L I B RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 Of ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 
 Se9S 
 
 v.l
 
 ////.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF 
 
 THE SECRET MARRIAGE." 
 
 IN THEEE VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 SUCCESSOES TO HENEY COLBIJEJST, 
 13 GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1857. 
 
 The right ol Translation is reserved.
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RETNELL AND WEIGHT, LITTLE PULTENEY STREET, 
 HAYMARKET.
 
 c 
 
 j, l. 
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 A dim and deeply bosom'd grove 
 
 Of many an aged tree, 
 
 Such as the shadowy violets love, 
 
 The fawn and forest bee. — Mrs Hemans. 
 
 There is something peculiarly beautiful in 
 the opening view of the New Forest, as the 
 traveller approaches it either from the small 
 town of Lyndhurst, or skirts its wide extent 
 in passing inland from Southampton. At 
 all times and seasons its venerable and 
 picturesque character must be fully appreciated 
 VOL. i. b
 
 2 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 by the artist and the poet, while to the his- 
 torian it abounds with pleasant reminiscences 
 of the olden time, when uncultivated nature 
 luxuriated in her reign of liberty, and the 
 voice of the hound and huntsman echoed 
 merrily through glade to glade. 
 
 How much of this primitive and grand 
 simplicity is changed ! Every where there is 
 evidence of man's cultivating hand ; the deer 
 still congregate, but in comparatively small 
 numbers, and the smoke of dwellings rises 
 amid many generations of oaks and elms, 
 which recall the legend attached to the name 
 of William Rufus. 
 
 On the borders of the Forest, a few miles 
 from Lyndhurst, the family of the Nevilles 
 had flourished during some centuries. For- 
 merly distinguished by their nobility and 
 wealth, they were compelled to yield to the 
 influence of time's universal law, and were
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 3 
 
 content at present to be considered as merely 
 a much respected and quiet family living in 
 affluence but not splendour. 
 
 Mr Neville had never stood for the 
 county, nor had his father before him. He 
 and his young wife associated with few out 
 of the immediate neighbourhood, had never 
 given balls, and rarely dinner parties. Mr 
 Neville was known more in his library than 
 at public meetings, and Mrs Neville more 
 in her nursery than at reviews or flower- 
 shows. 
 
 Linwood, the old family place, also looked 
 grave and substantial as the trees which 
 surrounded it, and all seemed in keeping 
 with quiet harmony and old-fashioned manners 
 and ideas. 
 
 But Mrs Neville became the mother of 
 a son and heir, which is an event generally 
 specified by society as forming a fitting epoch 
 
 b 2
 
 4 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 for abolishing the old order of things, and 
 for a short space at least establishing the 
 reign of gaiety and frivolity on the sober 
 foundation of every-day life. 
 
 No two people differ more from each other 
 than the same person may differ from him- 
 self under a variety of circumstances. This 
 might also apply to Linwood on the first 
 anniversary of the birth of its heir, which 
 w T as to be celebrated on a scale approaching 
 the grandeur of former generations. 
 
 It was a soft July night, almost too soft 
 and beautiful to be turned into the brilliant 
 artificial day, displaying all that luxury or 
 comfort might require within, and all that 
 nature and art had assisted in producing with- 
 out. The notes of birds, the hum of insects, 
 were still to be heard, the air was perfumed 
 with the odour of the summer flowers, and 
 gently stirred the muslin draperies which over-
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. O 
 
 hung the open windows ; even the moonbeams 
 did not fail to assist at the revels shining 
 across the bright green turf, and lighting up 
 the stems of many a distant clump of trees. 
 
 It was all beautiful and peaceful without, 
 but within the moment had arrived on which 
 the hopes and expectations and preparations 
 of weeks had been lavished. 
 
 All the neighbourhood had for some 
 months looked forward to the fete — half the 
 country had been invited to it. 
 
 Linwood itself could scarcely be recognised 
 in its gala dress, while the spirits of the younger 
 portion of its inhabitants overflowed in every 
 conceivable demonstration of active joy, in 
 dancing from room to room, and practising steps 
 on polished oak floors. 
 
 The evening was to open with a child's dance 
 in one of the smaller rooms, while the grand 
 saloon, which was the centre of a suite, was
 
 6 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 devoted to the amusement of the rest of the 
 assembled guests. 
 
 In the meantime the young heir himself, 
 totally unconscious that the long passage leading 
 from his nursery was filled with all the moveable 
 furniture from the drawing and dining-rooms, 
 that servants had for days been employed in 
 giving a brilliant polish to the floors, that the 
 hot-houses and poultry courts of the neigh- 
 bourhood had been robbed of their respective 
 stores, and that milliners and dress-makers had 
 nearly exhausted their magazines of taste 
 and fashion, all to do honour to his nativity, 
 the young heir himself was quietly asleep in 
 his pink and white silk cradle, heedless of the 
 noisy arrival and the inharmonious tuning of 
 musical instruments. 
 
 " Dear little brother, we must take care 
 not to wake him," said a little fair girl, about 
 three years old, as she stood uppn tip-toe
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 7 
 
 and bent over the sleeping infant, at the 
 same time being particularly careful that 
 her short white muslin frock, with broad blue 
 sash, should not meet with any opposition to its 
 fan-like contour. 
 
 "And we must take care not to race 
 along the passage too quickly with Charlie 
 Seymour or Tommy or Harry Dewar," replied 
 the eldest sister Eleanor, who, having reached 
 five years of age, was considered as an oracle 
 by little Mabel. 
 
 " Oh, here are Mamma and Aunt," exclaimed 
 both the children at once, as, heedless of former 
 admonitions, they darted across the room to 
 display their ball attire. 
 
 "I am come to take you down stairs 
 with me ; are you quite ready ?" and Mrs 
 Neville, the young mother of Lin wood's heir, 
 looked with admiring affection upon the 
 bright, happy faces and pretty dress of her
 
 8 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 two little girls. Mrs Neville was the best 
 tempered, happiest, most simple-minded, indul- 
 gent, active wife and mother in the world. 
 She had married Mr Neville because she 
 loved him ; she had always been blessed with 
 good health and good spirits ; she had 
 become the mother of a son and heir, just 
 when people began to hope Linwood would 
 not descend in the female line; she was not 
 sentimental, or clever, her servants never caused 
 her any annoyance, and she had not yet 
 begun to think that a governess was neces- 
 sary. 
 
 Mr Neville was an honourable man whom 
 every one respected, and at the same time rather 
 feared. Naturally reserved, he nevertheless 
 made his wife the confidante of all his thoughts. 
 He was a clever man, but, setting at nought 
 the poetry of life, he looked upon everything 
 with a direct down-right straight forward gaze,
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 9 
 
 as if with a glance of his keen eye he could 
 penetrate to the weaknesses of his fellow-crea- 
 tures. Kind-hearted in reality, he showed little 
 outward sympathy, and though his advice 
 was often sought, his presence in seasons of 
 distress was rarely desired. But in youth, 
 faults and foibles have all a certain elasticity 
 which is lost in maturer years, and Mr 
 Neville was young and prosperous. 
 
 He was perfect in the character of a host — 
 simple and refined in his address — all pride 
 and reserve vanished in his manner while he 
 welcomed his guests to his profuse hospitality. 
 He neither showed that indifference which, 
 under colour of the most perfect refinement, 
 makes it possible that each should feel neglected 
 while permitted to choose his own amusement ; 
 nor that eagerness to provide entertainment, 
 which gives to each individual an un comfort-
 
 10 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 able feeling of being perpetually watcbed and 
 overlooked. 
 
 This evening Mr Neville was in a parti- 
 cularly happy mood. He liked having a son 
 and heir; and he liked that his pretty wife 
 should be the centre of attraction and congra- 
 tulation. " Now, dear Aunt Mabel, do take 
 my hand, and let us begin dancing," lisped 
 her little namesake, as she saw that her sister 
 was leaving the nursery, having forcibly drawn 
 away her mother from the prolonged contem- 
 plation of the sleeping heir. 
 
 " Aunt Mabel looks quite serious to-night, 
 are you not well, dear ?" — exclaimed Mrs Neville 
 hastily, as, restraining for a moment her little 
 girl's impetuosity, she stopped at the end of 
 the long gallery leading from the nursery, 
 and perceived that her sister was following 
 slowly, almost thoughtfully — " and yet you
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. ] 1 
 
 look more beautiful than ever," she said fondly, 
 as, having quickened her pace, Mabel Stewart 
 had rejoined her, and was now standing in the 
 full, yet soft light of a lamp, which displayed 
 the perfection of her face and figure, in the 
 bloom of one or two-and-twenty. The colour 
 rose quickly to Mabel's cheek, as she hastily 
 replied to Mrs Neville's observation. 
 
 " You have a keen eye to-night, Sophy, 
 I could hardly fancy my movements and looks 
 would be observed, when you had so much to 
 occupy you, and interest at the same time; 
 you know what a long, busy day we have 
 had." 
 
 u No, no, darling, you do not look wearied; 
 on the contrary, I have never seen you more 
 bright, but I have observed several times to-day 
 that you seemed anxious, abstracted. I am 
 sure there is some reason for my suspicions,"
 
 12 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 she continued earnestly, as she fixed her eyes 
 steadily on her sister's face. 
 
 " I will not be cross-examined, Sophy," 
 Mabel replied, endeavouring to laugh off a 
 certain embarrassment she could not entirely 
 conceal. — u You know it is easy to be mis- 
 taken." 
 
 lt But I am not mistaken, something 
 unusual has happened or is about to happen, 
 I am convinced, and you are hiding the truth 
 from me ; this is not kind." Mrs Neville 
 affectionately put her arm within her sister's, 
 following the children, who had already found 
 their way to the bottom of the stairs. " Tell 
 me, have you had any news from India — 
 has any thing revived old impressions — has 
 Mr Maynard?" She stopped, again fixing 
 her kind truthful eyes upon Mabel's face, 
 from which the brilliant colour had entirely
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 13 
 
 faded, leaving it unusually pale. With intense 
 anxiety Mrs Neville remarked that it wore 
 also an unwonted expression of resolution, 
 which closed the full yet finely moulded lips 
 in a calm seriousness, and fixed a more than 
 ordinary depth of feeling in the dark blue 
 eyes. Mabel breathed quickly, and almost 
 painfully, yet she did not shrink from her 
 sister's kind, scrutinizing glance. 
 
 " Do not question me, Sophy — do not think 
 me unkind, and make me miserable — you 
 shall know all in time — I confess I do not 
 feel quite well — that last year's illness has 
 shaken my foolish nerves, I believe, a good 
 deal." 
 
 " Yes, but it is not that illness which now 
 affects you — you used not to be so reserved — 
 have I not been as a mother to you ? Is there 
 any wish of your heart that I would not see 
 gratified? — but one, Mabel."
 
 14 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Oh ! do not appeal to my feelings," replied 
 Mabel, gaily, while she strove to hide a tear. 
 " You know, I know you have been the kindest, 
 best of sisters to me ; but — " 
 
 " But what, dear Mabel ? — something has 
 evidently revived old impressions — I hoped 
 they had been quieted for ever." i 
 
 " And so they are, or should be." (Mabel 
 Stewart was truth itself) — " but do let us 
 change this conversation, it is so perfectly 
 unbefitting this evening. You should have 
 nothing to annoy you to-night — all should 
 look as bright in your heart as those little 
 children's faces do. They are begging us to 
 join them !" 
 
 "All should be forgotten, as you say, Mabel; 
 years have passed away, and all is changed, 
 and you are beginning life again — it is opening 
 once more so brilliantly before you ;" and Mrs 
 Neville again contemplated her young sister's
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 15 
 
 rare beauty. u You have taken unusual pains 
 with your dress to-night, darling." She looked 
 admiringly at the white silk and lace — whose 
 soft folds showed off to the greatest advantage 
 her sister's slight, graceful figure — and at the 
 wreath of light green leaves, which, confining her 
 wavy hair, gave a classical outline to her small, 
 beautifully- shaped head. 
 
 " I have promised myself, at least, to 
 forget all that is passed, and I have kept 
 my resolution," said Mabel, rather proudly; 
 " indeed, I am happy to think I have 
 long ceased to have need for self- schooling. I 
 am becoming really heartless and worldly," and 
 she laughed half playfully, half scornfully. 
 
 " You must not become either, Mabel dear — 
 be rational and happy — as happy as I wish 
 you to be ; only be prudent — you are not 
 becoming a coquette, I hope," continued Mrs 
 Neville. " You have exactly suited your dress
 
 16 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 to the taste of your old admirer, Lord Hargrave ; 
 that really is not fair, you should have a little 
 compassion upon him, unless — " 
 
 " Now, Sophy, no more torturing and lec- 
 turing, please. I have not acted the part of a 
 coquette, I never will. Lord Hargrave knows 
 very well that he is more than indifferent to 
 me — but you are a dear, innocent little sister, 
 and though you are older, and have a right to 
 doubt my experience, I believe I know more of 
 the world than you do. But, Sophy, there are 
 others in the world, and others who will be 
 here to-night too, besides Lord Hargrave." 
 
 " Mr Maynard — Reginald Maynard will be 
 here to-night, I felt obliged to invite him ! 
 but, Mabel, I implore you," and Mrs Neville 
 pressed her hand upon her sister's shoulder— 
 " beware, I intreat, are you not still under my 
 protection — will not my advice, my prayers, 
 have weight with you? You are deceived in
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 17 
 
 him — you are young, and I may add, for all 
 the world allows it, that you are beautiful, but 
 you are thoughtless, impulsive, and — " 
 
 " Oh ! come, let us see where the children 
 have flown to, little mad things that they are, 
 they may be in all kinds of mischief;" and 
 Mabel hastily disengaging herself from her 
 sister, drew her along with her into the juvenile 
 ball-room, thus abruptly terminating the con- 
 versation. 
 
 The rooms were beginning to fill, and Mrs 
 Neville, whispering a few words into Mabel's 
 ear, which had the effect of again tinging her 
 cheek with the brightest crimson, left to her 
 the task of arranging the little dancers, and of 
 settling the dispute between Charlies and 
 Harrys and Johnnies as to who should dance 
 with Eleanor, who was the favourite of all. 
 
 " Do be my partner, Aunt Mabel," exclaimed 
 her little namesake, as she clung to her dress, 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Mamma said she was sure you would dance 
 with me, because you are always so good — now 
 do, pray do ?" 
 
 " Miss Stewart is engaged to me for the 
 first three or four dances at least," said a voice 
 close beside her, in whose low accents, an un- 
 mistakeable interest, nay tenderness, was per- 
 ceptible. 
 
 Mabel started — she turned round ; in a mo- 
 ment it would have been evident to the most 
 casual observer, that her eyes sparkled with 
 pleasure, as she placed her hand within that of 
 Reginald Maynard. 
 
 " Oh, Mr Maynard, please do not take Aunt 
 Mabel away, we cannot do without her, indeed 
 we cannot," exclaimed three or four little voices 
 at once, as they guessed at the sinister in- 
 tention of their new rival of appropriating 
 their favourite for a great part of the even- 
 ing.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 19 
 
 " No, no, darlings, don't be afraid, Mr 
 Maynard has no claim whatever upon me. I 
 am quite your property till you are tired of me," 
 and giving Mr Maynard a look which had the 
 desired effect of dismissing him to be little 
 Mabel's vis-a-vis, she desired the musicians 
 to play a merry country dance. The whole 
 room was soon in motion, dance followed dance, 
 there was no weariness or languor amongst 
 Mabel's little favourites, till at length, seizing a 
 convenient opportunity when Mrs Neville and 
 a party of her friends entered the small ball- 
 room, Mabel, avoiding her sister's search- 
 ing glance, took Mr Maynard's arm and left 
 the scene of unchecked youthful merriment. 
 
 For one instant they sought to pass through 
 the busy moving throng that crowded the 
 principal entrance into the grand saloon, while 
 Mabel replied to the numerous salutations that 
 greeted her first appearance ; but in a few 
 
 c 2
 
 20 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 minutes she had yielded to her companion's 
 entreaties that she would not mingle with the 
 dancers, hut grant him an anxiously desired 
 t&te-a-tete. 
 
 The room was tilled, a beautiful waltz had 
 put every one in motion, so that to pass 
 through the saloon was almost impossible, 
 " Let me lead you along this suite of rooms ; 
 at the end is a' conservatory, is there not?" 
 Maynard whispered as he perceived Miss Stew- 
 art's evident disinclination to encounter the 
 moving crowd. 
 
 " No, let us stay here for a few moments — 
 they all look so bright and happy — I will sit 
 here;" and motioning to her companion to 
 bring a chair, she was soon seated, half con- 
 cealed by a tapestried ' portiere ' which hung 
 over the entrance to the ball-room. 
 
 It was indeed a brilliant sight, as Mabel 
 had said. All that wealth, taste, fashion, and
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 21 
 
 beauty could contribute was there. Innumera- 
 ble wax candles burning in crystal chandeliers 
 were reflected in costly mirrors, and threw a 
 soft clear light around. Flowers, vases, statues, 
 marble pillars, contrasted in their repose with 
 the animated life which was brought to view 
 under a variety of aspects ; countenance, manner, 
 costume, were all more or less apparently in 
 harmony with the scene. Yet a close observer 
 would have been able to draw many an inference 
 contradictory to that which would naturally 
 arise at first sight of the gay tout ensemble 
 to the uninitiated mind. Bright eyes, sparkling 
 with unwonted lustre at the approach of the 
 favoured individual they had anxiously sought, 
 would become downcast and dim, as, a few 
 words pronounced of careless and unmeaning 
 compliment — the aristocratic flatterer, the fash- 
 ionable devotee would saunter leisurely away 
 in search of his own particular star. Coquetry
 
 22 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 was there with her thousand lures, and prudery 
 with her forced reserve ; there was also heard 
 the listless wearied laugh, proving that the 
 heart was far away from the present scene, or 
 that the power it might possess to interest, 
 had not yet been successfully exerted. 
 
 There was also vanity lessening the charm 
 which unaffected beauty must throw around, 
 and pride, the pride of birth, gleaming in the 
 haughty eye, the majestic brow, scorning the 
 pressure of the humbler many moving around. 
 There was also the deep and tender tone 
 answering the appeal so often made in vain, 
 but which when it falls on willing ears, has 
 such strange unutterable power to charm, to 
 make each note of music vibrate on the heart 
 with magic sweetness, to dissolve all sur- 
 rounding objects, to annihilate all time, all 
 space ! 
 
 Alas ! that such scenes should also too often
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 23 
 
 give rise to the disappointed, unquiet glance cast 
 upon a fortunate and distinguished rival, that 
 the step of weariness and languor should, 
 amidst them, too often contrast with the 
 elastic movement of innocent, undisguised 
 pleasure ! 
 
 Quick thoughts, connected with the scene 
 before her, passed through Mabel's mind, as 
 she sat by the tapestried portiere, for to her 
 the secret history of many who styled them* 
 selves either friends or acquaintances was 
 known. She was half-hidden by the deep 
 folds of the curtain, but she knew that Reginald 
 Maynard was beside her, watching her slightest 
 movement. 
 
 " Mabel ! Miss Stewart, " he whispered 
 gently, as he thought how far she surpassed 
 all, in that assembly of the young and beautiful. 
 " Mabel ! the dance is nearly ended, the crowd 
 will soon be very great — it will be annoying to
 
 24 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 you ! Not one step should approach too near 
 you, not one single fold of your dress should be 
 displaced ! Will you not, now that you have 
 gratified curiosity, or the feeling, whatever it 
 be that actuates you — will you not grant my 
 request ?" 
 
 " No, no, be patient — I am so amused, and 
 interested, thoughts so strange are passing 
 through my mind ; they are unusual visitors 
 to me in a scene like this," she replied, with 
 that consciousness of power she possessed, to 
 make her slightest wish a law to Reginald 
 Maynard ! 
 
 " You have been, in general, more than a 
 spectator, and I ! how can I account for, or 
 sufficiently value my good fortune — you are 
 not trifling with me ? Mabel ! " 
 
 " Hush V and a glance, turned reproachfully 
 upon him, spoke of a spirit which hitherto, 
 at least, had not learnt to bend before the will
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 25 
 
 of another, though there might be pleasure in 
 unrestrained submission. 
 
 Maynard was silent ; he felt a secret delight 
 in bowing to Mabel's influence. He was madly 
 in love with her ! For the moment the one 
 w T ord she had uttered laid all his fears to rest. 
 He remained beside her — the music stopped 
 — soon Mabel was the centre of a gathering 
 crowd, who pressed around her, some with 
 sincere expressions of delight at seeing her, 
 others of surprise at her not having joined in > 
 the last beautiful waltz ; while a few, and they 
 were amongst the most devoted of her admirers, 
 lingered near her, hoping to engage a few 
 moments of her attention. Amongst the fore- 
 most was Lord Hargrave, a man renowned in 
 the fashionable world for handsome exterior 
 and most fascinating manners, but who, having 
 somewhat passed the prime of life, was not 
 over-pleased to be rallied upon the evidently
 
 26 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 unsuccessful devotion which he bestowed upon 
 the beautiful Mabel. Piqued by her coldness, 
 and what he termed her caprice, and unaccus- 
 tomed to contradiction, Lord Hargrave mea- 
 sured, with one glance of his haughty eye, the 
 comparative merits of the man he was com- 
 pelled to feel was his rival, for Reginald 
 Maynard, notwithstanding the increasing crowd, 
 still kept his position of guardian over Mabel. 
 Returning Maynard's salutation with a stiff 
 aristocratic bow, Lord Hargrave would willingly 
 have persuaded himself that he was an object 
 of perfect indifference to him — they moved in 
 such different spheres ! But Maynard's quiet 
 self-possession, aided by a consciousness of 
 owning attractions to which few women are 
 blind, when they are objects of preference, made 
 Lord Hargrave's assumed indifference sit less 
 easily upon him than was desirable. 
 
 " I am glad Miss Stewart has not permitted
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 27 
 
 us poor mortals to be under a total eclipse during 
 the whole of the evening,'* he said, endeavouring 
 to throw into his manner as much chivalrous 
 devotion as possible. 
 
 " Are you really eclipsed?" she replied with 
 a short, merry laugh, as she looked up with 
 an expression of coquetry, and highly pleased 
 at Lord Hargrave's evident annoyance. " I 
 should hardly have thought you would allow 
 any light to be sufficiently brilliant to produce 
 such an effect." 
 
 "lam aware that you are privileged to make 
 us feel our own deficiencies, and that we look 
 in vain for redress, when you are pleased to 
 be either beautifully capricious, or painfully 
 satirical," and Lord Hargrave cast a glance half 
 mortified, half playful upon Mabel, " but will 
 you at least give me credit for truth, when I 
 hope to shine by reflected rays. You will be my 
 partner for the next waltz ?"
 
 28 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 At these words Maynard advanced a few- 
 steps, but he understood too well the nature 
 of the ground on which his dearly prized 
 privileges were based to make any further 
 attempt to come to Miss Stewart's assist- 
 ance. 
 
 "I do not intend to dance to-night/' she 
 replied, " or, at least, not until some wonder- 
 fully inspiring music acts as a spell upon my 
 present indolence." " Mr Clinton," she con- 
 tinued, addressing a tall, fair-haired young man 
 who had just joined her, after very properly 
 returning his last partner to her chaperone, 
 " can you interpret the enigmas of physiog- 
 nomy ? I ask you, as I believe you have a 
 diplomatic career in prospect." 
 
 Mr Clinton blushed — " I should say that 
 smiles and frowns are the mind's messengers, 
 to give notice and warning to all whom they 
 may concern."
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 29 
 
 " That is not telling us too much ; I think 
 I may venture to foretel that you will some 
 day gain a medal for diplomatic proficiency," 
 exclaimed Mabel, laughing. * Never answer 
 satisfactorily a straightforward question, you 
 will find this an invaluable rule/' 
 
 " I am happy to see you are in such a sport- 
 ive mood," exclaimed Lord Hargrave peevishly, 
 having a slight idea that he was the conceal- 
 ed object of Miss Stewart's mirth ; " one cannot 
 always command the expression of pleasure and 
 annoyance, until one has learnt to mask all 
 feeling — some look provokingly self-satisfied, 
 and certain of success in all undertakings." — 
 He did not glance towards Maynard, but all 
 who composed the small coterie were tolerably 
 correct as to the drift of the last remark. 
 
 " Our powers of observation are not so 
 totally at fault as might be imagined,' , returned 
 Mabel with mischievous glee.
 
