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 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 A Novel 
 
 By the Author of "Anne Grey." 
 
 IN TTVO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 London : 
 \ Saunders, Otiey, and Co., Conduit Street. \ 
 
 W.
 
 LONDON 
 F. SHOBERL, PRINTER, 37, DEAN STREET, SOHO, W,
 
 «3 
 ■'■1 
 
 i 
 
 ^b^ 
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 "^^The story I am going to tell happened about 
 .^thirty years ago. It was before railways traversed 
 Vour country in all directions, before coaches were 
 ^robbed of their four-in-hand glories, before penny 
 vv, postage deprived the M.P. of his exclusive privi- 
 riege. My two sisters, Martha and Jane, have a 
 ^■v; tender recollection of the good old abuses that 
 ^ flourished in our youth. They shake their heads 
 ex at one another, as they see the young girls walk- 
 ing boldly up the village road with their small 
 ,^ hats and short petticoats, and men-like jackets, 
 "^' speaking dictatorially to their papas and mammas, 
 - and composedly returning the stare of the young 
 men. But I only laugh: manners and customs 
 ^ change ; our sense of propriety and our good taste 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 are shocked, but new virtues come in with new 
 vices — these girls are active and energetic ; they 
 will not be loved and respected as their modest 
 grandmothers were, but they rouse and amuse, 
 and they do a great deal of hard bodily and mental 
 work. They make a good appearance on the stage 
 of life, and all England is now a stage, and there 
 is no quiet nook left in our island in which violets 
 may blush unseen, and we begin to wonder what 
 the poet meant. 
 
 But I am not wishing to speak of the present. 
 I am going back to about thirty years ago, when 
 I was riding through a quiet, pretty village in the 
 north of England. The road on one side was 
 bounded by a very high wall, which shut out a 
 large wooded park from the street-like village. I 
 felt sad as I looked at the grand, massy groups of 
 forest trees in the park, and just saw the old gray 
 chimneys of the large, gloomy house, rising above 
 the strove that surrounded it. I had no reason 
 for the feeling, that I could define, and I can only 
 imagine it prophetical. Perhaps it was one of 
 those sensations which are now called mesmeric 
 influences I 
 
 When I reached the inn, and stopped to bait 
 my horse, I was told that this high wall had been 
 built by the present owner, who, though young.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. «5 
 
 rich, and handsome, had completely shut himself 
 out from society. My curiosity was aroused. I 
 asked many questions, and gained some informa- 
 tion about the mysterious tenant of the gloomy 
 house. In after times, circumstances brought me 
 acquainted with many particulars of his history, 
 and of those connected with it. I tried to write 
 down what I had gleaned, and I now give the 
 story as it came out of my workshop. I have a 
 warm interest in some of the characters. I fancy 
 myself behind the scenes as to their thoughts and 
 feelings, and I have written down what I suppose 
 they might have been, touching them, perhaps, 
 with the colouring of my own habits of thought 
 and opinion, but leaving them as much as possible 
 in the hues with which their own individual cha- 
 racters invested them. 
 
 I begin, then, about thirty years ago. The draw- 
 ing-room at Hulse Parsonage is bright with the 
 sunshine of a spring day. Lucy Crofton is sitting 
 there ; she raises her head every novv^ and then to 
 look at the scene out of doors, whilst a half-smile 
 plays round her mouth, telling of her deep enjoy- 
 ment of the beauty that meets her eyes. It is a 
 gay spring garden of tulips, hyacinths, and ane- 
 monies, with a background of dark green shrubs 
 in parts and tlie more aerial background of blue 
 
 B 2
 
 4 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 hills and distant woods in others, and the inter- 
 mediate interest of a gleaming river, large hand- 
 some forest trees, and budding hedgerows, in 
 pleasing confusion of lines. All these combined, 
 make up a view of great beauty from the bay win- 
 dow in which she is seated. 
 
 Lucy Crofton herself harmonizes well with the 
 softness of the out-door view. She is pretty, 
 graceful, and quiet ; but her head is raised at 
 times with quick animation, and her eyes lighten 
 up with humour and intelligence. 
 
 The door opens ; there is a bustle and a clatter 
 in the room — Lucy's sister-in-law, Mrs. Walter 
 Crofton, has entered. She is handsome, and well 
 dressed, but she does not amalgamate w^ell with 
 the flowers, and the landscape, and with Lucy 
 Crofton. There is neither repose nor grace about 
 her. She gives a sharp look at Lucy, as if ready 
 to find fault if she could discover a reason for it : 
 she makes a few remarks, and then bustles out of 
 the room again, and Lucy is left to her drawing, 
 and to the contemplation of the red and yellow 
 tulips, as the sun's slanting rays catch each in 
 turn, and gild them with new beauty ; but a little 
 shade rests for a moment on her face, and then 
 it resumes its usual placidity. 
 
 Before I really begin my story, I must tell the
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 5 
 
 reader that Mrs. Walter Crofton was no other 
 than IMiss Eliza Layton, the belle of that very 
 
 sociable country neighbourhood near D , of 
 
 which, no doubt, as Miss Eliza Layton thinks 
 every one must have heard. When she first knew 
 Walter Crofton, he was only a curate, with a 
 small income ; but in consideration of his being 
 the eldest son of a country gentleman of some 
 fortune, she kindly allowed him to fall in love 
 with her, although he was some j'ears her junior. 
 This act of generous condescension on her part 
 was caused, as she owned, by her pity for the 
 poor young clergyman, who was so simple-minded 
 and abstracted, in spite of his great abilities, that 
 he sadly wanted the fostering care of a shrewd, 
 active wife; and from this praiseworthy induce- 
 ment she consented to marry him on his succeed- 
 ing to a very good family living. 
 
 Walter's agreeable, gentleman- like father was 
 much petted and patronised by the smart, hand- 
 some Mrs. Walter, and the family place was looked 
 after by her with the most benevolent interference 
 with every one's comfort ; but, alas ! Mrs. Walter's 
 care was thrown away ! Old Mr. Crofton had had 
 an extravagant brother, and Walter found at his 
 father's death that the fortune was only half what 
 was expected, and that the family place must be
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 sold. His only brother, EcwarJ, was already 
 launched in the world av ith a government appoint- 
 ment, but for his little sister Lucy, who was about 
 fifteen years younger, he must himself provide. 
 
 Walter let life slip too easily by : he did not 
 try to check Mrs. Walter's many faults and fail- 
 ing's, but he was firm when roused bv aifection or 
 a sense of duty. This was the case when, after 
 his father's death, he brought Lucy to their home. 
 Mrs. Walter cried, sulked, and did all that a sen- 
 sible woman was capable of, to change a kind- 
 hearted husband's determination, but Walter was 
 not to be moved. Mrs. Walter then showed her 
 good sense by ceasing to oppose. She only talked 
 with unusual energy about economy, and kept a 
 quick eye on her sister-in-law's failings, whilst 
 Walter subsided peacefully into his arm-chair, his 
 studies, and his clerical duties, which in a large, 
 populous, and much scattered parish, kept him in 
 constant employment. 
 
 I never quite made out why Walter Crofton 
 married Eliza Layton. Perhaps if we look at half 
 the elderly married couples in the world, we should 
 be equally puzzled for a reason why they ever 
 came together. All I can say of Walter Crofton 
 is, that he hated trouble, except for the good of 
 others : he Avas very kind-hearted, and perfectly
 
 nULSE HOUSE. 7 
 
 unsuspicious of gnile ; Miss Eliza Layton's atten- 
 tions had been untiring — she insinuated that her 
 heart might break if he looked coldly on her, and 
 so it ended in Miss Eliza becoming Mrs. Walter 
 Crofton. Besides having a very kind, easy hus- 
 band, Mrs. Walter possessed two other comforts — 
 she had a grievance, and she had something to 
 wish for — and few of us are very happy unless we 
 possess one or other of these blessings. The orphan 
 sister was sadly mild for a grievance, but the wish 
 for more society was delightfully strong. 
 
 " I am used to a good sociable neighbourhood,*' 
 was her frequent remark. " Dinner invitations at 
 least twice a week ! Archeries, county balls, and 
 a friendly chat with four or five families at the 
 church door every Sunday ; and here w^e are quite 
 in a desert ! Worse than all, Hulse House without 
 a tenant! I am sure, Walter, if you exerted 
 yourself a little, Hulse House would be taken. 
 A large house, a fine park, a good garden, a range 
 of hot-houses, stabling for twenty horses ! — and 
 there is actually no one there ! The very hot- 
 houses decaying for want of use ! I think I could 
 bear it better if we could buy vegetables from the 
 garden. Such parties as there might be ! A plea- 
 sant man and his wife, with sons and daughters — 
 companions for poor Lucy. And I always think a
 
 8 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 great deal more of Lucy than of myself; not that 
 she seems to be aware of it. And, Walter, if I 
 
 might suggest to you " Here she looked up. 
 
 " Oh ! " was her exclamation, as she found that 
 "Walter had quietly slipped away. 
 
 But at length Mrs. Walter was able to utter 
 the following animated exclamation to her husband, 
 " Mr. Crofton, Hulse House is taken ! " 
 
 '■' Indeed ! " was the quiet reply ; with an ab- 
 stracted look from his book to his wife, and back 
 again to his book. 
 
 Mrs. Walter's raptures were not closed. " Taken, 
 Mr. Crofton ! Actually taken on a long lease. A 
 rich, unmarried, young man — an excellent neigh- 
 bour, you see, for us aU. A perfect gentleman, and, 
 no doubt, extremely agreeable. Walter ! why 
 will you go on reading that old musty-fusty book, 
 instead of attendino; to all that I am takino; the 
 trouble to say to you ; and it is such a very im- 
 portant matter, for poor Lucy and altogether; 
 and indeed, as clergyman of the parish, I should 
 have thought that you might have cared a 
 little." 
 
 " Oh," certainly ! " said Walter, meekly laying 
 dowm his book. " I am glad Hulse House is taken ; 
 and I hope, for your sake, we shall have pleasant 
 nei2:hbours."
 
 HULSE HOUSE. d 
 
 " Neighbours ! " exclaimed Mrs. Walter. " Have 
 I not been telling you it is a single man ? " 
 
 " Yes, so you did, I believe," said Walter ; 
 " but " — rousing himself a little — " but he may 
 marry some day." 
 
 Mrs. Walter smiled, and was mollified. "Yes, 
 Walter, you are quite right ; he mat/ marry some 
 day. He will have several very eligible neigh- 
 bours ; and, for his own sake, I only hope he may 
 choose wisely." 
 
 " I hope so," said Walter, and his eyes were 
 again on his book. 
 
 " Yes ; and, of course, Walter, you will call on 
 him directly." 
 
 The book was despondingly relinquished; it 
 was time to take up the subject. " We shall see," 
 he said, " whether I can be of any use to him. 
 If he is rich, healthy, and happy, perhaps he would 
 not receive my visits very warmly." 
 
 " Xonsense, Mr. Crofton ! why will you always 
 lower yourself into being only the country clergy- 
 man, instead of the country gentleman as you 
 are ? You must call, of course, as an equaL I did 
 not marry you, to be only asked to dinner as the 
 parson's wife; used as I had been, before I 
 married, to be asked out to dinner, two or three, 
 or even four times a week, and at archery meetings 
 
 B 5
 
 10 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 always placed at the best targets — Lord Cramwell 
 picking up my arrows, and Mr. Fotheringay 
 making a point of taking me in to dinner." 
 
 Walter was now deep in liis book ; Mrs. Walter 
 shook her head, and hurried away to find a better 
 listener. She found Lucy. 
 
 " Lucy, here is excellent news! " she exclaimed. 
 Lucy looked up, pleased and wondering. *' Hulse 
 House is taken ! My dear Lucy, I am quite 
 rejoiced on your acccount : as to myself, I never 
 care how much or how little society I have ! " 
 Lucy's look of pleasure had subsided, but she 
 smiled. " A rich young man," Mrs. Walter con- 
 tinued ; " and you see, Lucy, as he is un- 
 married," — she checked herself — " that is, my 
 dear Lucy, he will be a pleasant addition, as 
 you have no young companions excepting Barker 
 Preston, and one cannot call him a very eligible 
 one." 
 
 Whether eligible or not, Mr. Barker Preston 
 was often at the Parsonage. He was the eldest 
 son of a poor baronet. Wlien he could neither 
 hunt nor shoot, he found the Parsonage a pleasant 
 lounge -y and, as he was simple-minded and good- 
 hearted, Lucy was always glad to see him. Nor 
 did she undervalue the heartiness of his a2:)plause 
 after e?ich of her songs, nor despise his unfailing
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 11 
 
 admiration of her drawings, whether looked at 
 upside downi or not. 
 
 '' Well, Mrs. Crofton," he exclaimed one morn- 
 ing as he carne into the drawing-room where Mrs. 
 Walter and Lucy were sitting together, " well, 
 Mrs. Crofton, such news ! I hope you haye not 
 heard it, for I wished to be the first to tell you. 
 Miss Crofton, can you guess what it is?" 
 
 '' Oh, pray tell us at once," said Mrs. Crofton, 
 '•' I hate guessing ! What is it ?" 
 
 " I bet anything you'll neither of you oyer find 
 it oat!" said Barker Preston, laughing heartily. 
 
 " Why then," said Lucy, '* you had better tell 
 us at once." 
 
 " Ah, oVIiss Crofton," said Barker Prestoii, 
 clapping his hands with delight; "that's just like 
 you, so cleyer! as you always are." 
 
 Mrs. Crofton became more impatient. " Is it 
 about Hulse House ?" she said, eagerly. 
 
 '• That's the best guess I eyer heard ! " ex- 
 claimed Barker Preston, " and so I will tell you 
 all about it. You heard Hulse House was taken ? 
 Well, the fellow's come!" 
 
 " Is he, really?" said Mrs. Crofton. 
 
 " Yes, and what do you suppose — here it is — • 
 I think I shall surprise you !" and he drew a 
 card out of his pocket. " Here it is — now just
 
 12 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 listen: ^Mr. Colville' (that's his name you know), 
 ^ Mr. Colville presents his compliments to Sir 
 George and Mr. Preston, and whilst he thanks 
 them for their obliging attention, he takes the 
 opportunity of stating that, as he wishes to live in 
 complete seclusion, he can neither receive nor 
 return the visits of Sir George and Mr. Preston, 
 or any of his neighbours who may kindly honour 
 him by the intention of calling upon him.' And 
 then he dates it ' Hulse House, the 20th.' Odd ! 
 isn't it?" 
 
 " This is a joke, Mr. Preston," said Mrs. 
 Walter, angrily, her face growing very red. 
 
 " Joke, to be sure ! By Jove, if it is not the 
 best joke I have heard for a long time ! " was the 
 reply. " A fellow coming to take a capital house 
 in the neighbourhood, setting us all in a blaze of 
 excitement, and then to have him sending out a 
 card like this ! I think it is the best joke I ever 
 heard." 
 
 " But you don't mean it's true that he really 
 sent this card?" said Mrs, Crofton still more 
 annoyed. 
 
 " Not send this card — but I do, indeed." 
 
 " Well, then," said Mrs. Crofton, indignantly, 
 " I must say that I think it a most unjustifiable 
 thing ! a house of that kind to be shut up by a
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 13 
 
 gloomy, mad misanthrope ! I should say it was a 
 public nuisance, and I have no doubt he will be 
 indicted as such ; or, if he is not, I am quite sure 
 he ought to be ! It will be impossible that we 
 can ever walk out again for fear of meeting him, 
 for how could we answer for our lives in one of his 
 paroxysms ! I should say, decidedly, that whoever 
 let him that house, ought to be fined." And Mrs. 
 Crofton stopped, too much hurried and excited 
 to say more. 
 
 " Oh ! bless you," said Preston, " he is as sane 
 as I am ; you need not frighten yourself. And 
 as to your meeting him, there's no fear of that, 
 for he has ordered a high wall to be built outside 
 the park, and his groom says he never means to 
 stir beyond it." 
 
 " Oh, he has a groom then ? " said Mrs. Crofton. 
 
 " Yes, and a fine stud of horses, and two 
 capital hunters." 
 
 "But what did the groom say?" asked Mrs. 
 Crofton, eagerly. 
 
 " That his master did not like much talking, 
 and generally wrote down his orders." 
 
 " Did he say he was mad ? " said Mrs. Crofton, 
 bitterly. 
 
 " Not a bit, but a thorough gentleman, only 
 queer."
 
 14 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 " Poor man ! " said Lucy, " he must be un- 
 happy." 
 
 " Ay, I thought you would pity him I" said Mr. 
 Preston, looking benignly at Lucy ; " your kind 
 heart you know ! And the groom says he believes 
 that he's had some great sorrow, and so he made 
 a vow never to speak to any one again; and hear- 
 ing of Hulse, and what a dull neighbourhood it 
 was, he thought it would exactly suit him to live 
 and die in." 
 
 " A most absurd story," exclaimed jMrs. Wal- 
 ter. " We shall see how long he will keep his 
 vow !" 
 
 " Yes, we shall see !" said i\Ir. Preston. 
 " And then the idea of coming here to be quiet ! " 
 said Mrs Walter 
 
 " Ay, indeed!" said Barker Preston, giving a 
 side glance at her. 
 
 The excitement about Mr. Colville continued 
 to be very active in Hulse for some tim<3. If 
 much was said that was untrue, it was quite 
 certain that the lodge gates were locked, and 
 that the lodge keepers refused admittance to 
 any one but on business as labourers or trades- 
 men; and that when Walter Crofton asked at the 
 lodge whether Mr. Colville would see him, a 
 card was put into his liand similar in purport to
 
 IIULSE HOUSE. i 5 
 
 that Barker Preston had shown to Mrs. Croftoiv 
 Great anxiety was felt as to the effect of a Sun- 
 day on IMr. Colville ; would he or would he not 
 appear at church ? During half the service, Mrs. 
 Crofton's eyes constantly wandered to the still 
 empty pew belonging to Hulse House. But, 
 alas ! it was never filled with any object more 
 interestino: than the old red cushions that rested 
 in a row round the seat. Mr. Colville, for one 
 Sunday, at least, had no inclination for church. 
 In the bitterness of her disappointment, Mrs. 
 Crofton declared her conviction that he was 
 either a Jew or an Atheist. The onl}^ compensa- 
 tion was in seeing a very respectable, staid-looking 
 man, between thirty and forty years of age, in 
 the pew assigned to the Hulse House servants, 
 and in ascertaining, after church, that he was Mr. 
 Colville's valet and butler, and that his name was 
 Hodson.
 
 16 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 There was a strong contrast between that old 
 gray Manor House at Hulse, in which the recluse 
 had chosen to immure himself, and that small 
 white-washedj staring house, which catches all 
 the sun, and has its door open to all the world, 
 and its neat little garden glaring forth with the 
 brightest of flowers to every passer-by in the 
 village of Hulse. 
 
 " Come in, my dear, come in, and don't stay 
 pottering at the door," said a sharp, brisk voice 
 from the very clean, white-papered, white-chintzed 
 sitting-room in Woodbine Cottage, as Lucy 
 Crofton lingered for a moment to look at the 
 flowers. " I hate people staying at the door 
 when once they are announced," went on the 
 voice muttering half to itself. " It's like break- 
 ing the seal of a letter, and then putting it by 
 before you've read it. Let me know the worst at 
 once ! Come in, Lucy," was said aloud as Lucy
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 17 
 
 * 
 
 waF-ced in. " Come in, and sit down there, child, 
 where I can see your face as I talk to you. I 
 don't like speaking to a thing I can't see. Your 
 face is not such an ugly one that you need hide 
 it. Xot that I care for a pretty face — two large 
 eyes and one straight nose, and all the rest of 
 it to match — unless there is some meaning in it. 
 I would as soon look at a sign post." 
 
 Miss VYalcott stopped a minute, perhaps to 
 take breath, but, meantime, she looked at the 
 very large book she had been reading when Lucy 
 came in, peering at the page with her spectacles 
 and then putting a mark at the place where she 
 stopped. 
 
 Whilst she pauses, we may as well mention 
 that Mss Walcott, or Mrs. Mary Walcott as she 
 ought to be called, is a little brisk-looking old 
 lady, with very sharp black eyes, and thin lips, 
 and a rather large aquiline nose. She has a clear, 
 pale complexion; she wears a black silk gown, 
 and a black silk shawl pinned over it, and a very 
 clean white concoction of a cap perched on the 
 top of a black wig. She looks as if neither age 
 nor care could depress her, and as if the sparkle 
 of spirit within must keep her up under any cir- 
 cumstances. If hand and foot could not move, 
 we feel quite certain that those piercing black eyes
 
 18 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 would be moving about everywhere and searching 
 out everything. She never leaves her home, but 
 she is neither dull nor dozy. There is an acute 
 but a very pleasant expression in her face. She 
 looks through you and into you, and she would 
 not spare your foibles, but you are certain she 
 would see all your merits too, though she might 
 seem to scoiF at tliem, and you know that she 
 thinks most aiFectionately and benignly both of 
 them and of you. 
 
 And now having closed her Greek author (for 
 Miss Walcott was a deeply learned little woman), 
 she was off again ; talking fast, but so distinctly 
 and precisely, that not a word was lost of that 
 large flow of them that were always ready for all 
 comers. 
 
 " So Mrs. Walter is happy at last, my dear I 
 she has got an ovv^ner for Hulse House!" — Miss 
 Walcott lau2;hed — a little short satirical lau2:h — 
 like the bleating of a very small sheep — "and he's 
 shut himself up in it ! She's pleased, I guess ! 
 Send her to me, Lucy, and let's talk it over. 
 Never wish heartily for anything in your life — 
 if you do, you will be sure to get it, just in a way 
 you don't like. It is a law of nature. I wanted 
 to taste turtle soup — ^just to know what the 
 epicures raved about — I had it at last and an
 
 IIULSE HOUSE. ]9 
 
 alderman cousin with it; I hope never to see 
 turtle soup again. That's a pretty bonnet you've 
 got on, Lucy ; you look nicely in it. But don't 
 let us talk of dress: I hate it, it's as bad as gossip: 
 but I'll tell you something to put Mrs. Walter in 
 good-humour. Mr. and Mrs. Digby are come to 
 Digby Manor. You will soon be asked there, my 
 dear! Compensation for Hulse House !" and she 
 chuckled as^ain. 
 
 " What do you hear about the Digbys?" asked 
 Lucy. 
 
 " That they are London people, child, and that 
 is all ; but there is some good in that. Never was 
 there such a mistake as to cry down Londoners ! 
 A pack of stuff about being worldly ! As if people 
 are not just as worldly, when they look cross if 
 the cook don't dress their chicken to their mind I 
 I should like to know whether it is any better to 
 have your thoughts turned to the stuffing of a 
 goose, than to making yourself pleasant to the 
 greatest people of the age ? You don't meet the 
 Duke of Wellington, and Kogers, and Sidney 
 Smith, and Sh' Humphry Davy, and so many 
 more I can't take time to name, amongst your 
 own turnip fields, I guess ! but in a London rout. 
 But then they talk of Walter Scott and Words- 
 worth, and half-a-dozen more in the country.
 
 20 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Yes, to be sure ! but all these people don't 
 stand saying 'how do you do/ to you, in your 
 own meadows, I imagine ? And after all, they, 
 every one of them, go to London, and there they 
 meet, and they talk — bless you, how they talk ! 
 You will never hear such talk in the country 
 if you burrow about it for a hundred years!" 
 She suddenly broke off to say, with a little 
 chuckle, " Ah ! here comes Barker Preston ! saw 
 you come in, no doubt ! " and this was added half 
 to herself. 
 
 We must tell the reader that Miss Walcott's 
 chair was placed so that she could see every one 
 who came to her door. 
 
 "Bless the man, what is he bringing?" as 
 Barker Preston came in, carrying a basket of 
 strawberries. 
 
 " Strawberries !" exclaimed Miss Walcott, 
 sharply, " what made you bring them to me, and 
 there is Dolly Barnes at Lane-end, lying there 
 sick and feverish with her mouth wide open for 
 fruit and getting none ? Here ! carry them back, 
 Sally. It's very kind of you. Barker Preston, 
 for all that, but what's the use of pampering up 
 an old thing like me with hot-house strawberries ? 
 What do I want but neck of mutton and bread 
 pudding?"
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 21 
 
 Barker Preston laughed, and took the scolding 
 very amiably. " I thought you would like them," 
 he said. 
 
 " Like them, yes ! and so I like your good- 
 nature, but I want it to be useful." 
 
 " Then I'll carry them to the sick woman for 
 you, shall I?" 
 
 Miss Walcott's eyes brightened. " I like that 
 better than the strawberries, Barker Preston," 
 she said with a little satisfied grunt ; " but stay, 
 pick out the prettiest and you shall give them to 
 Lucy ; and come back as quick as you can, for I 
 want to see you. Like them, yes ! " she went on, 
 half to herself, when Barker Preston had run off 
 with his basket ; " I hke his good heart, but it 
 should be guided with good sense. Bringing hot- 
 house strawberries to me ! "" she chuckled ; " why 
 how could I help being a little sharp with him ? 
 Strawberries for me to eat ! Very fine ones too ! 
 You must eat some to please him, Lucy, when he 
 comes back. A German word would describe 
 him, but I don't know an English one. The 
 Germans put half-a-dozen ideas into one. Your 
 German gets on, my dear? You like it?" and 
 her sharp eyes looked into Lucy's for an answer. 
 
 Miss Walcott had taught Lucy German, for 
 this learned little lady was a good German scholar, 
 among her other merits.
 
 22 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 But I must not linger any more in the gay, 
 white, sunny cottage, with the chattering little 
 Miss Walcott, although I would rather stay there 
 than visit that large, showy mansion in the neigh- 
 bourhood, to which all eyes are turned with hope 
 and expectation. Mr. and Mrs. Digby had just 
 inherited the property ; they w^ere rich people and 
 Londoners, as Miss AYalcott had said. The Crof- 
 tons were soon invited to Digby Manor, and Mrs. 
 Walter's spirits, which had been much depressed 
 by Mr. Colville's unmannerly seclusion, revived 
 under the graciousness of the Digbys' invitation. 
 
 "At any rate," she exclaimed, as they drove 
 there, " we shall have no mad infidels here ! Mr. 
 Digby opens his lodge gates to his neighbours as 
 every Christian ought to do. They are really fine 
 London people, but they don't shut themselves up 
 like this trumpery Mr. Colville. Indeed, Mr. 
 Crofton, I think you ought to make a stir to have 
 him removed from your parish. Think of the bad 
 effects on others I We shall have the public- 
 house shutting its doors next."
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 DiGBY Manor is a great, large, handsome house, 
 with suites of useless rooms, and a large staircase 
 rambling up the middle of it, in a way to frighten 
 timid housemaids who are left to take care of it 
 when the family's away ; and the whole affair has 
 an exotic air about it. The flowers are all from 
 the stove or conservatory ; strawberries and peas 
 are only admitted out of season; sturdy, out-of- 
 doors, natural objects are out of place at Digby 
 Manor. Mr. Digby's neat, well-dressed figure, 
 his quiet, self-satisfied air, his small voice, his con- 
 ventional good breeding, are all of the hot-house 
 type. Mr. and Mrs. Digby's ideas are formed on 
 a model ; trained by art and not by nature. Mr. 
 Digby in a smock frock, handling a spade, is an 
 impossibility. But Mr. Digby is rich ; he is the 
 great man of the neighbourhood, and Digby Manor 
 is the house par excellence, and I would not pre-
 
 24 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 sume to hint at a preference for broad beans and 
 bacon, for hearty laughter and cordial hospitality 
 with red hands and faces, over the well-bred non- 
 chalance of Mr. and Mrs. Digby's white-handed 
 greeting. 
 
 Mrs. Digby was a fashion-hunting woman of 
 society. To her, life was society and society a 
 small clique in London; there was nothing im- 
 portant or interesting beyond this. As Miss 
 Walcott afterwards said of her-^ 
 
 " I believe Mrs. Digby thinks no one could live 
 if they were cut by Lady C !" 
 
 I cannot imao;ine much interest in two such 
 persons ; but there was a halo of fashion about 
 Digby Manor that lent its magic to Mrs. Walter 
 Crofton's feelings. The Digbys looked down on 
 her, but she looked up to them, and to some minds 
 this is a pleasant exercise. 
 
 Society had not yet unfolded its charms to 
 Lucy ; she was but just seventeen, and had seen 
 nothing of the world. Her sister-in-law's depre- 
 ciating tone had increased her natural diffidence, 
 and the first greeting of the Digbys was not cal- 
 culated to raise her spirits or to inspire her with 
 self-confidence. 
 
 When she and Mrs. Walter came into the draw- 
 ing-room before dinner, Mrs. Digby was coldly
 
 HULSE HOUSE. !i5 
 
 and carelessly civil, and Mr. Digby took the air of 
 a superior in displaying his fine pictures and rare 
 china to new admirers. Mrs. Walter was ready 
 to admire anything Mr. Digby wished, and to 
 listen with pleased attention to his praises of his 
 own discernment and taste, whilst Lucy felt a 
 disao'reeable conflict between her sense of the 
 ridiculous and her annoyance at Mrs. Walter's 
 toadyism. 
 
 Tlie guests to-day at Digby Manor were Mr. 
 Spencer, a quietly agreeable elderly man, first 
 cousin to ]Mr. Digby ; his daughter, Agnes Spen- 
 cer ; a gossipping old Lady Wedgeburn ; a lively 
 French Count; a good-looking, clever Mr. George 
 Berkeley, and some other young men. As Lucy's 
 shyness had not as yet been rubbed off in society, 
 she was not sorry to be taken in to dinner by a very 
 young ]Mr. Ashton, as being the least formidable 
 if not the most agreeable person in the room ; 
 and it was not till she had answered his flow of 
 questions as to her powers of riding, walking, 
 playing, and drawing, that she discovered that her 
 other neighbour was the clever, satirical-looking 
 Mr. George Berkeley, whom she had determined 
 in her own mind to be the most alarming of the 
 party. However, as he was seated between her 
 and Mrs. Digby, who seemed anxious to engross 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 his attention, she thought he would probably not 
 speak to her, and every fear vanished as a lively 
 conversation began between him and his opposite 
 neighbours, the clever little French Count and 
 Miss Spencer, during which Lucy scarcely knew 
 whether to admire most Miss Spencer's beauty 
 and originality, the little Frenchman's terse, neat 
 sayings, Mr. Berkeley's general agreeableness, 
 grave or gay, or the easy skill, so readily attained 
 by people of the world, with which Mrs. Digby 
 was civilly attended to and passed by if she tried 
 to join in the conversation. 
 
 But at length an unguarded smile of Lucy's at- 
 tracted Mr. Berkeley's attention, and, having once 
 spoken to her, he went on talking so good-naturedly 
 and agreeably that Lucy wondered why she had 
 been afraid of him, until Mrs. Digby's frequent 
 interposition and Mr. Berkeley's answers to some 
 of her remarks reminded her that he was satirical 
 and formidable. She caught his eye resting 
 on her once or twice during the evening, and she 
 in her modesty thought he must be ridiculing her 
 country gaudier ie of appearance and manner, little 
 knowing what a winning little personage she was, 
 and that it was not very strange for any one to 
 take pleasure in looking at her pretty intelligent 
 countenance.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 27 
 
 Lucy was lamentably deficient in vanity. She 
 never considered whether her countenance was 
 pretty or not, but she suftered under that youth- 
 ful sensation of shyness which, thirty years ago, 
 was not uncommon to young ladies on first ap- 
 pearing in society, but which has since become 
 obsolete in consequence of the superior knowledge 
 of the world and of their own merits which they 
 now are happy enough to possess. 
 
 Lucy had inherited from her father a love of 
 the study of character, but amongst the present 
 set of new acquaintance the only two who excited 
 much of this kind of interest were Miss Spencer 
 and Mr. George Berkeley. Of the others, Mr. 
 Spencer was a person to like and love, as agree- 
 able, kind, and gentlemanlike ; but there were no 
 mysteries to be unveiled — Lucy could imagine no 
 hidden romance in his life or character, any more 
 than she could in that of the lively French Count. 
 
 The Comte de V , it was true, was delight- 
 ful in society — he was certain to prevent a party 
 from being dull, but that was all ! — Lucy could 
 not care to speculate on his thoughts and feelings. 
 
 Xot so with Miss Spencer. Lucy was almost 
 startled at first by the novelty and originality of 
 her character, and she could have listened to her and 
 watched her for ever. Sometimes her admiration 
 
 c2
 
 28 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 ran high, and then it was chilled as she observed 
 a slight want of softness, a careless defiance of 
 opinion, a haughty determination to talk to none 
 but the pleasantest people in the room ; but her 
 beauty and agreeableness soon won back Lucy's 
 admiration, and mixed with this there was the 
 interest of trying to solve the mystery of a strangely 
 sad look that came over her countenance very 
 suddenly in the midst of her gaiety. Lucy would 
 have thought her unhappy, till in the next mo- 
 ment her wonderfully clear, merry, ringing laugh 
 sounded in her ears, and she saw her bright face 
 beamino; with animation as she raised her head 
 with a little wilful toss, as if in the firmness of 
 f )roud self-reliance and youthful gaiety and vigour 
 of spir't. 
 
 As to Mr. George Berkeley, I will not say that 
 it was exactly his good looks, the peculiarly fasci- 
 nating tones of his voice, the softness and earnest- 
 ness that often dwelt in his eyes, which interested 
 Lucy, but rather his extreme agreeableness, and 
 the sort of uncertainty raised in her mind as to 
 what his opinions would be on the next subject 
 spoken of — some fear of his ridicule — some doubt 
 of his goodnature — and no doubt of his abilities. 
 
 " You must make acquaintance with my Agnes," 
 said the kind, gentle Mr. Spencer to Lucy, after
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 29 
 
 talking to her for some time. '* She is very lively, 
 as you see, but I can assure you she is a very 
 good, affectionate kind of person too, and she never 
 forgets to look after her old papa ! To-morrow 
 you shall be formally introduced. You will be 
 sure to like one another." 
 
 Lucy could have laughed at the idea that Miss 
 Spencer would ever care to speak to her, but she 
 only thanked Mr. Spencer for his goodnature as 
 she wished him good night. Agnes Spencer had 
 already left the room. 
 
 The Croftons had now been two days at Digby 
 Manor. The study of character was becoming 
 more interesting and more reciprocal. Miss Spen- 
 cer and ^Ir. Berkeley were alone in the library. 
 
 " And what do you think of Lucy Crofton ?" 
 Agnes suddenly exclaimed. 
 
 " And why do you ask ?" was George Berkeley's 
 reply. 
 
 "That is evasion, Mr. Berkeley. I asked a 
 plain question and you answer me by asking an- 
 other." 
 
 George Berkeley looked down and smiled. " A 
 plain question!" he said, again looking up. "Do 
 you call that a plain question ? What do I think 
 of a person ! Consider for a moment what that 
 involves. What I think ! Do you mean of
 
 so HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 her appearance, manner, disposition, situation in 
 life " 
 
 "In short," said Miss Spencer, interrupting 
 him, " you will not answer, and I shall draw my 
 own conclusions." 
 
 " Oh !" said Mr. Berkeley, and he smiled rather 
 sarcastically : then looking gravely at Miss Spen- 
 cer, he said — " Now I will tell you what I think 
 of Miss Crofton. I think her a young lady of 
 about seventeen years of age. I think that her 
 brother is a clergyman. I think that her sister- 
 in-law is " 
 
 " Never mind what," exclaimed Agnes. " Don't 
 punish me any more. You are never serious 
 when I wish you to be." 
 
 " But now, seriously. Miss Spencer," said Mr. 
 Berkeley, " speaking of Miss Crofton, it strikes 
 me that she is pretty ; don't you think so ?" 
 
 " That was not said seriously," said Miss Spen- 
 cer ; " nevertheless, I will answer in earnest that 
 I think Miss Crofton the most engaging person I 
 ever saw. I know that I am quite determined to 
 win her to be my friend, and I am sure that if I 
 were a man I should certainly fall desperately in 
 love with her." 
 
 " I quite agree with you," said George Berkeley, 
 quietly.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 31 
 
 " I know you Jo," exclaimed Agnes, pettishly, 
 " though that odious smile says you don't ;" and 
 then a shade came over her face, as if with a sud- 
 den and painful change of thought. 
 
 But just then her father appeared; and her 
 face brightened with affection as ske hastened 
 towards him, and linked her arm in his. 
 
 " Ah ! my dear Agnes," he said, as he proudly 
 and fondly patted her cheek, " I have been lost 
 without you ! Like an old simpleton, I never feel 
 quite happy unless I am within reach of your 
 chattering ; but I could not civilly leave Digby 
 sooner. We have been having a dish of politics." 
 
 There is a kind of bonJwmmie, a genial air, a 
 roseate hue, cast over everything and everybody 
 in a large country house. Acquaintances are soon 
 made, often as quickly set aside ; but, nevertheless, 
 it is fortunate that these little softening oases 
 should occur amidst the sandy deserts of London 
 society. 
 
 ^liss Spencer and Mr. Berkeley had already 
 been three days in the same house with Walter 
 and Lucy Crofton, and, unconsciously perhaps, 
 some of the vigour, and freshness, and verdure 
 of country originality had been engrafted on their 
 feelings, whilst no doubt they in return had con- 
 tributed a rich store of aromatic, highly cultured 
 plants, to adorn these fine natural soils.
 
 32 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Crofton," said Agues Spencer to 
 Lucy, on the morning of that third day, " will you 
 let me hear that little German song again? It 
 has been haunting me ever since you sang it yes- 
 terday. I never heard anything so pretty, and I 
 am more convinced than ever that German music 
 is better than Italian — the German touches the 
 heart and mind, the Italian only the heart 'and 
 senses." 
 
 " I shall put in a word for English ballads, if 
 you please,^' said Mr. Berkeley. 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Agnes ; " so will I, when Miss 
 Crofton sings us some; but wait till you have 
 heard what she says to us in German, before you 
 talk of anything else." 
 
 '' Yes," he said, after a little pause, when Lucy's 
 sweet, touching voice, had ceased, " there can be 
 nothing more beautiful than that — and I should 
 like to hear one of our best English ballads under 
 the same advantages." 
 
 The atmosphere of the Parsonage Avas not one 
 of adulation, and praise of late was a rarity to 
 Lucy, so that we cannot wonder if she was 
 rather gratified by the compliments — prettily im- 
 plied, rather than broadly expressed by Miss 
 Spencer and Mr. Berkeley — which followed her 
 performance of one or two English songs. They
 
 HULSE HOUSE. S3 
 
 had tlie art of praising well, so as to raise instead 
 of lowering the person whom they praised. 
 
 " Who was your master, Miss Crofton ?" said 
 Mrs. Digby, who came in from the adjoining room 
 at the sound of music. "Your singing is very 
 pretty," she added, in a patronising way, " is not 
 it?" carelessly turning to Miss Spencer, and with- 
 out waiting for an answer, she asked for a repe- 
 tition of the last song, rather more as a command 
 than as a request. 
 
 Lucy was about to comply, when Mr. Berkeley 
 said pointedly to her, ^* You are too good-natured. 
 Miss Crofton. Much as we shall lose by not 
 hearing you, you really must not think of singing 
 again till you are rested." 
 
 In a far more civil tone Mrs. Digby immediately 
 said, " Pray don't tire yourself. I hope we shall 
 hear you some other time." 
 
 Lucy was not sure whether to be vexed or 
 gratified, so she would not look up to thank Mr. 
 Berkeley, but escaped to the next room, where she 
 sat down to her work, and to a deep cogitation on 
 the difference between good-natured assistance 
 and meddling interference ; a philosophical inquiry 
 which never came to a decision, as old Lady 
 Wedgeburn drew a chair near to her before it 
 was finished, and was very anxious to tell Lucy ?*. 
 
 C 5
 
 34 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 good many of her own sentiments about her friends 
 and acquaintance in general. 
 
 When the evening is closed at a country house, 
 a highly confidential feeling is apt to come over 
 the ladies of the party, and instead of going quietly 
 to bed, they stay in one another's rooms " to talk 
 it all over." I do not pretend to judge either of 
 the pleasure or the profit of this social appendix 
 to the day's amusement. All I know is, that the 
 result of a '" quiet little gossip" which Mrs. Digby 
 inflicted on her cousin, Agnes Spencer, that even- 
 ing, was a pressing request from Mrs. Digby to 
 the Croftons, next morning, that they should all 
 stay a week longer at Digby Manor. 
 
