And what estimate, ma’am,” ho at length in- quired, “ do you put upon all these ?” “Some were presents,” I answered; “some I pui’chased myself:” — and hereupon I pointed out those to which I had last alluded, specifying as near as I could recollect the different sums they had cost me. “But the whole, ma’am,” said the jeweller, — what is the amount you had it in your idea to demand ?” “I would much rather,” I rejoined, “that you should name what you could afford to give ; and then I will decide whether it is sufficiently com- mensurate with my necessities to warrant the con- clusion of the bargain.” “ Necessities and bargain !” ejaculated a voice behind me, speaking petulantly. “ Oh ! I beg ten thousand pardons, ma’am ! I really thought this dilatory rogue of a jeweller was discussing some business-matter with his daughter.” My back was towards the door of the parlour previous to this interruption ; and I was so en- grossed in my negotiation with the goldsmith I had not heard that door open. On looking round, I perceived that the unceremonious intruder was a gentleman of about sixty — sallow-complexioned and bilious-looking. He was of the middle height ; and though evidently by nature of a strong build, was thin— not to say exactly wasted ; and he had the air of an invalid. In re'spect to his apparel, he was somewhat slovenly, and wore large thick shoes : but he carried in his hand a cane with a knob of unmistakably massive gold: a heavy gold chain with numerous handsome seals depended from his fob :— in a word, he looked like a man of substance, notwithstanding that his toilet was sus- ceptible of improvement. “ Your most obedient. Sir James,” said the jeweller, with a bow of the profoundest respect. “ But really I am engaged with this lady for the moment •” “ And 1 bog tho lady ten thousand pardons for my abrupt intrusion,” said the elderly gentleman. “ The shop-buy did not toll mo you were en- gaged — ho merely said you were in your par- lour ” “ And you looked in, Sir James,” observed tho jeweller, with another cringing salutation, “ to inquire relative to tho service of plate? Tho crests uro nearly finished engraving — and you will positively have the whole sent homo to-morrow oveniug.” “ Your maxim, I suppose, is ‘ Better late than never,”’ returned Sir .Tames testily. “ But 1 shall give you this one chance of redeeming your pro- mise : and mind that you keep it. Madam,” ho added, turning towards me, and making a polite bow, “I have again to apologize lor this in- trusion.” I was somewhat annoyed that ho should have thus persisted in remaining in tho room after ho had seen his mistake in respect to tho goldsmith’s daughter — if a mistake it really were— which I was very much inclined to doubt; and by tho manner in which he scanned every article of tho jewellery upon the table, and then steadily surveyed me from head to foot, I set him down as a trouble- some old fellow who was excessively pertinacious in gratifying his curiosity. I therefore merely re- turned his polite bow with a cold inclination of tho head : and ho quitted the room. “ That is Sir James Thornley,” said tho jeweller when he had taken bis departure. “ He is an immensely rich nabob — only recently returned from India — and as eccentric as he is wealthy. All the young ladies in Newport are setting their caps at him ; for he is unmarried ” “ But about our negotiation,” I interrupted tho loquacious jeweller: for I was completely indif- ferent to the affairs of Sir James Thornley. After a great deal of bargaining on my part and of haggling on that of the goldsmith, I succeeded in obtaining from him the sum of four hundred and fifty pounds, for which amount be wrote me a cheque, — informing me that the banking establish- ment was in the same street and scarcely ten minutes’ walk from his shop. I accordingly pro- ceeded towards the bank: but recollecting my ad- venture with Toby Grayson at Cheltenham, I looked carefully around to assure myself that I was not dogged nor watched by any evil-disposed person. I saw Sir James Thornley lounging about in the street ; and as I passed him, he bowed . again, — exhibiting likewise an inclination to renew his discourse with me. But I flitted hastily by, and soon gained the bank. While I was waiting at the counter to receive the money. Sir James Thornley entered; and placing himself close by my side, he took a slip of paper and wrote a cheque. “ Four hundred and fifty pounds, ma’am,” ex- claimed the clerk, passing me over the amount of the goldsmith’s cheque; and then taking up the old nabob’s draft, he said, “Five hundred for you, Sir James? How will you please to have it, sir ?” Sir James Thornley answered the question ; and as I lingered a few instants to count over the bank-notes which I had just received, I was thus detained until the clerk gave the Baronet hi-s own money. He thrust the notes, without counting them, into his pocket, and was therefore enabled to follow me close as I issued /'rom the bank. I had no doubt that he was desirous to speak to me; and a feeling of curiosity prevented me from deny- ing him the opportunity. “ I beg your pardon,” he said, again making mo a polite bow as ho overtook mo in the street, — “ but I am afraid that from what little I saw at tho goldsmith’s just now, you are not in circum- stances so allluont us you might bo ? It would give mo grout pleasure to assist you.” EOSA lAT.IBEE'^ 329 “Somewliat a singular proposal,” I answ^ered, “ when coming from one stranger to another.” “Nay — I will be very frank,” rejoined the nabob. “ I admire you — and this sentiment of admiration prevents me from feeling myself alto- gether a stranger to you. I will say more. I am a man of the world and tolerably keen: I ob- served the nature of the articles you disposed of to that goldsmith : they were evidently presents— or at least most of them — which a gentleman would make to a lady. Somehow or another the conjec- ture entered my head that you are disposing of your property under circumstances which, you perhaps hope, may amend by particular means ” “ You speak enigmatically enough,” I remarked, with a slightly ironical smile. “ Permit me to walk by your side along this street,” said Sir J ames j “ and any particulars you No. 42 may condescend to give me of yourself, will be listened to with interest.” “ I have really no time nor inclination,” I re- sponded, “ to play the part of a heroine in affliction in the public street.” “It is my duty to yield to this decision,” re- plied the nabob politely : “ but inasmuch as you choose to tell me nothing, will you at least hear something from my lips ? That money which you have just received, will soon go: perhaps it is ; already anticipated by debts— for you spoke of | your necessities at the goldsmith’s shop. When j next you require a supply of funds, will you con- ! descend to make me your banker ? A note ad- ' dressed to Sir J ames Thornley in this town, shall receive my prompt attention. And now will you be offended if I proffer you some little succour beyond that which you have raised for yourself? It will serve to keep in your remembrance that 830 noaA LAMIJKIIT. there is such a person in the world as vSir James Thornlcy, who will ho proud and happy to em- bellish that beautiful person of yours with far richer jewels than those which you have ere now been compelled to part with. In a word, I beg to place at your service the amount of the che(|U0 which 1 just now drew.” “ 1 am exceedingly obliged to you,” was my answer, given with mingled irony and hauteur : “ but Sir James Thornley’s knowledge of the world has proved but of little service to him — or else there must be something in rny appearance which I had not hitherto comprehended— if it bo deemed that I am one to be thus picked up in the streets, or to sell myself to a stranger all in a moment. I wish you good day, sir.” Sir James Thornley — nothing abashed by my address, and yet with no supercilious insolence, but with the utmost politeness — made me another bow; and we separated. I returned to the place where I had left the lly that brought mo to New- port — and returned to the villa, which was only about four miles distant. Jj''or the remainder of the afternoon I occupied myself in looking over the tradesmen’s bills ; and I found that when they were all paid, together with the rent and the arrears of servants’ wages, there would be but a hundred pounds remaining. I therefore knew that unless Edwin should consent to a complete reform in our expenditure, we should in a few months’ time be as badly off as ever — or I might say much worse, as there would remain no stock of jewellery wherewith to raise supplies. On the following morning I went into Cowes for the purpose of paying the bills ; and of this task I acquitted myself with the air of one who had not in reality been embarrassed for money, but merely treated pecuniary matters with that sort of indifference which is frequently exhibited by persons in even the very best circumstances. The tradesmen were all bowing and scrapipg : two or three of them uttered some words of apology for having pressed for payment: but I treated their remarks with an air of surprise, — carelessly observing, '•' I really was not aware you had sent at all — the servants never mentioned it : but they are terribly forgetful — and the shopkeepers to whom I thus spoke evidently believed that I was sincere. Having liquidated all the accounts, I was pass- ; ing along a street with the purpose of returning homeward, — when I heard my Christian name sud- denly ejaculated; and my brother Cyril stood be- fore me. Three years had elapsed since I last saw him, — which, as the reader will recollect, was at Sandgatc, after his escape from the convict- hulk : and so far as his physical appearance went, he was looking much better than on the occasion referred to. His toilet was likewise somewhat I auporior to the tatterdemalion plight in which I I liad last seen him; but still it was threadbare, and in every detail indicative of poverty, j ‘'Well, this is fortunate!” exclaimed Cyril: “^for I was just at tlio moment thinking how the I (lciK;e I should maiiago to dine to-day ; and oven. I if the alfair of dinner were successfully got over, tliere would have remained the eciually dillicult consideration of a lodging for the niglit.” “ You have not jwosporod in the world, Cyril F” I said, contemplating him mournfully. “ J’rospered indeed !” ho ejaculated with Homo degree of bitterness : “ J have given up all li(q)o of ihat; and if 1 can only manage to knock on from day to day, I consider myself fortunate. Jf I were of the other sox, and as handsome us you, Itoso ” “Silence, Cyril!”! (juickly interrupted him. “You, as my brother but have you heard,” I asked, thus abruptly changing the topic— “have you heard what has happened to our poor father F” Not I indeed ! You do not think I should bo in a very great hurry to show myself at Haw- thorn. But what has happened ? If the old gentleman is dead, his deatli must have taken place some time ago, as you are not in mourning.” I was shocked at his heartlessness: but knowing how useless it was to remonstrate, 1 simply in- formed him of the fact that our sire was the in- mate of a lunatic-asylum. Eor a few moments he appeared affected ; and his countenance wore an expression which brought back to my mind the Cyril of other times, — such as he was in that nobler period of his youth, when, high-spirited and frank-hearted, ho would have scorned the deeds which he had since done, and would have shuddered at the bare idea of becoming what he now was — an escaped convict and a reckless adven- turer. But that expression of countenance which for a few swift brief moments indicated a resus- citation of better feelings, quickly passed away; and assuming his habitual air of llippant indif- ference, mingled with devil-me-care hardihood, he said, Well, Hose, once more you must ha banker : for I am sure you have it in your power — and I know that you possess the will.” “ What have you been doing for the last three years?” I inquired, still surveying him with a mournful look. “Why, to tell the truth,” he answered, “the history of those three years may be sqmmed up in that one brief sentence which explains how thousands and thousands of persons do contrive to exist in civilised countries. You ask how I have been living ? The reply is, ‘ Upon my wits.’” And are you not afraid to be seen within the precincts of the English dominions ?” I asked. “ Why, the fact is, France got rather too hot to hold me : because the French laws are most incon- veniently severe for gentlemen in my coadition— and what we in England should simply denominate debt, they are barbarous enough to term swindling. So, having had enough of France, I tried Belgium : but I soon found that the Belgians entertain the same harsh ideas as the French on the point re- ferred to. Then I honoured Germany with my amongst a parcel of fellows who smoke bad to- bacco and drink small beer from morning till night. What was I to do? I managed to get back to my native shore; and having landed at Southampton, took it into my head to pay Cowes a visit. Very fortunate, too, it was— since it has thrown me in your way ! Ah, I should observe, my dear Hose, that I have more than once thought of getting over to America, if possible. TUere may be some opening among the Yaukces — which it is impossible to liud in the old world. But it is no easy matter for a man to get across the Atlantic and establish himself as a gentleman at New I BOSA LAMBEET. 331 York, with a floating capital of three halfpence in his pocket.” “And if you had the means, Cyril,” I ex- claimed, “ would you really go to America ?” “ The best guarantee of my sincerity,” responded my brother, “ is the unpleasant risk I run of being once more taught the experiences of an English bulk.” “ Hush, for heaven’s sake ! — you will be over- heard !” — and I glanced quickly around: but for- tunately no listeners were nigh. “How much do you require to take you to New York ?” “ With a hundred pounds I could do the thing gloriously — with seventy-five, handsomely — with fifty, comfortably — and with twenty-five, mode- rately. You are now the best judge how far your own exchequer will suit either one of this scale of views.” For a moment I thought of giving my brother the smallest sum he had named: but my heart smote me with its selfishness ; and methought that if I could sell my jewels to minister to the extravagances of a paramour, I could at least be decently generous in relieving my own brother’s necessities. I therefore presented him with fifty pounds, and conjured him to fulfil his promise of departing for America. He vowed that he would ; and as he gave me his hand in a careless manner, I pressed it with the utmost fervour. I could scarcely prevent myself from embracing him, although it was in the public street : for there was a presentiment in my mind that we should never meet again. We separated ; and with a sad heavy heart I retraced my steps homeward. In the evening Edwin Lushington returned from Southampton ; and the instant he entered the drawing-room, I saw by his countenance that he had been disappointed. This was however pre- cisely what I had anticipated ; and I gradually broke to him the proceeding which I myself had adopted for the purpose of liquidating our debts. I did not however mention a syllable in respect to my meeting with Sir James Thornley nor that with my brother : and it was not necessary to say anything to account for the deficiency of the fifty pounds given to Cyril — Edwin not for an instant thinking of looking into the statement of expen- diture. But there were only fifty pounds left; and with this small sum we had to go for five weeks until Edwin’s half-yearly dividend would be receivable. He was dreadfully annoyed to think of the necessity which had compelled me to part with all my jewels, — not annoyed with me, how- ever ; for he lavished demonstrations of tenderness upon me; but annoyed at his own position — humiliated, vexed, and chagrined at the difficulties into which he had brought me, as well as at. the rebuffs he had encountered amongst his supposed friends at Southampton. I now seized the oppor- tunity of reiterating my request that the horses should be put down — that we should content our- selves with one servant — and that we should live as quietly as possible. “ But, my dearest Eose,” he exclaimed, “ after you have made this tremendous sacrifice, let us at least enjoy the benefit of it. All the debts are paid-“Our credit must be better than ever ” “ And yet a time will shortly come again,” I remonstrated, “when we shall be involved in fresh difficulties.” “ Let us not rush on to meet them half way !” cried Edwin. “We must enjoy ourselves for the present ” “But the horses— they surely can bo dispensed with ?” “And if we put them down, our credit will be annihilated in a moment. Come, dearest Eose, let us enjoy life to the best of our ability ; and when trouble returns, it will be time enough to think oi extricating ourselves.” This, and a great deal more in the shape of argument and remonstrance passed between us : but I was at length compelled to let him have his own way; so that we recommenced a course of lavish expenditure, as if we had discovered a mine of wealth in the garden, and had merely got to go and digf there when gold should be wanted to meet the demands of creditors. I had retained my watch and the other articles of jewellery that I was wont habitually to wear about my person ; and as we saw no company, there was not the slightest necessity for ever appearing in full even- ing costume. Thus I flattered myself I had managed to conceal from the domestics the cir- cumstance of having parted with the bulk of my jewellery; or at all events, if they suspected it, they did not gossip upon the subject —•for our credit with the tradespeople of Cowes was as good as ever. And as long as our credit lasted, did Edwin make use of it with his accustomed reckless pro- fusion. He never happened to go into the town without ordering the costliest wines and all kinds of dainties : he was an epicure in good living, as well as fervid and impassioned in his love ; and I firmly believe that if this kind of life could have lasted, he would have been contented to lead it, perfectly satisfied with my society alone, and never caring for company. About five weeks passed; and we were now advancing into January, 1849. The day arrived for Edwin to receive the half-yearly sum of a hundred and fifty pounds ; and he was compelled to go across to Southampton for the purpose. I accompanied him into Cowes to see him off; and as I was retracing my way along the street for the purpose of returning homeward, I met Sir James Thornley. The weather was clear and frosty; and the cold air — bracing rather than nipping — imparted a rich bloom to my cheeks. Sir James made me a polite bow ; and with visible admiration depicted in his looks, said, “ I entreat you to listen to me for a few minutes.” “ If you have anything to say to me. Sir James Thornley,” I replied, “ there can be assuredly no harm in your accompanying me along the street and speaking at your leisure :” — for I had a cer- tain presentiment in my mind that the time might possibly come when necessity would compel me to have recourse to him who now appeared so zealously anxious to proffer his friendship. “I saw you walking just now with a young gentleman of whom I happen to have heard,” re- sumed the Baronet, as he proceeded by my side along the street ; “ and I do not think that your connexion with him is likely to be a very extended one. Do not be angry that I speak with so much candour : it is a way that I have— and it saves a deal of trouble.” “Well, sir, proceed,” I said, suffering myself to 1 I 332 TiOSA LANrnniiT. laugh sli”[litly. “Proceed with what you liavo to tell rno:” — though I could guess very well what was coming. “ You will stand in need of a friend soon, young lady,” continued tho old nabob ; “ and then per- haps you will recollect what 1 said to you at New- port, — that I shall be glad if you will have re- course to mo. Come to me, and you will bo wel- come ; — or send to me, and I will lose no time in speeding to you. I need not tell you that I am rich ; and where I take a fancy, my generosity is illimitable. Can I at once tempt you to place yourself under my protection “No — certainly not !” I exclaimed, in a decisive manner. “I shall not dream of separating from Mr. Lushington so long as we can possibly live together.” “Very good!” said Sir James Thornley. “I like you all the better for that answer. And will you promise me ” “ I promise, Sir William,” was my inteijcctod response, “ that should I require the services of a friend, I will address myself to you.” He proffered mo his hand — which I took ; and as he held mine for a few moments in his own, he gazed upon mo with an intense admiration that had something devouring and gloating in it, — ob- serving at the same time, “ The sooner you are mine the better; and I will surround you with riches.” I bade him farewell : and as I turned to con- tinue my way, I beheld a man who bowed to me just entering the shop of a wine-merchant, named Simmons — one of the principal tradesmen with whom we dealt. I could rfot immediately recollect who this man was, — until all in a moment the name of Simmons vividly refreshed my memory : for it was precisely the same as that of the New- port goldsmith to whom I had sold my valuables. That man therefore who had just bowed to me, was none other than the goldsmith himself ; — and now that I was led to reflect in a particular chan- nel, I remembered the existence of a certain family resemblance between that individual and bis namesake the wine-merchant, whose shop I had seen him enter. They were no doubt brothers : and the incident of the sale of my valuables was now sure to be mentioned by the one to the other. As this apprehension struck me, I instinctively glanced back, and beheld them both standing at the shop-door. They instantaneously disappeared as they beheld me looking round : but my worst fears seemed to be confirmed — they were identify- ing me as the debtor of the one and the person who sold the jewels to the other ! Now I felt assured that the rhmour would be whispered throughout Cowes — that our credit would bo at once ruined — and that all tho bills would come pourinei in again. I returned homo with n heavy heart r for I fore- saw that a crisis was rapidly approaching. I did not wish to 8ei)arnto from tho young and good- looking Edwin JiUshington to throw myself into tho arms of tho old sallow-complexionod nabob: but it was tho fear that this change was soon to take place, that thus saddened mo. 1 had not been homo a couple of hours before Mr. Simmons — that very tradesman whom 1 had found out to bo tlio brother of tho Newport goldsmith — sent up ono of his men to Sidmouth Villa to request im- rnediato payment of Ins account. This amountod to nearly sixty pounds ; and I had not as many shillings in tho house. I tolrl tho man that Mr. Lushington had gone over to Southampton to re- ceive some money, and that on his return in a day or two, tho debt should bo liquidated, lie looked suspicious— was rather inclined to be insolent— but at length went away. In tho course of tho even- ing several other bills were sent in, accompanied by notes or messages more or less urgent or peremptory. I went to bed nervous and agitated, — cruolly apprehensive for tho morrow. And when tho morrow came, it brought duns immediately after breakfast; throughout tho whole day there was a continuous series of applications for the payment of accounts — so that by the evening every one of our tradesmen had sent in their bills. Only five weeks had passed since tho liquidation of" tho debts in Cowes, and on looking over this catalogue of now liabilities, I found that they amounted to two hundred and fifty pounds,— in addition to which there were servants’ wages and rent again due. Edwin would bring back ono hundred and fifty pounds with him : but if all this were paid away, it would still leave us in debt and our credit effectually ruined. The evening was passing away — and Edwin did not make his appearance. Nine o’clock struck ; and I grew uneasy. I thought that if he could not return he would have sent me across a note by the steam-vessel : I feared that some accident had befallen him — or that ho had found himself en- tangled in some difficulty at Southampton. It was verging towards ten o’clock, when the ser- vant entered to state that a man wished to speak to me. Instantaneously supposing that he brought some ominous note or message from Edwin, I ordered him to be admitted : but the instant he appeared in my presence, I was struck by a pre- sentiment of another sort of evil. Nor was I left long in suspense: for the individual announced himself as a broker, who had come to demand pay- ment of the rent, or else to put in a seizure upon the horses and the personal effects of Edwin and myself: for be it recollected it was a ready furnished house which we occupied. I explained that Mr. Lushington would shortly be here with money in his pocket, and that if he did not make his appearance that evening, he was sure to return home oa the following day. I besought the broker to avoid the scandal of leaving a man in possession — for he had intimated that he had one waiting in readiness outside, and who for decency’s sake he had not summarily introduced. But the broker was inexorably resolved to do his duty. As the worst had therefore now happened, I told him he would do well to take the horses and all their caparisons away with him that very evening, as the sale thereof would be certain to cover the amount of rent that was due. Having examined the horses, tho broker consented to the arrange- ment; so that ho and his man departed with them; — and this circumstance was naturally re- garded by tho domestics as a proof of our hopeless insolvency. I went to bed more saddened and dispirited than I even was on the preceding night: for I could not possibly conjecture what had become of Edwin. Hud ho deserted me ?— had he become . EOSA LAMBERT. 333 reconciled to Lis wife ? This appeared to be the only method of solving the mystery of his pro- longed absence : for a couple of days must have assuredly been sufficient to enable him to transact so. comparatively trifling a business as that which had taken him to Southampton. But if he had thus abandoned me, was I not rightly served ?•— for had I not secured a provision for myself in case of emergency, by the encouraging demeanour with which I received the renewed overture on the part of Sir James Thornley ? Still it was vexing and humiliating to think of being thus deserted by one for whom I had made the sacrifice of the great bulk of my valuables ; and moreover it is in the nature of woman to regard with bitter- ness an act on the part of a man which she her- self when, in such circumstances as my own, con- siders that she has almost a right to do. The following day brought its renewed applica- tions of duns, who now came to inquire whether Mr. Lushington had returned; —and when they found he had not, they no longer repressed their insolence. Some declared that it was all a trick between us— that he had “ bolted ” first, and that I was no doubt preparing to follow. Others, on the contrary, proclaimed their conviction that he had abandoned me ; and one and all denounced us both as swindlers. It was universally known that I was merely his mistress— equally well known too that the horses had been seized and carried off for the rent. In the earlier part of the day the domestics looked gloomy and suspi- cious: in the afternoon they plainly testified by their manner their disgust at the position of af- fairs— the dunning, the disturbance, and the abuse that assailed the front-door like a hurricane ; and in the evening, as Edwin did not return, they pre- sented themselves to me requesting payment of their wages, as they wished to withdraw at once from my service. I assured them of my desire to pay them, and positively declared that if they would tarry until the morrow, they should receive their money, as I had means of obtaining it in case Mr. Lushington did not come back. With this they were satisfied— and retired to the kitchen. Almost immediately afterwards there was a loud ring at the gate-bell ; and thinking it was Edwin, I hastened down to the front-door, while one of the servants ran to answer the summons. It was not however Mr. Lushington — but a mes- senger on horseback, who left a letter and imme- diately rode away. The communication was from Sir James Thornley ; and its contents were as fol- low; — “Albion House, Newport, “ Jan. lltb, 1849. My dear young lady, I have this afternoon heard at Cowes — which I hap- pened to visit — that my prediction has become verified more speedily than I could have anticipated. Now, therefore, that a certain person has voluntarily left you, I am sure yon will have all the less remorse in fulfilling your promise to me and accepting my protection. A single lino from you, conveying your wishes, will meet with prompt attention. I will come to you— or I will send my carriage; and the liabilities — for which, as I learn, you are tormented— can be liquidated in a mo- ment. I Scarcely had I read this letter in the dining. I room, to which I hurried for tho purpose, when j there was another loud riug at the gate-bell ; and ejaculating to mj^self, This must be Edwin I” I hastily thrust, as I thought, the communication into my pocket— and again sped to tho front-door. Edwin too it really was : but as he rushed in, the wildness of his looks terrified me for a moment ; and as he caught me in his arms, I could no longer doubt that he had been drinking rather more than was good for him. He walked unsteadily into the dining-room, with one arm thrown round my waist ; and dinging himself upon the sofa, he gave vent to a bitter imprecation against his “ill luck.” “ Your ill luck ?” I exclaimed in astonishment. “What on earth do you mean, Edwin ?’* “Oh, my dear Kose, how shall I ever be able to tell you the truL*h ?” — and the idea seemed more than half to sober him again. I at once conjectured what he meant : but in case I should happen to be wrong, I preferred that the explanation should come from his own lips. I therefore affected to be still unable to understand his meaning. “You must be able to guess what I have done !” he said, somewhat petulantly. “ The fact is, I thought that the beggarly hundred and fifty pounds might just as well go to the deuce unless they could be converted into five or six hundred. So I played ” “ Ah ! you gambled and lost ?” I said, my sus- picion thus being fully confirmed. “ Yes— that was it. I fell in with half-a-dozen young fellows at the hotel— they had plenty of money— so we played deep ; and on the first night I won altogether six hundred pounds. But last night fortune changed sides — I had a continued run of ill luck— and now you know the worst. Not a single guinea have I got left !” “ This is indeed unfortunate,” I said. “ What a pity it was you were not contented with your first winnings !” “ Ah ! but I was compelled to stay and give them their revenge ” “ Which they indeed appear to have taken most signally.” “Nevermind, Eose I” ejaculated Edwin: “it can’t be helped, you know. Our credit must be yet good for the next three or four months ” “Indeed,” I interrupted him, “our credit is altogether ruined : for I have been tormented to death with duns ever since I parted from you at Cowes.” “ Indeed ! ” — and Lushington’s countenance grew blank ; but as a sudden idea seemed to strike him, he said, “ Well, I will tell you what we must do. Things have come to such a pitch that we will sell the horses— pay the servants’ wages— and with the rest of the money hasten off to Lon- don, where I have got some friends and relations from whom I can get something to carry us on.” “The horses, my dear Edwin, are gone al- ready.” “Gone?” he cried. “Ah, I understand! — you availed yourself of my absence to dispose of them — and you have got the money ? Well, my dear Eose, after all it was the best thing you could do ” Yours sincerely, “JAMES THORNLEY.’ 