 30 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Very likely not — you have only to look 
 straightforward. Mr Maynard, I should fancy, 
 is gifted with rare discrimination — would not 
 a mistake be unpardonable in him?" 
 
 " You have propounded a question without 
 levelling the difficulty of replying to it, Lord 
 Hargrave. Oblique vision is by no means an 
 uncommon defect, so many see just what they 
 please, and overlook what displeases them." 
 
 " Perhaps there may be a charm, a temporary 
 one, at least, in self-deception." 
 
 " Do you think so ! I find it lamentable to 
 mourn over one's own deficiency of under- 
 standing or of observation." 
 
 "Are you really alluding to yourself, or do 
 Mr Clinton or myself stand beneath your 
 censure? I should esteem myself fortunate 
 even to be the object of Miss Stewart's ani- 
 madversions." 
 
 " Anything but indifference," said Mr Clinton
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 31 
 
 smiling, and inwardly rather pitying Lord 
 Hargrave's position, for at a glance he understood 
 the exact amount of interest Miss Stewart felt 
 for him. 
 
 il I am not judging or censuring myself or 
 you or any one," Mabel replied, somewhat 
 anxious to put an end to the conversation. " You 
 must forgive me if I have said anything very dis- 
 tressingly strange or rude. I believe I have 
 indulged my own little taste for mischief, and I 
 feel all the better for it, but now I shall wish 
 you all good-bye — but first, Mr Maynard, would 
 you oblige me by making a slight tour of inspec- 
 tion in the direction of the juvenile ball-room, 
 I feel sadly remiss in my duties this evening." 
 
 In a moment her injunction was obeyed, and 
 her messenger was again by her side, being able 
 to make a good report as to the seeming 
 harmony existing amongst Mabel's self-consti- 
 tuted young charges.
 
 32 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS, 
 
 " Mr Maynard is highly honoured, and doubt- 
 less fully appreciates the confidence reposed in 
 him," said Lord Hargrave, for the first time 
 partially addressing the individual he wished 
 he could despise — " Miss Stewart is aware 
 her wishes are commands." 
 
 " Have they not a right to be so," exclaimed 
 Mabel ; " surely we fragile beings may look 
 for assistance." 
 
 " Yes, but all have not an equal right to 
 bestow it," and Lord Hargrave glanced half 
 angrily at Maynard. 
 
 "I am glad no one questions my right to 
 make any sort of request," and Mabel laughed 
 aloud, as the mischievous disposition she did 
 not strive to hide, became more and more 
 gratified at Lord Hargrave's increased irrita- 
 bility. "I am glad I feel privileged to do 
 exactly as I please, and am not responsible to 
 any one for my dear little caprices,"
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 33 
 
 " I think all are responsible — pardon me, 
 Miss Stewart, I think you are particularly 
 so." 
 
 " Indeed l" at length coolly interposed 
 Maynard. " Miss Stewart makes no pro- 
 mises, she neither asks for nor expects admo- 
 nitions." 
 
 " Pray forgive me, Miss Stewart," and for 
 a moment Lord Hargrave himself stood 
 abashed, not before his rival, but before the 
 frown which had gathered on Mabel's beau- 
 tiful brow. " If I have been hasty " — 
 
 "Well, well, we will not quite banish you 
 our presence," Mabel, restored to perfect good 
 humour, laughingly replied ; " but Mr May- 
 nard, I am tired of being hid behind this 
 portiere, do let us emerge into light, you 
 yourself have run a great chance of being 
 eclipsed," and making a profound curtesy to 
 Lord Hargrave, she took Reginald's arm and 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 moved towards the ball-room. It was com- 
 paratively empty ; small groups were scattered 
 here and there, some, in earnest conversation, 
 were standing against a row of marble pillars ; 
 the musicians were tuning their instruments. 
 "Let us hasten onwards, Mabel, dear Mabel, 
 we shall be interrupted." Maynard spoke 
 low and earnestly. Lord Hargrave watched them 
 from a distance ; what angry disappointed feel- 
 ings rose in his heart ! 
 
 At this moment Mrs Neville approached ; her 
 countenance wore an air of seriousness, almost 
 of severity, as she passed slowly by, and would 
 have detained her sister, begging her to accom- 
 pany her into the adjoining room where some 
 friends were waiting to be introduced to her. 
 
 " Another time, dear Sophy, this evening you 
 know is to be devoted to pleasure; I believe 
 I have an unusual horror of formal introduc- 
 tions, do make my excuses for the present," and
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 35 
 
 gaily kissing her hand to her sister, she sauntered 
 on laughing and talking, but at heart ill at 
 ease. They reached the conservatory. It was 
 dimly lighted, as if in compassion to the frail 
 beauty of the various sweet scented flowers 
 within, which opened only to the night air, 
 delicately perfuming it. 
 
 " At length we are alone," exclaimed 
 Maynard, as he led his companion to a seat, 
 " I have longed for this moment, I have 
 been suffering tortures." 
 
 "So patiently?" 
 
 "Yes, for your sake." He gazed full upon 
 her face as the light fell upon it and lit it 
 up with marvellous beauty. " This night, this 
 very night, Mabel, remember your promise 1" 
 
 The gaiety she had assumed had disappeared, 
 
 and she leant her head dejectedly upon her hand, 
 
 as she turned her face away from the gaze which 
 
 she felt was fastened upon her. " I repeat, I 
 
 d 2
 
 36 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 have my misgivings, why should I trust my 
 destiny to you?" 
 
 " Because I love you ! because I will spend 
 my whole life in your service," 
 
 " You are fickle like the rest of your race," 
 she exclaimed scornfully, " and yet ! dare I 
 trust you, Reginald; once I have been 
 deceived." 
 
 " Only trust me ! only be mine for ever." 
 The fire that was burning in his heart, seemed 
 kindling in his dark grey eyes, as he bent them 
 upon Mabel. 
 
 " You do not seek my wealth ?" — she smiled 
 as if she took pleasure in torturing him ; she 
 was not in earnest. 
 
 "Your wealth, — no, no, you are rich 
 and I am poor, but you do not heed those 
 who therefore scorn and look coldly upon 
 me, who would have you matched with the
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 37 
 
 great and the prosperous. Oh, Mabel, you 
 know I love you !" 
 
 " Be it so, only be calm ; why do you not 
 openly press your suit ?" 
 
 " I dare not. I have endured, I still 
 endure, indignities, and for your sake wil- 
 lingly. But time presses. I must now or 
 never follow in my uncle's suite, you are 
 the arbiter of my destiny. Oh, say you will 
 be my bride." 
 
 She did not start! she did not withdraw 
 her hand, she lent upon his shoulder, his 
 lips were on her brow ! 
 
 " Your bride ! so soon, so sudden !" 
 
 " Not sudden, have I not looked forward 
 to this very hour; have you not permitted 
 me to do so? We shall be watched, 
 circumvented, our only safety is in this 
 sudden act." 
 
 " But I want resolution, even I ! to leave
 
 38 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 my home, where I have only known kind- 
 ness, to disappoint all my sister's hopes ! 
 Oh ! Reginald, leave me ; do not tempt me 
 to take this step." Her better nature seemed 
 to gain mastery over the wilful spirit. For 
 a moment Reginald's heart sunk within 
 him ! 
 
 " And yet resolution has rarely failed you ! 
 I suppose you are still under control, the 
 control of Herbert Dalrymple," he said bitterly. 
 " You have no will, no self-dependence." 
 
 He had touched the right cord. For one 
 moment all youthful timidity and reserve 
 vanished, as Mabel raised her beautiful head, 
 and looked steadily at her lover. 
 
 " I have both ; my resolution shall not fail. 
 I have mourned sufficiently in secret, and 
 now I will have my triumph. There lies 
 the strength of your conquest, Reginald, you 
 have heard truth from my lips. The world
 
 SEYxMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 39 
 
 will say, that the step I shall take was 
 prompted by a spirit rebelling against being 
 thwarted and controlled like a petted child; 
 the world will say that I chose to act for 
 myself instead of being compelled to marry 
 for rank and position ; you know me better, 
 are you content?" 
 
 " I know you have suffered ; you have 
 loved once, can you never love again ?" 
 
 His happiness in life seemed to hang upon 
 her answer, 
 
 " When you are gone, I am weary till 
 you return," she replied quietly, pitying 
 for the moment his undisguised anxiety. 
 11 1 love your sympathy, your kind looks ; 
 your words sink deep here, I am grateful 
 for them," — she pressed her hand upon her 
 heart — " but I have loved as I never shall love 
 again. Why should I, when a few months 
 only, and all w T as changed? First cold, short
 
 40 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 letters, showed all was not right ; then they 
 became less and less frequent — but you know 
 all; you have been a sharer, a consoler in 
 this grief!" 
 
 " It is still too keen," muttered Reginald. 
 "I had hoped time had assisted my devotion 
 in obliterating the past " — a fiend- like ex- 
 pression for a moment passed over his 
 countenance — " Mabel, you have promised to 
 be mine ! beware of the consequences if you 
 still treasure up the memory of another !" 
 
 " Do not fear, I have loved almost enough 
 to hate — I am free — he did not know 
 me — he did not know my strength of will 
 and purpose. Yes, Reginald, I am yours !" 
 
 " You promise, my own Mabel !" 
 
 " To promise ! never to be able to retract ! 
 What am I saying? Dare I thus outrage all 
 seeming propriety, by this hasty union !" 
 
 He bent over her imploringly — " Upon
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 41 
 
 this hasty union depend all my hopes, all hopes 
 of possessing you, Mabel. Let days, weeks pass, 
 still will the same obstacles exist — I shall 
 not be richer or greater, you will he no less 
 the heiress, the loved one that you are! 
 shall I then leave you now, for ever?" he 
 continued, as he observed her hesitation." 
 
 " Stay, Reginald ! forgive and pity me ! 
 I have tortured and tormented you, yet you 
 are proof against my wilfulness, my coldness. 
 I repent when you are far from me, and I long 
 for the time when we shall meet again," — 
 continued the young girl, with whose wild 
 impulses was mingled a strange simplicity 
 of thought and expression. 
 
 "Then, why condemn me, why condemn 
 yourself to a parting which must be for months 
 and years, perhaps for ever?" 
 
 " Do not look so earnestly upon me, or you 
 leave me no choice," she replied, as she hastily
 
 42 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 turned away from his impassioned gaze ; u let 
 us use caution, calmness, consideration," 
 
 " Can you speak so coldly — I can but con- 
 sider my love for you." 
 
 " And so said Herbert Dalrymple ! but what 
 followed ? Unfulfilled promises — the agony of 
 disappointment ! Can I trust again ! You 
 know I am not speaking vainly, lightly, yet 
 even with your penetration you cannot know 
 what I have felt — it was not read by the one 
 being who has painfully instructed me." For 
 the moment the present seemed all forgotten — 
 the past came back so vividly to her memory. 
 
 " You did not deserve his desertion," said 
 Maynard calmly. 
 
 " And I have a right to condemn him," 
 she replied quickly. 
 
 " Yes ! but do not judge all for one, and oh ! 
 Mabel, do not judge too harshly ; we are weak, 
 erring mortals, swayed by uncontrollable im-
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 43 
 
 pulses," an unusual expression passed hastily- 
 over Maynard's features — " Is there no allow- 
 ance to be made for human infirmity ? — pity, but 
 do not blame!" 
 
 " I neither blame nor pity. I do but de- 
 spise !" The colour rose in her cheek ; " and 
 yet I think you are a weak advocate — you are 
 right not to urge any vain plea in your friend's 
 favour," she added scornfully — "I believe 
 Herbert would have moved heaven and earth 
 to prove you guiltless had circumstances been 
 equally favourable ! " 
 
 " Mabel ! why do you speak so strangely ! 
 It is not the past, which you must forget, that 
 I would recall, it is the hopeful future I would 
 advocate. Time, distance, everything separates 
 you from one who you confess has proved 
 unworthy. Have you resolved to mourn for 
 him, to wither like a faded flower in your 
 youth's beauty? Will you be a model of
 
 44 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 female constancy?" he added in low quick 
 accents. 
 
 " Hush," replied his companion, hastily, as 
 if to lull the echo of his last words, which 
 mocked while they added fuel to the proud 
 spirit, which ruled despotically. " On the 
 head of Herbert Dalrymple shall rest the con- 
 sequences of the step to which you urge me. 
 I do not say that you have enslaved my heart, 
 as he has done, once and for ever, but I do feel 
 that in you I own a superior, at least, a 
 superior will. The vain, flattering world I 
 despise. I soar above its votaries, its lords 
 and gentlemen of high degree, who seek the 
 highly endowed Mabel Stewart, who offer a 
 title, who accept a dower, and who crouch in 
 abject submission to my beauty and my uncon- 
 trolled will. Because you are, I think, above 
 such meanness, I will be, I am, your's." 
 
 A smile of triumphant extacy replaced the
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 45 
 
 look of anxiety with which Maynard had 
 listened to Mabel's last words, but ere he could 
 reply she continued, " and yet I torture myself 
 with the idea that you love me now because I 
 am young, and the world says beautiful, because 
 the outward indifference I show you spurs on 
 your devotion towards me. I think that the 
 time may come when, having conquered, you 
 will despise and neglect — will this ever be, 
 Reginald?" 
 
 " It must never be, Mabel ! Oh, Mabel ! can 
 you thus deceive me ?" It was her sister's 
 voice. Pale as marble, resting against the open 
 door of the conservatory, and sorrow more than 
 anger expressed in her countenance, as the 
 straggling rays of light fell upon her, was Mrs 
 Neville. A few steps in arrear was seen the 
 retreating figure of Lord Hargrave. 
 
 " Am I watched, insulted !" exclaimed 
 Mabel indignantly, as she advanced towards
 
 46 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 her sister, while her face crimsoned with 
 emotion. " This I cannot pardon, even from 
 you, Sophy. I understand it all — you have been 
 made the tool of Lord Hargrave's jealous love. 
 He has led you here, but I will not be 
 foiled." 
 
 " Mabel, this may appear an unwelcome 
 intrusion to you, and still more to you, Sir," 
 said Mrs Neville, with an unwonted severity 
 in her tone, as she addressed Maynard ; " acci- 
 dent, not intention, has made me a witness 
 to words which I would willingly forget — oh, 
 Mabel, are you so wilfully blind ?" 
 
 " At that moment Reginald advanced, his tall 
 figure and finely-moulded features standing out 
 in relief against the light within the conserva- 
 tory, while his expressive countenance was bent 
 upon Mabel in an agony of love and fear. " I 
 have but one wish on earth, it is Miss Stewart's 
 happiness," he exclaimed, appealing to Mrs
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 47 
 
 Neville's feelings rather than to her sense of 
 rectitude, " if she permits me to hope." 
 
 " Mabel, Miss Stewart, is certainly of age, 
 but she is under mine and my husband's 
 protection. In such an important affair as that 
 choice which is to decide her happiness or 
 misery for life, it would be w 7 ise not to consult 
 alone her biassed inclination, or perhaps a 
 romantic affection; but this is no time for 
 arguing, nor need I say that, under present 
 circumstances, this is no subject for arguing." 
 
 " Stay, Sophy," exclaimed Mabel, her strong 
 and indignant feelings having hitherto made 
 her keep silence. " I am under no one's 
 control, not even your's, dear as you are to me; 
 no preference but my own shall actuate the all- 
 important choice I have to make. I have too 
 strong feelings — once they have been trampled 
 upon; Lord Hargrave is odious to me — the 
 more he would shower upon me evidence of his
 
 48 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 jealous interest, the more I feel the distance 
 increases between us. Sophy, I have promised 
 to be Reginald's wife, he shall stand out boldly 
 before the world. The man Lord Hargrave 
 despises and would injure shall be his success- 
 ful rival. " 
 
 " Hush, Mabel — I beg, I pray you, say no 
 more." Mrs Neville gently took hold of her 
 sister's hand, and would have led her away. 
 " You are exciting curiosity by this long 
 absence from the ball-room, so many are in- 
 quiring for you; now do pray come, dear 
 Mabel." 
 
 Mrs Neville had an undefined aversion for 
 every combination of circumstances, out of 
 which could be extracted anything like a scene, 
 and which her unsophisticated mind connected 
 with some mysterious evil, past, present, or 
 future, — her even and unimaginative tempera- 
 ment, enabling her always to hold a straight
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 49 
 
 course amidst the perils which necessarily- 
 assailed one, of so impulsive and sensitive a 
 turn as her sister. She had always disliked 
 Maynard, having a secret misgiving that he 
 had supplanted in Mabel's affections one or all 
 of her many eligible devotees. While she 
 could not define all her objections to him, she 
 considered his want of fortune as an insuperable 
 obstacle, and was in the habit of regarding him 
 likewise with as much fear as aversion. The 
 good sense which is often denied to talent and 
 quickness guides the clear vision of those less 
 gifted. Mrs Neville thought she discovered 
 in Maynard qualities unsuited to contribute to a 
 wife's happiness. She inwardly rejoiced at the 
 present moment, that all immediate evil would 
 be avoided by his being called upon to accom- 
 pany his uncle abroad in an official capacity; 
 and at the same time sincerely hoped that neither 
 of her own daughters would grow up so hand- 
 VOL. i. E
 
 50 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 some, and so troublesome, as her beautiful 
 sister. 
 
 " We shall meet again/' said Mabel, as she 
 waved an adieu to Maynard, and followed Mrs 
 Neville with flushed cheek and haughty step. 
 She was soon lost to sight in the gay crowd. 
 
 *jF *Jr w - ^ 
 
 The dawn was beginning to break, the 
 dawn of a soft summer morn. All sounds 
 had ceased within the festive walls of Lin- 
 wood. The thrush and blackbird were tuning 
 their musical song of love and praise, the 
 faint rosy streaks in the horizon foretold the 
 approach of the great orb of day. All was 
 solemn and silent around ; light vapours 
 rising from many a green meadow showed 
 the course of a wandering stream ; and, lulled 
 to security by the early stillness, a timid 
 hare was marking the dew with his hasty 
 footsteps, while he cropped the soft green
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 51 
 
 grass. The gray spire of a small church, 
 surrounded by many a venerable yew-tree, 
 rose in the distance. The tombs that were 
 enclosed within the sacred precincts could have 
 told a tale of many a young heart sunk 
 to rest, of toil and sorrow, and worn-out 
 ambition, of kindliness and humble content, of 
 faith, of hope ; but within those walls there 
 were life, and love, flushed cheeks, and hasty 
 steps, solemn words and irrevocable vows. 
 
 Mabel Stewart was standing in all her 
 girlish, graceful beauty by the side of Reginald 
 Maynard. She was promising to be his wife, 
 she was casting off all former ties, vowing 
 to him, and him alone, henceforth, love, duty, 
 obedience. And he, in the extacy of a joy 
 he could scarcely comprehend, had encircled her 
 finger with the golden ring which made them 
 one, which bound her to him till death should 
 part them, to cherish, protect, and love her, 
 
 E 2
 
 52 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 beautiful, passionate, faulty, yet beloved as she 
 was. There, with a bridal veil only in addition 
 to the dress she wore on this birthday-night, 
 which her sister had so fondly admired, there 
 she stood, with none of the prestige of 
 wealth about her, all but unattended, and 
 unsupported, for her own maid, who had been 
 with her from a child, acted as her only 
 bridesmaid, and two of Reginald's own friends 
 were all the attendants, in an official capacity, 
 at the hasty ceremony. 
 
 The clerk had been bribed to give up the 
 keys of the church, and the special license 
 had been beforehand secured at the usual 
 •costly price. 
 
 - But now the first rays of morning stream 
 in through the small pointed windows. The 
 solemn service is performed, Mabel for the 
 last time signs her maiden name. She is 
 ^ Reginald's own beautiful bride. There is no
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 53 
 
 ■ 
 
 time for consideration, the deed is irrevocable, 
 so quickly accomplished, so lasting in its con- 
 sequences. The carriage is waiting at the 
 church gate, the door closes upon them. 
 
 The future was but carelessly anticipated by 
 the newly-married pair.
 
 54 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Life is a series of surprises — we do not guess to day the 
 mood, the pleasure, the power of to-morrow, when 
 we are building up our being .... No truth so sub- 
 lime, but it may be trivial to-morrow in the light of 
 new thoughts. — Emebson. 
 
 Five years passed. Time, which heals or 
 soothes all sorrow, takes the sting from all 
 disappointment, and, in general, gives a true 
 colouring to actions which prejudice may mis- 
 represent, brings also retribution if not ven- 
 geance in its passage. 
 
 The high, independent spirit of Mabel Stewart, 
 believing itself aggrieved, prompted her to fol- 
 low passion's dictates in the choice of Reginald 
 Maynard. Mabel had taken an irremediable
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 55 
 
 step, from which there would be no receding, 
 should submission, unsweetened by esteem and 
 affection, prove irksome in after years. How 
 bitterly Mrs Neville reproached herself and 
 her erring sister ; how, in the peculiar confidence 
 of her nature, she sought the sympathy of 
 every friend and neighbour when Mabel's* 
 flight was first discovered, can easily be ima- 
 gined by those who chance to number among 
 their acquaintance any one so short-sighted 
 and simple-minded as Mrs Neville. It is also 
 easy to imagine how envy, malice, and pene- 
 tration exerted their peculiar powers, reprobating 
 unsparingly the evil-doers, and prophesying 
 the unavoidable consequences of the step they 
 had taken. 
 
 In truth, had Mabel secured her happiness, 
 when, owing to a bitter disappointment in first 
 love, she trusted it to Reginald Maynard, known 
 only as a fascinating adventurer, the small
 
 56 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 country world, in the neighbourhood of Linwood, 
 would have been grievously surprised. There 
 was every thing to be said to the prejudice of 
 Mabel Stewart. She had outraged all the dic- 
 tates of common-sense which are c generally 
 addressed in particular to those who have no 
 sympathies with the highly-gifted, the poetical, 
 the daring, or the deep-feeling. She had taken 
 by surprise all the straightforward, common- 
 place, talkative, gossiping world, and such a 
 reproof to individual penetration and collective 
 observation could not be forgiven. Then, she 
 had married a man who, without any pretension 
 to wealth or pedigree, had, by good looks and 
 intense devotion alone, won the prize which the 
 excellent, uninteresting eldest son, or the fast, 
 good-looking, indigent younger brother had 
 coveted in vain. Lastly, " Mabel was a flirt; 
 she always had been a flirt, and flirts ' do not 
 make good, happy, obedient, quiet wives," said
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 57 
 
 many a mother of plain, disagreeable-looking 
 daughters, while taking the opportunity of ad- 
 ministering a lesson and a warning which were 
 neither necessary nor palatable. 
 
 Those who would have been most ready to 
 follow the example of the beautiful young 
 bride were most loud in the expression of horror 
 and indignation at the step she had taken, 
 while they professed themselves in no degree 
 astonished at Mr Maynard's audacity, " having, 
 upon several occasions, taken pains to avoid 
 his acquaintance through an innate dislike to 
 his style and manner." 
 
 Poor Mabel ! None spoke very kindly of 
 her, for to great personal beauty was joined 
 an extreme disregard for the opinion of the 
 world, which that great despot resents with 
 unsparing severity. She was too independent, 
 too true, too loving, too full of great faults 
 and fine virtues — too constant to forget, too
 
 58 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 proud to mourn. She could not forgive, but 
 she could be revenged — and she was revenged 
 — but with a revenge that recoiled upon her- 
 self also. She was careless of the future — 
 the ideal counterfeited the real — as she con- 
 fessed, she bowed to Maynard's superior will. 
 She tolerated him, while she knew he was her 
 slave. Ah ! Pride ! that bane of human 
 nature, that nurturer of untold evil, crime, 
 and misery. Pride was Mabel's task-master! 
 It should not be said that she was constant 
 to the memory of one who had scarcely bid 
 her adieu, before he had forgotten all promises 
 and vows ! No ! far away as she was, her 
 name should reach him coupled with another's. 
 He might picture her to himself as the bride 
 of the handsome Reginald Mavnard, and then 
 he might do justice to the sternness of a 
 wounded, disappointed heart. She should have 
 her triumph through his humiliation. It was
 
 Jt ** 
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 59 
 
 but a short-lived triumph. The right-judging, 
 censorious world was not disappointed. 
 