 Walter Crofton was obliged to return to his 
 parish, but Mrs. Walter accepted Mrs. Digby's 
 patronizing invitation with great delight, for her- 
 self and Lucy. She took advantage, however, 
 of a quiet interval before the party assembled, 
 to fulfil her sisterly duty to Lucy, by reminding 
 her that it was customary for young ladies of her 
 age to be flattered, and made simpletons of; she 
 hoped Lucy would remember that Miss Spencer 
 would probably never think of her again after she 
 left Digby IManor, and she begged her not to put 
 herself forward to attract Mr. Berkeley's notice. 
 He was a man of the world, and it was the custom
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 35 
 
 for such men to turn people into ridicule, after 
 making a great fuss about them in the country. 
 
 After this cheering and friendly harangue, Lucy 
 followed Mrs. Walter into the breakfast-room, 
 and she was so anxious to avoid Mr. Berkeley's 
 future contempt, that she gladly accepted Mr. 
 Spencer's offer of a chair next his own, and was 
 happily talking and laughing with her kind neigh- 
 bour, when a voice near her almost made her 
 start. 
 
 " I have secured a place by you. Miss Crofton," 
 were George Berkeley's words, " though you 
 would not say good morning to me." 
 
 With the natural and deplorable thoughtless- 
 ness of youth, Lucy had entirely forgotten Mrs. 
 Walter Crofton's prudent advice before the end 
 of breakfast ! 
 
 " How fortunate for me that Mr. Berkeley 
 found no pleasanter place at liberty !" was her 
 thought. " There certainly never w^as any one 
 half so agreeable." 
 
 " But," said my sister Martha, " he is not the 
 hero, for you have taken care to tell us that he is 
 very satirical, and I never yet heard of a satirical 
 hero." 
 
 " Oh," said Jane, " there is always a dangerous
 
 •36 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 character in the way, and I only hope poor Lucy 
 will beware of him." 
 
 " And so do I," was my answer. "But then 
 what will she do for a difficult dilemma ?" 
 
 " Ah !" said Martha and Jane, simultaneously, 
 " that is to be considered." 
 
 " You know that my story is founded on fact," 
 I said, " so that I cannot help it if Lucy falls into 
 trouble." 
 
 " Very true," said Martha, " so now let us know 
 what happened next day. Lucy, no doubt, though 
 so young, will have her wits about her," 
 
 " Indeed, I hope so," was my reply.
 
 IIULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Soon after my interest was first attracted towards 
 Hulse village and its recluse, in that solitary ride, 
 when the old gray chimneys caught my notice, I 
 heard a great deal of Miss Spencer. I would 
 gladly convey to the reader the impression I re- 
 ceived of this winning, fascinating young lady. 
 She had warm affections, brilliant talents, great 
 generosity of mind, and a noble contempt for any- 
 thino: mean or base, but she had a hioh and un- 
 governable spirit. She was too careless of opinion, 
 too recklessly bent on the indulgence of her own 
 varying whims, even at the expense of others. If 
 sorrows had visited her, the gay, sj3arkling beauty 
 was but the more proud, witty, and careless, as if 
 she would toss her head in scorn at the idea of 
 grief or disappointment ! 
 
 It is difficult to describe her character, and still 
 more so to convey the idea of her appearance and
 
 o8 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 manner. Have you ever looked at a landscape 
 with an extensive view of richly wooded country, 
 on a day of alternating sun and cloud, whilst a 
 fresh pleasant breeze is blowing around you? The 
 changes are so great and rapid, that you try in 
 vain to recall the past beauties of the scene, and 
 every now and then there is such a deep, dark 
 gloom, from a large cloud, that you scarcely believe 
 there has been any sunshine or soft gay beauty 
 at all ; but before the chilly feeling has confirmed 
 itself, the cloud is gone — out bursts the sun, and 
 the whole scene is more bewitching than ever. Xow 
 this gives some idea of your impressions in watch- 
 ing Miss Spencer, whilst another character dawns 
 upon us, such as I wish you to look at in contrast 
 to hers, and which I, for one, love much more to 
 contemplate. It is like one of those quiet spring 
 mornings, where everything is in cheerful, happy 
 repose, whilst we know that there is life and 
 vigour ready for action, and actually going on 
 under that calm serenity. 
 
 Lucy Crofton is my sweet spring morning, and 
 I own that I love it, and feel happy, as many 
 others have done, when I come within that mild, 
 gentle influence. Miss Spencer felt this, too. 
 
 " How I wish that some odd accident had made 
 you my cousin or my sister," said she one day.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 39 
 
 suddenly to Lucy, after having watched her for 
 some time ; " for then," she added, " it would be 
 all right and proper that I should love you, and I 
 want to have you for a friend, if you will only try 
 to feel a little interest in me." 
 
 Lucy looked up rather surprised, and then said, 
 simply, '^ That is not a very hard task, I think." 
 
 Mr. Berkeley probably shared my partiality for 
 spring mornings, for he happened to look up from 
 his book as Agnes and Lucy continued talking 
 together, after the preliminary sentences that I 
 have just recorded, and he was so much interested 
 in watching Lucy's expression, that his book was 
 cruelly neglected, until Mrs. Digby sailed in, in 
 all the vigour and display of a July day at noon. 
 
 She slided into a chair between Agnes and 
 Lucy, and said to the latter, " You really must 
 sino; that little French sono; again to us. Miss 
 Crofton." 
 
 " As Mrs. Digby commands music," said Agnes, 
 getting up as she spoke, "let us try that duet 
 together, Miss Crofton," and she was at the instru- 
 ment in an instant. 
 
 " Brava, Agnes Spencer !" thought Mr. Berke- 
 ley, and he went to help Lucy to find her songs ; 
 and then, after a few half-jesting remarks to Miss 
 Spencer on the impossibility of mistaking German
 
 40 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 for French music, he returned to his book and his 
 arm-chair. 
 
 Friendships and acquaintances are often lightly 
 begun, that have a weighty influence on the whole 
 future life, whether for good or for evil. I have 
 been sometimes doomed to watch these small, 
 careless beginnings ripen into important eras, to 
 those who met with so little thought. 
 
 My cheerful, light-hearted heroine has no such 
 grave considerations resting on her mind, as she 
 first makes acquaintance with these agreeable 
 guests at Digby Manor. She knows that very 
 possibly she may never meet them again ; but, 
 with her young happy spirit, she lets herself fully 
 enjoy this little interlude in her otherwise mono- 
 tonous life at the Parsonage. When I say mo- 
 notonous, I mean simply unvaried, for Lucy 
 neither craved after gaiety and excitement, nor 
 was she dull at home. I cannot say that Mrs. 
 Walter's temper was a constant source of pleasure 
 to her; but her own intelligent mind kept her 
 from ennui, and opened to her inexhaustible funds 
 of interest in everything around her. She brought 
 this fresh, well-stored, well-regulated mind into 
 society, and there was healthy animation and 
 pleasure in gaining new ideas and seeing new 
 characters. If a little vein of satire, and a quick
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 41 
 
 sense of the ludicrous, was mixed with her graver 
 and more kindly qualities, I hope she will be 
 forgiven. 
 
 There were some fresh arrivals at Digby Manor 
 that day, to add to her stock of knowledge. Mr. 
 Godfrey, one of the Digby Manor habitues, arrived. 
 He was a tall, dark young man, who lolled in an 
 arm-chair all evening, talking sotto wee to Mrs. 
 Digby, or rather allowing her to talk to him, for 
 he was far too indolent to make conversation for 
 himself. Mr. Fitzgerald was the other guest. 
 He was a person who took the cares and pleasures 
 of life with less indolence, but far more quiet 
 good sense. He had shown his good sense espe- 
 cially with regard to Miss Spencer, whom he had 
 loved from her childhood ; but he had wisely ab- 
 stained from obtruding his affection upon her, for 
 he saw that, although Agnes delighted in his 
 society as a friend, she would have rejected him as 
 a lover : and yet he was the very husband her 
 father would have chosen for her — agreeable, 
 clever, amiable, and rich. 
 
 " Indeed ! " said my sister Martha, ^' it was 
 a pity she did not look to her father's wishes, 
 rather than to the indulgence of her own 
 fancies."
 
 42 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 " Very true," said I ; "it would have saved her 
 a great deal of trouble; but, like other young 
 ladies, she preferred choosing for herself." 
 
 The charms of society are a hackneyed topic. 
 Though unable to be more than a listener myself, I 
 must confess to a great partiality for really clever 
 talk. Not learned disquisitions, or serious con- 
 versations, or instructive lectures — all excellent in 
 their way — but the highly condensed, sharply 
 pointed, clear, vivid, and sparkling conversation 
 of fashionable society; not frivolous — that is a 
 very different matter — but that neat, well ex- 
 pressed, and easy flow of words and ideas, in 
 which, I believe, none but that one small set in 
 society ever excel. I do not speak of its moral 
 or religious worth, but merely as I would of per- 
 fection in any other accomplishment; and I was 
 not surprised at Lucy Crofton's wonder and delight 
 as she listened that evening to the conversation 
 between Miss Spencer, Mr. Fitzgerald, the Comte 
 de V , and Mr. George Berkeley. 
 
 And what, it may be asked, did this satirical 
 Mr. Berkeley think of our quiet little country 
 maiden ? ^ 
 
 When he had first seen her at Digby Manor, 
 his careless glance had soon passed from her to
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 43 
 
 others who had greater claims on his interest. 
 But two or three days elapsed, and this quiet, 
 shy Miss Crofton had made some observations 
 that forced him to think. She looked very pretty 
 and graceful, and he could not help watching for 
 the changes of expression in her countenance. 
 He became more fascinated as he saw more of 
 her. There were depths he had not imagined. 
 He tried his own powers of agreeableness — grave 
 or gay — and still successfully. He tried still 
 further ; expecting, nay — if truth be told— hoping 
 for a failure. If so, he was disappointed ; and he 
 became alarmed at his own success, for he was too 
 poor to marry : or, if he married, it must be some 
 one with money — well-born, well-bred, and, above 
 all, in his own set in London, or rather in his 
 mother's set — for all these " must bes " applied to 
 his mother. 
 
 As he looked at Lucy Crofton they grated un- 
 comfortably, on his recollection. How would this 
 end ? He did not wish to ask ; and when Walter 
 Crofton, after a long conversation, said to him, in 
 his hearty, matter-of-fact way, " I hope we shall 
 meet you again," George Berkely responded, with 
 warmth, " Indeed it will not be my fault if we do 
 not often meet !" and then, as he saw a little smile 
 on Lucy's face, he could not resist going to sit 
 down by her, to try and find out why she smiled.
 
 44 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 There was but one day more at Digby Manor ! 
 What, then, did it signify how much he talked to 
 her on that last evening ? What a mind it was to 
 probe into ! What a lovely face to watch ! What 
 good it did him to talk with one whose feelings 
 and ideas were so just and right ! 
 
 "I shall come to Digby Manor again, very 
 soon," he said. 
 
 " I am very glad," was Lucy's unguarded an- 
 swer, followed by a speedy repentance, as she 
 saw Mr. Berkeley's eyes fixed upon her. Mrs. 
 Walter's warning flashed unpleasantly across her 
 mind. 
 
 I do not agree with my sisters, Martha and 
 Jane, that men are more inconstant than women. 
 It is merely that they have more to occupy their 
 minds. They are not so much inconstant as for- 
 getful. For instance, Mr. Berkeley left JDigby 
 Manor to mix again in pleasant society, amongst 
 people who knew nothing of the Croftons, and 
 could not name them to him, but Lucy Crofton 
 went home to the ordinary quiet routine of her 
 life, with a good deal to keep up her recollection 
 of the last amusing days spent in his society. 
 
 Walter quoted Mr. Berkeley ; Mrs. Walter
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 45 
 
 constantly alluded to »DIgby Manor ; and when 
 Lucy went to see Miss Walcott she too was full 
 of interest about the whole party, for Mrs. Digby 
 had filled her carriage with the guests at the 
 Manor House and taken them to pay a round of 
 country visits, and Miss Walcott had not been 
 beneath the notice of the great lady of the neigh- 
 bourhood. 
 
 « What did you think of Mrs. Digby ?" asked 
 Lucy, when she was seated in her usual chair 
 opposite the white cap, the black wig, and the 
 piercing black eyes of the little lady at Woodbine 
 Cottage. 
 
 " Mrs. Digby ! Nonsense child !" said Miss 
 Walcott, with a little angry bleat. " Who thinks 
 of Mrs. Digby ? There's nothing to say or to 
 think. You might as well talk of the inside of a 
 looking-glass." 
 
 " Well, then," said Lucy, laughing, " tell me 
 whether you do not think Miss Spencer beau- 
 tiful.^' 
 
 " Hum !" said IMiss Walcott, not at first attend- 
 ing to Lucy's question, whilst her bright eyes 
 were looking sharply through her. "You look 
 well. I suppose some one talked to you, and 
 made you talk. It does young people good." And 
 then answering Lucy's question, now that she had
 
 46 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 made her own comments , she said, "I neither know 
 nor care whether Miss Spencer is beautiful ! She's 
 better! she's up to fun. Why, bless you, my 
 dear, we chuckled together as if we'd seen into 
 one another's thoughts. She did not mind my 
 cap, nor my wig ! not she ! You may call her 
 eyes beautiful if you will. They are windows to 
 her soul, just as eyes are meant to be ; not bits of 
 stained glass to prevent your seeing out or in. 
 What's the tall man's name? Berkeley?" she 
 repeated, as Lucy answered. " You don't always 
 speak loud enough, my dear; you must try to cure 
 yourself of that habit. Berkeley, did you say ?" 
 
 ^^ Yes," said Lucy, blushing, she did not know 
 why. What would Miss Walcott say of him? 
 But Miss Walcott was silent. " How very tire- 
 some !" Lucy thought. She wanted her opinion. 
 
 Presently, Miss Walcott gave her little short, 
 bleating laugh, telling of great inward amuse- 
 ment. " I could listen to him for an hour without 
 speaking a word," she said at length. " Berkeley, 
 did you say, my dear?" 
 
 "Yes," said Lucy, but she was not displeased 
 this time. 
 
 "Yes; I could listen to him for an hour with- 
 out saying a word. i\Ir. Berkeley is a pleasant, 
 clever man. I hope he will come again."
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 47 
 
 CHAPTEK V. 
 
 As notliing more was heard of the recluse at 
 Hulse House, Mrs. Walter Crofton was more 
 fully convinced than ever that he had taken the 
 place on purpose to annoy her. If he meant to 
 shut himself up, why did he come there ? It was 
 not at all the house for a man to shut himself up 
 in. It was very rude to the neighbourhood, and 
 especially to Mr. Crofton ; she thought it ought 
 to be resented. 
 
 " How, my dear ?" was "Walter's question. 
 
 « How, Mr. Crofton," said Mrs. Walter, rather 
 puzzled. '' How ? Why I certainly should not 
 speak to him if I saw him. No one in the parish 
 ought to be allowed to speak to him." 
 
 " But that is just what he wishes," said Walter. 
 
 " Now, Mr. Crofton, how can you be so pro- 
 voking, when you know exactly Avhat I mean; 
 but I can only repeat again what I have said a 
 hundred times already, that it is a positive crime 
 to have let such a man take Hulse House."
 
 48 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Whilst Mrs. Croftcn stormed out her angry 
 invectives against the recluse, Lucy thought of 
 him with a very different feeling. She pitied 
 him, and wished that her brother Walter could 
 gain admission to that desolate house. If there 
 was not insanity, there must be sorrow there. I 
 often wonder with what power the kind wishes 
 of his neighbours was resisted, and imagine how 
 Lucy looked at the chimneys of the old gray 
 house whenever they drove along the village road, 
 and how she sighed for its sad inhabitant, and won- 
 dered what his thoughts could be. Her own were 
 divided from him just now by a very agreeable 
 interlude, for at the end of a few weeks Miss 
 Spencer was again at Digby Manor, and Lucy 
 was invited to meet her. 
 
 As Mrs. Walter wanted some one to talk to 
 when Lucy was gone, she comforted herself by 
 going to Woodbine Cottage. 
 
 " Lucy is gone again," she said, rather bitterly, 
 to the little lady ; " and I am left at home, with 
 all the cares of housekeeping upon me, and no 
 one to speak to all the morning, for, as you know, 
 Walter is out from breakfast till dinner time, on 
 his parish rounds." 
 
 " A very good thing too I" broke in Miss Wal- 
 cott; "a man poking about a house all morning
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 49 
 
 is intolerable; they chill the room or they heat 
 it ; their long legs are always in the way. They 
 take the best arm-chair, and rumple the chintz 
 with their ficlgetty ways. Thank God, I never 
 married ! but you can't help yourself now, Mrs. 
 Walter. You've got a husband, and it's a blessing 
 he is busy all the morning in the parish." 
 
 "Not at all!" chimed in Mrs. Walter; "I 
 always give Walter a good stout morocco leather 
 chair." 
 
 " Morocco leather chair !" darted in Miss Wal- 
 cott; "why then, there he sits, creaking and 
 sliding, and making such a din and clatter in your 
 ears ! Morocco leather ! I would put my hus- 
 band in a deep eider down pillowed chair, and let 
 him go into a quiet doze. Leather ! slipping and 
 creaking ! I've no doubt Mr. Colville sits in a 
 morocco leather chair !" 
 
 " Mr. Colville !" exclaimed Mrs. Walter. " You 
 don't mean that any one has seen Mr. Colville 
 sitting in his arm-chair?" . 
 
 Mrs. Walter generally talked so fast that she 
 scarcely attended to Miss AValcott's running fire 
 of comments ; and so they often went on almost at 
 cross purposes. 
 
 " Seen him !" she said. " Wliy should any one 
 care to see a man that locks himself in as if the 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 world were too big for him ? Who cares to go 
 and poke their nose down into a dark, damp hole, 
 to look at a frog, because it has taken a whim to 
 jmnp into it?" 
 
 " Oh! Hulse House is not at all damp or dark !" 
 cut in Mrs. Walter ; " and I never heard of the 
 frogs getting into the cellars." 
 
 Miss Walcott was not to be stopped — "And 
 you never heard of cobwebs to catch flies, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 "Oh," said Mrs. Walter, "though Mr. Colville 
 is a recluse, I know he has an excellent house- 
 maid." 
 
 " I wish he had a dozen !" chimed in Miss Wal- 
 cott, " for they would soon drive him out of the 
 house." 
 
 "Indeed, that's just what I wish!" said Mrs. 
 Walter ; " and I tell Walter so over and over 
 again. If he could but be driven out of the house, 
 we might get a pleasant, sociable neighbour. It 
 would be such an advantage for poor Lucy."
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 51 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 It is a fine evening in the month of August, some 
 days after Mrs. Crofton's visit to Woodbine Cot- 
 tao^e. Little Miss Walcott sits in her cheerful 
 room, looking out at the long line of road leading 
 from Hulse Village. She has been reading ; she 
 is placid ; she loves to see the broad patches of 
 light and shade, as the evening closes in, and she 
 likes to see the cottage children playing on tlie 
 wide, grassy margin of the road. 
 
 In the street-like village there are some pretty, 
 old-fashioned cottages, with gay gardens before 
 them ; the whitewashed porches are covered with 
 roses and honeysuckles ; there are little groups of 
 people scattered about here and there ; two or 
 three young girls chatting and laughing gaily; 
 some sunburnt boys, full of glee at a game of foot- 
 ball ; some elderly women coming home, and stop- 
 ping to have a neighbourly gossip with each other; 
 
 d2
 
 52 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 four or five men with workmen's dress, discussing 
 parish affairs, and parting with a hearty "good- 
 night." There is a look of life, of cheerfulness, 
 and of prosperity, about the place — genuine mirth 
 amongst the children, more quiet fun amongst the 
 elders. 
 
 At a little distance from the busiest part of the 
 village is a handsome stone wall, skirting the road. 
 On one side of this wall is all this life, gaiety, and 
 activity ; on the other, slowly riding along, is a 
 solitary horseman. He hears the distant sounds 
 of mirth — nay, he even hears the words of friendly 
 talk of some of the labourers as they trudge along 
 the road after their day's work; he hears the 
 song of the farmers' servant girls as they pass 
 by with their milk pails; the schoolboy's eager 
 consultation with his compeers about some fish- 
 ing frolic for the early morning ; a mother's 
 proud " Come along Polly — trot on Jack, there's 
 my brave little man," as she walks briskly home 
 with her little ones from a neighbouring farm- 
 house. 
 
 There is sunshine and energy outside that high, 
 dull wall. The road along which the horseman 
 so slowly rides is already in shade — the tall trees, 
 which conceal the wall, cast their long shadows 
 upon it. The rider felt a chill — he slightly
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 53 
 
 shivered — he had just descended from a high and 
 open piece of ground into the shade. He looked 
 up to see the reason for the chill — the handsome 
 stone wall and stately trees were the barrier be- 
 tween himself and the sunshine, and the stir of life 
 without. He smiled bitterly. 
 
 " Yes," he thought, " I am cut off from the 
 business and the cheerfulness of life;" and his 
 face became dark Avith half-angry despondence. 
 The children's chirruping voices were again heard 
 outside. 
 
 "Good granny — I love granny !" sung out one 
 little voice. 
 
 <"And uncle, too," said the hearty mother. 
 " Dost not love Uncle Jem ?" 
 
 " Polly love Uncle Jem !" said another lisping 
 voice. 
 
 " Oh, oh !" laughed the proud mother; "what, 
 he carried my Polly, did he? — good Uncle Jem !" 
 and the voices from the sunny side of the wall 
 passed away. 
 
 Arthur Colville proceeded in the shade, and the 
 trees thickened round him, but there was no gloom 
 in those broad, deep shadows, to equal the gloom 
 of his own mind. 
 
 When we are old, it is difficult to remember the
 
 54 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 hopefulness of youth. I would not try to destroy 
 this cheerful, animating delusion in any young 
 person ; depend upon it, it was not put into our 
 natures for nothing. I love my little heroine all 
 the better because she is indulging in delightful 
 visions of faultless friends, of progressive self- 
 improvement, of resuscitated recluses, sobered 
 drunkards, well-fed donkies, and mended roads, 
 as she drives along under the high wall of Hulse 
 House, and is almost overturned by a drunken 
 man's donkey-cart drawn by a very lean donkey, 
 and is half shaken to pieces in going over a very 
 rough bit of road, which is leading her in due 
 course of time to Digby Manor. 
 
 The Digbys gave her a warm welcome this 
 time. Mr. Digby told her a story about an enamel 
 snuff-box of his great grandfather's. Mrs. Digby 
 looked at her admiringly, and seemed to regard 
 her as Miss Spencer's pretty new plaything. But 
 Agnes herself thought fit to saunter away into the 
 flower-garden as soon as she had seen Lucy safely 
 landed. 
 
 Agnes wandered on as if tempted by the beauty 
 of the afternoon, but in truth she did not notice 
 it; her mind was with the past instead of the 
 present. She walked now with quick and hurried 
 steps ; then with lingering ones, as if influenced
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 55 
 
 by her thoughts — sometimes trying to drive them 
 away, sometimes ibudly detaining them — until her 
 reverie was broken into by the sound of a shrill 
 whistle. 
 
 She looked up, and at the turn of the walk she 
 saw a young man hurrying along in full cry after 
 a truant dog, which was rustling and snuffling 
 about in the bushes edging the walk. Miss Spencer 
 started, and then, as she saw the face and figure 
 of the knight of the whistle, she felt a strong in- 
 clination to laugh, from the very great contrast 
 which they bore to something she had been dwell- 
 ing upon in her own mind. This inclination was 
 not resisted. She stood watching the approach 
 of the hero, with the sunny smiles playing round 
 her mouth, and at length she actually indulged in 
 a hearty fit of laughter, whilst Barker Preston, 
 for he it was, came up, and stood looking rather 
 bewildered at first, but at length smiling, and at 
 last joining heartily in the laugh. 
 
 " Upon my word. Miss Spencer, but I don't 
 understand this," he said at length. "It is a 
 capital joke, I am sure," and he laughed again, as 
 Agnes's merriment continued, " but for the life of 
 me I can't make out what it is." 
 
 \Yhen Agnes could speak, she said, " I beg you 
 ten thousand pardons, Mr. Preston. Don't ask
 
 56 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 me what I was laughing at, for I really don't know 
 myself : only it was you — you, I am certain ! Be 
 flattered, be happy and grateful, Mr. Preston, that 
 you have given me any amusement !" 
 
 " And, indeed, I am very happy. Miss Spencer," 
 said Mr. Preston ; " though you really should not 
 make too much of a joke of me." 
 
 "Oh, never mind," said Agnes, "I was not 
 making any joke of you. I laughed in sober sad- 
 ness, I can assure you. And now let us walk 
 back to the house together. There is your dog 
 returned — a beautiful dog ! What is its name ?" 
 
 " Rover," said Barker Preston. 
 
 " An appropriate name," said Agnes. 
 
 " I am glad you admire him," continued Barker 
 Preston. " He is a capital dog,"" patting him, 
 and looking fondly at him ; and Agnes had done 
 exactly what she intended — flattered Mr. Preston 
 in his most vulnerable point. To be sure, he was 
 too thoroughly good-humoured to take offence, 
 but Agnes could not be certain of this. She 
 caressed the dog, but when her admiration was 
 bringing on her the faithful account of its pedi- 
 gree, and all its good qualities, she quickened her 
 steps, and bid it gallop away and show itself in 
 the distance, and before Barker Preston could 
 begin the subject again, she had slided into another.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 57 
 
 " So you have got a wild man of the woods 
 caijed in a lame cao:e somewhere about here," she 
 said.' " Have you ever peeped through the bars, 
 Mr. Preston?" 
 
 "No, no!" laughed Mr. Preston; "I can't man- 
 age that." 
 
 " Not managed to take a peep !" exclaimed 
 Agnes ; " what want of enterprise I I am wild 
 to see him, and I will do so, let bars or bolts inter- 
 fere as they may ! But first I must hear about 
 him. Is he young or old ?" 
 
 "Old!" said Preston. "No, indeed !— a fine, 
 tall, handsome young man, and as rich as Croesus ; 
 and, it's a strange story ! do you know it Miss 
 Spencer ?" 
 
 Agnes shook her head and smiled, but it was 
 e\ddent she was impatient; she never could en- 
 dure being bored. Her look said (/et on! and 
 Barker Preston did "get on." 
 
 " Well, then, 111 tell you. It's said it's all for 
 grief." 
 
 " What is all for grief?" exclaimed Agnes. 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Spencer, you are so quick upon 
 me," said Preston, laughing. " I meant the shut- 
 ting up was all for grief; and he has made a vow, 
 I'm told, never to speak to any one again." 
 
 " That was a silly vow/' said Agnes, gaily, and 
 
 D 5
 
 58 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 the next instant she uttered a slight scream. '' Oh, 
 my hand, my hand !" she cried out, standing still 
 as if in pain. 
 
 " Bless me, what is the matter ?" said Barker 
 Preston, very much alarmed, looking first at Miss 
 Spencer's face and then at her delicate little 
 hand. 
 
 " What is the matter ?" said Ao;nes, ag^ain half 
 laughing. '^ My hand is the matter ; it gives me 
 such pain — such pain !" 
 
 Mr. Preston looked very sorry. " What is to 
 be done for it?" he said, anxiously. 
 
 " Nothing at all," said Agnes, " for it is quite 
 well again, thank you. Don't you know that sort 
 of pain sometimes passes off in a minute?" looking 
 up at him and smiling as she walked briskly on. 
 
 " Certainly, it was very soon over," said Pres- 
 ton, "and I am very glad of it; but, as I was 
 
 saying " 
 
 " Oh, pray don't go back to an old subject ! 
 It will certainly bring back the pain. Let us 
 have something new ; and, by the by, I think you 
 know the Croftons ? Miss Crofton came here a 
 few minutes ago." 
 
 "Indeed," said Mr. Preston, eagerly, and he 
 quickened his steps. 
 
 " She is a very delightful person," said Agnes.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 59 
 
 " Ah, yes," was Preston's hesitating reply, look- 
 incr after his doo;. 
 
 " I don't know any one I feel so much inclined 
 to love," Agnes added. 
 
 " And that is exactly what I feel!'' said Barker 
 Preston enthusiastically, completely thrown off 
 his guard by Agnes's praise of Lucy.
 
 60 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 That evening at Digby Manor was rather a 
 dull one ; Miss Spencer had a headache, and 
 would not or could not talk ; Mr. Godfrey was 
 there, as usual, and as indolent as ever. 
 
 The happiest person in the room was Barker 
 Preston. Whenever Lucy was not occupied in 
 attending to Mr. Spencer, who had seated him- 
 self by her, he was able to talk to her ; or, as he 
 would have expressed it, to have a full cry every 
 now and then, a capital chase, and in at the death. 
 When Lucy turned to Mr. Spencer, he consoled 
 himself by watching her countenance. As he 
 would have said, " It was good sport watching the 
 ins and outs. Nothing like it for letting the cat 
 out of the bag. A smile was a view holloa to the 
 thoughts. Then away you go — thundering along, 
 open ground aU the way, till you get to a dead 
 halt with a grave look ; that tells you to beware
 
 HULSE HOUSE. Gl 
 
 — private property, and the gate locked: so, taking 
 a peep inside, you stand patiently waiting till you 
 catch him again on the other side in a curl of the 
 lip, or a faint blush, and then off — tally-ho ! again. 
 You see his tricks through and through — that is, 
 you see to Miss Crofton's heart, and you can't see 
 any harm there — not a deep ditch or an awkward 
 fence all through it." 
 
 On the following day, as if to make up for 
 her dulness on the preceding evening, Agnes 
 Spencer was unusually gay. She chose to amuse 
 herself by making Barker Preston tell hunting 
 anecdotes and describe a chase. Mr. Godfrey 
 listened in amazement, and wished very much 
 that Miss Spencer would have sat down within 
 talkino; distance of him. He could not make the 
 effort of following her about ; for really she was 
 first in the library, then the saloon, then the 
 drawing-room, then dancing about the garden like 
 a sylph or a spirit of air. 
 
 As the day was fine, Agnes proposed a drive in 
 the pony-carriage for herself and Lucy. 
 
 " Mr. Preston, you may ride with us, if you 
 like," she said gaily, turning to him ; " supposing 
 you keep yourself either as a part of the back- 
 ground or as a striking object in the distance. 
 But you must not interrupt my conversation with 
 Miss Crofton unless it happens to flag."
 
 62 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 No other person could have said this without 
 giving offence, but there was something flattering 
 in the playfulness of Miss Spencer's impertinence. 
 Barker Preston laughed, and said he would do his 
 best to keep out of the way, if she would only 
 allow him to ride the same road. 
 
 " Then, Mrs. Digby," said she, " may I order 
 the pony-carriage ?" ringing the bell at the same 
 time ; and the carriage was ordered. Lucy was 
 amused and surprised, but Mrs. Digby only whis- 
 pered to Mr. Godfrey, " What a dear, engaging 
 creature she is !" and was quite delighted to take 
 Miss Spencer's orders, and Agnes was aware 
 that she was whenever she took the trouble to 
 think about it; but her orders were usually 
 given to suit her own convenience, and if the 
 Digbys' house, or horses, or servants could be 
 useful in gratifying a whim she made use of them 
 with a saucy independence that put a stop to a 
 " nay." Lucy thought her wrong ; she thought 
 it would have been better to check the whim, and 
 Agnes thouo;ht so herself. As thev drove alons: 
 that day she said to Lucy — 
 
 " I have the misfortune to be a spoilt child, and 
 there is no one so pitiable. We eat up our cake, 
 and want it when it is gone, and don't enjoy it 
 when we have it. And the worst of it is, that a
 
 nULSE HOUSE. 63 
 
 contradiction comes very sharply when we are 
 unused to it — too sharply for us to profit by it ! 
 it overwhelms instead of softening. Do you see 
 that dark cloud hanging over the hill ? what a 
 pity it seems that it should darken that beautiful 
 blue sky ; but it has been too bright inthe early 
 morning, and the cloud will soon spread over the 
 whole. It will then strike us less, but it will be 
 more gloomy !" 
 
 There was a curious mixture of jest and earnest 
 in her manner, as she gazed up into the sky, and 
 seemed to be reading a history of her own life and 
 feelings in the grandly sailing clouds, which were 
 every moment obscuring more and more of the 
 heavens. 
 
 " I can see in all this a likeness to my own 
 life," she said. " The morning was quite un- 
 clouded; it was far too prosperous. It must 
 have been evident to any one but myself that 
 clouds and storms would come ; but I never 
 dreamt of it ! I was happy, and gay, and thought- 
 less ! But the cloud came for all that. It came 
 and spread, just as you see that huge cloud spread- 
 ing over us now. It spread, and it will spread, 
 till everything becomes involved in its gloom." 
 
 Miss Spencer's voice had grown sad, and even 
 faltering, as she uttered the last words, but Lucy
 
 64 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 had hardly time to imagine it before she was 
 roused and surprised by a lively exclamation — 
 
 "Look, Miss CroftonI" Agnes said, gaily; 
 " look at our gallant knight ! ' He loves and he 
 rides away.' Let us overtake him !" and she set 
 the ponies off at a brisk pace, and Mr. Preston 
 pulled in his horse and was soon, by Agnes Spen- 
 cer's desire, riding at the side of the carriage. A 
 few drops of rain began to fall. 
 
 "What wdll become of us!" said Agnes, in a 
 voice of alarm. " We shall be wet through ! Mr. 
 Preston is there no house near where we can take 
 shelter?" 
 
 "There is one house," said Mr. Preston, "if 
 you could get into it, and that is Hulse ; but you 
 could not get into it, I fear, if it was raining cats 
 and dogs." 
 
 " Hulse ! are we really close to Hulse ?" said 
 Agnes, wdth eagerness that almost seemed like 
 affectation ; " then I am determined I will get 
 shelter there. Which is the road to it, Mr. Pres- 
 ton? Show me the road, and I will drive in 
 directly, and let Mr. What's-his-name refuse ad- 
 mittance if he can !" 
 
 Barker Preston pointed out the way, but said. 
 " It's of no use, for it is many miles oft] and there 
 is the lodge first — though, to be sure, you might 
 perhaps shelter there."
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 65 
 
 A2:nes had not waited to hear the end of his 
 speech. She was driving quickly along the road 
 to the lodge, not attending to Lucy's quiet expos- 
 tulation, except by saying, " Never mind ! we 
 shall see when we get there ! I am determined to 
 try !" 
 
 They reached the lodge ; no one came to the 
 gate ; it was locked. The door of the lodge was 
 inside. Agnes uttered an impatient exclamation, 
 and looked really annoyed, much more so than 
 Lucy thought reasonable on such a small occasion, 
 for the rain had ceased. 
 
 « Call, Mr. Preston ! Shake the gate, or 
 knock !" she said, impatiently. 
 
 Barker Preston knocked and called, but no one 
 came. " We must turn back, T fear ; and indeed 
 the rain is gone," he said ; " I don't feel it at all." 
 
 " I shall not turn till I have seen some one 
 here," said Agnes, decidedly. " Look, Mr. Pres- 
 ton, there is a cottage not far off; suppose you go 
 there and ask where the gatekeeper is." 
 
 Barker Preston demurred; he thought Miss 
 Spencer a little foolish, but she repeated her wish 
 so decidedly and earnestly that he could not 
 refuse. He was too good-natured ever to with- 
 stand much solicitation ; so he galloped off. 
 
 " I fear we shall not get in,"' Lucy said.
 
 ^6 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 "Oh ! yes we shall," said Agnes, rather pettishly. 
 Her temper seemed to fail under the disappoint- 
 ment of her whim ; but then, as if recollecting her- 
 self, she turned to Lucy and laughed at her own 
 folly. " I told you I was a spoilt child," she 
 said. " But what can keep Mr. Preston so long ?" 
 she added, again impatiently. 
 
 " Ah ! there he is !" she said, as at length he 
 appeared galloping towards them. 
 
 " She is coming !" he exclaimed, as he rode up ; 
 " the old woman is coming. Miss Spencer, and 
 then you can hold a parley; but the people up 
 there say you may as well attempt to fly, as to 
 get within those gates." 
 
 " Then I will attempt to fly," said Agnes, with 
 rather playful perverseness in her tone. " But we 
 shall wait for ever for this old woman ; you should 
 have brought her on your horse, Mr. Preston. 
 Oh, there she comes !" and the old woman came 
 to the gate. " Will you open the gate for us, if 
 you please ?" said Agnes, with her most winning 
 smile. 
 
 Mr. Preston watched her with great interest, it 
 was so amusing to see the determined flattery of 
 her manner. 
 
 The old woman was so much struck with the 
 beautiful smile and sweet voice of the lady that it 
 went much against her feelings to refuse, but she
 
 IIULSE HOUSE. 67 
 
 did so. She shook her head. " I am very sorry 
 to say I can't, ma'am." 
 
 " Can't !" said Agnes, aiFecting surprise; " oh ! 
 you are mistaken; though some persons are re- 
 fused admittance, 1 think you will remember that 
 you had no order to send us away." 
 
 "Every one was to be sent back," said the 
 woman ; " those were my orders. Mr. Hodson 
 told me himself." 
 
 " And who is Mr. Hodson ?" said Agnes, still 
 speaking in her softest voice. 
 
 " He is the head man — the vally, or butler, or 
 something of that sort, I believe," said the old 
 woman. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! but you did not see Mr. Colville 
 himself?" said Agnes. 
 
 " No, he did not speak to me ; he seldom does 
 to never a one ! and he has only rode this way 
 once since he comed amongst us." 
 
 " And how did he look ?" said Agnes, eagerly. 
 
 "Perhaps you know him, ma'am?" said the 
 woman, in her turn looking inquisitive. 
 
 Agnes did not answer quickly ; " Mr. Colville 
 has friends, you know, as we all have," was her 
 reply ; and then she said, sotto voce, to Lucy, " If 
 I say I do'nt know him, we shall never get ad- 
 mitted. How did he look when you saw him ?" 
 she said to the woman, repeating her question.
 
 68 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 " I could not see him very plain, but he looked 
 sadly, I thought, poor gentleman ; but he'd a very 
 pleasant smile when he spoke to my John, who 
 was making the ditch there, and John — that's my 
 husband — said, says he, ^ He was quite the gen- 
 tleman, but spoke low and fainty like, as if he 
 was sad at heart.' He was a fine tall figure of a 
 man, only he stooped a little." 
 
 " And he was pale ?" said Agnes, who had been 
 listening intently, with her usual whimsicality of 
 interest. 
 
 "Yes, ma'am; very pale!" 
 
 " And does he ride much ?" 
 
 "Yes, I believe so, but he seldom quits the 
 grounds, excepting it is late in the evening ; but 
 he generally goes through the other lodge. I fear 
 he is in very poor health and spirits, and that 
 makes him not like to see any company." 
 
 "You don't mean that his mind is affected?" 
 said Agnes, scornfully. 
 
 " Oh, dear, bless me, no, ma'am ! He is quite 
 rational like, only down in his spirits." 
 
 " Is he kind to you?" said Agnes, more quietly, 
 as if getting rather bored with the subject. 
 
 " Oh, yes, ma'am ! he is very open handed ; 
 but I always think as he gets out of the way, if 
 he can."
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 69 
 
 Agnes had perhaps forgotten her wish to enter 
 the lodge gates, whilst she stayed quietly talking 
 to the old woman. At length, however, she said, 
 *' And now will you, if you please, unlock the 
 crate, for I can wait no longer?" 
 
 The old woman looked wistfully at the gate, 
 then at Agnes, but she shook her head. " Indeed, 
 ma'am, I can't ! I can't, indeed ! I wish I 
 could !" 
 
 "Well, perhaps w^hen next I come you will 
 have fresh orders," said Agnes ; and giving her 
 some money, she turned the carriage round, and 
 they were soon quickly proceeding back again on 
 the road to the JManor House, as if forgetting 
 that any one was in the carriage with her, and 
 depended on her whims. 
 
 " It is a pretty-looking place," she remarked at 
 length, to Lucy. And then, instead of saying 
 more on the subject which had seemed for the 
 time to interest her even to folly, with her usual 
 fickleness she turned to another, and said not a 
 word more about Hulse and Mr. Colville. 
 
 The first words Lucy heard from Miss Spencer, 
 as she followed her into the drawing-room at 
 Digby Manor, were, "Ah, Mr. Berkeley! what 
 brought you here ? How glad I am to see you !" 
 and Lucy walked in, not to repeat the words.
 
 70 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 but, I am afraid, to echo them in her heart. 
 There was a bright sparkle in her eyes, and a 
 pretty colour on her cheeks, as she saw him, and 
 there was also a smile on his face, as he looked at 
 her, and shook hands, that seemed to answer 
 Miss Spencer's question, of "What brought you 
 here?" 
 