334 HOSA TjAMnRnT. “You aro mistaken, Edwin,” I responded: “it was not done by me at all. A broker came and seized tliem for the rent.” “ Good heavens ! then wo aro indeed blown throughout the neighbourhood ! How much ready money have you, Itose ?” “ Barely two pounds,” I answered, taking out my purse. “ Perdition !” ho ejaculated : “ this is annoying to a degree !” Thus speaking, he rose and began to pace the room in an agitated manner — but still with more steadiness of gait than he had at first exhibited : for he was comparatively sobered by the intel- ligence he had received. I felt somewhat angry with him for having so wantonly and recklessly gambled away the little money he had been to receive : but I was in one of those moods in which a person does not exactly wish to aggravate matters by a display of ill-humour, and yet on the other hand does not very w^ell know how to con- ceal it. I affected to be counting the contents of my purse ; and in the course of a few moments I became aware that Edwin had stopped short in his agitated walk, liaising m3' eyes, I perceived that he was just opening a letter and was begin- ning to read it. Instinctively I thrust my hand into my pocket; Sir James Thornley’s note was not there ; and springing forward, I said, “ Edwin, that letter is mine!” “ So I see,” he answered, flinging upon me a look of mingled rage and astonishment. “ Ah ! you have promised to accept the protection ” “ Now listen to me, Edwin,” I said, perceiving that he had already obtained a sufficient insight into the contents of the communication to be aware of its nature. “It is true that Sir James Thornley addressed himself to me : indeed the first time was as far back as the day of my visit to Newport but you as well as I can tell whether in spite of our difficulties I have clung to you ” “ My dear Eose, never mind explanations !” exclaimed Lushington, throwing his arms round my neck and embracing me ; so that giving him credit for the utmost generosity of feeling, I lost all my little ill-humour that instant. Making me sit down by his side upon the sofa, he went on to sa}', “ I have heard something of this Sir James Thornley — he is an East Indian nabob, and rolling in riches. I tell you what we can do, Eose ” “ And what is that .P” I asked, surveying him with astonishment. “ I see by this letter that he awaits your in- structions. Ah! the idea is capital! We will pay off all our debts No, we won’t !” he sud- denly interrupted himself : “ but wo will get the money and hasten off to London.” “\Vljat do you mean, Edwin?” I asked im- patiently : for a suspicion of what he did mean liad flashed into my mind. “I’he course to bo adopted is as clear as day- light,” he exclaimed, with joy upon his counte- nance. “ The very first thing to-morrow morning you must write a mjto to Sir .lames, tolling him fliat it is i)crfectly true I have loft you— that 3'ou arc. ready to accept liis j)rotection — that ho 11103' send liis carriage for you — and at tlio samo (imo five or six hundred pourids, tliat you may leave till! money with the servants to pay off tlio debts. Then, when the carriage comes, you can order it back on some excuse; and wo will be olf to Lon- don at once.” “And you aro in earnest, Kdwin ?” I asked. “ Perfectly so!” lie exclaimed. “But what is the matter with you. Itose ? — why do you look at me in that strange manner ?” “ llecause,” I answered, rising from my seat by his side, and bending upon him an indignant look, “bad though I may be, 1 am nevertheless inca- pable of committing so scandalous a robbiiry.” “ Jtobbsry, Eose ?” cried Edwin, likewise spring- ing up from the sofa. “ Yes — it would be a robbery, and nothing else,” I coldly rejoined. “ Sorry indeed am I that the good opinion I had entertained of you, should be thus cruelly shocked. I took you to be merely extravagant, reckless, and improvident: but 1 be- lieved you incapable of proving a villain.” “ If you were a man, Eose,” exclaimed Edwin, in a towering passion, “ 1 would knock you down.” “You will be sorry in your calmer moments,” I said ; “ to reflect that you have thus addressed mo. You have been drinking — you are excited with your losses at play — I am prepared to make allow- ances on your behalf ” “Ah, I see what it is!” he ejaculated, with mingled rage and bitterness : “ you wish for an excuse to leave me? Oh, yes — it is natural enough !” he added, tauntingly. “ I am penniless — and there is a rich nabob ready to surround you with luxuries.’' “ I scarcely deserve these reproaches,” I said, my bosom swelling with mingled grief and indig- nation. “ Why, here is the very letter which proves that you have been listening to the overtures of that old fellow — and even making him promises !” “ It is true,” I answered : but I declare most solemnly that so long as you had the means to support me, however humbly — or that I had the power of raising money — I should never have thought of abandoning you.” Edwin reflected for a few moments ; and then once more embracing me, he besought my pardon for whatsoever he might have said. I suffered his caresses — but did not return them. All my esteem for that young man was suddenly annihilated when he proved, by his proposal in respect to the Baronet, that he was capable of a deed of villanous dis- honesty. He saw that I was cool towards him ; and he implored my tforgiveness in such piteous terms that I began to relent somewhat. Indeed I could not help remembering that it was on ray account he had become separated from his wife, and that he had all in a moment lost the po- sition of affluence in which her wealth had placed him. I recollected too that he had really loved me — that for some time he had been contented with ray society alone— and that allowances were certainly to be made for a young man in his pain- ful position. I therefore assumed a kinder air towards him ; and we retired to rest, as if by mu- tual consent postponing until the morrow any fur- ther discourse upon the plans to be adopted. IlOSA LAMBERT. CHAPTEE XLV. CHANGE OP SCENE. Notwithstanding that I laad been thus moved towards Edwin Lusbington at the conclusion of the proceedings just related, my mind was still made up to accept the overtures of Sir James Thorhley. I could not possibly continue to lead a life of turmoil and trouble with an extravagant reckless spendthrift, — to be persecuted by duns — denounced as a swindler — exposed before the do- mestics— and startled by every ring at the bell or knock at the front-door. Besides, from present difficulties there was no other mode of extrication — or at least none that I chose to practise. Yes— I should part from Edwin ; but the debts would all be paid— and thus the same proceeding which gave me a new position, would extricate him from his embarrassments and leave him unshackled to commence the world anew. Besides, it was my purpose to ask Sir James Thornley for something more than was necessary to liquidate the debts ; so that I might present Edwin with a couple of hundred pounds to carry him on until his next half-year’s income should be due— or at least as far as such a sum would go with one of his ex- travagant habits. All this was settled in my mind ere sleep fell upon my eyes ; and when I awoke in the morning, I found that Edwin had already risen. I looked at my watch, and saw that it was past nine o’clock ; but yet it was not so early that he should have as yet quitted the couch — for he was wont to lie later still. I rose, and commenced my toilet, — in the midst of which he entered, — laughingly ob- serving that he had got up earlier than usual to walk off the effects of the previous day’s potations. Then he sate down, and conversed gaily with me until I was dressed. We descended to the break- fast parlour ; and scarcely had we commenced our meal, when a knock at the front-door heralded the application of a dun, who proved to be Mr. Sim- mons, the wine-merchant. Edwin sent out a mes- sage to the effect that he had returned home and should be in Cowes in the course of the day, when he would call and settle Mr. Simmons’s demand. This assurance appeared to satisfy the tradesman —or at least it served to put fiim off ; for he at once took his departure without another word. I conceived that this incident furnished a suit- I able opportunity for me to reason calmly and de- liberately with Edwin — explain my views — and induce him to assent to a separation, which indeed was not merely resolved upon, but was absolutely necessary. “ I knew last ffight, Eose,” he responded, when he had listened to me, “that you would tell me all this to-day. I cannot under existing circum- stances offer a word of remonstrance.” I was pleased, though somewhat astonished, to ! find that he took my resolve so rationally and philosophically ; and we lingered at the breakfast- table for upwards of an hour, discoursing upon that and other matters. “And now, Edwin,” I said, at length rising from my seat, “ I shall go and pen a letter to Sir J ames Thornley. The footman or groom can walk across with it to Newport; and he can return 335 witli the Baronet’s carriage— which I shall ap- point to be here by three o’clock or later,” I added, “ if you wish us to be as long together as possible ?” “Arrange matters as you think fit, my dear Eose,” he replied : and then he turned towards the window ■ — methought to conceal his emo- tion. I ascended to the drawing-room, and wrote a letter to Sir James Thornley. When it was finished, I rang the bell to desire that one of the men-servants (for, bh it recollected, there were two in the establishment) should take the note across to Newport : but I was informed that the footman had been absent since a very early hour in the morning, and that Mr. Lushington had just- sent off the groom to Cowes on some message or another. I was annoyed at this intelligence, which struck me as strangely suspicious— and yet I scarcely knew in what manner. I did not how- ever choose to betray what I felt to the maid- servant : but I inquired, as if in a casual way at what hour the footman had been sent off, and whither he was gone ? The maid replied that it could not have been much later than seven when Mr. Lushington hurried him away— but the man had not mentioned to his fellow-servants where he was proceeding. I ordered the maid to retire ; and with my suspicions painfully strengthened, I was about to descend to the breakfast-parlour, where I had left Edwin, and demand explanations, — when my ear caught the sounds of some equi- page stopping at the garden-gate. I hastened to the window — and beheld a handsome carriage and pail*, driven by a coachman in a superb livei’y; and our own footman was descending from the box. At that same instant Edwin hurried forth from the front-door ; and meeting the footman, received from him a letter, with which he sped back into the house. I comprehended it all in a moment ; and rushing down into the dining-room, found Edwin in the act of opening the letter, which contained a number of bank-notes. He burst out into a half-mocking, half-triumphant laugh on beholding me ; and exclaimed, “ I have done it in grand style, Eose ! The old fellow has come down with a thousand pounds. I have spared your squeamishness, my dear girl !” — but there was sardonism in his mirth and in his affected endearments. “ Good heavens, Edwin 1’^ I cried, “ how could you think of taking such a step as this ? It is far too much to have written for !” “Not a whit!” he ejaculated. “And now we have the means of leading a glorious life together for a long time to come I” “ Edwin, you are a villain 1” I ejaculated : for there was not the slightest doubt that he had all along determined to put his base project into exe- cution, notwithstanding my indignant rejection of it on. the previous night. “Villain or not, Eose,” he triumphantly re- sponded, “I was not going to let such a golden opportunity slip through my hands. You meant to fling me overboard for the nabob : but I did not choose to part from you on such easy terms. As for those rascals of creditors, not one single six- pence of this good money shall they see !” “ Edwin, your conduct is abominable !” I ex- claimed, darting forward to snatch the letter and the bank-notes from his liand ; but steppin{; nimbly aside, he tossed the former upon the table, and thrust the latter into his pocket. I sank down upon the sofa, bewildered how to act. A gross fraud had been perpetrated upon Sir James Thornley; not for an instant could I think of profiting by it — but on the other hand, how could I face him and explain what had been done? 'Would ho believe me? would ho give credit to my account of how his own letter to me had fallen into Edwin’s hands and had suggested the stratagem ? or would he not rather think that I myself was a party to the cheat for the purpose of providing for a paramour ? While I was thus painfully reflecting, I heard the carriage drive away : and then Edwin exclaimed with another triumphant laugh, which was likewise tinctured with a sardonic malignity, “ There, Rose ! now you are so committed with the old nabob that you must remain with me.” My first impulse was to overwhelm Edwin with reproaches: but a second thought prompted me to ascertain from his lips precisely how the matter stood, in order that I should be the better able to shape the course which I had now to pursue. Assuming therefore a calm demeanour, I said to him, “ Since you have done this thing, Edwin, it cannot be recalled : I hope you may not have to repent it. But tell me what it is that you have done — and what your plans now are ?” “ With pleasure, my dear Rose,” he responded, “ since you begin to talk reasonably. In the first place, then, I rose very carefully, so as not to awake you, a little before six o’clock ; and I penned a letter in your name to the worthy nabob. I dare say the writing was deficient in that graceful fluency which characterises your own ; but still it was not a bad imitation of a lady’s hand. In the second place, I sent* off the footman with the letter, and likewise with special instructions, — chiefly to the effect that if questioned by Sir James, he was to assure him that I had not re- turned home. The scheme has succeeded, as you perceive : for the letter brought a thousand pounds, which I have got safe in my pocket. Ah ! I had almost forgotten to say that I despatched the groom on some pretext into Cowes, so that you might not send, off your own letter — which would of course at once open old Sir J ames’s eyes to the fact that some trick had been played him, and he would come dancing down here before we could get com- fortably off. As for the departure of the carriage, the footman— previously instructed by me — has j ust been out to tell the coachman that you find it impossible to complete your arrangements for re- moval to Newport to-day, but that you are sure to be at Albion House in the course of to-morrow. As for that letter there,” — and Edwin pointed to the one which ho had tossed upon the table, — “ it is merely to rectify the pleasure with which the remittance is made, and the joy with which the old nabob will presently welcome you. But you can read it for yourself.” “ And now, sir, what arc your plans ?” I asked. “Sir ?” he echoed, turning abru 2 )tly round upon me. “ Why, you don’t mean to say. Rose, that you intend to maintain that air of miserable squeamish punctiliousness which you affected last night? You must take mo for an idiot if you tlnnk 1 was blind to tho fact that it was a mere cloak for your determination to throw mo over- board on tho old nabob’s account: but I have out- witted you. Your game is spoilt in that (juarter ; and now, ns it is a simple affair of tit for tat, let the past be forgotten — let us bo good friends once more — and away to London to enjoy ourselves. You ought to take it as a proof of love on my part, that I have actually played you a trick in order to keep you with me.” “ Now listen to me, Edwin,” I said, rising up from the sofa and firmly confronting him. “ You have obtained a largo sum of money on tho plea of paying debts, not one shilling of which do you pur- pose to liquidate; and this is accumulating dis- honesty upon dishonesty to a degree that is posi- tively shocking. Not for another liour can we remain together ! If you stay beneath this roof, I shall leave it : if you leave it, I shall remain until by some means or another I have settled with the creditors. Now, sir, what is your decision ? It is utterly useless for you to attempt either cajolery or coercion : I am not to bo moved by the former, nor to be intimidated by the latter.” But Edwin nevertheless attempted both : indeed ho appeared to me to have become within tho last few hours quite a changed character— or else ho must formerly have worn tho mask of an impene- trable hypocrisy. I treated him with cold disdain : not one particle of esteem had I remaining for him — not one scintillation of compassion ! On the contrary, I was now most anxious that he should dis- appear from my view. Ultimately he decided upon the alternative of leaving me in possession of the villa; and we parted without even so much as shaking hands. The instant he was gone, I sate down and wrote a letter to Sir James Thornley, explaining every- thing that had occurred, and throwing myself en- tirely upon his mercy. A carrier’s van passed by the house at two in the afternoon, on its way to Newport; and by this means of conveyance did I send my communication in the form of a small parcel. I thought it most probable that if the nabob intended to take any further notice of me after what had occurred, and if he put any faith in my statement, he woiJd immediately come himself to make sure that things were all right this time. I therefore dressed myself in a costume that best became me, — taking considerable pains with my toilet, and setting off my charms to their utmost advantage. But the evening passed away ; and though there were plenty of rings at the gate and knocks at the front-door, yet they were only to herald the applications of creditors, and not the advent of Sir James Thornley. The servants — with the exception of the footman, whom Edwin had doubtless rewarded liberally — looked more gloomy and suspicious than they had even done on the preceding clay — but they said nothing: they knew I had despatched a letter to Newport, and they doubtless thought it expedient to await the result : for though they were unacquainted with tho contents, yet from tho circumsUinces which had occurred they might naturally suppose I had some good reason and some hope in addressing Sir James Thornley. Tho evening i^asscd away ; and he came not. I thought to myself that 2 )orhnps ho might be ab- sent from home, not expecting mo until tho moiTow — or perhaps ho hud written and 1 should EOS/V LAMRERT. 337 -- ! have a letter by the morniug’s post. I went to bed, cradling myself in this hope : but my sleep was not very tranquil — for I could not blind my- self to the fact that I was altogether in a very unpleasant position. Indeed, I made up my mind that if Sir James Thornley took no further notice of me, I would write to Mr. Alvanly to invoke his generous friendship once more, to ex- tricate me from my dilemma. As for a surrep- titious flight from the island without previously straining every nerve to liquidate the debts, I was resolved not to entertain such an idea. The morning’s post brought no letter ; and throughout the forenoon there were but one or two applications on the part of creditors. From what they said it seemed to be well known in Cowes that Mr. Lushington had been back to the villa, but had finally abandoned me altogether. The day wore on; and in the afternoon I again . dressed myself as tastefully as possible — for 1 yet No. 43 entertained a feeble hope that Sir James Thornley might relent and make his appearance. I was sitting in the drawing-room in a despond- I ing mood, when the door opened somewhat ab- ruptly; and glancing round, I was startled on perceiving two suspicious - looking individuals, whose aspect certainly boded but little good. Their errand was soon made known : they came to arrest me at the suit of three creditors — of whom Simmons was one — and whose united debts amounted to a hundred and seventy pounds. At first I was overwhelmed with terror at the idea of being taken away to a debtors’ goal : but quickly recovering my self-possession, I remonstrated with the officers on what F conceived to be the ille- gality of the proceeding. I said that Mr. Lush- ington was responsible for the debts — and not I. They answered that as the villa had been taken in my name, I was held liable for all the goods fur- nished there — that I was not a married woman— and that I could not plead coverture. I was com- pelled to yield to tho force of these observations ; but then I insisted that I could not be captured without previous legal 2 )roccss. To this tho officers replied that there were sj)ccial writs em- powering them to take me into custody until 1 put in bail for my appearance ; and I had now no further remonstrance to use. 1 asked whither they meant to take me ? — and the response was that I might go, if I thought fit, to a lock-up house at Newport, whore I could remain a few days until 1 communicated with my friends. This was at least some little consolation : I was not to be taken at once to gaol — and therefore I resigned myself to my jmesent fate. I requested permission to change my apparel for a more suitable garb ; and this was granted, on condition that the officer should be allowed to remain on the landing outside my chamber so as to guard against an escape. To this I assented ; and summoning tlie maid, repaired with her tb my room. She already knew that the visitors were bailiffs ; and her heart was softened towards me. 1 placed my watch and my few remaining orna- ments of jewellery in her hand, — begging that she and the other servants would either at onCe dispose of the articles to pay themselves the wages due,- or that they would retain possession of them for a few days until I was enabled to redeem them. She did not wish to take them — but I compelled her,* and when I had put on the plainest apparel I pos- sessed, I prepared to accompany the officers. They had come in a fly— foreseeing that they would have to bear me away to the lock-up house ; and I entered it, taking With me only a small parcel containing a few necessaries. It was five o’clock in the evening when I alighted at the door of the gloomy-looking sponging-houso in Newport. There were bars to all the windov/s ; and an inner door of the passage w'as kept constantly locked. I inquired whether I could have a sitting-room to myself; and the officer replied, “For a matter of ten shillin’s a day, ma’am, you may have the sweetest little bed- chamber, with the most comfortablest little parlour adjining, as ever was know’d of in a lock- up.” He then summoned his “ missus,” as he deno- minated his wife, — a great, fat, blowzy woman, tawdrily dressed j and she offered to conduct me to my quarters. I experienced a sad sinking of the heart when I beheld the two rooms which had been so rnagniloqucntly eulogised. The first — wliich by courtesy was denominated the parlour — contained as much furniture as might bo pur- chased for about fifteen shillings; and this was, of course, of the poorest description. A common deal table, painted — a couple of high-backed chairs — a fragment of a carpet — and a few sheila on tho njanlcl-pieco by way of ornament, con- stituted tlio nppfjintrncnts of tho sitting-room, Tlic jjnjxfr was dingy, and showed signs of damj) in several ])lueoH: tlio ceiling had been for years iiinoc(!nt of ctjiitact with tho wliite-washor’s brush : and as much of the h(avr(ls as tho car])Ot left bare, was (lark witli grirm'. I j)a8Hcd into tho bed- eliambcr, h(j|nng to find it at least a trillo more Cfiirilortablo : hut tliis room, whicli hud been (b- cribi.-rl as I lie sweet (ist ever known in a lock-up house, liud an air so dirty in every respect that 1 shrank loathingly from tho idea of committing my person to sucli a bed us I tln-ro belield. I askiul tlio shcriff’s-ofliccr’s wife wlietlicr iliese were tier host accommodations; and as tlie (piery seemed to throw a sort of slur upon them, slie bridled up in a moment. “When people is in trouble, rnetn,” she said, “ they hadn’t ought to be over nice. Ilut I Iiavo kept this ’ouso for nineteen year come next Api-ril, and this is tho fust complaint as I’ve ever lieard. Wliy, some of the highest people in the land lias slep’ in that worry identical bed --and slep’ like tops too. There was a French Countess- -wliil’s her name again? howsomev('r, slic wn t a tine old lady— and she liked that there b(*'l o much that she took to it for six weeks with a fever. It’s as true as you’re there, mem. And wiiat’s i/iore, this same bed has been still further honoured hy a dashing Barrownight a dying in it of cholera morbus.” Having thus illustrated tho high qualities of tho dirty-looking couch, tho woman surveyed me in a triumphant manner, — as much as to ask what I could dare to say now against it? I sasv that it was no use to bandy words; and therefore I at once decided ujion keeping possession of tho quarters to which I w-as conducted. I asked for a sheet of paper ; and feeling faint througli having eaten nothing since the morning, I requested to have some dinner served up. The woman at once declared that anything I chose to order should be supplied in the very best style— and she spoke vaguely of “ Soup, fish, joint, and what not, with weggitablcs.” I expressed a fancy for a cold fowl : but seeing that there was a difficulty in the wav, I mentioned a few other things that I thought I should like — in the way of which thei’e were equal difficulties; so^that at last it came out that I must choose between a steak or a chop. I decided upon the latter ; and the woman asked me what I would take to drink ? I replied nothing but water : at which she looked upon me with a sort of con- temptuous disgust — for it was evident by her rubicund countenance that the beverage I pre- ferred was no particular favourite of hers. “ And now, mem, if you please,” she said, “ I’ll take for all these things in adwance.” Thereupon I drew out my purse, which con- tained little more than thirty shillings— for I had paid for the fly which had brought me thither; and I handed her a sovereign. I learnt that there was yet an hour to post-time; and I accordia:,dy sat down to write my letter while the dinner was being gotten in readiness. A dirty drab of a servant-girl came up to light the fire : but as the wood was wet and the coals were dust, there was no prospect of its throwing out any heat until it would be time to go to bed some few hours later. I wrote to Mr. Alvanly— describing my position, and entreating him to befriend me once more. I did not even think of addressing myself again to Sir James Thornley, though I was now in tho same town. as himself. I concluded that his silence was dolioitivc— that he looked upon mo as a vile hypocritical impostross — and that he was most pro- bably well pleased at having escaped from a con- nexion with such a creature. Tho letter to Mr. Alvanly was sent to the post; and then the drab of a servant-girl came to uflbrd mo a specimen of tho splendid style in which a dinner could bo KOSA LAMBERT. 