 A few years passed, and none envied, few 
 even remembered or spoke of, Mabel Maynard ; 
 only one heart still yearned towards her with an 
 affection that knew no change. She would 
 have been more than revenged for supposed 
 or real injury, for real or fancied desertion, 
 had she read the feelings with which the first 
 announcement of her marriage was received 
 by Herbert Dalrymple. She would even have 
 trembled at the sight of the scorn and 
 indignation which quivered on his lip and 
 blanched his cheek. She would have wept 
 agonising tears, could she have discerned the 
 anguish of his heart. She would never have 
 forgiven herself for being the first to implant 
 there the thorns of mistrust, whose roots 
 extended deeper and deeper, causing Dalrymple 
 to become a misanthrope, while all women
 
 60 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 were destined to pass henceforth beneath his 
 scornful censure. Why had she been so hasty, 
 so passionate and mistaken? Ah I she only 
 listened to the tale, the suspicion of jealous 
 affection prompted her to believe; she fancied 
 she was not without confirmation of Dalrymple's 
 inconstancy — Maynard's own lips had assured 
 
 her his affection was no longer hers. 
 
 ****** 
 
 None envied Mabel Maynard, when the 
 reports which were soon circulated respecting 
 her hasty marriage, were no longer doubtful. 
 Reginald had loved the beautiful heiress, with 
 all the impetuosity of a nature spurred on to 
 passionate devotion by the difficulties of attain- 
 ing a desired end, but his was not that love 
 which is so well grounded that it sets at 
 defiance all changes and all circumstances. 
 
 Mabel was capricious — Maynard unprincipled. 
 Her change of position in life soon became
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 61 
 
 distasteful to her. The sacrifices she was 
 required to make, were not demanded of her 
 by one commanding her respect, and whose 
 example prompted to imitation. She grew 
 discontented, he became imperious, she im- 
 potently questioned his right to the fortune 
 her blind self-will had bestowed upon him. 
 Retaliation followed censure, an embittered 
 spirit disturbed conjugal harmony, and Reginald 
 and Mabel became the hero and heroine of 
 
 the oft-told tale, of an ill-assorted marriage. 
 
 ****** 
 
 It was the close of a long summer's day, 
 which had been enjoyed to the uttermost by 
 the inhabitants of the busy city of Marseilles — 
 individuals of every nation, Asiatic, European, 
 — every variety of costume might be seen 
 on the broad quay awaiting ostensibly the 
 arrival of the Genoese packet, but in reality 
 luxuriating for the most part in that dozing,
 
 62 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 smoking, talking, happy indolence, which no- 
 where betrays itself so advantageously as at 
 a sea-port town in the sunny south. 
 
 There were men of business to be seen 
 walking hastily by, as if each lost moment 
 were a golden guinea subtracted from their 
 yearly income; there were speculators of 
 haggard, uncertain mien and impulsive gait, 
 who had staked their last hundred ; there was 
 the gaily-clothed man of fashion, the bright- 
 eyed pleasure -seeker, the earnest, unsubstantial- 
 looking artist, glorying in the feast of beauty 
 and variety; young beauty and faded ugliness, 
 all contributed to the gay, picturesque, moving 
 scene. 
 
 Existence alone seemed to some, sufficient 
 enjoyment, particularly to those who were the 
 least educated or the most thoughtless, as 
 they sat and gazed upon the sunset, and the 
 thin, fleeting, gold clouds, and the blue
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 63 
 
 Mediterranean, which was visible at intervals 
 amongst the masts and cordage and many- 
 coloured flags of the vessels in port. 
 
 Amongst the crowd was one, who, not 
 remarkable in appearance, had, by the unusual 
 anxiety visible in his manner, attracted the 
 attention of the passers by, and of the groups 
 of idle sailors as they sat crossed-legged upon 
 broken barrels and half-buried boats. The 
 individual in question was an Englishman, 
 about sixty years of age, evidently belonging 
 to that thriving middle class whose successful 
 aim through life having been to make money 
 is often at a loss how to spend it. 
 
 Mr Jarvis's early habits of frugality were 
 at variance with the possession of a splendid 
 abode, purchased late in life from a ruined 
 aristocrat, but which he intended should be 
 the means of procuring influence and a name 
 to his descendants. But he had no descendant
 
 64 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 — no wife — no child laid claim to his gilded 
 halls, elaborately fitted with carvings, and hung 
 with costly pictures. Many a cousin of first, 
 second, and even third degree, fawned upon 
 the wealthy retired trader, praising his gaudy 
 decorations, yet gazing unappreciatingly upon 
 his f Titians ' and his * Canovas.' But Geoffrey 
 Jarvis despised them all — he had long made up 
 his own mind as to the eventual disposal of his 
 property. He was a man of discernment, and 
 knew the value of his loving relatives 7 attentions. 
 At Marseilles the greater part of his successful 
 career had been passed, and now as he stands, 
 and walks, and hurries by, ever and anon 
 fixing the focus of his small pocket-telescope 
 which brings the distant horizon beneath the 
 cognizance of his keen grey eye, he feels that 
 the turning-point of his happiness in latter years 
 is at hand. Not one of those who gaze, and 
 laugh, and wonder at the retired unsocial habits
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 65 
 
 of the well-known English Croesus, would have 
 dared to make one mocking comment upon 
 the hehaviour of this man of strict honesty, whom 
 fortune had so highly favoured, yet many an eye 
 was upon him as he shook his head, unbuttoned 
 the light-brown holland overcoat, which encircled 
 his somewhat portly figure, and from the 
 recesses of his waistcoat-pocket drew forth for 
 the seventh or eighth time in the course of an 
 hour a small envelope, addressed in a female 
 hand. For the moment he seemed lost in the 
 contemplation of the few lines it contained, 
 then would start up and again scan the horizon 
 with searching glance. 
 
 In due course of time the expected packet 
 was in sight, and as it neared the harbour, Mr 
 Jarvis made his way with the crowd, until at 
 length he stood, with a multitude of his fellow- 
 expectants, on its busy thronged decks. He 
 evidently had one determined object in view, 
 
 vol. I. F
 
 66 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 as he neither heeded the obstacles he encoun- 
 tered, in the shape of officious porters and 
 conveyance drivers, nor turned aside one glance 
 towards the bright- eyed, dark-complexioned, 
 gaily-clothed women, who had either fruit or 
 curiosities to sell, a husband, lover, or brother 
 to welcome, or a fortune to disclose. 
 
 Geoffrey Jarvis pushed on his straightforward 
 course, and in a short time might have been 
 seen among the last lingerers on deck. Few 
 would have guessed what affinity there could 
 be between him — honest and open-hearted 
 though his countenance betokened him to be — 
 and a young elegant high-born looking woman, 
 w T ho hung upon his arm, and seemed to look 
 to him for protection and advice. An attend- 
 ant and a little girl, five years old, composed 
 the remainder of the small party, who, placing 
 themselves under Mr Jarvis's escort, were lost 
 to the sight of the wondering bystanders, as
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 67 
 
 they drove through the principal streets, and 
 
 stopped before the door of a splendid mansion, 
 
 which owned Mr Jarvis as master. 
 
 Now, none could have envied Mabel May- 
 
 nard, could they have divined the destiny 
 
 which, for the moment, had ordained that she 
 
 should seek a home under Jarvis's roof. Few 
 
 but would even have pitied her amongst her 
 
 former acquaintances could they have witnessed 
 
 the change that a few years had effected — 
 
 not that her beauty had totally deserted her, 
 
 but sorrow and suffering, and angry passions, 
 
 and disappointed expectations, had written their 
 
 individual tale upon her nobly formed brow, 
 
 and impressed themselves but too legibly on 
 
 each feature. Her step, indeed, was more 
 
 haughty than formerly, but her figure had lost 
 
 its once majestic and beautiful proportions, and 
 
 the roundness and bright colouring of youth 
 
 F 2
 
 68 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 had departed, leaving her worn and aged in 
 appearance far beyond her years. But, at 
 times, and especially when Mabel gazed upon 
 her child, her usually compressed lips would 
 open with an indescribably beautiful smile, 
 brightening at the same moment the melan- 
 choly of her dark blue eyes. 
 
 In her child were centred all her affections. 
 The little Rosa was the idol of her heart, the 
 one object to which she clung in life. She was 
 a bright, dimpled, rosy child, with large eyes, 
 like her mother's, and soft winning ways, speak- 
 ing a mixture of French, Italian, and English, 
 which evidently delighted Mr Jarvis. Rosa was 
 a useful link, as he indeed found, to join the 
 detached and rather formal sentences of the 
 conversation which took place between him 
 and his intended guest; and it was not 
 until he had introduced Mrs Maynard to
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 69 
 
 the apartments he had fitted up for her, 
 that the awkwardness he experienced, gave 
 way before his warm hospitable feelings. 
 
 " You have acted a kind, friendly part by 
 me," were the first words Mabel spoke. She 
 had hitherto scarcely replied by more than 
 monosyllables to Mr Jarvis's inquiries, — " You 
 see I have availed myself of your friendship in 
 the moment of need." 
 
 " I wish indeed to prove a friend," he replied 
 quietly. 
 
 There was in his manner to Mrs Maynard 
 a respect, and even deference, which proved 
 him to be not only keenly alive to the worldly 
 distinction between them, but also incapable of 
 taking advantage of the peculiar position in 
 which she was placed by poverty and misfor- 
 tune. The kind-hearted are naturally re- 
 fined. 
 
 " Hitherto you have ' only, I believe, guessed
 
 70 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 at my history," she continued, making an effort 
 to appear calmer, as she motioned to Mr Jarvis 
 to seat himself beside her, " but you must know 
 all. I have struggled to the utmost, as you may 
 imagine, with severe trials ; ruin which would 
 only have involved myself I could have borne, 
 but for my child's sake, I have taken this 
 step." 
 
 "And I bless you for it, and you shall 
 not repent it, Mrs Maynard, you have made 
 me so happy ! I shall have an interest in 
 my old age, at last all my wealth shall not 
 have been accumulated for nothing." 
 
 a I show my esteem, my confidence in 
 you," continued Mrs Maynard as she looked 
 fixedly on Jarvis's honest, open countenance. 
 
 " And I am only thankful to have it in 
 my power to diminish my debt of gratitude 
 to you, besides your child, your beautiful Rosa," 
 he hesitated.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 71 
 
 " I cannot resign control over her, you 
 would not ask it, you would not even wish 
 it," she replied quickly, while her pale face 
 crimsoned. " I have taken this step which 
 to the world would seem strange, but I am 
 dead to the world, I am an alien from all 
 I have loved — my husband." 
 
 il I know all — I know all," replied Jarvis 
 hastily, for he wished to spare her the 
 pain of explanation, "I have never ceased 
 watching over you, if not visibly, at least 
 through the medium of others. I have never 
 lost sight of you since you acted the part of a 
 ministering angel to me. How can I forget 
 that it was your hand which raised me from 
 a bed of sickness?" 
 
 "I performed a mere act of chanty." 
 
 " And I am but grateful. Removed as 
 we are, Madame, by birth and position in 
 life, (for I need not be told that wealth
 
 72 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 alone can never raise me to your level,) I 
 have yet a heart to know, and value you 
 as you should be valued. The time will 
 never come when I shall consider my debt 
 fully discharged, but — you do entrust your 
 child to my care?" 
 
 " You are a noble-minded man ! but let 
 that suffice, you do not desire flattery. I 
 am left in the wide world alone, to act for 
 myself. I will not refer to the painful past, 
 to that last event in my life which has 
 caused me to seek the protection you so 
 generously offer for my child'; mark me, Mr 
 Jarvis, for my child alone, for myself I shall 
 be independent." 
 
 " You shall never repent the step you have 
 taken." 
 
 " My pride revolted from any other course. 
 I would not make any appeal to my own 
 relations, but for my Rosa! 1 could not see
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 73 
 
 her brought up in penury! nevertheless, I 
 must impose conditions." 
 
 " Name them, Madame." 
 
 " She must never be taught the history of 
 her life ; she must be received in your family 
 as a legacy bequeathed to you by the dead, 
 her father's, her mother's name must never be 
 mentioned." 
 
 " But, why these restrictions." 
 
 " I would have it so," returned Mabel, 
 while the proud decision, which in early life, 
 combined with her natural waywardness, again 
 marked her manner. 
 
 " Then I am content to obey you, Madame. 
 I have no link between myself and future 
 generations, as I have said your child shall 
 inherit my wealth." 
 
 " There must not be concealment between 
 us, Mr Jarvis. Misfortune has fallen heavily 
 upon me. I will not trace it to its source,
 
 74 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 my conscience might too severely accuse me. 
 The pittance I had left, when I found myself 
 a deserted wife, would scarcely have preserved 
 me from starvation. In my extremity I re- 
 membered your gratitude for the services I had 
 been fortunate enough to have it in my power to 
 bestow ; I also remembered your anxiety to find 
 some protegee who would stand you in the 
 stead of daughter ; I respect you, I have 
 confidence in you, but my child must be 
 under my own eye, I must watch over her, 
 instruct, cherish her still as my own ; one day 
 she will perhaps learn to bless me for the 
 sacrifice I shall have made. You see, Mr , 
 Jarvis," she continued with a melancholy smile, 
 " I am not wholly above sordid, worldly con- 
 siderations." 
 
 " Our obligations will be mutual, Madame. 
 I am blessed with wealth which you need, 
 but I have no child, you have no home, I have
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 75 
 
 made my own fortune, I am not called upon 
 to account to any man living for my posses- 
 sions," and here Mr Jarvis looked round his 
 gaily, and somewhat gaudily-furnished room, 
 with the pride to which honest, successful 
 industry had given birth. " All is my own, 
 my own hands have laboured for it. Your 
 daughter shall inherit great part of my 
 wealth. She will be a great heiress, she shall 
 make a splendid marriage, she shall — " 
 
 " Hush !" exclaimed Mrs Maynard, as she 
 waived her hand with that air of dignity 
 which had always impressed Jarvis with a 
 feeling of awe and admiration. " Do not let 
 us look so far into futurity ; I have con- 
 sidered all things — the step I have taken is 
 dictated by an affection, which is proof against 
 all selfish longings ! For Rosa's good in years 
 to come, I stifle many a rebellious feeling. She 
 will be the child of luxury instead of want. For
 
 76 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 myself individually I accept nothing," she 
 continued, as she guessed the thoughts that 
 were passing through Mr Jarvis's mind, "I 
 shall provide for myself, I can teach ; I shall 
 give instruction in music, drawing, Rosa shall 
 be my pupil, I shall still be happy." The 
 tear glistened in her eye. Mr Jarvis's kind 
 heart was pained, he knew Mrs Maynard's 
 innate pride. He dreaded nothing so much 
 as her displeasure, which he felt he should 
 incur, if in any way he thwarted her designs. 
 He would willingly have placed hundreds at 
 her disposal, but his good sense told him 
 that altered as she was in position, and 
 overwhelmed with misfortune, a life of idleness, 
 leaving room for the constant recurrence of 
 painful thought, would be distasteful in the 
 extreme. He partly guessed, but had never 
 fully known, the particulars of her early history. 
 A residence for two years at Florence, under
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 77 
 
 the same roof with Mr and Mrs Maynard, 
 had occasioned his first acquaintance with 
 them. Pity replaced the censure which he 
 had originally passed on the domestic 
 dissension hetween the ill-matched husband 
 and wife. Pity soon ripened into the warmest 
 gratitude for the devoted care with which 
 Mrs Maynard had nursed him through a 
 dangerous illness. Intimacy increased till he 
 at length made her confident of his inten- 
 tion to adopt as his heir some child of noble, 
 or at least gentle blood, who should shed a 
 light upon his downward path in life. With 
 a vague notion of what might eventually 
 follow, he intrusted the search to his new 
 friend. In early life he had been disappointed 
 in the choice of a wife, and had resolved never 
 to marry, yet his heart longed for some 
 object on which to lavish his affection and 
 his wealth. He had new attained the
 
 78 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 summit of his wishes, and was more than 
 happy. 
 
 " Would you wish me to leave Marseilles ?" 
 he said — " shall I begin life again in a less 
 frequented place? — I make no profession, but 
 you know me, Mrs Maynard." 
 
 " No ! I shall soon feel at home here, though 
 not under your roof, still under your protection, 
 with the benefit of your advice. Rosa is young 
 — at her age memory is not very tenacious — in 
 a few months she will have forgotten my exist- 
 ence. I shall watch over her secretly, even 
 while I confide her to your care. My own 
 improvement in all branches of education will 
 be my daily occupation, that I may be fitted to 
 open her young mind. Have I your sanction, 
 Mr Jarvis, to this arrangement — will you con- 
 fide to me the direction of my child ? " 
 
 She read in his silence, in his warm but 
 respectful pressure of the hand she extended to
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 79 
 
 him, his full and generous acquiescence. Her 
 heart was lightened of its load. 
 
 Months and years passed away — Mrs May- 
 nard kept her resolution. She had an all- 
 engrossing interest, and cause for exertion. 
 She assumed the name of Cecil, and for some 
 time remained in perfect retirement, yet silently 
 and secretly watching over her child with 
 jealous affection. She began to cultivate the 
 talents which had been long neglected — her 
 days and nights of watching were repaid 
 through her own exertions — she made her 
 small fortune suffice to her necessities. For- 
 tunately she had but little time for thought, 
 for her lonely moments were bitter enough, 
 when the number of small pupils she gathered 
 around her by day had departed in joyous haste, 
 and left her to dwell upon her changed lot. 
 
 The beautiful courted Mabel Stewart, the 
 capricious Mrs Maynard, the deserted wife,
 
 80 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 now merged into the homely English teacher 
 of a small day-school in a foreign land ! What 
 had she not sacrificed to her own pride, and 
 her child's good, even the outward repression of 
 that maternal love which her heart yearned to 
 shower down upon it ! 
 
 Many a night might she have heen seen 
 pacing slowly up and down in front of Mr 
 Jarvis's house, that the sound of her child's 
 voice might reach her ears. Often was there 
 an accidental meeting under the large trees 
 that shaded the front of Villa Mobile ; often the 
 little Eosa brushed past her, prattling to some 
 favourite companion, regardless of her who 
 longed with painful intensity of love to claim her 
 as her own. But she kept her resolution. She 
 was determined that all memory of her should 
 die away before she entered Mr Jarvis's house 
 as the instructress of his adopted child. Yet, 
 bitterly would she sometimes mourn over the
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 81 
 
 very success of her plan, as day by day she felt 
 that her image was fading away from Rosa's 
 memory. 
 
 Nearly three years had passed. Rosa was 
 now six years, old. All arrangements had been 
 made, and Mrs Cecil was to begin the course of 
 instruction which Rosa was to receive. As she 
 entered the room in which Mr Jarvis had first 
 welcomed her under his roof, she nerved herself 
 for the first meeting with her child in her 
 altered character. Mr Jarvis was standing by 
 her side. She had taken pains to alter her 
 personal appearance as much as possible. Her 
 hair, which used to fall in long soft ringlets 
 over her child's face as she sat upon her knee, 
 was now braided and confined by a small neat 
 cap, which, though it rather added to her 
 personal attractions, yet gave her a changed and 
 more matronly appearance, and the gay flowing 
 dress which she was accustomed to wear during 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 her stay in Italy, was now exchanged for one 
 more sober in hue and in form. The new 
 lady with whom Rosa was told she was hence- 
 forth to spend the long happy day, who was to 
 teach her all she longed to know, and who was 
 to tell her stories of all the beautiful bright 
 things in earth and sky that she saw around, 
 this new lady was an object in anticipation of 
 the greatest interest. 
 
 Rosa had thought, and dreamt, and talked 
 of her, till she had well nigh wearied all the 
 household, but the kind Mr Jarvis himself, with 
 her hopes, and fears, and fancies, and supposi- 
 tions. At length the moment had really 
 •arrived, and Rosa bounded into the room. 
 
 No ! there was no recognition, nothing that 
 apparently brought back to mind the remem- 
 brance of the mother, who was supposed to 
 have died in giving birth to her child. 
 
 There was the half shy, half playful pleased
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 83 
 
 smile, the sidelong glance at the stranger, and 
 in another moment Rosa had rushed into the 
 arms of her adopted father, while the bright 
 colour rose in her cheek. A feeling of disap- 
 pointment swelled in her heart, as she contrasted 
 the tall dark figure of the new lady with the 
 bright offspring of her childish imagination. 
 
 The sacrifice that had been made during 
 three long years had met with its reward — 
 a cruel one it was true. 
 
 It would have been luxury for the mother 
 to shed the tears that struggled in her heart, 
 as a feeling of bitter desolation overcame her — 
 but she did not yield. She took the child's 
 hand— she drew her towards her. She told 
 Rosa she was the Mrs Cecil she had expected, 
 that she loved her very much already, and 
 would love her more day by day. Rosa looked 
 into her face, with her large blue eyes, half 
 wondering, half timidly, but most she wondered 
 
 G 2
 
 84 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 why the strange lady should have had tears in 
 her eyes, and why she pressed that long, long 
 kiss upon her lips as she bade her return to her 
 play, for she " wanted to talk to her papa." 
 
 This was the beginning of a happy life to 
 Mrs Maynard. The child soon returned her 
 love. She was gentle, affectionate, intelligent. 
 She was soon never happy out of the sight of 
 the " new lady," and well did she repay all care 
 and tenderness. But we must now turn to 
 other scenes.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 85 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 This memory brightens o'er the past, 
 
 As when the sun concealed 
 Behind some cloud that near us hangs, 
 
 Shines on the distant field. — Longfellow. 
 
 The old house at Hazelymph was to be re- 
 inhabited. For the last three years, since the 
 death of Mr Dalrymple, the family mansion had 
 all the appearance of being deserted and falling 
 to ruin. Now neighbouring curiosity was 
 excited as to when, and in what manner, under 
 what auspices and similitude the present heir 
 would return from afar to claim his own. The 
 old servants who descended as heir-looms to 
 the present possessor, suddenly awoke to the* 
 increased importance which belonged to them,
 
 86 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 as they gave or withheld at their will and 
 pleasure the information respecting their new 
 master's movements to the anxious many who 
 sought it at the fountain-head. 
 
 Mr Herbert Dalrymple, the second son of 
 the late possessor, inherited the estate through 
 the death of his elder brother. He had 
 left Hazelymph years ago a boy — he was 
 returning a^ man. Report said he was rich 
 and extravagant. Report also said he was 
 selfish and misanthropical. The old consi- 
 dered him as still young. The young thought 
 that if he had not gained wisdom during his 
 life of thirty-eight years duration, experience 
 had been thrown away upon him. The old 
 servants declared he was open-hearted, generous, 
 handsome, when they remembered him seven- 
 teen years ago ! In short, Mr Herbert Dal- 
 rymple in perspective excited an interest which 
 can only be accounted for on the score of the
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 87 
 
 inherent love of novelty all possess in a greater 
 or less degree. 
 
 Few can say they are not, in some degree, 
 alive to it. 
 
 Let the view on which we daily gaze be ever 
 so beautiful in its noon- day brilliancy, we ob- 
 serve, with pleasure, the stealing of the evening 
 shadows across the landscape, and occasionally 
 our eyes even rest with complacency on new 
 scenes of much inferior beauty. The same 
 style of reading does not always suffice to the 
 same person. The philosopher, after a day 
 spent in research, is at times seen absorbed in 
 a work of fiction ; and the theologian, through 
 the instrumentality of the oft reprobated drama, 
 has been delighted to improve his knowledge 
 of human nature. 
 
 Then in dress, in fashion, how enthusiasti- 
 cally variety is hailed, and how subserviently, 
 and often inconveniently is it followed. Indeed,
 
 88 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS, 
 
 the man who ventures to overrule in action, 
 momentary conventionalities, gives proof of a 
 bold and emancipated intellect, or of freezing 
 indifference to the opinion of the world. There 
 is not a greater tyrant than established fashion, 
 nor one that runs a greater risk of being un- 
 ceremoniously deposed. Fickle human nature 
 raises up one idol on the ruin of another, and 
 for some one gallant deed, which circumstances 
 contributed to bring to light, the man who, 
 equally a hero in the former part of his life, 
 was destined to be passed over without notice, 
 may suddenly find himself the object of most 
 enthusiastic popular applause. 
 
 The fact is tolerably well established that 
 novelty has charms from the force of contrast 
 alone. In the life w 7 e daily lead every sense 
 may be gratified. Music may delight the ear, 
 the eye may wander pleasantly over the fair 
 face of nature without, or rest upon the evi-
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 99 
 
 dences of art and refinement within — our well- 
 stored libraries may contain all that is requisite 
 to form the taste and enlighten the understand- 
 ing, but still the new, the shadowy magical 
 form of the unknown in its varied aspects rivets 
 our curiosity, and encourages our hopes. 
 