 " Perhaps," said my sister Jane, with a gentle 
 sigh, as I read this last sentence, " perhaps he is 
 not so very satirical after all !" But Martha 
 slightly frowned at her, and bid her not to inter- 
 rupt me with nonsensical comments. " The cha- 
 racters were not yet unfolded," she said ; and with 
 this observation I proceeded to my next remark, 
 that. 
 
 Barker Preston thought Lucy looked more than 
 usually pretty that evening, as Mr. Berkeley sat 
 beside her. " She used to have nothing to do but 
 to smile at me when we were together at the 
 Parsonage !" he thought, "but she never looked 
 quite so happy as she does now. Her work does 
 not get on so quickly, either !" he thought. " Her 
 fingers used to move as steadily as a good hack 
 along the road, but now it's all by fits and starts — 
 and look ! — now is that blush because she has made
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 7l 
 
 a wrons: stitch, or because — but never mind !" he 
 mused on, *' I like to see her happy !" and with 
 this good-natured conclusion, Avorthy of a grand 
 flourish of trumpets, had he only been a hero. 
 Barker Preston's soliloquy ended. 
 
 Mrs. Digby asked him to play ecarte with her ; 
 and he had no inclination to refuse. 
 
 "Miss Spencer is remarkably industrious this 
 evening," he remarked, as he looked at Agnes, 
 who was winding silks, whilst Mr. Godfrey held 
 the skeins for her. 
 
 " She is always enthusiastic, you know," said 
 Mrs. Digby, " in whatever she undertakes. It is 
 your deal, Mr. Preston." 
 
 There had been a little malicious pleasure this 
 evening in Miss Spencer's enthusiasm for silk- 
 winding. It was an amusement invented at the 
 moment, to force Mr. Godfrey into exertion. She 
 took care that he could not possibly lean back in 
 his chair, or even on the side of it, whilst he held 
 the silk. She detained him in an upright position, 
 got the silk a little entangled every now and then, 
 and once or twice allowed the winder to slip out 
 of her hands on to the floor. 
 
 " Will you be so kind as to pick it up ?" was 
 her careless command, as she sat indolently wait- 
 ing for him to conquer the difficulty of moving
 
 i^ HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 his legs and arms. A very bright smile was the 
 reward, as he presented the silk, and though very 
 much fatigued, he was so much flattered and enter- 
 tained by her amusing conversation that he could 
 not release himself. 
 
 " You ran away and left us this morning," he 
 said ; " it was terribly dull without you." 
 
 " Why, then, did not you come with us ?" said 
 Agnes. 
 
 " Why, what could I do ?" said he, shrugging 
 his shoulders, and raising his eyebrows with a 
 look of self-commiseration. " Nothinoj is so tiring 
 as a drive with nothing to see." 
 
 " Certainly it is very bad," said Agnes. " How- 
 ever, I saw a great deal to-day." 
 
 " Did you ?" said Mr. Godfrey, looking rather 
 surprised. 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Godfrey, you are letting it fall!" she 
 exclaimed, in a voice of despair. " I believe you 
 must be so good as to hold the silk a little more 
 this way. When your arm rests the very least 
 in the world on the table, the silk always gets 
 twisted." 
 
 " I beg your pardon," said Mr. Godfrey, peni- 
 tently. " Do you always wind your own silks ?" 
 he added, doubtingly. 
 
 " Oh no, very seldom. It was a sudden whim.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 73 
 
 and, as you are so kind as to hold the skeins, I 
 hope to finish this large set whilst I am here." 
 She stooped down, pretending to undo a knot, 
 but in reality to conceal the smile which was 
 playing about the corners of her mouth. 
 
 " Well, I will release you for to-day," she ex- 
 claimed, at length, tired of entertaining herself at 
 his expense. " A thousand thanks. Mrs. Digby, 
 you will not ask me to sing, so I am going to ask 
 myself" 
 
 " I am delighted I" said Mrs. Digby ; and Agnes 
 sat down to the instrument and George Berkeley 
 deserted Lucy to go and listen to her. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 74 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTEE VIII. 
 
 The next day it did nothing but rain — drives, 
 walks, rides, all at an end. Mr. Digby wondered 
 it should rain, as he had intended taking the party 
 to see Helmsworth. 
 
 " I had made the plan two days ago," he said. 
 " I had arranged it completely, and even taken 
 the trouble to order a new open carriage to be 
 ready a week sooner than I at first intended. It 
 is very odd that it should rain ! I am really 
 annoyed! I am surprised! Mr. Preston will 
 you have the goodness to feel out at that window 
 whether it still rains?" 
 
 Mr. Preston returned with an account that it 
 rained faster than ever. 
 
 "Indeed !" said Mr. Digby, "and my arrange- 
 ments were quite perfect. Still raining ! Really ! 
 I had no idea of this !" 
 
 " A good moral lesson," said Agnes, in a low 
 voice to Mr. Berkeley, who looked grave.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 75 
 
 " We must alter the well known adage for Mr. 
 Digby," he said. " ' Vliomme arrange et Dieu 
 deranae ' would be more appropriate than the old, 
 humble saying, ' Vhomme propose et Dieu dis- 
 pose.'' " 
 
 If Mr. Digby was too callous or frivolous to 
 care for the rebuke, Lucy honoured George 
 Berkeley for it, and almost unconsciously her 
 eyes rested on his face with a glowing look of 
 approval. I think George Berkeley saw it ; for 
 when Lucy turned away he watched her for some 
 time — half inquisitively. 
 
 " Suppose we have a grand musical practice, 
 Miss Crofton," said Agnes, when they adjourned 
 to the drawing-room. " We will play all our duets 
 twice over, repeating every part, and then we will 
 sing all our songs, stopping at every wrong note. 
 Mr. Berkeley, you may come and help us in going 
 wrong, and Mr. Preston, you may encore us when 
 we go right. In this way we shall get through 
 the morning pretty well, I think." 
 
 " Get through the morning !" exclaimed George 
 Berkeley ; " as if there were any difficulty ! As 
 for me, the difficulty is how to keep it long 
 enough," and he glanced at Lucy. 
 
 The hours, in truth, did not hang heavily on 
 
 E 2
 
 76" HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 that day at DIgby Manor; Agnes Sj>encer^s 
 spirits seemed to rise as the rain fell. There was 
 a good deal of music, but there was something 
 besides music to make the hours pass pleasantly. 
 Agnes, Lucy, and Mr. Berkeley had many talks 
 together — grave, gay, foolish, and wise. I am 
 old now, and these pleasant, eager conversations 
 do not belong to my years. We old people talk 
 on useful, practical subjects, or we prose of the 
 past, or Ave relate anecdotes ; but the sort of talk 
 I mean — the sort which passed that day between 
 those three — belongs essentially to youth ; it was 
 the broaching of new ideas, and making discoveries 
 of each other's opinions and sentiments. I well 
 remember talks such as these ! They can never 
 be again, but what a charm there was about them ! 
 Yes, my dear little heroine, no wonder your eyes 
 have such a deep, earnest, happy look, as you 
 slowly glide along the large hall, and go to your 
 own room, to think it all over before dressing 
 time I She, and Miss Spencer, and Mr. Berkeley, 
 had become more than mere acquaintance since 
 the morning. 
 
 But it is curious how quickly our sentiments 
 may change in society ! On the very evening of 
 that friendly morning, Lucy accidentally heard 
 Mrs. Digby reproach Mr. Berkeley for his long
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 77 
 
 absence from the neighbourhood, and she heard 
 him very civilly regret that " circumstances " 
 had jDrevented him from coming sooner. 
 
 " What circumstances ?" she thought, and there 
 rushed upon her mind visions of magnificent 
 country houses, delightful hosts and hostesses — 
 sons and daughters who were fitting companions 
 to George Berkeley — society where other George 
 Berkeleys were to be found — everything, in short, 
 superior to herself, and Mrs. Walter, and the 
 parsonage. 
 
 Mr. Berkeley was not by her at dinner, and in 
 the early part of the evening he was much en- 
 2rao;ed in talkino- with others. The ciixumstances 
 that kept him out of the neighbourhood of the 
 parsonage became more vivid and depressing. 
 Out of the hundred lovely young ladies he might 
 have met, one w^as singled out, supreme in beauty. 
 There she sat in her queen-like superiority, Mr. 
 Berkeley at her side, speaking to her in a low 
 earnest voice — looking at her with an anxious, 
 expressive look. Lucy could bear it no longer ! 
 It made her unhappy ! She must rouse herself ! 
 It could be nothing but a vile, unamiable fit of 
 envy. She determined to shake it off". She 
 bravely raised her head ; and then, strange to say, 
 Mr. Berkeley's eyes met her's — the low and tender
 
 78 
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 tones of his voice greeted her ears — he was soon 
 seated by her, and one and all of these delightful 
 people he was constantly in the habit of meeting 
 were forgotten by her, if they were but too well 
 remembered by him. 
 
 How long Lucy Crofton might have thought of 
 him that night, after she retired to her room, I 
 cannot say, for her mind was diverted into a new 
 channel. Miss Spencer came in ; she sat down ; 
 she looked pale and harassed. 
 
 "It is a wearisome w^orld, after all," said she, 
 and then she was silent. 
 
 " Do you think so ?" was Lucy's quick reply. 
 
 "Yes, I do !" said Agnes, whilst a smile flashed 
 across her face, amused for a moment by the evi- 
 dent contrast in their feelings. But the smile 
 soon passed. " Yes I do !" she said ; " who can 
 help it, when every day is full of annoyances and 
 Mrs. Digbys. I have been worn to death ! 
 Wearied, harassed, irritated ! Oh, Miss Crof- 
 ton !'" she added, in a voice of emotion, " you do 
 not know what it is to have one bitter subject of 
 remembrance clinging to you, which some fool 
 unconsciously or spitefully grates, and rubs, and 
 hangs upon, till you shrink and writhe under it ! 
 She has been torturino- me ! I tried to lau^h ! 
 I tried to make a jest of it ! I am sure my father
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 7^ 
 
 heard my laugh ; he turned so quickly round to 
 look at me. It must have been a horribly discord- 
 ant sound, if it jarred on the ear as it did on my 
 heart ; but that odious woman could not perceive 
 it, or she perceived it and liked it. She went on 
 till every nerve seemed touched and tingling ! I 
 believe we have all of us a history,'' she added, 
 after a pause, '* or perhaps there are some quiet 
 natures who dose through life without any stirring, 
 moving incidents. There is pain in the other line, 
 and yet I woidd not be without it," she added, 
 with half a smile. " The stir and tumult of emo- 
 tion have a pleasure in them, even if pain must 
 accompany or follow in their wake. I would not 
 be the dull last leaf, hanging on the sleeping 
 branch. Xo! I would have been the vigorous, 
 dancing leaf that was whirled away the soonest, 
 because it had lived its little life with visrour and 
 animation." 
 
 Lucy felt with Agnes, but she thought that the 
 sentiment was carried to the extreme ; there was 
 a wide interval in her mind between the dosing 
 and the whirling existence. 
 
 Agnes continued — '-Whether I would or no, 
 there have been sharp pains and lively pleasures 
 in my life as yet. Here is a little ring that shall 
 talk for me," she said, with her curious mixture of
 
 80 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 playfulness and gravity, as she pointed to a ring 
 on the third finger of her left hand. " Dear little 
 ring ! hated, yet loved !" 
 
 Lucy saw that the eyes of Agnes were moist 
 with tears as she spoke half musingly, and looked 
 at the ring. 
 
 " Yes," she said, "this little ring is a history in 
 itself ! It was placed here by some one, no matter 
 whom ! It was left here by some one, no matter 
 for how long ! but it got a home and a friendship 
 here. It is said that a little vessel flows direct 
 from the heart to this magical finger. It may be 
 so ! for the rinsr that encircled the fino-er twined 
 round the heart too, and then it was suddenly 
 taken away by some one — I can't say who ! — two 
 had a share in it, but perhaps the blame rested 
 with one; but the pain fell hard on one and 
 perhaps on both !"" 
 
 She paused ; her mind seemed far away in the 
 past ; but then she continued — " And yet the ring 
 came back ! but it was no longer the same. It 
 brouojht a stins; with it, and sometimes a careless 
 hand presses it, and the sting runs in and reaches 
 by that same tie of blood to the heart." 
 
 She stopped. Lucy saw that tears were rolling 
 down her cheeks, but she wiped them away. 
 Lucy's expression seemed to soothe her.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 81 
 
 " When I first saw you I knew that you would 
 understand me," she said, gently. " I knew that I 
 could talk to you without having to explain my 
 meaning ; and that if I happened to be sad you 
 would not tell me to be merry. 1 believe you to 
 be true and safe, and it does me good to be with 
 you. But I am afraid of you," she added, in her 
 own odd, whimsical way. 
 
 '' Afraid of me I" said Lucy, with a look of won- 
 dering incredulity. 
 
 ^' Yes ;'"■ Agnes continued, " because you have 
 not a wrong or a wicked thought in your head or 
 your heart, and I have a crowd of them." 
 
 Lucy almost unconsciously gave a little start. 
 
 " Yes, there it is," said Agnes, half laughing. 
 " Now I am afraid of you I It is one of your 
 grave, surprised looks that I fear." 
 
 " I will try not to look surprised or grave 
 again," said Lucy. 
 
 " And then you would not be Lucy Crofton, 
 and I should not love you ! No, be yourself, and 
 show me by your looks when I am wrong. Ah ! 
 if I had always had those looks to guard me !" and 
 she spoke with sad, almost with bitter feeling. 
 
 The next day was all sunshine; every tree 
 came out of the wash beautifully got up, as the 
 washerwomen would say ; every blade of grass 
 
 E 5
 
 82 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 seemed starched and stiifened : all clean, spruce, 
 and uncrumpled. There had been a very slight 
 frostiness in the air at night, and the sun rose 
 without a breath of wind, and shone steadily and 
 brightly all day. It was a beautiful day for a 
 drive, and at breakfast Mr. Digby expressed his 
 approval, and the excursion to Helmsworth took 
 place. Every one knows what it is, or guesses 
 what it might be to spend a long day amongst 
 beautiful scenery, in perfectly delicious weather, 
 with exactly the people whom you consider the 
 pleasantest in the world. 
 
 This was the case with Lucy Crofton, and I 
 shall not weaken the pretty, glowing picture 
 which any reader's imagination may call up, by 
 trying to describe it according to the more sober 
 colouring of my own fancy. 
 
 " Are you tired ?" Mr. Berkeley said, as he 
 handed Lucy from the carriage when they re- 
 turned in the evening to Digby Manor. 
 
 " Tired !" said Lucy, and her face looked so 
 bright and pretty, that it was excusable in George 
 Berkeley slightly to press her hand as he helped 
 her to alight. 
 
 " Tired !" echoed Agnes Spencer. " Who dares 
 speak of being tired? It has been a day of 
 days !"
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 83 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Lucy's younger brother, Edward, came to Digby 
 Manor the next day. Miss Spencer was full of 
 anxiety to see him. Agnes had not asked Lucy 
 any questions about him, for she wished to get 
 her own impression fresh and unbiassed. She 
 was certain of one thing, and that was that Lucy 
 loved this brother Edward with peculiar aifection, 
 and Agnes had no fear, therefore, of letting her 
 fancy run wild in adorning him with every charm. 
 Her face was in a glow of animation as he came 
 in, and it was almost ludicrous to see the change 
 on her countenance as she watched his introduc- 
 tion to the Digbys. Edward Crofton was not 
 plain ; he had good features, and a tall, well-made 
 figure ; but he was a dull-looking young man, and 
 he spoke in a quiet, monotonous voice ; and as he 
 sat there so indolently passive, the enthusiasm and 
 the indignation of Agnes were struggling which
 
 84 nULSE HOUSE. 
 
 should cool down the fastest. He was evidently 
 a dull, prosy person, with a manner and character 
 of sleepy, immoveable quiet. Agnes was ex- 
 tremely vexed. She was determined not to talk 
 to him more than necessary, and she only said a 
 few words from a sense of duty as she sat by him 
 at dinner. But as she spoke, a droll, comic look 
 in his face surprised her. She turned quickly 
 round to examine it. But the face had resumed 
 its sleepy expression, and she returned to her first 
 vexing belief, that Lucy's brother was dull ! It 
 was too provoking I She certainly would not 
 waste any more words upon him ! 
 
 But this resolution was strangely frustrated by 
 Edward Crofton himself. He began to talk, 
 rather, as it seemed, because he wished to utter 
 his thoughts aloud than as if he cared who or 
 what his neighbour might be. He had not uttered 
 many words in his slow, deliberate way before, to 
 the astonishment of Agnes, she found herself 
 obliged to listen ; and before he had rolled on with 
 his flow of ideas through many sentences, Agnes 
 found herself in the height of interest in all that 
 he said ; found herself watching with amusement 
 for his little, short, inward laugh, as his deep-set 
 eyes sparkled out of their long, narrow channels, 
 and was finally talking and laughing with him
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 85 
 
 witli extreme enjoyment^ and owning, too, with 
 great satisfaction, that she had been completely 
 wrong in her first impression of his character. 
 She could scarcely believe, when dinner was over, 
 that the person whose last words she was lingering 
 to hear, and to whom she had so much to say, was 
 the same dull Mr. Crofton by whom she had 
 seated herself in such a fit of disappointed ill- 
 humour at the beo-inninor. 
 
 In fact, Edward Crofton was a very clever 
 man ; young as he was, he had a more powerful 
 mind, and had perhaps a deeper fund of know- 
 ledge than most men of his day. Joined to this, 
 he had a peculiar justness and uprightness of 
 character ; he had great simplicity, good- nature, 
 and good temper : he had strong, but not lively 
 affections; he v/as kind and benevolent, rather 
 than ardently affectionate ; he had Walter's utter 
 contempt of humbug and afi'ectation; and there 
 was an under current of drollery which seemed to 
 imbue his whole unexciteable, easy temperament. 
 He had no ambition, unless we may call such the 
 pleasure he had in work, which made him tho- 
 roughly master whatever he undertook. 
 
 He was but little known as yet, but in after 
 years Edward Crofton was heard of The breadth 
 and great grasp of his mind worked itself into
 
 86 , HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 notice, as it were, in spite of the passive resistance 
 to fame afforded by his own utter contempt for it. 
 Lucy loved to sit and listen to her brother, and 
 to see that odd, droll sparkle come into his eye 
 and the corners of his mouth curl up with some 
 half-malicious bit of 'fun, when he was assailed by 
 her playful attacks ; just as at home he parried 
 Mrs. Walter's less agreeable missiles, with imper- 
 turbable good humour. 
 
 " I love to get Mr. Edward Crofton on a fa- 
 vourite topic," she heard Miss Spencer say to Mr. 
 Berkeley, " and to hear how his ideas come rolling 
 forth out of that grand, wonderfully comprehen- 
 sive mind." 
 
 Neither did Edward despise Agnes. If she 
 lounged into the library, she slided into such 
 agreeable conversation, that he almost forgot the 
 books, which as yet were his chief idols, and only 
 remembered them when an attempt was made to 
 tear him away from his treasures, by a proposal 
 from Mr. or Mrs. Digby to join in a walking, or 
 riding, or driving party. 
 
 And now I must pause. I have introduced the 
 reader to most of those with whom I wish him to 
 be interested, and the last day of Lucy's stay at 
 Digby Manor is come, and Edward Crofton must 
 go again to his office work in London. I cannot
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 87 
 
 exactly say how often his little sister's soft face 
 obtruded itself upon him in the midst of a legal 
 decision, or how many of Miss Spencer's startling 
 ideas flashed across him, to illumine the dingy at- 
 mosphere of the office. He was at his work 
 again, and Lucy was once more at the parsonage, 
 and the Spencers and Mr. Berkeley had deserted 
 that lively, luxurious manor house. 
 
 "But brother !" broke in my sister Jane, very 
 suddenly. " Was Lucy Crofton little ; you 
 always call her your little heroine ?" 
 
 "Little is a term of endearment,'' was my 
 answer. " Lucy was little, but not short. Will 
 that satisfy you Jane ?" 
 
 " How tall ?" was the answer, still doubtfully. 
 
 "My dear Jane, that is a dangerous question; 
 however, I will tell you. She was about the 
 middle height." 
 
 " And her figure ?" said the pertinacious Jane. 
 
 I shook my head, and then added, " So graceful 
 and slight that every one thought of her as a dear 
 little thing; that is all I can tell !" 
 
 " That will do," was the answer, with a satisfied 
 nod. "Go on brother;" and I obeyed. 
 
 A lonix tirade from Mrs. Walter on the care-
 
 8S HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 lessness of the cook in over-roastino^ a les: of mut- 
 ton was Lucy's greeting at home. It did not 
 quite amalgamate with the more spirituelle atmos- 
 phere from which she had just parted ; but a visit 
 to Miss Walcott was more amusing, and as Lucy 
 and Mrs. Walter came to the spruce little garden 
 at Woodbine Cottage, Miss Walcott, from her 
 usual chair, looked out of the window. 
 
 " Rose-bud and full-blown rose," was her re- 
 mark to herself, as she first saw them. " Hum ! 
 rose-buds are my fancy, but you must take them 
 as you can, in the bunch ! A great, flaunting, 
 full-blown thing, spreading itself over the bud ! 
 Pretty little bud ! not a thorn about it I Xever 
 saw a prettier bud!" she went on muttering to 
 herself as they were coming in. 
 
 There was a parley on the stairs between Miss 
 Walcott's maid Sally, and Mrs. Walter, and Miss 
 Walcott went on with a sort of running comment, 
 as the conversation reached her ears. 
 
 " Servants ! bother ! ' Steady undey^ housemaid T 
 ^ No sweethearts I'' Nonsense! A hearty, healthy, 
 hard-working girl, and no sweetheart ! stuff ! 
 ' Bont approve of folloicers,^ nonsense ! Sweet- 
 hearts have had a trick of following after tidy, 
 good-tempered girls since the world began, and 
 they will keep up the habit, Mrs. Walter, let you
 
 nULSE HOUSE. 89 
 
 clatter away as long as you please ! Come, 
 Mrs. Walter, come in, come in I"" she called out at 
 last, aloud, to Mrs. Walter. " Come in ! You 
 need not stand talking on my stairs any longer ! 
 We don't know of an under housemaid to suit you, 
 and, Sally, you need not tell Mrs. Crofton you do ! 
 All the girls we know have one sweetheart at 
 least, and perhaps a dozen." And in came Mrs. 
 Walter. 
 
 " Well, Miss Walcott, whatever you may say, 
 I never will allow my servants to have followers, 
 eating up the bread and cheese, and swilling the 
 beer, in our house." 
 
 "Why, then," chimed in Miss Walcott, "tell 
 the girls to choose with discretion, and get lovers 
 that don't like cheese and beer. Here, Lucy, sit 
 down, close to me, child, and you Eliza Crofton, 
 when you have done talking about brooms and 
 dusters, tell me whether you have seen your 
 hermit of Hulse yet ?" 
 
 " Seen him ! No, indeed ! and I don't care 
 ever to see such a creature ! Here is Lucy, just 
 come from Digby Manor — and there it waSj! Miss 
 Spencer (you know who I mean), quite a fine 
 lady. Well ! she asked to go into Mr. Colville's 
 lodge, to shelter from a violent storm ; and what 
 do you think ? The old story — the gate locked.
 
 90 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 and Mr. Colville refused to admit them, even into 
 his lodge, though it was raining torrents." 
 
 " Not exactly that," Lucy put in. " All I said 
 was that the lodge gate was locked." 
 
 "Yes, yes !" rejoined Mrs. Walter; "you are 
 always making excuses for Mr. Colville ! But 
 you owned, I am sure, when I questioned you 
 particularly, that it did rain, and that Miss Spencer 
 drove there for shelter, and could not get in. But 
 it is always the way that my wishes are thwarted I 
 and, in short, the man who let Mr. Colville take 
 Hulse House has much to answer for! Hulse 
 House is a constant annoyance to me ! One way 
 or other it is always plaguing me !" 
 
 Miss Walcott had given sundry little short, 
 bleating laughs, and uttered various little "hums" 
 and sharp coughs, whilst Mrs. Walter held forth, 
 and she now broke in with, " Should not wonder 
 if Hulse House killed you at last ! It will be 
 found at your heart when you die, as sure as 
 Calais was at Queen Mary's." 
 
 " I don't care what was at Queen Mary's heart 
 when she died," said Mrs. Walter, angrily; "but 
 I know it is very wearing to mine, to have to be 
 always regretting that large house — that might 
 have had such good tenants in it — just shut up as 
 if it were a prison — and used as I was to plenty
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 91 
 
 of society, without a creature to speak to, except- 
 ing just when \Ye go to the Digby's; and even 
 there you see Lucy has been without us !" 
 
 "Yes, Lucy shall tell us about it!" said Miss 
 Walcott, " when we have done crying because the 
 moon's not made of green cheese. Come, Lucy, 
 child, tell your sister and me what these people 
 said and did, for we want a little entertainment. 
 We have had the tragedy, now let us have the 
 farce ! What did Miss Spencer say and do ? 
 Nothing commonplace, I'll be bound for it ! She's 
 like the flash of a diamond."
 
 92 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Meantime how did the days glide awav at Hulse 
 House. AYe pass through the large hall and enter 
 the library. Arthur Colville sits there reading. 
 A clock on the chimney-piece strikes the hour — 
 it is the self-same hour on which Mr. Berkeley's 
 voice had startled Lucy Crofton out of her reverie 
 at Digby Manor. Mr. Colville started as she 
 had done ; but the cause and the eifect were as 
 different as possible, l^o pretty visions of future 
 happiness, no bright enjoyment of the present, 
 danced through his mind. The sound of the clock 
 roused him from his interest in his book. He let 
 his hand fall listlessly over the arm of his chair. 
 In that long, dreary evening, and the many and 
 the many that might follow^, what was there to 
 rouse him ? There was, in all likelikood, a long 
 life before him — the clock would strike many 
 times, and he might be aroused many times from
 
 nULSE HOUSE. 93 
 
 interest in his book, to tlie same vague, objectless 
 dejection as now. 
 
 He smiled bitterly as he thought " Why did I 
 do it?" and strangely enough another thought 
 intruded. Humanly speaking, the step he had 
 taken excluded all his acquaintance from any 
 knowledge of his conduct ; and yet he found him- 
 self over and over ao-ain shrinkins; under the 
 fancied sneers or reproofs of his friends, and trying 
 to dignify his selfish, cowardly act into one of 
 grand abandonment of the littlenesses and vices 
 of the outer world. 
 
 In the first anguish of bitter disappointment 
 (for he had suffered under a grievous trial) he had 
 flown to solitude as his only refuge from insuffer- 
 able pain. For a time pride supported him; for, 
 little as he guessed it, he was proud of the pre- 
 eminence of suffering — proud of his fancied courage 
 in bearing self-inflicted solitude. 
 
 He strove to dignify the evil he had laid on 
 himself. His watch words of comfort were lite- 
 rary occupation and benevolence to the poor ; and 
 he planned improvements and alterations on his 
 new property for the sake of benefitting the op- 
 pressed labouring classes, as he would have termed 
 them ; for his wounds had come from the higher 
 and not the lower orders.
 
 94 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 The cultivation of the mind was his other 
 resource. His library was filled with books, his 
 walls with pictures, and at times he really enjoyed 
 his leisure, for deep reading was a new pleasure to 
 him; but then, again, he looked round the de- 
 serted rooms — there was no voice to answer his 
 own — no smile to meet his eyes — his mind had to 
 prey on itself for resources. Vainly did he say, 
 "It is a relief to be alone !" his heart yearned for 
 sympathy ; it swelled at times with the vehement 
 desire to be not alone. 
 
 Solitude was a harbour for sorrow, not a refuge 
 from it ; it surrounded and subdued his powers, 
 and if at times he wished to break through his 
 seclusion, his enervated mind made him cling to it 
 with greater bitterness, as he felt his unfitness for 
 the busy life which he had deserted. 
 
 It was fortunate for him that he had a safety 
 valve in the necessary intercourse between master 
 and servant. I can hardly speak or write of his 
 servant, William Hodson, without a glow of pride 
 and pleasure. I knew him well ; in later times 
 we have often talked together, and I think I now 
 see his honest, open countenance as he speaks to 
 me; touching profitably,- with his quiet, calm, 
 good sense, on any subject we happen to discuss. 
 He is a remarkable character, but there are no
 
 HULSE HOUSE. .95 
 
 brilliant qualities to set forth — quiet, staid, and 
 rather reserved — his rare merit was good sense — 
 common sense, as has been said, the most uncom- 
 mon of all qualities. 
 
 William Hodson had been a page in the house- 
 hold of Colville's father; he had grown up with 
 that reverential attachment to his master's family 
 which was not unusual in our country about half 
 a century back, but which is probably dying away 
 with other remains of feudalism. With strong, 
 self-sacrificing attachment he had secluded him- 
 self from the world for his master's sake ; his 
 very place of abode was even kept a profound 
 secret from every relation or friend he pos- 
 sessed. Arthur Colville had given Hodson his 
 choice, either to leave or to stay with him ; and 
 he insisted on his taking a full week for delibera- 
 tion. He offered him a handsome annuity and 
 a comfortable home on the old property, if he 
 decided against following his sad fortunes for the 
 future, for Colville was noble in his nature, and 
 he proposed a bribe to induce him to leave, but 
 none to persuade him to stay; and yet no one 
 could half imagine how he clung to the thought of 
 having that one familiar face with him in his 
 misery and loneliness ! 
 
 After the week's deliberation, on which Mr.
 
 96 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Colville had insisted, when Hodson came to his 
 master's room and said, in his quiet, unmoved man- 
 ner, " I have made up my mind, sir ; I wish to stay 
 with you," Colville's quivering lip, his fervent 
 " thank you," and the hearty grasp he gave the 
 hand of his faithful servant, betrayed what his 
 feelings were. 
 
 Mr. Colville's seclusion had dated some years 
 before he entered his last prison house at Hulse, 
 and all Hodson's eftorts to arouse his interest in 
 anything beyond himself had as yet been fruitless. 
 He could only watch with pain an unfavourable 
 change in his character — the once eager, light- 
 hearted youth had become a gloomy, irritable 
 man, with w^hom it was necessary to weigh words 
 and to watch for the right moment to speak. 
 
 " But only for a time ! only for a time !" he 
 would repeat over and over again to himself. 
 " Better days will come ! I must be patient ! 
 God bless him, he deserves that I should !" 
 
 It is rather agreeable to get away from the 
 gloomy atmosphere of Hulse House to the bustling 
 activity of Mrs. Walter Crofton's ideas, and to the 
 stir of commonplace life in which she is living. 
 She was looking complacently at a delicately per- 
 fumed note which she had just opened.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 97 
 
 "Another invitation from the Digbys," she 
 exclaimed. " Very civil indeed ! Next Thurs- 
 day — a lucky day ! I always like going out on 
 Thursday!" 
 
 Lucy knew that Mr. Berkeley was at Digby 
 Manor. She escaped out of doors to talk to the 
 flowers of her pleasure ; they had a kind of sym- 
 pathy in their bloom and freshness ; and as her little 
 graceful figure went gliding about on the grass, 
 or her lips were lovingly pressed into the depths 
 of a full-blown rose — she could whisper to them of 
 her joy. Her brother Walter happened to pass 
 by. He was not apt to think much about per- 
 sonal beauty ; but there was something irresistibly 
 pleasant in the sight of Lucy at that moment^ 
 and he stopped to look at her. 
 
 "You are quite a child still, Lucy," he said. 
 " How old are you, really ?" 
 
 " Seventeen,*" said Lucy, half ashamed at having 
 to name such an advanced age, as she remembered 
 how little stately her step had been on the grass. 
 
 " Ah ! that is very old," said Walter with a 
 smile, as he passed on. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 98 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 I don't know any greater mistake than that of 
 envying a young unmarried man of large fortune, 
 who is much in request in London society. Un- 
 less he is happily crossed in love, his whole life is 
 objectless; everything he wishes for is his the 
 moment he asks for it ; he has nothing to strive 
 for, he has nothing to do ; he has only to amuse 
 himself, and it is trite to a proverb to say that 
 there is no trade so fatiguing. 
 
 Healthy youth is full of energy, and activity, 
 and ambitious aspirations, and if there is no whole- 
 some exercise for its exuberance of vigour, it will 
 form to itself less profitable ones, or sink into list- 
 less stupor of mind and heart. 
 
 I dare say many old men besides myself, and 
 many young ones too, would agree with me in 
 theory ; but when they are introduced to the 
 young, rich, unmarried Lord Englefield, who just
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 99 
 
 then honoured Mr. and Mrs. Digby with his 
 presence at Digby Manor, as usual, they sigh and 
 say as they look at him, " I wish our Charley or 
 our Freddy, or our Johnny were as perfectly 
 independent as that lucky fellow, Lord Engle- 
 field !" I beg leave to say that if there is any 
 good in Charley, or Freddy, or Jolini}y, it is pro- 
 bably owing to the fact that they were not a? 
 lucky as Lord Englefield, and had they been bocr. 
 to wealth and indolence, I should say to them, 
 "make work for yourselves," for, as old Watts 
 tells us, 
 
 " Satan finds some mischief still for idle hands to do ;" 
 
 and I would din it into their ears and their hearts 
 too, if I could, to work, work, work, if they would 
 save themselves from the most cruel of all fates — 
 either to grow recklessly bad or to live on to 
 become idle, self-indulgent, middle-aged men 
 about town : and as I saw that handsome, well- 
 cared-for youth. Lord Englefield, I shook my 
 head and sighed, on observing the languid, self- 
 satisfied air, which a few years of spoiling had 
 effected on a good, intelligent, active nature. 
 
 However, here he is, standing indolently near 
 the window, waiting to be amused, and as the 
 door opens he catches sight of a pretty little 
 
 f2
 
 100 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 figure following the rather showy one of Mrs. 
 Walter Crofton into the drawing-room at Digby 
 Manor, just before dinner time. His eyes light 
 up with a little animation, for here is something 
 new, at any rate. 
 
 "Who is she?" he said, in a low voice, to 
 George Berkeley. 
 
 There was a half-malicious smile on Mr. 
 Berkeley's face, as he answered, whilst looking at 
 Mrs. Walter Crofton. " Her name is Crofton ; I 
 w^ill introduce you, if you like." 
 
 " Thank you," w^as the reply, and off darted 
 Mr. Berkeley, whilst Lord Englefield remained 
 in a pleasurable state of excitement, thinking 
 of the coming introduction. He suddenly found 
 Mr. Berkeley saying to him, " Lord Englefield — 
 Mrs. Crofton. Mrs. Crofton— Lord Englefield," 
 with a sort of speech about the wish for acquaint- 
 ance, which obliged him to make some civil reply. 
 Mr. Berkeley then wandered back to Lucy, en- 
 tered into conversation with her, and was ready 
 to oflfer her his arm when dinner was announced. 
 
 " I suppose 1 ought to be unhappy," he said, 
 when they were seated, " for I have been guilty of 
 a very successful fraud. What do you say to my 
 chances of happiness during dinner ?"
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 101 
 
 *' I should say that your punishment Is sure to 
 come," said Lucy, laughing. 
 
 " And then I will be penitent, and not a mo- 
 ment sooner I" said he. " But I wish you would 
 not promise me unhappiness." 
 
 " I did not promise," said Lucy, " I only pro- 
 phesied, from experience." 
 
 " Yoiii^ experience ! then I am easy !" he ex- 
 claimed, " for you never did an ill-natured thing in 
 your life, I am certain. However," he added, " as 
 the seat next you was my object, it is entirely in 
 your own power to give me the fitting moral 
 lesson 1" 
 
 Lucy blushed, but did not find any answer 
 ready at the moment. 
 
 George Berkeley went on. " It is exactly three 
 weeks and one day since we sat together at din- 
 ner, and I see you have not yet learnt to disen- 
 gage yourself from the trammels of society. You 
 are rather grave and abstracted, and I knovs^ you 
 are thinking whether you neglected the proper 
 breadth of smile at Mr. Digby's plaisanteries, or 
 whether you did not vouchsafe one finger more 
 than necessary to Mr. Harding, and whether you 
 oufjrht not to have o:iven a more scornful glance at 
 a troublesome acquaintance who pushed himself 
 forward as your neighbour at dinner."
 
 102 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 By this time Lucy was recovering from her 
 shyness. She laughed and stopped him by saying, 
 " You shall not invent any other thoughts for 
 me." 
 
 "Why?" he interposed, "have I been wrong 
 so far?" 
 
 " Not entirely," said Lucy ; " and I believe you 
 really are laughing at me for having looked grave 
 at Mr. Digby's witticisms, for I saw that you 
 smiled exactly as he wished and expected." 
 
 " Nay !" said George Berkeley ; " you are now 
 retorting cruelly upon me ; and you have made me 
 really penitent !" and he added, more gravely, " It 
 is one of the sins of what is called society that we 
 become too complaisant — too ready to make our- 
 selves pleasant at the cost at times of countenanc- 
 ing what we despise. An honest contempt for 
 frivolity is less often expressed and betrayed than 
 it ought to be." 
 
 " In very young people shyness may cause this 
 fault," said Lucy ; " in others, I must say, I think 
 it is inexcusable." 
 
 "You are stern in your sense of duty," said 
 George Berkeley. 
 
 " Stern ! am I?" was Lucy's reply. 
 
 " Ah !" said he, with a little amused, admiring 
 look at her sweet face, as she so simply spoke
 
 nULSE HOUSE. 103 
 
 those words, "I have no objection to it ! 1 only 
 wish such sternness could be oftener exercised 
 for our good." 
 
 Lord Eno-lefield had his revensre on Mr. 
 Berkeley. He was introduced to Lucy after 
 dinner by Mrs. Walter, and he devoted himself to 
 her with great perseverance during the evening. 
 Mr. Berkeley, it was true, was much occupied in 
 discussing politics with an under-secretary of 
 State, and two or three other men of the party ; 
 and if he was watching Lucy at times with some 
 anxiety she did not observe it. J^ucy had just 
 discovered that politics were a very proper interest 
 for all educated persons, and she would much have 
 preferred listening to the little knot of clever men, 
 amongst whom Mr. Berkeley was standing, to the 
 tete-a-tete with her good-looking, self-satisfied, 
 though agreeable companion. 
 
 Mrs. Digby's extreme affection for her as she 
 wished her good night, and saw Lord Englefield's 
 anxiety for Lucy's last word, was no consolation 
 for the wasted evening, but she comforted herself 
 by the hope that there might be more time for 
 gaining political information next day. She was 
 disappointed. Lord Englefield persisted in en- 
 grossing her attention, and Mr. Berkeley in talk- 
 ing politics.
 
 1(^4 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 And so on for two more days. Mrs. Walter's 
 heart bounded with hopes of a coronet, whilst 
 Lucy began to think Digby Manor rather de- 
 pressing, when, suddenly, Mr. Berkeley seemed to 
 have tired of politics. He passed most of the 
 following days in talking to Lucy, and she found 
 the air of the place much more exhilarating. 
 
 In truth, Lucy's calm, unembarrassed manner, 
 under the decided attentions of a young man whom 
 half the mammas in London were dying to catch, 
 had not been lost on Mr. Berkeley ; and when, at 
 length. Lord Englefield had ventured on an ex- 
 pression of interest which served to enlighten 
 Lucy, he had happened to overhear and see what 
 passed; there was a start — a hasty effort to 
 recover herself — and then a quietly cold manner 
 that, whilst it repulsed Lord Englefield, was so per- 
 fectly civil that it gave him no plea for complaint. 
 
 Lord Englefield left Digby Manor the next 
 day, and Mrs. Crofton sighed, with a tender 
 feeling of concern, as the flourish of the postillion's 
 whip told her he was actually gone ! It was 
 rather provoking at that moment to see Lucy's 
 face looking particularly cheerful as she and 
 George Berkeley stood together examining a book 
 of prints. 
 
 The visit ended for Mrs. Walter with a reverse ,
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 105 
 
 but for Lucy with so much enjoyment that, as 
 she drove home with her brother and sister-in- 
 law, and passed the high wall, and the old gray 
 chimneys of Hulse House, she could hardly bear 
 to think of the probable contrast between her 
 own happy life and the sad lonely one of the 
 recluse, who so sedulously debarred himself from 
 all interchange of kindness and sympathy with his 
 neighbours. He had no agreeable Mr. Berkeley 
 to drive away depressing fancies, but when sad 
 thoughts came he was given up to battle with 
 them alone. 
 