339 served up in that sponging-house. A small napkin, looking as if it had been washed in coffee- dregs and mangled with a garden-roller, was spread at one corner of the table : a knife with a green handle, and a fork with a yellow one (originally of three prongs, but now only of two, the centre one being broken) — a pewter salt-sellar, containing a compound which looked as if pepper bad been mixed with some coarse yellowish granulated material — a little , japanned pepper- box — a brown mug — and a blue pitcher, — these constituted the splendid array. Then the girl disappeared for about half-an-hour ; and at length came back, holding in one hand a plate containing a great thick under-done mutton-chop, swimming in its own greasy drippings— and in the other hand a cheese-plate containing two thin slices of dingy- white bread. Having placed these luxuries upon the table, she went into the bed-chamber and brought forth an enormous stone jug, whence she filled with water the blue pitcher that stood on the table : and doubtless not thinking it worth her while to take the trouble to carry the pitcher back again, she deposited it behind my chair. I could not touch a morsel of the meat — my heart heaved against it : but I ate the bread and drank some of the water. I did indeed long for a little wine to mix with it; but the state of' my finances would not permit such an indulgence. Presently the girl came to take away ; and a few minutes afterwards the sheriff’s-officer’s wife made her appearance to ask whether I wanted anything more at present, and when I would like to take tea? I said that I would have some tea in an hour : and I thought I might as well venture a hint that she had not given me my change out of the sovereign. “ Oh, the sufferin, mem ?” she. ejaculated, again bridling up somewhat, as if indignant at what she doubtless conceived to be my meanness. “ Why, there’s ten shillings for the rooms— three shillings dinner — that’s fourteen — ninepenee bread — that’s fifteen — tuppence taters — that’s fifteen and six — two shillings fire — that’s eighteen — threepence writing-paper — that’s nineteen and three — and sixpence the boy to take the letter to the post — so that makes exactly the pound.” I saw how useless it was to remonstrate with the harpy: but I could not help heaving a sigh at finding myself in the power of such an extortioner. She left the room : tea was brought up in an hour ; and the beverage refreshed me. At length, wearied and worn out both in mind and body, I went to bed ; and notwithstanding my aversion to its ap- pearance, I could not possibly combat against the souse of fatigue — and as it was the cold month of January, I could not sleep outside the bed-clothes. Let me pass over the disagreeable thoughts that agitated in my mind ere slumber stole upon me ; and let me not dwell upon the cold shivering misei’y, the sickening at the heart, and the deep feeling of despondency which I experienced when awakening in the morning in that horrible place. For all the earlier part of the day I endeavoured to while away the time with an old Court Maga- zine, which the woman of the house lent me : but as it was in a filthy condition — greasy, dog’s- eared, and dilapidated — moreover, as the contents tlvemselves were the most awful trash ever put into print, the study of that work was very far from an engrossing occupation. Let the reader now fancy me seated, at about half-past two o’clock, at the wretchedly spread table,— vainly en- deavouring to coax myself to eat a mutton-cliop which I had insisted upon broiling for myself,— while the dirty drab of a girl, who seemed to have taken rather a fancy for me, officiously brought me in a sprig of evergreen which she had culled from the garden, as if she thought that the sight of that sprig would bo some indemnification for the loss of the superb shrubs which had graced the garden of the villa whence I had so recently been borne away. Yes — there I was sitting in a desponding mood, when the door was suddenly thrown open ; and the woman of the house pompously announced Sir James Thornley. “ Come along with me !” he said : you have had engugh of this too much, too much, my dear Rose !” — and he patted me on the cheek. His words made me all in a moment aware that I was restored to freedom ; and the tears gushed forth from my eyes. The old nabob appeared much affected ; and muttered something which gave me to understand that he had not long been aware of my position. I lost not a moment in putting on, my bonnet and shawl to accompany him down stairs. His carriage was waiting at the door : we entered — and the equipage rolled away. An ex- ^ planation on his part was promptly given. He had been much surprised and annoyed when his car- riage was sent back from Sidmouth Villa, with merely a verbal message communicated through the medium of the coachman : indeed he had al- most fancied that there must be something wrong, — not merely because he had formed a better opinion of me than to believe me capable of dis- honesty or of wanton discourtesy, but likewise be- cause his coachman had told him that my footman had given his (Sir J ames’s) letter containing the money to a young gentleman who rushed out to receive it. Yet notwithstanding his suspicions, the Baronet was determined to wait till the mor- row. That day passed — and I did not make my appearance at Albion House according to promise. Accordingly, in the forenoon of the day in which I am now writing. Sir James Thornley sent a confi- dential domestic across to Sidmouth Villa, which was found to be shut up and the servants all gone. There was an old woman in charge of the premises ; and she gave the information as to what had be- j come of myself. The confidential domestic re- ! turned to Albion House with this intelligence; ! and at the very instant he alighted from his horse at the front door, the carrier’s boy arrived with a small parcel, for the non-delivery of which at the i proper time he had to apologize, — alleging that it j had been overlooked on the part of the carrier him- self. That little packet contained my letter of explanations ; aUd thus at one and the same time Sir James Thornley learnt from his domestic where I was, and from my letter the particulars of Edwin Lushington’s consummate villany. I cordially thanked the Baronet for the interest 1 he had displayed on my behalf, and the haste he j had made to relieve me from prisonage at the j sponging-house. In reference to Edwin Lushing. I ton’s conduct, he spoke lightly enough of the thou- | sand pounds of which he had been swindled, — | observing with a smile that it was perhaps all for j the best, inasmuch as the strong feeling of indig- { J.. 310 KOSA L I nation wliich I now cntortainoil in respect to my I Into paramour, would c/lectually prevent any cor- I I'espondcnco between U3 Ibr the future. On our arrival at Albion House, vvhieli was situated a little way out of Newport, I was astonished at tho eize of the edifice : but upon entering, was infi- nitely more amazed at tho maguificcuee and splendour which 1 there beheld. It appeared to be an oriental palace such as wo read of in eastern tales. Some of tho apartments contained the most interesting curiosities from India, China, and other parts of Asia : lacqueys in sumptuous liveries lounged about in the spacious hall : there was a stud of beautiful horses : the coach-house con- tained vehicles of several descriptions ; and, in a word, every feature of the establishment denoted the enormous wealth of its projnietor. And at tho head of this establishment he placed me, — bidding mo take his own name as if I were his 1 wife, should I think lit — or any other that I chose I to adopt — as it was quite indifferent to him, and he I cared nothing for the opinion of tho world. As a matter of course I did not choose to call myself ! Lady Thornley, unless I could keep such a title I'or I life : I therefore resumed my proper name of Miss Lambert — and the nabob was perfectly con- tented. That very same afternoon he sent off his con- fidential servant to Cowes to liquidate the debts that still remained unpaid, and of which I fur- nished him a list. On the following day he bade me take the carriage and pay a visit to tho best milliners’ and jewellers’ shops, in order to pur- chase whatsoever I required, — at the same time placing a cheque in my hands, and telling me that he should feel offended if I did not expend every shilling of it ere I returned to dinner. This cheque was for a thousand pounds ; and 1 could not help thinking that if the nabob’s liberality were a proof of his infatuation, I must have indeed obtained a very powerful hold upon him. My first visit was to Mr. Simmons, the goldsmith to whom I had a few weeks back disposed of my jewels ; and most cringing was his civility when on alighting from the nabob’s carriage, I entered his shop. I in- quired if he had disposed of any of the jewels which he had purchased of me ; and he replied in the negative. I expressed my anxiety to become repossessed of them : he produced them accord- ingly ; and asked five hundred pounds for the whole, — bidding me observe that he was merely a gainer of fifty pounds by the transaction, and that he was thus moderate in his views in order that he might secure my custom for the future. I paid tho money but gave him no promise on the subject ; and re-entering the carriage, drove away to another jeweller’s, where in a few minutes I ex- pended a couple of hundred pounds : for I was resolved that Mr. Simmons should never receive another bliilling of my money, as it was entirely from tho information ho had given his brother at Cowes that my arrest was to bo attributed. I visited milliners’ and other shops, expending nearly the whole of tho money ere I returned to Albion House. Thu following day’s post brought mo a letter from Mr. Alvanly, redirected from tho sjjonging- hoiiso, and enclosing mo bank-notes to tho amount of two hundred j)Ounds. Tho letter expressed tho deepest regret tlmt Mr. Alvanly was unablo to ■AMURTIT. remit mo ns much ns his inclination prompted : Imt ho informed me that ho had recently had live thousand pounds to i)ay in tho shapo of damages, besides another thousand for costs, as tho result of an action brought against him by Sir Italph Horton. It appeared from Alvanly’s explanations in this letter, that Sir Ralph had discovered Ids intriguo with Lady Horton a few months after that lu- dicrous scene at tho Pavilion, in which I had borno a part, and that her ladyship had since boon living altogether under Mr. Alvauly’s protection. Ho further informed mo that Sir Ralph was suing for a divorce, and that when it should bo obtained ho (Mr. Alvanly) intended to marry Lady Horton. I showed this letter to Sir .lames Thornley, ex- pressing to him how I had been previously in- debted to Mr. Alvanly in two separate sums, tho aggregate of which was eight hundred pounds ; and tho old nabob exclaimed, “Well, by this letter it would appear that your friend is rather straitened for money. As I do not choose you to remain under an obligation to any one of that sort, you shall soon get out of his debt. Xeep those two hundred pounds ho has now sent you: it is a thousand you owe him altogether ; and I will go and procure a cheque from my bankers on their London agents for this amount. Write your letter to Mr. Alvanly — and by tho time it is finished I shall be back.” It was done according to Sir James Thornley’s instructions ; and if I have entered so much into detail with regard to all these money matters, it is simply to show the reader how profusely lavish my new protector was towards me. It may therefore be supposed that X was now altogether happy : but my position had its drawbacks. I soon found that Sir James Thornley was obstinate and self- willed, and that if he were in the slightest degree thwarted, he would prove irritable and passionate. Nor was he always sorry for such displays of tem- per when the storm had passed : on the contrary, he appeared to think that it was impossible he could be wrong, and that he was even merciful in so soon suffering himself to be pacified. He was of a restless disposition ; and not being fond of reading, found some difficulty in disposing of his time. He always wished to be walking or driving about : but he .seldom rode on horseback, as violent exercise did not agree with him ; for he had brought back from India that evil which is generally con- comitant with the wealth amassed by nabobs— namely, a liver-complaint. He was much addicted to the pleasures of the table— sometimes drinking to excess, and then becoming so contradictory, cross, and irritable, that it was difficult indeed for a woman of my spirit to avoid frequent quarrelling. . However, as there are few roses without thorns, I could not expect my position to be one of un- alloyed prosperity ; and for tho possession of every luxury I had to pay certain penalties — namely, the endurance of Sir James Thornley’s unfortunate temper. One day, about the expiration of a month after my installation at Albion House, Sir James said to mo, “ W 0 shall have a visitor in tho course of tho afternoon, who is going to spend a week with us. Ho v\a3 an old frioiul of miiio in India; and it is ijuito by acculcnt that I fell in with him a few mouths ago when 1 happened to bo in London.” EOSA LAMBEET “Is he a raarried man ?” I inquired, thinking that if he were to be accompanied by a wife, that lady would not be very well pleased to be intro- duced to myself as the nabob’s mistress. “ No — he is an old bachelor,” replied Sir James : “ and bachelors, you know, are never particular. You therefore need not entertain the slightest scruple in meeting my friend.” I was about to ask for further particulars, when the entrance of two or three male visitors put an end to the discourse ; and there was no oppor- tunity of renewing it before the hour arrived when I had to retire to my dressing-room to perform my dinner-toilet. In addition to the expected visitor, we were to have three or four gentlemen to dine ; and it was one of the nabob’s whims that I should always be dressed on such occasions in the most sumptuous manner. If without any regard for taste, I arranged the entire contents of a jeweller’s shop about my person. Sir James Thornley would be all the better pleased : whereas, on the other hand, if I happened to dress plainly, it would be sure to lead to angry words when the guests were gone. Therefore, on the occasion of which I am writing, I arrayed myself in the handsomest manner, my dress being of purple velvet trimmed with the costliest lace, and my person being radiant with gems and jewels. On descending to the drawing-room to await the arrival of the guests, I found that Sir James was not there, he not having as yet completed his own evening toilet. The gentlemen who were expected to meet the nabob’s old Iriend, arrived before the latter: Sir James joined us in the drawing-room ; and almost immediately afterwards, the footman threw open the door, announcing, “ Mr. Morris !” The instant that name smote my ear, I felt as if an ice-wind had suddenly blown upon me : I felt too that the colour had fled from my cheeks and that I was pale as marble. I was petrified and could not rise from my seat. But this paraly- zation of the energies lasted only for a few instants ; and quickly regaining my self-possession, I became keenly alive to the imperious necessity of performing my part in such a manner as to avoid “ a scene.” “ Welcome, my old friend, to Albion House !” said the nabob, warmly grasping the hand of Mr. Morris. “Let me present you to my very dear Miss Lambert, who presides over my establish- ment. Eosa, my friend Mr. Morris !” At the very moment that Sir James Thornley thus mentioned my name, he turned his looks towards me; and thus he did not observe the expression of amazement which swept over the countenance of Mr. Morris. But I noticed it : for it was precisely at this instant that my looks were turned upon him. I advanced and made a suitable salutation, but keeping such a control over my features that they should not betray the slightest recognition in respect to Mr. Morris. I felt that thus far I was performing the only part which I could possibly adopt under such circum- stances — and that it now remained for Mr. Morris himself to pursue his own course. To this he ap- peared to have made up his mind with as much promptitude as I had already exercised on my own behalf ; the look of amazement vanished from his features — he gave no further sign of recogni- 341 tion — but bowed to me with that polite courtesy which he would have shown if we had actually been total strangers to each other. Dinner was almost immediately afterwards an- nounced, and Mr. Morris, as the principal guest of the evening, had to escort me to the dining-room. I felt the colour coming and going upon toy cheeks as I took his arm ; and he must have felt my hand tremble as it lightly rested upon the arm which he thus proffered. But ho did not meet my looks; and as we descended the superb marble staircase, he spoke on indifferent subjects : yet I could perceive that there was a certain under- current of mingled agitation and sadness in his tone. He had to sit at my right hand at the superbly covered banqueting-table ; and I said to myself, “ How in heaven’s name are we to bear ourselves towards each other during the two mortal hours that the dinner will last, ere I can possibly escape to the drawing-room ?” And no wonder that I should have felt awkward and embarrassed in reality, though with that ready ease of manner which I possessed, I was enabled to assume an outward freedom from restraint and dispense the courtesies of the dinner-table with a well-bred facility. Once only throughout the banquet did Mr. Morris and I look each other in the face at the same moment : once only were our glances exchanged : — and that was when he took wine with me. Then I felt the crimson deepening upon my cheeks ; and the expression of his coun- tenance was that of mournful reproach. But no wonder, I repeat, that I felt ill at ease : for there I was, gorgeously apparelled as a pensioned harlot in the presence of him who had done his best to redeem me from the path of evil,— in the presence of him whose nephew Arthur Brydges had never ceased to love me with such devoted tenderness ! Yes, there I was, occuping the head of a table belonging to a man to whom I was not married ; there I was in the known capacity of his mistress, — my charms set off to even a meretricious extent — the low-bodied dress revealing the grandeur of my bust — and diamonds, purchased by my dis- honour, glittering upon that half-exposed bosom, — gems and jewels too on my arms bare to the shoulders — equally costly ornaments above that brow whence the coronal of chastity had long since fallen, never to be restored ! Yes — there I was, thus decked out in the presence of the uncle of the pure-minded and v/ell-principled Arthur Brydges. Perhaps, too, the old man might fancy that it was with the hardihood of bravado that I had thus accumulated the richest ornaments about my person — and that I sought to conceal the dark- ness of my shame by the flashing light of brilliant gems and the false glory of resplendent jewels. Por was it likely, I asked myself, that Mr. Morris could for an instant conjecture that I had remained until the last moment ignorant of the name of him who was coming as a guest for an entire week at Albion House ? At length the dessert had progressed up to that point at which I might quit the table and retreat to the drawing-room, — the gentlemen remaining behind to pass the bottle until they should think fit to join me and take coffee. When alone in the drawing-room I could scarcely keep back my tears. There was one being in the world from whom I wished my profligacy to remain concealed 34.2 T^OSA TjATNTnrnT. as much as possible — one being in whoso cstima- tion I dreaded to sink lower than I had previously fallen and this was Arthur Brj^dges. But now what a tale would his uncle have to tell him when next they met! — the lalo that Bosa Lambert con- tinued to sell her charms to the highest bidder, and that she was content with a life of flagrant dishonour, even in the arms of a man old enough to be her father, so long as she could riot in every indulgence and bo surrounded by all imaginable luxuries ! While I -Nvas thus meditating, I heard the door open— and Mr. Morris made his appearance. Not more than a quarter of an hour had elapsed since I quitted the dining-room ; yet the hope imme- diately struck me that all the gentlemen had agreed to rejoin tne, and that Mr. Morris came not alone. But I was disappointed : he was alone ; — and closing the door behind him, he accosted me with a deep sadness upon his countenance. I hung down ray head — 1 had not the power to look him in the face : I was not so completely lost to all sense of shame as to be enabled to ride the matter with a high hand and cover my infamy with a bold hardihood. “You know not the shock which your presence here occasioned mo on my arrival,” began Mr. Morris : “you know not the hope — the fond hope, I may even say — that was all in an instant de- stroyed ! Since the moment you left my house in London, until this evening, I have cherished the idea that you were leading a life of purity and virtue, in order to complete that work of atonement in which you appeared so firm and zealous beneath my roof. Yes — and there was another who cherished that idea likewise ; and we were wont to say that it was perhaps all for the best you had taken the step you did in withdrawing from my dwelling.” “ Do not speak of it, Mr. Morris,” I exclaimed : “ the terrible humiliation I have felt from the in- stant your name was announced, has been almost a sufficient punishment.” “Yes— but I must say a few words on the sub- ject,” he continued: “we shall have some little time to converse — for I have left the dining-i*oom on the plea of indisposition — Sir James Thornley and his guests are not yet inclined to quit the bottle. I wish you to understand. Miss Lambert, what my intentions were towards you. You were passing through an ordeal of probation at my house. Step by step I was trying you : step by step I was admitting you to my confidence and raising you in my estimation. It was my purpose, ere I dis- covered my nephew, to adopt you altogether as a daughter, and leave you the heiress of my wealth, if you continued to prove your contrition for the past. Then my nephew came; and I discovered that you were known to each other. Nay, I dis- covered more — that he loved you deeply, devotedly. 1 learnt how a few years back you generously saved him from a gaol, and procured for him his first cliurch preferment. You were the saviour of that young man : and think you that I was indif- ferent to Bucli conduct on your part towards him, when, poor and an outcast, bo w'us abandoned oven by myself, his nearest relation P No — 1 was not indill'eront ; and 1 said to Arthur, ‘ She saved you from falling into the very vortex of misery; and as you love her, you shall bo the moans of saving her from a relapse into the w.ays of error.’ — And Arthur was rejoiced : for he loved you “ For heaven’s sake, cease!” I exclaimed, with passionate vehemence. “ Am I always destined to learn that there has been happiness within my reach, but that through my own weakness and in- famy I am ever dashing away the cup of pure and holy sweets which the hand of heaven itself would I fjlin hold to ray lips P” “ You must iiear me out, Aliss Lambert,” said Mr. Morris, vritli a look and tone of grave melan- choly : “for in my own justification I would have you understand the precise course that I bad in- tended to pursue towards you. I bade Arthur abstain from visiting at my house until the time should come that I could write to him the as- surance that your reformation was so complete I need no longer hesitate to crown his hopes with happiness. It was my purpose to give you no ex- planation — but to leave you utterly in the dark in respect to my intentions; so that you might have no incentive to continue in a right course beyond your owm improved state of mind, and such encouragement as my own treatment of you afforded. And when you loft the house, I appre- ciated your motives, as they were set forth in the letter which you left behind you— although I deeply, deeply deplored the step you had taken. But still I thought that the mingled generosity and delicacy of feeling which your conduct dis- played, were the very best guarantees for a con- tinuance in the riglit path. I said all this to Arthur; and we pictured you to ourselves retiring to some humble lodging to earn your bread by a laborious industry ; and we thought that if at the expiration of a. time you felt you had per- formed your duty, you would know enough of us — or at least of me, to appear before me once again, able to look me in the face and declare that the past was atoned for so far as it was possible for such redemption to be accomplished. Such were our ideas — such our hopes ; and these have we entertained during the months and months which have elapsed since your withdrawal from my abode nearly a year back ! Conceive therefore, Miss Lambert, the shock which I experienced when on entering this house I beheld you decked in those meretricious gems, and performing a part to which I had hoped you had bidden adieu for ever !” The reader may conceive how the old man’s words racked ray heart, and what tortures were experienced within the bosom upon which gleamed the flashing gems, and in the brain behind that brow which bore a circlet of diamonds. The tears • gushed from my eyes : but hastily wiping them away, for fear lest any one should enter and find me in that condition of grief, I said, “ Mr. Mori’is, you must not for a moment think I was aware that you were the old friend of whom Sir J ames Thornley spoke. By a strange oversight he men- tioned not the name ” “ I believe you,” interrupted Mr. Morris : “ I know you well enough to comprehend when you are speaking the truth. All that I have been saying to you was not uttered with the intention of wilfully wounding your heart But perhaps wo had bettor say no more I” — then, after a brief pause, ho added, “ Your own good sense must tell you that everything — every scintillation of hope — every possibility of altering circumstances, — all is EOSA LAMBEET. DOW at an end between yourself and Arthur Bryclges !” “ I know it,” I said : and an excruciating pang shot through my heart. “But will you tell him ” “ I must,” he responded, anticipating the ques- tion I was about to put. I endeavoured to give utterance to an entreaty that he would remain silent in respect to my con- dition— but the words stuck in my throat: I coiild not speak them. “ It is not my intention,” resumed Mr. Morris, “to state to my old friend Sir James Thornley that I had any previous knowledge of you: and judging from your own manner throughout the evening, I presume that it suits you to be equally silent ? He has engaged me to pass a week with him : I cannot for courtesy’s sake immediately hurry off — but on the other hand I could not endure to remain all that time beneath this roof where you dwell in so false a position. I shall therefore limit my sojourn at Albion House to a couple of days : and throughout this interval we will not renew the painful topic on which we have been speaking.” Mr. Morris kept his word ; and during the two days which he remained at the house, not another syllable was breathed that could more bitterly revive my grief for the past than his own presence had the effect of doing. He departed: I scarcely know what pretext he made to the Baronet for thus materially abridging his visit: but I was much relieved when he was gone. I shall not now pause to moralize upon all the painful reflections which that interview in the drawing-room excited in my mind : sufiice it to say that whatsoever I did think and feel, was no mean part of the punishment which it was my destiny to endure even in this world for the sins of my life. CHAPTEE XLVI. NE-VV ACQUAINTANCE. Through gluttonous living and frequent excess in drinking. Sir James Thornley brought on a fierce attack of his bilious complaint; and having been obliged to keep his bed for a week, he at length descended to the drawing-room in such an exe- crable humour that I felt if it did not speedily change there would be a violent quarrel between us. Everything that was said or dene by myself for any of the domestics was sure to be wrong : nothing satisfied him — nothing could conciliate him. I submitted to this ill-temper on his part for a few days, — remaining with him almost con- stantly to minister to his comforts so far as he would permit me: but at last, as he appeared entirely thankless, I thought I would leave him to himself for several hours in the hope that on my return he would all the better appreciate my com- panionship. I accordingly took the carriage one morning soon after breakfast, and went across to Eyde. There I remained until four in the afternoon, — partaking of refreshments at an hotel, and amus- ing myself with v/alking on the pier and the sea- 343 shore. When I returned to Albion House and had changed my apparel, I proceeded to the drawing- room with an air as calm as if I had done nothing unusual. The old Baronet was seated on the sofa — his countenance grim and ominous. “ Where have you been all this time ?” he abruptly demanded : and I saw that there would be a scene. “ To Eyde,” I answered, — “ where I have passed a few hours very pleasantly.” “ And you leave me here all alone by myself — ill as I am ?” he cried, his rage boiling up. “You were so much better this morning that I thought I could safely leave you,” I answered. “ Besides, when I am. here, whatever I strive to do for your comfort is always wrong— always unsatis- factory ” “Because you do nothing right!” he retorted fiercely. “That must be through my awkwardness,” I answered, — “ but not through any wilful neglect or indifference on my part, I can assure you.” “How do I know that?” he savagely de- manded. “ Because I tell you so,” was my rejoinder. “ Well, it’s false, then 1” he vociferated. You neglect me scandalously — you treat me infamously you — you ” “ If you are dissatisfied,” I said, “ we ” “Dissatisfied! — what the devil have I got to make me satisfied ?” he exclaimed. “ At all events,” I said, still speaking in a tone that was mildly firm, “ I do my best to please you —and I can do no more.” “You don’t do your best!” he cried, having now worked himself up to perfect fury : and seizing bis gold-headed cane, he struck me a sudden blow across my bare shoulder. I turned quickly round upon him, my eyes flashing and my countenance crimsoning with in- dignation. The stick fell from his hand : his naturally sallow complexion turned of a ghastly whiteness—he quivered from head to foot, and gazed up at me in a half-affrighted, half-deprecating manner. “ This is the first time that I ever received a dastard blow from the hand of a man — and it is assuredly the last that yours shall ever deal me. I leave you, sir !” — and having spoken in the coldly severe tone of a deep concentrated inward rage, I turned to quit the apartment. “ Eose, for heaven’s sake do not leave me !” cried Sir James, in accents of despair. “I will go upon my knees to beseech your pardon ! You ought to make allowances for me — it is the pain of illness that renders me so irritable ” “ Look what you have done !” I said, turning my shoulder towards him: for a glance in the mirror had shown me a long red mark all across the transparent vv'hiteness of my skin. “ I will cover it with a thousand-guinea shawl to-moiTow !” exclaimed the nabob. “ Pr.ay — I beseech you— do not leave me, Eose— do not !” “Never mind the shawl. Sir James,” I said: “ but will you faithfully and solemnly promise that such a disgraceful scene as this shall never be re- newed ?” “ Solemnly I pledge myself,” he replied. “ Pray, dear Eose, forgive me ! Y’ou cannot imagine bow distressed and humiliated I feel. I would give ifO'iA T \''rTir''nT. M'i half my fortune to recall that blow— J would in- deed !” “ But if I forgive you,” I said, “ will you like- wise promise that you will not heneeforth make me the object of your ill-humour? I tell you very candidly that I had no wish to go to Bydo : I went thither merely to get out of your w'ay ; and if you had been amiable I should liave re- mained with you, as I had hitherto done since your illness commenced.” Sir James Thornley made mo all kinds of pro- mises and pledges : ho seemed so thoroughly hu- miliated — so grieved and contrite, that 1 ended by suffering myself to bo appeased, — as indeed almost from the very first I had intended to do : for with all its drawbacks and disagreeables, my position as the mistress of that splendid establishment was not one to be inconsiderately resigned, nor to be abandoned without some very powerful reason. Thus we made our peace ; and for the next fort- night Sir James Thornley managed to curb his temper — though I perceived that it frequently cost him a somewhat painful effort to do so. I had now been two months under his protec- tion : it was drawing towards the close of March — and the fine weather was coming on. I began to take horse exercise every day for a couple of hours ; and, as I have already said Sir James seldom rode, I went out attended by a groom. One day, the weather being exceedingly beautiful, I rode in the direction of the coast in the neighbourhood of Eyde. The sun was shining brightly — the sea was only gently agitated with the breeze— the white gulls were sweeping over its surface — and a stately steamer was pursuing its way towards the pier at E.yde. Just at the spot where I caught sight of that steamer, the land went gradually shelving down towards the shore : but on my right band it rose with an equally graduated ascent, forming a frontage of clift’s. The scene was so beautiful, that I resolved to ascend the height in order to embrace and enjoy it the more fully, as well as to woo the breeze which blew more freshly up there. I know not what it was that took possession of my steed, usually docile and quiet, — whether it were that I pulled him round somewhat too abruptly, or that he caught sight of some object which fright- ened him, — but certain it was that he grew restive. I gave him a severe cut across the shoulder ; and away he bounded up the ascent with the speed of lightning. We were far too near the edge of the cliff for the position to be a pleasant one ; and a horrible terror seized upon me — yet not to such an extent as to make me lose all presence of mind. The groom dashed after me : but the sounds of his horse’s feet made my own steed fly all the more madly. I therefore vehemently beckoned the groom to keep back ; and when the noise of that pursuing animal was no longer hoard, I redoubled my efforts to drawn my own in. But all in vain ! — and now as the summit of the eminence was reached, 1 instantaneously became aware, to my inefiablo horror, that the decline on the other side of the brow terminated abruptly with a precipice, towards which the animal was dashing as if it were frenzied or blind. 