 If our expectations fade away as the reality 
 becomes apparent, we do not necessarily profit 
 by our lessons in disappointment; and if this 
 be true of the more civilized and educated part 
 of the community, it is no less so of those 
 whose unenlightened minds have a strong 
 yearning towards the marvellous. 
 
 Where is the road- side inn that has not in 
 its time attracted its tens and hundreds of 
 passers by, allured by the hope of gratifying 
 curiosity while listening to some strange tale 
 respecting the neighbouring village or mansion ? 
 The giant and the dwarf might live and die in 
 their natural homes — the wild beasts of the
 
 90 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 forests might still roar in their native solitudes; 
 the beautiful and grand would less frequently 
 be brought before the gaze of the few who 
 really appreciate them, were not the love of the 
 marvellous an instinct which opens the eyes 
 and ears of the ignorant in science, and the 
 careless, as to the future advantages to be 
 reaped by research. 
 
 Hazelymph had long been considered in a 
 negative light. There was no resident master, 
 no attempt to keep up the old place in 
 proper style ; there bad been no balls or dinner 
 parties given within its walls for years ; it held 
 no place in the annual country flower-show, 
 no perambulating organ-boy, or third-rate 
 brass band thought it worth while to try 
 their fortune in front of its old grey walls, 
 and smokeless chimneys. Old Mr Dalrymple 
 had for years been a retired invalid. 
 
 But now ! The actual possessor was
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 91 
 
 returning home, and speculation was rife as 
 to the probable amount of balls, dinner, and 
 shooting parties Herbert Dalrymple would 
 give during the season. Labourers were 
 calculating on employment in the over-grown 
 pleasure grounds, the hot-houses and green- 
 houses would be renovated; servants out of 
 place would find a new home. 
 
 The east wind had blown till all the spring 
 blossoms looked shrunk and withered. It was 
 a dull time of year ! Hunting was over, the Lon- 
 don season had not begun ! When would Herbert 
 Dalrymple appear to the longing eyes of the 
 Hazelymph neighbourhood? " Time brings 
 roses/' says the German song, and it also 
 brought Mr Dairy mple's travelling carriage 
 to the station nearest to Hazelymph, con- 
 veying the long-expected East Indian to his 
 own family mansion, just when people were
 
 92 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 beginning to think he would never come 
 at all. 
 
 It was evident that the new possessor was 
 returning from foreign service, to judge by 
 the various articles of luggage with which he 
 was surrounded. First by his side sat in majestic, 
 though somewhat discomfited mood, a large 
 dog of the St Bernard breed, uncouth-looking 
 portmanteaus and hat-boxes were hung about, 
 and lastly, under the jealous eyes of a valet, 
 with enormous whiskers, were innumerable 
 great coats and wrappers, bearing any stamp 
 but that of solid English manufacture. 
 
 There was a chillness in the air which told 
 that winter was still capable of resuming a 
 short, though despotic, command over the 
 fickleness of spring, even though a slight tinge 
 of green was beginning to mingle with the 
 rich purple of the distant woods, and the
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 93 
 
 redder hue of the nearer chesnut and elm 
 trees. But enveloped in a capacious fur cloak, 
 the traveller seemed proof against the after 
 sunset air, while his attention was too much 
 occupied in taking note of the surrounding 
 country for any personal discomfort to be 
 experienced. He was nearing his own house, 
 the home of his fore-fathers for many 
 generations, the home, between which and 
 himself all nersonal ties had been severed 
 during the last fifteen years, and which he 
 had yearned to behold again, while destined 
 to spend the best of his youth in India. 
 His age at first sight could not have been 
 exactly determined, as an air of gravity and 
 an expression of sternness added in repose 
 those years to his face, which vanished when 
 a smile of unusual sweetness stole over his 
 features — yet at times it was a melancholy 
 smile, as he gazed with an interest which
 
 94 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 years had cemented, upon spots evidently 
 well remembered as associated with past 
 recollections. He was driving rapidly through 
 grand forest sceney, opening here and there 
 into soft glades in which the dark green of 
 the ilex and holly, mingling with the less 
 aspiring brushwood, relieved with their bright 
 verdure the brown uniform tint of winters' 
 leafless colouring. At intervals the unusually 
 soft green turf marked the course of a 
 wandering streamlet, while the luxurious 
 growth of lichen on the stems of the 
 older trees gave to the whole scene a rich 
 varied tint; now and then the eye embraced 
 a more extended view which melted away 
 into the blue distance, until, after about an 
 hour's drive through the forest, the stone 
 paths of an Elizabethian house appeared, rising 
 from an amphitheatre of wood. In a few moments 
 Herbert Dalrymple stood in his own hall.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 95 
 
 u Glad to be at Hazelymph once more, 
 and to see you looking so hale and hearty, 
 my good Munro," exclaimed the new comer, 
 as he returned the affectionate, yet respectful, 
 greeting of the old housekeeper, and cast 
 one sweeping glance at the smiling faces of 
 men and maidens who had followed in her 
 train. The first sound of the carriage- wheels 
 had attracted the whole of the household. 
 " I am glad to be here once more, but 
 strange things have taken place, and I am 
 no longer master Herbert of former days," 
 he added, as, calling his dog to his side, he 
 stood before the large fire which threw an 
 air of comfortable warmth over the richly- 
 furnished hall, and looked around with an 
 emotion he did not much care to repress. 
 
 " I have been very lonesome ever since my poor 
 old and young master died, Sir, and, indeed, I 
 am right glad to see you again. Many's the heart
 
 96 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 that has been mourning for the dead, far and 
 near, but now you are come back, Sir, we must 
 welcome you as your father's son should be 
 welcomed. If you had only been here to re- 
 ceive his last words and blessing." 
 
 " It was impossible. I was far away when 
 news of his illness reached me; would indeed 
 that I had returned long ago." These words 
 were the expression of thoughts, which linked 
 the present with the past, and could scarcely be 
 said to be addressed to the old housekeeper, who, 
 with the privelege she felt still belonged to her, 
 was standing before her new master, and gazing 
 intently upon him, as if to identify him, tall, 
 dark, and handsome, though careworn as he was, 
 with the bright rosy youth who had left his home 
 some sixteen or seventeen years previous. 
 
 " Your room is all prepared, Sir, it is the one 
 at the end of the long gallery, if you please to 
 approve of having your luggage taken there at
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 97 
 
 once," and as if with the excuse of waiting for 
 an answer, Munro still lingered near her old 
 master's son. 
 
 But Dalrymple was living back the quickly 
 flown but all-important years that had laid so 
 strange a hand upon the present moment. He 
 was in the same large hall he remembered as a 
 boy, which, though of fair proportions, had 
 diminished to half the size that his youthful 
 imagination had pictured it. Over the chimney- 
 piece were the portraits of his father and uncle, 
 two bright happy-looking school boys, in green 
 cricket jackets, standing by the bole of a large 
 oak tree. There were likewise other family 
 portraits, grandfathers, and grandmothers, aunts, 
 and uncles, whose pedigree he had spent 
 many a quarter of an hour in unravelling, and 
 who, to his father's horror, he had always taken 
 a somewhat mischievous pleasure in mis-marry- 
 ing. His elder brother's picture, his favourite, 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 his play-fellow and friend, whom none in his 
 estimation would equal, was there also, and with 
 one glance at that loved face, never more to be 
 seen on earth, his present loneliness flashed 
 vividly upon him, for he had succeeded to his 
 elder brother's inheritance, and was dependent 
 upon himself alone. Outwardly there was little 
 alteration to mark the flight of time, except that 
 his father's red velvet chair no longer stood in 
 its accustomed place, and that the long, deep, old- 
 fashioned sofa, had been exchanged for one 
 smaller and of less comfortable proportions ; but 
 all was changed, and the faithful old housekeeper 
 who had spent her youth and age in the Dalrymple 
 family, would little guess the torrent of thought 
 that was passing through the mind of the last 
 descendant of his race. 
 
 Yet she brushed away a tear, partly of joy, 
 partly of sorrow, as she too contrasted, in her 
 simple way, the present with the past.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 99 
 
 " Indeed, Sir, it's no wonder you're stricken 
 like with thinking on old days, and I can see you 
 and dear Mr Edward, standing there with the 
 first hrace of partridges you ever shot in your 
 hand, as if it was yesterday, and then you threw 
 'em down at my feet, and told me you'd shoot 
 many a brace more, before you were ten years 
 older, and now, Sir — but it's all right, and they 
 as have gone to their rest, have left you a fine 
 heritage, as you may well be proud of, and you'll 
 be a good master as your father was before 
 you." 
 
 " I have much to do, and to think upon, my 
 good Munro. The responsibilities of a large 
 estate are not few, I scarcely feel fitted for them, 
 as I could wish, but however, it is early days yet. 
 Now lead the way to my room." 
 
 "And you'll do your best,, you'll dp your 
 duty as well as any of them, Sir, I know, there 
 never was a Dalrymple yet as was a bad landlord ; 
 
 H 2
 
 100 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 but you see you've been so long out of the 
 country, you've well nigh forgotten all about 
 it, and it grieves me to the heart that 
 you're going to live in this great house all 
 by yourself, Sir — you must excuse my free- 
 dom, Mr Herbert, but I'm an old servant, 
 and there's no heir after you to all this fine 
 estate." 
 
 " Ah, you want me to give you a lady mistress, 
 do you, Munro," but here Mr Dalrymple spoke 
 with more energy in manner than he had hitherto 
 exhibited. " I tell you beforehand, you must be 
 content without having to yield to all the whims 
 and fancies of a Mrs Dalrymple, if you've set your 
 heart .upon my bringing one to Hazelymph. 
 No, no, you must be under bachelor government, 
 and be as punctual as the minute-hand of a 
 watch, and put up with all my odd tempers and 
 odd ways, and that you will for old friendship's 
 sake,'' and he gave the old woman a hearty shake
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 101 
 
 of the hand, as he dismissed her upon reaching 
 his own room. 
 
 He wanted time for thought ; he wanted to 
 be alone again ; he was accustomed to solitude ; 
 he had grown taciturn, and disliked restraint, yet 
 he dreaded the lowliness of his own home. As 
 he sat gazing on the bright fire that seemed 
 determined by its crackling, blazing, and other- 
 wise cheerful manner to make up for deficiencies 
 in the item " companionship," he felt he had 
 scarcely been prepared for the utter desolation 
 which was every moment gaining ground upon 
 him ; he could scarcely summon sufficient resolu- 
 tion to change his travelling dress, and descend to 
 his solitary dinner. 
 
 Fifteen years is a long space in the life of any 
 individual, but scarcely at any period does it 
 tell with such effect upon character as from 
 twenty to five-and-thirty. Boyhood has ascended 
 into manhood, strong in good or evil, earnest
 
 102 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 in pursuit, or confirmed in sloth, daily progress- 
 ing towards excellence, or receding from the 
 goal of virtue. Life has reached its culminating 
 point. After this epoch, in few, if in any, is a 
 new power developed, or a long-growing and 
 unchecked foible conquered. Life has also 
 given its promises of failure or success, of 
 sorrow or joy— with few exceptions the tenor 
 of existence partakes of the hue which has 
 hitherto been shed upon it. Most can, in a 
 measure, foreshadow their own destiny, or they 
 are, at least, at the age of five-and-thirty, pre- 
 pared for any change to which they may be 
 subjected. 
 
 Nearly an hour had passed, and in the mighty 
 review of vanished years, which the return to 
 his old home had conjured up, Mr Dalrymple 
 had been forgetful of his promise, that he would 
 soon descend to the common-place and neces- 
 sary operation of dining, till a knock was heard
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 103 
 
 at his door, and the old housekeeper again 
 appeared. 
 
 " If you please, Sir — " 
 
 " I know, my good Munro, I shall not do 
 justice to the good cheer you have provided for 
 me, you would say, but you must excuse my 
 dilatoriness." In less than an hour Mr 
 Dalrymple had dressed, and dined, and, at his 
 command, the old housekeeper was sitting 
 opposite him / in her best holiday suit, drinking 
 to the health and happiness of her new master 
 in a glass of choice wine. 
 
 Herbert Dalrymple had always been a favourite 
 at Hazelymph. His memory had been cherished, 
 and his return anticipated with unfeigned 
 delight by all who knew him in his younger 
 days. His very faults had been magnified into 
 virtues by the humbler amongst his friends, 
 his frankness and liberality serving to brighten, 
 in their estimation, those parts of his character
 
 104 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 upon which some shadows fell. Strong in his 
 predilections, he was as constant in aversion, 
 and rarely forgave or forgot where he had once 
 discovered a grave error in character. Upright 
 in thought as well as in action, and extrava- 
 gantly generous — any meanness or dissimu- 
 lation was visited with unconcealed contempt ; 
 while, though he possessed a few true friends, 
 he also made many enemies, from his wanting 
 the power to conciliate when angered. He 
 looked for perfection, and had never found it. 
 Had he any right to expect it ? 
 
 " Will you tell me something about the old 
 neighbourhood, Munro, or I shall be enquiring 
 after a deceased generation perhaps ! — I feel to 
 have outlived all my contemporaries during 
 my two years' travels on the continent. I have 
 been in ignorance respecting them. I can 
 scarcely picture myself to myself — except that 
 it is something like old days to see your good-
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 105 
 
 natured old face opposite to me," continued 
 Dalrymple, endeavouring to drive away some 
 overpowering feeling that claimed a mastery 
 over him, by assuming a pleasant manner. 
 
 " Bless you, my dear Mr Herbert, there's 
 not a house in the country but has changed 
 hands, or changed masters, since you were 
 here, You would not know the old neigh- 
 bourhood again— some are gone, and some 
 are dead, and some married. " 
 
 « What of the Liddell's ? " 
 
 " You've hit upon the very worst for 
 changes, Sir. The old gentleman married 
 a young wife, who has dragged him all over 
 the continent for the last two years, and they 
 have sent back such a lot of picters and statutes 
 that they'll not be able to enter their doors 
 when they do return." 
 
 " Then the Strangways — Sir George and 
 Lady Mavace ?"
 
 106 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Ah ! there it is again, Sir. It all comes 
 of people not marrying who they've a fancy for. 
 They long found out that they could not agree, 
 and so Sir George stays at home and looks 
 after his hunting, and Miladi has taken the 
 three young ladies to Paris to edecate, and 
 they'll come back and look dismal the rest of 
 their lives in this country it's my belief. I 
 believe Langley towers is to be let, Sir George 
 is mighty tired of his lonesome life, I hear 
 sometimes." 
 
 " These are sad stories, Munro, have you 
 not something pleasant to tell me of." 
 
 " Well, indeed, Sir, I hope you don't think 
 I can only speak ill of the neighbours — but 
 there are some in their right places yet. 
 There^s the Rector, as good a man as ever 
 breathed, only some thinks his sermons are 
 rather long — he never leaves the parish from 
 one year's end to another's, and there are the
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 107 
 
 two old Miss Crawford's— they live in the big 
 house, as it's called ; and old Sir James Pulling, 
 he has come rather nigher us; and, may be 
 you may remember — " 
 
 " Yes, yes, my good Munro, I remember all 
 you intended saying," exclaimed Dairy mple, 
 somewhat impatiently, " I shall be glad to hear 
 of all my old friends in time, but — " 
 
 " Lor bless me, Sir, what a forgetful old 
 woman I am, and you so patient sitting there 
 listening! I should have told you first about 
 Squire Neville's family ! of course you wants 
 to know particular about them, though that's 
 
 not what it was when the beautiful Miss Mabel 
 Stewart was always at Linwood." 
 " What is not as it was, Munro ?" 
 " Oh, Sir, I mean — but what's the use of 
 raking up old stories — it's all gone by, and 
 you'll be none the happier — nothing is as it 
 was — I think I had best not say more about
 
 108 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 it, for you were great friends in former days, I 
 remember well." 
 
 " She married, Munro, did she not," said 
 Dalrymple, very quietly, as he re-filled the old 
 woman's glass, and threw an additional log on 
 the fire. 
 
 " Oh, yes, Sir — she married, in course, about 
 two years after you left for India. Lor ! what 
 a day that was — I thought as you must have 
 heard, which made me more diffident like in 
 telling you, Sir — you must have heard all, at 
 the time!— it's a long while ago since that 
 day. Yes, she married, that beautiful Miss 
 Mabel." 
 
 " Well, tell us all about it." Her master's 
 patience was again on the wane. " Yes, Sir, 
 that I will in time. She married a right 
 handsome gentleman some said, as he was — 
 but I thought he never had your's, nor Mr 
 Edward's, downright look-you-in-the-face man-
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 109 
 
 ner, and so it has turned out, you see. She 
 might have waited a bit, Sir. She need not 
 have been in such a hurry — so handsome 
 and pleasant-looking as she always was, and 
 with all the world, high and low, a loving 
 her." 
 
 " She was not quite as philosophical as you, 
 Munro, I am afraid," said Dairy mple, con- 
 temptuously. 
 
 " Well, Sir ! may be I'm talking so fast, 
 and you so tired after your long journey, and 
 every thing being so strange, and yet so natural 
 like." 
 
 " No, no, go on, for Heaven's sake, go 
 on." 
 
 " Well, Sir. The squire and Mrs Neville 
 never overlooked the clandestine act of Miss 
 Mabel's husband; for you know he married 
 her the night of that grand ball at Linwood — 
 though my belief is that in her heart she was
 
 110 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 as true to you as the day you went to 
 India. 5 ' 
 
 Dalrymple writhed under the torture the 
 old woman was unconsciously inflicting, but 
 he was silent. 
 
 " You're looking sadly pale and wearied, 
 Sir — but it is a sad story, and I must finish 
 it, if you please. There must have been some 
 underhand business in it, I always thought — 
 it was'nt likely, she so rich, and he so poor. 
 You heard how they went to church, and how 
 she stepped out in her beautiful white satin 
 shoes, all across the lawn, and he by her side, 
 carrying some of her jewels; and her maid 
 packed up all her things in a hurry, and a 
 light was seen in the church, and some 
 thought it was a ghost, but it all came out 
 next morning — but you must have heard all 
 this, Sir." 
 
 " Yes, yes, but what became of them?"
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. Ill 
 
 " Some say they went to Paris, and at first 
 she used to write home long happy letters, and 
 then there was some slight difference in them. 
 She never mentioned her husband, hut she 
 always said she hoped her sister and Mr Neville 
 would forgive her. And then, for years, nobody 
 spoke of them to Mrs Neville. She seemed 
 broken-hearted at first. I believe, indeed, Sir, 
 I believe he's used her very ill — and some say 
 he's left her, and spent all her money." 
 
 Dairy mple was wound up to the highest 
 pitch of endurance. It w r as all too vivid, 
 he felt spell-bound, as if unable to stop 
 the torrent of the old woman's eloquence, 
 
 yet he knew all, it was but a revival of 
 
 past impressions. 
 
 " But about the Neville family, Sir, I 
 
 must tell you, you've come home at a sad 
 
 time, for they are all in great trouble. 
 
 The Squire with all his great riches once
 
 112 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 upon a time, is a bankrupt, and all's going 
 to be sold." 
 
 " What Linwood, that beautiful place ! This 
 is sad news, Munro." 
 
 " Indeed, Sir, it's too true. He's been too 
 generous and too high-minded, and been surety 
 for some friend into the bargain." 
 
 " Why did you not tell me this before ?" 
 exclaimed Dalrymple, much moved. 
 
 "Why indeed, Sir, I've been talking as 
 fast as I can, but there's a great deal to be 
 gone over. All the furniture's going to be 
 sold up-stairs and down-stairs. Mr Neville 
 is as fine and honourable a gentleman as 
 ever lived, if I may give my opinion, but 
 he makes no confidences to his wife or chil- 
 dren, and when he gets into trouble who's 
 to help him out of it. It came all of a heap 
 on poor Mrs Neville, but she bears it 
 bravely."
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 113 
 
 "Are you certain it is all to be sold?" 
 
 " So I hear, indeed, and it's my belief 
 they'd be glad to rent the Glen, Sir, hard 
 by, that pretty cottage, you remember, on 
 this property, if you've no objection." 
 
 " It must all be inquired into," exclaimed 
 Dalrymple, roused by the recital of actual 
 passing events from the recollections of times 
 gone bye. " I can do good, I can create an 
 interest," he continued, musing, as the old 
 woman again followed up the current of her 
 own ideas. 
 
 " You would'nt believe it was Mrs Neville, 
 she's come out such a fine character, as they say. 
 To be sure, sometimes she looks, and stands, 
 and seems to be taking farewell of all about 
 her, and then she calls her little children about 
 her, and tries to be cheerful, for she would'nt 
 make the Squire unhappy if she could 
 help it." 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "Are there many children?" 
 
 " Two grown-up young ladies — one's 
 engaged to be married, and the other, Miss 
 Mabel — did you speak, Sir?" 
 
 "No no; the other, Miss Mabel" — 
 
 "Is just coming home from her education, 
 and she'll be a comfort to her mother. There 
 are two little girls; the only son died, 
 though they made such a to-do when 
 he was a year old he did not live long, — 
 that was a sad blow to the family, too, 
 Sir." 
 
 " Now good night, Munro, and thank you 
 for all you have told me," exclaimed Dairy mple 
 resolutely rising to put an end to the con- 
 versation." 
 
 " Good night, Sir, you're right not to hear 
 more to-night, and perhaps to-morrow 
 you'll hear some more about the old 
 country," and making a respectful curtesy
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 115 
 
 Mrs Munro left her master to his own 
 reflections. 
 
 It was late that night before Dalrymple 
 retired to rest, each corner of the well-remem- 
 bered home he so dearly loved had been 
 visited, except one room which had been 
 his mother's. Containing, as it did, many 
 cherished remembrances of her, he and his 
 brother had as children never entered it 
 without affection and reverence, the only 
 feelings which her early death had permitted 
 them to experience respecting her. 
 
 All was silent in the house, and the small 
 hours already spoke of another day being entered 
 upon, w 7 hen with sudden resolution Herbert 
 Dalrymple opened the door of his own room, 
 and with noiseless step moved along the 
 gallery towards the apartment he had ever 
 been accustomed to venerate, and which he 
 had hitherto appeared carefully to avoid. 
 
 12
 
 116 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 His heart beat quick, as he turned the 
 handle of the door, but by a strong effort 
 he opened it, and unhesitatingly, and as if 
 the past seventeen years could not possibly 
 have effected any change within those walls, 
 he moved towards a recess at the furthest 
 end of the room, rather out of sight of any 
 casual intruder. 
 
 Yes ! the picture was there still : one which 
 had left so indelible an impression on memory, 
 that it seemed as if it were but yesterday 
 that he had stood face to face with it. It 
 was a picture of a girl in all the lovely 
 symmetry of happy, innocent, blooming youth, 
 with an expression of just so much seriousness in 
 the half-downcast eyes, as to make the beholder 
 long to read the thoughts which had fixed 
 it there, yet there was evidence of a merry 
 heart in the dimples that played about the 
 full rosy lips, and a shower of gold-dust
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 117 
 
 seemed to have been just scattered on 
 the wavy hair, which fell in picturesque and 
 unconfined masses over her shoulders. The 
 figure was slight and girlish, she had evidently 
 scarcely seen twenty summers. Long before 
 this picture Herbert stood; till, as he gazed, 
 he fancied the very canvas moved, and 
 thrilling accents seemed again to speak, as 
 in former years, from the breathing lips. All 
 time was obliterated. He remembered only 
 that he had once loved. He had loved as a 
 boy, as a youth, as a man ; with the fervour of 
 his impetuous nature, he had hoped and 
 trusted, he had avowed his love, he was told, 
 he knew it was returned, and yet, why had 
 he learnt to look coldly, doubtingly, almost 
 sternly upon woman, and why, the fairer the 
 specimen, why was she the more doubted and 
 all but scorned? He had been wronged, he 
 could neither forget, nor forgive, and there-
 
 118 SEYMOUR ASD HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 fore it was, with that still keen agony, he 
 now gazed once more upon those features, 
 until in the silence of the night he had 
 peopled a fantastic world with living images. 
 He looked, and looked again, still there was 
 the same attitude, the same form clothed in 
 its waving drapery, the same soft drooping 
 eye, and speaking lips. 
 
 All, all was gone — It was a shadow that 
 haunted him, that spoke to him. It was a 
 mockery ; merely a semblance of the vanished 
 past. 
 