 ]\Ir. Colville had been brought up in all the out- 
 ward orthodoxy of the Church. Twenty or thirty 
 years ago the exterior of religion was often the 
 utmost that any young man of fashion pretended 
 to, and indifference, or even professed unbelief, 
 was, unhappily, almost the commoner charac- 
 teristic of the young men Of the day. Up to the 
 time of his sorrows, indifference, perhaps, would 
 be the fairest term to give to Arthur Colville 's 
 relio'ious views. How indifference darkened into 
 doubt and unbelief, under the pressure of sorrow, 
 I do not wish to relate ! As we are introduced to 
 him, on his first coming to Hulse House, his 
 mind was in a gloomy, unsettled misanthropy. It 
 was shaken in every former trust and hope, and it 
 
 F 5
 
 106 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 is scarcely fair to judge of it as if it were in its 
 chronic, healthy state. Glimpses of it are all I 
 can venture on. The doors of Hulse House were 
 not always open, and I give slight sketches alone, 
 the result of transient peeps through those prison 
 bars. 
 
 Amongst his library were many books of deep 
 Divinity. It so chanced that his mind turned for 
 relief, not to the simple truths of revealed religion, 
 which might have given it strength and repose, 
 but to that mass of errors, doubts and subtleties, 
 to be found amongst the mystifications of scho- 
 lastic theology. Whilst poring about, and turning 
 round and round for occupation in the cramped 
 shell into which his faculties were forced within 
 the walls of Hulse House, he suddenly lighted 
 one day on these abstruse studies. 
 
 Unhinged and restless, he was just in the state 
 to love the toilsome work of leaving truth to spe- 
 culate on the chances of falsehood. Colville read 
 and read — he got deeper into the mire as he went 
 on — he thought, then read; then thought again. 
 The Bible was dragged forth, not to see what was^ 
 but to search for what was not there. If not 
 there, an able commentator proved that it must 
 or should be there. A whole theory hung upon 
 it ! Whatever else was wrong, the theory must
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 107 
 
 be right ! Another, no less learned commen- 
 tator, proved that what was clear and evident 
 must be false ! Were it not so the truth would 
 stand staring so nakedly before the world that 
 disquisition, logic, argument, all were needless. 
 Now could this be ? Forbid it. Heaven ! 
 
 Arthur Colville was deep amongst these learned 
 philosophers as Hodson opened the door and asked, 
 "Will you ride to-day, sir?" The question was 
 twice repeated. 
 
 Mr. Colville stood with a large folio restino^ on 
 the back of a chair, one hand pressing his fore- 
 head, the other holding the book. He read 
 intently, greedily. Hodson stood there with a 
 half smile on his face, for he was pleftsed that his 
 master had found an interest. He waited some 
 little time. Colville's hand was removed from his 
 forehead — his brain was less perplexed — he turned 
 another page. " Convincing ! satisfactory ! cannot 
 be a doubt ! " were his eager exclamations, and as 
 he looked up to declare to the grave and learned 
 doctors of the contending party, that the dispute 
 was settled, his eye fell on Hodson's civil, respect- 
 ful face and figure. He looked a moment, passed 
 his hands before his eyes, looked up again, and 
 then, for the first time for many a long sad month, 
 Hodson heard, with joy that did him honour, a
 
 108 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 short, merry laugh, burst from the lips of his 
 master. " You — you, Hodson ! only you ! but 
 convincing, nevertheless — convincing, neverthe- 
 less ! " he repeated, laughing again more heartily. 
 
 Hodson smiled — he almost laughed — yet the 
 tears stood in his eyes. It was so long since he 
 had heard that sound ! he brushed his hand 
 hastily across his eyes — his heart was full, a 
 throng of recollections came crowding on him; 
 vivid and only too distinct. 
 
 Mr. Colville laughed for a time, then suddenly 
 stopped, and looked half suspiciously round. 
 Hodson's face was grave and respectful in a 
 moment. " Will you ride to-day, sir ? " he re- 
 peated, as if all that we have related — all this tide 
 of emotion — had had no existence. 
 
 The effort was rewarded — the look of annoy- 
 ance that begun to creep over the face of Colville, 
 left it, and he said, carelessly, " Yes, I will ride ;" 
 and again he spoke kindly. "These books in- 
 terest me, Hodson ; but as it is fine, I think you 
 may order the horse." 
 
 Then looking round as if seeking for some- 
 thing, he laid his hand on a handsomely bound 
 book that was lying on a separate table, and 
 as Hodson was leaving the room, he called him 
 back.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 109 
 
 " Here, Hodson," he said, "here is a book that 
 I laid aside for you, when I was arranging my 
 library. You must take it as a present from me. 
 I think you will like it." 
 
 Hodson took the book — he bowed low, as he 
 said, " Thank you, sir ;" but his voice was husky 
 and his eyes were not raised to his master's face. 
 He left the room quickly. In after times that 
 book, wrapped in its neat cover, was shown to 
 his children's children, a memorial of past kind- 
 ness, and of attachment that had not passed, 
 though it was then a memory alone.
 
 no HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 The summer and autumn were over : it was early 
 in December, and there could scarcely have been a 
 more dull, cold, unlovely day ; but Lucy Crofton 
 did not think so, as she sat in the carriage with 
 her brother Edward on the road to Digby Manor. 
 Mrs. Walter had given Lucy many sisterly 
 cordials before they set out on their visit. She 
 had spoken a good deal about new friends, in a 
 dry cutting way, which implied that even at the 
 age of seventeen it was better to cling resolutely 
 to the past. She hoped Lucy would like her 
 visit ! She supposed Mr. Berkeley would not be 
 there, and it could be no matter of regret to any 
 one if he were not, and she begged her not to 
 fancy herself in love with any one who good- 
 naturedly talked to her for ten minutes together. 
 But these pleasant remarks faded from Lucy's 
 mind under the genial influence of Edward's
 
 HULSE HOUSE. Ill 
 
 presence. He was in remarkably good spirits ; 
 he had a short holiday from his London work, he 
 liked being with Lucy, and there was something 
 sociable and cheerful in the house at Digby 
 Manor to which they were going. Clever men 
 were apt to be met there, and there was a large 
 library. 
 
 " How good these roads are," he said, as they 
 drove quickly along. " The art of road making is 
 improving. Our new railway cuttings bring us 
 back to the idea of the Roman works, with their 
 straight forward way of going to the point, scorn- 
 ing every obstacle. We used to try this in a 
 barbarous stupid way, going up and down for no 
 evident purpose. Just the difference between 
 bravado and courage. There is something grand 
 in the indomitable useful energy of the Romans." 
 And so he went on, and then took up another 
 subject, and he never seemed to think of the 
 Digbys, or Spencers, or himself, till the carriage 
 drove up to the door, and they caught sight of 
 Agnes Spencer's beautiful face as she stood on 
 the terrace watching for them. Lucy thought 
 she looked pale. 
 
 " I have been travelling about admiring," 
 Agnes said, as if to apologize for her pale cheeks, 
 " It is very fatiguincr and profitless. It is much 
 better to be admired."
 
 112 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 "To be admired!" Edward Crofton said, 
 taking up Miss Spencer's words, as if it were an 
 odd new idea. " To be admired ! and that is 
 pleasant, is it? It is a sensation I have never 
 tried. To be admired vulgarly and ignorantly, 
 it seems to me would give very little gratification. 
 It ought to be admiration nicely fitted into the 
 interstices of the character." 
 
 " No, no ! " Agnes exclaimed, " the admiration 
 must be blind, hearty, undiscriminating. I will 
 not be talked down ; I will bpldly say again, it is 
 pleasant to be admired. There ! Mr. Crofton ! 
 now answer me, laugh at me, criticize !" 
 
 ^^Nay," said Edward, with his amused smile 
 curling along his lips ; "you have disarmed criticism 
 by saying what you know we shall not believe. 
 If indeed you heartily desire to be admired, your 
 wish will probably be gratified; but I cannot 
 promise you only blind admiration." 
 
 " And if not blind, it would not proceed from 
 affection !" said Agnes, quickly. " It would arise 
 from a due weighing of merits and virtues — a 
 poor, cold, lifeless thing — admiration such as you 
 would give to a prize cabbage ! Xo, no ! - 1 must 
 have blind admiration, warm from the heart, or 
 none !" 
 
 "But why not the two together?" said Edward;
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 113 
 
 but before xlgnes had time to answer, he had 
 become abstracted. She turned to Lucy, who 
 was just now disengaged from the affectionate 
 questionings of Mrs. Digby as to the health and 
 happiness of everything that Lucy loved. 
 
 " You must come to warm yourself in my room, 
 Lucy," she said, " and let me see whether you are 
 yourself ! I never know people till they take off 
 their bonnets, and talk to me over my own iire." 
 
 " And how is your wild man of the woods, the 
 man in the cage," Agnes exclaimed, after they 
 had discussed various other subjects together. 
 " Has he peeped through the bars yet, and said, 
 ' Ah, ah ! I see it is a merry world enough — pray 
 let me out !' " 
 
 Lucy slightly laughed — she could not bear to 
 make a jest of Mr. Colville's unhappiness. " No!" 
 she said ; " Mr. Colville is still a recluse." 
 
 " Still !" said Agnes. " Has no pretty bird 
 sung on this side the wires and lured him forth ; 
 or^must some other bird sing sadly, too, in soli- 
 tude, and echo back his notes ! As for me, had 
 I a sorrow such as his may be, I would brave it 
 out in the wide world, and sing with loud and 
 merry notes, till the very rocks and stones should 
 laugh for joy to hear me ! Yes, I would brave it 
 out, even though I might hide in those merry
 
 114 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 notes the aching heart that was ready to break 
 for sadness !" and her voice became sad and low, 
 as if her own heart ached for the one she had 
 pictured to herself, and then turning quickly to 
 Lucy, as if she had worked herself up into a kind 
 of mimic indignation, she said, half angrily and 
 scornfully, " You live so near, and yet you cannot 
 see him ! Is this active zeal ? Is this kindness 
 and charity? Had I been in your place, long, 
 long before this, I would have seen him ! I would 
 have read deep into his heart ! Yes," she added, 
 " I would have probed his grief — I would have 
 made him own that others, too, can grieve ! I 
 would have brought the sunlight to his sorrow, 
 and bid him say if there were not sorrows as 
 great, or greater, than his, hidden in the heart, 
 and carried about in the world, with a covering 
 of smiles, and jests, and cheerful looks, but lying 
 heavy there — ay, he little knows how heavily !" 
 And thus she had gone on with increasing warmth 
 and earnestness, and then she stopped suddenly; 
 and before Lucy had time to speak, or to explain 
 the impossibility of getting admission to Hulse 
 House, she had flown off to another subject. 
 
 Sadly flighty, indeed," said my sister Martha,
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 115 
 
 as I paused. " And how did the evening pass, 
 and who were the company ?" 
 
 " That is precisely what I never was told," said 
 I ; '' but I am certain that Mr. Fitzgerald must 
 have been staying at Digby Manor, for I have il 
 on record, that one morning Miss Spencer said to 
 him. 
 
 « Where is Mr. Edward Crofton ?" 
 
 " In the library, of course !" was the answer. 
 
 " But I want him to walk with us," said Agnes, 
 rather pettishly. 
 
 « Shall I tell him so ?" Mr. Fitzgerald asked. 
 
 " You will not get him," said Lucy. 
 
 " Go and try, ]\Ir. Fitzgerald !" Agnes exclaimed, 
 for her spirit immediately rose at the idea of any 
 opposition to her wishes. 
 
 He w^ent, with a laughing reproof to Miss 
 Spencer, for being as much spoilt as ever. 
 
 " He must come !" said Agnes, half wilfully and 
 angrily, when Mr. Fitzgerald had left the room. 
 Lucy shook her head. The door was opening. 
 "Yes, yes ! I knew he would!" Agnes exclaimed. 
 But it was only Mr. Fitzgerald. 
 
 " He is much obliged, but he is particularly 
 engaged just now," said Mr. Fitzgerald. 
 
 " Oh ! you are a poor ambassador !" Agnes
 
 116 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 cried out. " 1 shall go myself. I know I shall 
 bring him ;" and she darted oft' to the library. 
 
 '' Surely he will come with such a messenger !" 
 said Mr. Fitzgerald ; and Lucy heard him sigh as 
 he sat down to look at the little clever pen and 
 ink sketch Agnes had been making. 
 
 "You hardly know my brother," Lucy said, 
 " otherwise you would feel as certain as I am that 
 even Miss Spencer will not succeed." 
 
 It was some time before Agnes came back, but 
 when she did, it was without Edward. 
 
 "Bafiled," she said, "completely baffled ! Xever 
 was there such a failure ! There I found him, 
 buried in books, and I went in on tiptoes, and I 
 made myself into a book, and we held a conversa- 
 tion as if we were two volumes ; and we went on 
 w^ith such outpouring of knowledge from volume 
 number one, your brother, that volume number 
 two, your humble servant, was almost overwhelmed 
 in the mighty rush of thought ; but when volume 
 two tried to back out of it by leading volume one 
 into the next room, a certain well-known smile 
 twinkled out of his eyes, and volume two had to 
 give it up, and come back, Mr. Fitzgerald" — 
 turning archly to him — "disappointed of her 
 whims, as you wish she should be !" 
 
 Mr. Fitzgerald smiled at her ; but Lucy could
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 117 
 
 not help noticing the sad expression that followed 
 his smile, as he looked at this winning, fascinating 
 friend, whom he had loved so long and so hope- 
 lesdy. 
 
 " I often wonder," Agnes said, more gravely, 
 " at the power of abstraction which men possess ; 
 scarcely any women have it in the same degree. 
 Is it nature or education ?" 
 
 " A little of both, I should think, said Mr. 
 Fitzgerald. " We are less imaginative, to begin 
 with, and it is necessary for us working men to 
 possess it. The habit begins at school, and must 
 be thoroughly learnt if we would do any good in 
 after life." 
 
 " And for us, I know Lucy would say," said 
 Agnes, " that it is necessary to learn to be sub- 
 tracted, and to be ready to give our attention to 
 any one who wants it, in the midst of our plea- 
 santest occupations." 
 
 Lucy smiled. "Yes!" she said ; "but I think 
 the habit of thorough attention for the time to 
 one subject is very useful even for us." 
 
 " Xo useless flights into the library and back 
 again !" said Agnes, gaily ; and then she went off 
 singing a few notes of a lively French song. But 
 if Miss Spencer's time for serious abstraction had 
 not yet arrived, neither were Lucy's attempts at
 
 118 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 undivided attention more successful next morning, 
 as she vainly tried to read a little book Mr. 
 Digby had begged her to look at, whilst a conver- 
 sation was going on between Agnes and Mr. 
 Fitzgerald, of which Mr. George Berkeley was 
 the subject, 
 
 " George Berkeley is the most agreeable person 
 I know," said Agnes. " He does not sit studying 
 what to say that will please, but his intelligence 
 and kind nature make him actually blunder on 
 the very words that are most welcome. He has 
 inherited agreeableness and tact from his mother." 
 
 "Yes!" said Mr. Fitzgerald; "but what say 
 you to sweet temper and humility ?" 
 
 "Warmth of heart, at any rate !" said Agnes. 
 " She is the strongest lover I know." 
 
 "Yes! and the strongest hater," was the re- 
 joinder. 
 
 " Ah, well ! I fear so ; and the most unreason- 
 able and unreasoning of all clever women, wKere 
 a fancy seizes her ! But with all that, there is 
 something very grand about her character — the 
 fine majestic way in which she sweeps down all 
 obstacles that interfere Avith her own objects ! 
 Her very selfishness has nobleness in it ! She 
 would deny herself down to bread and water, and 
 even then would give away the last crust and the
 
 HDLSE HOUSE. 119 
 
 last drop of water, to any one whom she loved ; 
 and for an object she recognised as worthy she 
 would march boldly on mto the blazing fire of 
 martyrdom, if it pleased any one to put it in her 
 way." 
 
 "Yes!" said Mr. Fitzgerald; "or pop some 
 other poor wretch in." 
 
 " Certainly," said Agnes, laughing, " if they 
 made the obstacle to any scheme for her son's 
 interests. But still she Avould think she was 
 doino^ rio;ht." 
 
 "I should rather pity the bold person who tried 
 to show her she was doing wrong," interposed Mr. 
 Fitzgerald. 
 
 " So should I," said Agnes. " I own to her 
 faults ; but what a charm there is in her ! She is 
 beautiful even now, and her smile is the most 
 irresistible thing I know. How devotedly her 
 sons love her !" 
 
 " And obey her !" said Mr. Fitzgerald. 
 
 " Yes, indeed !" Agnes said. " Greorge Berkeley 
 loves her so much that he would obey her in 
 everything." 
 
 ''Even as to his choice of a wife?" said Mr. 
 Fitzgerald. 
 
 " Oh, he is too poor to marry !" was Agnes's 
 reply. "But indeed you are right so far, that,
 
 120 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 owing to a strange legal arrangement of his 
 father's, George is dependent on her in money 
 matters, and he could not marry unless his mother 
 gave up part of her income to him. But though 
 George cannot marry, I wonder Frederick does 
 not." 
 
 " But where is the lady his mother would think 
 good enough?" said Mr. Fitzgerald, laughing. 
 
 This conversation was not soon forgotten by 
 Lucy. Mr. Berkeley's mother became a sort of 
 bugbear to her fancy. If she found herself think- 
 ing of Mr. George Berkeley wath very agreeable 
 recollection, a vision of a grand, stern, proud 
 woman, with a determined will, and an iron power 
 over her son's affections, accompanied these plea- 
 sant remembrances, and she wished she had not 
 happened to listen to that teazing conversation. 
 She turned again very energetically to her book, 
 and tried to be abstracted, whilst Edward, Mr. 
 Fitzgerald, and Agnes, slided into a quiet, serious 
 conversation. Mrs. Digby joined them, and pre- 
 sently Agnes started up, and said, 
 
 " How grave we have all become ! Mrs. Digby, 
 may we have some music ?" then turning towards 
 Mr. Fitzgerald, she said, " Why are people ever 
 grave ? I hate gravity !" 
 
 " You don't do yourself justice," said Mr. Fitz-
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 121 
 
 gerald. " I know no one who is able to be grave 
 with so much grace." 
 
 Miss Spencer half smiled, and then looked sad, 
 but she said, lightly enough, " In spite of that 
 pretty compliment, Mr. Fitzgerald, I am deter- 
 mined to repeat that I hate gravity." 
 
 Edward Crofton Avas looking earnestly at her. 
 She happened to perceive it. 
 
 " Mr. Crofton," she said, " I see you are pre- 
 paring to pounce down upon me with some wise 
 saw in praise of solemnity, and to prevent your 
 doing so, I shall go and sing the liveliest song I 
 can find — for I won't be grave, I won't be w4se !" 
 
 Edward Crofton said hastily, as he stood close 
 to her, so that no one heard but herself, " Who 
 could wish you to change in anything — to be 
 different in the slightest degree from what you 
 are !" 
 
 A bright blush crimsoned Agnes Spencer's face. 
 She said no more, but was busy finding her music, 
 and she and Lucy sang some duets together. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 122 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XIII. 
 
 It is not my object to write a journal of Lucy 
 Crofton's and Agnes Spencer's lives, but merely to 
 note down the incidents or the conversations that 
 tend to develop their characters, or to bring out the 
 plot of their life's story, that wonderful drama 
 each human being enacts or passively passes 
 through — full of interest and strange complexities, 
 no doubt, if we could see the whole, in its com- 
 pleteness, from life to death, however seemingly 
 common-place the events or the characters. And 
 so I silently pass over the next few days at Digby 
 Manor ; leaving the degree of intimacy they caused 
 between Miss Spencer and the two Croftons to 
 be imagined by the reader; and whilst Edward 
 Crofton travels back to London, I return, Avith 
 Lucy, to the Parsonage, — and there we find 
 Mrs. Walter Crofton in a state of unusual ex- 
 citement.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 123 
 
 Two days ago, a groom, on horseback, had been 
 seen dashing at a quick pace along the road 
 leading from Hulse House to the village; the 
 spirited horse was foaming and chafing with the 
 unwonted exercise, whilst the groom had an air of 
 importance, as much as to say that at last his 
 master was condescending to notice his neigh- 
 bours, although he was much too grand to do so 
 in an habitual and commonplace way. The 
 livery, no doubt, was Mr. Colville's. The village 
 was duly excited, one good wife after another 
 came out at her door, the little boys shouted, the 
 girls screeched, the labourers paused in their work 
 — "the Squire's servant sure enough," was their 
 shrewd remark. Eager faces watched which way 
 the horse would turn — the lane was passed, leading 
 to the neighbouring town, and on he went, 'it 
 was no medical advice that was required by the 
 Master of Hulse ; on, on he still went — the road 
 to the Parsonage was neared — now, would he turn 
 in, or would he not ? Yes, yes — he does ! he does ! 
 And true indeed, the groom hastened to the Par- 
 sonage, rang the bell, smiled, in a dignified manner, 
 at the surprised looks of the servants, and drawing 
 a letter from his pocket, neatly folded, sealed, and 
 directed, gave it to Mr. Crofton's footman, and 
 said that he was ordered to wait for an answer. 
 
 G 2
 
 124 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 We must follow the letter to the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 The servant took it breathlessly to Mrs. Crofton, 
 Walter being out of doors. 
 
 "A letter! Who from?" 
 
 The servant, delighted with the importance of 
 the answer he had to give, said, with an attempted 
 air of unconcern — " The letter is from Mr. Colville 
 ma'am! — Mr. Colville, of Hulse House! and the 
 servant waits for an answer." 
 
 " Mr. Colville ! " was Mrs. Walter's exclamation. 
 "Mr. Colville?" 
 
 The servant felt proudly satisfied that the ex- 
 citement of the news was as much as could be 
 expected. 
 
 " Mr. Colville ! Run, James I Run and fetch 
 your master ! He is only in the village. Give 
 me the letter. Yes, indeed ; I thought it would 
 come ! Written at last ! " Mrs. Walter paused, 
 and examined the outside of the letter — ^" ^ The 
 Rev. W. Crofton,' a good firm hand. Well, 
 Mr. Crofton, here it is ! " she exclaimed, in an 
 exulting tone, as Walter came in. " Here it is ! 
 I told you, sooner or later, it would come." 
 
 " What Avould come ? " said Walter, to whom 
 the servant had only announced mysteriously that 
 Mrs. Crofton had a letter for him. "Is it the
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 125 
 
 parcel of books from London? Are they un- 
 packed?" 
 
 " Unpacked ! ' ' exclaimed Mrs. Walter. "Parcel 
 of books ! What can you be thinking of? Here 
 is a letter from Hulse House — from Mr. Colville ! 
 His own writing ! Open it directly, Walter, and 
 let us hear no more about books." 
 
 Even Walter looked surprised and interested. 
 He read the short letter. It was merely a civil 
 request that Mr. Crofton would come and see 
 him. • 
 
 " I will go at once," said Walter ; " who knows 
 what good may be done ? " He was putting the 
 letter into his pocket and preparing to set out, for- 
 getting poor Mrs. Walter's eager curiosity, till 
 she screamed oat her desire to see it. 
 
 "'Mr. Colville's compliments,'" read out Mrs. 
 Walter. " Yes ! he sends compliments just like 
 any other man ! ' Would feel much obliged.' 
 Why yes, certainly ! he might have asked us to 
 dinner, instead of asking to see you as if you were 
 the parish doctor or attorney." 
 
 " Or parish priest which I am," said Walter. 
 " And I am glad he sends for me. It has been on 
 my conscience that my richest parishioner might' 
 need my help more than the poorest in my 
 charore."
 
 126 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 "You will just notice a little, Walter," said 
 Mrs. Crofton, anxiously, as Walter took up his 
 hat to go ; " you will just notice a little how the 
 rooms are furnished, and whether there are many 
 pretty knick-knacks lying about, and how many 
 serv'ants. These little things, you know, tell a 
 great deal ; open your eyes for once, Walter, 
 instead of walking on as if you were blind, as you 
 generally do ; and just look if he " 
 
 Here Mrs. Walter's injunctions became useless, 
 by Walter's shutting the door after him as he left 
 the room. 
 
 As Walter Crofton paced along the road, for 
 his first interview with Arthur Colville, he felt a 
 more serious, and even inquisitive, interest than he 
 let his wife perceive. Sometimes, as he went, he 
 half laughed at himself for the gravity of his 
 views, and the supposition that this visit should 
 lead to any serious results. Mr. Colville's might 
 be a simple act of tardy civility, and the visit 
 nfight prove as formal and uninteresting as any 
 other to a mere country neighbour. He reached 
 Hulse, and was shown into the library. As the 
 servant ushered him in, a tall, pale, handsome 
 young man came forward to meet him. There 
 was a strong and touching interest to Walter, as 
 he found himself, for the first time, in the presence
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 127 
 
 of the mysterious recluse of Hulse House, and his 
 eyes first rested on his face, and the tones of his 
 voice first sounded in his ears — 
 
 " I sincerely thank you, Mr. Crofton, for 
 your readiness in attending to my request," 
 were his words, as he extended his hand to 
 Walter. 
 
 Arthur Colville had that air of refinement and 
 high breeding Avhich is hot a common gift, and 
 which, if not bestowed by nature, can rarely, if 
 ever, be acquired. He was tall, but stooped a 
 little. His eye was keen, but melancholy ; and 
 there was a slightly peevish or satirical expression 
 in the lower part of his face. In speaking to 
 Walter he scarcely seemed to look at him, as if 
 careless as to any sympathy or interchange of 
 feeling ; but rather, on the contrary, proudly 
 defiant of any personal interest or communion with 
 his visitor. The ordinary modulation of his voice 
 was low and gentle, but every now and then it 
 was raised with a slightly fretful intonation. 
 There was something striking and unusual in his 
 whole look and manner, at once creating a feeling 
 of interest and pity, which feeling he seemed 
 utterly to reject and despise. 
 
 "I asked you to come here, Mr. Crofton," he 
 said, " in defiance of the usual forms of society.
 
 128 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 But it is better to break through these forms, and 
 to enter at once on our subject, instead of toiling 
 through the brick and mortar, and iron — yes, the 
 iron of social etiquette." 
 
 His voice became querulous as he spoke; un- 
 used as he was to an auditor, Mr. Colville, 
 perhaps, had almost forgotten that he had one 
 now. 
 
 " And so, Mr. Crofton," he continued, " you 
 will kindly let me break through these barriers, 
 and go to the point at once. I am alone," he said, 
 after a slight pause — and there was something in 
 his way of saying those words, that made Walter 
 again raise his eyes, with strong interest, to Mr. 
 Colville's face. It was slightly agitated ; no doubt, 
 from expressing for the first time, and to a stranger, 
 the entire loneliness of his existence. " I am 
 alone," he repeated, in a low, touching voice, as 
 though the words had betrayed to his own heart 
 the sadness of his solitude, and as if he were almost 
 ansvv^ering a doubt from his hearer that such a 
 miserable lot could really be his ; but although his 
 eye never sought that of Walter's, he seemed to 
 divine that he was pitying him ; there was no start, 
 no very evident sign of annoyance, but he con- 
 tinued his sentence in an entirely difi'erent tone. 
 " And thus I am able to read and think more
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 129 
 
 tlian others," he added. " These books are ex- 
 cellent companions," laying his hand on some 
 large ones, lying on his table, " but they are a 
 little abstruse — perhaps to many more bewildering 
 than useful.''' His voice was rising to its more 
 querulous pitch. " The deep mysteries of phi- 
 losophy and of nature, of which they treat, are to 
 me, I own, an exercise and a delight. But whilst 
 these writers possess the skill to suggest difficulties 
 and to raise doubts, most clearly and ably " — he 
 stopped a moment, and then added, drily and 
 ironically — "they have omitted to give us the 
 answers, Mr. Crofton. The answers to all these 
 doubts are omitted I — and this is my reason for 
 w^ishing to talk with you. Books may, at times, 
 be better than living commentators ; but there are 
 cases in which questions arise to which there is no 
 w^ritten answer. Two minds are better than one : 
 especially where the one " — slightly bowing to 
 Walter — " is, no doubt, more clear — more amply 
 stored than the other. It would please me much, 
 if you could occasionally spare time enough to 
 discuss with me some of these abstruse questions. 
 I have a good library, there are works that would 
 interest you ; some, I believe, are difficult to 
 procure. Could you occasionally come for an 
 
 G o
 
 130 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 hour to try with me the merits of these learned 
 men?" 
 
 Walter was, in truth, much given to the 
 abstruse reading in which Arthur Colville was 
 immersed. He said that an excuse for such 
 studies was particularly agreeable to him. 
 
 " Then let us begin at once," said Colville, and 
 with the eagerness of a spoilt child he seated him- 
 self at the table where his books lay, and opening 
 at various mar'ked passages, he gave Walter a 
 rapid and masterly sketch of the points in ques- 
 tion, and soon both Mr. Colville and Walter 
 Crofton were so deeply engaged that they forgot 
 the hour — foro-ot that thev were entire strano;ers 
 to one another ; ]\Ir. Colville forgot that he was a 
 recluse — Walter, that the being he talked with 
 was the strange unknown, who had shunned his 
 very sight till that moment. 
 
 Wlien Walter Crofton returned home, at the 
 end of some hours' time, he could laugh heartily at 
 his wife's tender anxiety on his account : anxiety 
 which had led her to suppose more than once that 
 the mad solitary had stabbed or imprisoned her 
 poor husband within the gloomy walls of Hulse 
 House ; anxiety that led her to scold all the ser- 
 vants by way of passing the time ; and anxiety that 
 finally made her set out on the road leading to
 
 HULSE HOUSE. ISl 
 
 Hulse House, from whence she might at least 
 have the melancholy satisfaction of hearing the 
 stifled groans of her murdered husband. 
 
 The sight of Walter, quietly trudging along, or 
 sometimes pausing to peep into a book which he 
 was carrying, relieved her anxieties, and his hearty 
 laugh, as she told him what she had suffered for 
 his sake, so far reassured her that she was able to 
 be rather angry at his indifference. 
 
 " A very agreeable, gentlemanlike man," said 
 Walter. " He shows much learning ; and, if he 
 would only do it in moderation, he is none the 
 worse for giving up society and living entirely in 
 as line a library as I ever beheld." 
 
 "Oak?" asked Mrs. Walter, eagerly, "with 
 crimson damask and fine pictures ?" 
 
 " Oh! as to that," said Walter, "I really don't 
 know. I meant the books — a most valuable and 
 curious collection!" 
 
 Mrs. Walter gave a contemptuous " hem /" but 
 was too eager to hear all that Walter could tell to 
 express her contempt at the moment. " And did 
 he ask us to dinner?" 
 
 " Xo," said Walter. 
 
 "Strange, indeed I" said Mrs. Walter. "It 
 would have been more civil - but perhaps to break- 
 fast or luncheon?"
 
 132 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 " Xo indeed ; he said nothing about eating." 
 
 " But, no doubt, he said something about me ! 
 Some little curiosity, I should think, as to what 
 my opinion of him might be f" 
 
 Walter smiled. " Indeed, my dear, he seemed 
 very easy on that subject, for he never even 
 named you. I doubt whether he knows if I am 
 married or single." 
 
 " Oh ! indeed !" said Mrs. Walter, with a slight 
 toss of the head, " it is very well for him to make 
 believe he don't care to know, but depend upon it 
 he knew all about us long before he sent for you, 
 and I dare say was quite aware of Lucy's absence 
 before he ventured to do so, thinking how likely 
 the neighbourhood would be to gossip. Did he 
 inquire when Lucy would return ?" 
 
 "My dear, I told you before that he never 
 named either you or Lucy. We talked of books, 
 and books only."" 
 
 " An interesting subject, truly !" said Mrs. 
 Walter, indignantly. " A set of old dusty lumber ! 
 no o'entleman would ever devote his whole time to 
 such useless trash I"' 
 
 Mrs. Walter could gain no more explicit infor- 
 mation in answer to her many questions, and she 
 ended by protesting that she should consider it a 
 sad waste of time for her husband ever to set his
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 133 
 
 foot in Pliilse House again, and that, for her part, 
 she had not the slightest wish to see so stupid, and 
 evidently illbrcd a person as Mr. Colville. As 
 each time she expressed this sentiment to Walter, 
 he told her that he saw no reason to fear she 
 should ever be put to the test, she had nothing to 
 do but loudly to re-echo her assertion, whilst de- 
 vising every scheme in her power to bring about a 
 meeting. 
 
 In answer to a question from my sister Martha, 
 at this crisis, I answered that Walter Crofton was 
 not at present aware of any religious infidelity on 
 Mr. Coiville's part.
 
 J 34 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Many months have rolled away. Hulse House is 
 again a silent mystery. Mrs. Walter had won- 
 dered and wondered, till even her wonderino; 
 ceased, there was so little food on which to keep 
 her curiosity alive. These months had rolled on 
 quickly or slowly, as different minds had viewed 
 them ; to the young they were large vast periods 
 of a life that looked to them interminable in the 
 far-off future of new interests, which were then 
 springing up so thickly around them that thc}^ 
 believed they would continue to do so for ever. 
 To the old — ah ! how short and unexcitins: these 
 months appeared, as they noiselessly rushed by 
 with ever-increasing velocity, leaving less and 
 less of a future of hope or of novelty to look to 
 in this world, but to many, let me add, even 
 more of peace and happiness and rational enjoy- 
 ment.
 
 nULSE HOUSE. 135 
 
 Now I am old, I can hardly understand the 
 intensity of interest of which youth is capable as 
 to passing events, and yet I would not have their 
 eagerness or their enthusiasm lessened. It is all 
 in its place, and there would be a kind of moral 
 morass into which everything would sink if it 
 were not so. I am settled down into the vale of 
 years, but I delight to know that there are young 
 spirits gaining freshness and vigour from the 
 exhilarating air on the mountain tops. 
 
 I think Lucy Crofton had a good many of these 
 pleasant breezes fanning her cheeks during the 
 last few months, and some sterner gales between 
 times to brace up her powers for the conflict of 
 life. As to Hulse House, its owner seemed sink- 
 ing deeper and deeper into that morass of hopeless- 
 ness of which I have spoken — there was youth, 
 indeed, but no youthful enthusiasm. 
 
 In one of my usual summer exploring expedi- 
 tions, I went to look at Hillesden, the family seat 
 of the Spencers. There is a remarkably hand- 
 some avenue, reaching nearly to the house. I 
 liked riding slowly along it, knowing that the 
 high spirited^ Agnes Spencer, about whom I was 
 becoming greatly interested, had often galloped 
 along it on her pony as a child, full of glee and 
 enjoyment, and before I saw it, I knew that my
 
 136 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 dear little Lucy Crofton had walked under those 
 fine arching elms, the flickering light and shade 
 from their waving branches had played upon 
 her pretty face, and those old stately trees had 
 heard the sweet tones of her voice, as she and 
 Agnes paced up and down with plenty of light 
 and shade falling on them both morally and 
 physically. 
 
 Lucy and Edward Crofton had each of them 
 visited Hillesden, but I have not been able to get 
 any particulars of this period of their history, and 
 1 shall perhaps surprise the reader as much as I 
 myself was surprised when, after some difficulty, I 
 puzzled out the fact that Edward Crofton was so 
 much attracted by Miss Spencer that he at length 
 ventured to express his admiration to her. Xo 
 one will suppose that such a man would act pre- 
 sumptuously, and I cannot clearly discover the 
 reasons why he gave utterance to a love which he, 
 in his peculiarly humble, modest nature, scarcely 
 dreamt would be returned. All I know is that 
 the avowal did not lessen Miss Spencer's respect 
 for his character, or weaken her love for his sister. 
 
 She had, in truth, singularly app];eciated him, 
 and but for a strong pre-engagement of her aft'ec- 
 tions, there was little doubt he would not have 
 spoken in vain.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 137 
 
 Lucy was the only confidante, but after the 
 first agitated avowal, which circumstances rather 
 drew from him, the subject was entirely dropped 
 between Edward and herself. 
 
 " Ah, Lucy !" Agnes said one day to her, after 
 a long reverie consequent on a letter Lucy had 
 just received from her brother. " Ah ! Lucy !" 
 but for that terrible past how happy we all three 
 might have been I" 
 
 Lucy dared not utter what was almost at her 
 heart to say — "And is there still no hope !" for 
 she saw that any allusion to the possibility of her 
 forming a new attachment was the cause of great 
 and very painful agitation to Agnes. 
 
 I stopped reading at this juncture. 
 
 "It is a pity she could not love him !" said my 
 sister Jane, quietly, "he was such a good man, 
 and so clever too ! But marriages are made in 
 Heaven, they say, and no doubt there is some 
 sood wife in store for him !" 
 
 " Jane !" said my sister Martha, reproachfully, 
 with a side glance at me, which it was supposed I 
 did not see. 
 
 The reader will scarcely need to be told that I 
 am an old bachelor ; but in spite of the implied 
 wound to my feelings, I resumed my reading with
 
 138 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 unruffled comj^osure^ though my sister Jane fid- 
 getted and got red, and blew her nose several 
 times in an agitated manner as I proceeded. 
 
 Edward Crofton was not the sort of person who 
 would speak of his feelings, or give way to a 
 morbid indulgence of useless sorrow ; and I could 
 learn nothing about him for a long interval, but 
 that after awhile he wrote cheerful business-like 
 political letters to the parsonage. He was evi- 
 dently determined to make the hard, stirring 
 interests of life obliterate the short, sweet, yet 
 troubled recollections that cluno- round Dio^bv 
 Manor and Hillesden ; but some of us may guess 
 that there were hours when these memories would 
 pertinaceously intrude into the deepest study, and 
 that even Edward Crofton, wdth his strong, calm 
 nature, seemed to himself weak as a child, when 
 any accidental circumstance brought to his mind 
 the thought of Agnes Spencer, and of that first 
 delightful dawn of the tender, unselfish affec- 
 tion, which, perhaps, few men can feel but once 
 in their lives.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 139 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 The law of chance Is one of the strange enigmas 
 which my sisters, Martha and Jane, obstinately 
 refuse to believe. If it is chance they say it is 
 not a law. I state, as a fact, one of those curious 
 chances that elderly females love to look on as 
 miracles. 
 
 Late in the summer, Lucy Crofton went to 
 pay a long-deferred visit to Mr. and Mrs. Wilton, 
 who had been friends of her father's, at their 
 beautiful place at Fernmere, upon one of our 
 English Lakes. Mr. Berkeley and his brother 
 George rented a small fishing and shooting- 
 cottage close to the Wiltons; and this year 
 George Berkely chanced to visit it without his 
 brother, and when Lucy arrived at Fernmere the 
 first person she heard spoken of was George 
 Berkeley. With what a pretty flush of pleased
 
 140 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 surprise this name was listened to by her, I will 
 not tell — nor hov/ the summer days flew by at 
 that beautiful Fernmere — amongst the cheerful, 
 hajDpy family party of the Wiltons, with George 
 Berkeley as their constant guest. 
 
 It is more than a year since I first spoke of 
 Lucy Crofton as she sat watching the red and 
 yellow tulips, lighted up by the sunshine, from 
 tlie bay-window of the Parsonage, and now the 
 sun shines brightly on a gorgeous group of 
 crimson, and purple, and amber-coloured dahlias, 
 in tlie garden of Fernmere, and it then falls with 
 a softer light through the open window on 
 Lucy's face as she looks up with half-breath- 
 less pleased attention to Mrs. Henry Wilton 
 and George Berkeley, who are talking together. 
 George Berkeley has been speaking on subjects of 
 deep interest, and Lucy begins to feel that he has 
 a way of expressing himself, and a tone of thought 
 that are, to her fancy, more perfect than that of 
 any other human being. And yet ! little, happy, 
 self-deceiving Lucy, she does not dream of love ! 
 she thinks that that solemn, serious incident in 
 her life is still far oiF! No fond aunt, no older 
 sister, no gossiping maid has talked to her about 
 it, and it is still to her a sacred tiling, a subject 
 on which she believes that none would speak
 
 nULSE HOUSE. • 141 
 
 lightly but the frivolous or unrefined, the coarse 
 or vuli»;ar. 
 
 But this pretty and perilous era in her girlhood 
 is opening on her ; and now that she is happy in its 
 first untroubled approaches, I will return to that 
 gloomy gray house which she left behind her, 
 looking as melancholy as ever. This last year 
 that has been to Lucy Crofton one of pleasant 
 variety and new interests, has dragged on in 
 weary length to the prisoner at Hulse House. 
 Neither Walter Crofton nor even Lucy herself 
 could half imagine the utter dreariness of Arthur 
 Colville's mind, during the intervals of Walter's 
 visits. How often had that high park wall seen 
 the solitary rider on the one dull, shadowy side, 
 and the busy, cheerful, useful numbers on the 
 gay, sunny side as those months wore away ! 
 
 Mr. Colville had not dared to send for Walter 
 Crofton again, after two or three visits had 
 passed, for he was afraid of becoming too much 
 used to companionship. He was not pleased to 
 find that his mind was insufficient to itself, and 
 his very cheerfulness in Walter's society vexed 
 him. It was but cheerfulness for the moment, 
 and it somehow lowered the grandeur of his 
 sorrow in his own eyes, and he therefore let 
 himself sink again into his habitual, morose, 
 bitter misanthropy.
 