1 caught sight of a human form rushing towards rno : 1 shrieked for help — and throwing myself off the horse’s bade, was caught in the arms of the individual whom 1 thus beheld. Almost at the same instant the steed, as I I I if perfectly satisficfl with having got mo off hi i back, stopped short : but it was within a few fee! of the precipice that the animal thus saved itself. I did not faint : but I closed my eyes to shut out from my view the abyss from which I had so narrowly escaped being precipitated. My bosom heaved with long-drawn and convulsing sighs ; and I gasped for breath. It was nearly a minute be- fore I could venture to open my eyes again ; and then there was such a dizziness in ray brain that all objects appeared to be whirling rapidly round. At length I was sufficiently composed to disengage myself from the arms that sustained mo, and to breathe a few words of thanks to the individual for his kind succour. I found him to bo a young gentleman of not more than two-and-twenty— very tall, slender, and well made. lie was not merely good-looking too, but handsome, though with somewhat delicately-formed features : his complexion was fair — his brown hair curled in thick clusters — and his blue eyes expressed the deepest interest as ho gazed upon mo. lie was dressed with that kind of fashionable negli- gence which gentlemen by the sea-side are often wont to adopt : but there was a certain distinction in his mien and general appearance that bespoke gentle breeding. “Is there anything I can do for you?” he asked, in a tone which was soft and harmonious ; and his parting lips at the same time displayed a beautiful set of teeth. “ There is a cottage near — permit me to escort you thither- you can sit down to compose yourself a draught of water perhaps would help to restore you ” He was holding the bridle of my horse as he thus spoke : the groom had come up in the mean- time — and the man was ns pale as death ; for he had expected that I should disappear from his view down the frightful precipice. I thanked the young gentleman for his kind courtesy — but assured him that I was rapidly recovering my self-possession, and in a few minutes should re- mount my horse to return home. “ Will you permit me to lead the horse for you towards Ryde ?” he asked : “ for I know that after an accident of this kind, a lady is naturally more or less timid-^and the animal itself, having once dislodged you from its back, may prove vicious.” “ Again I thank you for your courtesy,” I said : “ but I am not afraid to remount my horse. He is usually docile enough — and something must have frightened him. Besides, I do not live at Ryde ” “At Cowes perhaps?” suggested my new ac- quaintance. “ I shall esteem it an honour and a pleasure to walk by your horse’s side— if you will permit me ?” “ I thank you,” I answered, with a smile ; “ but I live at Newport.” “ It happens that I shall bo there to-morrow,” was the young gentleman’s rejoinder, promptly given : but it was with some little degree of hesi- tation he added, “ If it were not indiscreet— if you would not deem mo offensive — I should crave per- mission to call and assure myself that you have sustained no farther inconvenience than now ap- pears from the accident ?” “ If you call at Albion House,” I answered, “ and inquire for Miss Liiinbcrt, I shall be enabled to renew the assurance of ray gratitude for your EOSA LAMBERT. 345 kindness and courtesy. But as for your walking by my side, I could not think of giving you such trouble : and indeed I am now perfectly able to ride my horse homeward.” The young gentleman — or rather nobleman, as he turned out to be — expressed his gratitude for the permission I had given him to call: he announced himself to me as Lord Ilder- ton ; and I just knew sufficient of the English Peerage to be aware that he was the elder son of the Earl of Merthyr. He assisted me to re- mount : I again thanked him, and rode away, fol- lowed by the groom. On returning to Albion House, I informed Sir James of what had happened and the narrow escape I had experienced : I likewise stated that for courtesy’s sake I had acceded to Lord Ilderton’s request that he might call to inquire after me. It unfortunately happened that the nabob was in an exceedi^ly m-hurnour,— caused chiefly, I fancy, oy my prolonged absence: so that instead of sympathizing with me for what had occurred, he gave vent to his irritability by saying that’“ it was all my own fault— that I was too venturesome on horseback — and that for anything he knew to the contrary, I had been endeavouring to show ofi* in the presence of the young nobleman who had afterwards succoured me.” I said nothing to aggravate Sir James Thorn- ley s irritability, — though I felt indignant as well as hurt at his tone and manner. My very for- bearance had the efiect however of irritating him all the more : he seemed to be in one of those i moods when a downright quarrel could alone afibrd a sufficient vent for his ill-humour. He went on saying spiteful and irritating things,— until at last my own temper got the better of me. I gave him some very sharp and cutting retort ; he snatched up his gold-headed cane, which he always had near him — and was about to deal mo SAG anotlicr savap^e blow, when I wrcslcfl it from liis prrnsp— broke it in liaivcs across my knee— and tossing the pieces at him, said, “Now understand me well, Sir James! the very next time you dare attempt to strike me, instead of breaking your stick, I will use it without mercy across your own shoulders Unless, indeed,” I immediately added, “ you desire us to separate ; which, under all circumstances, will perhaps be the best.” Tor nearly a minute Sir James Thornley was so astounded and amazed at my conduct, that ho could not give utterance to a word ; he turned as pale as death, and gazed upon me with a sort of stupefaction. Uut when I spoke of a separation, be entreated my pardon in the most piteous terms ; and 1 was by no means unwilling to concede him my forgiveness — for I hoped and believed that J had efrcctually cured him of his cowardly habit of using his stick. The scene excited him so much as to bring on an attack of his old complaint; and on the following day ho had to keep his bed. At about two o’clock on this day young Lord Ilderton called; and I received him in the sumptuously furnished drawing-room. I was perfectly well convinced that he must have made inquiines con- cerning me before he thus arrived at the house; and moreover I was past that point at which I could blush at receiving one who could scarcely fail to know that I was living in an equivocal position. I found him to be a very agreeable young man, with a most amiable suavity of man- ner, but with no lack of intelligence. lie informed me that he was passing a few weeks at Hyde with an elderly maiden relative who dwelt there ; and on taking his leave, he requested permission to call again when he happened to be at Newport. I gave my assent : for I had made up my mind that if Sir James Thornley objected to any of my proceedings, or attempted to coerce me in anyway, I would assume a threatening demeanour and carry matters with a high hand, which I now found to be the only fashion to deal with him. On the following day I was walking through Newport by myself, when I suddenly beheld a man, dressed as a coal-heaver, with a blackened face, and a large overlapping cap, turn rouud a corner as he caught a glimpse of me ; and the conviction Hashed to my mind that this was none other than my old enemy, Mr. Tobias Grayson. Whether he knew that I was living in that neigh- bourhood, or whether he was merely paying a flying visit to the place, I of course could not tell : but tliat he would adopt some treacherous proceed- ing or even attempt some violence with regard to me, I was full well assured. 1 knew that the man was bitterly vindictive ; and moreover that having successfully preyed upon me so often, he would be encouraged to make the attempt again. 7\ecordingly, alter a very few minutes’ delibora- lioii wilh mysell', 1 rclunicd homo and told Sir James 'I'hornley sullieieiit to induce him to send for the eliief conslahh' of the town, to whom we coiriinuiiical cd the tact that the notorious male- factor ’J’r\\ai11 as other pedplo. It’s not much more than a month Hg(» that I was walking about London with seurco a shoo to my foot or a rag to my back.” “And how' the deuce did you manage to put yourself in eucli good form as 1 find you in now P” asked his companion. There was a pause : and tlion Toby Grayson said, “ (!an you keep a secret, I^ick ?” “ Well, 1 think I am rather famous in that way,” replied the man with the husky voice. “ You liave known mo off and on for some years, Toby ; and though we have never worked together — for you always do your business alone — yet from what you’ve heard tell of me — — ” “ You’re as close as the door and as down as the knocker of Newgate,” interjected Grayson. “ W ell, J)ick, I can trust you — I know that ypu arc one of the right sort— and, by jingo ! I could tell you such a strange tale I don’t know whether you will believe it. it at times seems to me myself that it didn’t really happen, but that I read it in some gammoning novel. However, it is true ; and as we may just as well chat hero for half-au-hour or so, I’ll tell you the story.” “ Do,” said his companion with the husky voice. “ I like a tale when it’s a true one.” “ Well,” resumed Grayson, after another brief pause, “as I was saying just now, it’s not much more than a month since I was w’alking about London without a shoo to my foot. I had been very unfortunate for some little time past ; and the truth is, I was so reduced that I had sold my pistols — my changes of dress — in short, I had made away with everything that I could raise a penny on. On the particular day of which I am going to speak, I had not broken my fast ; and I resolved to do something desperate to replenish my pocket. Well, it was about five o’clock in the evening, and I was walking along Pall Mall, when I saw a middle-aged man, dressed like a butler or valet in plain clothes. Suit of black — white neck- cloth — white cotton gloves- and so on, all very neat and tidy — and he had a pretty decent watch- chain hanging from his fob. Now, Dick, I bate anything that’s low ; and it went sadly against my grain to turn pickpocket : but what the deuce was I to do ? After all, I consoled myself with the reflection that I was only in the same state as your bankrupt lord is when he takes to cheating at cards or swindling on the turf. So I made up my mind that the man’s watch should find its way into my pocket. And do you know why I pitched upon that identical individual as the one who should furnish me a dinner ? It was because he had a vacant and abstracted look, as if he was too much troubled with some other person’s business at the moment to bo able to mind his own. Kc was looking uneasily about him, as if seeking for something or somebody that ho did not rightly know whore to find. That’s why I pitched upon this particular individual. So presently my man stopped at a print-shop window — but I’m sure it was only in a mechanical way, and not because he really had any curiosity to examine the pictures : for ]\c still coiitiiuied as abstracted as ever. I shulllcd close up to him ; and while prctcudiug to ho trcmoiulously absorbed in a portrait of the (iuoeu togged out in her robes, I got hold of my HOSA LAMBERT. 367 man’s chain. — ‘ Ifovv, that won’t do, you fellow,’ he immediately said, clajjping his hand upon his fob : but instead of clutching me by the collar, or making a disturbance, or shouting for the police, he simply added, ‘ If you are in distress, I will relieve you. Follow me.’ — Well, I had no fear that he meant me a mischief : so I followed him, and he led the way to one of the narrow streets at the back of Charing Cross barracks. We entered a public-house : there was nobody else in the par- lour : he ordered a pot of porter and lots of bread and cheese, and told me to eat and drink.” “What a capital fellow !” ejaculated Dick, with his husky voice. “ Capital indeed !” rejoined Grayson, “ You may be pretty sure I did not wait to be bidden twice ; and all the while I was eating and drink- ing, my unknown friend never took his eyes off me — but continued to survey me with a calm and deliberate scrutiny, as if to convince himself that I was an individual suited to his purpose. It was a sort of appraisement— a taking^ stock of me, so to speak ” “ And the result,” observed Dick, “ was no doubt satisfactory.” “ Completely so,” was the response. “ Well,” continued Toby Grayson, “ when I had emptied the pewter pot and devoured all the bread and cheese, my new friend began to question me : and as I saw that he was in want of some one to do some- thing that he either couldn’t or wouldn’t do for himself, I spoke out pretty frankly, letting him know that I was a man who would stick at nothing as long as I was well paid. In short, I gave him to understand that for many and many a year I had quartered myself upon the public, just as State-pensioners dp,— only that I hadn’t been for- tunate enough to get an Act of Parliament to give a colour to my robberies. Well, he was evidently pleased ; and he told me that if I liked I might put a hundred guineas in my pocket before the dawn of the next morning. I said that I was perfectly agreeable : but he would tell me no more on that occasion. He however pulled out a five- pound note, and told me to meet him at half-past ten o’clock that same night by the fountains in Trafalgar Square.” “ Well, this is a regular romance !” said Dick, with his husky voice. “Ah, but it’s all true !” replied Grayson: “and now you’re coming to what a romance-writer would call the thrilling part of it. I had plenty of time,” continued Toby, “ to make a good use of the five-pound note. I went and togged myself out in a bran new suit bought second-hand at the corner of Holywell Street : I had a jolly supper, with a couple of glasses of punch : and as the time for the appointment drew on, I went to the foun- tains in Trafalgar Square. There I was joined by my unknown friend ; and he asked me if I was still in the same mind ? I told him that I was, if he was still in the same mind about the hundred guineas? His answer was satisfactory: and he told me to accompany him. We entered a cab together; and he gave some whispered instructions to the driver which I could not hear : he paid him his fare too before starting — and I know that the fee was a liberal one, by the way in which the jarvey thanked him. Then he drew down the blinds, and told me that I must have a handker- chief put over my eyes. I did not much like that : but he bade me hold out my hand, and he counted into it fifty sovereigns, — telling me that I should have thi} remainder when my work was done. All my hesitation vanished in a moment as I poured the chinking gold into my pocket ” “ Deuce take it !” exclaimed Dick, “ this does get spicy. Go on, Toby. You’ll sell the history of your life some day for a pretty tidy amount.” “ Pemember it’s all a secret, Dick,” answered Grayson. “Well, my unknown friend tied with his own hand a thick silk handkerchief over my eyes, in such a way that I could have seen nothing if I had been taken into a room where a thousand lamps were burning. He put my hat on my head again ; and then ho held both my hands to prevent me from lifting the bandage and the blind of the cab. In short, Dick, the fellow was as deep as possible in his determination to keep the whole proceeding dark. All this w’hile the cab was driving on, and I had no more idea what direction it was going in than the captain of a ship at sea without a compass. The journey lasted for a matter of half-an-hour after leaving Trafalgar Square ; and then the cab stopped. My friend assisted me to alight, still most kindly keeping hold of my hands ; and the instant my feet touched the ground, away went the cab as if the devil had got hold of the horse’s tail.” “ And where was you, do you think ?” asked Dick, in a husky tone of wonderment. “ Ah ! that’s more than I can tell,” replied Toby Grayson. “ My unknown friend, still keeping tight hold of both my hands, led me along for a matter of about thirty yards : then a door opened — it sounded like a door in a garden-wall : we en- tered some place — another door opened— a little passage led to a staircase— and up this we went.” “ Didn’t you count the steps ?” inquired Dick hastily. “ To be sure I did,” responded Grayson : “ for I had all my wits pretty keen about me. There were just thirty-two ; and the staircase was thickly carpetted. There was a very short landing on the top : my friend threw open the door ; and pushing me into a room, shut the door again. He now told me I might take the bandage off my eyes ; and he assisted me to do it. I found myself in a small but splendidly -furnished room : the cornices and panels were all edged with gilding ; and there were rich red draperies fringed with gold to the two windows. A lamp was burning on the table : but there was one thing that struck me as being precious queer — and this was a large sack filled with some object, that lay upon the carpet ” “ The deuce !” ejaculated Dick : and from my place of concealment I heard him bound upon the grass with surprise. “You don’t mean to say ” “ Hold your tongue,” interrupted Toby Grayson ; “ and hear the rest of the story : for it’s every syllable as true as that you are there.” “Well, it looks like truth,” responded his com- panion : “ for I’ll be hanged if you could invent such a queer tale as this. Go on.” “I don’t know how it was,” resumed Toby Grayson, — “perhaps however on account of the mystery with which my unknown friend conducted the entire proceeding — but it instantly struck me that the sack contained a corpse. — ‘ I see,’ he at 3G8 ■ROSA LAMIJIlIIT. onco said, ‘ tlmt your imagination has eyes which can penetrate through that sack. And now are you still in the same mind, and will you earn the other fifty sovereigns P’ — Of course I said ‘ Yes and my unknown friend told mo that I must bo bandaged again. You may easily suppose that I wanted to ask him a few questions: but I didn’t dare— for I saw that he was not the man to answer them, or to put up with any impertinent curiosity. So he blindfolded me again, and told me to help him carry the sack down the stairs, which I might do well enough by keeping behind while he went on in front. So in this manner we descended the stairs; and I have no doubt he kept a sharp eye upon me to see that I didn’t let go a hand to remove the bandage. We passed out of the same doors ; and a carriage was waiting to convey us away. The sack was put inside — we got in also— and away went the equipage at a rapid pace. I had no idea what direction was taken : only I knew that we were soon off the pavement and in the country. Well, the journey lasted for about an hour — for wo went at a fine rate ” “ And you were bandaged all the time ?” asked Dick. Yes, to be sure !” responded Grayson. “ Y’ou’ll see presently that the object was to prevent me from getting a glimpse of the carriage itself when we alighted. At the expiration of the hour we stopped ; and still blindfolded I had • to help my friend lift the sack out of the vehicle. I must tell you that he had brought a couple of spades with him ; and these we carried between us as well as the sack ; and ho said to me in a calm quiet way, ‘ If I see you raise your hand to your bandage before I give you leave, I shall blow your brains out.’ — I can assure you, Dick, I had no in- clination to disobey ; for the whole proceeding convinced me that I had to do with a man who knew what be was about and would act with firm- ness. I heard him open the gate of a field ; and w’e passed in, carrying our burthen between us. When we had gone some distance, he told me I might take off the bandage — which I did. I saw one or two lights twinkling at a distance ; but the night was so precious dark I could not distinguish the bouses ; and as for seeing the carriage we had left in the road, it was out of the question. We entered a second field ; and as my friend appeared to know the place well, there was no time lost in searching at random for a spot. He lighted a lantern to guide him to the spot that he did want ; and when we reached it, we fell to digging away as hard as we could. I told him I thought the light could possibly bo seen: but he mei*ely ob- served that if so it would be taken for a will-o’-the- wisp ; and then, as I looked in the direction where I had seen lights glimmering in the windows, I perceived that they were now extinguished. The ground was uncommon hard ; and we worked about an hour before wo made a hole deep enough to bury the corpse. At length it was done : the I shovelling back of the earth was an easy task enough : wo flattened down the surface as well as wo could — and the supcrlluous soil wo throw into n dry ditch close by.” “And what happened then?” asked the man with a husky voieo. “My unknown friend counted the remaining fifty sovereigns into my hand ; and when he had done, ho told me to make off across the ficbls quite in the contrary direction from that where the car- riage was waiting. Jfc stayed for a few moments to see that I obeyed him ; and then I have no doubt he got back to the carriage as fast as he could, with his implements.” “ And you have no idea who the parties were that did the murder ?” said Dick inquiringly. “No more than you have,” answered Grayson; “or I would make the job an annuity for the rest of my life. Of course, as 1 retraced ray way to London, I found out in what neighbourhood it was where the burial had taken place ; but this was a point that my utdtnown friend had no in- terest in concealing from me, because ho knew very well that I should not go forward and tell the part I had borne in the night’s work. I hud no idea whether the corpse was male or female, or anything about it, until the affair all came out in the newspapers through that farmer fellow having seen a light moving in the field.” “What a strange story !” observed Dick. “I wonder why on earth the girl was made away with and such a beautiful creature too, as the newspapers said she was !” “ I dare say it will never be known,” answered Toby. “ And now about that business of yours which you have in hand ?” said his companion with a husky voice. “ Why, you must know that two or three days back,” continued Grayson, — “the other affair being all blown over — I somehow or another took it into my head to come up into this neighbour- hood and have a look at the spot by daylight. Well, as I was walking along the road, who should I see strolling in the garden of a fine house facing the very fields where the burial took place, but a handsome lady that is an old acquaintance of mine.” “ And who is she ?” inquired the man with the husky voice. “A certain Hosa Lambert,” replied Grayson; “ and perhaps the handsomest woman that I ever set eyes on. It would do you good to look at her, if you are any judge of beauty. Such hair — such eyes — such teeth ! — and then such a figure too — it fires my veins even to think of her !” “ And what scheme, then, have you in hand r” asked Dick. “ Why, the truth is,” responded Grayson, that I have as much spite as love for Hosa Lambert ; and if I can’t gratify one, I must appease the other — but I hope to do both. From certain in- quiries I have made, I find that she is living in grand style with a young nobleman incognito, who has taken her own name : but I know very \vell who he is from the description that has been given me of him. They keep carriages and horses, and have plenty of plate : and depend upon it that Miss Rosa has got the costliest jewellery — for she is very fond of decking her pretty person with trinkets of that kind.” “Well, and what thou?” asked the husky- voiced individual. “ Simply that I mean to break into the house to-night and help myself to all I can get,” an- swered Grayson. “ You said just now— and very truly too— that I generally work alone ; but here ROSA LA-MBERT. 3G.9 is a business in which I must have assistance — and you are the man to help me. I am so well known to jVIiss Eose that if I go near the place in any disguise, she is sure to penetrate it ; and yet it would be madness to attempt an entry to-night without knowing something about the premises. So you must go— pretend to be a labourer out of work— to be in want— starving— and all that sort of thing; and judge for yourself which is the best point for us to effect an entrance. You must also learn how many men-servants there are about the place— whether they all sleep inside the mansion — or whether some occupy the outhouses. But I needn t tell a clever fellow such as you are, how you are to^ manage, or what is the particular nature of the information you are to procure. I have made up my mind for a good night’s work ; j and if you second me, as I know you will, we shall carry all before us. We’ll penetrate even to the very bower of love itself ; and as I owe younsr No. 47 ^ Lord Ilderton a desperate grudge for certain mat- ters that took place in the Isle of Wight, you may prepare yourself to see murder done : for I’ll stretch him dead at Eosa Lambert’s feet. And then ” The remainder of the miscreant’s speech was uttered in so low a whisper that I could not catch it : but I shuddered to the very uttermost con- fines of my entire being-for I could only too well conjecture what his horrible purpose was. Now then, Dick,” resumed Grayson, “ we’ll j just step into Edmonton and refresh ourselves at a public-house for an hour or so ; and when you have got a good belly-full,” he added, with a coarse laugh, “you’ll be in all the better humour to go and play the part of a half-starved labourer. Come along.” I heard the two villains rise up from the grass ; and I was in a mortal terror lest they should take it into their heads to come round to that side of 370 llOS/V T.AMBEHT. the Lay-stack where I was seated,— in wliich ease, and seeing the humour that the monster Grayson was in, 1 might have expected any violence and outrage on liis part. Infinite therefore was my relief wlien I heard the footsteps of the ruffians retreating in the contrary direction j and the closing of the gate speedily made me aware that they had issued from the field. CHAPTEE L. M A H t O W M A IT O B. I SAVB hot thought it suitable to break the thread of my narrative to describe the varied feel- ings which I experienced while listening to the discourse which F have recorded. Put the reader has no doubt comprehended the full extent of that mingled amazement and horror to which t Was a prey while Toby Grayson was telling his tale in respect to the mysterious murder. This tale, even though garbed in the coarse and flippant language of the unscrupulous scoundrel, was endowed with a most appalling interest : it constituted a new chapter in that dark romantic tragedy the first portion of which had produced such immense ex- citement. There were periods while he was speaking when thd blood ran cold in my veins — or rather stagnated icily there altogether ; and it was with a fearful breathless suspense that I listened to his wildly strange talo from first to last. But I will not linger unnecessarily upon this portion of my narrative. I was now in feverish haste to get back to the Manor. I waited how- ever a few minutes after I had heard the gate ot the field close, in order to afford the miscreants leisure to get out of sight ; and when I thought that I might safely venture from my hiding-place, I returned into the lane. A glance Hung in the direction of Edmonton, showed me that the coast was clear; and with all possible despatch I made my way homeward. At the very instant I reached the Manor, llderton was returning on horseback, attended by Thomas, who was also mounted, and was leading a beautiful animal which had been purchased for my use. llderton at once saw, by ray pale countenance and scared looks, that some- thing had happened : a few words hastily whis- pered from my lips, informed him that I could not gpeak before the domestic ; and we were soon alone in the drawing-room together. I said nothing of my encounter with Arthur Brydges ; but I circumstantially related everything in con- nexion with Toby Grayson and his husky-voieed companion, jlderton listened with aS much aniazement and witli as strong a feeling of awful horror as 1 myself Jiad experienced when seated behind the hayslack. Wheji 1 hud linished speak- ing, ho remained wrapperl up in tijouglit for sumo iiiirmtcS ; and I uav/ that lie was perj>lcxcd and bewildered how t(j act. “ A Hoiso of duty,” lie at hmgih said, speaking in a grave and seriou:) tone, “promjiU us on the one hand to (;omn.unieat(! all f heso things to the ]>r(jpi’r aul horities : hut on the other huiid, wo have mhf her (;f us any iiielinalion that our names should bo drugged before tho public.” “ If, by communicating with tho auflioritii^, ' [ observed, “ we could afford a certain clue to I lie discovery of tho author or authors of that dirk mysterious crime, it would indeed bo our duty to put every other consideration entirely out ol' the question: but I do not think, my dear Jlimry, that justice would bo in any way assisted by tho communication of tho facts which have come to our knowledge. Every precaution was so well taken by Grayson’s unknown employer that human keenness and ingenuity would bo alto- gether bafllcd in the endeavour to unravel the tangled skein. The man Grayson would himself have pursued the investigation if the sliglitest clue had been left him by the proceedings of that mys- terious night: but he conlessed to his companion that he was utterly at a loss ” “Then it will be useless,” interrupted llderton, “for us to commuuicuto the facts which liave como to our knowledge. I do not hesitate to admit that I would rather not have my name brought before the public : and I am sure, my dear Eosc, tliut you do not wish your own to be dragged forward in any such way.” “That point being settled, therefore,” I said, “ we have next to consider how we are to act with regard to the plot which is in embryo against our- selves. My dear Henry, you must run no risk t for that dreadful man is perfectly capable of carry- ing out his diabolic threats !” — and I shudtlered coldly as I spoke. “But ” “ I see that you have something in your mind, dearest Eose,” said llderton,— “ some proceeding that you would suggest. You have but to speak ; and you know perfectly well that your slightest wish shall be gratified.” “ Let us not remain here,” I said 5 and I was trembling all over with frightful apprehensions. “If we take measures to capture Grayson, our names ^yill be dragged before the public : if he bo- killed in making his burglarious entry, there will be the same result so far as we are concerned. Besides, I do not hesitate to confess that my nerves have been so shaken by everything that has recently occurred ” “We will go away!” exclaimed llderton. “But really something ought to be done with regard to this monster. According to everything you have told me at difiVrent times, he turns up in whatso- ever part of the country you may happen to be ; and it is but too evident that he cherishes a deadly animosity against us both. I have a pro- ject in my head — and yet I am afraid that you will scarcely consent to it ” “Name it, my dear Henry; for although I said just now that my nerves are shaken, yet if it be necessary, I can summon all my fortitude to my aid.” “ It were indeed strange if you could not,” an- swered llderton with a smile, “ considering how well you played your part as Lieutenant Erederiuk Lambert of the iGlh Drugoou^.” “ And your prujeet, niy dear Henry 1 said. "It is to got tho fellow completely into our power : and then I will deal with him iu u maimer •which [ hope will rid this country of his proseuea for ever.” Lord llderton explained his design; and X thought it so good, that I said, “Yes— by all means lot us curry it out ! And now recollect that his BOSA LAMBKBT. 