 He started, as he pressed his cold hand 
 upon his brow. He had scarcely realised to 
 himself what would be the effect of the trial 
 he had self imposed. Years had made no 
 change in him ; he was an expanded, but not 
 an altered being. But circumstances had 
 changed, and now he passed from what he 
 had outwardly been, to what he now was.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 119 
 
 He knew he was solitary, — he dreaded 
 solitude, even while he courted it. And where 
 was she, the ohject of his life's affections? 
 Those with whom she had once held sweet 
 companionship, he now knew were accustomed 
 to pass her over, as if she no longer existed. 
 Perhaps all was over, and life's short trouhled 
 dream was at an end. Perhaps, she might 
 he suffering sorrow, remorse, — Why should 
 she have deserted him? 
 
 Dalrymple had learnt to control emotion. 
 In the throng of his fellow- creatures, he 
 passed for a blase misanthrope, whose law 
 was honour, and whose feelings were unassail- 
 able. But no one witnessed his inward 
 struggles, nor did they see the burning tear 
 that for one instant dimmed his sight as he 
 knelt in speechless prayer in that silent 
 room. It was a prayer that she whom he
 
 120 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 had loved, might never have known anguish 
 such as his. 
 
 In another moment, and without casting 
 his eyes again upon the portrait, he had 
 risen, opened and closed the door behind 
 him, passed along the gallery, and returned 
 to his own room.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 121 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " It has always appeared to me that there is so much 
 to be done in this world that all self-inflicted suffering 
 which cannot be turned to good account for others, is a 
 loss, if you may so express it, to the spiritual world." 
 
 Seventeen years ! — it is a long time to look 
 forward to, yet short to look back upon, thought 
 Herbert Dalrymple, as the early sun shone into 
 his room on the morning after his return to 
 Hazelymph, and woke him from the deep sleep 
 of weariness, to the consciousness that he was 
 once more at his childhood's home. He dressed 
 hastily, and long before breakfast he had visited 
 many of his favourite haunts, and arranged 
 many a half-formed plan. He was a man
 
 122 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 accustomed to face the truth, to look upon it 
 as the truth, which, sooner or later, would make 
 its voice to be heard, and which no flimsy veil 
 could eventually disguise. He had hitherto 
 led an active life, and being possessed of an 
 observant mind, the intercourse he had main- 
 tained with his fellow-creatures had enabled 
 him to form a tolerably correct idea of human 
 nature, though his friends and intimate ac- 
 quaintances were few. 
 
 He felt that in his present position, em- 
 ployment for mind and body, and that too of 
 a kind which would both interest him indivi- 
 dually, and do good generally, was absolutely 
 necessary. There was one event in his life 
 on which he was resolved not to dwell. The 
 oft-repeated recurrence of those feelings which 
 on the previous night had returned with such 
 force, would be prejudicial not only to his peace 
 of mind, but to his proper mental guidance.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 123 
 
 He resolved to consider the past as a dream, 
 and as a time which, putting to flight all ro- 
 mantic notions, which in early youth he had loved 
 to indulge of constancy and truth in woman, 
 had also with its bitterness instilled a salutary 
 caution. It was but natural that on his first 
 return to a spot teeming with such memories 
 as those which rose on all sides around, bygone 
 days should be unusually present with him, 
 and that the pangs of jealousy and indignation 
 which had at first assailed him on hearing of 
 Mabel Stewart's marriage should again be 
 aroused. 
 
 But those days were long passed — time 
 should have softened the bitterness of those 
 feelings. The present lay before him, to be 
 stored up in useful deeds which should make 
 the memory of his father and brother, still 
 revered and blessed in their successor. He 
 wished to live principally in retirement. He
 
 124 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 had resolved never to marry, yet he was anxious 
 to renew intimacy with old friends and neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 He was haunted with the idea of the 
 Nevilles' change of circumstances ! He found 
 himself continually dwelling upon old Mrs 
 Munro's words, and contrasting the picture 
 she had drawn of the present state of affairs 
 with the happiness he had formerly known at 
 Linwood. His long tour abroad after his 
 departure from India had been the cause of his 
 returning to England in ignorance of many 
 changes that had taken place during the last 
 two years. If Mr Neville's affairs were indeed 
 in the ruined state they had been represented 
 to him, the evil might be remedied but not 
 cured. Friendship might indeed do much, 
 and, that there was such an opening for interest 
 and exertion was to Dairy mple a subject of 
 congratulation. The first day he devoted to
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 125 
 
 renewing acquaintance with many an old tenant 
 and cottager, and retired servant, who all 
 flocked to Hazelymph to welcome him home 
 again ; the following morning he found himself 
 awaiting Mr Neville's appearance in the Lin- 
 wood drawing-room. 
 
 It was an anxious moment, that which he 
 passed with his own thoughts, after he had been 
 shown into the empty room. He walked calmly 
 from window to window, he stepped upon the 
 terrace, and even stooped to gather the spring 
 flowers beneath his feet. 
 
 The door opened, and the warm shake 
 of the hand, and the kindly voice with 
 which Mrs Neville greeted him, gave him a 
 thrill of pleasure, which for years he had ceased 
 to experience. She was still Mabel's sister to 
 him. Still the kind-hearted, simple-minded 
 Sophy Neville, though time and anxiety had 
 stamped their impression upon her, taking away
 
 126 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 from the roundness of youth, and marking some 
 slight lines upon her open hrow. 
 
 To her, he was still Herbert Dalrymple, with 
 whose remembrance, happy hours were associated; 
 as, in former times, whatever was the length of 
 his stay at Hazelymph, some portion of each day 
 was almost always yielded to the influence which 
 the once happy and beautiful Mabel exercised 
 over him. As she looked upon him, she 
 thought of him as he had been — generous, 
 impulsive, devoted. Now as he stood by her side 
 in the same room in which he had last parted 
 from her sister, all intervening years seemed for- 
 gotten, those years which had witnessed his 
 desertion from Mabel, the aspersions upon his 
 character by the neighbouring world, her own 
 reluctantly- called-forth indignation. True, he 
 was altered in expression, in bearing ; seriousness 
 replacing the mirth of youth was now the 
 fixed character of his face, yet his voice was as
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 127 
 
 sweet, his smile as irresistibly winning as for- 
 merly. 
 
 The first thought that rose in the heart of 
 both, was, Mabel — yet neither uttered the word. 
 For a moment each looked at the other without 
 speaking. With Mabel were associated too 
 loved, too bitter recollections. At that instant a 
 barrier rose up closing for ever the avenue which 
 would have opened out the past history, and 
 have formed a theme for never-ending enquiry 
 and explanation. It was a painful subject — each 
 felt it to be so. All was gone bye — why resort 
 to the irremediable past ? 
 
 "We meet under altered circumstances," 
 Mrs Neville hastily exclaimed, as her woman's 
 tact told her it would be desirable for Dalrymple's 
 sake, as well as her own, to break the silence. 
 " We were rich, and now we are poor; you have 
 heard all, probably, since your return to Haze- 
 lymph."
 
 128 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Yes, with real, great sorrow, dear Mrs Neville, 
 I have been longing to condole with — to assist 
 you, I mean, for mere condolence is useless." 
 
 " Oh do not say so ! kind words and looks 
 are of inestimable value," she replied cheerfully. 
 " I think it is a blessing on trouble, that it 
 teaches you to find out your true friends." 
 
 For a moment Herbert was struck with the 
 tone of decision and quiet reasoning in which 
 these words were pronounced. Individually, Mrs 
 Neville had not much interested him in former 
 days, perhaps owing to the very good-humour 
 and perfect self-composure which distinguished 
 her. He now thought that time, or some 
 unseen influence, had brought out other points 
 in her character ; or at least he had gained a 
 keener insight into it. 
 
 " You and Mr Neville are amongst my 
 oldest and best friends, do make me a sharer in 
 your anxieties. Tell me how I can gratify my
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 129 
 
 real wish to be of service to you. I am ignorant 
 of all but the fact that Linwood will no longer 
 be your home." 
 
 " You can very materially assist us, but probably 
 not in the way to which your generosity points. 
 You know my husband's character — strictly, 
 almost sternly upright. He has incurred large 
 responsibilities, which he will discharge to the 
 uttermost, declining all assistance. We shall 
 not be beggars, though our position will be 
 altered," she continued in a light cheerful tone. 
 " We shall still be very happy." 
 
 u But tell me how I can assist you." 
 " We have set our hearts upon calling the 
 Glen our future home; will you receive us as 
 tenants ? " 
 
 "It is your's, for old friendship's sake — we 
 
 shall be near neighbours, that will be pleasant " 
 
 — he said quickly. " You must exercise your 
 
 cheerful influence over me, if you will. I fear I 
 
 vol. I. K
 
 130 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 have grown stern, wilful, almost misanthropical, 
 during my absence." He was touching on 
 dangerous ground. 
 
 " You are too young to deserve such an epithet," 
 exclaimed Mrs Neville, as she dived into the 
 recesses of her work-basket for a thimble and 
 pair of scissors — she knew she should not find 
 there — " You must seek some good and useful 
 employment. I expect the active life I am about 
 to lead, will shut out all possibility of thought. 
 I shall have household cares, children's education. 
 I am thankful for this." 
 
 " You always had a happy disposition." 
 Dalrymple cast a look of approbation, almost 
 of affection on his companion. 
 
 " It is a good companion in trouble. The loss 
 of my boy, our only son, was a bitter grief." 
 
 " And yet you can speak cheerfully of that, " 
 replied Dalrymple, much moved. 
 
 " Yes, for all is for the best. This I feel every
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 131 
 
 day more and more ; he now would have been 
 heir to penury — but that is passed away." 
 
 " Would that all were endued with your 
 power to cast off care as soon as it becomes 
 oppressive." 
 
 " There is much in determining to be bappy ! 
 oh ! so much — of course life cannot be always 
 couleur de rose. I am blessed with the best 
 of husbands, but sorrow and anxieties have 
 increased his natural reserve. I wish I could 
 give advice and comfort in his difficulties. 
 I am speaking to you as to an old friend." 
 
 " We are, sometimes, at least, stern uncom- 
 promising beings, scarcely deserving of woman's 
 affection," replied Dalrymple in an altered tone, 
 for the cord Mrs Neville had struck vibrated 
 unpleasantly on his feelings, " but that affec- 
 tion does not always conquer time and circum- 
 stance." 
 
 " No, I am no great believer in any perfec- 
 
 K 2
 
 132 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 tion." She was anxious to turn the conver- 
 sation. 
 
 " Perhaps Mrs Neville will teach me notwith- 
 standing to consider woman, in time, the truest, 
 as well as the fairest work of this beautiful crea- 
 tion. I really think you may teach this lesson," 
 he added less sternly. 
 
 Mrs Neville's somewhat timid nature 
 shrank from the tone of irony in which 
 the former part of Mr Dalrymple's remark 
 was conveyed, nor did the expression of un» 
 mistakeable contempt, which for an instant 
 raised the corner of his lip, tend to reassure 
 her, but his concluding words showed that a 
 better spirit was at work ; she therefore rather 
 meekly replied, 
 
 " It is very easy to give, and difficult to 
 receive advice properly ; we must make allow- 
 ances for each other when temptation comes." 
 
 " Few would wish to be strong enough to
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 133 
 
 resist it," he hastily interrupted ; " but I am 
 giving vent to feelings fostered by unwholesome 
 retirement ; can you pardon me, Mrs Neville ? 
 I really feel very penitent." 
 
 " I am not inclined to quarrel with you 
 on this first day of meeting after our long 
 separation," she said kindly. 
 
 " If you could only teach me control ! you 
 exercise it so admirably ! " 
 
 Before Mrs Neville could reply the door 
 opened, and her eldest daughter entered. A 
 silence of a few moments followed her intro- 
 duction to Dalrymple, which the latter employed 
 in surveying the young girl with scrutinizing 
 glance. She was of the same age, the same 
 height, as the Mabel he had loved so devotedly, 
 when he had last parted from her in this very 
 room. But there the resemblance ceased. 
 In Eleanor Neville, as she stood before him 
 in the gentle unpretending beauty of youth
 
 134 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 and goodness, there were no traces of those 
 treacherous fascinations which had surrounded 
 the every look and movement of the lost 
 Mabel. Eleanor was slight and delicate-look- 
 ing. Her light complexion varied with each 
 emotion. As she stood beside her mother 
 in her plain walking-dress, her hair smoothed 
 across her brow, allowing the elegant outline 
 of her features to be distinctly visible, she was 
 so fair and beautiful, there was such truth 
 and simple quiet feeling in the modest expres- 
 sion of her blue eyes, that Dalrymple was half 
 tempted to waive in her favour the sentence 
 of universal condemnation he had passed upon 
 female attractions. He felt uneasy in her 
 presence, he rather wished he could have 
 quietly slipped away — he dreaded the under- 
 mining of the whole fabric of his anticipations, 
 and his hardly-made resolutions. 
 
 How little Eleanor guessed his thoughts as
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 135 
 
 she quietly seated herself opposite to him, 
 scarcely joining in the conversation, which was 
 carried on between Dalrymple and her mother 
 on the footing of renewed intimacy ! She 
 had her own particular subjects for thought; 
 and not being an interested listener, she soon 
 left the room, not on the whole sorry to have 
 escaped from beneath the searching glance of 
 her mother's visitor. Appearances, though not 
 always to be trusted, are often a tolerably 
 correct index of character, and from an ob- 
 serving silence, w T hich we may interpret into 
 disapprobation of our manner or exterior, it 
 is more natural to shrink, than from any open 
 censure we may incur. 
 
 Eleanor thought Mr Dalrymple looked stern 
 and unsympathizing, while he was hastily draw- 
 ing inferences as to the steadfastness and 
 amiability of her character. 
 
 " Mabel and Eleanor are very different — my
 
 136 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 two daughters are very opposite characters," 
 said Mrs Neville, following up her own instead 
 of her old friend's train of thought. 
 
 He made no reply — Mabel ! The word 
 vibrated upon his ears — there was a magic in 
 it. He thought Mrs Neville unfeeling to have 
 pronounced it. Her Mabel, then, differed from 
 Eleanor. Why should that interest him ? Yet 
 a feeling of curiosity was aroused. Was Mabel 
 proud and haughty, while her sister was kind 
 and gentle? was she made to command and 
 conquer, where Eleanor would yield ? was she 
 stamped by nature's hand, beautiful, fascinating, 
 fickle as she who had set the seal of loneliness 
 upon his own life? These thoughts whirled 
 quickly through his brain, even before the 
 sound of Mrs Neville's words had died 
 away. 
 
 u I suppose I am very partial, but you will 
 forgive me, I am sure," she exclaimed ; " my
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 137 
 
 children are blessings to me, one and all, their 
 happiness is my existence, but in altered circum- 
 stances such as ours, many a day-dream must be 
 abandoned." 
 
 " Teach them to depend upon their own re- 
 sources, to be strengthened against and pre- 
 pared for every trial, and for none more than the 
 false adulation of the world," replied her com- 
 panion, while the shade again stole over his 
 features, which Eleanor's presence had for the 
 moment dispelled. " All the glare and frivolity 
 of life are worth nothing. Solid goodness and 
 virtue and strength of mind, desire that for your 
 daughters, Mrs Neville. The less girls know, the 
 less they learn to attract, the better ; the better 
 wives and mothers they will make in the end." 
 
 Mrs Neville looked astonished. Were all her 
 views and fondest wishes to be dashed to the 
 ground so unceremoniously ? when she had 
 sacrificed, or rather devoted her whole life to
 
 138 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 gain the very ends she now heard so unceremo- 
 niously reprobated ? 
 
 Poor man ! how she pitied him ! to have 
 lived so many years in India, only to return to 
 England with such gothic ideas ! For the 
 moment she had forgotten his early history. 
 The phantom that rose before her was a dull 
 Hazelymph dinner-party, when her daughter's 
 attractions were to be neutralized through that 
 spirit of indifference to beauty in general she 
 had just heard advocated by Mr Dalrymple. 
 But then Mr Dalrymple was not an oracle. 
 He modified the severity of his former observa- 
 tions, assuring Mrs Neville " that he felt certain 
 she had given her daughters a solid education, 
 and did not wish them to set out in life with vain 
 and romantic notions." 
 
 " They are simple, yet refined," she pleaded. 
 
 " The natural consequence of the associations 
 which have hitherto accompanied them through
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 139 
 
 life." Mrs Neville felt satisfied once more. 
 " I have never taught my children how to 
 please, that I think will surely follow their 
 introduction into society." There was a little 
 pardonable vanity mixed up with this remark, 
 thought Dalrymple ; but Mrs Neville continued : 
 " Whatever advice you give, I receive as from 
 an old friend ; you will promise as such to give 
 me in time your candid opinion of my Eleanor 
 and Mabel." 
 
 If there were in these words something 
 soothing to Dalrymple's kind feelings, there 
 was also something rather irritating to his 
 self-love ; he was evidently considered by Mrs 
 Neville as 'passe;' as one who was to look 
 on in life while others were acting; who was 
 to take no part in scenes, in which the 
 individual interest of others was concerned. 
 Who on looking into his heart would not 
 have accused the misanthropical Dalrymple of
 
 140 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 inconsistency ! Yes ! he felt annoyed, that he 
 was expected to review the merits or demerits 
 of Mrs Neville's daughters, and to report 
 upon them, without being supposed capable 
 of experiencing either pleasure or pain ! He 
 might as well have been that large mirror 
 opposite, put there to receive all impressions 
 and retain none. In that mirror his own 
 manly figure was reflected. It would have 
 told the least observant, that in the powerful 
 mind within, struggles were daily fought 
 between erring human nature and strong 
 governing principle, between hope and disap- 
 pointment, pride and the kindest of hearts. 
 The next moment Mrs Neville saw with 
 pleasure, that there was a friendly smile upon 
 his expressive lips. He put out his hand 
 to her. 
 
 " You have received me so kindly, we 
 may well say we are old friends. If you
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 141 
 
 value my opinion, I will not fail to be candid 
 with vou on all occasions, when I can be of 
 service ; but then my judgment may not 
 be always to be depended on. We view the 
 same object with such different eyes." 
 
 "He will not assist me much with my 
 girls," thought Mrs Neville, as the door soon 
 after closed upon Dalrymple's retreating figure ; 
 "at least not with Mabel. Eleanor I am 
 rejoiced to think has secured her happiness. 
 I cannot wish her a brighter lot than being 
 the wife of Charles Seymour. What dangers 
 beset a mother's path ! Poor Mabel ! my own 
 darling lost Mabel ! seeing Herbert again 
 makes my thoughts turn to her once more. 
 Could he ever have behaved so villainously ! 
 and yet there is no doubt he forsook her; 
 and she ! — Herbert always was different from 
 the rest of the world. He was true, now he 
 is almost disagreeably severe. There is some-
 
 142 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 thing in his truth which is akin to 
 bitterness now. Perhaps he too has suffered — 
 all the world does at times/ ' and Mrs Neville, 
 with a sigh, looked around her. During her 
 soliloquy she had been moving about, arranging 
 into transposable order various small articles, 
 which, valueless in themselves, give an air of 
 comfort and habitation to the homeliest apart- 
 ment. 
 
 The sale at Linwood was to commence the 
 following week — the room in which the inter- 
 view with Mr Dalrymple had been held being 
 the only one which had not already undergone 
 material alteration. In all directions, numerous 
 packing-cases were to be seen — favourite arm- 
 chairs, family portraits, many hundred volumes 
 of a choice library, valuable pieces of furniture, 
 were destined to accompany the Neville family 
 to their new abode. Mrs Neville, nevertheless, 
 looked with regret upon many well-known
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 143 
 
 friends in the shape of cabinets, inlaid tables, 
 and elastic sofas, from which her judgment and 
 rectitude told her she must part. She sighed 
 again as she again looked around her luxuri- 
 ously furnished drawing-room, in which so 
 many of her happy years had been passed — . 
 but the task of dismantling must be begun, 
 and resolutely she set to work to perform it. 
 She had a nervous horror of embarrassed cir- 
 cumstances, and though she had sufficient com- 
 mand of herself not to weary her husband 
 with the repetition of her anxious fears, the 
 difficulties she saw in prospect, brought out 
 many parts of her character which had hitherto 
 slumbered in the repose of prosperity. 
 
 How to remain in the same social position 
 she had hitherto occupied, on diminished 
 resources, how to do the best for her husband 
 and children, and keep within the bounds of 
 a narrow income, was the subject that haunted
 
 144 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 her day and night. But her peculiar talent 
 lay in managing and contriving, and being 
 naturally of a buoyant, hopeful disposition, 
 she resolved not to be cast down. She was 
 in earnest. She was in earnest in all she 
 undertook. Had Dalrymple entered at the 
 moment, and observed her fingers busily em- 
 ployed in carrying out her resolutions, he would 
 have retracted some of his late remarks, he 
 would have felt that Mrs Neville at least was in 
 her simple energy an exception to a rule he 
 had erroneously laid down. She could decide and 
 act, though she desired accomplishments for her 
 daughters, and had even gone so far as to wish 
 that "he himself were not so much too old 
 for either of them. Hazelymph, and five 
 thousand a year, would have been such a 
 nice home for Mabel !"
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 145 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 But there are brighter dreams than those of Fame, 
 TVhich are the dreams of love. — Out of the heart 
 Rises the bright ideal of these dreams, 
 As from some woodland fount a spirit rises 
 And sinks again, into its silent deeps. 
 
 Spanish Student, 
 
 At length most of the preparations for departure 
 
 were completed, and the Neville family were 
 
 assembled at Linwood for the last time. The 
 
 room and everything around wore a cheerless 
 
 aspect ; even poor Mrs Neville's gaiety gave 
 
 way to sadness, as she sat by her husband's 
 
 side, talking over their future plans. Time had 
 
 changed Mr Neville more perceptibly than his 
 
 wife. There was more sternness, less suavity, 
 vol. I. L
 
 146 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 more decision and thought expressed in his 
 countenance. He was looking steadily at his 
 children, but he did not call them to him ; the 
 little ones did not climb upon his knee, and ask 
 him why he looked so sad. He was mourning 
 over their altered prospects, he loved them truly, 
 yet his cold reserve repressed their affection. 
 How often miseries are thus magnified, where 
 mutual confidence would soften their severity ! 
 Mr Neville fully appreciated his wife's character, 
 she had indeed been a good wife to him. When 
 he blamed his want of foresight and imprudence, 
 which had brought misfortunes upon them, 
 she always soothed his wounded feelings. He 
 thought her a clever arguer, bringing as she 
 did light out of darkness ; but she was not 
 clever, she had merely straightforward common 
 sense, excellent temper, and unfailing energy. 
 As she sat knitting a large purse, often the 
 occupation of those who have not much where-
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS JRIENDS. 147 
 
 with to fill it, she pleased herself in contem- 
 plating her eldest daughter, Eleanor, into 
 whose willing ear her lover, Charles Sey- 
 mour, was pouring forth the fulness of his 
 own happiness. Mr Neville, on the contrary, 
 saw only the dark side of things ; adverse 
 circumstances, his wife occupied necessarily with 
 household cares, his children without educa- 
 tion. 
 
 But contrast, opposition in character, is as 
 necessary to a domestic picture as light and 
 shade are to a landscape. One, should stand 
 at the wheel, while the other works the ship. 
 There should he a check upon impulse as well 
 as a spur to action, rudder and hallast, wings 
 to fly, feet to repose, mind governing heart, 
 sympathy in everything. 
 
 Mr Neville knew much of human nature, 
 
 but he looked upon it through a darkened 
 
 medium. His wife saw good in everything; 
 
 L 2
 
 148 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 her trust would have been implicit but for his 
 caution; his reserve was wanted in opposition 
 to her frankness and simplicity. Thus mutual 
 dependence was produced, and through it a 
 capability of struggling with adverse circum- 
 stances, which each fully appreciated. But the 
 study of character is often as difficult as it is 
 interesting. While his wife was his counsellor 
 and his support, inwardly though not openly, 
 his children were apparently removed from him 
 by an impassable barrier. He neither out- 
 wardly approved nor disapproved, he neither 
 sanctioned nor prohibited, yet he looked for 
 unquestioning obedience ; he apparently forgot 
 that they were rational beings, to be cherished 
 and guided through the path of life. Was 
 it pride that militated against affection, or is 
 it that human nature is a perpetual enigma ? 
 Eleanor Neville and Charles Seymour seemed 
 to take their own view of life, as, apparently
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 149 
 
 undisturbed by haunting reflection, they sat on 
 a deep cushioned sofa in a recess of the window 
 which opened on the terrace. Eleanor was 
 happy, though at times she sighed as if her 
 heart would break when her glance wandered 
 towards her parents; they looked so full of 
 deep thought, and she knew what her mother 
 felt, even when the smile was on her face. 
 