 142 • HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 However, after some months, his longing to see 
 Walter returned in such force that he penned 
 another note, asking him to come and resume 
 their literary pursuits. He paced up and down 
 the broad terraced gravel-walk before the windows, 
 as the servant rode off with the note, and he 
 smiled faintly as the thought of Walter Crofton's 
 visit gave him some object to look to in the 
 coming day. 
 
 " Your brother has at last seen Mr. Colville 
 again," Mrs. Walter wrote to Lucy at Fernmere; 
 " and he came home in good spirits from the 
 interview ; but for my part I can see no good in 
 his passing half the morning cramming his brain 
 with a parcel of old-fashioned notions, just for the 
 sake of proving that nobody knows anything. If 
 Walter gets these ideas put into his head we shall 
 have him refusing to preach soon, unless he can 
 prove that two and three make four; and what- 
 ever he may say, I will never believe that Mr. 
 Colville is a gentleman, till he invites us all to 
 dinner to meet a pleasant party of his country 
 neighbours."
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 143 
 
 CHAPTEE XYI. 
 
 As I said before, this story is not to be a jour- 
 nal of Lucy Crofton's and Agnes Spencer's lives. 
 I merely note down the events that are of impor- 
 tance to either of them. 
 
 A year has passed since I last spoke of Lucy 
 Crofton. She is again on a visit to the Wiltons 
 at Fernmere. The day is a calm August day. 
 The lake sleeps placidly, and the little boat is 
 prepared for an expedition to the other side ; and 
 on the other side there are to be nu.mberless 
 pleasures — sketching, and reading, and climbing 
 mountains. The day is perfect, and so is Lucy, 
 in her simple country dress ; and George Berkeley 
 helps her into the boat, and Mr. and Mrs. Wilton, 
 and their daughter-in-law, and their young cousin, 
 and their grandchildren, make up the party. 
 
 "Only a month, only a month left!" sighed 
 forth little Charlie Wilton. "But perhaps we
 
 144 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 shall all stay longer ! perhaps, Miss Lucy, you 
 will ! mamma and everybody will be so glad !" 
 
 ''Only a month left I" was echoed in Lucy's 
 heart. But she said aloud, " Xo, no ! Charlie ; 
 I have been here too long already !" 
 
 George Berkeley looked at her. Surely her 
 voice was sad ! Yes, it was sad ! Lucy knew 
 now that, she loved George Berkeley, and she 
 believed that her love was imreturned. Her 
 womanly dignity made her shrink with distress 
 from this conviction, and every effort must be 
 made to conceal her secret. She thought, with 
 sensitive annoyance, that Mr. Berkeley had noticed 
 those few words, she had so weakly uttered, but 
 she determined that he should not discern any 
 more sadness, and whilst he walked a little way 
 apart with the pale Clara Wilton, the young 
 cousin of the Wiltons, no one seemed more happy 
 than Lucy, as she was surrounded by the merry 
 group of children. But when the children ran off 
 on a message to their mamma, she seated herself 
 on some rocks on the mountain side that she might 
 look at the scene beneath which was beautiful. Her 
 eye rested on it in pleased admiration, till it turned 
 to another object. Xot far off stood George 
 Berkeley, whilst Clara Wilton rested on the grass. 
 She looked very calm, and statue-like, and lovely.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 145 
 
 and George Berkeley watched her, and helped 
 her to rise, as she languidly got up, and he was 
 speaking to her — Lucy hardly knew how — ten- 
 derly, or how was it ? She could not tell, but 
 her eyes were moist with tears. Clara Wilton 
 was an orphan like herself. She was grave, and 
 sad, and quiet, but strangely reserved. Lucy 
 liked her, but she could not fathom her reserve ; 
 but there was one person who seemed to have done 
 so — and that was George Berkeley ! Lucy had 
 seen it now for many days. Last year, when she 
 was with the Wiltons, Mr. Berkeley was there 
 alsQ, but Clara Wilton was away. It had been 
 different then; yes, very different! Lucy sighed. 
 She saw clearly now why that difference made 
 her unhappy. Yes, it was a death-blow to her 
 happiness, but she must not show that it was ; 
 least of all must George Berkeley see it, and so 
 her laugh was again heard, as the children rejoined 
 her. And when the lengthening shadows told 
 them that this day of pleasure was ended, and 
 they stepped once more into the boat that was 
 to take them back to the other side the lake, 
 none seemed gayer than Lucy ; and the children 
 said, 
 
 " Oh, grandpapa ! do let us have another merry 
 day across the lake, with dear Miss Crofton!" 
 
 VOL I. H
 
 146 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 and Lucy almost shuddered, as she sat in the 
 boat in the calm evening time, at the thought 
 of such another merry day ! How could she 
 bear it ? 
 
 The next morning, she had escaped from all 
 the party, and was wandering alone through the 
 wood that edged the lake, and George Berkeley 
 and Clara Wilton were in her thoughts. Soon 
 they were not in her thoughts alone — she heard 
 their voices, she saw them in a distant bend of 
 the road. She returned to the house. Must she 
 indeed stay here this long, long month ? Can she 
 not possibly persuade her sister, or Walter, to 
 order her home before the allotted two months' 
 visit to the Wiltons is over ? or must she stay to 
 watch, day by day, the growth of George Berke- 
 ley's love, and wait to hear the announcement, 
 and to join in the congratulations ? 
 
 "You have tired yourself," said grandmamma 
 Wilton, who was matter-of-fact ; " go and lie 
 down my dear, and rest till we call for you." 
 
 Lucy obeyed. She was very weary, and she 
 owned it. 
 
 The days wore on, Lucy scarcely knew how. 
 Constantly before her was the consciousness of a 
 secret understanding between ]Mr. Berkeley and 
 Clara Wilton. What did it matter to Lucy that
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 147 
 
 he often devoted himself more than ever to her ; 
 that he often tried to remind her of words and 
 events during that last happy year at Fernmere ; 
 that he often asked her to sino^ again the sono^s 
 he had first heard at Digby Manor ? What was 
 it when there was the secret glance, the half- 
 whispered word, to that calm, passionless Clara 
 Wilton, bringing up the faint blush on her pale 
 statue-like face ? No, no ! Lucy felt she must 
 go home, and forget him ; and she even counted 
 the days and the hours, till she should be released 
 from the constant pain of seeing him and Miss 
 Wilton together. 
 
 But this pain was unexpectedly shortened. 
 Clara Wilton was summoned away a week before 
 Lucy was to return home. 
 
 h2
 
 148 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Before I say any more of Lucy Crofton, and 
 observe how she bears this new trouble in her 
 life, I must change the scene. 
 
 A lady, apparently a foreigner, is travelling 
 with her maid, to visit some of the beautiful 
 scenery in the north of England. The day was 
 drawing to a close when the carriage reached the 
 lodge gates of Cleveland. The lady eagerly 
 looked out of the window, and called to the driver, 
 in broken English, to stop, as the carriage was 
 wheeling past the lodge. The driver pulled up 
 his horses. 
 
 *•' Madame la Comtesse wished to see the 
 grounds," the maid said, in English, to the driver. 
 " She would walk from thence whilst the carriage 
 waited outside the lodge gates." 
 
 " Depechez 'cous,^' exclaimed the lady, in an im- 
 patient tone, as the driver came to open the 
 carriao^e door.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 149 
 
 " My lady bids you be quick," said the maid ; 
 but before the steps were half down, her mistress 
 had sprung out. 
 
 The lady's companion slowly followed, whilst 
 Madame la Comtesse, half ran forward in her 
 eagerness to look at the place, of whose beauty 
 she had heard a flaming account at the neighbour- 
 ing town. 
 
 When a little way out of sight of the lodge, 
 she at times slackened her pace, or even stood 
 quite still, then again started on, as if impatient 
 to reach some desired point of view, and, at last, 
 on gaining a little knoll under a tree, she threw 
 herself on the grass, and the tears trickled fast 
 through the slender fingers which were pressed 
 over her eyes. Then she again eagerly raised 
 her head, looked around her as if to make herself 
 thoroughly acquainted with the scene, and again 
 started up and proceeded on her way, till she came 
 in sight of the house. She then walked leisurely 
 on till her maid joined her. They reached the front 
 door, and rang the bell. The lady started vio- 
 lently as the door was opened, but she soon re- 
 gained the well-bred, rather patronizing manner 
 of society, which seemed natural to her. 
 
 The housekeeper was called, and they proceeded 
 to see the house. The Comtesse talked incessantly
 
 150 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 as she walked through the rooms, and if the house- 
 keeper, perplexed by her foreign idiom, lost her 
 meaning, the lady applied to her companion to 
 explain. She turned away with indifference from 
 what were called the state rooms — probably feel- 
 ing their inferiority to the palaces of nobles on 
 the continent — but she seemed to delight to linger 
 in those which the housekeeper told her had been 
 in daily use. 
 
 In one of these there was an admirable portrait. 
 The housekeeper had just followed the Comtesse 
 into the room, as her eye first caught sight of this 
 picture, when suddenly she heard her exclaim, in 
 a tone of deep emotion, as she started back and 
 clasped her hands before her eyes, 
 
 " Oh ! my God ! it is himself I" 
 
 The housekeeper stared at her, and the Com- 
 tesse at length observing her look of surprise, 
 with a return of her lively French manner, 
 said, 
 
 " This picture remind me of one old friend I do 
 often think upon. Perhaps it may be your noble 
 milord's charmant son ?" 
 
 "It is my master himself!" said the house- 
 keeper, with much important pride. 
 
 " Ah ! quil est beau ! How noble ! I must 
 sit and look one leetle more. Pardonne ! You,
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 151 
 
 Sophie, go on, whilst I rest here," and so saying, 
 she seated herself opposite the picture, whilst the 
 others went on to the next room, her companion 
 explaining to the housekeeper that her lady loved 
 pictures very much, and possessed some fine ones 
 of her own. 
 
 There sat the Comtesse mean time, her eyes 
 riveted on this beautiful work of art. But, no ! it 
 was not its artistic merits which engaged her at- 
 tention. 
 
 "'Tishe! 'tis himself!" she exclaimed again; 
 " oh ! why, why did I come ? Oh ! how can I 
 bear it I how can I bear it ?" 
 
 She bent down and covered her face; then 
 ascain raised her head and o-azed with looks of 
 unspeakable tenderness on the image before her, 
 as if she were striving to imagine life and feeling 
 in the lifeless, soulless portrait. The sound of 
 voices roused her. She hastily wiped her eyes ; 
 and when Sophie returned with the housekeeper, 
 she was ready to exclaim, with French liveliness, 
 " how charmant ! How sad that she must tear 
 herself away ! But, ou est-il ? — where is he, this 
 aimahle jeune hommeV asked she, pointing to the 
 picture, but not looking at it. 
 
 The housekeeper answered that her master was
 
 152 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 abroad. The lady turned with a quick and scru- 
 tinizing look towards her. 
 
 " Abroad I" she exclaimed. " Are you sure?" 
 
 " Indeed, my lady, it is surprising, and I am 
 not astonished your ladyship should exclaim at it, 
 with such a place as this as his home ; but he has 
 left us for some years." 
 
 The lady's astonishment had vanished, it seemed, 
 for she said nothing for a few minutes, but when 
 again walking by the side of their guide she 
 resumed her lively, eager questioning, and seemed 
 to amuse herself in probing the housekeeper's 
 evident attachment and admiration for her master, 
 whilst the housekeeper seemed half pleased and 
 half suspicious at her inquisitiveness. 
 
 "J. present, Sophie, we must go," said she at 
 length to her companion. 
 
 She then thanked the housekeeper with great 
 civility for her attention, dro^^ped a handsome 
 present into her hand, and left the house. Xot a 
 word did she utter to the attendant, Sophie. 
 They reached the carriage — they got in — the 
 lady threw herself back — still without uttering a 
 word. Sophie gave the direction to the driver, to 
 proceed to the neighbouring town, where they 
 were to pass the night, and the carriage whirled 
 quickly away.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 153 
 
 I have related this little incident because we 
 shall see this lady again, and she is intimately 
 connected with the events of ray story. I must 
 now go back to Fernmere. 
 
 h5
 
 154 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII, 
 
 The last day of Miss Wilton's stay was come. 
 Lucy did not wish to see the parting ; having 
 said good-bye herself, she strolled out into the 
 rocky pleasure-ground, with a book in her hand, 
 that she might sit out and read, and as she read, 
 forget the parting that would soon be taking place. 
 
 She had seated herself on a grassy knoll, sur- 
 rounded by jutting rocks, fancifully shaped thorns, 
 mountain ash, and clumps of heather, where she 
 could see the calm, clear lake beneath her — 
 that lake on which she and the children had so 
 often rowed about with Mr. Berkeley in the past 
 year — where this year there had been days of 
 strange, startling pleasure, even when Clara 
 Wilton was present. 
 
 It would have been better for Lucy not to 
 watch those little gliding boats, if she wished to 
 forget, and she had just taken up her book and
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 155 
 
 began to read, when she heard voices from the 
 path below. It was one way, but a circuitous 
 one to the carriage road, which led away from 
 Fernmere Hall. Sh6 was out of sight, but she 
 knew that the path came close beneath where she 
 was sitting, and before she had time to stir, the 
 speakers were directly underneath. She was 
 paralysed by the confirmation of her heart-sicken- 
 ing fancy before she left the house — that George 
 Berkeley had intended to take this last walk with 
 Miss Wilton, and the first distinct words that 
 reached her ears were those from George Berkeley, 
 which confirmed every fear. 
 
 "My mother is very aiFectionate. She loves 
 her sons. She will not refuse her consent when 
 she knows you better." 
 
 Lucy had heard enough; but she dared not 
 move, and the speakers were standing still. No 
 wonder that Clara Wilton was obliged to pause 
 before she could reply to words spoken with such 
 deep earnestness. Had Lucy not been a very 
 unwilling eavesdropper the proverb concerning 
 them would have been falsified in her case, as the 
 next words in Clara Wilton's clear voice fell on 
 her ear. 
 
 " And, though my heart might break, I never 
 would marry Frederic without her consent !" was 
 said distinctly and firmly.
 
 156 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 " I honour you !" was the quick, enthusiastic 
 reply from George Berkeley, and there was 
 silence for a few minutes, as the speakers passed 
 on, leaving their secret in Lucy's power. When 
 they were gone quite away, Lucy flew, rather 
 than ran to the house. She gained her own 
 room, and locked the door, that she might hide 
 herself even almost from herself, in the exuberance 
 of her joy. I need not try to describe it. Any 
 one who has loved — wdio has watched as she 
 believed the growth of an attachment to another 
 — and then has suddenly discovered this other 
 to be a friend, instead of a rival, can understand 
 Lucy Crofton's feelings at that moment. She had 
 been struggling bravely against her love, and we 
 may reverence the intensity of her joy, even 
 though she shows the usual w^omanly sign of it, 
 by bursting into a flood of tears. 
 
 But when the first ectasy of this self-indulgence 
 was past, Lucy came to the perplexing question 
 what to do with her secret. She could not un- 
 know it if she wished, and to wish it unknown — 
 that was impossible ! There never was a secret 
 that brought such a w^arm glow of comfort to her 
 heart! Still there it was — an awkward, dishon- 
 ourable secret, possessed, as it w^as, without the 
 rightful owners' knowledge ; and how could Lucy
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 157 
 
 give it back to them ? Clara Wilton was gone, 
 there was but Mr. Berkeley left. 
 
 Lucy looked very sedate, as she sat in the 
 drawing-room next morning, with only Mr. 
 Berkeley in the room, and she raised her head 
 with a determined air, and placed her hands firmly 
 one over the other, as she began to say, "Mr. 
 Berkeley." 
 
 George Berkeley slightly started, for somehow 
 it had of late been very unusual for Lucy to 
 address him. 
 
 "Mr. Berkeley," Lucy began, and she spoke 
 with great precision, as if determined that he 
 should attend, " I happened yesterday to be in 
 the rock walk when you and Miss Wilton passed 
 by, and I unfortunately overheard a part of your 
 conversation relating to your brother and Miss Wil- 
 ton. I may be foolish in telling you this, but there 
 seems to me something treacherous in concealing 
 it. If my honesty gives you needless annoyance 
 I hope you will forgive me ; but you will, I trust, 
 think of me as if I had not so unluckily been 
 forced into your confidence f ' and she got up and 
 was leaving the room, in a quiet, self-possessed 
 way, resolved that Mr. Berkeley should not have 
 the slightest ground for supposing that she sought 
 for farther confidence, or wished to create an 
 interest in him by her confession.
 
 158 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 She did not see the expression of admiration 
 that beamed forth on his face as she finished 
 speaking. And yet he did not know half the 
 cause there was for admiration. He did not know 
 — how should he ? — what an effect those words had 
 had on Lucy ! He did not know the extreme diffi- 
 culty to her of telling calmly that which had stirred 
 her whole soul to hear ! Telling it to him too, for 
 whose sake it had so much affected her ! But he saw 
 enough to raise his wondering approval ! What a 
 nice sense of honour; what a modest, firm pro- 
 priety of demeanour were blended with Lucy's 
 peculiar charm of feminine softness ! He would 
 not wound her delicacy by word or look that could 
 seem to take advantage of the av/kwardness of the 
 disclosure she had had to make. He said, in a man- 
 ner as quiet and unloverlike as he could assume — 
 
 "I have to thank you for acting towards us 
 with your usual delicacy and kindness. I know 
 that my brother's secret is as safe with you as 
 with ourselves, and my only regret is that this 
 accident should have given you a moment's un- 
 easiness," and, as he opened the door for her, he 
 did not try to detain her, and Lucy left the room 
 with his quiet, respectful thanks sounding in her 
 ears. 
 
 She had seldom felt more happy. She had got
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 159 
 
 through a very awkward confession ; she was just 
 relieved from an uncomfortable sensation of jea- 
 lousy, and, to crown all, she had a week longer to 
 stay at Fernmere. 
 
 When the children ran to her door, entreating 
 her to come and help them in some of their games 
 of play, she was only too glad to join them, and to 
 have any outlet for her gaiety of heart ; and, as 
 she played at battledore and shuttlecock with 
 little Mary Wilton on the lawn, there was a good 
 deal of the joyousness of childhood about her, 
 added to that soft, dignified grace which never for 
 a moment forsook her, let her be as playful and 
 merry as she might. 
 
 And George Berkeley, too, was not an unpleas- 
 ing sight, as he stood there for an instant with his 
 arms folded, his waving hair slightly blown from 
 his forehead, and his eyes fixed on Lucy. Little 
 Annie Wilton, who was just three years old, was 
 much of this opinion, for the moment she saw 
 him, she began to toddle up to him as fast as she 
 could. 
 
 " Annie tired," she said ; " Annie so tired ! O 
 carry Annie, dear Mr. Geordy!" and with both 
 her little fat arms she tried to pull him down, till 
 the easier process was effected of lifting her up ; 
 and she was soon nestled cosily against his head.
 
 16^ HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 as she sat in the place of honour upon his shoulder, 
 with a contented proud smile dimpling up her 
 mouth, as her eyes looked consequentially down 
 on the pigmies below.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 1 61 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 An odd chance was again at work, when that 
 evening Mrs. Henry Wilton said to George 
 Berkeley, "You know Lord Englefield, I think." 
 
 Lucy was sitting almost opposite, at the table 
 round which the party usually congregated in the 
 evening. She saw" his quick glance at her, and 
 in her anxiety to appear indifferent, of course she 
 blushed. 
 
 " I don't know Lord Englefield very well, but 
 I have a kind of interest about him," he said. 
 
 Mrs. Wilton went on, " Some friends of ours 
 are staying with him in the country, and they are 
 full of the charms of his place, and of himself, but 
 they are sadly vexed he does not marry. It would 
 be so desirable for a young man in his position to 
 settle early in life, and he seems not to have the 
 slightest inclination that way." 
 
 " Ah !" said Mr. Berkeley, rather bitterly ; " it
 
 ] 62 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 is but one case out of a hundred. If a young 
 man has every inducement open to him to marry, 
 nothing will persuade him to do so. In spite of 
 the earnest wishes of his friends, he dawdles on, 
 living a selfish, unloving life.'' 
 
 " You speak bitterly," said Mrs. Henry Wilton. 
 
 "Yes, I know I do !" was the answer, "for I 
 feel bitterly. If, like me, you were a poor younger 
 son, and those words, *too poor to marry,' had 
 been dinned into your ears as they have into 
 mine, you would understand a little of my indig- 
 nation, when I see a person despising the blessing 
 that I know too well how to value." 
 
 George Berkeley was silent. Lucy's heart 
 beat fast — she could not look up — she was dili- 
 gently shading a bit of background in her draw- 
 ing. 
 
 Mr. Wilton spoke next: "I agree with you, 
 Berkeley," he said. " I am not a violent radical, 
 but I should like to invent a law for equality 
 of means amongst the young men of society who 
 won't and who can't marry. Lord Englefield 
 should be made to pay a handsome per centage to 
 those who amiably desire to settle down and give 
 up the best London dinners for moderate ones at 
 home. Some skiU would be required to adjust 
 the law."
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 163 
 
 "My dear," said Mrs. Wilton grandmamma, 
 " how can you wish to encourage imprudent mar- 
 riages. I think it much better for young people 
 to wait some years." 
 
 " Yes, my dear I" said Mr. Wilton ; " but the 
 question is, how many years ?" 
 
 " Yes!" said George Berkeley, gravely; "how 
 many ? How many of the best years of a man's 
 life are to be spent in waiting ? that is, in gaining 
 selfish habits and modes of thought, that unfit 
 him at length for the duties as well as for the 
 happiness of married life ! How seldom can he 
 resist the insiduous influence of the enervating, 
 debasing life of self-indulgence and easily attained 
 luxury, free from home ties and home responsi- 
 bilities, which is led by him, in common with 
 most young men in the higher classes in society — 
 and it is of them I am now speaking. The wo- 
 man he loved in his youth sees him becoming day 
 by day less worthy of her love, and less able to 
 contend with the sacrifices a home of poverty 
 must entail upon him. She waits for him — she 
 would sacrifice every luxury for him — but he has 
 learnt to think cautiously ; the maxims so sedu- 
 lously taught him in his frank, joyous youth, are 
 learnt too well, and he ceases even to wish to give 
 up his habitual luxuries for the sake of affection 
 which he has outlived."
 
 164 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 George Berkeley paused. 
 
 Mr. Wilton spoke. " This is indeed a sadly 
 true view of the case," he said. " I could name 
 several instances that fully justify what you have 
 said." 
 
 "Yes, and so could I !" said George Berkeley ; 
 " several who, I feel, might have been saved by 
 early marriage from being what they now are — 
 the mere butterflies of society." And then he 
 added, and from the sound of his voice Lucy 
 almost fancied that he was turning more expressly 
 to her, and that for moments his eyes must have 
 been upon her, " And this," he said, " is only one 
 view of the case; there is another, though less 
 prejudicial perhaps to the character, more trying 
 to the feelings. Let him love with all the devo- 
 tion and unselfishness of which a man's nature is 
 capable — let him dare to hope that the woman 
 whom he loves might perhaps be won to care for 
 him" — there Avas a slight hesitation, Lucy thought, 
 in his voice, as he said this — " might perhaps be 
 won, if he had liberty to urge his suit ; still he is 
 doomed to silence, he is bound in honour not to 
 tie her down to any engagement, not to wound 
 her delicacy by asking for an avowal of her love 
 whilst he is unable to ask her to be his wife, 
 whilst he is — just what I am, too poor to marry !" 
 
 George Berkeley stopped.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. ] 65 
 
 ^Irs. Henry Wilton said, *'' I wish Lord Engle- 
 field could have heard you ! I agree so heartily 
 with you, that I must own I have often longed to 
 preach to papas and mammas. Not you, dear 
 granny, " she said, laying her hand aftectionately 
 OH old Mrs. AYilton's arm, " but to worldly papas 
 and mammas, who have held forth to their sons, 
 in my hearing, on the prudence of delay, and the 
 merit of heiress hunting. And, on the other 
 side," she added, laughing, "I should like to 
 preach to such men as Lord Englefield or Lord 
 Crawford, who will not marry." 
 
 " Perhaps they may have been unlucky in their 
 attachments, though, my dear," said old Mrs. 
 Wilton. " What do you hear of this, Mr. Berke- 
 ley?" she said, looking up at him from her spec- 
 tacles. " You live in London society, so you 
 know more about these things." 
 
 Mr. Berkeley coloured a little, then smiled 
 rather sarcastically, and said, " I think Lord 
 Eno^lefield has better taste than Lord Crawford, 
 but I cannot determine whether he is most to be 
 pitied or despised ;" and a glance at Lucy, as he 
 said this very pointedly, brought such painful 
 blushes on her cheeks, and made her work away 
 so diligently at the shadows in her drawing, that 
 they became quite black.
 
 ] 66 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Crofton ! pray don't touch that any 
 more !" said Mrs. Henry Wilton. " I have been 
 watching your pretty sketch, hoping I should get 
 it when it was done ; but you are shading too vio- 
 lently." 
 
 George Berkeley pushed his chair from the 
 table. "Are we to have no music, Mrs. Wilton?" 
 he said. 
 
 " Oh, dear yes ! do have some. I was just 
 wishing for it," said old Mrs. Wilton. 
 
 "Mary, my dear" — to Mrs. Henry — "will you 
 play to us ; and I hope we shall have some sing- 
 ing when Miss Crofton has finished her drawing." 
 
 George Berkeley looked quickly up at Lucy, 
 and as she raised her head to answer Mrs. Wilton, 
 she could not escape his eye. 
 
 " Can I help you to find your songs ?" he said ; 
 and he persisted in looking at her for an answer. 
 
 "Oh, thank you !" she said, hastily ; "they are 
 all on the piano-forte." 
 
 " Then you need not leave your drawing," he 
 said, " till Mrs. Henry Wilton has finished play- 
 ing;" and he drew a chair near to hers. He was 
 determined not to let her confusion subside. 
 
 "You did not enter into our discussion," he 
 said, still looking at her. " You thought, perhaps, 
 I spoke too warmly. And yet," he added, with
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 167 
 
 still more emphasis, ^' I did not speak half as 
 warmly as I felt. You are angry, perhaps," he 
 said; "angry that we poor younger sons should 
 dare to feeL" 
 
 Lucy looked up one instant, whilst her cheek 
 brightly flushed. "How^ can you be so unjust !" 
 was all she said. She was too much agitated to 
 say more. She moved her chair — she got up and 
 joined Mrs. Henry Wilton at the piano. George 
 Berkeley did not follow her. There was a hasty 
 little pencil sketch that she had scribbled in the 
 intervals of finishing the larger drawing ; it was 
 meant for one of the children, who had beersfed 
 her to draw the boat, and the lake, and the 
 mountain, and themselves. After the music was 
 over, Lucy returned to put by her portfolio. Mr. 
 Berkeley was again near her. 
 
 "You have made this little sketch of our boating 
 party," he said, taking up the drawing. " Though 
 I may not ask what others dare to do" — he hesi- 
 tated a minute — " what the wealthy may dare to 
 ask," was added in a lower voice, looking earnestly 
 at her — " you will not refuse me the possession of 
 this remembrance? I may be very long absent. 
 This little sketch will have a value for me — an 
 inestimable value ! Will you grant me this — as 
 yet — all that I dare ask?" and Lucy could give
 
 168 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 no answer but one short, quick look, at his plead- 
 ing face ; but she did not refuse the drawing. 
 
 Others came up. There was a general talk 
 about a delightful plan for the next day; and 
 after the usual " good-nights," Lucy escaped with 
 her happiness to her own room. And yet those 
 were sad words which were resting on her ears — 
 " absent" — " long absent" — "too poor to marry" — 
 but what were they if George Berkeley really 
 loved her ?
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 169 
 
 CHAPTEE XX. . 
 
 The next day was as beautiful as the children 
 could desire. The last day's party — the last day's 
 excursion across the lake took place. 
 
 "I shall sit by you — close up!" said little 
 Charlie Wilton, to Lucy. 
 
 "And I shall sit just close up on the other 
 side I" said Mary Wilton ; " and you will sing to 
 us — just once — that little, little song." 
 
 The day was very delightful, and Lucy was 
 happy ; but sometimes, perhaps, she would have 
 been content if the children had not clung quite 
 so constantly around her. Mr. Berkeley once or 
 twice drew near, and began to talk — just began 
 to speak gravely and sadly — and then the children 
 rushed up to bring a bunch of flowers, or to beg 
 her to come and look at the most darling Httle 
 stream, or to get Mr. Berkeley just to help them 
 to climb one very steep rock, where there was a 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 hole that must be the den of one of those dragons 
 he had told them about. And this Avas indeed 
 Lucy's last day at Fernmere — her last day in 
 George Berkeley's society for very long — how 
 long she dare not think ! 
 
 And the evening was coming on, and they must 
 all go home. The three children, and grandpapa, 
 and grandmamma, were already in the boat. 
 
 " What say you to walking home round the 
 lake ?" said George Berkeley. " It is a short cut 
 and a beautiful path," appealing to Mrs. Henry 
 Wilton and Lucy, who were still on shore. " You 
 know how soon you get to your own wood walk," 
 he said, addressing Mrs. Henry Wilton. 
 
 "Oh, let us walk !" she said, "if Miss Crofton 
 will not be tired," turning to Lucy. 
 
 Lucy scarcely dared to own how much she 
 preferred the walk with George Berkeley and 
 Mrs. Henry Wilton, in that calm evening, to the 
 boat, with the children clustering round her. But 
 she only said quietly that she should like it. 
 
 " Let us set off, then," said Mrs. Henry Wilton, 
 and she called to the party in the boat to say that 
 they w^ere going to walk home. 
 
 There was a shout of disapproval from the 
 children, and a call for "dear Miss Crofton!" 
 but Lucy was not obliged to attend to it, and
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 171 
 
 George Berkeley would not listen, and they 
 set off. ^ 
 
 The conversation was chiefly between Mrs. 
 Henry Wilton and him, and yet, though they 
 talked together, Lucy felt that all Mr. Berkeley 
 said was chiefly for her. Lord Englefield was 
 again brought on the tapis. 
 
 " He is a man I cannot fancy in love," said 
 Mrs. Henry Wilton, laughing. " I never saw 
 him the least approaching that way, but I think 
 he need not fear a repulse if he tried his chance." 
 
 " I have seen him in love," said George Berkeley, 
 " and I have seen him repulsed ;" and Lucy knew 
 that he was looking at her. 
 
 "Indeed !" said Mrs. Wilton. " I honour the 
 young lady who repulsed him !" 
 
 " So do I," was George Berkely's short, pointed 
 reply. 
 
 '^ But will he persevere, or did the young \\x-\y 
 give him a decided rejection ?" said Mrs. Wilton. 
 
 George Berkeley hesitated a moment, then 
 said, " This remains to be proved. I have told 
 you all I know." 
 
 " Look at that streak of light !" said Mrs. Wil- 
 ton. " How beautiful it is ! I love this point of 
 view, and I am so glad you made us walk." 
 
 I 2
 
 1 72 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Lucy could have said, " So am II" but she 
 prudently kept the words to herself. 
 
 They soon came to the entrance of the grounds, 
 nearly a mile from the house. Whether out of 
 good-nature, or out of unconsciousness, I cannot 
 tell, but Mrs. Henry Wilton said to Lucy — 
 
 " Perhaps you will not mind going on without 
 me, for there is a poor woman in this cottage I am 
 anxious to visit, and I shall just have time to see 
 her, as no one will be in a hurry to go in on this 
 lovely evening. .You can walk gently, and Mr. 
 Berkeley, I know, can show you the way." 
 
 Lucy could not object, and she and George 
 Berkeley proceeded alone. They talked for a 
 time very quietly and rationally, on the enjoyment 
 of scenery such as this, and on the effect on the 
 mind of living amongst it; but by degrees Mr. 
 Berkeley dropped the general tone — he spoke of 
 his own feelings, and of Lucy's. 
 
 "Let us stop here a moment," he said; "just 
 here, where we can see the lake, and the island, 
 and the boat. I want to get the scene by heart, 
 that I may have it constantly before me when I 
 am away. This scene — just as I see it now — ^just 
 as I have seen it often in this happy year and the 
 last ! when you were with me," w^as added in a 
 low voice. " Will you, too, remember it ? Will
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 173 
 
 you, too, think of it sometimes, when you are 
 away?" he asked. 
 
 Lucy did not, could not speak at first. " 1 
 shall be very sorry to leave Fernmere," was all 
 she could utter. 
 
 " You are sorry to leave then ? You feel some 
 regret ?" George Berkeley said, quickly ; and then 
 added, more quietly, " You have been happy 
 here, Miss Crofton," he said, " you like the people, 
 and the scenery, and the sort of gipsey life? — 
 Yes ; these are questions I may safely ask ! may 
 I not?" 
 
 Lucy was afraid of betraying too much of her 
 feelings — the feelings that were just then almost 
 overpowering her — so she answered rather coldly, 
 that she had been very happy at Fernmere. 
 
 George Berkeley looked hurt. " That is a 
 civil assent !" he said, drawing back a little. " You 
 would say equally that you had been very happy 
 at Digby Manor, or at Hillesden, or at home ! I 
 see exactly what you feel ! Whilst to me these 
 weeks at Fernmere have been different from any 
 other I ever spent in my life, they have been to 
 you a mere passing pleasure." 
 
 Lucy turned quickly towards him — "I shall 
 never forget Fernmere I" was said before she had 
 the power to stop herself.
 
 174 HULSE HOLkdE. 
 
 George Berkeley did not speak for a few 
 minutes ; then he said in a hurried, agitated man- 
 ner, " You. promise not to forget it ! You pro- 
 mise, then ?" and he looked eagerly at her. But 
 he drew back; his tone changed, as if with a 
 violent effort over himself, and he added, " I feel 
 sure that you would never forget your friends." 
 
 There was a silence. George Berkeley walked 
 quietly at her side, and when he began to speak 
 again it was in a grave, composed tone. It was 
 more like that of an affectionate friend, less like 
 that of a lover, and it lessened Lucy's happy, yet 
 half painful agitation. 
 
 " It is difficult," he said, " to speak or to think 
 without pain of a separation, after having passed 
 many happy weeks with those whom we value. 
 I may have to go abroad. I do not know when 
 we may meet again ! The Wiltons are very kind 
 friends ! It has been a very happy time here — 
 very happy !" he repeated. 
 
 Lucy was glad that her face could scarcely be 
 seen, in the growing twilight. She tried to speak 
 steadily, but her voice trembled a little as she 
 said, "I think no one could help being happy 
 with the Wiltons." 
 
 " Xo," George Berkeley said ; " but for the pain 
 of parting, this time would be stamped on my
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 1 75 
 
 mind as the brightest in my life; but to think 
 that this is our last evening together ! I shall 
 perhaps hear of you. You will sometimes be at 
 Digby Manor. I saw you first there; do you 
 remember ?" he asked. " I shall like to fancy 
 that I am not quite forgotten when you are sitting 
 again with Miss Spencer in that dear, comfortable 
 library. Next to Fernmere, that is the room I 
 now love best in the world ! Yesterday you let 
 me hear that German song again I first heard 
 there ! I have a peculiar love for that song- — a 
 selfish, jealous affection for it ! Would you make 
 a sacrifice for me, and humour my folly and pre- 
 sumption by giving me a promise never to sing it 
 to any one till we meet again ? Am I too pre- 
 sumptuous ?" he added, eagerly. 
 
 " Oh !" said Lucy, before she was aware what 
 she had uttered, " I could never bear to sing it 
 when you were away." 
 
 George Berkeley caught at the words. " Miss 
 Crofton !" he began, passionately, '* Miss Crofton ! 
 you would miss me, then? You would feel it?" 
 But he checked himself, and added, more quietly, 
 " This is very kind." And now they drew near 
 the house. " Oh ! not yet !" he exclaimed. " We 
 cannot go in yet ! Remember, Miss Crofton, it is 
 our last evening."
 
 176 HULSE HOU6E. 
 
 " I am afraid it is late," said Lucy. 
 
 " No, not at all," said George Berkeley, eagerly. 
 *^ It is a sin to go in yet ! You remember Mrs. 
 Henry Wilton said we need not hurry ! Indeed, 
 it is very early. I don't believe any of the party 
 are at home ; and I have never seen you alone all 
 day ! You will take my arm, will you not ?" 
 
 Lucy did not refuse, and they walked on, and 
 they talked again, more calmly. George Berkeley 
 spoke of his objects in life — of the hard head- 
 work he had constantly filling up his time — his 
 sense that this work was not the object in life, and 
 yetjthat it ought to be done diligently and zealously. 
 
 " But there is a higher work," he said, " that 
 you, and I, and ail of us have equally to perform ; 
 my fears are that this work should be forgotten in 
 the constant wear and tear of mind that business 
 such as mine involves. It is difficult sometimes 
 to look on to nobler and better aims, in the midst 
 of the fatigue and stretch of attention required 
 from us in our daily avocations. When we see 
 the grandest intellects of men brought to bear on 
 subjects of vital importance for good or for evil to 
 our own generation — if not to future ones — when 
 we are working under those whose decisions must 
 affect the whole progress of social hfe — it is diffi- 
 cult not to consider all these great and stirring
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 177 
 
 interests as of paramount importance — it is diffi- 
 cult to recollect at such times that life is given us 
 but as a trial scene, for work indeed, and for 
 using every talent to the utmost of our power, 
 but where the dull, ignorant, prosy old woman 
 may rank higher than the men of greatest intel- 
 lect and mental vigour. But," he added, "these 
 dangers are nothing new to me, and it has been 
 my habitual struggle, though often, alas ! a feeble 
 and a failing one, to keep my mind and heart as 
 free as I can from their evil influence. But now," 
 he added, " there is a new trial — a new diffi- 
 culty." 
 
 Lucy turned quickly to look in his face and 
 ask what this was. 
 
 " Yes," he added, looking at her, "a new trial, 
 and yet so sweet, so precious in some of its phases, 
 that I cannot, I would not for worlds lose its 
 sweetness or its preciousness, in spite of all the 
 pain and sorrow it brings me — it may bring to 
 me ! To know that after this evening I must 
 leave you ! — that all these delicious hours will be 
 things of remembrance alone ! — that I may meet 
 with such difficulties as to prolong my absence ! 
 But you will not doubt me," he said. "If I am long 
 absent, you will believe that duty alone keeps me 
 away ?" He paused. 
 
 I 5
 
 178 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Lucy felt her arm slightly pressed. 
 
 " Miss Crofton !" he said, in a lower and more 
 tender voice, "will you believe in me — trust in 
 me; will you remember me — as a friend?" "was 
 added, " you will not refuse to think of me as a 
 friend, however long I may be separated from 
 you?" 
 
 Lucy's faint reply was hardly audible, but 
 George Berkeley was satisfied as long as that 
 little trembling arm rested so lovingly on his. 
 There were but few more words uttered ; they 
 were not needed. They lingered a little longer 
 to gaze together on the calm sky, and then they 
 must tear themselves away. They must go in 
 and seem careless and indifferent, and mix again 
 among the cheerful party in the lighted rooms and 
 talk on the various topics of the day, as if these, 
 the most sweet and blissful moments of their 
 existence had had no reality.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 1 79 
 
 CHAPTER XXT. 
 
 It was the end of October. It had been a very 
 mild season, and the dahlias and the geraniums in 
 the parsonage garden at Hulse were manfully 
 fighting against the first approaches of frost, and 
 Mrs. Walter was beginning, for the' hundredth 
 time, to bewail her singular ill luck in having 
 Hulse House inhabited by an ungentlemanlike 
 atheistical madman, wdiose hot house might have 
 supplied her with a new stock of plants for next 
 year, had he been a sane and orthodox person, 
 when the door was thrown wide open with pecu- 
 liar empressement and dignity, and the servant, in 
 a voice of half-suppressed awe and amazement, 
 said — 
 
 "Mr. Colville, ma'am!" and in walked Mr. 
 Colville himself. 
 
 Even Lucy started, and looked at their visitor 
 in momentary surprise and curiosity ; whilst Mrs.
 
 J 80 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Walter stared, bowed, and curtsied with all the 
 flurry of vulgar amazement, as Mr. Colviile 
 uttered his first civil, gentle words. 
 
 " I must introduce myself, Mrs. Crofton, as I 
 am sorry to find that your husband is not at 
 home." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! Mr. Crofton, he is — that is, he is 
 not — I fear he is gone out ! We are very happy, 
 I am sure — Mr. Crofton has the pleasure — he told 
 me— he tells me — a very pleasant house — Hulse 
 House. I hope you find it comfortable?" Mrs. 
 Walter stammered forth, whilst Arthur Colviile, 
 with a proud, calm air, stood condescending to 
 listen. 
 