371 ! i t I I I ! I accomplice will soon be here to reconnoitre the piemises, and to glean from the domestics whatso- ever he can pick up.” We had four men-servants in the establishment : namely, Ilderton’s valet, a footman, a coachman, and Thomas the groom. Three of these slept in- side the house : Thomas occupied a room over the stables. Then there was the gardener, who like- wise inhabited an outhouse ; and thus, including Ilderton himself, there were six males upon the premises — forming a garrison sufficiently strong not merely for the defence of the place, but like- wise to capture the two ruffians who were expected to attack it. Ilderton summoned the men- servants and the gardener into his presence ; and he explained to them that it had accidentally come to our knowledge that a burglarious entry would be attempted, and that one of the burglars might be shortly expected to make a reconnaissance under certain pretexts. He furthermore informed the menials that it did not suit his purpose to in- voke the aid of the police, nor conduct his pro- ceedings in a manner calculated to result in public exposure ; and he therefore gave the necessary in- structions for the carrying-out of the scheme which he had devised. The domestics all pro- mised to follow his orders to the very letter ; and preparations were at once made for the expected visit of Grayson’s accomplice. The pantry was an outbuilding jutting forth from the rear of the mansion ; and the window was protected by a shutter lined with an iron- plate. This shutter Ilderton ordered to be at once removed, and put out of sight. He then directed that large quantities of silver plate should be dis- played on the table which stood near the pantry- window ; and he furthermore instructed the domestics as to the observations they were to let drop, as if in a casual manner, when Grayson’s accomplice should come. In about half-an-hour we beheld, from the drawing-room window, a man dressed as a la- bourer enter by the iron gate : and he addressed himself to the gardener, who was at wprk upon the flower-beds. As I subsequently gleaned evei*y thing that took place, I am enabled to describe it in a narrative form. The man — who was a short, sturdy, strong-built fellow, about forty years of age, and who had nothing in his countenance to indicate the treacherous villany of his character — said to the gardener, “ You can’t give a poor man half-a-day’s work — can you ? so that I may get a bit of bread.” “Are you out of work, then?” inquired the gardener, who however knew very well that he was speaking to the expected scoundrel. “Yes— lam,” was the response; “and I haven’t broke my fast this blessed day.” “ Poor fellow !” said the gardener, with a com- passionating air. “ I can’t give you any work : but if you step round to the back of the premises, I dare say you can get a bit of bread and some cold meat : for no honest person that is in real want, is ever turned away empty-handed from these doors.” “ Heaven bless you— and the good people of the house also !” said Dick : and he at once passed round to the back of the premises. There he addressed himself to the faithful Thomas, who appeared to be lounging on a bench, but who was in reality awaiting the present arrival. “ Sit down here and rest yourself, my poor man,” he said ; “ and I’ll go in and see whether I can make friends with the cook on your behalf.” Dick was accordingly left to sit down upon the bench; and from that point he could feast his eyes on the display of plate which he beheld through the pantry- window. The coachman was washing his carriage in the yard ; so that Gray- son’s respectable accomplice had no opportunity of thrusting his hand through the pan try- window and self-appropriating any article of plate, if he were so inclined. In about five minutes Thomas returned with some bread and meat in one band, and a large mug of beer in the other. Dick fell to with every appearance of hunger and thirst, — though, as the reader is aware, he had been pre- viously refreshing himself at Toby Graysort’s ex- pense. “ Don’t you think it’s rather a dangerous thing,” he presently said to Thomas, “to leave all that valuable plate lying about ?” “ Ob, we are not afraid of robbers here,” was the domestic’s answer, given with an air of care- less indifference. “ A good many poor creatures like yourself, come to ask charity : hut we have never missed anything. Dy the bye, though, when I think of it, master did give positive orders yesterday morning that the shutter is to be put up again to that pantry window : for the plate is always kept there at pight. It was blown ( ff* by the strong wind that we had two or three days ago 1 say, Mike!” he exclaimed, raising his voice ; “ what about that shutter ? I told you to look to it — didn’t 1 ?” “ It isn’t my place,” answered the coachman, in a growling tone, which was purposely assumed. “Let those who sleep inside the premises attend to the business that concerns themselves.” “ Then it lies between the footman and master’s valet,” said Thomas, “ and not with either you or me, Mike. Well, well. I’ll see about it the day after to-morrow, when I come back from my holi- day.” “ You’re a lucky man,” said Dick, “ to have a good place and plenty of holidays.” “ Yes— the place is a good one,” replied Thomas, stretching himself with a lounging air; “and as for holidays, we can have them as often as we like. Master’s valet and I are going into London pre- sently : we shall be at the theatre to-nigl»t— and to-morrow we mean to have a trip to Gravesend. If we are hpme next morning soon after breakfast, it will be quite sufficient.” “Ah! you must have a good place of it,” said Dick, continuing to munch the bread and cold meat. “Does your master let two of his servants go away together at the same time ?” “Now and then,” responded Thomas. “ He is a very nice gentleman — and missis is a very nice lady too. Why, that fellow,” — and he indicated the coachman — “can do just as he likes— and so can I— sleeping outside of the house as we do. But we are really sometimes too bad : for we go off to the public-house at the end of the lane yon- der, and enjoy ourselves when we ought to be in bed. Betwixt you and me, the coachman, I know, means to be out for a spree to-night ; and I am deuced certain that it will be three or four in the 372 JIOSA LAMBERT. T mornin" before ho gets back to his room. Now, my poor man, will you have some moro food ?’* Dick declined, with many hypocritical expres- sions of thanks for tho meal which had been given him; and Thomas, taking a shilling from his pocket, said, “ Hero — this will at least get you a bed to-night if you have no bettor luck in the meantime.” He seemed to bo overwhelmed with gratitude ; and then took his departure, — not however with- out casting another furtive glance at tho shutter- loss pantry window. Tho whole proceeding was I duly reported to Ilderton and myself; and we felt convinced that tho burglars would fall into the snare. When night came, tho male domestics— in- cluding the gardener — were all well provided with fire-arms ; and a little before eleven o’clock they secreted themselves in tho pantry. The female servants were sent to bed, with the assurance that they need not labour under any apprehension; and they were ordered to extinguish their lights with tho least possible ' delay. A light was left burning for some little time in our bed-chamber : but this was also at length extinguished ; and I descended to the servants’ hall, where Ilderton was awaiting me. We kept a candle burning there— but shaded in such a manner that no glimmer could be distinguished through the well- closed shutters. In the pantry all was dark ; and any one outside the house, would have supposed that all the inmates had retired to rest. It was about a quarter of an hour to midnight when we caught the sound of a glazier’s diamond scratching against a pane of the pantry-window : for the pantry opened from the servants’ hall, and the door of communication was left ajar. Next we heard the low noise of a piece of glass hav- ing fallen out — then the window-fastening was gently drawn back — and then the lower sash was cautiously raised. First one fellow entered — then the other ; and we heard Dick’s husky voice say, “Now, Toby, where’s the darky ?” At that instant there was a sudden rush : Ilderton snatched up the candle — I threw the door of com- munication wide open — and as the light flashed upon tho scene, we perceived Grayson and his accom- I plice struggling desperately in the hands of the do- mestics. The ruffians’ arms were however so firmly clutched by the servants that they could not use the weapons which, as it presently appeared, they had I about their persons; and Ilderton, presenting a pistol at Grayson’s head, sternly bade him at once desist from any further struggling or resistance. Tho domestics had their pistols in readiness ; and tho two villains were compelled to surrender at discretion. “ As for this scoundrel here,” said Lord Ilderton, i indicating the husky-voiced Dick, “ let him make I tho best of his way hence us soon as ever he can. ; And take care, you rascal, how you over come j again to gentlemen’s houses under pretence of I asking for work, but in reality with evil motives.” 1 Notwithstanding tlio rage which was convulsing 1 Grayson’s coarse features, and tho joy which sud- ! donly sprang up on tho countenanoo of Dick when ho lieard that ho was to bo sot free, — yet both faces showed signs of umazoinent on finding that the plot was thus discovered: for Ilderton had spoken without having rocoivod any intimation from tho servants that Dick was tlio very iilontical fellow who had come with his hypocritical tale in tho afternoon. “ Stop !” cried Ilderton, as tho domestics were about to let him go free : “ search his person- ho may have weapons- and if so, they shall not bo used against us.” A pair of pistols and a huge clasp-knife were taken from his pockets : tho pantry-door was tlien opened — and ho was ordered to depart, — Thomas bestowing upon him a tremendous kick as ho hastily I crossed the threshold. “ As for this arch-villain,” continued Ilderton, pointing to Grayson, “ search his person likewise — bind him hand and foot — and bring him into the servants’-hall.” Pistols, another clasp-knife, a small crow-bar, a glazier’s diamond, and some skeleton keys — with, I think, two or three other housebreaking imple- ments — were found about Toby Grayson, and were taken from him. Ho was strongly bound with cords, and conveyed into the adjoining room, — where ho was placed in a chair, the bonds rendering him totally impotent for mischief. “ I have something to say to this fellow,” re- marked Ilderton to his domestics : and taking tho hint, they all retired into the pantry, closing the door behind them. As the light fell upon Grayson’s countenance, Ilderton and I both read that same expression of deep concentrated rage which it had worn when he was in our power at Albion House in the Isle of Wight : he eyed me askance, but spoke not a word. Ilderton, with a loaded pistol in his hand, placed himself in front of the ruffian, — and said, “ If you make the slightest attempt to shake off those cords, I will shoot you dead without a mo- ment’s hesitation. From time to time, for some years past, you have bitterly persecuted this lady; and if you had your due, you ought now to be consigned to the scaffold.” “ They don’t hang for burglary, my lord,” answered Toby Grayson in a growling tone. “No— but they hang for murder!” rejoined Ilderton, fixing his eyes impressively upon the miscreant’s face. “Murder?” he echoed. “Who says I ever committed murder ?” “ What answer would you give,” inquired Ilder- ton, “ if you were accused before a magistrate of having buried the corpse which was disinterred in the neighbouring field about a month back ?” It would be impossible to describe the strange look of bewildered astonishment with which Gray- son regarded the young nobleman, — whoso eyes continued to bo fixed keenly upon his countenance, as if to accuse him of the murder, which in reality we knew he had not committed. “I did not do it!” he said. “But how — how ” “ I tell you that you helped to inter that corpse,” interrupted Ilderton : “ and whether you were the author of the poor girl’s death or not, you at all events became an accomplice in a crime which would send you to the scaffold. Granting your denial to bo true, are you not aware that the same penalty is inflicted upon him who becomes an ac- cessary after tho fact ?” “ But liow, my lord — how •” and these were tho only words tho bewildered and astounded Gray- ROSA LAMBERT. 373 Eon could for the moment give utterance to ; bub I all of a sudden, as an idea struck him, ho ex- I claimed, “ Then it was yourself that did the job ! ! — or else how could you know that I ” ‘‘ Villain, dare not level your foul accusation against me !” said Ilderton with haughtiest stern- ness. ‘‘Every syllable of your conversation with that scoundrel accomplice of your’s under the hay- stack this morning was overheard.” “Ah!” — and Grayson’s countenance became blank with dismay. “ So you perceive,” continued Ilderton, “ that I have it in my power to hand you over to justice for a crime of far blacker dye than that of your burglarious entry here this night — a crime that would assuredly send you to the scaffold— especially when all your antecedents are taken into account. What mercy do you deserve at our hands, — meditating, as you did, the most hideous atrocities j against this lady and myself ? Did you not pur- pose to stretch me dead at her feet ?” “Well, my lord, I am in your power,” said Toby Grayson, half in moody sulkiness, and half in a tone of grovelling entreaty : “ and if you would only show mercy toward me ” “Mercy!” ejaculated Ilderton with scornful- ness : “ what mercy did you ever show towards Miss Lambert ? You have plundered and you have persecuted her — you have contemplated the most diabolical intents ” “Well, my lord, if Miss Lambert will forgive me ” “ Insult her not by even turning your eyes to- wards her !” exclaimed Ilderton ; “ but prepare to accompany the officers of justice to a gaol whence the road is but short that leads to the scaffold.” “ You say, my lord, that all the conversation was overheard; I take heaven to witness,” con- tinued Grayson vehemently, “that everything I said was true !— and as for the murder, I am as innocent of it as your lordship’s self !” “What jury in England would believe the tale you told your accomplice in this night’s crime? And if it were declared how you threatened to embrue your hands in my blood, would it not at i once be regarded as incontestable that you were j the author of the death of that unknown girl, and i that your tale of being merely employed to assist j at the interment is a mere fiction ?” i Grayson looked frightened and agitated : his I countenance became exceeding pale ; and his under I jaw fell, as if the hand of death were upon him. I “ What if I were to give you a chance of adopt- I iug a new career?” said Ilderton, — “ supposing for j an instant that you have a single spark of good or j grateful feeling remaining within you.” J “ Do try me, my lord !” said the villain, catching I greedily at the hope thus suddenly thrown out. j “How much money have you got in your j pocket ?” asked Ilderton. j “ A matter of fifty pounds or so,” responded Grayson. “ And it is only a month back you received a hundred guineas from that individual whom you term your unknown friend.” “ Money, my lord, does slip away uncommon fast,” replied Grayson. “Now I tell you what I will do with you,” re- sumed Ilderton ; “ and I am a man of my word. I will pay the sum of five hundred pounds into the I hands of some London banker who has an agent in New South Wales ; and this amount shall bo receivable by you personally— and by you alone — on your arrival in the colony. Your own funds will suffice to carry you out; and see that you lose no time in embarking ; for I take heaven to wit- ness, if it come to my knowledge that you remain in this country, I will give such information to the police that a hue and cry shall be raised, from which you will have no chance of escaping — not- withstanding all your skill in the assumption of diftterent disguises.” “ If you fulfil your promise, my lord,” cried Grayson, his countenance expressing the most un- feigned joy, “ I shall be only too glad to fulfil my part of the bargain.” “ I am not one to make a proposition which I am not prepared to carry out,” rejoined Ilderton. “You will go to New South Wales; and on your arrival at Sydney, you will apply to the principal banker there, — when he will pay you over the amount I have specified. And now let me repeat the warning I have given ” “ It is not necessary, my lord ! I would go to Australia if it were five times the distance, for the sake of such a chance as this.” “ I have no doubt,” added Ilderton, “ that you have begun to find this country somewhat too warm for you ; and at all events you have recently discovered that this lady and myself are fully com- petent to protect ourselves against your atrocious designs.” The domestics were summoned back into the servants’-hall ; and by Hderton’s command, Gray- son was unbound and suffered to depart. Wine and spirits were then served to those who had so ably seconded the young nobleman’s project ; and he likewise distributed money amongst them with a liberal hand. We retired to rest; but though we had thus signally triumphed over our arch-enemy, the idea of leaving Marlow Manor— at least for a time — was not abandoned ; and after some discussion, we resolved upon visiting Eamsgate. It was now the end of June; and the season for the watering- places was commencing. Ilderton informed me that he was fond of yachting ; and such had been his pursuit at Eyde previous to our acquaintance. I could not help for a moment shuddering as I thought of the scene off Dover with Mr. Williams’ yacht, when the Marquis of Belmore lost his life : but quickly conquering that sudden repugnance, I said not a syllable to dissuade the young noble- man from his recreative purpose. Preparations for our departure were immediately commenced : and while these were going on, Ilder- ton went into London to fulfil his promise to Toby Grayson, by paying the five hundred pounds into the banker’s hand, and giving instructions in con- formity with the way in which it was to be re- ceivable. On his return home, he informed me that he had done all that was requisite, — adding, “ And now I think, my dear Kose, we need labour under no apprehension of any further persecution at the hands of this miscreant. He will go out to Australia to receive the money : he will lavish it upon such pleasures as Sydney affords; and when the last shilling is spent, he will turn bush- ranger or something of the sort, and will perish on the gallows at last.” 374 TiAM-nKHT. CIIAPTEU LI. TDK YACHT. We arrived at Raras^rate, — takinpf merely Thomas and my maid with us, na well as our saddle-horses. Wo hired a furnished house in the best quarter ; and ns I rambled with Ilderton upon the sands and cn the pier, I could not help thinlcinfr of those scenes in which my cousin Sir .John ffaverstock and the Marquis of Belmore had jilayed a part five years back, and which had led to consequences so hideous to myself. From the foolish waf^er which those two youn{T men laid concerning me, had resulted the treacherous outrages whereof I became the victim ; and I had subsequently seen both of them perish horribly before ray eyes. 1 One day, shortly after our arrival at Ramsgate, j I was walking alone upon the pier, waiting for j Ilderton to join me,— as ho had gone to make ! inquiries relative to a yacht which lie purposed to ; hire for the season, — when I beheld an invalid j lady, who appeared to be in the last stage of con- i sumption, being drawn in a moveable chair. A I servant in a handsome livery was dragging it ' along ; and that livery made me glance a second j time at the invalid. Grood heavens! was it pos- j sible? Lady Lucia Caltborpe in that perishing j condition ! Where was all her classic sculptural beauty now ? She was but the shade of her former self! Vain was it for her to court the gentle saline breeze in the hope — if she entertained it — of wooing back the health that was lost ! But no : she could not — she did not cling to such a hope : the deep despondency of her look told but too plainly how well she knew the extent of the ravage which disease was making upon her vitals, and how painfully the conviction was forced upon i her that she had but a short time to live. And ! there was I whom she had treated so cruelly, — there was I in the enjoyment of the most vigorous I health, and still in all the glory of my own beauty, I though my twenty-seventh year was almost num- ! bered. But my mirror showed me daily that if I I thought fit to pass myself off as four or five years } younger, I could safely do so without being sus- 1 pccted of an untruth: but Lucia, — she looked as if she were a dozen years older than I knew I her to be ! j The recognition was not immediately mutual : for her eyes were bent down in the deep de- spondency of her thoughts. I knew that her child was in good health, and was thriving apace : for though i have not thought fit to interrupt the progress of my narrative for the purpose of men- tioning the fact, yet I had occasionally corresponded with Mrs. Evans (formerly my maid Frances, as the reader will remember) ; and I learnt from her how Lucia’s little girl was getting on. I had ascertained likewise that the proud patrician lady herself had never been near the village where her offspring was thus being reared ; and indeed the little girl’s adopted parents still continued ' in complete ignorance who that unnatural mother ; was. I The footman dragged the chair to the end of the ! pier ; and then Lady Lucia made a sign for him to lialt, doubtless tliat she might enjoy the breeze which was now freshening somewhat. The livery servant retired to a little flintimce ; nnd 1 idsv ad- vanced in su.l) a way that Tiidy Lacii caught sight of me. For an instant the colour rose to h- r pale cliccKS: I saw that her form quivered; and then I reproacluMl myself for an act of cruelty l(). wards one who was in a dying state. Ilut I had not really intended to mortify her, nor to hurt lior feelings by my presence: on the contrary, it was with a good motive that I thus threw mys-df in her way; for the idea had struck me that if by any accident wo should get into conversation, I would plead with her for a recognition of her in- nocent though illegitimate offqjring. She made a scarcely perce[)tible sign for me to approach her; and in a weak feeble voice —but with a sudden flush of mingled loathing and hatred in her eyes, — she said, “ Are you here to triumph over me ?” “ No,” I responded, seriously and gravely : “whatever I may be, 1 think your ladyship of all persons in the world has had the best proof that 1 possess not altogether a bad heart.” “Enough!” replied Lucia. “I am dying — I have not many months, perhaps not weeks, to live ; and you will so far display your compassion as not to mention my name prejudicially to any persons whom you may know in this place.” “ I am incapable of so malicious an action,” was my answer. “ Do I incur the risk of meeting his lordship your father here? or Lady Sudbury ? ’ “No,” answered Lucia. “For more than two years my father has ceased to exist; and my aunt is ill in London. I am here with my brother Lord Eveleigh. But pray retire now — and do not bear me malice if I ask that when wo meet again, we pass each other as strangers.” “It shall be so. Lady Lucia,” I rejoined. “But one word ere I leave you! The little Jemima — I sometimes hear of her — for J cannot help taking an interest in her -” “ She is provided for,” interrupted the patrician lady coldly: “and that is sufficient.” “No — it is not sufficient !” I said. “ There is a maternal feeling which ought to expand in your bosom ” “ Now,” said Lucia, literally grinding her white teeth within her almost equally white lips, “ you are persecuting me ” “ If your ladyship takes in such a light my well-meant endeavour to move you on behalf of your discarded, disowned child, I certainly can say no more — and with these words I left her. I never saw her again: for at that very time her days — even her hours were numbered ; though I had suspected not Jthat the closing scene was so near at hand — and she in fancy’s hope had given herself yet a few months more to live. But it ap- peared, from what I read in a local newspaper, that she had remained out rather too long on this particular occasion ; and on her return to the Royal Hotel, where she was staying with her brother Lord Eveleigh and his wife, she was seized with a succession of fainting fits, which left her so weak that she never rallied again— and in less than forty-eight hours sank into the arras of death. I could not help thinking it strange that I should thus have been led by circumstances to see her when slie was hovering upon the very verge of the tomb ; and though 1 had little reason indeed to feel sympathy on her behalf, yet I could I I i ! I i KOSA LAMBERT. 375 not help experiencing a certa. I 'grec of sorrow | at the premature and rneluuchol}' .* d of one | whom I had known in all the prl'le and glory of her beauty. I was destined at Ramsgate on. this particular occasion to encounter more than one old acquaint- ance : for a few days after my meeting with Lady Lucia Calthorpe, I was again rambling by myself, when I heard my name mentioned in feminine tones of enthusiastic delight ; and the next instant my hand was warmly clasped in that of the grateful Caroline. “My dearest Rose,” she exclaimed, delight dancing in her eyes : “ I am so rejoiced to see you ! You remember the last time we met — it must have been four years back — and you faithfully promised to come and see me : but you did not ! You ought to have kept your word; for you know j how rejoiced I should have been ” “ My dear Caroline,” I answered, “ you are well aware of my motives for keeping away from you. But your father?” “ He is dead,” she answered mournfully. “ Two | years and a half have elapsed since he was con- 1 signed to the tomb. He left me a large fortune, ! Rose -- and often and often have I thought how I i should like to see you — then with a blush upon ; her cheeks, she added, “ I am married.” I “And if you be married happily — as I think 1 you must be,” I observed, “for when we met you were all smiles, — most sincerely do I congratulate i you!” I “ Yes — I am happy,” she responded : then in a | somewhat serious tone, and with downcast looks j she added, “I did not deceive him Who offered me I his hand : I frankly told him all the past— except < . — except— that dreadful scene. Rose ” ; “Enough, my dear Caroline!” I interrupted’ her : “ I know what you mean — for full easily did I comprehend that she alluded to the event at j Waterloo Bridge which had first rendered us i acquainted. i “ After my father’s death,” continued Caroline, j wiping the tears from her eyes, I left the old house in Broad Street, and went to live at Bristol with a distant female relation whom I had not seen for many years, and who knew nothing of the calamities which had befallen me. There I met my present husband, Mr. Hapier. He is a few i years older than myself, and was a widower — but I childless. He had accumulated a good fortune in a comparatively short period of prosperous commer- cial enterprise; and after a somewhat lengthy courtship, he offered me his band. If you ask me whether I loved him, I cannot precisely respond in the affirmative : but I esteemed him— I respected his upright character— I was not happy with my i female relative— I possessed wealth— and, in a j word, I wanted a settled position. But I did not i give Mr. Napier an immediate answer : I said that ; I would write to him. Then I sate down and ' penned a faithful narrative of my past life — no, ' not exactly faithful— for I omitted the one incident j i which was too terrible to relate !” i I “ I do not blame you for that omission,” I Said ; ^ j “ to have acted otherwise, was unnecessary.” I j “Mr. Napier sent me a written answer,” con- ! tinned Caroline, “expressing his admiration of my frankness — declaring that he regarded it as a proof i of complete contrition on my part— and that his I sentiments continued the same towards me. In a word, we were married six months back. For tiio last two months we have been staying at Rams- gate : but this very afternoon vi’e are to leave for Dover — as to-morrow we are bound for France. It is so unfortunate, now that I have met you !” “No, my dear Caroline,” I said, “it is not unfortunate — for I am not a married woman, and you could not introduce me to your husband. And now I must leave you,” I hastily added, fearing that Mr. Napier might suddenly come up. “Fare- well, dear Caroline ! — you know not how rejoiced I am at your happiness !” I pressed her hand, and hurried away, — though the affectionate and generous-hearted young woman sought to detain me. And now, as on former occasions, I could not help contrasting her conduct towards me with that of Lady Lucia Calthorpe ; and if I had experienced a certain limited degree of compassion for the premature end of the patrician lady, my heart swelled with an illimitable gratifi- cation at the prosperity and bliss enjoyed by the deceased miser’s daughter. Lord Ilderton hired the yacht of which I have above spoken : it was only a little cutter, having one man and a boy as the complement of its crete, if such a term may be applied to so small a num- ber. .Eenry himself was well skilled in minor nautical matters ; and he took a delight in com- manding on board his vessel. When I first went out with him, I was somewhat timid, and accom- panied him more because he wished it than be- cause I myself experienced any real pleasure in the excursions. But at length that timidity wore off‘; and I began to like the recreation. We would sometimes proceed to a considerable distance, and remain out for several hours, — always taking care to have refreshments on board with us. Ilderton’s spirits, naturally so gay, rose into a perfect en- thusiasm of exhilaration when on board the yacht ; and if the breeze blew freshly and the swelling sail made the mast bend towards the waters, his coun- tenance would glow and such joy would dance in his eyes that he looked admirably handsome. One day, when we had been about two months at Ramsgate, we arranged to go out for a sail, but the man had been suddenly taken ill : for that terrible disease, the cholera, had just shown