 But Charles had won her girlish love, and 
 she knew that she was the light of his life to 
 him. He had told her so often, and often ; 
 he had asked her to share his future home; 
 he had never loved any one but Eleanor Neville, 
 and now he was permitted to sit beside her 
 and talk over future plans ! It was a very 
 bright future; in another year he was to 
 claim her as his bride. He was dependent 
 upon his uncle, Sir Philip Seymour, an old man, 
 who treated him as his son, and as such watched 
 over what he considered his interests, more
 
 150 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 keenly than Charles thought necessary or 
 agreeable. Sir Philip had desired that he 
 should not marry before he was five-and- 
 twenty, and his will was law to his heir 
 presumptive. 
 
 Eleanor felt, as she looked at her mother, 
 and thought of Mabel, that the year would 
 pass away very quickly, not too quickly, perhaps ! 
 but she had always been so happy ! Charles 
 could not disguise his impatience as he thought 
 over the twelve long months in prospect ; but 
 then he was always impatient, with quick 
 loving impulses, winning at a glance, cordial 
 at a first greeting, honest, open-hearted, brave, 
 possessing all those manly fascinations of face, 
 figure, and manner, which captivate the young 
 feminine heart, and such was Eleanor. 
 She had not yet learnt to think deeply, to 
 compare,* to analyse — few girls have at nineteen 
 — and therefore at a later period of life so many
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 151 
 
 are disappointed. But we cannot be always 
 wise, and no experience is prized but that 
 which is self-gained. Mrs Neville loved 
 Charles Seymour as her son; his disposition 
 suited her's. If somewhat careless of the 
 future, he had the prospect of riches before 
 him ; he must have some faults, and caution at 
 his age would be meanness in later life. Thus 
 she reasoned, perhaps, against her better 
 judgment. Eleanor looked so happy, and 
 Mr Neville looked on and allowed the engage- 
 ment, for it was better that the shadow which 
 fell upon his own path should not darken 
 Eleanor's bright youth. Charles loved her 
 beauty and gentleness, her soft voice, that 
 sweet countenance, that spoke of feelings too 
 deep to be transient, not quickly aroused, but 
 lasting. Eleanor required to be known to be 
 appreciated. i 
 
 In short, they were very happy, and sat looking
 
 152 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 out upon the twilight as if they could pierce 
 through and through the future, which had no 
 existence to their minds beyond the one year of 
 probation. Silence sometimes expresses happi- 
 ness, but Charles was of a voluble nature, and 
 thought words the most natural medium of 
 communicating ideas, which were all centred in 
 the one being at his side. He could not counter- 
 feit sadness, though his companion's face was 
 less bright than usual. 
 
 " And yet I am too selfishly happy," she 
 replied, in answer to an observation on the subject 
 of her preoccupied manner. " I wish all were 
 equally happy." 
 
 " The day is too short, the year too long for 
 me, Eleanor — do you understand the distinction ? 
 What right have parents or guardians, or even 
 such a good uncle as I possess, to put a veto on 
 the period*of one's enjoyment in this life. Three 
 hundred and sixty-five more days of penance."
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 153 
 
 " So many days allotted to the increase of 
 wisdom and experience," she replied demurely. 
 u You are too young, Charles; you will have 
 time to know yourself, — and I shall have be- 
 come so attached to the Glen — " 
 
 " You cannot torture me, even if you wished 
 it" (her hand, which was very soft and fair, had 
 glided into his), but I shall employ the year 
 in making use of my influence with my uncle. 
 Linstead shall be made a perfect paradise, fit for 
 your reception. I will have half the rooms 
 pulled down and built up again. I only wish 
 to please you, Eleanor." 
 
 " I shall be sure to like everything that suits 
 your taste." 
 
 " How insipid that sounds ! — Every woman 
 should have her own way when she can, that is 
 my maxim, and a bride, particularly a beautiful 
 young bride, should be very imperious." 
 
 " And very disagreeable," exclaimed Eleanor,
 
 154 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 laughing. "I hope you will not think the 
 less of me for being very yielding, indeed, I 
 was never formed for commanding. We must 
 both learn prudence." 
 
 " Prudence ! a word never found in my 
 vocabulary, meaning everything stupid, common- 
 place, and unexceptionable." 
 
 Some vague notions of proper economy and 
 management Eleanor had lately gained from 
 her mother, were somewhat outraged by this 
 unqualified disapprobation of one of the cardinal 
 virtues, but she had not much talent for lecturing 
 or disproving Charles's theories, and thought she 
 had given him already very good advice by 
 hinting that there was such a virtue as pru- 
 dence ! 
 
 "You know nothing of Linstead, therefore 
 I cannot ask your advice, but I think you would 
 like the conservatory enlarged, the room that 
 will eventually be your boudoir hung with blue
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 155 
 
 silk, and panelled in gold and white ; the library 
 is a dismal room, I must lighten that in time, * 
 and have all those fine pictures I bought last 
 year hung round the half." 
 
 "And do you think I shall be happier for 
 living in luxury and splendour ?" 
 
 " No, I do not think you will ; but I 
 want to show my love for you. I do not 
 think you can yet fully appreciate it, you do 
 not know me, nor the power I possess with 
 my uncle." 
 
 While he spoke he had a few mis- 
 givings that his extravagant inclinations were 
 not wholly sanctioned by Sir Philip — but hope- 
 fulness was one of Charles Seymour's attributes. 
 It was almost a failing. He always thought 
 things would turn out as he wished. He had 
 not yet learnt many hard lessons. He had many 
 friends — or rather many who styled themselves 
 such, for it was regretted by Sir Philip that
 
 156 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 fashion, a merry disposition, and convivial 
 tastes, were sufficient passports into the good 
 graces of his nephew, irrespective of judgment 
 or worth. Charles's expectations were his hane, 
 and his friends' support. 
 
 fi You are kind and affectionate to my heart's 
 content, dear Charles, and how can I be suffi- 
 ciently grateful for it ; but you must not sacrifice 
 every thing to me," again urged Eleanor's soft 
 tones. " Life is so full of duties," she added, 
 as she smiled at her own seriousness. 
 
 " I love you dearly to lecture me, perhaps in 
 time I may become very obedient. But there is 
 time enough for duties, Eleanor dear — though 
 I know there are taxes upon riches and happi- 
 ness. But I must ride while I am a light 
 weight, and shoot, and hunt, and dream of you, 
 and of the end of this long year. I am so 
 happy !" 
 
 How could Eleanor cast a shadow over that
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 157 
 
 light, careless spirit, so rejoicing in itself? If 
 lately she had learnt to have some misgivings as 
 to the future, they were silenced as she listened 
 to her lover's words, so contradictory to all the 
 experience she had lately gained. She knew that 
 cares would come. Even her mother's tender- 
 ness could not conceal this truth from her ; and 
 her father's anxious face had long confirmed its 
 reality in his case. But at nineteen the whispers 
 of hope are too sweet to be silenced. At that 
 age great griefs and bitter disappointments have 
 seldom thrown forward their long shadow. It 
 is not upon others' feelings, it is upon our own 
 that we depend. Friendship, love, clothed in 
 romantic, and if not unreal, at least in transient 
 colours, form the basis of that fabric on which 
 the sparkling bubble of happiness floats. Those 
 who can look backward as well as forward 
 tremble for, while they admire and sympathize 
 with, the trusting spirit of youth; but few
 
 158 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 would willingly withdraw the veil which hides 
 the rugged path conducting to maturer years. 
 
 And so they still sat, and talked, and hoped, 
 and feared, and always ended where they first 
 began, until the twilight had changed to night, 
 and the candles were burning in their accus- 
 tomed places on the large round table, and the 
 last evening at Linwood was drawing to its 
 close. They had not been long engaged, and 
 all was still so new ! The first meeting, the 
 county ball, the very waltz tune, the dress so 
 well remembered in its full minutiee, the hasty 
 parting, the haunting last words, formed 
 themes of never-ending interest ; and while all 
 was now certain, how wonderful it was that 
 doubt could ever have existed. And then 
 Charles spoke of his former life, of his uncle's 
 kindness, of his friends' affection, of all the 
 merry days which had rendered life a perpetual 
 holiday. He would not have disguised the
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 159 
 
 truth, not for worlds would he have wished to 
 deceive Eleanor, to gloss over his failings, or to 
 magnify his virtues, and yet a fruitful source of 
 misery lay hid beneath the fair surface of which 
 Charles himself, knew neither the extent nor 
 the power. He was without governing prin- 
 ciple, he had never learnt to uphold the right 
 because it was the right. What was seemingly 
 bright and pleasant as it lay upon his path 
 he chose. He had not yet learnt, that temptation 
 to evil lurks beneath the fairest exterior, and 
 that even the most amiable impulses of human 
 nature are not to be followed without careful 
 examination. Report said truly, but report is 
 often disbelieved where there exists a predis- 
 position to think favourably. Report said 
 Charles Seymour's intimate friends, Hastings 
 and Beverley, were his evil geniuses, but 
 he only saw the bright side of their character,
 
 160 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 and he longed to introduce them to Elea- 
 nor, that they might learn to value each 
 other. 
 
 " But are they true, real friends," she ex- 
 claimed hastily ; u have you ever put their 
 virtues to the proof?" 
 
 " Eleanor philosophical !" he replied, laugh- 
 ing; " surely caution and suspicion do not 
 belong to your gentle nature." 
 
 She blushed, she fancied she had displeased 
 him, but her natural timidity gave way before 
 the jealous affection he inspired. 
 
 " I know you are invaluable to them, Charles, 
 but I wish to take care of your interests. If 
 your friends lead you astray, if they encourage 
 your generosity to meet their own ends, and 
 all this has been rumoured, they may destroy 
 our happiness for ever." 
 
 " You speak too seriously, Eleanor," he
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 161 
 
 replied carelessly, though her words made more 
 impression than he cared to show. 
 
 " Your uncle ! — you know we are perfectly 
 dependent upon his generosity and partiality, — 
 if you displease him, will you be able to make 
 your peace with him ?" 
 
 " He loves me too much to do me anv 
 
 
 
 serious injury. Nothing can disturb our hap- 
 piness," he added gaily, " so put away all these 
 silly thoughts ; and, with regard to my friends, 
 I only do as I would be done by — you would 
 not have me mean and selfish. Where have 
 you gained your experience in friendship?" 
 
 " Some knowledge comes naturally, I think," 
 she replied. " Since I have known you life has 
 worn quite a different aspect. I am always 
 dreading lest my happiness should be taken 
 away, I prize it so dearly. I try not to blind 
 myself to your faults too, Charles." 
 
 " And you have discovered so many ! Cre- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 dulity, thoughtlessness, extravagance ! I thought 
 love was blind." 
 
 " I think it makes us more keen-sighted ! 
 But defects even are loveable sometimes I" 
 
 " You are ingenious. So quiet and demure, 
 and so much penetration; you put to shame 
 my experience l" 
 
 " I am glad I have taught you to value my 
 superiority," she said, laughing, as they rose to 
 finish their conversation on the terrace. 
 
 Had Charles been of a less light-hearted 
 disposition, Eleanor's words might have been 
 considered omens of evil, coinciding as they 
 did with various warnings he had of late 
 received from his uncle. But with his usual 
 elasticity of mind, he dismissed a subject as 
 soon as it became unpleasant to him to dwell 
 upon it, trusting all would come right in the 
 end. Eleanor's observations were indeed based 
 upon no solid foundation, and she soon yielded
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 163 
 
 herself to the charms of the present moment. 
 Charles talked gaily, and rallied her upon the 
 sentimental leave she took of all the home 
 scenes, as she was preparing to part from them 
 for ever ! And yet he would not have had 
 her less feeling, less alive to sorrow and to 
 happiness, as he told her that the time to come 
 would eclipse the brightness of the time past. 
 Of course an eternally springing source of 
 thoughts and words was beside them, as mo- 
 ments passed they scarcely knew how. 
 
 They thought they were learning each other's 
 character. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Retribution is often spread over a long time, and so 
 does not become distinct until after many years. 
 
 — Emebson. 
 
 In one of the northern counties of England 
 which is watered by the intersecting streams 
 of the north and south Tyne, and amidst 
 scenery which, if not grandly mountainous as 
 that of Scotland or Wales, boasts of many a 
 fair spot of undulated wooded beauty, was 
 situated Linstead Castle, the possession of Sir 
 Philip Seymour, Charles Seymour's old bache- 
 lor uncle. Following the course of the rivers 
 which flow through the rich pasture lands of 
 Cumberland and Westmoreland are still to be
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 165 
 
 seen the remains of these old border castles, 
 raised by the hand of proud nobility, and 
 which the touch of revolution has destroyed. 
 
 There arises in the mind of the tourist a 
 melancholy mingled with pleasure while sur- 
 veying such departed and now desolate 
 grandeur, as, laying down fishing rod, or 
 sketch book, he spends in dreamy contempla- 
 tion an hour or two of the long summer 
 day. Before him are the grey ivied tower, the 
 unroofed cloister, with its solid masonry, in 
 which the sycamore or mountain ash has taken 
 root, the blue river reflecting in its still 
 depths the moss and lichen of ages past. 
 Silence and solitude are undisturbed save by 
 the rook or jackdaw, as they build their nests 
 in some retired corner of the old walls, or 
 skim overhead through the soft summer air. 
 
 To such picturesque beauty the romance of 
 fancy grants that admiration which is denied
 
 166 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 to the substantial comfort of modern habita- 
 tions ! 
 
 Sir Philip Seymour was amongst the few 
 whose property had not changed hands during 
 the civil wars, and looking, as he did, from the 
 window of his old-fashioned library, on his own 
 broad unmortgaged lands, he felt, at seventy- 
 five, as proud of his name, his ancestry, and his 
 possessions, as if his race of life had but begun. 
 As the heir to Linstead, Charles Seymour was 
 looked upon with envy by most of his acquaint- 
 ance, and if having hitherto had an almost 
 unlimited command of his uncle's purse could 
 contribute to his happiness, he had reason to 
 consider himself a fortunate individual. 
 
 Sir Philip was much attached to his good- 
 looking, light-hearted, easy-tempered nephew ; 
 but while encouraging the generous and extra- 
 vagant impulses, which in young Seymour did 
 not require much fostering, he had also un-
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 167 
 
 ceasingly warned him against those ultra 
 proceedings of lavish expenditure, which would 
 be likely to lead to ultimate embarrassment. 
 If Sir Philip disliked parsimonious youth, he 
 no less dreaded the diminution of the family 
 estate and family consequence, while to Charles 
 it was particularly difficult to steer a middle 
 course between extravagance and over-caution, 
 as he had a great many very dear friends, to 
 whom his assistance was indispensable, and 
 the charms of whose companionship weighed 
 heavily in the balance against Sir Philip's 
 advice. 
 
 It was not without regret that the old man, 
 in the privacy of his own library, and amidst 
 the silent portraits of his ancestors, often re- 
 flected upon the probable consequences of his 
 nephew's easily worked upon disposition. The 
 thoughts that flitted unpleasantly, and, though
 
 168 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 at the close of his seventy-fifth year, still vividly 
 across his mind, were not the offspring of 
 observation alone, for with the name of the 
 nephew he so fondly loved, were associated not 
 unqualified praises of kindness and good fellow- 
 ship. With his liberal allowance he was known 
 to be always in debt, nor was it less certain 
 that he had made his large expectations a plea 
 for the raising of many sums to be repaid with 
 exorbitant interest when he should be in pos- 
 session of Linstead. 
 
 On these, and such-like fruitful themes for 
 anxious thought, old Sir Philip dwelt with 
 constantly recurring annoyance, when he re- 
 flected that during the years of early youth his 
 own blind partiality had fostered the very 
 faults and indiscretions he now deplored. He 
 often asked himself what might not be the con- 
 sequences of his nephew's becoming possessed
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 169 
 
 of Linstead? The answer was, probably ruin, 
 or, at least, a considerable diminution of the 
 family estate. 
 
 Sir Philip had but one other relation in the 
 world, a distant cousin, of the name of Percival, 
 some years older than young Seymour, and who, 
 having lived a roving life, had for a long period 
 been unknown to him by all but by name. 
 For some months past, Percival had taken up his 
 abode in the neighbourhood of Linstead. He 
 came — no one knew whence — he lived in a quiet, 
 unobtrusive manner, occupying himself in read- 
 ing and fishing, rarely mixing in society, yet 
 generally spending a portion of each day in 
 relieving the tedium of the old baronet's exist- 
 ence. Upon the events of his own life he 
 seldom touched, whether from a feeling of 
 modesty, or from a disinclination to dwell upon 
 subjects which might be connected with unplea- 
 sant memories : he was in the habit of confining
 
 ]?0 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 his conversation to such topics as he knew 
 were personally interesting to his old rela- 
 tive. 
 
 With ^young Seymour he was on the 
 best of terms, assuming in his manner to- 
 wards him a slight superiority, which, through 
 his maturer years and his varied experience 
 of life, was tacitly allowed him by the 
 younger man. By Seymour's principal asso- 
 ciates, Hastings and Beverley, his society 
 was eagerly courted; while old Sir Philip 
 himself, felt that he was daily becoming 
 more essential to his comfort. Some said it 
 was remarkable that so close an intimacy 
 should have suddenly sprung up between Sir 
 Philip, who was so far advanced in years, and 
 one considerably his junior, from whom circum- 
 stances had hitherto entirely estranged him ; but 
 at length, all who cared to investigate, except 
 the over-wise or the unusually ill-natured, came
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 171 
 
 to the conclusion that Percival's roving inclina- 
 tion, and an innate love of the wandering art of 
 angling, had induced him to spend a few summer 
 months beside the banks of the beautiful Tyne. 
 As to Charles Seymour himself, he was of far too 
 unsuspecting and guileless a nature to augur any 
 ill to his future prospects, from the near neigh- 
 bourhood to Linstead of one whom he reckoned 
 amongst his best friends, It was also a great 
 comfort to feel that, when he was himself absent, 
 his uncle had in Percival a kind and pleasant 
 companion. 
 
 It was the day following that on which 
 Seymour had lavished on Eleanor the full 
 expression of the bright hopes which he lived 
 but to see realized. To him the future seemed an 
 unclouded vision of wealth and worldly pros- 
 perity. The old man did not see through the 
 same medium. He sometimes doubted, where
 
 172 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Charles implicitly believed, and feared, where his 
 nephew hoped ! 
 
 He had drawn his chair to the window, and 
 was contemplating the sunset which lit up with 
 gorgeous beauty the young green of the woods, 
 a ruin which crowned a neighbouring hill, and 
 the silvery Tyne which flowed beneath. He 
 looked the picture of venerable age, on which 
 the winters of time, more than the fiery trials of 
 affliction, had set their peculiar mark. 
 
 Opposite him sat Percival. He had dropped 
 in to spend, as usual, an hour or two with his 
 old friend. Quiet, almost demure, yet perfectly 
 refined in manners and appearance, his, seemed 
 a character peculiarly formed to adapt itself to cir- 
 cumstances. Experience, and on the whole not of 
 a pleasing nature, had evidently been gained by 
 him, maturing judgment, but not subduing 
 feeling. Such was the inference drawn by most,
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 173 
 
 who marked the mild decision in the tones of 
 his voice, and the depth of meaning expressed in 
 his dark, handsome eyes, and firmly closed lips. 
 He had lived to gain at least the mastery over 
 himself. Suddenly, as if following up the train 
 of thought produced by a preceding conversa- 
 tion, Sir Philip broke the silence. 
 
 " It is strange that age is so tenacious of life, 
 and all the pleasures and even cares belonging to 
 it ! And yet, Reginald, it is time that I should 
 loosen all ties — all — all," — he repeated slowly, 
 " I would fain set my affairs in order." 
 
 Percival did not reply, but he bent towards 
 his old relative in an attitude of reverential 
 attention. 
 
 a My heart misgives me that this boy, this 
 Charles, whom I have fondled and petted like 
 my own child, yes, whom I have coaxed and 
 spoiled, and loved and lived for, will not do 
 justly by the rich heritage I have brought him
 
 174 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 up to think will be his. The idea haunts me 
 night and day. Could I rest quietly in the 
 church-yard if all were being squandered, as I 
 fear it will be ?" 
 
 A smile of calm satisfaction, unobserved by 
 Sir Philip, lit up PercivaTs countenance, but it 
 soon regained its usual stedfast repose, as he 
 replied : " Do not wrong your nephew, my dear 
 Sir ; his are but the follies of youth, to which 
 time will prove the surest remedy ; his expecta- 
 tions are so large, (he pronounced these words 
 with peculiar emphasis,) you must forgive his 
 indiscretions; he has so many calls upon his 
 purse — dear, generous Charles." 
 
 u Do you think time will apply a sure remedy," 
 exclaimed the old man anxiously. "Percival, 
 you know the world, you are not blinded by my 
 foolish affection ; can I trust my boy ? " 
 
 " He has the best intentions, I can answer 
 thus far; as for myself — "
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 175 
 
 11 But what are intentions ? they, we know, 
 pave the road to ruin. Intentions, intentions ! 
 All have good intentions, some time or another, 
 during life ; but without firm principles, are they 
 ever brought to bear upon circumstances in the 
 hour of need?" replied Sir Philip with un- 
 wonted energy. " Can you say nothing more 
 in favour of my open-hearted, spendthrift 
 nephew ? " 
 
 <; I can say everything in his favour, Sir Philip. 
 I repeat, he is kind, generous, affectionate, 
 confiding." 
 
 " The very qualities I most dread, even while 
 I love them, unless belonging to a character 
 both solid and amiable. Is he to be trusted ? 
 Can he resist temptation? Is he led by good 
 example or bad, that's the question ? " 
 
 " 1 suppose he is, as most young men are, 
 swayed by impulse : it is, I allow, most necessary
 
 176 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 that Seymour should be particular in the choice 
 of his friends." 
 
 . " I agree with you," replied Sir Philip, as he 
 looked kindly upon Percival. " It is most 
 necessary his friends should be men of worth, 
 whom he can love and esteem. Your friendship 
 I have been pleased that he should cultivate, but 
 all do not resemble you." 
 
 u Perhaps I have more experience than 
 Beverley, and may differ from Seymour in some 
 essentials," Percival quietly answered, without 
 any assumption of mock humility, which he 
 knew to be particularly displeasing to the 
 straightforward old Baronet ; " but it is hardly 
 fair to judge harshly respecting Charles and his 
 friends. I believe their possessions are all 
 common property." 
 
 u Which means that that infatuated boy is 
 rich, or fancies himself so, and that his worthy
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 177 
 
 friends are poor and liberal. Why are they 
 to build upon Charles's expectations? This 
 must be looked into ; expectations ! they will 
 soon crumble into penury, beneath the weight 
 of loans, mortgages, debts, carelessness, and 
 robbery." 
 
 The old man slowly rose and walked about, 
 evidently much agitated, every now and then 
 stopping to gaze upon the quiet scene without. 
 His own broad lands mostly lay stretched before 
 him. He loved his home with a devotion few 
 of his years experience. Here his youth had 
 been spent under trying circumstances. Prudence 
 and rectitude had relieved him at length from 
 all embarrassment, and enabled him, for many 
 years past, to live both wealthy and respected. 
 One phantom had of late haunted him. He 
 fancied he saw his nephew sitting at the head of 
 a set of riotous companions, wasting his sub- 
 stance, as the prodigal son had done. 
 vol. I. N
 
 178 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Reginald, I have trusted you as a friend. 
 You know my affection for Charles Seymour. 
 You know what it must cost me to enter upon 
 the course I have resolved to take. You once 
 promised me your assistance. It is absolutely 
 necessary to my peace of conscience. Tell 
 me, has anything transpired? I do not say 
 Charles would not confess the real truth to me, 
 but— " 
 
 "Yes, yes, I understand," replied Percival, 
 as if anxious to save the old man the annoy- 
 ance of further explanation. " You are, of 
 course, unwilling to appear to curb your 
 nephew's inclinations, though you consider it 
 your duty to discover his bent." 
 
 "Exactly so. I know you are a real kind 
 friend to my poor boy. You have both judgment 
 and decision. Now tell me," and the old man's 
 life seemed almost to hang upon PercivaFs 
 expected answer, " have you reason to imagine
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 179 
 
 he has, or has had, to any extent, dealings with 
 that hateful money-lending, extortionate race, 
 the Jews." 
 