 " Pray sit down," she said at last, recovering a 
 little of her composure, on finding Mr. Colviile 
 much like any other person, with neither wildness 
 nor ferocity in his eyes. "Pray sit down," and 
 Mr. Colviile accepted the offered chair. 
 
 In spite of the calm, half haughty civility of his 
 manner, it appeared to Lucy that he was agitated 
 and almost overcome by this first break to his 
 entire seclusion from society, and yet his apparent 
 calmness and his slightly sarcastic tone, when he 
 replied to Mrs. Walter's attempts at conversation, 
 jilmost belied the idea that he could feel any thing- 
 like emotion in the mere presence of those he
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 181 
 
 seemed to despise. He did not look at Lucy, and 
 she hoped to escape his observation entirely, when, 
 to her dismay, Mrs. Walter said — 
 
 " Mr. Colville, pray allow me to introduce Miss 
 Crofton, Mr. Crofton's sister." 
 
 Lucy half rose; Mr. Colville stood up and 
 bowed low, but he said not a word; and, as he 
 sat down again, he resumed the very uninteresting 
 conversation with Mrs. Crofton. At last, Mrs. 
 Crofton's courage rose, and Lucy blushed pain- 
 fully for Mr. Colville 's sake as well as their own, 
 as Mrs. Waltei' said, very benignly — 
 
 '' You have lived quite a solitary life of late, 
 Mr. Colville; but I hope you will not always 
 deprive us of the pleasure of your company. We 
 do not give dinner parties in our small house, but 
 we should feel much flattered if you would dine 
 here quietly some day." 
 
 Mr. Colville stooped down as Mrs. Walter 
 began her sentence, probably to conceal the 
 indignant flush which mounted to his temples as 
 she spoke ; and then, with almost a stern manner, 
 he said, very coldly, but with studied civility — 
 
 " I thank you, Mrs. Crofton, but I never leave 
 home ; I lead a solitary life, as you say, and I 
 have no intention of breaking a resolution which 
 was not rashly formed." He drew himself up and
 
 182 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 coloured, as if his very pride added to bis em- 
 barrassment, as he said, "Excuse me when I 
 explain that my visit to-day is not the mere formal 
 visit of one country neighbour to another. Mr. 
 Crofton benevolently acceded to my request, 
 when I ventured to send for him." And then he 
 smiled rather ironically, as he said, " I have made 
 rules for myself! I am under a sort of self- 
 imposed vow, if you like to call it so, and my vow 
 forbids me from seeing any one but the clergy- 
 man of my parish and his family. I should be 
 glad of the privilege of coming here occasionally, 
 if you could kindly make it possible for me to do 
 80, by securing to me the certainty of meeting no 
 one but yourselves when I call upon you." 
 
 Mrs. Walter was quite overcome ! ^- Oh ! cer- 
 tainly ! certainly !" she said. " Indeed, I feel much 
 flattered' by your kindness in making an excep- 
 tion in our favour." 
 
 She would have been very angry with any 
 other person who had dared to view her merely as 
 the clergyman's wife, but something in Mr. Col- 
 ville's manner awed, whilst it captivated her, and 
 she was ready to say all and more than all the 
 civil things that were required from her. 
 
 Mr. Colville soon took leave, and when he was 
 gone, Mrs. Walter exclaimed —
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 183 
 
 " I never saw a more gentlemanlike, agreeable 
 man ! After the first moment, when I really 
 hardly knew which way to look or what to say, I 
 think I seldom spent a pleasanter half hour ! My 
 dear Lucy ! depend upon it, before a year is over, 
 he will be dining with us as comfortably as any- 
 body else; and with his wealth, and no doubt 
 very good connexions (for I never saw a more 
 distinguished looking person), there is no saying 
 what an advantage he might be to us ! He 
 seemed much pleased with this house, and I 
 thought he spoke very kindly of Walter," and so 
 Mrs. Walter ran on till her husband came home, 
 and then she had the pleasure of revealing to him 
 the wonderful event that had occurred, and of 
 seeing him as much surprised and gratified as she 
 could desire. She was eager to go the round of 
 the parish and tell her neighbours everything that 
 had passed ; but, to her vexation, Walter requested 
 her to say as little as possible about Mr. Colville, 
 excepting to their few very intimate friends, such 
 as old Miss Walcott (who, we must say, en passant, 
 stood high in Walter's esteem). Mr. Colville had, 
 as it were, confided himself to them ; he had 
 come solely out of respect for Mr. Crofton's 
 clerical office, and he had bound them, therefore, 
 by every sentiment of honour, not to make these
 
 184 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 interviews the subject of common gossip. Walter 
 spoke so decidedly and seriously that Mrs. Walter 
 had only to submit ; but after a short fit of- ill- 
 humoured despondency, the charms of Mr. Col- 
 ville's visit, with the permission to tell Miss 
 Walcott all about it, restored her to more than 
 composure.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 185 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 The sunshine of Miss Walcott's cottage shed 
 its influence on many different classes of minds. 
 To AYalter Crofton, half an hour at Woodbine 
 Cottage was the pleasant reward for a hard day's 
 word in the parish, for he and the little lady were 
 staunch friends. 
 
 The next time he visited her, after they had 
 discussed politics, literature, and metaphysics. 
 Miss Walcott launched forth about Mr. Colville. 
 
 " Your wife tells me he has been to see her, 
 and that he is nothing short of Diogenes, Solo- 
 mon, or Apollo, she can't exactly tell me which 1" 
 she said with a short, scornful laugh. " But what 
 do you say to him, Walter Crofton?" and her 
 sharp black eyes looked at him for an answer. 
 
 Walter told what had passed between them. 
 
 " Yes, yes !" said the little lady, "that will do. 
 I see it all ! He is to be pitied ! He is a great
 
 186 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 dolt of a man for all that ; shutting himself up, 
 indeed ! But there is metal in him, from what 
 you say ; though it seems to be mixed up with a 
 good share of dross !'' she added, with a little 
 chuckle. " A fine young man, is he ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " His countenance struck me particularly," said 
 Walter. 
 
 "Yes — hum ! — and that was all you noticed, no 
 doubt ! but your wife tells me that he is tall and 
 handsome. So much the better ! for he will be 
 more anxious to come out and show himself, when 
 he has sickened of his folly. Keep to him, 
 Walter Crofton ! He is a great dolt, and I say it 
 again, but if he were but half witted, he would be 
 worth saving ! And to think of this great sim- 
 pleton, who can read ! — who can study Horace 
 and quote Shakespeare ! — going and hiding him- 
 self because he has had some smart slap in the 
 face ! Yes ! he has popped himself into the 
 furnace of affliction, and let him have enough of 
 it ! Let him boil well ! It will do him good ! 
 But keep to him, Walter Crofton ! Poor soul ! 
 poor soul !" she added, with a changed voice. 
 " Quite alone ! quite alone ! he said, did he ?" then 
 changing back, with her short, sharp, bleat of a 
 laugh; "and whose fault is that? When a man
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 187 
 
 goes up in a balloon (and that is about as silly a 
 bit of tom-foolery as I know), he does not go and 
 cry because he is up in the air ; and when I lock 
 my door, I don't sit bellowing because I'm locked 
 in ! Trash ! fudge ! Not thirty, did you say ? 
 Poor youth ! poor youth ! A great lumbering 
 brained lout ! Stick to him, Walter Crofton ! 
 If you don't pull him out, I will ! I'll be packed 
 up and go to him, and shake my wig at him, cap 
 and all ! It makes one angry to think of it ! 
 Xot thirty, and to shut himself up !" 
 
 When Walter Crofton was gone, the little lady 
 still muttered to herself, " Not thirty ! Poor 
 youth ! poor youth?" and in the sharp, black eyes 
 there were two tears, very quickly wiped away 
 when another visitor was announced. 
 
 Miss Walcott was seldom without visitors, for 
 there was something so cheerful and sympathetic 
 in the welcome at Woodbine Cottage, that if any 
 were in trouble they came to be pitied, and if any 
 were happy they came to be laughed with; and if 
 ^liss Walcott scolded or snubbed no one felt 
 chafed by it. 
 
 And now the dullest of old maids arrived, but 
 Miss Walcott was as brisk as ever in her welcome ; 
 and as the old maid had a long, prosy account to 
 give of her own health and spirits, Miss Walcott
 
 188 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 only dashed in at times with her remarks, such as 
 a "hum!" or a short laugh, or a " Bless you! 
 take some rhubarb !" or "low spirited were you, 
 yesterday evening, in the dusk ? Why did not 
 you come to me, you old simpleton ? People are 
 never low spirited with me !" "Afraid of troubling 
 me ? Xonsense ! Stuff ! How could you trou- 
 ble me ? What, you felt all in a palpitation, did 
 you?" as the old woman enlarged on her ailments. 
 " Just give my compliments to your Molly, and 
 tell her when you are all palpitating next time, to 
 wrap you up and send you off to me. Palpita- 
 tion ! nobody ever palpitates when they come 
 here !'' and the old lady went away smiling and 
 laughing, and promising to give Miss Walcott's 
 message to Molly, and she had no more palpita- 
 tions for some days. 
 
 It is a pity there are not more Woodbine 
 Cottages in the world ! Little Miss Walcott was 
 poor — she had lost all her near relations — a rheu- 
 matic fever, some years back, had made her 
 a cripple — in earlier days a long engagement 
 to a good and clever but poor man had been 
 ended by his death. Miss Walcott could not, 
 therefore, be called a prosperous person, but 
 though we, some of us, are rich, and some of 
 us have affectionate relations, and some of us
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 189 
 
 marry our early loves, and some of us are in 
 vigorous health, we do not all of us catch the 
 sun as Miss Walcott does in her Woodbine Cot- 
 tage I 
 
 "I don't think London agrees with you,'' said 
 Mrs. Walter to Edward Crofton, as he was wish- 
 ing her good-bye, after a short visit to the par- 
 sonage. 
 
 "Why not?" said Edward, shortly ; "women 
 never understand that men must work. If it did 
 not agree with me (which it does) I must live there 
 all the same." 
 
 "Xo," said Mrs. Walter; "you could come 
 oftener to visit poor Walter, who never grumbles 
 at your absence, and yet of course he feels it very 
 much. I know you could come here oftener if 
 you wished it, and I am sure London disagrees 
 with you, whatever you may say to the contrary, 
 for you are as pale and thin as a shadow, and 
 Lucy could tell you so, only she never likes 
 agreeing with anything I say." 
 
 "Well," said Edward, "I will leave you and 
 Lucy to settle that point, and now I must be off, 
 or I shall lose the coach, so good-bye;" and Mrs. 
 Walter, as usual, was quieted down by Edward's 
 sturdy indifference to her unreasonable bits of ill-
 
 190 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 temper, and shook his hand heartily, and after an 
 affectionate kiss to Lucy he was gone. 
 
 Lucy's eyes were rather red with tears, when 
 Barker Preston was ushered in soon afterwards. 
 He saw it, and he was as awkwardly gentle as his 
 nature allowed. He said he liked to see a woman feel 
 a thing, and love for a brother was the very thing 
 he meant. It really pleased him excessively ; that 
 is. Miss Crofton would understand — it made him 
 very miserable ! He would rather, at any time, 
 lose a good day's hunting ! In short, she would 
 understand exactly what he meant. He, himself, 
 could be unhappy ! yes, indeed he could : and no 
 one knew why ! He could assure her, no one in 
 the least knew why ! and that was the very rea- 
 son why he was so sorry for her '" 
 
 And Lucy smiled, and thanked him for his 
 sympathy, as she said, " I am, indeed, very sorry 
 to part with Edward." 
 
 " And so, Mrs. Crofton," said Barker Preston, 
 "you have had a visit from Mr. Colville !" 
 
 "Yes," said Mrs. Walter, "yes, indeed! we 
 have had a very interesting visit, and I would tell 
 you all about it, but that we feel ourselves bound 
 to silence. Mr. Colville has treated us exactly 
 like friends, and to show you what peculiarly 
 confidential circumstances we are placed in, even
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 191 
 
 now, should he repeat his visit, I should be 
 obliged to send you away/' 
 
 " Send nie away !" exclaimed Barker Preston, 
 laughing heartily. "You might send me, Mrs. 
 Crofton, but should I go, that's all !" 
 
 Mrs. Crofton angrily assured him that he cer- 
 tainly must. "' This is no joking matter, Mr. 
 Preston," she said. 
 
 " Xo more it is!" said Barker Preston, more 
 gravely, " and to tell you the truth, I pity the 
 poor fellow heartily ; so let's talk no more about 
 it ! I am only glad he has been to see you. I am 
 sure you will do him good, Miss Crofton."
 
 192 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIIl. 
 
 The geraniums and dahlias had become blackened 
 with the frostj and the falling leaves of the forest 
 trees had been finally swept away, and the snow 
 had more than once covered the ground; the 
 snowdrop had flowered and faded, and the prim- 
 rose had reappeared with all its refreshing recol- 
 lections before Mr. Colville repeated his visit to 
 the parsonage. 
 
 Mrs. Walter Crofton's cheerful predictions upon 
 their first acquaintance had not been realised. 
 How that winter wore on to him in his still un- 
 broken loneliness I will not try to relate. 
 
 When Lucy saw him again she could have 
 shuddered as she observed the increased sternness 
 and melancholy of his expression, and Walter 
 Crofton thought of him with deep pain now that 
 the terrible suspicion had dawned upon him that 
 Mr. Colville was almost an unbeliever. Their
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 193 
 
 first clay's discussion on theological subjects had 
 led to several others, and Walter saw that Mr. 
 Colville's mind was gradually darkening under 
 the influence of his lonely, profitless existence. 
 
 The only cheerful prospect throughout the wide 
 domain of Hulse House was the throng of la- 
 bourers working at the various improvements and 
 alterations on the property. These alterations 
 had been set on foot by Mr. Colville, for the pur- 
 pose of giving employment to the poor ; but even 
 here the shadow of eccentricity fell rather unplea- 
 santly. Mr. Colville's whimsical exercise of charity 
 in hiring any vagrant who chose to ask for a day's 
 work was not a little trying to the feelings of his 
 steward and gardener, who, not having secluded 
 themselves from the world, had still an interest in 
 good crops and neat work. 
 
 As the steward was walking round the park 
 one day, after a despairing glance at the reposing 
 attitudes of several of Mr. Colville's mendicant 
 labourers, his temper was tried by a fresh applica- 
 tion. A poor woman came up to the fence and 
 begged for employment in the garden. 
 
 " My good woman " the steward began, in 
 
 rather an imperious tone, but at this instant Mr. 
 Colville came near. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 19 i HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 "What is this, Jackson?" he called out rather 
 sharply. 
 
 " A poor woman, sir, wants work in the gar- 
 den," was the reply, in an altered tone. 
 
 "'Let her be employed, then," said Mr. Col- 
 ville. 
 
 " But, sir, I doubt if she can do much good !" 
 in a deprecating tone. 
 
 Mr. Colville's brow lowered. "Let her be 
 employed," he said, in a decided manner, and he 
 rode away ; whilst the steward, inwardly murmur- 
 ing at his master's caprice, returned to speak to 
 the woman whom he had left outside the park 
 fence. She had disappeared ! He called and 
 called, but there was no answer ! At last he 
 went through the gate, and there he saw her rest- 
 ing on the ground and weeping bitterly. The 
 steward was kind-hearted although surly in man- 
 ner. 
 
 " Come, come, my good woman !" he called out, 
 " cheer up ! You are to be employed. So, come 
 along ! and cheer up, I say !" 
 
 The woman hastily rose, as the steward ad- 
 dressed her, and wiping her eyes with her apron, 
 she thanked him in her own rude way, and fol- 
 lowed him to the pleasure grounds, where he gave 
 her in charge to one of the under gardeners, with
 
 nULSE HOUSE. 195 
 
 a few private words of information as to her ad- 
 mission. The woman's face was much concealed 
 by a red handkerchief, and a coarse and not very 
 clean cap which came far over it. She was 
 slightly lame, and her large, clumsy, men's boots 
 gave her an awkward shuffling gait. As she 
 began her task of hoeing up weeds, the gardener's 
 eye occasionally glanced at her from a little 
 distance. 
 
 " Xo great hand at work, I see plainly enough !" 
 he said to another of the garden men; "but I 
 suppose that rich gentlefolks must be indulged in 
 all their whims I" 
 
 For two days the woman continued her em- 
 ployment, without any very evident increase of 
 knowledge on the subject of weeds, but with 
 much more on that of " the squire," about whom 
 she and the other weeding women gossippod a 
 jrreat deal. The new comer seemed determined 
 not to be outdone by her companions in their 
 wonderful stories about Mr. Colville, and she 
 often made them laugh heartily at the amusing- 
 tales she told of strange, eccentric beings she pre- 
 tended to have met with in her life. As she 
 talked and laughed with her companions no one 
 could have thought her unhappy, and yet, as she 
 walked home alone to the cottasje where she 
 
 K 2
 
 1.^6 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 lodged, she was often in tears. Whether her 
 tears were caused by distress of mind, or by mere 
 weariness" of body it was difficult to divine. She 
 certainly did not trouble herself in any very 
 active v/arfare against the weeds which had been 
 handed over to her jurisdiction, and the gardener 
 did not dare to find fault, for fear of his master's 
 displeasure. 
 
 i( Yery trying to the gardener ! who evidently 
 was an honest, hard-Avorking man," broke in my 
 sister Martha. " Ten to one if the woman did 
 not destroy some of his best plants with her clumsy 
 Aveeding." 
 
 " Ah ! poor thing !" said Jane, "that would be 
 a pity ! But I dare say she meant well, and I am 
 sure she had some great trouble, in sjDite of her 
 amusing tales !" 
 
 " Mr. Colville, at any rate, thought she had the 
 trouble of poverty," I continued; "and as he 
 caught a distant sight of her gray cloak when he 
 at length resolved to ride to the parsonage he 
 dwelt with much pleasure on the thought of his 
 own benevolence." 
 
 Mr. Colville set out by a circuitous route, as if 
 to brace himself by brisk exercise for the effort of
 
 nuLSE HOUSE. 197 
 
 the visit to the Croftons. After a gallop, he let 
 his horse walk gently along, and as his pace 
 slackened, his thoughts became active. 
 
 Many scenes in his past life presented them- 
 selves to his memory; the voices of his former 
 companions — the very jests that had been common 
 between them, came flickering across his brain 
 like ghosts of themselves. While the illusion 
 lasted it was a soothing one ; but as it gradually 
 faded away, and the harsh, cold outline of the 
 present stood forth again, the contrast to tliese 
 dream-like images made it appear more hard and 
 painful than ever. The idea of going to the par- 
 sonage became unbearable. He turned his horse's 
 head, and was soon riding back to the dungeon 
 from which he had planned a temporary escape. 
 
 As he entered his own grounds at one of the 
 lodges, the poor woman of whom I have just 
 spoken vv^as walking slowly home from her work. 
 A turn in the road brought her in view of Mr. 
 Colville. She stopped and curtsied. 
 
 Mr. Colville had at all times a nervous dread of 
 being seen: his mind at this moment was but 
 little in a state for interruption. It seemed as if 
 his most secret communings had been imper- 
 tinently intruded upon. Grief turned to passion : 
 fixing his eyes in sudden anger upon the woman,
 
 1.98 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 he muttered an oath, and spurring his horse, he 
 galloped forwards, and was quickly out of sight. 
 
 The woman stood motionless, her eyes foUow- 
 ino: the rider as lono^ as she could see him, and 
 
 DO ^ 
 
 when he at last disappeared in the distance, she 
 began to walk home slowly and sadly, almost 
 as if in pain, and sobbing at times as if her heart 
 would break. 
 
 Week passed after week, and she never reap- 
 peared in the garden at Hulse. As her wages 
 were unpaid, the gardener, at length, sent to 
 inquire about her at the cottage where he was 
 told that she had lodged. He found that she had 
 left it for some time and no one could give any 
 information of her movements.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 199 
 
 CHAPTEK XXIV. 
 
 We must remember that Mr. Colville's unfor- 
 tunate rencontre with the poor weeding-woman 
 was entirely unknown to Mrs." Walter Crofton, 
 who, about this time, had arrived at a settled 
 conviction that Mr. Colville was neither a lunatic 
 nor an atheist, but, on the contrary, that he was 
 exactly the person to suit Lucy as a husband. 
 He had certainly not yet shown any preference 
 for her, but everything had a beginning and an 
 ending (excepting dust, of which there was no 
 end). Mr. Colville was rich and good-looking — 
 Hulse House was large and commodious. It was 
 in their immediate neighbourhood; as a young 
 wife, Lucy would often want her advice ; between 
 the manor house and the parsonage there would 
 be a constant interchange of luxuries and of good 
 counsel. What could be more desirable ! And 
 when, at last the long-wished-for words sounded 
 in her ears —
 
 200 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 " Mr. Colville, ma'am, wishes to know if you 
 are alone?" she answered with animation, "Yes, 
 yes ! show liim in ! and remember the order, to 
 admit no one wdiilst Mr. Colville is with us, 
 James. 
 
 "Lucy, my dear, place that chair a little more 
 comfortably near your drawing-table — there — 
 so ;" and Mr. Colville walked in. 
 
 But if Mrs. Walter thought that he would take 
 any interest in Lucy's drawing, she was mistaken. 
 His cheerless glance betrayed a careless contempt 
 for everything that was going on. ]\Irs. Walter's 
 attempts to speak of Lucy's singing, or to display 
 her drawings, or to touch upon the gossip of the 
 neighbourhood, or the topics of the day, were met 
 by him, as usual, with such chilling indifference, 
 that even she could not persevere in forcing them 
 on his notice. Under these circumstances, to a mind 
 such as hers, conversation was almost impossible ; 
 and as she was very willing to leave him alone 
 with Lucy, after having gone through the usual 
 remarks on the state of the roads, the quantity of 
 rain on Monday, and of wind on Tuesday, she 
 said, 
 
 " Perhaps you will excuse me, Mr. Colville, 
 for a few minutes, as some poor people are waiting 
 to see me ?"
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 201 
 
 Mr. Colville bowed, said a few civil words, and 
 ^Irs. Walter left the room. 
 
 Lucy felt a little shy at being left alone with 
 their strange, abstracted visitor, but she exerted 
 herself to break the silence which ensued, as 
 ^Irs. Walter quitted them. She had a group of 
 flowers before her, which she was trying to sketch. 
 
 " I do not wonder at the universal love of 
 flowers," she said. " They seem more inimitable 
 and more beautiful every moment one watches 
 them !" 
 
 " They have even outlived the praises of tlie 
 would-be poets," said Mr. Colville, drily. 
 
 " They would outlive anything that was wanting 
 in grace or beauty," said Lucy, and she looked up 
 at ^Ir. Colville and smiled, and for the first time 
 she met his eye. 
 
 Habitual as it is to us to talk with others, to catch 
 their meaning from the expression in their faces, 
 we can hardly conceive what it must be to live 
 without this natural interchange of ideas. For 
 many years Mr. Colville had purposely done so — 
 he had purposely kept aloof from every social 
 interest or sympathy — and all at once a slight and 
 scarcely tangible incident — merely the chance of 
 his eye resting on Lucy Crofton's face as she 
 looked up at him and smiled — seemed, as it were, 
 
 K .3
 
 202 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 to knock at his heart, touching every chord of 
 feeling, awakening every dormant emotion ; he 
 felt that he was again one amongst others, one 
 who could be sympathised with, one who could 
 sympathise wdth others ! 
 
 A smile of great sweetness lighted up his coun- 
 tenance, and then, strange as it was, even a tear 
 glistened in his eye ! He shaded his face for an 
 instant, and whole years of his life seemed con- 
 densed into that one small point of time ! It is 
 almost impossible to describe or define the vehe- 
 mence of his emotion. It was suddenly excited, 
 and as suddenly dispelled; for before he again 
 looked up, before Lucy was in the least aware of 
 what had been passing in his mind, his softer feel- 
 ings were chilled down, the tumultuous current 
 of reviving sympathies and affections so curiously 
 unloosed was frozen back into rigidity, and his 
 first words^were uttered in his usual, half-ironical 
 tone. 
 
 Mrs. Walter returned to the drawing-room ; a 
 few uninterefeting remarks were all that followed. 
 Mr. Colville expressed a hope that Mr. Crofton 
 would kindly come over to Hulse House, and then 
 he left them. 
 
 " Perhaps a proposal for Lucy !" ]Mrs. Walter 
 thought, with delightful excitement, as she re-
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 203 
 
 turned with increased elasticity to the mysteries 
 of cross stitch. 
 
 " Well, Mr. Crofton ?" said she, eagerly, to 
 Walter, as he entered the room next day, after 
 his visit to Mr. Colville ; " well ?" 
 
 "Well, my dear!" Walter said; "what is the 
 matter ?" 
 
 " Oh ! nothing the matter," was the desponding 
 reply ; " only I wished to know what Mr. Colville 
 wanted you for." 
 
 " A question in theology," said Walter, " which 
 has been often raised and as often settled." 
 
 "Theology, indeed!" said Mrs. Crofton, angrily; 
 "I should have thought you might have found 
 something better to talk about than that !"
 
 204 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXV. 
 
 It is towards the end of April. It had been a 
 gay, pretty morning, succeeded by a soft and 
 sunny afternoon; and as Lucy Crofton gently 
 sauntered through the pleasure-grounds at the 
 parsonage, she felt very happy — she scarcely knew 
 why, except that there was something inspiring 
 in the delicious air, and the beauty of every object 
 around her. She sat down to look at the prim- 
 roses on tlie banks of the stream, and to watch 
 the stream itself as it went bubbling and sparkling 
 on over its gray stones, and by degrees she forgo 
 the flowers, and the stream, and the picturesque 
 alders, and she thought only of her own happy 
 love, and on this beautiful, cheerful day, doubt 
 and fear gave place to hope, and she let herself 
 wander into the future, and imagine what George 
 Berkeley's words would be when they met, and 
 how she could dare to tell him that she loved him !
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 205 
 
 She thought of the great joy of being beloved by 
 one like him. She thought of his goodness even 
 more than of his brilliant talents, or his personal 
 attractions, or his inimitable conversational powers. 
 These qualities were public, they were for all ; 
 but for her alone had been the confidential out- 
 pourings of mind and heart — the grave discussions 
 on higher matters than mere worldly interests ; 
 and on these she pondered with sweet and tender 
 recollection. Then she dwelt in thought on the 
 singular justness and integrity of his character — ■ 
 his cheerful, animating view of life as a field for 
 active virtues, active struggles against evil, active 
 preparation for a future world, and grateful, lively 
 enjoyment of all God's wonderful blessings here. 
 Yes, this was her hero ! this w^as the George 
 Berkeley whom she loved, and who loved her ! 
 
 In those times posts did not come in at every 
 hour of the day as they do at present, and on this 
 afternoon the letters were late. But Lucy fancied 
 there might be one that would bring some pleasant 
 tidings; for it was impossible not to have hope 
 infused into the mind on such a cheerful day as 
 this. And when Lucy went in, there really was 
 a letter for her ; but she did not know tlie hand- 
 writing or the post-mark, and for a minute or two 
 the day seemed as if a cloud had come over it.
 
 206 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Lucy must go upstairs to take off her bonnet, and 
 get ready for dinner, for the dressing-bell had 
 just rung; so she carried her letter upstairs. 
 
 " Still," she thought, " to-morrow may bring 
 another letter. I know he will try to meet me 
 soon !" and the sun seemed to shine forth again — 
 and indeed it did shine gaily into her room. 
 
 She sat down when she had taken off her bonnet 
 and shawl, and then she took up the disappointing 
 letter, and she opened it; and then Lucy — poor 
 Lucy ! — the sun shone no more for her on that 
 day, nor for many, many days, to come ! Still it 
 had been a happy morning, and it is something in 
 our lives to have experienced some such hours of 
 enjoyment. Lucy saw that the handwriting was 
 strange to her. She did not receive many letters, 
 and the formal "Madam" at the bearinnino; startled 
 her — it somehow prepared her for the pain that 
 followed — and her flushed cheek, her fast, thick 
 breathing, her trembling hand as she read, left no 
 doubt of the pain that letter caused. 
 
 It was as follows : 
 
 " Madam — I feel some difficulty in addressing 
 you, and were I less certain of my right to do so, 
 I should offer apologies and excuses which would 
 sound more civil, but would only be less honest.
 
 iiULSE HOUSE. 207 
 
 I will therefore state at once why I write, and 
 what it is that I desire from you. My son George 
 has confided to me his attachment, and he has 
 asked m}^ consent to offer himself to you. I do 
 not know from him how far you have encouraged 
 his addresses, or what chance he has of your ac- 
 ceptance if he asks you to become his wife. On 
 this point I wish for no further information. I 
 have been used to obedience from my children — I 
 require it, I exact it — but I am proud to say, I 
 depend still more on their love than on their duty. 
 I have not brought up ungrateful children — my 
 Welshes are their law. 
 
 " I will not dally with words of compliment, but 
 say at once that there are circumstances which 
 make me strongly repugnant to the idea of my 
 son's marriage with yourself — but on which I need 
 not dilate : without money on your side it would, 
 indeed, be impossible he should marry you. When 
 he first told me of his attachment, he told me also 
 that although he had openly shown his love for 
 you, and he believed you to be fully aware of it, 
 he had carefully refrained from involving you in a 
 declaration of your own feelings for him until he 
 had gained my consent to address you. This, 
 then, was the time to stop the progress of so rash 
 and inconsiderate an attachment. I forcibly
 
 208 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 pointed out to him the evils attending it; I urged 
 him to see you no more. He tokl me his affec- 
 tions were given, and absence could not change 
 his feeUngs towards you. nor vrould it consist with 
 his honour to leave you for ever without farther 
 explanation. He would not listen to my advice ; 
 I was obliized to insist. His first forsret fulness of 
 the respect and obedience due to his mother was 
 on this occasion — but I conquered. He promised 
 to go abroad, without seeing you again, or writing 
 to you. This was the most I could draw frum 
 him, and I, in my turn, was obliged to promise 
 that if, at the end of a year, his feelings for you 
 were unchanged, I would then allow him to 
 declare himself. He left England in the autumn, 
 ibr a year's absence. 
 
 " Xow, Miss Croft on, I come to the point on 
 which it is necessary I should appeal to you. 
 After my son's departure, agitation of mind 
 brought on a severe nervous illness. In the 
 midst of it a serious calamity befel me. My 
 eldest son had involved himself in speculations — I 
 thank God with no dishonour ! Good-natured 
 weakness alone can attach to his conduct — dis- 
 honour rests on others ! I need not particularise. 
 We are placed in great difficulties for the present, 
 unless some arrangements betsveen my two sons
 
 IIULSE HOUSE. 209 
 
 can be carried out, which the marriage of George 
 with yourself would render impossible, thus add- 
 ing another tangible objection to the many very 
 strong ones I already possessed against his en- 
 gao'ement. 
 
 " Madam, it is needless, and too degrading and 
 painful to me to lay before you these most private 
 family concerns. I am old — I am worn down by 
 much care. I have spent the energies of a long 
 life in watching over the interests of my sons ; 
 towards the close of it, by the unlucky attach- 
 ment of one of these sons, my tenderest feelings 
 are deeply wounded ; by the inadvertence of 
 another, I find myself suddenly under the danger 
 of losing all that long habit has made necessary to 
 my existence. I have, it may be, strong preju- 
 dices ; it is too late to eradicate them ! My life 
 must go with the attempt to tear them up. 
 ]\Iy health and my nerves have sunk under this 
 last shock. Life and reason hang by a thread. It 
 is in your power to cut that thread, as it is also in 
 your power to restore to me the small remains of 
 health and peace of mind of which my advanced 
 age and shattered frame are capable. I ask you 
 to make a noble sacrifice, and, believe me, madam, 
 you will have your reward. There are blessings
 
 210 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 from the aged wliicli outweigh golden years of 
 joy. These will be yours, if you resign my son. 
 I ask you, then, to promise that if, at the end of 
 the a;llotted year, my son George should ask you 
 to become his wife, you will unconditionally reject 
 his addresses, without betraying the secret of my 
 interference, and that you will never at any future 
 time engage yourself to him without my consent. 
 I wait anxiously, breathlessly for your answer. 
 Take three days to consider it. Kemember what 
 it is you do, if you refuse my request, and may 
 the blessing of that God who has given the 
 unchangeable law — *^ Honour thy father and thy 
 mother ' with a promise, so rest on you if you now 
 sever not parent and child. 
 
 "Frances Berkeley." 
 
 In the same cover was enclosed another letter. 
 Almost without taking breath Lucy began to 
 read it ; her eyes straining, her hand pressed 
 tightly to her forehead, as if to enable her to take 
 in the full amount of pain of what she had still to 
 learn. This second letter was from the medical 
 man who was attending Mrs. Berkeley. 
 
 We will simply state its purport in our own 
 words. Mrs. Berkeley had told the writer that 
 in the letter addressed to Miss Crofton, which she
 
 IIULSE nousE. 211 
 
 had begged him to forward, there was a request, 
 the refusal of which she felt certain would be fatal 
 to her. He said that jNlrs. Berkeley had shown 
 
 the greatest agitation in speaking of it ; Dr. H 
 
 thought it right, therefore, though perfectly igno- 
 rant of the nature of the request, to add a few 
 words of caution, unknown to his }>atient. Mrs. 
 Berkeley, he said, was just recovering from a 
 short but severe illness, which had fallen on the 
 nerves, and he had very little doubt that if any- 
 thing happened strongly to agitate her at this 
 crisis her reason would at once give way. If, 
 therefore. Miss Crofton could reasonably grant 
 the request, on which so much depended, lie need 
 hardly recommend her to do so. The letter was 
 kindly and sensibly written — it was only too hor- 
 ribly matter of fact and true. 
 
 There are struggles in the heart which cannot be 
 told in words — sudden anguish coming upon un 
 usual joy — sudden hopelessness upon unusual hope- 
 fulness. The sparkling brook, the gray stones, the 
 peaceful primrose roots nestling in the bank, the 
 picturesque alder trees, the blithe warbling birds, 
 the delicious sensation of sun and air and sweet 
 scents and sounds, the soft, happy musings, the 
 joyful, grateful aspirations, half prayer half praise, 
 that were with Lucy Crofton but half an hour
 
 212 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 back, as she sat by the running stream, were now 
 to her as far away — as impossible to realise — as 
 any romance of fairy land ; there was such a gulf 
 of misery between herself and those happy mo- 
 ments. 
 
 And yet the full amount of her sorrow had not 
 made itself known to her! its very suddenness 
 and novelty gave a slight relief, imparting a 
 certain doubt and excitement. Even anxiety as 
 to the common concerns of the day had its use in 
 wardino' oif the first brunt of misfortune. How 
 to conceal her distress, how to appear at dinner, 
 were questions so needful and so agitating that 
 she was obliged to attend to them. She locked 
 her door, and when the expected knock came, 
 with the question, " Are you ready for me, 
 ma'am?" from Mrs. Walter's maid, Lucy was able 
 to say, "Presently, Wilson," and then to sink 
 back, relieved for the moment, but alive to the 
 necessity of some effort either to go down to 
 dinner, or to make some excuse for not doing so. 
 
 The first idea was that she must go down as usual, 
 and she started up to begin changing her dress, 
 but sudden dizzy faintness showed her that this 
 was impossible ; then came the dread of her sister- 
 in-law's sharp, hard questioning voice if she sent 
 a message to say that she was ill. But the dinner
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 213 
 
 bell was just beginning; she hastily unlocked the 
 door, threw herself on the sofa, muffled up her 
 face in a shawl, and when Wilson came, she 
 begged her to tell her brother and sister that she 
 had a bad headache and thought it better not to 
 come down. 
 
 Wilson withdrew, and presently came a message 
 to beg her to keep quiet, and that no doubt she 
 would soon be better; and Wilson, making her 
 promise to ring for some tea the moment she 
 wanted it, left her to the "nice little sleep" she 
 was sure would quite cure her. " And so I will 
 tell my mistress not to disturb you," were her 
 comforting last words, and Lucy was left alone.
 
 214 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 When secure from intrusion Lucy drew forth the 
 two letters, and again went through every word. 
 Even then she could not read the strong expres- 
 sions of George Berkeley's love for her, which his 
 mothers letter conveyed, without a thrill of joy ! 
 and she took a deep breath, and then there was a 
 glow of indignation at her heart as she thought — 
 " Proud, worldly woman ! why should I sacrifice 
 his happiness and my own to her selfish caprice ?" 
 and for awhile, as she read on, she steeled herself 
 against any feelings of pity. But then came the 
 words that pleaded for consideration — it was 
 George Berkeley's mother who wrote — "worn 
 down with much care." " Life and reason hanir 
 by a thread!" Could she cut the thread by which 
 "life and reason were held?" Could she kill 
 George Berkeley's mother by her obstinate refusal? 
 If Lucy could dare to brave Mrs. Berkeley's own
 
 nULSE HOUSE. 215 
 
 words, she felt it was impossible to brave the 
 warning that had been conveyed to her with such 
 cruel kindness by the medical man. Her own 
 happiness must be sacrificed rather than run the 
 fearful risk his letter sui^o'ested to her. But then 
 it was not her own happiness alone, it was his ! it 
 was George Berkeley's ! Because his mother 
 chose to deal falsely and treacherously by him, 
 what right had she to do so ? 
 
 Thus Lucy reasoned, and she tried to do so 
 impartially; but how was it possible when her 
 own heart pleaded so strenuously on one side 
 alone ? 
 
 There was a slight gleam of comfort as she 
 thought that it would be justifiable to confide in 
 Walter. But on farther consideration she re- 
 jected the idea, and settled that she must battle 
 through her doubts in secret, as she could not ask 
 for any advice without betraying a secret that was 
 not simply her own. Real illness gave the excuse 
 for solitary deliberation, which she so much needed. 
 She was obliged to keep her room, with continued 
 headache, and during that time her decision was 
 made. 
 
 Lucy Crofton had the most gentle and yet the 
 firmest of natures — the most tender and yet the 
 bravest of spirits. She came to her decision with
 
 216 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 many tears and with earnest prayer, but having 
 done so, she admitted to herself no farther hesi- 
 tation in acting upon it. How often had Clara 
 Wilton's clear voice, as she said, " And though 
 my heart might break I never will marry him 
 without her consent," and George Berkeley's 
 enthusiastic reply, " I honour you !" sounded in 
 her ears during those three days of deliberation ! 
 George Berkeley little knew how much his own 
 words helped to decide Lucy against himself! 
 Lucy's letter was written in a firm hand ; it was 
 sealed and sent. Its contents were as follows : — 
 
 " Madam — After three days of solitary deli- 
 beration, I give the promise you require — that 
 without your consent I will not accept an offer of 
 marriage from Mr. George Berkeley, and that I 
 will not betray to him the reason of my refusal. 
 
 " Whilst I give this promise, let me beg of you, 
 madam, to remember what it is you exact. Y6ur 
 son has declared to you that his affections are 
 fixed on me, and you plainly believe that my 
 affections are bestowed on him in return. You 
 ask of me, while youth gives promise of many 
 years of existence, to cut off by my own act, not 
 only my own happiness but, it may be, to bring 
 much sorrow over the best years of your son's life
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 217 
 
 — a son, madam, whom you profess to love, and 
 whom I now own, what I have never owned 
 before to any human being, I love with all the 
 devotion of which my heart is capable. 
 
 " Think, then, madam, Avhat it is I have granted ; 
 and if, on calmer deliberation, you can cancel that 
 which you exact from me, remember that to spare 
 me any moment of that suffering, under which the 
 mercy of God can alone support me, is a duty 
 which I in return claim from you. And, madam, 
 I also claim from you that you deal tenderly with 
 my character in your son's eyes. If he must tliink 
 me faithless and changeable, find for me some 
 excuse consistent with the severity of your deci- 
 sion, but do not add to the pang of separation the 
 misery of believing that I have been unjustly 
 lowered in his esteem. 
 
 " And now, madam, that, out of respect for your 
 character as his mother I have granted your request, 
 I have to remind you of your own promise. Your 
 blessing was offered if I acceded to your wishes ; 
 I need it. I need every prayer and every blessing 
 that your heart and lips can frame, and when I 
 say I forgive you for the blow you have given to 
 a heart just daring to dwell on its dawning happi- 
 ness, I feel justified in asking this from you. May 
 God direct and guide you to what is right I and 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 as you deal truly and honestly by your son and by 
 me, so may God's blessing rest upon you in this 
 life and the next ! 
 