itself in Ramsgate— as the reader v.'ill bear in mind that I am now writing of the month of Au- gust, 1849. I endeavoured to persuade Henr^ not to go — or at least to endeavour to procure another sailor as a substitute for the absent one. But none was to be had at the moment ; and as the sea was beautifully calm, with only a gentle breeze — and that blowing steadily — he was resolved to put out. I know not how it was, but I had a vague presentiment of evil floating in my mind ; and it was perhaps for this very reason that I no longer hesitated to accompany him ; as I was ashamed to betray my apprehension, and 1 could not possibly infect him with it to the extent of in- ducing him to abandon the excursion. We accordingly put out of the harbour, — Ilder- ton and the boy managed very well witli the sails; and as the wind blew from the south, we pro- ceeded in the direction of the North Foreland. That vague apprehension which I at first experi- enced, gradually went away ; and we were laugh- ing and talking in our usual blithe manner, when I I I i I I KOSA LAMBOT. o^Cy a Biulclpn past, of wind — amounting almost to a squall during tho swift brief space it lasted— upset the cutter. I was instantaneously immersed in the water j and, no doubt with the sudden shock of terror, my senses abandoned me. When I came back to consciousness— which must have been very speedily — I found Ilderton sustaining me in one arm, while with tho other he clung to the ropes. The boy, who was in tho fore part of the vessel when tho accident happened, was holding on fast there: and Ilderton said in a hurried, anxious voice, “ Courage, dearest Rose— courage ! every- thing depends upon our self-possession !” At that moment the boy, who was about four- teen years of age, was seized either with the cramp or else with a renewed access of terror : for he let go of the rope and was immersed in the water. “ For heaven’s sake hold fast, dearest Rose !” cried Ilderton : “ hold fast, I say ! Here, here ! in this way ! I must save the boy.” All this was the work of a moment. I was now possessed of all that presence of mind which des- peration alone could conjure up in such circum- stances : I clung to the ropes in the way that Henry showed me : yet there was about to burst from my lips an entreaty that he would not peril his own life — but the words remained unspoken, as the agonizing cry for help which thrilled from the boy’s throat swept piercingly over the water. The next moment Ilderton was striking out in the direction where the poor boy had just sunk a second time : the young nobleman was an excel- lent swimmer — but yet it was with a fearful and awful interest that I watched the exciting scene. It was about a mile and a half from the headland where the yacht had thus capsized : there were several vessels at greater or lesser dis- tances; and some of these small craft were coming towards us as rapidly as their sails could bear them. The boy rose again— but much farther off than where he had last sunk : and Ilderton was gliding towards him. This was indeed an exciting mo- ment. The lad sank again — the young nobleman dived down — and during the few instants that he thus totally vanished from my view, I felt such a sickness at the heart I could scarcely cling to the ropes. He re-appeared ; and with grief upon his countenance, he cried out, “ He is gone, the poor boy ! For heaven’s sake hold fast. Rose- hold fast !” Scarcely were these words spoken, when Ilder- ton disappeared from my view; and with such magical suddenness did he thus vanish, that it gave me a shock so powerful that my fingers actually for a single instant quitted their hold of the cordage : and 1 shudder now as I write, when I think of tho fearful terror that galvanized me as I just man- aged to clutch tho ropes again. But Ilderton — where was ho ? dfo rose at a distance Good heavens, ho was drowning! Full well — Oh! too well did this knowledge flash in unto my mind, ghastly as was tho countenance itself which for a second was turned towards me. For, OIi ! vivid in rny recollection was the face of tlio unfortunate i'eirnoro when 1 hatl seen him similarly perishing oir I^over. My wild screams rang forth across tho placid waters- Ilderton waved his hand in token of eternal farewell — it lingers in my fancy that he spoke something, but what it was 1 caught not— or if I did catch it, it instantaneously flitted away from my memory again, so frightful was the con- fusion of my thoughts— so horrible was tho state of my mind. A faintness was speedily coming over me; and I do verily believe that in another instant I should have quitted my hold of the cor- dage altogether and sunk down into tho engulf- ing depth, had not loud cries of encouragement smitten my ear. I looked back; and a skiff with its white sails swelling to tho breeze, was gliding towards me. I scarcely remember how 1 was taken on board tho succouring vessel : for the instant I found myself safe — the very moment that the conviction of security struck my mind- all consciousness abandoned me. It was not until the skiff was entering Rams- gate harbour, that I began to regain my senses ; and even then I was in such a condition that I could only just murmur a few words to indicate where I lived. Those who had rescued me, bore me thither : medical attendance was procured ; and for ten days so severe was my illness, with frequent fits of delirium during that period, 1 could scarcely be said to have been in possession of my senses at all. In tho meantime the un- fortunate young nobleman’s family had been com- municated with: for though we had passed as Mr. and Mrs. Lambert at Ramsgate, it was of course at once mentioned by Thomas who my pro- tector really was. His father and a younger brother came down to take possession of the corpse, which was washed on shore three or four days after the fatal accident; and the remains of that generous-hearted young nobleman were con- veyed to London for interment in the family vault. His father behaved handsomely towards me : for he left a sealed packet at the house for me to open on my recovery — and I found that it contained bank-notes to the amount of two hundred pounds. My recovery was slow; and a month elapsed after the catastrophe before I could be pronounced convalescent. A deep sadness hung upon my soul : I had lost one of the kindest pro- tectors— one of the best friends that I had ever as yet found— and lost him too in so shocking a manner! Oh, how bitterly did I regret that I had not suffered myself to be completely swayed by the presentiment of evil which had seized upon me when he persisted in proceeding on that un- fortunate excursion ! But, alas ! all such repinings were vain: they could not recall the lost one — and my tears were all equally unavailing ! When I began to reflect upon the course which I should next pursue, I did not for an instant think of speedily looking out for a new protector : for if I could not put on sable garments for the deceased, I at all events resolved that the heart’s mourning should continue unchecked until it yielded, as all strong feelings do, to the effect of time. I was in possession of about three hundred pounds in ready money, and a largo quantity of valuable jewels : I did not like to remain at Rams- gate, — where, if I walked out, I knew that I should be pointed at ns tho mistress of the young Lord Ilderton who met his death in so tragic a manner ; and I resolved to return for a while to that samo little secluded town of Broadstairs, whore, as the reader will recollect, I first met George Beaumont. I did not think it proper to keep possession of tho horses which we had ROSA LAMBERT, 3V7 orouglit wifh us : ueltlaer could I retain Thomas in my service, as my resources had become more or less limited once again. I wrote a letter to the Earl of Merthyr, the deceased Henry’s father, — expressing in the most respectful terms my grati- tude for his goodness towards me: I enclosed whatsoever private papers of Ilderton’s he had brought with him ; and I gave the Earl every requisite information in respect to the establish- ment near Edmonton. I then discharged Thomas, making him however a handsome present ; and I bade him take charge of the horses up to London. He departed, — taking leave of mo with consider- able regret ; and on the following day I removed to Broadstairs, with the maid, whom I still re- tained in my service. Settling myself in comfortable lodgings, I re- lapsed into that quiet mode of life which on several former occasions I had pursued, but from No. 48 which I had invariably been startled or beguiled by circumstances known to the reader. I spent a considerable portion of my time out of doors : yet often and often would I turn away with a sensa- tion of loathing and disgust from the sea as the treacherous element which had swallowed up one whom I esteemed so highly, even if I had not altogether loved him. It was while I was at Broadstairs that the idea of writing my memoirs one day came across me. No sooner had the thought flashed to my mind, than it took form and shape, and became established there. Yet, as I looked back upon the incidents of my life, and beheld how many, many strange and wildly ro- mantic adventures were crowded into a period of nine years— namely, since I was eighteen — I al- most shrank from a task tliat appeared colossal. .Then I thought that I would merely commit to paper some of the most striking episodes of my noa\ T;A:\rTiRi;T. 378 career; and with this modificafiou of iny orijrinal | plan, I one day sate down to the task. At first ] I found it a diflicult one; and I tore up slicct after j ehoot before I could fall into a style that was satisfactory to myself. But at length my pen I llowed more lluently over the paper : the longer J practised, the more pleasure did 1 experience — yet a melancholy pleasure — in chronicling some of the incidents of my extraordinary life. I remember that one evening there was a terrific thunder-storm. The artillery of heaven roared with such long crashing peals, that it appeared as if countless chariots of iron were being driven over roads of brass ; while the lightning flashed with a fearful and almost blinding vividness. I sate at the open window, which looked upon the sea, — watching in a species of prolonged consterna- tion this terrific storm. All of a sudden the ((uestion Hashed to my mind, as vividly as the lightning itself had just darted athwart the sky — Wherefore should 1 pen my memoirs ? Could it be to show how an almost matchless beauty might procure for its possessor all the blandishments, the luxuries, and the elegances of life, to be expe- rienced in guilty enjoyment ? If so, I felt that my book, if ever published to the W'orld, would become a curse, — the source of frightful de- moralization — the ruin perhaps of countless crea- tures of my own sex. I shuddered at the thought. But might I not render it a beacon set upon a rock, to warn others from the same shipwreck of honour which had overtaken myself? And then again I shuddered : for unless retributive justice were to be done — unless the volume could conclude with woes so dire and distresses so terrible as to constitute a tremendous expiation for the sins of w'hich I had been guilty — how could my narrative be pointed with a moral ? Oh, was such a doom indeed in store for me ? was such to be my des- tiny ? This beauty of mine would fade : in a few years more it would be upon its wane : and then what was to become of me ? again I shuddered : for as if the very lightning itself flashing through the obscurity of the evening, revealed a terrific panorama to my view, I beheld with appalled imagination the countless thousands upon thou- sands of unfortunate women dragging themselves through all degrees, varieties, and grades of loathsome misery in the great metropolis of this so-called civilised country. And again I shud- dered to the deepest confines of my being, as I thought that if I lived long enough, I too must be as one of those, sinking lower and lower in the social strata, until But no : I dared not antici- pate tlic end ! Then, of what use to write my book ? wherefore commit a single episode of my life to paper ? As I thus thoiiglit, the storm raged on: and, oh ! it Hocmed to rno as if it were in tho groat voice of i nature that heaven itself thundered forth its I warnings in tho ears of sinners, urging them to rc- j jxuilance. JVcver shall I forget tho awful rcllcc- ! lions w'liieli w'cro thus conjured up within me: I I I’clt as if from the very (lej)ths of my soul 1 could j send up to heaven a long cry of agony, expressing contrition .for tho j)ast and imploring strength to I lurn into riglit ways for tlio future. .Hut no — I I dared 7iot ])ray ! It npj)earo(l as if I were too far I lost i’or Hcll'-redomption — loo (h'eply degraded I'or moiul clevulioM. 1 lied away from tho window; I sought the utter darkness of my hed-chainher, where the draperii'S thickly curtained tlw rie;-;- menls; and flinging myself on (lie eoueli, I wept profusely. JS'ever, never shall 1 forget (hat even- ing of awful storm ! Alas, liow soon do the most solemn influences pass away from (ho soul, although tho memory itself cannot repudiate them. IVlien tho morning came, serene and beautiful — with a gentle breeze to impart an invigorating freshness to tho air — with tho sun shining from an azure canopy where only a few (looey vapours varied tho cerulean uni- formity — and when the bright waters mirrored in their depths tho pleasure-vessels floating on their surface, — when, in a word, all nature appeared to have gathered health, and strength, and beauty, and serene happiness from the terrific storm of the previous evening, its most solemn effects passed away from my own soul. I went forth to walk : it was tho month of October— a splendid autumn — eight weeks had elapsed since the death of Ildcrtou — and I felt that I could now look upon that magnificent expanse of sea without loathing and hating it for what it had done. The gulls were flapping their white wings over the cairn surface : the excursionists in boats were shouting blithely to each other, or raising their tuneful voices. I felt the idea stealing into my mind that there was yet ample scope for tho enjoyment of happiness : I flattered myself that iny beauty would not so soon wane as I had feared on tho previous evening ; and I said within my own heart, “ I feel as young as ever : I have as vigorous an instinct of life as I had a few years ago ; and with such sensations, how can the love- liness which depends upon health wane so soon ?” When I returned to my lodgings after a long ramble, which exhilarated my spirits, I sate down to my writing again, and pursued my self-imposed task with pleasure for several hours. Thus another month elapsed : it was the middle of Ifovembet — but still I remained at Broadstairs — for the autumn continued splendid, though nominally it was fast merging into winter— and the metropolis was not as yet reported to be in altogether a healthy state. I had made con- siderable progress with my memoirs, and had com- mitted to paper several of the most remarkable episodes of my life: but in nearly all instances I was careful to substitute fictitious names for real ones. One day I was taking my usual walk, when whom should I encounter but Mr. Alvanly ? Most cordial were the greetings between us : I thanked him for the pecuniary aid he had so promptly sent me to the Isle of Wight; and he in his turn thanked me for having remitted to him, througli the nabob’s generosity, tho entire sum in which I was indebted to him. “And what about Lady Horton?” I in- quired. “Ah ! my dear lioso,” ho said, a shade coming over his countenance, “ don’t mention hei’. But, yes wo will talk of her : for I ought to display my wonted philosophy in tins as in other things.” “ I hope,” I observed, “ that I have not touched upon a painful topic. If so, pray forgive me ; hut 1 really expected to hoar that you had be- come a (piict married man, as the result of Lady liortou’s divorce from her husband.” EOS A LAMBEET. 370 “ I am not a married man — and the lady of whom you speak is by no means likely to bear the name of Alvanly. You know, my dear Eose, how much I loved her : I candidly confessed to you at the time my weakness — shall I call it a weakness ? ■ — upon that point ; and I could have sworn that she loved me as ardently and as well. That amour — for it turned out to be nothing else — cost me six thousand pounds — which loss I could not very well afford, for I had been stupidly specu- lating in railway shares a little time previously. However, Lady Horton lived with me after the explosion : and I fancied that when the divorce was pronounced she would accompany me to the altar : 1 but instead of doing anything of the sort, she one fine morning shifted her quarters from my house in May Fair to the lodgings of a Captain in the Guards in Grosvenor Street. So I washed my hands of Lady Horton, and went out of town for my health. I have been at Hastings and Dover : I am paying a flying visit to Broadstairs of only a single day — and I leave this evening. I am glad I have met you, Eose : you are looking well — and you will not be offended if I declare that you are more beautiful than ever.” “ Thank you for the compliment,” I answered, 1 with a smile. “ I cannot be angry when it comes 1 from the lips of an old friend.” ' “ I presume you are now living all alone ?” said Alvanly : “ for I of course read in the newspapers j the distressing accident which deprived you of a 1 protector ” ' “AYs — I am now living all alone,” was my j response, mournfully given, as Alvanly’s obser- I vation so vividly brought back to my mind the image of the lost young nobleman. We conversed together for some little time longer — and then separated. About a fortnight afterwards I left Broadstairs, i and returned to London, — where I took lodgings in the somewhat secluded neighbourhood of Euston Square : for I had still no inclination to seek another protector. It was a species of melancholy pleasure to reflect that I was remaining faithful 1 to the memory of Ilderton. Being at no great distance from the Eegent’s Park, when the weather v/as fine I availed myself of that vicinage to ramble through the enclosure. Two or three months passed — the severity of the winter ex- panded itself — and during this interval I made con- 1 siderable progress with my memoirs. I was one day walking through the Park, when a female 1 in the rags of beggary, and whose appearance in- dicated the ravages of dissipation as much as of 1 actual poverty, accosted me to request alms : but as I turned my countenance towards her, an ex- 1 pression of astonishment burst from her lips. There was something in the emaciated face which struck me as being familiar to my knowledge ; and yet I could not recollect where I had seen that woman before. But she speedily made herself known to me ; and I was startled on learning that she was the Mrs. Harborough at whose house in Jermyn Street I had resided when under the pro- tection of Gustavus Alvanly, Upwards of nine years had elapsed since then; and, good heavens! what a change had been wrought in the appearance 1 of this woman. Then she was a fine, handsome, j gaily dressed person, of about forty years of age — j with a figure developed into a rich embonpoint : \ she had good teeth, and her hair was utterly un- streaked with silver. Now she looked sixty : thin and wasted was her form: toothless and gray, squalid and dirty, she seemed as if all the cares in the world had fallen upon her head, and as if she had dragged herself through all kinds of debasing and ruinous dissipations. She saw how shocked I was ; and she said, Ah, I don’t wonder that you did not know me — I am terribly altered ! But it’s what, I suppose, we must all come to in course of time.” These words sent the blood cold to my heart ; and I shuddered from head to foot. With trem- bling hands I drew forth my purse ; and taking some silver thence, gave it to the wretched being, — who, muttering some words of thanks, walked away. I hastened off in another direction ; and for the next hour I roamed about in the Park in a state of deep despondency. At length however my thoughts began to flow into a new channel ; j for I became aware that a young gentleman was following me. He was not more than one or two- and-twenty years of age — tall, slender, and well formed — very good-looking — and putting me so much in mind of the deceased Ilderton, that I could not help regarding him with some little degree of attention as overtaking me, ho passed me by. As he seemed inclined to stop or turn back and speak, I relaxed my pace, and assumed a look which gave him no encouragement. He walked on, every now and then turning his head to regard me : but still I encouraged him not. At length, seeing that he persisted in thus haunting me, so to speak, I abruptly turned out of the Park by one of the avenues leading into Albany Street. At that moment I beheld a disturbance amongst a crowd collected in front of a public- house on the opposite side of the street. A woman was vomiting forth the most hideous abuse against a policeman, who was endeavouring to prevent her from re-entering the public-house, whence she had evidently been ejected. The tones of her voice made me regard her a second time ; and to my disgust I perceived that it was Mrs. Har- borough. Pearing that she would recognize me, I hastened back into the Park ; and again found myself the object of attention on the part of the young gentleman to whom I have already alluded. It must not however be supposed that there was anything actually insolent in his conduct : he was evidently much struck by my appearance— and his i regards were full of a respectful admiration. ' There was likewise a certain degree of bashfulness about him ; I saw that he longed to speak to me, and yet could not muster up the courage. I hastened on in a difierent direction, and thus re- gained my lodgings : but I confess that for the remainder of the day I could not help thinking very frequently of that young gentleman who re- minded me so much of Henry Ilderton. On the following day I went out to take my usual walk in the Eegent’s Park ; and in a very few minutes I became aware that the young gen- tleman was again on my track. This perseverance on his part failed not to interest me somewhat, as it was the best compliment that could be paid to the beauty of which I was not a little vain. An accident furnished him that opportunity which he evidently so much longed for, to be enabled to address me. A horse, having thrown its rider. KOSA LAAniFUT. camo tearing along at full gallo|), — kicking up ita heclg, and thereby menacing those on the f()ot- path with serious ])eril. I shrank hack in affright as the horse camo careering close by me, — when with one bound the young gentleman threw him- self before mo. The animal kicked up mali- ciously ; and it was a miracle that his heels missed my gallant defender. If they had touched him he would most probably have lose his life, or else been very severely injured in his attempt to save me. The animal was presently stopped by one of the park-keepers, and was remounted by its owner, who had fortunately escaped without any serious consequences from his fall. In the meantime, however, I had expressed my gratitude to the young gentleman ; and ho seemed overwhelmed with delight at the occurrence which had thus introduced us to each other. Now that I saw him close, I was even more than at first astonished at the resemblance which ho boro to the deceased Ilderton ; and as I felt that some explanation was requisite to account for the man- ner in which I surveyed him, I said, “ Forgive me for contemplating you thus — but you remind me of one who is now no more.” “ And who may that be ?” ho inquired in a gentle voice, as if sympathising with me for the loss of any one whose image thus remained in my memory. “ Ho was Lord Ilderton,” I answered. “ Is it possible that you can belong to that family ?” “ No,” he replied.; “ I cannot boast of aristo- cratic connexions But, ah ! ” he suddenly eja- culated ; “ perhaps you are the lady — ' — ” and here he stopped short, as if fearful of giving me of- fence. I did not immediately answer him ; but at length I said in a low voice, and with averted looks, “ Yes — I am the same who was mentioned by the newspapers in connexion with that dreadful catastrophe.” '•' I read the account,” observed the young gen- tleman : and then, after a few moments’ hesitation, he added, ‘‘I have the pleasure of speaking to Miss Lambert ?” “That is my name,” I answered. “ Permit me,” he immediately rejoined, “ to an- nounce my own name — which is Bentley. My father is a clergyman — and he named the metro- politan parish the incumbency of which his parent possessed. “ There is a large family of us,” he added : “ but fortunately I am enabled to earn my own livelihood. In a word, I am private secretary to a foreign personage of distinction who is at pre- sent in this country on a diplomatic mission from his Sovereign.” We were walking slowly along as this conversa- tion took place ; and I had an opportunity of still further contemplating my new acquaintance. The longer I thus surveyed him, the more was I im- pressed with his likeness to the deceased young nobleman. There was something in his smile which irresistibly reminded me of lldcrton’s; and ho bad an equally beautiful sot of teeth. I felt myself singularly interested in him, — the more so too that bis voice had a peculiar sweetness, though perfectly consistent with masculine harmony. We walked together for nearly an hour, — conversing on the judtieipal topics of the day; and when I ntimated that I must take leave of him, he said. “May I hope to have tlio pleasure of Booing you' soon again? Do you ever visit the Zoological Gardens ?” I confessed that I had not sufficient curiosity to do so; and ho said, “Some curious specimens of natural history have recently been added to the collection. Would you consider it a liberty if I proposed to become your escort to-morrow, or any other day that will suit you ?” I suffered him to understand that it was quite possible I might bo in the Regent’s Park on the following day ; and we separated,— ho with evident delight beaming upon his handsome countenance . As I retraced my way homeward, I said to myself, “Why have I encouraged an acquaintance with this young man ? Ho frankly informed mo what his position is ; and even if I sought a protector at this moment, I could not choose him. Ho has barely the means to keep himself; and therefore could not possibly maintain me. Besides, when- ever I do alter my mode of life, it will bo to return to that luxurious splendour to which I have been more or less accustomed ; and this change will probably take place soon — for I am becoming daily more and rdbre wearied of the loneliness and monotony of my present existence.” Then again I asked myself why I had taken a fancy to that young man ? But the response was easy: it was because he boro a striking resem- blance to Henry Ilderton. There was something too in his manner, as well as in the tones of his voice, which pleased me ; and I found myself gra- dually settling into the resolution to keep the ap- pointment which ho had made for the morrow. I did — and found Ferdinand Bentley waiting for me. Joy beamed upon his countenance as he hastily accosted me; and when I accepted his arm, he threw upon me a look so eloquent with mingled delight and gratitude, that I could not prevent my own regards from lingering for a few moments upon his countenance. We entered the gardens ; and I found by his conversation that he was well read and naturally intellectual— but that his knowledge on the subjects of our discourse developed itself without the slightest study at effect on his part ; so that on this point also did he remind me of Ilderton. I grew more and more pleased with my new acquaintance; and three hours passed away before I was aware that we had even been a single one together. On leaving the gardens, he asked if he might be permitted to escort me to my own door : I did not reply in the negative ; and on reaching the house where I dwelt, he said, “Will you think me intruding upon your kindness if I beseech another boon — the permission to call and pay my respects to you ?” “Your attentions to me,” -I answered, “justify you in making the request, and forbid me to refuse it.” Ho pressed my hand with grateful fervour, and took his departure. In the afternoon of the fol- lowing day he called ; and now our acquaintance became regularly established. For each succes- sive day during the next six weeks, wo mot — gene- rally to walk in the Park : but on a few occasions, when the weather was unpropitious, ho called upon mo at the house. I liked him much ; and bo became deeply enamoured of me. This I judged only by his looks and by his manner : for I nOSA LAMBERT 381 1 he made no avowal from the lips. At length, he one afternoon informed me that in consequence of the intended absence of his diplomatic employer (whose name, by the bye, he never happened to mention) for the next three or four days, he should be entirely his own master; and as the weather had set in very fine, he asked me if I would be oflended wore he to propose an excursion to the Talbot Hotel at Eichmond ? I accepted the invitation ; and he could scarcely contain his delight. On the following day he came to fetch me according to appointment ; and we proceeded to Eichmond. He ordered the best dinner that the hotel could provide— and also the choicest wines. I could not help for a moment reproaching myself at having put him to all this expense — for I knevir that his means were limited : but he was so happy that I speedily forgot this little regret, and aban- doned myself to the pleasure of the entertainment. It was indeed a complete change of scene after the life I had been leading ; and I was in better spirits than on any occasion since the melancholy death of my last protector. To confess the truth, it was not until the next day that I returned to my lodgings ; and Ferdinand Eentley had in the interval been rendered completely happy. This was an amour indulged in without the slightest selfishness, in a pecuniary sense, on my part : it was of the same nature as that which I had maintained with Claudius Sydenham, when under the protection of old Lord Alfreton. Thus a few more weeks passed ; and all the time that Ferdinand could spare from his avocations he * passed with tne. The people of the house where I resided, wei'e by no means particular; and there was consequently no restraint upon us. Ferdinand was warm-hearted and affectionate : he wished to make me presents ; but on the very first occasion that he offered me a gift, I said to him very seriously, “ You have in all frankness told me how you are situated— and if you make the slightest encroachment on your limited means for any such purpose, I will not see you again.” But in the meanwhile my own pecuniary re- sources were drawing to an end ; and, as the reader may suppose, it was only by the strictest economy that I had thus managed to make three hundred pounds last me for ten months. It became ab- solutely necessary that I should take some step to- wards the replenishment of my purse : but I could not induce myself to make away with any of the valuable jewellery which I possessed. Besides, I did not care sufficiently for Ferdinand Bentley to resolve upon any important sacrifices in order to retain him as my paramour. I thought of writing to Alvanly and asking him for assistance : but in the first place I recollected he had told me, when we met at Broadstairs, that he had lost a great deal of money by ill-advised railway speculations ; and in the second place, I said to myself, “ Even if I did borrow a few hundred pounds, they would I not last for ever ; and when gone, I should have to seek a new protector. This step I may therefore as well take at once.” It happened just at this time, that the death of a relation in Scotland compelled Ferdinand Bentley to leave London in order to accompany his father to be present at the funeral ; and his absence was to last about ten days. He embraced me warmly at parting, — declaring that it would seem an age j until we should meet again ; and thus we separated. { I missed his society much for the first two or three j days — and could not make up my mind to adopt j any step towards the execution of my purpose, i But at length, after serious reflection, I decided on 1 availing myself of the present opportunity to break off my amour with Ferdinand, and obtain a new position. I had such confidence in the power of my beauty— though I was now within a few months of the completion of my twenty- eighth year i — that I knew I had only to frequent places of fashionable resort for a few days consecutively, in order to accomplish my aim. The first place that I decided upon thus visiting, was the Zoological Gardens in the Eegent’s Park. It was on a Saturday, when the band of the Guards was accustomed to play at three o’clock in the after- noon ; and the attendance was numerous, as well as consisting of persons of rank and fashion. But the principal attraction, as it turned out, was the presence of an oriental personage, attended by his suite. This individual, as I gleaned from a conver- sation which I overheard, was named Mirza Mohammed Khan; and as an Envoy Plenipo- tentiary from the King or Shah ot Persia, he had been for some months in England, conducting the purposes of his important diplomatic mission. I furthermore learnt that he was enormously rich — that his native rank was equivalent to that of a Prince in our country — and that he had come to England with a numerous suite. The mansion provided by the British Government for his re- ception was in Portman Square : but for his private comfort and seclusion he had hired a hand- some villa at St. John’s Wood, in the near neigh- boimhood of the Eegent’s Park. CHAPTEE LII. THE PERSIAN PRINCE.