 " Youth is not cautious in general," replied 
 Percival, deprecatingly. " Of course various 
 temptations must, and in this case do, I am 
 sorry to say, assail inexperience. Gambling 
 debts must be paid — friends must be assisted, — 
 a stud of hunters draws somewhat heavily upon 
 the purse." 
 
 " I know, I know," gasped the old man, " and 
 I make him an allowance in proportion. But 
 gambling debts — what did you say — speak 
 openly." 
 
 "I do not wish to give unnecessary pain, 
 
 Sir, your nephew has not been working in the 
 
 dark, excuses are to be made for him ; you have 
 
 brought him up as your heir, the heir of great 
 
 wealth," said Percival, whose coolness strangely 
 
 contrasted with Sir Philip's strong emotion. 
 
 N 2
 
 180 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Yes ! but it is yet not too late — gambling 
 debts ! unsay tbose words if you can ; do not 
 say that Charles can be accused of so frightful 
 and mean a sin as gambling. Is he a gam- 
 bler ? " he repeated solemnly. 
 
 "I would that I were not the channel 
 through which any painful knowledge is com- 
 municated, Sir ; but as you bid me bring you 
 proof, I have, for once, acted not only against 
 my inclination, but my conscience. I should not 
 have chosen the office of spy upon your nephew's 
 movements willingly — promise me that you will 
 not betray me, that the substance of this con- 
 versation will never be divulged " — at the same 
 time Percival produced a slip of paper from the 
 recesses of a pocket-book, which he handed to 
 Sir Philip. It was a promissory note for the 
 payment of 3,000Z. on or before a certain date, 
 signed Charles Seymour. 
 
 " You are deceiving me, or I am indeed a
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 181 
 
 miserable old man." There was a pause as Sir 
 Philip read and re-read the words mechanically, 
 while his countenance showed that he was pain- 
 fully agitated. " Is it true?" He looked 
 steadily at Percival, as if to read the depths of 
 his heart. 
 
 "It is not my intention to deceive you, Sir 
 Philip," replied the latter coolly, as he took the 
 paper out of the old man's trembling hand and 
 returned it to his pocket-book. " This docu- 
 ment has been entrusted to my care, upon my 
 standing surety for the amount, in case it should 
 not be returned to the safe keeping of your 
 nephew's creditor. I have run a risk to obey 
 your commands. I detest insinuations ; now you 
 can place Seymour upon his guard, you may 
 teach him an important lesson." 
 
 " It is too late. He has deceived me. He 
 is a weak, foolish boy; away with him! he 
 shall not inherit Linstead."
 
 182 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 "I am not surprised at your momentary 
 anger, Sir, but see him and you will forgive him ; 
 it is impossible to resist the charm of his man- 
 ner — so open, so confiding, and earnest." 
 
 "So much the worse — he knows I have 
 loved him, that I have denied him nothing." 
 
 <c Do not stigmatize him as a confirmed gam- 
 bler," urged Percival ; " youth is exposed to so 
 many temptations ; a few throws of the dice, a 
 few hundreds staked at cards, and unforeseen 
 ruin arises. To what expedients must not the 
 victim of fate or treachery resort, to preserve 
 his honour ? " Percival continued speaking as 
 if with the hope of softening to pity and 
 forgiveness the angry feelings he had aroused, 
 but his listener appeared lost in thoughts which 
 were easily conjectured by the painful working 
 of his features. 
 
 a I have promised concealment, or I would 
 instantly summon Charles to my presence
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS, 183 
 
 and dismiss him for ever. Do not think it 
 is anger, that it is respect to the paltry gold, 
 that sways me. I am grieved: my purse, 
 my door, my heart, have ever been open 
 to him, and he has practised upon me with 
 the semblance of duty and affection. He 
 has, then, already laid claim to that which is 
 still in my power, and which may not, 
 probably never will be in his." He looked 
 sternly, sorrowfully upon Percival. How he 
 longed that the next words he should pro- 
 nounce should be words of comfort ; how 
 fearfully he dreaded his own resolution. 
 
 " Deal with him leniently, warn him," said 
 Percival, calmly. 
 
 " He has been warned, at times kindly, at 
 times with authority. I have long feared 
 this disclosure would come, Reginald. It has 
 undone me ; one more warning, the last, — if in 
 vain, he must suffer."
 
 184 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 u Riches are certainly not without their 
 snares and troubles," exclaimed Percival, 
 carelessly. " When all is totally beyond one's 
 grasp that is in general so eagerly courted 
 it is comparatively easy to be contented, but it 
 is difficult not to build upon the future 
 when " 
 
 " I repeat, Charles has no certain future to 
 build upon. — A few months, perhaps even 
 weeks or days, and I shall be at rest for ever, 
 but my voice shall be heard even in the 
 tomb. It shall preserve, I am resolved, those 
 beautiful woods, these old walls ; yes, and they 
 shall stand as memorials of my justice, rather 
 than of a foolish, fond affection." 
 
 The seed had been sown in fertile soil, the 
 mine had been sprung. In a few more 
 moments Sir Philip was left to his own 
 unpleasant reflections, while Percival returned 
 to the quiet abode he had established in the
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 185 
 
 neighbouring farm-house. He hastened to 
 dress for dinner, and that very evening 
 joined Seymour and his inseparable friend 
 Beverley at Melverley Abbey, the seat of 
 the Earl of Merivale.
 
 186 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Mr Trevelyan had lately succeeded to the 
 estates and title of the Earl of Merivale, 
 and was entertaining a bachelor party during 
 the Easter recess. It was a small, pleasant 
 party ; all were young but the host himself 
 and Percival, and he was scarcely middle- 
 aged. The Earl was sleepy and good- 
 natured, and the young men felt perfectly 
 at home, and played their parts entirely to 
 their own satisfaction. Percival was looked 
 upon as an oracle by the two particular friends, 
 Beverley and Seymour, his wisdom being so
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 187 
 
 unobtrusive that it just served as a pleasant 
 ballast to their light-heartedness. 
 
 Hastings Beverley was the eldest son of 
 a peer, but had absolutely no expectations, 
 in the world's sense. His father was too 
 poor to make him an allowance answerable 
 to his requirements, and therefore it was a 
 matter of course that Hastings should be 
 always in debt, out of which Seymour's 
 liberality often extricated him. Indeed, round 
 the heart of Linstead's reputed heir, he had 
 completely wound himself, much to the annoy- 
 ance of old Sir Philip. 
 
 Percival, who was acknowledged as a dis- 
 tant relation, had become acquainted with 
 Seymour during a tour abroad, and he had 
 too much tact not to make the most of 
 this relationship. He knew the character he 
 had to deal with in young Seymour. He 
 thwarted him just sufficiently to make him
 
 188 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 feel that his was a superior quality of mind, 
 and yielded, at the very moment when it 
 would have been distressing to Seymour to 
 feel his own inferiority very strongly. He 
 never encouraged him to enter into the society 
 of those with whom he was totally unacquainted, 
 and never introduced him to any who were 
 not to all appearance perfectly well-bred. 
 For Seymour was by nature as refined, as he 
 was susceptible to impressions. He never 
 prompted him to the performance of any 
 duty that would have been positively distaste- 
 ful, but made him aware that if he had 
 followed his advice, some difficulty (and 
 Charles's path was not always clear) would 
 have been obviated. In literature, in art, in 
 the knowledge of every-day occurrences that 
 must be gained by those who would pass 
 through life with the character of being plea- 
 sant and useful companions, in all in which
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 189 
 
 Seymour most coveted to excel, Percival 
 contrived to keep just one step beyond him. 
 To his tact he had decidedly owed his 
 advancement in society. Without tact he 
 would have been agreeable, but he might have 
 shone too brilliantly ; he would have been 
 skilful, but he might have excelled too 
 frequently ; he might have been reckoned bold 
 instead of courageous ; had he been only good- 
 natured and humble, he would have been 
 sneered at, trampled upon, tolerated. 
 
 With some, tact is mere knack, but it is not 
 necessarily so — there is the tact of a kind heart, 
 the tact of quick perception. It is as removed 
 from apparent indifference, as it is allied to 
 outward sympathy. You may be perfectly 
 good-natured; without tact you will offend, 
 and perhaps touch on the very point you should 
 have avoided. You may talk at the very 
 moment when it is desirable that you should be
 
 190 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 a listener, or you may outstay your welcome, 
 though pride be your characteristic fault. You 
 may be appreciated and loved by those who know 
 you well without tact, but you will be certain to 
 make enemies among your casual acquaintances. 
 Percival knew Seymour — but Seymour did not 
 know him. But Seymour knew Beverley — he 
 knew him to be kind-hearted, but an unprin- 
 cipled, fashionable spendthrift. He knew that 
 he possessed fascinations that few could 
 withstand, whether young or old, high or 
 low, men or women. Hastings Beverley had 
 but to appear with his tall, manly figure, his 
 perfectly refined manner and address, his frank, 
 handsome face, for every eye to rest pleasurably 
 upon him — and when he spoke he was still 
 more attractive, each one whom he addressed 
 feeling the object of his immediate interest. 
 How could his dark blue eyes, and peculiarly 
 sweet-toned voice, fail to disarm that spirit of
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 191 
 
 criticism which might have found fault with a 
 certain want of depth in his pleasant conver- 
 sation ! 
 
 Beverley was a gambler by nature- — Seymour 
 one by habit. They met — acquaintance soon 
 increased to intimacy— intimacy, which was 
 the rise of one upon the ruin of the other. 
 
 Poor Seymour ! he was so kind-hearted — 
 so fond of his friends ! As he strolled out on 
 the terrace after dinner, his arm within Bever- 
 ley's, while Percival and others were listening 
 to the Earl's reminiscences of the last half- 
 century, he confided to him his happy pro- 
 spects. 
 
 " You're a lucky fellow, Charles ! I am glad 
 you've shown your spirit, and are going to 
 marry a girl without a shilling. What's the 
 use of money in this world?" he added, with a 
 quick, hearty laugh. 
 
 " Come, that's not your real opinion, old
 
 192 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 fellow ! I dare say I could find you many 
 pretty girls, who would be ready to become 
 Mrs Hastings Beverley, but heiresses are not 
 so easily managed. I mean my Eleanor's 
 home to be a perfect paradise. You must be 
 introduced to each other some day — not quite 
 yet though, I think," and Charles smiled as he 
 looked full into the face of his handsome friend, 
 as he felt that he, with comparatively so few 
 attractions, had secured the treasure of Eleanor 
 Neville's affections. " No, I do not think 
 I should ever be jealous, Hastings." 
 
 " If you were, you must have a poor 
 
 opinion of your Hampshire enchantress. It's not 
 likely any girl would give up you and Linstead 
 for me and nothing." 
 
 " No, certainly not," and Seymour laughed 
 merrily, It would not have been quite so 
 merry a laugh if he had at that moment 
 looked into the heart of his uncle, Sir
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 193 
 
 Philip, as he sat musing in his old arm 
 chair. 
 
 u Well, now, I've listened to you, like a 
 true friend that I am, and I know where to look 
 for perfect beauty, perfect temper, and perfect 
 happiness ! can you in return tell me any thing 
 about that little commission you promised to 
 execute for me?" 
 
 Beverley drew his friend a little forward, 
 speaking in somewhat lower tones, as he 
 knocked away the ashes of a fragrant cigar 
 he balanced between his finger and thumb — 
 "Not much difficulty in the matter, I hope, 
 eh?'' 
 
 " No ! make yourself easy, you man of small 
 fortune and great requirements," exclaimed the 
 good-natured Seymour — I gave my promise, 
 and that is all- sufficient — it appears. I left 
 the whole thing in Percivars hands. He is a 
 rare genius." 
 
 VOL. I. O
 
 194 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " That's all right — who would not be heir 
 to such a rich old uncle, and have such a 
 talent for obliging his friends as you have, 
 Charlie." 
 
 " Yes — but there must be a stop put to all this 
 — money won't last for ever ; Jews won't lend for 
 ever; lands decline being mortgaged for ever 
 without changing hands. Come, come, there is 
 reason in all things, and you must begin to give 
 up your ruinous, aristocratic tastes, as pay-day 
 will come at last — don't think I'm going to turn 
 miser ; but, at times, I have a slight twinge of 
 that searching monitor called conscience — I am 
 deceiving my good, dear old uncle." 
 
 " Keep your own counsel, and mine, for 
 mercy's sake, or we are ruined," and for one 
 moment an unpleasant prospect of dishonoured 
 cheques, and fallen hopes/ made Beverley's heart 
 sink within him. Be true to yourself, Charley 
 boy, there's not a kinder friend in the world,- •
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 195 
 
 come, it's only for a time," he added, coax- 
 ingly ; " you shall be repaid as soon as ever 
 I have it in my power. But are you sure of 
 Percival?" 
 
 " Perfectly ; why do you ask such a question ? 
 Perhaps I might doubt him if he encouraged 
 me in my extravagance ; but he is always 
 giving me good advice, he must be my 
 friend." 
 
 H Well, well, you are considerably in his 
 power, remember. 5 ' 
 
 " How unlike you, Beverley — you do not 
 want to warn me, as some have done, against 
 him, because he is a favourite with my uncle, 
 do you ? I place the most implicit reliance 
 on his good offices. I know he has my interest 
 at heart." 
 
 " I trust so, most sincerely," — and Beverley 
 
 spoke truly. 
 
 " My uncle has a high opinion of Pcrcival, 
 
 2 o
 
 196 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 and his advice has great weight with him. He 
 has often acted the part of mediator between 
 us. If Sir Philip ever knew the extent of my 
 speculations and embarrassments, Hastings, 
 what would become of us I" 
 
 " We should be ruined, that's all," replied 
 the latter, while he felt more uneasiness than 
 he cared to show, for Seymour was implicated 
 for him to a considerable amount. 
 
 " I should lose all his kind, fatherly love — 
 he would spurn me from him. How ungrateful 
 I have been." 
 
 " Your conscience is unnaturally tender this 
 evening, Charlie," exclaimed his friend, who 
 was not wholly pleased at the turn affairs 
 seemed to be taking. — " Say nothing that 
 implies self-accusation — there is no use tor- 
 turing yourself — you've been a generous fellow 
 all your life, and can't be expected all at once 
 to become as sage as old Percival; — besides,
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 197 
 
 what is the use of being brought up with 
 expectations if you never catch them when you 
 fly after them — your uncle won't disinherit 
 you, never fear!" 
 
 " What a torturing idea — disinherit me ! — 
 no, not quite that. Percival, even with all his 
 anxiety for my welfare, has never hinted at 
 such a possibility. Poor Eleanor! but indeed 
 it is not wealth that I care about. I only 
 value it as a means to gain an end. Not 
 inherit Linstead ! — to whom could Sir Philip 
 leave it?" 
 
 " I only warn you not to allow Percival to 
 be too much with Sir Philip. There may be 
 no harm in him, but there's no knowing." 
 
 " Linstead's about, seven thousand a year," 
 replied Charles, thoughtfully. " I can live well 
 upon four or five. Eleanor has not expensive 
 tastes. I would not touch a tree, if I could 
 help it, when I came to the property. My
 
 198 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 poor uncle is so fond of every twig and stone ! 
 Two or three thousand a year will have to 
 go to pay off old debts. Compton has been 
 dabbling in railways, he tells me, with that three 
 thousand I borrowed for him, at 8 per cent., 
 and it seems the line's a failure l" 
 
 " Poor Charles !" exclaimed Beverley, for the 
 moment sincerely touched by his friend's much- 
 abused liberality. " I believe your heart is 
 made of gold, as well as your pocket. You 
 know I would do anything I could to serve 
 you, and in the meantime I promise you 
 some famous shooting at Beverley, where it is 
 my intention you should spend the honey- 
 moon. ' 
 
 These last words brought back happier ideas 
 to Seymour's mind, from which a thoughtless 
 gaiety could not long be banished. He even 
 totally mistrusted Beverley's penetration, when, 
 on regaining the party in- doors, he fixed his eye
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 199 
 
 steadily on Percival, with the intention of dis- 
 covering in him a rival, if possible. He only 
 saw in him the friend he trusted implicitly. 
 
 In the meantime the whist table had been 
 set out; Percival, after an animated discussion 
 with one of his friends, having come to the 
 conclusion that vice was the greatest tyrant 
 next to an empty purse, fortunately contriving 
 during the course of the evening to replenish his 
 at the Earl's expence. 
 
 The following morning, Seymour, having bid 
 adieu to his friends, who were starting for 
 Ascot, rode over to Linstead, for he had re- 
 ceived a summons, saying that Sir Philip was 
 slightly indisposed, and was anxious to see 
 him. 
 
 As the door opened the old man turned 
 hastily round. For a moment a gleam of 
 pleasure lit up his countenance when he saw
 
 200 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 his nephew, but a shade of displeasure instantly 
 replaced it. 
 
 " Had I known you were unwell, my dear 
 uncle, I would have given up every engage- 
 ment to come to you ; there is nothing serious, 
 I hope," he continued, looking anxiously at 
 Percival. 
 
 Sir Philip was pleased — there was no mis- 
 taking the meaning of Charles's open counte- 
 nance. 
 
 " Would you give up everything, Charles ?" 
 said the old man, kindly. " That is too much 
 to ask. But we must talk upon these subjects 
 a little. I want you to give up something — 
 namely, your too extravagant, your more than 
 generous propensities." 
 
 There was no need of the look which Per- 
 cival cast upon Sir Philip. He had sufficient 
 ground, from his own knowledge, to authorize
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 201 
 
 the admonition he bestowed upon Charles, 
 without adverting to the fresh proof of his 
 lavish expenditure which he had received the 
 previous evening. 
 
 Charles coloured with some annoyance; he 
 was not pleased that Percival should become 
 a witness to the reproof which conscience, 
 nevertheless, told him he fully merited. Yet 
 how little he guessed his uncle's thoughts — 
 how little he suspected of what he was supposed 
 guilty. The annoyance quickly passed away, 
 as he turned gaily to Percival — 
 
 " My friend here has evidently been read- 
 ing you a lesson out of his book, uncle. 
 Now that really is not fair. I should have 
 some one to say a good word for me — lam 
 most willing to ask advice." 
 
 " And yet you do not always follow it, 
 Charles," replied Percival, as if speaking the 
 truth, and the whole truth. "When Sir
 
 202 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Philip and I spend a pleasant half-hour in 
 discussing your faults, which of course we 
 magnify to the utmost, you would be delighted 
 to listen to the apologies that are drawn 
 forth almost unwillingly, for your inexperienced 
 youth and over-generous nature, which only 
 looks on the bright side of things." 
 
 " Yes ! but now you have gone so far, I 
 will add," interrupted Sir Philip, as he raised 
 himself in his arm-chair, and looked steadily 
 but kindly on his nephew, " that there must 
 be a change, Charles — I have loved you as 
 my son; I still do love you tenderly; but I 
 should wrong myself and you, were I any 
 longer to conceal from you that I am ex- 
 tremely anxious concerning your future career." 
 
 At this instant Percival rose, as if with 
 the intention of leaving the room, that he 
 might in no way interfere with the confiden- 
 tial communication between the uncle and
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 203 
 
 nephew ; but Sir Philip laid his hand upon 
 him, saying that he was a friend of both, 
 and that, as such, his presence was even 
 desirable. He reseated himself, as if in 
 obedience to Sir Philip's wishes more than 
 his own. 
 
 " Charles, do not teach me to mourn over 
 the blind affection that has encouraged in 
 you those very errors I now earnestly 
 deplore." 
 
 The young man turned towards Percival 
 in astonishment ; but a look which the latter 
 gave him, seemed to bid him trust all to 
 him, — and Sir Philip continued : 
 
 " You know my love for Linstead is only 
 excelled by my affection for you< — but justice 
 must even surpass that. I cannot leave all 
 my possessions to become the prey of idle- 
 ness. This house must not be the shelter 
 of the lawless and unprincipled, of the
 
 204 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 pleasure- seeker alone. As my heir, great re- 
 sponsibilities would devolve upon you. There 
 would be many claimants upon your time 
 and energies. I fear you would never satisfy 
 them properly. You have too great a regard 
 for the unauthorised wishes of your friends. ,, 
 Again the colour rose to Seymour's cheek. 
 He remembered how much implicated he was 
 in the concerns of these very friends. He 
 felt their honour was even dearer to him 
 than his own. Was it possible that his 
 uncle could be aware that he stood surety 
 for Beverley to a large amount, and that many 
 were also indebted to him for large sums. 
 It was very unfortunate, that his friends 
 were swayed by such generous impulses and 
 such aristocratic tastes ! Poverty was such 
 pitiable meanness! Could his uncle know, 
 indeed, that he had built upon his own 
 prospects to save his friends from ruin !
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 205 
 
 No, the secret of the bond which he had 
 given for 3,000/. as surety for Beverley, 
 had surely never been divulged to Sir Philip. 
 It was quite a private transaction ! How 
 conscience made a coward of him! Percival 
 had promised concealment. Certainly he had 
 himself entered into several speculations, and 
 trusted to his Uncle's kindness to bring 
 him [out of debt ; but why should his friends 
 bear more than their share of blame ? It 
 was all a mystery to him. 
 
 These thoughts passed quickly through his 
 mind as the old Baronet eyed him keenly 
 yet kindly. He could not wholly exculpate 
 himself. He could not ask for an open 
 investigation, and explanation of his uncle's 
 meaning. He knew the whole of his 
 conduct could not bear exposure. " I am 
 truly, truly sorry," he began — " I know I 
 deserve all your reproaches. It seems as if
 
 206 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 I had but poorly repaid your unvarying 
 kindness, but circumstances which I cannot 
 control must plead some excuse for me." 
 
 " Circumstances are your bane, Charles, 
 they should not influence the straightfor- 
 ward conduct of a man of honour, and I 
 further say that the honour of that man 
 is very questionable who incurs a debt he 
 has no means of defraying. A gambler 
 may with one throw of the dice ruin himself 
 or others; is he to be reckoned a man of 
 honour ?" 
 
 Percival trembled — the old man was 
 touching upon dangerous ground, but he knew 
 what he was about. 
 
 " Come now, Charlie boy " he continued so 
 kindly that Seymour's heart smote him with 
 redoubled force, " you must be advised by older 
 and wiser men than yourself and your so- 
 called friends. You are easily led away ; you
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 207 
 
 must institute Percival your monitor, he has 
 your interests at heart." 
 
 An unpleasant idea flashed across Seymour's 
 mind as his uncle finished speaking. He 
 saw himself for a moment ruined, disinherited, 
 dishonour and poverty staring him in the face, 
 the family estate passing away from him, 
 and Percival himself sitting in his uncle's 
 place. Oh ! it was only a vision. He was 
 his uncle's darling, his faults must he over- 
 looked, his debts must be paid, his friends 
 received into favour ! In another moment he 
 had knelt beside the old man, he had begged 
 his blessing and forgiveness. As he took 
 that venerable hand in his which had always 
 been stretched out in constant kindness towards 
 him, how bitterly he repented that he had ever 
 caused a moment's uneasiness to one who was 
 so dear to him ! Vows were inwardly registered 
 which he intended to fulfil, and promises
 
 208 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 were given which calmed Sir Philip's perturbed 
 spirit, shedding over the next few days a 
 happier influence than had for some time 
 been experienced. — Nor was Percival slow in 
 expressing to both uncle and nephew his 
 pleasure at the brighter aspect domestic affairs 
 had assumed.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 209 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Friendships, to last, should be reciprocal, and founded 
 on equality. 
 
 The family party at the Glen had established 
 themselves in their new abode, and the 
 sacrifice once made, things began to assume 
 a brighter aspect. Mrs Neville and Eleanor 
 in particular looked forward to very happy 
 days; and so did the young Mabel, as she 
 sat for the last, the very last time in the 
 small, neatly-furnished room which during 
 the last eight years had been appropriated 
 to her at May field House, Twickenham. She 
 was gazing listlessly upon the fire, and as 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 she rested a pair of very pretty feet upon a 
 cross-stitch worked stool, the first produc- 
 tion of a favourite little school- fellow, she 
 looked as unlike the usually bright, happy 
 Mabel Neville as possible. Her long hair 
 was unplaited, and hung upon her shoulders, 
 reaching in its wavy luxuriance below her 
 waist ; while her hands, which did not require 
 any foil to set off their colour and shape, 
 hung listlessly on her white dressing-gown, 
 as if shrinking from the task of disintangle- 
 ment which lay before them. Her dark blue 
 eyes, usually beaming with animation, and most 
 bewitching in their mirthful mischief, were 
 dimmed by a tear, which a hasty movement 
 of the hand dashed away ere it flowed over 
 the soft fringed lid; even the dimples round 
 the full, rosy lips were at rest, while all 
 seemed sad within that would have found 
 utterance in words. She was not alone, her
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 211 
 
 school-days' friend, the one being whom next 
 to her mother and Eleanor she loved best in 
 the world, was her companion. 
 