 " Lucy Crofton." 
 
 r 
 
 Lucy had achieved her act of self sacrifice. 
 There was neither sympathy nor admiration to be 
 gained by it. No one but the proud, selfish 
 woman who had exacted it would ever be aware 
 of what she had done, but Lucy's anxiety was to 
 do what was right ; whether she gained applause 
 for her conduct or not was a matter of little im- 
 portance to her.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 219 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 The great strain on Lucy's mental powers, 
 and the shock to her affections caused by Mrs. 
 Berkeley's letter, brought on ^severe illness. Up 
 to the moment when she was prostrated by it, her 
 great anxiety had been how to appear before her 
 brother and sister-in-law, and how to conceal her 
 distress from them ! The violent headaches which 
 had kept her upstairs for these few days would, 
 perhaps, no longer befriend her, and then it would 
 be necessary for her to appear downstairs as if 
 nothing unusual had happened. And must she 
 carry this overpowering sense of misery with her, 
 was her thought, and yet seem to be as usual? 
 Must she be looked at and questioned, kindly and 
 unkindly, and yet say nothing — shed not a tear ? 
 How would it be possible to bear it ? 
 
 On the evening after she had written and sent 
 the letter to Mr?. Berkeley, illness seemed creep- 
 
 L 2
 
 220 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 ing over her ; before night she was in a high state 
 of fever ; and, as her pulse rose, the haunting 
 terror of disclosing her secret amounted almost to 
 delirium. 
 
 But she was now really ill ; she was obliged to 
 keep her bed, and the doctor was summoned. 
 Xone but those whose minds have been thoroughly 
 wearied out by some great anxiety can fully 
 understand the relief it is when illness at length 
 forces rest upon their exertions. Lucy felt it. 
 She need not settle any longer how she should 
 speak and look as she sat down stairs with Mrs. 
 Walter and Walter — at least this perplexity and 
 terror were removed ! But as this difficulty 
 passed away another came more strongly in its 
 place ! How could she help disclosing her secret 
 if delirium came on ! and she knew — she guessed 
 she had been delirious once or twice in that 
 dreadful night. 
 
 And that letter ! that letter of George's mother's 
 — that letter of the doctor's — how could they be 
 concealed ? As the hours wore on she was con- 
 stantly thinking of them. She knew she had 
 locked them up, and yet now, in that dreadful 
 night of fever, they seemed to lie spread out on 
 her dressing table, the sun shining strongly upon 
 every word, and Mrs. Walter peering at them and
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 221 
 
 giving little short angry laughs as she read. And 
 then, worse still, louder Liughter came, for these 
 very letters were spread out on the large drawing- 
 room table at Digby Manor, and the whole party 
 saw them, and Agnes Spencer was laughing very 
 loudly and harshly, and her brother Edward 
 laughed too ; and when Lucy tried to snatch the 
 letters aw.ay and hide them, he and Agnes held 
 her hands so tightly whilst they laughed again 
 and again, that she screamed out with pain, and 
 then her eyes opened, and there sat Wilson, the 
 maid, watching her anxiously, and there was one 
 candle, and it was her own little room at home, 
 and she dared to speak, and for a few minutes she 
 knew that all the rest had been feverish sleep. 
 
 But then she remembered that part of it was 
 not a dream, and again the letters grew and grew 
 till they became of an enormous size, and again 
 she struggled in vain to hide them; and then 
 George Berkeley, w4th an angry look, held her 
 back, and he changed into a cruel demon who was 
 pushing her down a deep, dark abyss, and then 
 she screamed ; and again, the dimly lighted room 
 revealed itself to her, and the doctor's face was 
 there as well as Wilson's, and she tried to smile, 
 for poor Wilson looked so anxious ; but when slie 
 tried to smile a horrible discordant lauo;h and
 
 '222 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 shriek seemed to come from her lips, and again 
 she was in the drawing-room at Digby Manor, 
 with grinning faces all around her, making a jest 
 of her grief, and her heart was cold, and yet they 
 lauglied instead of pitying her, and she could not 
 cry ; if she had been able to shed tears they would 
 have pitied her she knew, and that horrible 
 laughter would have ceased ; but her tears were 
 scorched up with the great heat of the mid-day's 
 sun by the brook. 
 
 But why go on ! Lucy was in great danger ; 
 for many days and nights she was delirious. In 
 her ravings she spoke perhaps of George Berkeley, 
 and of Agnes, and of Edward, but Mrs. Walter 
 was slow of comprehension, for there was no warm 
 affection to quicken her perceptions. If some- 
 thing^ of the crrief which was overwhelmino; her 
 spirit fell from the burning lips of Lucy, she did 
 but look on it as the common wanderings of 
 delirium, and when she came down from her room 
 she could only say to her husband, in a contented 
 tone — 
 
 " Poor thing ! she talks all sorts of nonsense — 
 just as I did when I was ill with a fever. But I 
 am not at all alarmed about her ; it will soon pass 
 off. I got over my illness very well when I was 
 just about Lucy's age, and I have been quite
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 223 
 
 strong ever since. I am not in the least alarmed 
 about her.'' 
 
 Walter tried to be satisfied, but it was in vain 
 he attempted to read or to attend to parish busi- 
 ness, as day after day passed by, and the words 
 " she is much the same," was the answer to his 
 eager inquiry. The doctor had advised perfect 
 quiet, and no one was to enter Lucy's room but 
 those absolutely needed to attend on her ; but, at 
 length, Walter could bear it no longer. He stole 
 gently to the door, and stood motionless for 
 minutes together, watching the flushed face and 
 staring eyes of his little suffering sister, then, 
 creeping back to his ow^n study, he locked his 
 door, and the tears stole down his cheeks, and the 
 agonized prayer burst from him — " Save her ! oh, 
 my God, save her !" 
 
 For awhile Mrs. Walter talked down the 
 doctor ; she would not let him tell of danger, and 
 he would not force alarm on those who were 
 unwilling to hear the truth. There was no neg- 
 lect or injudicious treatment to make it necessary, 
 and there was still some hope of recovery. To do 
 Mrs. Walter justice, she had the merit of being an 
 excellent nurse ; no nice sensibility oppressed her ; 
 neither hand nor heart trembled, nor did her 
 voice falter with needless anxiety. She was calm, 
 unmoved, matter of fact, and skilful.
 
 224 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 The doctor said, " Miss Crofton must be quiet, 
 Miss Crofton must take such and such medicines." 
 Mrs. Walter listened with an unbewildered head, 
 and stuck to the letter of the orders. She was 
 quick, neat, and firm, 
 
 Bat the danger at last became too evident, and 
 too imminent to be longer concealed. Even Mrs. 
 Walter was hushed into fear, and pity, and love. 
 She knew that in all human probability Lucy's 
 life was on its verge. The remembrance of her 
 amiable qualities, her sweet temper under provo- 
 cation, her cheerfulness, her unobtrusive piety, 
 nay, even her pretty face, her winning ways came 
 to her mind, and with these came also the recol- 
 lection, on her own side, of unkind words, hard 
 feelings, carelessness about her happiness ; and 
 self-reproach swept over that cold, hard heart, and 
 sought out for reprobation every wrong motive, 
 every unworthy action. The new thought arose 
 — was her conduct towards Lucy only what wrfs 
 natural and right? w^as there any excuse for 
 harshness ? was it required ? 
 
 A chill fell on Mrs. Walter. The thought 
 of questions like these, when there could be 
 no appeal to the world's judgment, made her 
 breathing heavy ; tears stood in her eyes, wrung 
 out by the terror and remorse of her heart. It
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 9->: 
 
 was a o'veat cliano'e — would it be lastmo:? She 
 thought of prayer — she always said her prayers 
 night and morning — but now she would pray. 
 She did not kneel, but one fervent prayer for 
 mercy burst from her. Yet she did it in fear ; 
 there was not love, there was scarcely faith, she 
 feared too much ! but a sort of superstitious com- 
 fort crept over her. She walked quietly into 
 Lucy's room again, and dared now to look at the 
 face which had been too terrible to her before. It 
 was very calm, but there were no signs of life. 
 
 " Can nothing save her ?" thought she, in 
 agony. She went to the room where the doctor 
 was waiting — " Can nothing save her ?" she ex- 
 claimed, in a voice hoarse with emotion. " Will 
 you try nothing?" 
 
 The doctor was touched with distress he so 
 little expected from such a cold, self-possessed 
 person. He entreated her to be calm. 
 
 "Indeed there is hope," he said, " but the crisis 
 is not yet arrived. You must rest ; I will wait by 
 the bedside, and you, dear madam, must rest 
 yourself;" and Mrs. Walter was left alone, whilst 
 tears came flowing quickly down her cheeks, and 
 she made resolves — alas I that such should be 
 broken ! 
 
 "Walter was now with the doctor in the room of 
 
 L 5
 
 226 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 the patient. Love held the place of remorse in 
 his heart ; his pale face showed the mental strug- 
 gle he was undergoing; his upraised eyes and 
 clasped hands at times told that a strength be- 
 yond his own was needed, and was sought in 
 silent prayer. 
 
 Yet he, too, had his self-reproaches ! Who 
 have not when they think that the time is past in 
 which any omissions in kindness or affection can 
 be repaired? that there are no more days on 
 which that reckoning can be made up? Care- 
 lessness, thoughtlessness, undervaluing, hasty 
 words, cold replies — love cannot count the debt 
 which it wishes to have paid, and therefore the 
 sum of omission seems infinite when the book is 
 closed, never more to be opened. 
 
 So Walter felt, as he sat watching the face ot 
 his little gentle sister. He could think of no 
 neglect on her side, ^o ! the account was all 
 against himself! On her side he remembered 
 only loving words and ways ; active charity, warm 
 affection, simple piety. Grief blotted out every 
 fault of hers ; there was not one left in his me- 
 mory to make the thought of losing her more 
 endurable !
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 227 
 
 CHAPTEli XXVIII. 
 
 There is a sharp ring of the bell in the sitting- 
 room at Woodbine Cottage. Sally came in. 
 
 " Eh ! Sally, Sally !" said the little lady, hold- 
 ing up a note, "she's worse! Lucy Crofton is 
 worse ! Put on your bonnet and shawl and go to 
 the parsonage. See Wilson, if you can, and get 
 the truth. Eh ! Sally ! Sally ! we have known 
 many troubles, but I never thought to have such 
 an one as this to endure ! My pretty lamb ! 
 She's like a little innocent lamb, Sally I I never 
 loved any one as I have loved her ! And I can't 
 get to her ' I can't see her ! God forgive me 
 for my murmuring ! Poor Walter Crofton — 
 ]joor Walter ! And I'm tied hand and foot and 
 can't go to her! Never to see her again ! Pretty, 
 loving child ! never to see her again !" muttered 
 on the little old lady after Sally left the room, the 
 tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. " And
 
 228 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Walter Crofton — poor Walter ! Eh ! but his 
 books won't comfort him ; and Edward ! his broad 
 head never chilled his heart towards that little 
 one ! I see his smile now, curling about his lips, 
 as he set a trap for her with his talk, and she 
 would not be trapped, as he knew she would not ! 
 but he liked to hear her lau2;h and scold him in 
 her play as she found him out ; and there I sat, 
 like an old ninny, enjoying the fun, as if I was 
 ever likely to enjoy it again ; and now there she 
 lies ! Ah ! who's there ? Come in, come in. Ah I 
 if it isn't Barker Preston, sobbing like a child ! 
 Why, she's gone ! she's gone ! I know she is, and 
 he's come to tell me, and to get comfort, poor 
 loving, foolish soul ! and how can I give him any ! 
 how can I give him any ! I who loved her 
 better than any one ! Never to see her again ! 
 My pretty lamb, my Lucy !" 
 
 Whilst Lucy Crofton was lying at the parson- 
 age in danger of life, and those around her were 
 watching anxiously as the hours stole on, giving 
 less and less of hope, in Hulse House there was 
 also a time of trial and of conflict. With equal 
 fallacy to that of the monks of old, Arthur Col- 
 ville thought that he had entrenched himself 
 around from the intrusion of the world. He had
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 229 
 
 ffiven strict orders to the one trusted confidant, 
 who managed his aiFairs, and to whom alone the 
 secret of his residence was confided, to destroy at 
 once every letter addressed to him. Hodson had 
 tried to expostulate with his master on a measure 
 which cut off all hope of accidental influence from 
 the i*emarks and entreaties of friends, or from the 
 chance of his being aroused to fresh sources of 
 interest from tlie knowledge of events in the 
 world. 
 
 But Colville's peremptory tone, as he said — 
 *• There must be no communication between me 
 and those I have left. They do not regret me, 
 nor do I regret them," and the harsh, desponding 
 severity of his voice, as he added, " Can I not be 
 freed from importunity unless I lay myself in the 
 grave? There is quiet there 1" silenced Hodson. 
 
 What if he sought that quiet too soon ? 
 
 " But what is come over me !" thought Hodson, 
 as this terrible dread glanced through his mind. 
 "How can I fear such sin in my dear master? 
 No, no ! it is unjust and wicked even to dream of 
 it for an instant !" 
 
 On the evening of the day which we have just 
 described at Hulse Parsonage, Hodson appeared 
 before his master with a letter in his hand. Col-
 
 230 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 ville was sitting over a small wood fire, for it was 
 a chilly evening. He glanced angrily at the 
 letter, as he raised his eyes from his book, but 
 before his anger had time to express itself, Hodson 
 explained that the letter was merely a petition 
 from a poor boy, who had so earnestly entreated 
 that the squire should look at it, that Hodson was 
 unwilling to refuse. 
 
 " Well," said Colville, his brow clearing, " lay 
 it there ; I will look at it presently. You were 
 quite right not to refuse the poor wretch." Hod- 
 son laid the letter down; then lingered a little, 
 as if desirous to speak. Colville again looked 
 up. 
 
 " Miss Crofton is very ill, sir," Hodson said. 
 
 " I know it !" was the cold reply, and after a 
 second's pause, he added, '•' You told me so 
 before." 
 
 Hodson knew that he had named the illness, in 
 the hope of rousing his master to sympathy, btit 
 there had been no answer. " And should she 
 die," said Mr. Colville, continuing to speak with 
 as much coldness and severity as ever, *' is it such 
 a matter of sorrow that any one should die before 
 they have learnt to regret the day on which they 
 were born?" 
 
 " Her brother, sir, is in great affliction."
 
 nuLSE HOUSE. 231 
 
 ''Is he selfish, then?" said Mr. Colville: "or 
 does he think that in the future he can shield her 
 from the daily-increasing disappointments and 
 sufferings of existence ?" But his tone changed, 
 and lie added, with something more of his own 
 natural kindliness, " I am very sorry for Mr. 
 Crofton; he is a good man, and free from all 
 affectation of feeling. His life would be more 
 dreary without his sister's society. Is there any 
 hope of her recovery ?" he asked. 
 
 Hodson shook his head. 
 
 " Indeed it is sad," was Mr. Colville's remark, 
 with far more feeling. There was, perhaps, a 
 reviving recollection of the pleasures of family 
 affection, or of the grief he had himself endured 
 on the loss of his parents, for Arthur Colville's 
 nature had not been hard. It was now embittered, 
 and he affected to despise all the common and 
 natural sources of joy and sorrow. A misdirected 
 and sinful indulgence in his own grief made him 
 careless as to the troubles of others. 
 
 When Hodson left him he thought, " Why does 
 any one foolishly expect to be happy ? It is a 
 silly struggle ! for any reasoning being must be 
 convinced that pain, disappointment, and mortifi- 
 cation are the chronic state of every human being. 
 I can pity these poor people, but in doing so, what
 
 232 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 is it but to murmur asfainst tlie fj^overnino; in- 
 fluence which made this sufFerina: a law of beinsr ! 
 I am powerless to ward off these miseries ! Am I 
 not myself a living witness to their ceaseless 
 thraldom ? What if this poor girl recovers ! 
 Will she pass her life without adding each day 
 something more to embitter it ? Then why should 
 she live ? If death does not bring happiness now, 
 why should it do so some years hence ?" 
 
 And then Cohille remembered the letter Hod- 
 son had laid beside him. There was a feeling of 
 satisfaction in the idea of his own unselfish bene- 
 volence in attending to the requests of the poor, 
 who were to him a privileged race. 
 
 " This is a dainty beggar !" he thought, smiling 
 ironically, as he unfolded the dirty outer cover, 
 and came to a neatly folded, well sealed enclosure. 
 He opened it and began to read. 
 
 There w^as complete stillness in the room, 
 except for the ticking of tlie clock on the mantel- 
 piece. Arthur Colville's hand held the letter — 
 his grasp tightened on it — a mist came over his 
 eyes — paleness over his face. The letter was not 
 a petition from a beggar. It was thus artfully 
 conveyed to ensure its perusal — ''I have at last 
 discovered your place of concealment," were the 
 first words, and the handwriting was but too well
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 233 
 
 known to him. In former times it had often 
 brought a thrill of rapture to his heart. But 
 there was a terrible change since those early days 
 of trust and hope ! and every relic of the writer 
 had been carefully destroyed. A fierce strife 
 was going on in Arthur Colville's breast as he 
 sat motionless, and pale as death ; and then 
 as he started up, a quick flush came to his 
 cheek ; the quick flush of anger, and pride, and 
 indignant scorn, spreading up even to his fore- 
 head ! He paced the room with hasty steps. 
 The letter was clenched in his hand ; his angry 
 grasp closed over it ; and then, as if not satisfied 
 with this token of contempt and hatred, he tore 
 the paper to pieces ; he cast each atom into the 
 fire, and as the flames in turn curled round each 
 word, he watched their demolition with a cruel, 
 scornful pleasure ! The first sentence was the 
 only one he had read ! Whatever the appeal to 
 his feelings might have been, it was lost I All 
 that it had cost the writer to pen those words was 
 mere wasted pain ! The paper on which they 
 had been inscribed was now flickering into a blaze 
 before it crumpled up into a thin, flimsy frag- 
 ment, which the next draught of air might carry 
 up the chimney. After that evening Hodson 
 observed with pain the increased irritation and
 
 234 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 depression of his master. There was tenfold 
 bitterness in his tone, and he seemed resolved 
 to bury himself, if possible, more closely than 
 ever.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 235 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 I MUST again return to the parsonage, where we 
 left the Croftons in great distress and anxiety. 
 For a long time the balance had been wavering 
 between life and death, but at length the scale 
 was turned, and with deep gratitude Walter 
 Crofton heard the words from the lips of the 
 medical man which assured him that the dan<Ter 
 was over, and that his sister was restored to 
 him. 
 
 It was a fine day in August when Lucy was 
 first carried to the drawing-room. Her sofa was 
 placed near the window, from whence she could 
 see the flowers as they began to glow forth in 
 their gorgeous autumnal colouring. Lucy was 
 pale and delicate ; she .looked like a slight, fairy 
 being, inspiring a feeling of awe, from her strong 
 contrast to anything of roughness or coarseness. 
 She had never been in the drawing-room since
 
 236 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 the afternoon in April when she had left it 
 in such gay spirits with Mrs. Berkeley's letter in 
 her hand, gince then how familiar had every- 
 thing become to her in her room upstairs, where 
 she had first read the letter and known of the 
 sacrifice that was required of her ! Even such 
 minute things as the slight variation in the pattern 
 of the paper, the number of scrolls round the 
 frame of a picture, the indistinct letters at the 
 corner of an old print, which she had never ob- 
 served in health, she knew by heart in her 
 illness. 
 
 But these trifles were not the only things that 
 had been learnt by Lucy during her illness, for 
 suffering teaches us much which it is difficult or 
 impossible to learn in health and happiness. 
 
 When Lucy first came downstairs after her long 
 illness, her eye rested in turn on each familiar ob- 
 ject. She remembered with what a light heart 
 she had run upstairs on that afternoon. She bad 
 then known but little of what the suiFerino^s of 
 the mind could be; and yet, much as she had 
 endured, she was able to bless God in her soul 
 for her illness, and for her knowledge of sorrow. 
 Some will say, why is this ? Lucy Crofton was 
 an amiable, affectionate girl, with strong religious 
 principle — what did she need more? Ah, how
 
 HU) SE HOUSE. 237 
 
 many of us may have felt this of others, or more 
 fatally of ourselves, until affliction has given us a 
 power to understand the deeper things of the 
 spirit I The young man who turned aw^ay sor- 
 rowful from the call to leave everything and 
 follow^ Christ, did not know that he needed a 
 higher principle, till the test was applied and he 
 failed. Lucy Crofton little knew^ how faint was 
 her self-sacrificing love to God, or what it was to 
 feel her own sinfulness — her deep need of the 
 Saviour's atonement, until she was tried through 
 the medium of her earthly affections. 
 
 Lucy Crofton had passed through a struggle 
 that had nearly cost her her life, for her love 
 was not lightly given — her feelings were calm, 
 strong, and deep — her love once bestowed, be- 
 came to her as a sacred, unchanging devotion, 
 to endure through life ; and when she was so un- 
 expectedly called upon to relinquish all thoughts 
 of George Berkeley, she did not receive the 
 trial as many girls of her age might have done 
 — with burst of tears and violent agitatation, 
 spending itself in vehement outward distress — 
 but Lucy tried to suppress her emotion, she 
 tried to act deliberately and firmly, on reason 
 and on principle ; nor was there any impulse of 
 excitement, or fancied sense of martyrdom, to
 
 238 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 support her. She saw the full value of what 
 it was she must sacrifice if she agreed to Mrs. 
 Berkeley's request. That " //" had often tantalised 
 and bewildered her during the three days which 
 were allowed for deliberation ; but at length it was 
 put aside, and she wrote to Mrs. Berkeley agree- 
 ing to her request. 
 
 Many will doubt whether Lucy's decision was 
 right. We know that it was formed in spite of 
 the earnest pleadings of her own heart, and we 
 can, therefore, admire her heroism of conduct, 
 even if we think her judgment erroneous. To a 
 weaker mind this one act of self-sacrifice would 
 have seemed sufficient, but Lucy felt that she had 
 no right to make the sacrifice at all, without the 
 accompanying resolution that her future life 
 should not be spent in repining, saddening use- 
 lessness. There were duties in her home and in 
 her small sphere which must not be neglected; 
 she must be able to share in the joys as well scs in 
 the sorrows of others, and, above all, she must 
 strive to gain the spirit of thankfulness and cheer- 
 fulness, which was her duty towards God. 
 
 She earnestly prayed for hel}), but sometimes 
 the cry of anguish burst from her lips, and she 
 could scarcely repress the ardent longing that her 
 life might not be prolonged.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 239 
 
 There is often a half dreamy state belonging to 
 great bodily weakness, immediately after the 
 cessation of fever, during which there is but little 
 suffering, and as Lucy sank into this state, 
 it seemed to bring repose to her mind, and carried 
 her through the first brunt of her distress. She 
 ceased to think of exertion; she was obliged to 
 rest passively, half sleeping away the hours of the 
 day. But when the powers of thought returned 
 as she grew better, Lucy saw that there had 
 been presumption even in her good resolutions. 
 She saw that a deeper submission was needed, 
 and that she must be content to fail in her 
 attempts to carry out her own high ideas of duty. 
 She must be content to see herself the cause of 
 distress and disappointment to those whom she 
 loved : and still farther, she must learn the lesson 
 that it was not through her own merits, but 
 through her sense of her own weakness and 
 infirmities that she must come to the Saviour and 
 to God through him. 
 
 During the first weeks of convalescence, the 
 after-work of illness and sorrow, in the effect on 
 the nerves, is often more difficult to bear than 
 illness itself. There was one trial to Lucy which 
 those alone who have experienced something of it 
 can fully understand, and this was the impossi-
 
 240 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 bility of destroying every feeling of hope. She 
 could not persuade herself that, sooner or later, 
 Mrs. Berkeley would not write to release her from 
 her promise, and thus the agitation of suspense, so 
 peculiarly trying to any one whose nerves have 
 been weakened by illness, or by some shock to 
 the feelings, were continued to Lucy day after 
 day. Each afternoon, as the post came in, she 
 grew faint with eagerness to look at the letters, 
 and week after week she turned away with the 
 sickening feeling of disappointment, as the anxi- 
 ously expected letter never came ! 
 
 Whilst this languor and depression of spirits 
 lasted, it seemed to Lucy's distorted fancy as if 
 all her usual occupations and objects of interest 
 brought pain with them, and in this state of mind 
 she turned with a strange morbid interest to the 
 thoughts of Hulse House and its melancholy 
 inmate. Walter had confided his fears to her as 
 to jNIr. Colville's religious doubts, and these fears 
 had served still more to increase her anxietv 
 about him. There was not excitement enousfh 
 in the ordinary troubles of life to arouse her 
 feelings. She could sympathise with nothing 
 but deep grief, and the hope of seeing Mr. Col- 
 ville ao^ain, afforded a shs^ht relief to the dread-
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 241 
 
 ful monotony of her thoughts, which seemed rub- 
 bing and wearing away her heart. 
 
 " Ah !" said my sister Jane, ''it will be a sad 
 thino: if she orets too much interest in Mr. Col- 
 ville, and I only wish that Mrs. Walter was a 
 more comfortable companion for her. A new, 
 pretty piece of carpet work would have done her 
 good ; shading the wools and counting the stitches 
 is very soothing !" 
 
 "Perhaps," said Martha, "they had no good 
 shops within reach?" appealing to me, with an 
 apologetic air. 
 
 "Probably not," was my answer; "but Barker 
 Preston agreed with Jane that it was a sad thing 
 for Lucy to take too much interest in the recluse, 
 though Lucy little guessed what pain it caused 
 her good-natured friend, nor did she know that he 
 began to look on Mr. Colville as a sort of Blue- 
 beard in disguise." 
 
 My sister Martha slightly started. 
 
 **Were all the rooms at Hulse House con- 
 stantly unlocked and dusted by the housemaids ?" 
 she asked, anxiously. 
 
 I shook my head. 
 
 " I really could not say that they were." 
 Martha and Jane looked at one another, but 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Martha turned the subject as too painful to be 
 dwelt upon, and asked me what Barker Pres- 
 ton felt during Lucy's illness and danger. 
 
 " It is not easy to describe his distress," I 
 said. 
 
 His only consolation had been in hovering 
 about the parsonage on the chance of seeing 
 Walter Crofton or his wife, or of catching the 
 doctor, or gleaning a ray of hope from the faces of. 
 the servants or villagers; but, above all, in going 
 to talk with Miss Walcott, over and over again, 
 of Lucy's perfections. 
 
 When he was at last allowed to see Lucy, he 
 crept into the drawing-room on tiptoes, on pur- 
 pose to make as little noise as his creaking boots 
 would allow; but the cheerful face which he 
 proposed to wear for the sake of "brisking her 
 up," as he called it, w^as a complete failure, for as 
 he first caught sight of her pale face and large, 
 melancholy eyes, he was entirely overcome ! His 
 countenance fell — the words of welcome died on 
 his lips — all he could do was to take Lucy's little 
 wasted hand in both of his and say not a word ! 
 
 As Lucy grew stronger he recovered his powers 
 of whistling and eating his dinner, until her eager 
 excited attention at the accidental mention of Mr.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. " 243 
 
 Colville's name caused a fresh anxiety. His 
 appetite again failed liim, his whistling ceased, 
 whilst his perplexity how to save her from the 
 fascinations of the recluse became greater than 
 ever. 
 
 Meantime we have seen that Mr. Colville's 
 despondency had been deepening, and as he came 
 forward to meet Walter Crofton on their first 
 interview in the library at Hulse House after 
 Lucy's illness, his figure was bent, as if from age ; 
 his eyes looked sunken and hollow, and his brown 
 waving hair was slightly sprinkled with gray. 
 
 M 2
 
 244 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 Theke had been much gloom over the parsonage, 
 and now there was a shadow even over Wood- 
 bine Cottage. 
 
 "I do not like to vex jou, ma'am," were the 
 words of Miss Walcott's maid one day to her 
 little mistress; "but, as you say, ma'am, truth 
 is always better than falsehood, I will teU you the 
 real truth. Mrs. Wilson says to me, when I 
 went last to the parsonage, ^ Sally,' says she, 
 ^Miss Lucy does not get on a bit, and what's 
 more, it's my opinion she never will." 
 
 Miss Walcott looked up, and hemmed and 
 fidgetted. " What does the doctor say, Sally ?" 
 
 " Says he hopes she will be better. I hate 
 hopes, ma'am ! They always mean something 
 dreadful when a doctor speaks of them." 
 
 Miss Walcott might have given a little short 
 laugh, had she been happy enough for it.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 245 
 
 " Well, well ! Sally ! people are mistaken 
 sometimes ! Let us say no more about it ! 
 Vexed ! Yes, to be sure I am vexed, but stick 
 to the truth, Sally, for all that !" 
 
 Miss Walcott could not recover her good- 
 humour, and she was not at all better when the 
 door bell rang about an hour or two afterwards. 
 
 " What is that noise ?" she said, sharply. 
 " Whistling ! I hate whistling !" Barker Pres- 
 ton," she said, before he was half in the room, 
 " what do you come whistling up my stairs for ? 
 Don't you know I hate that silly noise men con- 
 trive to screw out of their mouths, just to prove 
 they are inferior to women ? And there you are, 
 coming in with your dirty shoes, making a mess 
 in my room, and whistling as if there was nobody 
 ill in the world !" 
 
 " Hancr the shoes and the whistlino^ !" exclaimed 
 Barker Preston, " I forgot all about them, for I 
 have such capital news from the parsonage ! I 
 have been sitting with her. Miss Walcott, and 
 she has been laughing ! And I met the doctor, 
 and he said, ' Mr. Preston, Miss Crofton is getting 
 on rarely now ! We shall see her out of doors 
 very soon.' " 
 
 " Now God be praised !" said the little lady, 
 her eyes brightening. " Whistle away. Barker
 
 246 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Preston ! Go through the whole opera of Don 
 Giovanni, if you like ! Whistle away as much as 
 you please, and wipe your shoes on my carpet 
 every day of the year, if you like ! Here, Sally 
 had been telling me a cock-and-a-bull story of 
 what Wilson said, and what she said to her, till I 
 was as cross and as sore as if I had been beaten ! 
 Whistle away. Barker Preston, but tell me first 
 all she said and looked." 
 
 Barker Preston said, " Ay ! I knew you would 
 be pleased, and I will tell you all about it. After 
 I had been there a little time, she said (Miss 
 Crofton I mean), Mr. Preston (she calls me Mr. 
 Preston, you know), Mr. Preston, give my love to 
 Miss Walcott, and tell her I hope to come and 
 see her very soon; and then she smiled, and I 
 said something, and then she laughed — a real, 
 downright laugh !" 
 
 Miss Walcott blew her nose violently and 
 muttered something about " an old fool," and 
 cleared her throat, and then said " I am very glad 
 to hear this ! That child, Lucy Crofton at the 
 parsonage, is a particular favourite of mine, Bar- 
 ker Preston. She is a good girl. I never saw a 
 wrong twist in her in my life. If you put a 
 straight line before her, she would not shut one 
 eye and then say it was crooked, but she would
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 247 
 
 look steadily at it with both eyes open, and slie 
 would see exactly whether it was straight, or 
 whether it curved ever so little, but she would 
 not bother you by telling about the curve if there 
 was no need for it." 
 
 " That's just it !" said Barker Preston, with 
 enthusiasm. " If it was an ugly day of bad sport, 
 and everybody out of humour, she would not go 
 and poke it at you, when you were in for it, that 
 you would not find all day, and yet she would see 
 it sharper than any one !" 
 
 " And so she smiled, did she ?" said Miss Wal- 
 cott, after a short pause of consideration. 
 
 " Smiled ! bless you ! she laughed !" said Bar- 
 ker Preston. 
 
 " Some people are very pretty, Miss Walcott," 
 he said, after a pause. 
 
 " I should think there was something newer to 
 find out than that !" said Miss Walcott, with her 
 short, chuckling laugh. 
 
 '•'I am very glad," said my sister Jane, "that 
 she is getting better, and I hope Mrs. Walter 
 will send her out in the carriage on the first fine 
 day." 
 
 "A visit to Miss Walcott," said my sister 
 Martha, " is what I should strongly recommend."
 
 248 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 "And," said I, "that is exactly what she is 
 thinking about at this moment. She is actually 
 in the carriage, on her way to Woodbine Cottage, 
 and little Miss Walcott is becoming quite restless 
 and nervous with the expectation of seeing her." 
 
 "Now, Sally," she said to her maid, "don't 
 start and cry out, ' Eh I dear ! Mi.-s Crofton, how 
 ill you look !' but receive her as if she had been 
 sitting here as usual every week in the last three 
 months ! People are weak and nervous after a 
 bad illness, and if they are flurried by silly re- 
 marks they can't get over it. There she is, 
 Sally ! there she is !" she exclaimed, in a quick 
 tone. " I see the carriage just by the elm tree. 
 Remember, Sally ! don't say so much as ' I hope 
 you are better. Miss Crofton,' for if you do, I'll 
 send you off at a month's notice, without your 
 Christmas gown and cap ! Come in, Lucy, my 
 dear ; I was just expecting you, and there is the 
 sofa ready for you. I wanted some one to talk to. 
 I hate being silent, my tongue gets so stiff"! I 
 can chatter on to exercise it wliile you rest. I 
 have had no one but Sally to speak to all the 
 
 morning." 
 
 " HoAV pleasant this is," said Lucy, as she lay 
 quietly on the sofa, looking at her dear little Miss
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 249 
 
 AValcott. The white cap looked cleaner, and 
 droller, and more enlivening than ever. 
 
 "Yes, child!" said Miss Walcott, twitching 
 away at her nettino;. " Yes, child ! it is a com- 
 fort able thing to have you here. I like talking to 
 you, for I know you pick up my meaning clean 
 and tidy, and I can say just what I please, with- 
 out stopping to think whether you will wonder or 
 blunder about it." And so the little lady chat- 
 tered on till she saw that Lucy had recovered 
 from her first nervousness, and then she asked a 
 few questions and led her to talk, and Lucy went 
 home at the end of two hours with more cheerful- 
 ness and composure than she had felt since her 
 illness. 
 
 VI o
 
 250 nULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 But to ^Irs. Walter Croftou, what was the sun- 
 shine of a cottage compared to the grand obscurity 
 of a great house ? She hurried into the drawing- 
 room at the Parsonage, one day, not long after 
 Lucy's first visit to Woodbine Cottage, with a 
 joyful exclamation. 
 
 " Mr. Colville is coming, Lucy I I saw him 
 riding up to the gate. I hope you will not mind 
 being left alone, for I have so much to do in the 
 village that I must run away at once ! If you 
 are tired, you can ring for Wilson to help you to 
 your room." 
 
 Mr. Colville had not seen Lucy since her ill- 
 ness — he was not an observant person, for he was 
 habitually self-engrossed — but something in her 
 look arrested his attention. Sorrow and agitation 
 may seem to pass and to be forgotten, but they 
 leave an ineffaceable stamp, on the expression
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 251 
 
 as well as on the heart and character. It was 
 not only that Lucy was pale and delicate in 
 appearance from the effects of illness, but there 
 rested on her countenance that shadow — soft, and 
 even grand as it may be — which is first spread 
 over it by the knowledge of sorrow, and the work 
 of endurance sroino- on in the soul. 
 
 Mr. Colville almost started as he saw her, and 
 perhaps there was, to such a mind as his, a kind 
 of satisfaction in the conviction that she had been 
 unhappy. He sav/ in her, for the first time, a 
 person who would be able to understand him. It 
 was evident that, as in his own case, some sorrow 
 had fallen on her, early in life, before the feel- 
 ings had undergone the deadening process of 
 time. 
 
 After a little conversation, he took up a volume 
 of Coleridge's Poems which lay on the table, and 
 he asked Lucy, with an air of some inquisitive- 
 ness, wdiether she had read them. 
 
 "Not lately," was her answer. 
 
 " You were perhaps afraid of them ?" he said. 
 "When we are happy, and can shake off the 
 vasrue images of distress which he deli^^hts to 
 create, it is very well to indulge in these fanciful 
 horrors, but it is not so safe or pleasant when the 
 mind has too much of its own gloom."
 
 5n«? 
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Lucy looked up >yitli a surprised, inquiring 
 look. She had not told Mr. Colville she had 
 been unhappy. Hov/ had he guessed it ? She 
 was anxious he should so on. 
 
 " The chimera of hopefulness should be detained 
 as long as possible," he added. " There is a fur- 
 ther stage of suffering, where hope takes to itself 
 wings, and refuses to remain." 
 
 " But why should we have to reach that stage 
 at all ?" said Lucy, eagerly. 
 
 "Why?" exclaimed Mr. Colville. "Do you 
 then really suppose that after the first efferves- 
 cence of youthful spirits has ceased, there are any 
 w^ho, if they confessed the truth, are not bowed 
 down with the cares and disappointment of every 
 day and every hour of their existence?" 
 
 " Xay, but," said Lucy, '* I have seen many 
 who have even had great afflictions, and who have 
 passed through them, and have lived in cheerful- 
 ness and happiness to old age !" 
 
 "Is it really so?" said Mr. Colville, ironically; 
 " or rather is it a finer species of deception ? If 
 those of whom you speak are mere placid speci- 
 mens — the mental zoophytes, as it were, of hu- 
 manity — it is absurd to treat of them. I am not 
 thinking of the mere animal man ! I speak of 
 those who have genius and intellect — ardent affec-
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 253 
 
 tlon, sensitive natures! — those with whom the 
 clay is over-balanced and annihilated by the spirit, 
 not the spirit outweighed and smothered by the 
 clay ! A more common case !" was added, with 
 his frequent, querulous, half-sneering tone. " But 
 look to a mind," he continued, for whom Coleridge 
 would write, and by whom he would hope to be 
 understood, and then tell me whether the depths 
 of which I am speaking will not most sadly and 
 surely arrive for him !" 
 
 " You would take away all comfort," said Lucy, 
 and her hands fell listlessly at her side, and the 
 tears were in her eyes ; for as her own mind was 
 still in an unhealthy state, she felt overwhelmed 
 by the influence of his despondency, even though 
 she wished Mm to go on speaking. He was turn- 
 ing over the leaves of the volume of Coleridge. 
 
 "Do you know this passage?" he said, and 
 then, in a voice of great sweetness, he read these 
 lines — 
 
 " ' Like one that on a lonesome road 
 
 Doth walk in pain and dread, 
 And having once turned round walks on 
 
 And turns no more his head, 
 Because he knows a frightful fiend 
 
 Doth close behind him tread.' 
 
 This is but an image of the mind's pain and
 
 254f HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 dread ; and who can dare to sijeak of comfort 
 when the wickedness or the misery of ahuost 
 every human being around us are the frightful 
 fiends constantly possessing and invading the 
 mind !" Mr. Colville's manner had lost its taunt- 
 ing tone, and had become more earnest, and turn- 
 ing suddenly to Lucy, and looking at her as he 
 had never done before, he said, almost with emo- 
 tion, "Is this language strange to you. Miss 
 Crofton, or do I guess rightly? Since we last 
 met, it is easy to perceive that we have more in 
 common. Why I speak of it I scarcely know ; 
 but you will believe that it is not from mere 
 vulgar curiosity or inquisitiveness into the cause 
 of your grief!" and he paused, as if it were for 
 her answer. 
 
 There is certainly something in our nature 
 which seems to constitute sorrow as the strongest 
 bond of sympathy between human beings. Lucy 
 would never have dreamt of making a confidant 
 of Mr. Colville if she had been happy, but now 
 she scarcely felt any hesitation in answering to 
 his appeal ; her face w^as paler for a minute, and 
 then a flush passed over it, as she said, " No one 
 knows or guesses it ; but you are right !" 
 
 Brother I" said my sister Martha, sternly.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 255 
 
 " brother ! no woman ou^ht to love an iinbe- 
 liever." 
 
 "Only pity him?" said Jane, gently and inquir- 
 ingly, looking rather timidly, first at Martha and 
 then at me. 
 
 "Only pity him," I said, for I did not wish 
 just then to enter into a discussion on the distinc- 
 tion between love and Christian charity. 
 
 " Very well," said Martha, in a satisfied tone, 
 "she must only pity him:" upon which, as I saw 
 that my horse was waiting for me, I wished my 
 sisters good-bye and set off on my solitary ride; 
 and then I remembered that I had given the 
 reader but a very vague idea of the reasons for 
 Mrs. Berkeley's letter to Lucy Crofton, and as I 
 have no object in concealing them I Avill go back 
 a little to relate something of her wishes and plans 
 for her son George, which his attachment to Lucy 
 Crofton had seemed dooined to thwart. 
 