* I MTSELF experienced some curiosity to behold his Highness Mirza Mohammed Khan ; and with that sentiment I almost forgot the object which had brought me to the Zoological Gardens. The weather was superb, — the sun shining brightly: the aspect of the whole scene, with the well-dressed gentlemen and elegantly apparelled ladies, roaming about the beautifully laid-out grounds, was de- lightful to the eye. I myself was arrayed in a tasteful and most becoming manner, — my toilet being replete with elegance, and having nothing gaudy about it ; and I knew moreover that I looked exceedingly beautiful. I was never in the enjoy- ment of better health ; and the gaiety of the scene put me in the most cheerful spirits. I soon per- ceived, too, as I passed amidst the numerous com- pany, that I was the object of no inconsiderable attention ; and several gentlemen appeared inclined to take special notice of me — but they did not suit my fancy, and I gave them no encouragement. Besides, as I have already said, my principal feel- ing now was one of curiosity in respect to the Persian Ambassador. At length there was a visible sensation on the part of the assemblage ; and in a few minutes I perceived the object of all this interest advancing KOSA LAMliKItT. 882 slowly along^. Mirza Mahommed was a tall man, and admirably formed so far as his somewhat loose fittiTijj oriental garb would enable rao to judge. Jlis ago did not exceed four-and-thirty : lie had a magnidcent black beard descending upon his breast — moustaches of raven glossiness — curl- ing at the ends — and a profile, so far as that beard left it visible, of the most faultless regularity. His complexion was not so dark as I had expected to find it : it was of a pale olive : but the lips were of vivid redness ; and- when, with a species of grave smile, ho acknowledged the respectful salutations which greeted him on every side, those lips dis- closed two rows of teeth of ivory whiteness. Ho had a natui’ally serious and thoughtful expression of countenance ; and I at once set him down as remarkably intelligent. Ilis eyes were exceed- ingly handsome — large, dark, and full of fire, and surmounted by nobly arching brows. As for his costume, it combined all the picturesque beauty with the lavish display of embellishment appro- priate to the gorgeous east. The turban, the em- broidered caftan, and the hilt ot the sword, were literally gleaming with gems, any one of which would have constituted a perfect fortune for any individual who might be otherwise in humble cir- cumstances. He was attended by a retinue of six persons : namely, three black slaves, two other oriental followers, and an Englishman in plain clothes, who evidently acted as guide for the Per- sian cor t eye. I was well pleased that I had accidentally come to the Gardens on such an occasion : but my vanity was perhaps never more complimented than when I presently found myself the object of un- mistakable interest on the part of the Prince. First when his eyes settled upon my countenance, his look was full of amazed admiration : then he advanced a few paces, and turned to gaze again, as if he were bewildered and fascinated by my ap- pearance. I saw that all other eyes in the imme- diate vicinity of the spot were now riveted upon me ; and perhaps the glow of triumph which mantled upon’my cheeks, was taken for a modest bashfulness, because at the same time I bent my regards downward. I walked slowly on, and slightly diverged from the route which the Per- sian cortege itself was taking: but Mirza Ma- hommed turned quickly in the same direction — and still he continued to contemplate me with the air of one who was irresistibly fascinated. I now thought that it would bo far more prudent for me to turn abruptly off in some other direction : for the idea of achieving a conquest in that quarter was now thrillingly uppermost in my mind — but I knew that if I gave palpable encouragement and laid myself out meretriciously for an overture, the J^rince would set all the less value upon his prize. I thoreforo quickened my pace, and was speedily at some distance, — whore, striking into another avenue, 1 was lost to the view of my oriental admirer. In about a quarter of an hour wo en- countered each other again, with all the appear- ance of accident so far as I was concerned ; and again were his largo dark eyes fixed admiringly u])on me. Again, too, did I pass off in anotlicr ilircction : for 1 was full well aware that if ho wished to know more of rno, ho would by some means or another carry out his purpose. I wandered apart from the crowd that poured in the same direction as that which tlie I’. i i ,1 was taking; and presently glancing buck, I j)er- ceived that 1. was followed by the l'lnglinhmaii in plain clothes who was in attendance upon the Prince. A sensation of triumjih thrilled through every vein ; I already saw that my conquest was complete — and I was rejoiced at the idea of reckon- ing an oriental l*rinco amongst the number of those whom my beauty had ravished. Yet I affected not to bo aware that I was thus followed ; and 1 walked on, pausing every now and then before the cage of some animal, or else with the air of contemplating a beautilul parterre of flowers. Nevertheless, from time to time a furtive glance showed me that the Englishman was still upon my track ; and I comprehended easily enough that as ho had stealthily quitted the Prince’s retinue on some hint from his Highness, he did not choose to accost me so long as wo were within view of any of the company. I accordingly walked on ; and in a few minutes was concealed by the shrubs from all the loungers in the other parts of the garden. Now I heard quickening footsteps behind me ; and the Englishman was speedily by my side. 1 1 0 was a man of about fifty ; and as I have already said, was dressed in plain clothes. Ho had a sedate air when seen at a little distance ; but the first glance that I threw upon his countenance, as he thus overtook me, showed a certain expression of cunning in bis eyes. “Pardon me, ma’am,” he said, making mo a most respectful bow, “ for this intrusion upon your j notice : but if you would grant me your atten- 1 tion for a few minutes, I should feel infinitely obliged.” “ May I inquire,” I said, assuming a certain air ; of astonishment, “ Vv'ho it is that thus introduces himself to me ?” “My name is Peterson,” he replied: “and I have the honour of being attached to the service of his Highness the Prince whom you have just seen. Pardon me for adding that I happen to know I have the honour of speaking to Miss Lambert.” “ Indeed !” I exclaimed t “ and how does it happen that I am known to you ?” 1 “ I was butler in the household of Lord Eveleigh j some years ago,” rejoined Peterson; “and you j remember that you called upon his lordship. I j did not then know who you were : but a little j time afterwards I saw you riding in the Pai;^ with | Captain Fortescue— and I then learnt that you | were Miss Lambert.” j “And for what purpose do you address me now .P” I inquired. “ It is a delicate matter for one of my sex to enter upon with a lady,” he answered, with a per- fectly respectful demeanour : “ but the circum- stances are themselves peculiar. I hope you will not be offended when I proceed to inform you that your appearance has so fascinated his Highness , he craves the honour of an introduction.” His Highness must bo exceedingly suscep- tible,” I observed; “inasmuch as, to my know- ledge, ho never saw mo before to-day.” “And the circumstance itself,” rejoined Peter- son, with a low bow, “ speaks volumes in behalf of the Prince’s taste.” “ If I were to assent to the request for an intro- duction,” I wont on to ask, “ how is it to be ac- ROSA LAMBERT. 383 complished ? — for I assure you that I have no inclination to become the object of public curi- osity.” “ I had already reflected in my own mind,” re- turned Peterson, “ that such would be the delicacy of your ieelings ; and in the hope that you would not refuse the Prince’s prayer I had resolved upon a mode of effecting the introduction. At no great distance hence, his Highness has a private dwell- ing; and if you would condescend to accept an entertainment in the evening at that villa, I can promise your reception will be a most welcome one Unless indeed,” Peterson immediately added, “ you preter that his Highness should wait upon you at your own residence — in which case I am sure that he will do so with infinite plea- sure.” I pretended to hesitate and to reflect ; and at length, as if having slowly made up my mind, I said, “ I will accept the invitation which his High- ness has sent me through you. Perhaps you will come in the evening to conduct me to the Prince’s villa-residence — and I then named the address of my own abode. “ At seven o’clock this evening. Miss Uambert,” answered Peterson, “ I shall be punctual.” He made me another low bow — and hastened away in one direction, while I pursued my path in the other. My veins were once more thrilling with triumph : I had come to the Gardens on this occasion for a particular object — but little indeed had I foreseen that I should -make such a brilliant conquest as I had achieved. I returned homo — and proceeded to examine my wardrobe, to decide upon the dress whicn I should wear for the occa- sion. Poor Ferdinand Bentley ! you were almost completely forgotten. At the appointed hour I was apparelled in a garb which I fancied became me admirably ; and well aware how jewels set off female beauty in the eyes of orientals, I failed not to embellish my person with the most costly contents of my own gaskets. Punctual to the time, a handsome plain carriage, with servants in elegant English liveries, stopped in front of the house; and Peterson alighted. He conducted me to the equipage; and when I was seated therein, he was about to close the door and ascend to the box — but I bade him enter with me, for I wished to ask him a few questions. He hesitated, — evidently thinking it was a liberty which the Prince might resent : but I repeated the command — and he obeyed. “ Does his Highness speak English P” I inquired. “ Sufficiently well. Miss Lambert,” was the an- swer, “ to render his meaning perfectly intelligible ; and he himself can understand everything that is said to him. In fact, during the six or seven months his Highness has been in England, he has studied to acquire a knowledge of our language ; and a very intelligent English gentleman, at- tached to his town-household, has been his tutor.” “How long does his Highness purpose to re- main in this country ?” was my next query. “ From what I have learnt,” answered Peterson, “ the Prince expects that his diplomatic mission will have achieved its object in another month or six weeks : but it is quite possible that he may prolong his sojourn in the British metropolis — for he has no positive orders to the contrai’y from his Sovereign.” “Is he married?” I inquired: “and does ho exercise the oriental privilege of a plurality of wives ?” “ On this point,” replied Peterson, I am un- able to give you any information. Very certain however it is that no wife accompanied his High- ness to this country.” The equipage presently entered the well laid- out grounds attached to a spacious and beautiful | villa ; and the moment it stopped at the front en- trance, two or three black slaves hastened forward to receive me. I was conducted through a hall embellished with handsome vases exhaling, a deli- cious fragrance: I ascended a superb staircase, and was led into an elegantly furnished apartment, — where a table was spread with the choicest wines, the finest fruits that Covent Garden Market could furnish, and all kinds of light refreshments appropriate for a dessert. There were no chairs in this room : but their place was supplied with luxu- rious ottomans, of velvet with gold fringes. Kich crimson draperies were drawn over the windows ; and the wax-lights of a superb chandelier were reflected in large mirrors. Elegance and taste blended with sumptuousness in the appointments of this room. I was not kept a minute waiting ere the door was thrown open ; and the Prince entered, — that door immediately closing behind him, so that we were alone together. I experienced a certain feel- ing of timidity as he advanced, took my hand, and raised it to his lips. He welcomed me to his villa : he spoke English better than even I had ex- pected from what Peterson had told me ; and his voice was agreeable to a degree. We sate down together, — he only partially adopting the oriental style : namely, by having one leg bent up loung- ingly on the ottoman, and the other thrown over it, but hanging down. There was nothing stiff nor formal in his posture, it was replete with an easy elegance ; and he did the honours of the table entirely in the ‘English style. He a^uredly was not a very correct Mussulman : for he quaffed the champagne with as much zest as if there were no ordinance in the Koran against the use of wine. At first the conversation dwelt upon the leading topics of the day, in which he showed himself to be intimately versed ; and so far as the language went, I had not the slightest difficulty in compre- hending him. At length, by degrees, he approached a subject which I knew full well must 'sooner or later be entered upon ; and I was really astonished at the delicacy of the terms in which he conveyed his overtures. These were to the effect that I should take up my abode in the villa where I found myself — that I should be as much mistress of the establish- ment as if it were my own — that it would be his de- light to lavish riches upon me — and that if I chose to accompany him to his own native land when the time should come for him to leave England, it would be his pride and his pleasure to take me thither. On this last subject I could of course make no promise : but I consented to come and take up my abode beneath that roof. I however informed his Highness that it would be necessary for me to return to my own residence to make cer- tain arrangements; and it was finally understood that I should remove to St. John’s Villa in the forenoon of the morrow. At ten o’clock the car- riage was in readiness to take me home again; KOSA LAMBETIT. 38, lias only lasted for a few jjoor weeks. We will not continue the topic now. Vhju must take time fur mulure rclleclion. You )nust learn lo know mo hoticr. hot another coiqjlo of montlia pass— and then we will renew Iho sub- ject. Once or twice it has occurred to me— though J have not mentioned it — that in accordanco v>ith LAMDFUT. your English customs you would wish to li v.- some little change of scene. This evening, — whicli I intend to pass with you — T will bring with nui ii fellow-countryman of youv’s Ue is a gentleman to whom I am under much obligation ; for to hi ; unwearied assistance, ns well as to his intelligent mode of instruction, am 1 indebted fur my ability to converse with you thus in your native tongue. Kc is but a young man : yet he is endowed with a rare intellect: his manners arc amiable— and I am sure that ho possesses every honourable feeling and noble quality — or I should not offer to introduce him to you.” I thanked the Prince for his kindness; and as- sured him that any one whom he thought fit to present at the villa, would receive a bccoraing wel- come at my hands. It being now three in the afternoon, Mirza Mohammed took his departure for his town-mansion, — intimating that he would be with me at eight in the evening, when he should introduce the gentleman of whom ho bad spoken. When the Prince was gone, I again reflected upon the singular proposal he had made mo in respect to marriage ; and again too did I delibe- rate very seriously whether I should do well to accept it, and thus secure myself against all those apprehensions which had frequently haunted me in respect to what the doom of my after-years might be. I certainly looked with less repugnance than I had ere now experienced, upon tlae prospect held out : I strove to reason against the objec- tions which my mind had previously started ; and I felt it was by no means improbable that in the course of time I should give way in favour of Mirza Mohammed’s proposal. Soon after seven o’clock I dressed myself in a fitting manner for the evening’s reception : at eight I was in the drawing-room — and almost im- mediately afterwards the Prince’s plain carriage, entering the grounds, drove up to the front door. I was in excellent spirits : for I was delighted with the prospect of having a visitor,— although, as I have before said, the novelty of my new exist- ence had by no means begun to lose its charm. Still it is consistent with human nature to welcome variety in the form of pleasure or recreation when it does present itself : — and such was my feeling now. The door wa5 thrown open : the Prince entered, followed by the visitor whom he had brought. With that European politeness to which he had adapted himself, he turned for a moment towards his companion in order to lead him forward and present him to me ; and that single moment was sufficient for me to regain my self-possession which was suddenly startled when in the visitor I recog- nized Ferdinand Bentley ! But not even for a single second had Ferdinand himself lost his own self-possession ; and therefore I concluded that ho had previously known whom ho was destined to see. lie bowed with that ceremonial courtesy which a gentleman displays on tlio first occasion of being introduced to a lady : ho did not offer to take rny hand— no sign of recognition escaped him— lie was completely master of liimself. Jn a word— from the conduct of neither had tho Persian Prince the faintest ground to suspect that wo were full well acquainted wit h each other. ROSA LAMBERT. 387 After a little conversation we proceeded to an | apartment where a table was spread with wines and fruits; and there we regaled ourselves. I was strictly on my guard ; Ferdinand was equally so— indeed to an extent which made me fancy that it was a studied and deliberate coldness he was thus assuming as the only means by which, be could express his indignation at the way in which I had abandoned him. Nevertheless, his conduct was marked by the strictest politeness; and the conversation never flagged. When we bad passed a couple of hours at table, we repaired to the Prince’s favourite room, — where bis High- ness, occupying the divan, was speedily inhaling the fragrant smoke of his pipe; and I on this occasion, instead of flinging myself on the volup- tuous cushions, sate upon an ottoman. Mirza Mohammed offered a hookah to Ferdinand ; but he respectfully declined it, as be did not smoke. Coffee was served round ; and thus another hour was passed. The Prince had to return to his town-mausion that evening; and he accordingly took Ferdinand away with him in bis carriage. Up to the very last instant the young gentleman’s demeanour towards me continued to be that of mere ordinary politeness : but it was also true that not for an instant bad there been an opportunity for him to breathe a syllable apart to my ear, even if he had so desired. Nevertheless I was piqued by Ferdinand’s conduct. I could not help reflect- ing that I had maintained my connexion with him as long as my pecuniary position allowed me : I had never permitted him to make me the slightest present ; and I had only thought of seeking an- other protector when I was at the end of my finances. I felt therefore as if I were aggrieved : for I thought that his conduct might have been slightly less formal and distant, and that he might have at least flung a single look of intelligence upon me. It was in this humour that I sought my chamber; and as I could not possibly help thinking of Ferdi- nand, I experienced a certain longing to have an explanation with him. Methought too that he had never appeared so handsome and so marvel- lously like the deceased Henry Ilderton, as upon this occasion. I could not get to sleep : his image * haunted me : I felt uneasy and restless — and there was moreover a certain vague sense of incipient dissatisfaction at my present position. I now reflected that I had not once walked out alone since I had been at St. John’s Villa : and it oc- curred to me that it was not intended I should do so — for every morning after breakfast Peter- son was wont to ask me whether I chose to go out in the carriage or on horseback for the recreation of the day. It thus seemed as if I had merely a choice between those two alternatives; and that I was virtually debarred from adopting any other course even if I fancied it. All this, had never struck me before : and why did it strike me now ? Because I said to myself that if Ferdinand wished to see me, he would be sure to ramble in the Park in the hope that I should join him ; and therefore it had occurred to me first of all that I would the next day walk out by myself. But thereupon had arisen the query — flashing in unto my mind — whether I was sufficiently my own mis- tress to do so ? The bare thought that I was really wearing invisible and impalpable chains, while de- luding myself with the idea of perfect freedom, was sufficient to arouse my natural spirit, and to make my soul revolt against coercion, even though it sate upon me no heavier than gossamer upon a hedge. After breakfast on the following morning, the sedate Peterson made his appearance as usual ; and with his wonted bow likewise, he said, “ May I take your pleasure, ma’am, in respect to the ar- rangements of the day ? Will it please you to order the carriage, or to take an airing on horse- back ? and at what hour is it your command that either carriage or horses shall be in readiness ?” “ I think, Peterson,” I answered, as if quite in a careless way, “ that I shall indulge in a walk this afternoon, for the sake of change.” “ Very good, ma’am,” responded the intendant of the household, with the wonted respectful in- clination of the head. At what hour will it suit your pleasure that one of the footmen shall at- tend upon you?” “ I am no such fine lady, Peterson,” I replied, aftecting to laugh, “ that I need such attendance. I shall go out alone.” “ Alone, ma’am ?” — and for an instant he looked bewildered, as if he fancied that he had not heard aright. “ Yes — alone, to be sure !” I rejoined ; and then with another laugh, I added, “ Though not very old, I am still old enough to be enabled to take care of myself.” “ Oh, certainly, ma’am !” said Peterson, with a lower bower than ever. “ But excuse me, ma’am — his Highness might be annoyed. Pardon me, ma’am, for reminding you that the Prince’s ideas in respect to ladies— though exceedingly liberal— are nevertheless not altogether European.” “ Oh, I understand !” I exclaimed : and I was about to add indignantly that I should foUow the bent of my own inclination, — when the thought struck me that I had better not act precipitately, for fear lest I should suddenly lose a position which despite any little dissatisfaction, was not to be abandoned for a trifle : and therefore I said, “ Well, Peterson, I think I will go out on horse- back to-day. Let the hour be three o’clock.” The intendant of the household bowed, and quitted the room, evidently much relieved by the decision to which I had come, and by the seem- ingly ready renunciation of my project to walk out alone CHAPTEE LIIL A SUEPKISE. At three o’clock I rode out into the Park, at- tended, as usual, by the English groom. I had not proceeded half-way round the outer circle, when I perceived Ferdinand Bentley walking slowly along the pathway and anxiously con- templating all the equipages and equestrians that were moving past. I affected not lo notice him at first, — so that the groom should not have the slightest reason to imagine that I was at all in- terested in the handsome young gentleman’s pre- sence there : but when he raised his hat, I drew in my steed near the pathway, and the next mo- 388 noSA LAMBETIT. rucni Ferdinand was on tho spot. The groom, as a matter of course, remained at a rcspoctlul dis- tance ; and I at once said to Ferdinand, “ Let us appear as if we were the merest acquaintances !” “And what more are we — under the altered cir- cumstances in which wo have again been thrown together ?” bo asked, with mingled hesitation and bitterness. “ I came purposely to meet you,” was my re- sponse : “ I thought that you would bo hero — I felt that there were explanations ” “ Explanations P” said Ferdinand, with con- tinued bitterness: “it requires no verbal explana- tion from your lips. Miss Lambert, to make me aware that I was renounced and abandoned for another ” “ Ob, if this be the way in which you choose to treat me,” I said, “ our interview must end at once :” — and I made a motion as if to urge on my steed. “iN'o, no — for heaven’s sake, do not leave me !” ejaculated Ferdinand, with tho most genuine vex- ation suddenly appearing upon his countenance. “ It is the moment which 1 looked forward to with so much anxious suspense ! I felt assured that w'e should soon meet again ” “ Then you wished to meet me !” I asked-, in a gentle voice : for I felt that I liked this young man — and methought at the instant that he was even handsomer than Henry Ilderton, whom he so much resembled. “ Yes, I wished to meet you— and that is the truth !” he replied fervently. “ I have been wretched ever since my return from Scotland Ah ! it was a cruel blow for me ! — and yet I must have been mad to hope that my bliss would last for ever !” “My dear Ferdinand,” I said, “rest assured that in placing myself under the protection of Mirza Mohammed Khan, I was only obeying an imperious necessity. My funds were ex- hausted ” “ Oh how selfish I have been 1” ejaculated Fer- dinand, evidently vexed with himself. “ How could I imagine that you would make every pos- sible sacrifice for me ? I had no right to expect it ; and, alas ! I had not the means to maintain you. Oh that I were rich !” he vehemently added ; “and you would then see, Eose, what kind of feeling I entertain towards you. It is no or- dinary sentiment, because you are no ordinary woman ” “ Tell me, my dear Ferdinand,” I said, “ why did you never mention to mo the name of him whom you served as secretary ? It never occurred to mo at the time when we used to see each other — but it has struck me since— that you purposely avoided mentioning that name.” Ferdinand blushed and looked confused for a moment ; and then, with a half-smile and an arch expression of his very handsome eyes, ho said, “If 1 were to tell you, liose, you might be of- fended.” “ Oh, no,” I exclaimed ; “ I promise you that I will not:” — and then, as I also smiled, I added, “ I think 1 can guess. You had certain fears ■” “That is tho ])reclso truth!” rejoined Mr. iJentlcy. “Ills Highness tho Prince has fitted up a sort of museum at his mansion in I’ortmuu Square, containing all kinds of oriental curif)!sitie.s ; and any one with a sufficient introduction can visit that museum. Now, methought that if f informed you that I was private secretary and English tutor to Mirza Mohammed, you might ex- press a wish to see that museum ” “ And you likewise thought,” I observed, laugh- ing, “ that if I did visit it I might possibly be seen by the Prince, and that he might fall in love with me ?” “It is true,” replied Ferdinand: “but you have promised to forgive my jealousy. I can assure you that in the first instance— I mean within the first week or two of our acquaintance — I had no studied object in suppressing the Prince’s name : it was a mere accident— an oversight. I3ut after- wards, ns wo gradually grew intimate— and as I began to entertain certain hopes — I did conceal the name of my employer for the reasons with which you are now acquainted. Oh, my dear Rose !” ho exclaimed, after a few moments’ pause, during which he surveyed mo with rapturous ad- miration, “ How beautiful you look ! It is tho first time I have ever seen you in a riding-habit ; and it becomes you so well that you ought to wish it was tho fashion for ladies habitually to wear such a costume on all occasions. How the Prince is to be envied the possession of you !” Ferdinand heaved a profound sigh, as ho con- tinued to regard me with mingled admiration and tenderness. “ Does his Highness suspect,” I asked, “ that we had ever met before ?” “No — I believe not,” responded Ferdinand, — “ although I saw that for an instant you were thrown off your guard when I was last night in- troduced to your presence.” “ Yes : but I instantaneously recovered myself,” I said. “ And you ” “ I knew whom I was about to meet,” answered Ferdinand. “ Conceive my astonishment, dear Eose, when the Prince said to me in the evening that he intended to take me to pass an hour or two with an English lady who was living at his suburban villa ; and then he added, ‘ I have told Miss Lambert that I intend to bring a gentleman with me.’ — Fortunate was it for me,” continued Ferdinand, “ that the Prince was not regarding me at the instant, or he would have been struck by the air of mingled joy and astonishment which I knew that my features expressed.” “ Joy P” I said : “ and yet how cold and distant you were towards me !” “ Ah ! but only in appearance,” ejaculated Fer- dinand : “ for I felt as if I could spring up from my seat and fold you in my arms. But I was al- together in a strange and scarcely explicable mood. To say that I was not angry, vexed, and discon- tented at the idea of your having abandoned me to place yourself under tho protection of tho Per- sian Prince, would be to give utterance to a false- hood : but on the other hand, I was rejoiced to encounter you again — I longed for a moment to breathe a word in your ear, or to press your hand to my lips : but I was forced to bo upon my guard — I dared not oven to fling a glance of intelligence upon you. May I add, however,” said Ferdinand, gazing with a soft moaning tenderness upon ino, “ that I did venture to entertain certain liopos ” I EOSA LAMBEET. Ob, Ferdinand !” I interrupted him, “ can you not comprehend that I am leading a sort of orien- tal life, although in the heart of my own country ? I am as it were the occupant of a harem, with the eyes of watchful slaves ever upon me. Indeed I know not whether this groom who is now in at- tendance, may not be a spy likewise, and whether this long interview of our’s will not be reported.” I noticed that while I was speaking Ferdinand Bentley’s countenance brightened up, and a glow of joy overspread it. “ Ah !” he exclaimed, “ the hope that I ventured to conceive will not be disappointed ! You will render me happy if the barriers which separate us can be surmounted, and if the lynx-eyes of those black slaves can be cheated ! And why not ? If they be cunning, we must set all our wits to work ” “ I am not my own mistress,” I said, “ to go about as I think fit : there is a certain restraint upon me, though invisible and impalpable until I endeavour to follow my own inclinations — and then it becomes visible and real : the festooning flowers turn into iron chains ! I must not ride out on horseback, nor go for a walk, unless followed by a domestic ” “ Ah, but this is hideous !” exclaimed Ferdinand : and then with passionate vehemence he again cried, “ Ob, that I were rich !” “ It is useless to repine at your fate, my dear friend,” I said. “As for me, you can of course understand that the position in which I am placed, although so luxurious, nevertheless has its penal- ties : but I cannot on this account resign the pro- tection of the Prince,” “ No— nor do I ask you !” cried Ferdinand : I am not so selfish as all that! I have not the means to support you— would to heaven that I had !” He reflected deeply for nearly a minute ; and then he said, “ Will you grant me a favour, Eose ? Will you permit me to see you — elsewhere if — if — I can contrive the means ? Will you in the first instance — now, I mean — explain to me which is the window of your chamber ?” “ Ferdinand, what are you thinking of?” I ex- claimed. “ You cannot be so rash— so mad ” “ Eest assured, my dear Eose,” he interrupted me, “ that I will not compromise you — I mean that whatever I undertake in order to render myself happy, shall be managed with so much caution that you need not entertain the slightest apprehen- sion. It is always in my power to learn the Prince’s engagements. To-night, for instance, I know that he is going to a grand entertainment at Kew; and therefore, as it will be late when he leaves, I presume he wifi, not think of disturbing you at the villa ?” “No : if he be thus engaged,” I answered, “he will sleep to-night in Portman Square. But really, Ferdinand, I tremble at the thought of what I I know is now passing in your mind — I shud- der ■” “Fear nothing, my dear Eose!” he earnestly responded. “What would I not dare — what would I not risk for the happiness ” “ Ah ! but it is in all this daring and risking,” I remonstrated, “ that the peril lies.” Ferdinand however continued to urge the point and I at length agreed to the plan which he pro. Sl'O ' posed. I explained to him as well as I could which were the windows of my bed-chamber ; and when we had agreed upon certain details, we sepa- rated. I now continued my ride round the Park, pondering the project which had just been ar- ranged between us. I was not much afraid that the groom would attach any importance to the somewhat lengthy conversation which had taken place, — because the man knew that he was the Prince’s private secretary, and also that he had been introduced to the villa on the preceding evening : it was therefore natural enough that I should stop and talk to one who was in the confi- dence of my protector. Having ridden for nearly a couple of hours, I returned home ; and through- out the evening I watched Peterson’s manner whenever he appeared in my presence, to see whether the groom had made any report to render him suspicious : but there was nothing to warrant such an apprehension on my part. A message was sent up from Portman Square to the effect that his Highness would not be enabled to see me until the morrow ; and the domestic who brought this message, was likewise charged with a hand- some gift of which Mirza Mohammed desired my acceptance. And here I may observe that when- ever he had occasion to despatch a message to me, it was invariably accompanied with a present. I retired to my chamber at the usual hour— was assisted in my night-toilet by the lady’s-maid — and was careful not to appear in any hurry to dismiss her from my presence. It was about half- past eleven when she bade me good night ; and I locked the door of the chamber. This room was in an angle of the building, and had two windows — one looking upon a grass-plat at the side of the house, the other upon the garden at the back. It was on the drawing-room floor ; and I need not add was sumptuously furnished. A dressing-room opened off on one side; and therewith a bath-room communicated, — all the appointments being in the most elegant, tasteful, yet luxurious style. In the bath-room a double cord of green and gold hung down from a ring in the ceiling over the bath itself, — its object being to assist the bather in entering or emerging from the bath, or in shifting the position when therein. A few minutes after my maid had retired, I entered the bath-room ; and by placing a chair on the lid of the bath — (for it was always kept covered up until the hour when I used it in the morning)— I was enabled to climb sufficiently high to detach the cord from the hook. Eeturning into my chamber, I fastened one end of the cord to one of the legs of the massive bedstead ; and then looking at my watch, found that it yet wanted a quarter of an hour to' midnight. I sate down, and endeavoured with a book to while away this brief interval : but instead of igading, I could not help asking myself a few questions. Why was I indiilging in this amour ? why was I incur- ring such a risk ? If discovered, should I not at once be ignominiously ejected from St. John’s Villa ? should I not lose the protection of one who had surrounded me with all luxuries and comforts, who was continuously heaping costly gifts upon me, and who had offered to make me his wife ? Then why was I guilty of a folly which savoured almost of madness? Was it through sheer wan- tonness ? had my temperament grown sq licentious 390 ROflA LAMTIFTIT. that I could not possibly control my passions ? 1 remember that 1 felt my countenance blushinpr as I asked myself these questions : for even in the midst of depravity, one does not like to admit that depravity unto oneself. No— for it vpas the truth! I longed for that young man as much as ho could possibly long for me ; and I was reckless of all danger and peril so long as I had the prospect of gratifying my desires in his arms. Then, as I looked back for only a few years, I could trace the gradual but certain descent which I had made in the path of profligacy : but I did not shudder now as 1 thus retrospected. All that happened— all the licentiousness to which I might give way — all the amours in which it might please my fancy to indulge, were regarded by me as so many episodes making up the sum-total of a career specially ordained by destiny and whence there was no escape. A quarter of an hour passed : it was midnight — and with the utmost caution I opened the case- ment which looked upon the grass-plat at the side of the house. The night was exceedingly dark, and therefore propitious for such an adventure as that which I had in hand. According to the arrange- ment settled between Ferdinand and myself in the afternoon, I extinguished the lights immediately upon opening the window ; and then with con- tinued caution, I lowered the rope. I felt that it • was drawn tight below; and thus I knew that he was there — but it was too dark for me to catch a glimpse of his form. In about a minute his head appeared above the window-sill— I rendered him such assistance as I chuld — and in a few instants, more he was in my chamber. The rope was drawn up— the casement was closed— and we were locked in each other’s arms. As this was near the end of the month of June, and the dawn was therefore at a very early hour, he dared not remain too long with me : but as this first attempt at the stealthy renewal of our amour had so well succeeded, Ferdinand experienced little difficulty in obtaining from me a promise that whenever opportunity was convenient, he might ; repeat his visit. Shortly before three o’clock in the morning he descended from the window ; and I re- adjusted the silken cord in its place before I again sought my couch. A month passed away; and during this interval Ferdinand’s visit was repeated eight or ten times, — always with complete success, and apparently without exciting the least suspicion. The Prince grew more and more attached to me : but he did not again bring Ferdinand to the villa, — nor did ho again make any allusion to the monotony of the life I was leading. It was not however, as the reader is aware, quite so monotonous as his Highness believed it to bo : for the occasional steulttiy visits of Ferdinand afforded a sufficient variation. I was now perfectly contented with my lot: the little dissatisfaction which for a moment had arisen from the restraint placed upon me, had passed away ; and I enjoyed equestrian exercise almost daily. Often and often, when 1 was riding in tlio Parks, I observed a disposition on tho part of gentlemen to form my acciuaintunco ; but 1 was oxccodingly circumspect— and if tho groom who altendcd upon mo, was really instructed to report on my conduct to I’oterson, very certain was it that he could say no ill of mo. Sometimes, too, I met acquaintances of former times, —cspoeially those to whom I was introduced when living with Mr. Alvanly : but I invariably affectorl not to recognise them: I cared nothing for them— and I was determined to do naught that should in any way afford ground for tho suspicion that I would be giddy and gay if I had the opportunity. One morning— after tho Prince had passed tl e night with mo- ho mentioned, ore taking his leave, that ho was going to spend two or throe days at some nobleman’s seat a short distance in tho country; and he expressed a hope tliat I should not find myself dull in his absence. JIo went away ; and I knew full well that Ferdinand would not omit to avail himself of tho opportunity to visit mo. Accordingly, when night came, and tho maid was dismissed to her own chamber after having assisted at my night-toilet, I commenced the usual preparations. The silken cord was taken down from tho nail in tho bath-room : one end was fastened round the leg of the massive rose- wood bedstead ; and precisely as ray watch indi- cated the hour of midnight, I extinguished the lights and gently opened the casement. In a couple of minutes Ferdinand was in the chamber : the cord was drawn up — the casement was closed —and we were speedily locked in each other’s arms in the luxurious couch. “Are you convinced, dear Ferdinand,” I said to him, “ that not tho slightest suspieion “ Suspicion ? — no, my charming Rose,” he re- sponded. “ How can suspicion possibly be ex- cited P Are not all our precautions so well taken ? have I not invariably quitted you before the first glimmer of the dawn ? Ah 1 and it has been pain- ful to me, I can assure you, beloved Rose, thus to tear myself away !” “And equally painful, dear Ferdinand, for me to separate from you so soon. But only think, ”*I went on to say, “ how dreadful it would be if our proceedings were discovered— if by any accident we were detected ! Oh! it would be shocking in the extreme !” “Why do you talk thus. Rose?” he asked, straining me fervidly in his embrace. “ You never spoke thus before. Have you any reason to sus- pect that there is evil impending ? — have you any motive ” “No— not the least,” I answered: “the Prince was as kind as ever to me this morning when he took his departure.” “ And he was equally kind to me,” rejoined 1 Ferdinand, “ when he told me in the forenoon that I should have the enjoyment of two or three days’ holiday. Come, Rose — banish these appre- hensions, I beseech you !” At this moment a strange sound met our ears : it seemed to come from either the dressing-room or bath-room; and we both held our breaths sus- pended. Tho door between the dressing-room and the chamber was opened ; and light footsteps were gliding in. The apartment was involved in complete darkness : but full well — too well could I recognise those stealthy, cat-like paces 1 knew them to bo the Prince’s black slaves who were thus intruding upon us. Ferdinand felt me shudder and quiver in his arms ; and ho pressed mo as if with an assurance that no harm should befall mo, and that ho would bo my defender. One of tho slaves camo up to the bod, and sta- EOSA LAMBEET. tionccl himself there, — while the other hastened to unlock the chamber-door. A light flashed in ; and the Prince entered, followed by Peterson. The door was immediately closed again ; and Mirza Mabommed Khan, advancing towards the couch with a settled sternness of look, said, ‘‘ Not a word, as you value your lives 1” lie then made a sign for Peterson and the two slaves to pass into the dressing-room — which they did, closing the door behind them. “ I do not choose to have noise and exposure beneath my roof,” resumed the Prince, addressing us in the same stern cold voice as before. “ Eise — and apparel yourselves — and when you are dressed, knock gently at this door.” He indicated the door of the dressing-room ; and thither he immediately proceeded for a short while until we had put on our clothes. The in- stant he had disappeared, Ferdinand threw bis arras ai*ound my neck, hastily whispering, “ Never mind, dearest Eose ! I will toil day and night to furnish you the means of subsistence.” I embraced him for this assurance ; and then issuing from the couch, we began to dress our- selves. I did not put on a bonnet or shawl, although I of course expected immediate expul- sion fi’om the villa : but I thought I would hear what the Prince had to say before I completed my toilet for a final departure. When we were dressed, I tapped gently at the door; and Mirza Mabommed Khan came forth alone, — Peterson and the slaves remaining in the dressing-room. “First of all, I address myself to you, Mr. Bentley,” said the Prince. “ When first you ap- plied to me for the situation of secretary and instructor in the English language, I thought you too young and too inexperienced : but you repre- sented to me that you were one of a numerous family — that your parents were not rich— that you were anxious to eat the bread of an honest in- dustry — and I took compassion upon you. You required but the most modest remuneration ; and I at once declared that I should give you double what you asked ” “ My lord,” interrupted Ferdinand, with an air i of contrition, though at the same time flinging a look of tenderness and protection on me, “ I admit that I have received numerous bounties from the hands of your Highness ; and therefore my con- duct may appear villanously ungrateful. But the truth must now be told. I was acquainted with Miss Lambert before your Highness knew her : I loved her then — I love her now. Had I possessed the means of supporting Miss Lambert, perhaps she would never have placed herself under your lordship’s protection ” “ Enough !” interrupted the Persian Ambassa- dor : and he spoke almost in a tone of compassion : “ there are certainly allowances to be made. At the same time, Ferdinand Bentley, you must be aware that your conduct is very far from being altogether justifiable. Whatsoever the past may have been in respect to yourself and this lady, it should have been buried in oblivion between yciu from the instant she entered beneath my roef. To me she became as a wife : and that sacred title I had offered to give her. It is true that in mine ignorance of your former knowledge of each other, I brought you into her presence ; and thus was I unconsciously fanning the flame of your formier .'191 attachment. I repeat, there are allowances to be made ; but if I am disposed to act generously, can I expect a reciprocal conduct on the part of you both ?” Ferdinand was evidently much moved, as I myself also was, by the way in which Mirza Mo- hammed spoke : but my paramour was uncertain and bewildered how to reply. He knew not what generous conduct was expected at his hands : he glanced towards me ; and I, hoping to receive the Prince’s forgiveness, and to continue in my position as his mistress, said, “Under existing circum- stances it is for your Highness to dictate, and for us to obey.” “ Ferdinand,” resumed Mirza Mohammed, “you are one of a numerous family which is not too well off; and I believe that when you entered upon your present employment, it was considered that you were most fortunate in embracing an avocation which might lead to better things. Your father is a highly respectable man ; and think you not that it would seriously grieve him, if it were known that you were expelled all in a moment from your situation, characterless, and with the imputation of having seduced and debauched a lady who is under my protection ?” “ Yes, my lord,” replied Ferdinand ; “ it would deeply afflict my poor father.” “Then, will you not make whatsoever atone- ment may lie in your power ?” asked the Prince, still speaking in that compassionating tone, which had succeeded the cpld sterness with which he had at first addressed us. Still Ferdinand was at a loss how to reply ; and I said, “Yes — I am confident that Mr. Bentley will yield to the wishes of your Highness in all things.” “ I am pleased, Eose,” resumed the Prince, now addressing himself to me, “ to find that you your- self are exhibiting so much proper contrition. It goes far to expiate your fault ; and I confidently hope that you will raise no objection to the course which I am about to suggest. But considering all that has passed, it is evident that if my purpose is to be carried out, it can only be with your mutual consent. In a word, do you agree to separate ?” “ Separate ?” ejaculated Ferdinand : and the look which he flung upon me was full of appre- hension. My lord,” I said — and at the same time the glance which I darted upon my paramour was as much as to bid him yield an assent to any condi- tions for the present, reserving to ourselves the option of fulfilling them hereafter, — “ my lord, would it not be as well if your Highness would explain your views so as at once to relieve us from a state of suspense ?” “ I will, Eose,” answered the Prince. “ My views are these : — So far as you are concerned, Ferdinand Bentley, I will retain you in my service until the last moment of my sojourn in this coun- ti’y : my treatment of you shall be the same as heretofore : and neither your father nor any one else shall know that you have given me cause of offence. Ere I leave England you shall have the highest testimonials; and,, indeed, I shall be en- abled to recommend you to an English nobleman, to whom I have already spoken on your behalf. As for you, Eose,” continued the Prince, now turning to me, “ you will without delay quit Lon- HOSA LAMliKHT. nn2 (Ion in the carriago, all.cmled by IV'Icrson and your maid: you will repair 1^ Paris, where you will sojourn until I join you tlicre. Tliis will be at the expiration of a month ; and then 1 juirpose to j)ass a few weeks in the French metropolis, before sotting out on rny return to I’ersia. AVhctlier you subsequently accompany me to my native laud — or whether we part for ever in the French metro- polis — will, as a matter of course, depend upon yourself. You know what has already passed be- tween us on a certain point : and you will have ample leisure to reflect and come to a decision. One word more ! If a ready assent bo yielded to my views and purposes, I draw a complete veil over the past in respect to you both.” “ Prince,” I said, “ your generosity overpowers me — it is infinitely more than I could have ex- pected. Instead of overwhelming me with your anger — instead of crushing us both with your resentment — you are manifesting the kindest and most benevolent disposition ” “Well, well,” said Mirza Mohammed, in a tremulous voice, “ you are contrite — and that is sufficient. I see that you both assent to the plan which I have sketched out— is it not so ?” “Yes — we consent,” I said: and I found an opportunity of darting another significant look at Ferdinand, who evidently derived hope and confi- dence from my manner, — though he of course could not precisely conjecture what my meaning was. “Now shake hands and separate,” said the Prince: and I thought that his behaviour was most magnanimously considerate when he turned away towards the toilette-table for upwards of a minute, — thus affording us an opportunity to snatch a parting embrace. Ferdinand threw a quick glance of inquiry upon me, as much as to ask what my intentions were : but I placed my finger on my lip to imply that it would not be safe to venture on even the lowest whisper. I noiselessly imprinted a kiss upon his cheek ; and then motioned him to re- tire. “ Peterson will let you gently out of the house, Ferdinand,” said the Prince ; “ so that the other inmates may not be disturbed by what is going on,” Having thus spoken he summoned his major- domo from the dressing-room ; and Peterson accompanied Ferdinand from the chamber. “Now, Pose,” said the Prince, still in the same mild and gentle voice of compassionating sym- pathy as he had last been adopting, “ you and I must have some conversation together while the carriago is getting ready for your departure. I have instructions as well as advice to give, so that I may take leave of you in all confidence that you will follow my views. Put not here can we speak! Already have I done too much violence to my feelings to remain in a room where stands the couch in which you have lain with a paramour. Follow rnc — and let this night’s proceeding servo us un additional proed’ of how much I love you.” I wus exceedingly affected by the Prince’s con- duct both towards Ferdinand and myself: I was surprised too, for I could not j)cissibly liavo sup- po'icd that one who entertained more or less rigid oriental notions in respect to women, could have borne Jii un-elf thus magnanimously, i did indeed regard it all as a proof of bi‘< deep and earnest love for me; and I said fo my^df, “Henceforth this man must bo (he arbiter of my d'-stinies 1’’ He led the way from (ho chamber descended (ho stairs— and made towards the door of his smoking-apartment : but os if struck by a second thought, he turned aside and beckoned me to fol- low out of the front door, wdiich was left open, — Peterson probably having not yet come back from the garden-gate, whither lie had accompanied Fer- dinand. I thought that the Prince intended to converse with mo in the open air — in the clear moonlight — and with the fresh breeze fanning his cheeks where the blood doubtless felt hot with the fever of excitement. I too was glad to woo that fresh air to my throbbing brows ; and I followed the Prince along the gravel-walk. “ Pose,” bo resumed, stopping and taking my hand, “you must acknowledge that my conduct affords a proof of love such as man seldom ex- hibits?” “ It docs, it does, my lord !” I answered, “ and how can 1 sufficiently prove my gratitude ?” “Listen to me, Pose,” he said, leading me gently onward. “ You will repair to Paris— and you will faithfully promise mo not to communicate with Ferdinand Bentley, nor to open any letter which, if he be treacherous and ungrateful, he may think fit to write. As for the past, rest as- sured of my forgiveness : indeed I have already promised that it shall be buried in oblivion.” I was about to answer, when methought I heard the light sounds of those gliding, stealthy, cat-like steps which characterized the movements of the slaves. I glanced hastily back; and it struck me that I beheld two dark forms at the moment disappearing in the deep shade of the enclosure-wall which we were approaching. A cold terror crept over me — I staggered forward — and then I stopped short. The Prince had led me round to a narrow part of the premises — a sort of passage formed by the side of the house on the one hand and the enclosure-wall on the other. Outside this enclosure-wall there was a lane lead- ing into the main road ; and with this lane a door communicated for the use of the servants and of tradesmen calling for orders or to deliver goods. Exactly facing this garden-gate, or door — which- ever it may be termed — there was a small door in the side of the house : but be it understood that I am not speaking of that side of the house where my own chamber, the drawing-room, and the prin- cipal sitting-apartments were situated. I must add that I had never known the use of that side- door which I have last mentioned ; I had never seen it opened — I was ignorant whither it led— but I had never had the curiosity to ask. It was in the narrow open space between this side-door and the door in the garden-wall that I suddenly stopped short, on beholding the two dark forms so stealthily disappear from my view. “What is the matter. Hose?” inquired the Prince : and it struck me that there was some- thing ominously changed and singular in his tone. But before I could give utterance to a word, I wus seized upon ; and a hand was pressed so tightly over my mouth that if I had possessed the st.rength to cry out, I could not. Lifted com- ploteiy ofi' my logs, 1 was homo towards that side- door of the house tho position of which I have ROSA LAMBERT. 393 explained, and wliicli now flew open as if yielding to some talismanic touch or sesame-whisper. A light was burning inside; and there was a short passage leading to a staircase richly carpetted. The Prince entered close behind the two slaves who had captured me in the manner described ; and he closed the door. “Dare to cry out,” exclaimed Mirza Mo- hammed, his eyes now flashing fire, “and the scimitar of this slave shall cut you down !” The black monster who bad hitherto held his hand so tightly over my mouth, withdrew it ; and the next instant his scimitar flashed from its sheath. Oh, the cold horror that seized upon me as a frightful, hideous, appalling suspicion swept in unto my mind ! Vivid as the lightning-flash, came to my memory something that I had heard —and that something horrible to a degree ! It was Grayson’s tale ! There was the lane down which he had been led blindfold — and the garden- ( No. 60 door was actually about thirty yards distant, as he had described it, from the main road where the cab which took him thither, had no doubt stopped. There wa that garden-door too — there was the interval between that and the other door which opened — and there was the little passage leading to the thickly carpetted staircase. I gazed in wild horror upon the Prince and his two black myrmidons, as all these things flashed in unto my mind. Ah, but another thought too ! The man who had employed Grayson on that night of horror and of mystery, was middle-aged — dressed like a butler or valet in plain clothes — with a suit of black — a white neckcloth — white cotton gloves — and a watch chain banging from his fob. Yes, the same — the very same- Peterson ! Oh, idiot that I was never to have thought of that identity before ! I endeavoured to scream out : but my tongue was locked fast — my power of utterance was pai'a- 394 iiosi lysed. I liad an idea of throwing myself at the Priiicci’s feet: but the scimilar was held threaten- ingly over my head; and that same frightful in- lluencc which thus paralyzed my voice, petrified also my limbs. The tw'o slaves motioned me to ascend the stairs : T did not at first comprehend them — they impatiently repeated the sign— and I begun to obey them as if 1 were no longer a being to ‘act, to think, or move for myself, but doing everything mechanically at the bidding of others. A sudden idea flashed to my mind. Did 1 need another proof of the identity of this place with the one to which Toby Grayson had been brought for the removal of the corpse of the beauteous mur- dered girl ? I began counting the steps of the staircase, — counted them amidst the profoundcst horror of feeling, and yet with a certain nupib- 3iing stupor over all. One — two — three— and so forth — until I had reached the top ; and those steps were exactly thirty-two in number! J ust heaven 1 what was to become of me P — was I destined to encounter a fate similar to that which the poor unknown girl had experienced ? Ah ! and there was the short landing too— and a door, which one of the black slaves pushed open, led into a small but splendidly-furnished room, the cornices and panels of which were all edged with gildings, and where rich red draperies fringed with gold hung over the windows. My tongue appeared to be suddenly unlocked : a cry — or rather an anguished moan burst from my lips — and I threw myself upon my knees at the Prince’s feet. The passage below, the staircase, and the room which we had just entered, were all lighted up, — so that the horrible conviction smote me that it was from the very first a planned and settled de- sign to conduct me thither in order that a fearful vengeance might be wreaked upon me. And the unknown young girl, too, had died of strangula- tion — the mark was around her neck — and this was a veritable eastern mode of inflicting death. I threw myself, I say, at the feet of Mirza Mo- hammed Khan ; and stretching out my arms to- wards him, I exclaimed, “ O Prince, for God’s sake spare me I” “ liise,” he said, his voice and manner becoming coldly stern and glacially implacable. “ Rise — and listen !” 1 obeyed mechanically; and I sank half ex- hausted upon a chair. Did you think, vile woman that you are,” pro- ceeded the Persian Prince, “ that I could really lorgive the abominable profligacies, perfidies, and duplicities of which you have been guilty? No — it were impossible ! Your doom is sealed — and within the hour that is passing you will perish. Your disappearance will excite no surprise : your paramour will, for the next few weeks, believe that you are in J^aris— aud afterwards he will imagine that you liavo loft your native land for ever in order to accompany mo to mine. Oh, you will doubtless say that all this has been contrived with n devilish art and a fiendish ingenuity. Be it so: J pride myself thereon, inasmuch as it is all to inllict a condign vengeance on an infamous woman. J'reparo to die ! 'J'liink not to bring assistance liither by cries and screams: for if your voice peal forth to