 Near the country home of the Berkeleys, which 
 was a fine old stately place, with all the proper 
 appurtenances of avenues, deer park, and large 
 manorial hall, there was an old baronial hall, 
 equally gifted with avenues and deer park, and 
 here lived two excellent people. Lord and Lady 
 Kaymond. Their only son had died in cliildhood.
 
 256 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 and there were only two daughters left to inherit 
 all the stately possessions of the house of Ray- 
 mond. 
 
 With true womanly ingenuity, Mrs. Berkeley 
 formed a plan that her second son George should 
 marry the Raymonds' second daughter, Margaret. 
 We know Mrs. Berkeley's character. What Lady 
 Raymond thought of, in her gentleness, as a very 
 nice scheme, provided " dear George " took a fancy 
 to " dearest Margaret,'' Mrs. Berkeley settled with 
 all the determination of pride. 
 
 Mrs. Berkeley had been left a widow very 
 early in life. Her husband had given a proof of 
 the boundless respect and admiration he had felt 
 for her by leaving his younger son dependent on 
 her during her lifetime. If he married without 
 her consent she could withhold from him the 
 addition to his fortune which would alone enable 
 him to maintain a wife. 
 
 Mrs. Berkeley felt that she had a perfect right 
 to dispose of her children's lives and loves as she 
 thought best for them. She had remarkably 
 strong prejudices respecting aristocratic birth, and 
 I can well imagine with what a clash her mind 
 was stunned, when, instead of the high-born 
 Margaret, the daughter of her hopes, for whom 
 she had in secret destined her son George, he
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 257 
 
 proposed to her the sister of a poor country cler- 
 gyman, a person, too, whose family she believed 
 had been in trade ! In her eyes there was a 
 broad distinctive line between the little set in 
 London, amongst whom she lived and to which 
 she belonged, and all the outer world ; and this, 
 blended with her exclusive feelino-s as to hiofh 
 birth, formed, in her mind, an impassable barrier 
 between the one and the other. The evils of the 
 Crofton connection had been exaggerated. She 
 was told that trade had soiled the fingers of 
 Lucy's father, instead of that very mild infusion 
 of its pollutions, in the person of Lucy's grand- 
 mother, which was really the case. Could George, 
 her own aristocratic son, ever be happy with 
 a wife whose very smiles might have a gleam 
 of the counter in them? Would there not be 
 constant pain to his refined mind when he saw in 
 the family quarterings the cottony shade smother- 
 ing the shields of knights and squires of old, who 
 had nobly worked at nothing ! How could he 
 walk in his father's halls without a blush on his 
 cheek ! Mrs. Berkeley could not reason against 
 such objections ! Her own cheek glowed with 
 proud indignation and mortification, and she felt 
 but little consideration due to the upstart aspira- 
 tions of one of the canaille, such as Lucy Crofton.
 
 258 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 But Mrs. Berkeley had only earned her son's 
 consent to a year's silence on the condition that 
 she would at once sanction their marriage and 
 contribute the necessary addition to his income, if 
 he still desired to marry Lucy on his return, and he 
 was then free to declare his feehngs to her at once. 
 That this contingency might never arrive, she wrote 
 her letter to Lucy Crofton, and as she did so, she 
 believed that the time would come when her son 
 would thank her for havins; saved him from such 
 a mesalliance. But there was another objection, 
 which at present must appear to her son more 
 reasonable, and which, in fact, there was no rea- 
 soning against ! As his own fortune was far too 
 small to enable him to marry, he must be aware 
 that at this moment of pecuniary difficulty she 
 could not deprive herself of the means to enable 
 him to marry against her wishes ! A year's 
 delay had been gained, and Lucy's consent to her 
 request made it probable that this year might be 
 lengthened into the " for ever," to which Lucy's 
 heart had at last acquiesced. 
 
 Whether Mrs. Berkeley would have written 
 her letter to Lucy, proud and unreasonable 
 as she was, but for the strong pressure of a 
 nervous illness we cannot pretend to say I It was 
 so entirely unwarrantable that we cannot believe
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 2c9 
 
 she would have made such an extraordinary 
 demand under other circumstances ; but, like 
 other fancies imbibed during mental excitement 
 or delirium, it stamped itself on the mind Avith 
 unusual force, and she did not retract when she 
 partially recovered her health, because she never 
 learnt to view it but throuo'h the false medium 
 under which the idea had been orio:inated. Her 
 saner and better judgment was therefore unable to 
 act upon it. 
 
 When the year of George Berkeley's absence 
 was past, Lucy heard of his return to England, 
 but this was all. His mother's sentence then had 
 gone forth, and he had obeyed. Was it weak- 
 ness or indifference? It mattered not, she was 
 left to her fate ! The only intelligence she 
 received was an accidental careless one in a letter 
 from Agnes Spencer. After naming the Digbys, 
 she said, "Digby Manor reminds me that your 
 former admirer, George Berkeley, is at home 
 again. There has been much trouble in the 
 family. His brother Frederic got involved in 
 some of those horrid speculations about which 
 we are all running mad, and poor Mrs. Berkeley 
 has had a dreadful nervous illness.*' 
 
 ''Your former admirer !" These words looked 
 strange to one whose love for him had caused her
 
 260 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 such deep unliappiness ! Agnes was ignorant of 
 the truth, and Lucy knew that she was, but she 
 could not shake off the influence of this careless 
 sentence. It conveyed to her a lonely sense that 
 all the interest George Berkeley had ever felt for 
 her was in the past, and that even then it had 
 been just that sort of passing admiration which 
 was a fitting subject for good-humoured raillery 
 and nothing more.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 In the present day it is the fashion to make such 
 a minute analysis of our feelings, that there is 
 perhaps a danger of having no feelings left ! As I 
 am an old-fashioned person, I shall say no more 
 of Lucy Crofton's feelings, but leave them in that 
 quiet, sanctified retirement, which she would have 
 expected and desired for them; as her health 
 became stronger, she gave the best proof that 
 sorrow had improved instead of embittering her 
 nature, by her kind and unselfish cheerfulness, and 
 her increased solicitude for the comfort and happi- 
 ness of all around her ; and when, with painful 
 rapidity, after George Berkeley's return to Eng- 
 land, a rumour reached her that he was engaged to 
 marry Miss Margaret Raymond, I am not going 
 to relate how she received this report. All I know 
 is, that Barker Preston became suddenly very
 
 262 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 anxious and unhappy about her, and assured Miss 
 Walcott that people sometimes went into rapid 
 declines, and that it was usually the best people 
 who did so. 
 
 They were not perhaps exactly these thoughts, 
 but something more general of the distresses and 
 uncertainties of life, which occupied Lucy one 
 morning after this rumour had performed its work 
 of annoyance. 
 
 Mrs. Walter had gone out for a day's shopping 
 to the neighbouring town ; and Lucy was sitting 
 alone, looking vacantly and cheerlessly on the 
 flower garden, which used to be her delight, when 
 she was startled by the servant's opening the 
 door, and without a moment in which to collect 
 her thoughts, George Berkeley was before her. 
 She could have screamed with agitation and sur- 
 prise, but she controlled herself 
 
 George Berkeley came up to her. An excla- 
 mation of distress burst from him, as he saw the 
 change which illness and sorrow had effected. 
 
 "You have been ill. Miss Crofton !" he said. 
 " You have been ill, and I kncAV nothing of it ! 
 Why did I not hear of this?" 
 
 "Yes ! I have been ill," Lucy said, in a faint 
 voice. She could not utter a word more — she 
 dared not look up.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 263 
 
 " You have been ill, and I knew nothing of 
 it I" George Berkeley exclaimed again, with nn- 
 mistakeable tenderness in his tone and look, but 
 with increasing agitation; he said something about 
 having been kept away — about " a cruel separa- 
 tion" — but it was all confusion to Lucy, and to 
 him it seemed little less so. 
 
 At length he got up ; he went to the window ; 
 then returned to the seat by Lucy, and said, " It 
 is useless trying to conceal what I feel. At the 
 risk of startling you by my abruptness, I must 
 speak." And then in plain, earnest, manly lan- 
 guage, George Berkeley poured forth to Lucy 
 the expression of his love. He told her of his 
 past difficulties ; he told her that since his return 
 from abroad he had been kept watching by the 
 sick bed of his mother ; that the moment he could 
 safely leave her he came — not waiting for a fresh 
 permission from her, as he dared not agitate her 
 by speaking on a subject of so much interest — but 
 he came at once to Lucy to know his fate, to ask 
 if she could love him — to ask if she would consent 
 to be his wife. He appealed to her for an answer 
 — her hand was clasped in his. 
 
 And Lucy, poor Lucy ! what was she to say ? 
 Her great and unchanging affection for George 
 Berkeley was vehement at her heart; but the
 
 264 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 recollection of Mrs. Berkeley's letter, and her own 
 fatal promise, rested there also, like a dead weight. 
 George Berkeley brought her no release ! all that 
 he said made this certain ! Her agitation and 
 distress were too great for control. She scarcely 
 knew what were the words she uttered, or what 
 she ought to have uttered. She only felt that 
 her lover was before her, her hand clasped in his, 
 and that she loved him more than ever ; and as 
 he repeated his eager, passionate appeal to her, 
 asking her whether she could love him, she ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 " Oh ! why will you ask me ? It is too late ! — 
 too late ! Nay," she added, as her face crimsoned 
 over with a bright blush, "not too late to say 
 that I love you, for why should I conceal it ? It 
 may be a comfort to you in our separation, to 
 know that I love you. But it is too late, too 
 late !" she repeated, half wildly. 
 
 "Why do you say this?" said George Berkeley, 
 passionately kissing the hand still clasped in his. 
 " You have owned that you love me ! Do 
 we not love one another ? — do you doubt my 
 love?" 
 
 " Oh ! no, no !" exclaimed Lucy. " But it is 
 too late — I have promised !" 
 
 George Berkeley started and drew back.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 265 
 
 ''' Yes," said Lucy, " I have promised ! I told 
 you it was too late." 
 
 "Promised! — promised!" said George Berke- 
 ley, recoiling. "But you love me?" he added, 
 and his voice was almost stern. 
 
 "Oh ! do not ask me that again! " said Lucy, 
 the blood rushing to her face, and then leaving 
 her pale as death. " I was weak and wicked to 
 say it ! I can tell you nothing ! Only leave me ! 
 you must leave me ! I have been very weak — but 
 I have been ill ! I was almost gone ! Oh, if I 
 had died then, what sorrow would have been 
 spared me ! But this is wicked I very wicked ! 
 I hardly know what I am saying !" Lucy made 
 a violent effort to speak more calmly. "You 
 must leave me, Mr. Berkeley," she said, "for I 
 can tell you nothing. I would ask you to love 
 me still, but that it would be wrong, for we must 
 not meet an^ain." 
 
 " Xot meet again !" exclaimed George Berkeley. 
 " Good God ! What is it ? What can you mean? " 
 
 " Oh ! do not ask me," said Lucy," with in- 
 creasing agitation. " Pray do not ask me ! Only 
 leave me at once, and do not reproach me. I 
 
 have suffered so much, and now " Lucy's 
 
 voice ceased. She had fainted. 
 
 George Berkeley rang for help. The maid 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 was sent for. Lucy was carried upstairs. George 
 Berkeley waited below in a state of anguish 
 hardly to be described. Was Lucy false ? Was 
 she engaged to another? Barker Preston had 
 sometimes spoken to him mysteriously about Mr. 
 Colville, the recluse, but he had only laughed at 
 the idea; for the last days spent at Fernmere 
 with Lucy had removed almost every doubt as to 
 his love being returned. But now Barker Pres- 
 ton's hints recurred to him. Could it be true ? 
 Could he have misinterpreted her looks and 
 words ? or could her sister-in-law have involved 
 her in an engagement contrary to her own wishes ? 
 But then what did her avowal of love mean? 
 Was it possible that Lucy Croft on, who was so 
 modest, and gentle, and pure in thought, should 
 avow her love for him, if she were eno-ao^ed to 
 another ? The maid returned. 
 
 " How is Miss Crofton ?" was his eager ques- 
 tion. 
 
 " She is better, sir. She desired me to give 
 you this note, and to tell you she was better." 
 
 The maid left the room. George Berkeley 
 tore open the note. There were only these few 
 words — 
 
 " I entreat of you, if you have ever loved me,
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 267 
 
 not to remain here. I cannot explain. You 
 must not ask it, but leave me at once, and may- 
 God's blessing be with you now and for ever !" 
 
 " Lucy Crofton." 
 
 George Berkeley left the house. He saw that 
 there was nothing to be done but to submit. For 
 Lucy's sake he must obey her earnest request, 
 but afterwards this mystery must be solved ! He 
 returned to watch again the alternations of his 
 mother's health. Her nervous excitement had 
 scarcely abated, and it was impossible to tell her 
 what had passed between Lucy and himself. And 
 indeed it seemed useless to do so. He little 
 knew why Lucy had rejected him, and it seemed 
 cruel to run the risk of agitating his mother 
 unless for some obvious reason. But to submit 
 passively, and ignorantly to renounce the love 
 which had been so precious to him, the reader 
 will easily believe was the farthest possible thing 
 from his intentions, and Mrs. Berkeley little 
 guessed what was going on in her son's mind as 
 she comfortably reposed in the belief that he had 
 conquered his attachment, because he never' spoke 
 to her about it ! As she was not anxious to pique 
 him into a revival of his affection, the subject was 
 never named between them. 
 
 N 2
 
 268 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 CHAPTEK XXXIII. 
 
 This great trial in Lucy's life was over ! Whe- 
 ther she had been right or wrong in making the 
 promise to Mrs. Berkeley, she had been firm in 
 keeping it. 
 
 I will not string together a set of words about 
 broken hearts and blighted affections. It is easy 
 to imagine Lucy Crofton's distress when George 
 Berkeley was once more before her, and he poured 
 forth the story of his love, and of the hopes on 
 which he had been building so fondly during l^heir 
 long separation, and she could say nothing to 
 him! she could only entreat him to leave her — 
 Avithout a word of explanation. She let liim go 
 away supposing her capricious, perhaps disgusted 
 at her strange conduct, and deeply wounded by 
 her cruel rejection. 
 
 The tone of his voice, the look of pain on his 
 face as she begged him to leave her, were often
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 269 
 
 terribly present v/itli Lucy as every particular of 
 the short, agitating interview was constantly being 
 re-enacted in her mind. 
 
 But I will dwell no longer on the past. One 
 era of Lucy's life was over, and we may now 
 think of her as setting out again on her journey 
 through life, feeling as if the rest of the way 
 must be only a grave, sad struggle with the diffi- 
 culties and duties on her road, and intermixed 
 with very little pleasure or amusement ; although 
 she owned it might be with much sober happiness 
 and peace. But, in spite of strong religious trust 
 and joy, life, in itself, was a new and a wearisome 
 thing to her ; and yet to the common observer it 
 seemed to pass on just as before at Hulse Parson- 
 age. Poor Miss Crofton had had a dangerous 
 illness, and she looked very delicate; but then 
 she was young, she had nothing to trouble her, 
 and no doubt she would soon get back her pretty 
 colour, and regain her strength. 
 
 Happily for Lucy, the medical man saw deeper 
 into the matter than her relations and neighbours 
 did. He saw she would sink away but for some 
 change, and he peremptorily ordered her to the 
 sea-side. Lucy went ; thorough change of scene 
 was of use ; and when she returned home she was 
 really better in health and in nerves.
 
 270 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 It would have been more agreeable to Lucy's 
 feelings never to have gone into society again ; 
 she was not in the habit of analysing every 
 motive with microscopic exactness, but she was 
 under the habitual guidance of broad unwavering 
 principles of right and wrong, and she could 
 find no plea for refusing all sympathy or com- 
 munion with her richer neighbours, any more 
 than with her poorer ones. So she con- 
 quered her indolence and her repugnance to 
 society, and when she was required to go out 
 again with her brother and Mrs. Walter, she 
 neither dissolved into floods of tears, nor drew 
 down her face into sanctimonious disapproval ; 
 but she put on her nicest dress, and tried to enter 
 cheerfully into the interests and pleasures of others. 
 
 " Tears are very damaging to handsome silks 
 and velvets !" said my sister Martha. " It was 
 very right of Lucy to restrain them." 
 
 a Yery right, for many reasons," I said : " silks 
 and velvets inclusive, if you please." 
 
 The greatest trial in the line of social duties, 
 was the first visit to Digby Manor. 
 
 The day was now come, for Walter and his 
 wife and Lucy were driving along the road that
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 271 
 
 led to the DIgbys, and Agnes Spencer was to be 
 there. Lucy wondered how she should bear it if 
 Agnes should fix her piercing eyes upon her and 
 jest about old times, and speak of " her former 
 admirer." 
 
 But just then the old gray chimneys of Hulse 
 House appeared in sight, as they drove along the 
 road, and Lucy's mind was diverted from her own 
 troubles to those of the unhappy recluse. His 
 religious doubts, in contrast with her own settled 
 trust and faith, seemed more fearful and terrible 
 each time she thought of it ; but then the hope 
 came over her that Mr. Colville's conversations 
 with Walter must at length have some effect, and 
 that even his acquaintance with her brother, and 
 his knowledge of Walter's unselfish character, and 
 active, consistent piety could not fail in time to 
 have a useful influence. 
 
 The dark side of the view had vanished ; and as 
 Lucy again looked at the gray chimneys and the 
 high boundary wall, she smiled. Mrs. Walter 
 observed it. 
 
 " Ah !" she thought, " Hulse House is the best 
 cure ! I see that ! much better than fidgetting 
 off to the sea-side !" And then Mrs. Walter's ideas 
 took a new direction, and she wondered aloud, 
 with some little peevishness, whether " that Mr.
 
 272 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Berkeley " would be at DIgby ^Slanor. " He called 
 and ran away in such an abrupt way the day you 
 fainted, you know, Lucy. I am sure he must have 
 tired you. He talks a great deal at times." 
 
 These words sounded strange to Lucy ; but she 
 tried to harden herself to the accidental mention 
 of George Berkeley's name. It was a name re- 
 membered daily in her prayers ; while to her 
 sister-in-law he was only "that Mr. Berkeley !" 
 
 At length they were at Digby Manor. Agnes 
 Spencer came eagerly forward to meet them. But 
 she was so much affected by the change which 
 illness and sorrow had made on the happy little 
 Lucy Crofton she had last seen, that tears rushed 
 into her eyes. 
 
 " Dear Lucy I" were all the words that she 
 could utter for an instant; as she put her arms 
 fondly round her, and kissed her affectionately. 
 
 "My dear Miss Crofton," said Mrs. Digby, 
 " do tell me all about your illness ! I hope you 
 got our inquiries ? We sent constantly." 
 
 Lucy thanked Mrs. Digby, and Mrs. Walter 
 assured her the kind messages had been duly 
 delivered. Agnes saw Lucy's vaiying colour, 
 and she released her from Mrs. Diofbv and Mrs. 
 Walter. 
 
 " There is a large party here," she said, "' and
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 273 
 
 as we must make ourselves smart for the evening, 
 let us come upstairs at once. Mrs. Digby, can 
 you tell me which is Lucy's room ?" 
 
 " Oh !" said Mrs. Digby, " Miss Crofton always 
 has ' the Rose Chintz !' It is called by her 
 name ; our Rosebud, you know," she added, affec- 
 tionately. 
 
 " Some of our party are not strangers to you," 
 she said, turning expressly to Lucy. " Mr. Fitz- 
 gerald and Lord Englefield are old acquaintances, 
 I know." 
 
 " Oh ! Lord Englefield," said Mrs. Walter, who 
 immediately heard the name, " he is a very agree- 
 able person. You know, Lucy, we met him here 
 two or three years ago." 
 
 Mrs. Digby gfanced at Lucy. She expected to 
 see an animated look of pleasure, for Lord Engle- 
 field's admiration had been very evident ; but the 
 only change in Lucy's face was a passing contrac- 
 tion of the brow, as a sudden pang of recollection 
 shot through her. 
 
 Having thought so long of Lucy Crofton, under 
 the solemn tutelage of illness and of grief, I can 
 scarcely fancy her again in the clatter of the 
 surface-life of society : with all its seeming heart- 
 lessness, society forms a useful element in our 
 training; if it calms down enthusiasm, it also 
 
 K 5
 
 274 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 dispels unprofitable sentiment ; with its sharp 
 touches of actual annoyance, it rudely awakens 
 us from morbid gloom, much as if a muddy cart 
 suddenly came in contact with a despairing youth 
 who was preparing to drown his sorrows in a 
 watery grave. He would probably jump away 
 from the cart as briskly as if he had not been 
 utterly reckless of every personal consideration 
 an instant before ! 
 
 To compare small things with great, the cart 
 was something like the assemblage of unromantic 
 guests at Digby Manor, with whom Lucy Crofton 
 was brought in contact. Amongst them was that 
 crafty statesman — the Earl of Longville, w^th a 
 shrewd head and a cool heart — and his daughters, 
 the Ladies Frances and Emily Longville, with 
 soft tender hearts and unreasoning heads; Mr. 
 Fairfax — a very clever, but rather cynical elderly 
 man ; Lord George Bolton — a merry youth, who 
 took life with good-humoured alacrity ; Mr., Mrs., 
 and Mips Howard, and Mr. Henry Dalton, whose 
 bride elect was the amiable, pretty Miss Howard. 
 The Ladies Longville expressed themselves en- 
 chanted to see "dear Miss Spencer;" but they 
 privately wondered what " papa would think if they 
 behaved as independently and talked as much as 
 she did." They spoke of her friend. Miss Crofton,
 
 HULSE HOUSE. '2iO 
 
 cis " a darling little thing," with her pretty naive 
 simplicity! about which everyone .raved. They 
 privately expressed tlieir doubts whether she 
 really was so very simple. Perhaps she knew, as 
 \vell as others, that Lord Englefield was the best 
 parti in London. Still she was quite a little 
 angel ! 
 
 On coming to Bigby Manor that afternoon. 
 Lord Enojlefield felt a siood deal of excitement on 
 hearing that Lucy Crofton was one of the ex- 
 pected guests. Mrs. Digby told him that Lucy 
 had had a dangerous illness. He was sufficiently 
 mortified with the repulse he had met with from 
 her w^hen they last met, to make him hope that 
 her attractions had lessened ; and as she came into 
 the room before dinner-time, he looked at her 
 critically, to try and discover a fault. But, alas ! 
 he could only confess that there was an increased 
 charm in the soft dreamy paleness of her coun- 
 tenance. He sauntered towards her as dinner 
 was announced : her coldness must be forgiven ; 
 and he w^as j^oino; to make the grand mistake of 
 offering his arm to take her in to dinner, when 
 his wiser judgment showed him that a little 
 seeming neglect was the better plan, so he did not 
 avoid Lady Frances Longville, who sat anxiously, 
 perfectly indifferent, waiting for him. He talked
 
 276 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 hunting-talk across her, most of the dinner-time, 
 to ]Mr. Henry Dalton ; but Lady Frances assured 
 Mrs. Digby, nevertheless, that Lord Englefield 
 had been "so agreeable." 
 
 " You think Lord Englefield so agreeable, Lady 
 Frances?" exclaimed ]Miss Spencer, who unluckily 
 for her had overheard the remark. 
 
 " Oh ! Miss Spencer," said Lady Frances, 
 " you are so fastidious ; you think no one agree- 
 able. Xovr I do think poor Lord Englefield " 
 
 " Rich Lord Englefield ! you mean," interrupted 
 Agnes ; " and, after all, I do love rich people my- 
 self! There is a sort of good-humoured com- 
 placency about them ; they bear the privations of 
 life so well for others ! They recommend to their 
 poor friends some indispensable luxury, with so 
 much kindness ! They are sure a drive in a car- 
 riage and four, on a fine day, would exactly suit 
 some poor woman who has been longing all her 
 life for the one-horse chay she can't afford to have ; 
 and they beg a young lady, who comes out in her 
 best muslin gown, made by mamma's maid at 
 
 home, to employ Madame A , as much less 
 
 expensive than Madame B ; and they are so 
 
 good-natured about it ! '' 
 
 " Oh ! that is exactly true," said Lady Frances 
 Longville. " I remember Lady Brighton telling
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 277 
 
 me, at my first ball, that I must get my dresses 
 
 from ^Madame D ; and papa quite raved at the 
 
 idea of our employing such an expensive milliner." 
 
 *' Ah I " said Agnes, with a curl on her lip, as 
 she sat down by Lucy, while Lady Frances turned 
 to ^Irs. Digby, for a little refreshing talk about 
 ball-dresses. 
 
 *•' Who is that lovely little creature ?" said Lord 
 George Bolton, on coming in to the drawing-room 
 after dinner, to Lady Emily Longvillc, as he 
 looked at Lucy. 
 
 " Oh I Lord George, pray don't talk so loud. 
 She will certainly hear you, poor little thing." 
 
 "Ah! ah-! ah!" laughed Lord George, who 
 was always amused at everything. " And what if 
 she did. Lady Emily ? Does not every one like 
 to be called a lovely creature ! " 
 
 Lord George was soon introduced to Lucy, and 
 insisted on teaching her a new game at cards; 
 and his assurance that there was no gambling in 
 it, of course, warranted another laugh. 
 
 We, many of us, know what it is to return to 
 society after a long interval of illness or affliction. 
 We are at first half bewildered by the ceaseless 
 noise of voices and the apparent gaiety of every 
 one around us. We can scarcely believe that any 
 one but ourselves has ever had a sorrow, or could
 
 278 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 ever have known what illness or affliction meant, 
 and that we shall ever again become as gay and 
 careless as this talkative assemblage, seems im- 
 possible ! 
 
 This was Lucy's feeling that evening, and she 
 would have been surprised had she heard Lord 
 George Bolton's exclamation to Mrs. Digby, as 
 he followed her into the next room, towards the 
 close of it. 
 
 "Oh, Mrs. Digby! you have the pleasantest 
 parties I ever knew. As to Miss Crofton, she is 
 quite a gem. Englefield, what do you think I 
 call Miss Crofton ? Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 "Lord George I" said Lady Frances Longville, 
 who just then glided near them, " what can you 
 be laughing at?" 
 
 " Oh, a hundred things ! " said Lord George. 
 " I hardly know what at this moment." 
 
 "Nay," said Lord Englefield, rather stiffly; 
 " Miss Crofton was your last subject." 
 
 When I reached this point in my story, I found 
 my sister Martha beginning to doubt the merits 
 of constancy. Lord Englefield was evidently an 
 agreeable and amiable young man. Lucy Crofton 
 ought not to throw away her chance of extensive 
 usefulness, as a rich man's wife, because of an
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 279 
 
 attachment, which by this time had better be 
 buried in oblivion; 
 
 During the next few days, I said. Lord Engle- 
 field's admiration for Lucy increased as much as 
 her best friends could desire. 
 
 Lord Englefield had began on the neglectful 
 plan ; but if Lucy did not tire of it, he certainly 
 did before the next day was over, although his 
 recollection of Lucy's former repulse made him 
 guarded in his attentions, and he tried to merge 
 the lover for the present in the agreeable com- 
 panion. Lord Englefield had many good qualities, 
 and a very winning refinement and charm of 
 manner ; he succeeded so well in his attempts to 
 please Lucy, that Lady Emily Longville some- 
 times beofsied Lord Georo;e Bolton to look how 
 prettily Miss Crofton was smiling at him ! which 
 generally caused a hearty laugh from Lord George, 
 and a speedy attempt to gain some of Lucy's 
 smiles for himself. 
 
 There is no occasion to discuss the occupations 
 and the conversations of the large party at Digby 
 Manor. There was much clever conversation 
 going on between Agnes Spencer, Walter Crofton, 
 Mr. Fairfax, and Mr. Fitzgerald ; with interludes 
 of more ponderous persiflage from others; and
 
 280 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 some dry discussions between Lord Longville and 
 Mr. Digby. Meantime Mr. Henry Dalton could 
 sit peacefully by his pretty little bride elect, and 
 whisper to her of their happy prospects. 
 
 Lucy happened to look at them, and sigh with 
 a momentary feeling of envy. Lord Englefield, 
 who was constantly watching her, unluckily ob- 
 served it. 
 
 " Have you ever thought of envying those two 
 happy people?" he said, in a low voice, slightly 
 glancing at the lovers. 
 
 Lucy could not honestly say " No." " I suppose 
 that every one likes to see happiness," was her 
 guarded reply. 
 
 " Then," said Lord Englefield, with a look of 
 meaning, " you acknowledge that it is happiness 
 to be so situated ?" 
 
 " It is but fair to suppose people happy who tell 
 you they are so !" said Lucy, with as much care- 
 lessness as she could assume. 
 
 "There must be great degrees of happiness," 
 said Lord Englefield, still persevering on that 
 subject, and with so much meaning in his look 
 and manner, that Lucy became determined to 
 stop him at the risk of apparent rudeness, so she 
 got up and said, with a smile, 
 
 " That little knot of talkers certainly seem very
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 281 
 
 happy; I must go and listen to what they are 
 saying." 
 
 Lord Englefield bit his lip. Was it a ruse? or 
 was it real unwillingness to receive his ad- 
 dresses ? His admiration had ripened into a good 
 healthy, hearty love, strong enough to bear 
 down every selfish whisper as to loss of liberty, 
 and he had settled some hours before that a 
 marriage with Lucy would be the perfection of 
 happiness ; her consent alone was wanting ! 
 
 The chance of being refused was not one 
 of the doubts Lord Englefield had been apt 
 to entertain, but Lucy was teaching him to 
 be difl&dent; and he felt a strong suspicion 
 that she would reject him. He feared that 
 there was another attachment. How must he 
 find out? Miss Spencer was the most likely 
 person to help him, and he tried to sound 
 her on the subject. Agnes was animated by a 
 wicked little spirit of mischief as she discovered 
 his object. Courted and flattered as he was by 
 the world, she thought a rebuff would be rather 
 salutary ; so she lulled him into security by re- 
 ceiving his cautious leading questions very care- 
 lessly, and then, having made him secure, she let 
 him run along the line. 
 
 " Miss Crofton, I suppose, is engaged ? Is not
 
 282 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 she?" he said, as if it were a matter of complete 
 indifference to himself. 
 
 " I don't think so," said Agnes. 
 
 " Really !" was the animated reply. " But she 
 has many admirers? 
 
 " Oh ! yes," said Agnes. 
 
 " Yes ? " repeated Lord Englefield, less gaily. 
 " And who, then, is the favoured one who is likely 
 to ease Mrs. Crofton of her chaperonage? 
 
 " It is easy to guess at some of her admirers," 
 said Agnes, her eyes twinkling under the dear 
 dehght of teasing, "but it is not right to talk 
 about them. HoAvever, perhaps, you have heard 
 of some new one?" 
 
 ^' Some of her admirers !" thouo;ht Lord Eno;le- 
 field, with a much saddened feeling. " Oh !" he said, 
 in a tone of pique, " I have no doubt that there 
 are a whole host of first, second, and third cousins 
 dying for love of her, but the only one I have 
 heard of as likely to be successful is a neighbour, 
 Mrs. Crofton spoke of. These things always in- 
 terest one, you know. Miss Spencer !" 
 
 " Oh ! yes," said Agnes, crossly. 
 
 " Perhaps you know this gentleman ? He lives 
 very near." 
 
 " Oh ! Barker Preston ?" exclaimed Agnes, 
 with a return of liveliness. " Every one knows 
 of him !"
 
 HULSE HOUSE. ^ 2cS 3 
 
 " Mr. Preston ! no, that is not it ;" said Lord 
 Englefield, looking a good deal more put out. 
 Here was a fresh enemy. " No, I mean a Mr. 
 Colyille." 
 
 Agnes cast a withering glance on Lord Engle- 
 field. She drew herself up and looked proudly, 
 almost fiercely at him, as she said, " And what of 
 him ? what does Mrs. Crofton dare to say of him ?" 
 
 Lord Englefield looked surprised. 
 
 Agnes started, and said, warmly, " It makes me 
 angry when I hear people gossipping of one an- 
 other. You are surprised at my indignation. 
 Lord Englefield, but when you know that Mr. 
 Colville is a poor invalid recluse, you will not be 
 so much astonished." 
 
 " Oh ! really," said Lord Englefield, much 
 relieved. " Mrs. Crofton spoke as if there was a 
 sort of mystery, and I heard her say he frequently 
 came and sat a long time with Miss Crofton, and, 
 1 think, meant to insinuate that they were not 
 
 unlikely to " He stopped suddenly, as he 
 
 looked at Agnes, and exclaimed, " Miss Spencer, 
 you are ill !" 
 
 " I do not feel very well," said Agnes. *' It is 
 that odious conservatory. I cannot bear the scent 
 of some flowers." 
 
 " What shall I do for you ?" said Lord Engle- 
 field, with all fitting civility.
 
 284 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 " Oh ! thank you, I am better again, but I will 
 move away from these flowers ;" and Agnes left 
 the room. Lord Englefield had gained nothing, 
 except that the dreaded Mr. Colville did not seem 
 a very dangerous rival. Still Lucy, in her gentle 
 way, repulsed him, and she was again as cold in 
 her manner as civility would allow.
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 285 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 " After all," said Agnes Spencer one morning 
 half to herself, half to Mr. Fairfax, " after all, I 
 like Lord Englefield." 
 
 " If you left out the two first words," said Mr. 
 Fairfax, drily, " Englefield would not be sur- 
 prised. But, tell me, after all what?" 
 
 " The world tried so hard to spoil him, that I 
 thought it had been successful," said Agnes; 
 " but, the fact is, he is improved, as many men 
 are, by falling in love." 
 
 " I agree with you. Englefield is coming out. 
 I always liked him, and I always thought he 
 would. The fair lady is Miss Crofton, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes," s?iid Agnes, " and he would be a fortu- 
 nate man if he succeeded." 
 
 " If lie succeeded!" said Mr. Fairfax; "you 
 don't mean that fifteen thousand a year, and a 
 very good-looking, agreeable youth appended to 
 it, would be rejected ?"
 
 286 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 " Indeed, I do," said Agnes. 
 
 *^What will you bet upon it?'' said Mr. Fair- 
 fax, smiling ironically. " I am ready to take any 
 odds." 
 
 " Do you know Lucy Crofton ?" asked Agnes. 
 
 " I see a pretty ladylike girl here, with no very 
 distinctive characteristic about her " 
 
 " Ah ! I see you do not know Miss Crofton !" 
 said Agnes ; " but, while I nobly refuse your bet, 
 remember, you are bound never to sneer at the 
 disinterestedness of women again, if I am right." 
 
 " Done, Miss Spencer." 
 
 " Done," said Agnes, with a merry shake of her 
 head. She sat down to write a letter; others of 
 the party came in. Lucy seated herself near 
 A^gnes for protection from Lord Englefield; a 
 little coterie of ladies, over whom Mrs. Digby 
 presided, were deep in gossiping, and after various 
 exclamations of "How extraordinary !" " Oh! dear, 
 how delightful !" " Quite like a novel !" there was 
 a general rush towards Lucy, with an eager 
 request that she would tell them all about Mr. 
 Colville. Mrs. Digby had been telling them that 
 they had a real live hermit in their neighbour- 
 hood, and that he came to visit the Parsonage by 
 stealth ! 
 
 "We are dying to hear all that he says and
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 287 
 
 does, so pray tell us everything about him, Miss 
 Crofton." 
 
 Agnes Spencer looked up from her writing 
 with proud indignation kindling in her eye. Lord 
 Englefield heard and saw, and watched with 
 anxiety for the effect on Lucy. Mr. Fairfax, 
 attracted by the noise of voices, looked with no 
 slight ill-humour on the interruption to his studies, 
 and also fixed his critical eye upon her ; she was 
 not aware of this alarming set of watchers, and 
 she answered very simply and readily — 
 
 " I cannot tell you anything about Mr. Colville." 
 " Oh ! Miss Crofton, why not ? Why can't 
 you?^' 
 
 " As Mr. Colville wishes to live in retirement, 
 we could not abuse the confidence he has placed 
 in us, by making him the subject of gossip ; " was 
 Lucy's answer, with a quiet trust that the pro- 
 priety of her refusal could not be doubted. Mr. 
 Fairfix wheeled his chair nearer to Agnes. 
 
 " I withdraw my bet," he said in a low voice ; 
 '' she is a noble lassie ! " And Agnes, with a 
 sparkling eye, gave a bright glance of approval 
 first to him, and then to Lucy ; and then, I was 
 told, that her eyes filled with tears ; and she was 
 soon pacing up and down the broad gravel walk 
 before the conservatory, as if fighting down her 
 own emotion, whatever it might be.
 
 288 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 Lord Englefield could also appreciate Lucy's 
 delicacy of feeling, although it puzzled some of 
 the party. Lady Frances exclaimed that she 
 hated mysteries. Miss Crofton, with all her sim- 
 plicity, was very deep. 
 
 When the ladies retired to their rooms at nisht, 
 Agnes lingered with Lucy. 
 
 " What say you to the constancy of men in 
 love? Do you believe in it?" was her sudden 
 question, as if a new thought had struck her. 
 
 "It must depend on individual character, I 
 should think," said Lucy ; " and we could no 
 more class all men together in this respect, than 
 as to talent or temper, or any other characteristic." 
 
 " Then, you do think it possible ? " said Agnes. 
 She was speaking in a constrained manner, as if 
 cross with Lucy, and yet determined to get her 
 opinion. 
 
 " I have had no experience," said Lucy, faintly 
 smiling. She hoped to escape a subject which 
 was far more painful than Agnes could be at all 
 aware of. 
 
 " Do you mean to accept Lord Englefield, and 
 in all the pretty things that he can ojffer to you, 
 forget the friends you have made at Hulse ?" was 
 her next question, and it seemed to account for 
 her ill-humour. Agnes must have received the
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 289 
 
 very false impression that she was encouraging 
 Lord Englefield for the sake of his rank and 
 wealth. Lucy answered warmly, for she was 
 much hurt at such a suspicion from Agnes. 
 
 " I hope Lord Englefield will never offer them 
 to me ; and I am very sorry if my manner has 
 seemed like encouragement," were her words. 
 
 " I spoke foolislily ! " said Agnes, quickly. " Pray 
 forgive me, Lucy. I never thought you wished 
 Lord Englefield to propose, and nothing could be 
 more perfect than your manner." And yet Agnes 
 was not like herself. There was evidently some- 
 thing more she wished to say. " I utterly abhor 
 all the missishness of young lady confidences," she 
 said, "just as much as you can do; owing to this 
 we are both of us ignorant of what may have 
 been passing in one another's hearts all this time. 
 Except indeed," she added gravely, " that you 
 know my love has been, and is over for ever. 
 But your life is beginning — your life of love, at 
 any rate ! and why am I to know nothing of it ? " 
 
 There was something at this moment so perverse 
 and strange about Agnes, that it is impossible 
 to say whether she would have persevered in her 
 half-taunting tone, had she known what acute 
 pain she was causing to Lucy. 
 
 " I have grown up with a horror of such confi- 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 290 HULSE HOUSE. 
 
 dences," said Lucy ; " one's own secret cannot be 
 told, without betraying that of another, and I see 
 no right any woman has to abuse the confidence 
 that love alone has entrusted her with." 
 
 '^ What if you and I were to love the same 
 person ! " said Agnes, with increasing perversity. 
 " Should we hate one another ? " Her piercing 
 eyes were fixed on Lucy. " It might be no fault 
 of yours, and yet I might hate you." 
 
 *'Let us think of nothing so dreadful,"" said 
 Lucy, whilst a little shudder ran through her; 
 " we have suffering enough without imagining 
 impossible evils." 
 
 " Why impossible ? " still persisted Agnes. 
 
 " Nay," said Lucy, with nervous hastiness, as if 
 wearied out by Agnes's perseverance on a topic 
 of such extreme trial to herself, " why will you 
 persist in forcing from me what I do not wish to 
 say ? I love one with whom I know you are not 
 in love. And now, Agnes, I have said more than 
 enough. Pray let the subject drop for ever." 
 
 " Oh, Lucy i " said Agnes, after a few moment's 
 silence, and tears were in her eyes, " How hard 
 and cruel I have been ! But you must try to 
 forgive me I I did not mean to wound you, and 
 you shall be spared in future. Do not fear me — 
 whatever happens I will still love you !''
 
 HULSE HOUSE. 291 
 
 Lucy received the aftectionate words of Agnes 
 with emotion. She was overcome by what had 
 passed, and her languid eyes and pale face told it. 
 She could not say much, and Agnes left her. 
 
 During the remainder of the time at Digby 
 Manor, Miss Spencer watched Lucy almost as a 
 mother would watch a favourite child. Even 
 in the midst of gay or careless talk, there was 
 tenderness in her eyes and voice, the moment 
 she looked at her ; but something mournful always 
 seemed mixed up with her anxious, affectionate 
 interest. 
 
 END OF VOL I. 
 
 o2