 Florence Trevelyan was the daughter of 
 the eldest son of the Earl of Merivale, and 
 inherited the pride and the aristocratic beauty 
 for which her family was renowned. She 
 was proud, — proud of her birth and her beauty ; 
 nor were the lessons in the shape of example 
 which she received at her own home, at all 
 calculated to give her more just impressions 
 as to the value which should be attached 
 to earthly distinctions. But at Mayfleld 
 house, all instruction was based upon moral 
 and religious principle, and she never parted 
 from Mrs Dacre without feeling that she 
 was returning to Melverley with an increased 
 perception of right and wrong, of the real 
 and the false in life. But such an invigorating 
 influence could hardly be expected to exert 
 
 p 2
 
 212 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 more than partial sway ; and when the grand- 
 daughter of the Earl of Merivale saw the 
 deference which was paid to her stately 
 mother, or listened to the tales which her 
 elder sisters loved to relate of the homage 
 they received and the admiration they excited, 
 she would often sigh for the moment which 
 would place her among the rank and fashion 
 she inwardly worshipped. Youth, however, 
 like age, is a leveller ; and while Mabel 
 Neville was the only companion of her own 
 age at Mayfield House, Florence returned 
 her affection with all the warmth of an im- 
 pulsive nature. 
 
 Mabel was simple-minded, and loving. 
 True and earnest, she knew no timid shrinking 
 — she was as courageous as she was guileless, 
 and an intuitive delicacy of feeling caused her 
 almost unconsciously to shun what she 
 rather felt than knew to be wrong, while
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 213 
 
 her kind heart made her think well of all 
 and every one around her. Yet her's was a 
 character not easily read — possessing more 
 depth and less frivolity, than might be imagined 
 (by those who were but slightly acquainted 
 with her) from the accompaniment of an 
 extremely buoyant disposition. Those who 
 draw delight out of trifling occurrences, are 
 not necessarily shallow-minded. To the wise 
 and the cultivated, on the contrary, no source 
 is so insignificant but that, through its means, 
 ideas of beauty and feelings of pleasure may 
 be communicated, and gleams of thought and 
 instruction shed abroad. The beauties of nature, 
 which so many behold without contemplating, 
 the powers of mind which are so frequently 
 allowed to dwindle away in inaction, arc to 
 those who do not merely dream away their 
 existence fruitful sources of pleasure and use- 
 fulness.
 
 214 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Young as she was, Mabel naturally looked 
 upon all around as arrayed in very bright 
 colours, — whether it were parents, sister, or 
 friend, or the happy past, or the hopeful 
 future. She saw but few imperfections in 
 those she loved ; to her memory, the past was 
 but slightly over- shadowed, the future was 
 without a cloud. Yet it was her fancy, not 
 her judgment, that coloured all. Had she 
 been of a reflective turn, the reality would 
 have been more apparent, but her gaiety 
 would have been less pleasing ; she would 
 have been a better oracle, but a less charm- 
 ing companion. 
 
 With no reserve, and without the uncom- 
 fortable " mauvaise honte " which is the sure 
 companion of those who, naturally timid, 
 are also self-devoted and self appreciating, 
 Mabel had a thorough self-respect, and a 
 spirit it might almost be termed of pride
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 215 
 
 which rose at the slightest word of undue 
 familiarity, or of unasked-for interference. Yet 
 she was ready to acknowledge her own errors, 
 and prompt in excusing others. Indeed, to 
 those who, like Mabel Neville, are as generous 
 as they are impulsive, how much more 
 delightful is it to find truth in goodness 
 than in imperfection ; to find that we our- 
 selves are in the wrong, rather than those 
 we love ! Truth was the groundwork of 
 Mabel's character; a quality of inestimable 
 value, precluding, in later life, the warping of 
 prejudice, and the subserviency of imitation, 
 which destroy the charm of individuality : 
 and earnestness carried out the truth, giving 
 a zest, and ensuring at least a partial success, 
 to every undertaking. 
 
 The two girls were on the eve of eman- 
 cipation from school-room existence ; they 
 were henceforth to be, in the usual acceptation
 
 216 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 of the word, their own mistresses ; yet the 
 moment to which at times each had looked 
 forward with intense pleasure was now, on 
 its near approach, contemplated by Mabel, 
 at least, with very mingled feelings of sorrow 
 and joy. 
 
 They had exchanged keepsakes — promises 
 of eternal friendship, those not lightly or 
 hurriedly made, but so often quickly broken 
 vows, which young hearts imagine are stamped 
 with an indelible impress, but which a few 
 years, a few months, even, are often destined 
 to deface, or eradicate. 
 
 Florence was tall and dark — her eyes were 
 of that shape and colour which are generally 
 designated as " fine eyes ;" they did not 
 sparkle with momentary mirth or melt in 
 tenderness, but flashed with any strong 
 emotion, and seemed as if appropriately 
 placed beneath the slightly arched brow to
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 217 
 
 command rather than win the admiration 
 they appeared to seek. The nose was some- 
 what too prominent a feature in the perfect 
 oval face, but yet was faultless in its out- 
 line. Her smile was pleasant, though in 
 repose the short upper lip described a curve, 
 which Mabel, in her blind affection, thought 
 was only characteristic of noble birth and 
 proper self-appreciation ; a less partial judge 
 would have included the expression it gave 
 to her face, amongst the various other 
 evidences of ' hauteur ' and self-esteem, which 
 were nevertheless subdued by the salutary 
 influence of Mrs Dacre's precept and example. 
 Mr Trevelyan, Florence's father, was poor 
 for the station in life in which he was 
 born, and having educated a large family at 
 considerable expense, was glad to entrust 
 his youngest child, Florence, to this well- 
 principled and estimable lady, who had
 
 218 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 formerly been governess to his eldest daugh- 
 ters, and who received Florence as if she 
 had been her child. 
 
 For three years Florence and Mabel had 
 been companions at Mayfield House. They 
 were of the same age, in that bright sweet 
 time of youth over which but few memories 
 can have cast a cloud, when the graceful bloom- 
 ing beauty of person, speaks of the refined 
 yet vigorous mind, and when the snares and 
 temptations of life lying bid from view, the 
 charm of almost infantine innocence is still 
 remaining. 
 
 Florence felt the value of Mabel's friendship, 
 and could not but compare her character with 
 that of her sisters and other companions, 
 who, at her own home, had hitherto directed 
 the current of her ideas. There are some 
 whose nature must expand to a near and 
 genial influence, and whose youthful affections
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 219 
 
 flow in a pure and radiant stream of friendship, 
 for one of their own sex before they are 
 destined to be engulphed in the turbulent 
 waters of a feeling still more engrossing and 
 more self-sacrificing. For such natures there 
 is in store many a trial, before that lesson is 
 learnt, which only experience can teach, before 
 disappointment has chilled the heart, and the 
 value of true friendship has been ascertained. 
 But when at length the first fond confiding 
 trust has been abused, and the friend of 
 early youth has proved cold and unworthy, 
 with what violence does the torrent of truth 
 flow over the awakened mind, how willingly 
 would that fatal knowledge be dispensed with 
 which is gained at the expense of the purest 
 of all earthly feelings ! 
 
 It was late — the small well-regulated family 
 at Mayfield had long retired to rest, but the 
 two girls were unwilling to separate, though
 
 220 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 they had for the hundredth time expressed the 
 hopes and fears which indistinctly marked the 
 future. 
 
 li I am now going to a strange home, not 
 to dear old Linwood, you know, Florence,' ' 
 said Mabel, as she raised her eyes to her com- 
 panion, who, in a more mirthful mood, was 
 rallying her upon her unwonted abstraction. 
 " If all these misfortunes had not fallen upon 
 my father and mother, I do not think I should 
 have felt so very unhappy. You will promise 
 to write, Florence?" 
 
 " Oh, so often, you will be tired of my 
 letters, I think, dear Mabel ! — how I do wish 
 you were coming with me to Melverley ! My 
 sisters are so much older than I am — how 
 often I shall long for a companion. But I 
 am really looking forward with pleasure to 
 the summer, to my first London season." 
 
 " I shall be quietly at home, you must give
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 221 
 
 me the fullest account of all you say and do, 
 and all that is said to you, then I shall feel 
 as if I were still with you." 
 
 " I hope I shall not forget all the good 
 resolutions I have made in this quiet happy 
 place ! But do not be afraid, Mabel, that I 
 shall ever forget you or love any one so well ! 
 No, no ! I am determined not to follow my 
 sisters' example. I am afraid they really are 
 rather worldly-minded. They never care for 
 any one who is not of their own set — who is 
 not of the aristocracy — and they say that if 
 they were not to marry those who are of high 
 degree they should bring disgrace upon our 
 family. I believe they really are sought for 
 by all the old ugly rich men of title, and my 
 eldest sister was engaged twice last season." 
 
 " Dear, dear Flo, what ideas you have 1" 
 at length Mabel interrupted — " Is there such 
 a difference between ranks and stations, and
 
 222 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 sets and fashions, as your sisters seem to wish 
 you to believe? They cannot have had a 
 friend, they cannot have loved any one as we 
 do each other, or else the world, which you 
 say they are so fond of describing to you, must 
 have a strange influence upon those who are 
 devoted to it. But, Florence, dear Flo ! will 
 it change you ?" 
 
 " Oh, I promise, Mabel, that I shall never 
 change ! I shall only have to reflect for a 
 moment upon our happy Mayfield days, to 
 become instantly all that is good and delight- 
 ful, like you. What should I have done here 
 without you. It was a strange scheme to send 
 me here for education, certainly." 
 
 " You say they have been happy days," 
 replied Mabel, thoughtfully, " and indeed they 
 have been. I feel, though I am going to be my 
 mother and Eleanor's companion, as if I should 
 be thrown on the wide world when I part from
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 223 
 
 you, and good Mrs Dacre — and now we are 
 going to leave Linwood all will be so changed." 
 
 " You are certainly very unlike yourself to- 
 night ! What a gloomy view you are taking 
 of things ! I feel as if I ought to be melancholy 
 too, when I look at your mournful counte- 
 nance ! But I am afraid I am really only 
 very happy, and very fond of you too, Mabel, of 
 course." 
 
 " I have never, indeed, felt so serious and 
 thoughtful. Now we are entering upon life in 
 real earnest, all seems so changed ; does it not 
 to you, Florence ?" 
 
 " At times, when I reflect — but, I confess, a 
 very little reflection suits me extremely well, 
 and I intend to enjoy myself thoroughly. My 
 mother wishes me to be happy and gay — and 
 after the London season we shall have the 
 house full — you must come, Mabel. I cannot 
 do without you. How charming it would be
 
 224 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 if we could live together ! — but tell me, are 
 your father and mother very poor — are you 
 going to live in a little village, between the 
 curate and the apothecary ? My poor Mabel !" 
 
 " Not quite that," she replied, laughing. " I 
 hear our home is to be a beautiful cottage on 
 the estate of an old friend of our family's." 
 
 " The East Indian Mrs Neville mentioned 
 in her last letter to you ? I hope he will not 
 be your only neighbour. Old, of course, he must 
 be, as he has been twenty years at least in India, 
 and I dare say he is as yellow as curry powder, 
 and as hot-tempered as pepper itself." 
 
 " I have never thought much about him, 
 and your description does not incline me to 
 wish to make his acquaintance," and Mabel 
 laughed heartily. 
 
 " I really cannot fancy you prim and 
 methodical, teaching your little sisters by day, 
 as you say you mean to do — and then dining
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 225 
 
 with an old bachelor-party at Hazelymph once 
 or twice a month, whilst I shall be the gayest 
 of the gay. I wonder why our lots are to be 
 so differently cast." 
 
 " That question might puzzle greater and wiser 
 people than you or I shall ever be, but we 
 must not only look on one side of the pic- 
 ture." 
 
 " You may be certain," interrupted Florence, 
 ,c that Mr Dairy mple will prove your bane, 
 falling in love with you one moment, and loading 
 you with bangles and Indian shawls, and the 
 next, if you do any thing to displease him, 
 asserting his supremacy of age and experience, 
 as a reason for offering you very disagreeable 
 counsel." 
 
 " Don't begin by making me discontented, 
 Flo, for you know I am not very partial to 
 interference, though I am glad of advice from 
 those whose opinion I value, at present I 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 "226 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 only feel very much obliged to Mr Dalrymple 
 for giving us a home." 
 
 " There's nothing like gratitude, my dear 
 Mabel, and I am grateful for every thing, par- 
 ticularly that at present there is no reason 
 why I should be obliged to any one. Will 
 you promise to tell me all your secrets. I 
 do pity you ; your father should not have met 
 with misfortunes just when you wanted him 
 to make your home a gay and happy one." 
 
 " Our lives will be very different, I am afraid, 
 Florence; every day will bring you and the 
 great world, the world of which you are, I 
 think, beginning to be very fond, in closer 
 contact, while I shall lead a quiet domestic 
 life, which life, Mrs Dacre has always taken 
 such pains to make us feel is the happiest, 
 that I am sure there must be a diversity of 
 opinions on the subject." 
 
 " Yes, and she always added, that the
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 227 
 
 great world is always full of snares, and that 
 knowledge of the world is gained by learning 
 some disagreeably hard lessons — I am quite 
 prepared to encounter all difficulties." 
 
 " I think the world will go smoothly enough 
 with you," replied Mabel, as she looked fondly 
 and affectionately at her companion. " I 
 should be so sorry if dear old Mrs Dacre's old- 
 fashioned precepts were to come true. It 
 would be such fun to disappoint her ; to show 
 her there is such a thing as friendship ! I 
 really think she almost doubts the existence of 
 such a quality, except in prose and poetry." 
 
 The friends separated. They were to start 
 early the following morning. 
 
 The morrow came, and with it all that 
 Mabel dreaded, yet longed for, all that Florence 
 looked forward to, with almost unalloyed plea- 
 sure. There was the farewell to the kind, dear 
 Mrs Dacre; with that, keen regret was 
 
 Ql 2
 
 223 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 mingled. There was the kiss to the little rosy, 
 bright-eyed companions, who looked up to 
 Mabel and Florence as to beings of a differ- 
 ent hemisphere. The last look at all around, 
 their own little quiet rooms, the spring flowers 
 on the window-sills, left as legacies of hope 
 to a favourite companion — the large oak tree, 
 whose shade had conduced to the formation 
 of so many plans, and the demanding of so 
 many confidences. Then came the warm 
 shake of the hand to the kind old friendly 
 domestics, another tearful good-bye, the last 
 wave of the handkerchief with which Mrs Dacre 
 dried her eyes, and the carriage which conveyed 
 the two friends from Mayfield House was out 
 of sight. 
 
 But the hardest task remained still to be 
 fulfilled, as having travelled some distance 
 together, Florence and Mabel must part. Kind, 
 loving words are spoken in haste, and promises
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 229 
 
 are again and again repeated, which surely 
 never can be broken ; the time of meeting again 
 is fondly anticipated. A few moments more 
 they are far apart, and life is about to present 
 to each a different aspect from that under 
 which it has hitherto been viewed.
 
 230 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " Congenial hope ! thy passion-kindling power, 
 How bright, how strong, in youth's untroubled hour !" 
 
 In a few more hours Mabel was at the Glen. 
 She had rushed into her mother's and sister's 
 arms, while the little ones clung lovingly to her 
 dress as she covered them with kisses. She 
 had sought her father, and grieved for one 
 moment over the altered aspect of his home, 
 as she found him moving gloomily about a 
 small, low, but comfortable-looking library, 
 arranging the old, w T ell-remembered books. 
 He kissed her affectionately — he looked at her 
 with pleasure. She had grown taller and
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 231 
 
 beautiful, he thought, yet his natural reserve 
 came between him and the expression of his 
 thoughts, and that little germ of sweet con- 
 fidence between parent and child, he often, 
 unconsciously, sighed to establish, was doomed 
 again to wither, beneath the restraint which 
 habit had established. In another moment 
 Mabel was following her mother and Eleanor 
 through the various small intricacies of their 
 new home, pleased, delighted with all, though 
 every now and then she sighed that it was 
 not Linwood ! 
 
 The Glen was built in the cottage style, 
 and looked the perfection of comfort and un- 
 assuming beauty, with its low sloping roof, 
 broad verandah, its trellis-work of roses and 
 jessamine, and its background of woods, and 
 glades, now bursting forth in all the fresh 
 luxuriance of early summer. Beyond, in the 
 far distance, rose the gable ends of the Haze-
 
 232 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 lymph mansion, and a passing remembrance 
 of her friend Florence's last night's conversation 
 came rather disagreeably across Mabel's mind, 
 as her mother pointed out the abode of Mr 
 Dalrymple, 
 
 " Now, dear love, follow me," exclaimed 
 Mrs Neville, gaily, as she hastily mounted the 
 broad oak steps, with its comfortable covering 
 of crimson carpet, " this is Eleanor's room, 
 and this is your's, you will find many of your 
 old favourite things here." 
 
 " How delightful, dearest mother ! it is my 
 room at dear old Linwood over again ! I was 
 afraid to ask, afraid to make any troublesome 
 request. I thought my expressing wishes 
 which you could not gratify would only distress 
 you. How very kind of you." 
 
 " It is not my doing, love, you must thank 
 Mr Dalrymple." Mabel looked surprised. It 
 was a pleasant introduction to one, on whose
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 233 
 
 image she had hitherto dwelt in fancy rather 
 unpleasantly. 
 
 He must be very kind-hearted, at least 
 very sympathising, he must know how to 
 please, she said, half to herself half to her 
 sister, who was following her, as she flew 
 from table to bookcase, through open doors, 
 along the winding passages, until at length, 
 rushing again down stairs, she found herself 
 in a small octagon-room looking upon the 
 garden, with a French window, and a flight 
 of stone steps before it. Here the enchanter's 
 wand seemed to have exercised its most 
 bewitching power. 
 
 " And now you have come to the end of 
 all the wonders,'! exclaimed Mrs Neville, as 
 she entered at the moment, enjoying Mabel's 
 child-like and joyful surprise. 
 
 "My dear, dear harp, Eleanor's pretty little 
 piano, I thought we should never see again;
 
 234 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 the old marble table ! so many favourites ! 
 Is this still good, kind, excellent Mr Dal- 
 rymple's work. How can we thank him, 
 Eleanor ?" 
 
 " He really has been very kind," said the 
 elder sister, in a tone of something like 
 
 apology for her former silence, " but 
 
 " But what, Eleanor ! This lovely garden ! 
 and what pretty chintz curtains ! the baskets 
 of flowers, too, I remember ever since I was 
 a child, you are not half thankful or pleased 
 enough. Oh ! I suppose he is very old and 
 ugly ; poor Mr Dalrymple, and then it is 
 more a duty than a pleasure to be grateful." 
 Mabel thought of Florence's sketch of 
 the preceding evening. Eleanor pictured him 
 to herself again, dark, still observant, as he 
 sat by her mother's side seeming to penetrate 
 her very thoughts. Her timid nature shrank 
 from the investigation which Mabel in her
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 235 
 
 place would have boldly withstood. He had 
 not made a favourable impression on Eleanor, 
 she scarcely knew why. 
 
 " No, he is not either old or ugly, darling," 
 exclaimed Mrs Neville, laughing, while she 
 followed Mabel's quick movements with a 
 mixture of maternal vanity and fondness. 
 " How like she is growing to her poor aunt, 
 the very height, the turn of the head, the 
 graceful, yet somewhat dignified manner." 
 Thus soliloquized Mrs Neville, while the two 
 girls had already forgotten, one the imaginary, 
 the other the real, Mr Dairy mple in their 
 delight at once more being together, and in 
 so pretty a home. 
 
 Eleanor soon communicated to Mabel the 
 
 overflowing happiness which was at her heart. 
 
 " I know it all, cannot I see you are 
 
 happy in the sparkle of your eyes, but you 
 
 are become more quiet, more demure. Is it
 
 236 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 because you are thinking of leaving your 
 home, our home for ever, Eleanor, — oh ! can 
 you really leave us all, and never, never 
 return." A tear glistened in Mabel's bright 
 eye. She looked fondly, yet half reproachfully, 
 at her sister. 
 
 " Of course I can leave you all, dear as 
 you are to me," replied Eleanor, as if con- 
 sidering the full meaning of her words. 
 
 "And Mr Seymour has wrought this 
 wonderful change ?" 
 
 ,c Is it very wonderful to you?" 
 
 " Yes ! and particularly unpleasant ; I shall 
 have this charming room all to myself, I must 
 admit Ada and Georgy for company's sake." 
 Mabel endeavoured to hide, under a tone of 
 gaiety, the pain she really felt at the thought 
 of losing her sister, but it was a hard 
 struggle. " I have been obliged to school 
 myself lately into all kinds of submission.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 237 
 
 I have left Florence, Mrs Dacre, and now 
 you are going to leave me," muttered 
 Eleanor, " what is the meaning of this ?" 
 
 " You have never felt an all-absorbing 
 interest, Mabel. I sometimes tremble when I 
 examine my own feelings. Charles Seymour 
 has acquired a fearful dominion over me." 
 
 " Of course," replied the younger sister, 
 " you think him perfection, and he considers 
 you as an angel of beauty and goodness. 
 Very natural. I love my mother, and Florence, 
 and you, and many others, but I have no 
 wish to think any human being faultless, as 
 you probably consider Charles Seymour." 
 
 " I do not wish for your wisdom," exclaimed 
 Eleanor laughing. 
 
 11 Never fear, you may be certain there is 
 no perfection in the world, and yet I believe 
 I am not very hard-hearted ; I remember 
 once keeping a withered rose leaf a whole
 
 238 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 week because the curate's son had given me 
 the flower the day before he returned to school, 
 and I am certain that I spent a long 
 half-holiday in trimming up my old hat with 
 blue ribbons, because Jemmy Liddle told me 
 I looked so pretty in blue." 
 
 " You little vain thing ! but there are some 
 hopes for you yet, I see.'* 
 
 " But I have no idea of submitting to any 
 one's whims and caprices except my own, 
 and they are sometimes hard enough to bear ; 
 besides, how can one help seeing the ludicrous 
 side of everything ! How absurd I should 
 feel if any one looked up to me with the 
 reverence and admiration, I certainly could not 
 reciprocate. Yet, I dare say, you are a little 
 idol to Charles Seymour." 
 
 Eleanor looked the picture of happiness, but 
 yet she called Mabel " foolish child," and said, 
 " she did not wish to be an idol to any one,
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 239 
 
 and that Mabel had better not read any more 
 romances, but study some useful science for the 
 next two years." 
 
 " But I have done with study, and am now 
 going to enjoy life, and the beauties of the Glen 
 — and yet," added Mabel in a somewhat melan- 
 choly tone — " I see my life exactly before me 
 when you are gone. I am to help mamma 
 put all the furniture in order, poor dear mamma ! 
 and you know this means that we are never 
 to know where our favourite arm-chairs or 
 tables are to be found — then I shall teach 
 Ada and Georgy, talk to papa, and sigh over 
 his reserve and over the dust on the old 
 library books, and — " 
 
 " And dine at Hazelymph once a fortnight, 
 and be given to Mr Dalrymple two or three 
 times a year," said Eleanor, laughing. 
 
 " Why to Mr Dalrymple? You and Flo- 
 rence have the same ideas."
 
 240 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " Because he is your only neighbour, and 
 he is rich and very disagreeable in my opinion, 
 though I feel very ungrateful in saying so. 
 The mere thought of him alarms me— I 
 think I ought not to be happy, when I — " 
 
 " But I am not timid ! I quite long to 
 see this terrific giant of your imagination." 
 
 " But he has seen so much of the world, 
 and looks as if he knew exactly how every one 
 should act, and feel, and think, and we are 
 so young, and — I am so happy * 
 
 " Ah ! you fancy the contrast must be 
 painful to him ! but why should he look down 
 upon us because we are new to the world ; and 
 he has seen the bright side, and perhaps the 
 dark side too. While he pities and despises 
 me for my inexperience, shall I regret that he 
 has already gained the knowledge I have 
 certainly no wish to possess at present ? " 
 
 " Well, let us leave poor Mr Dalrymple
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 241 
 
 alone, for we have so many more interesting 
 subjects to discuss !" exclaimed Eleanor. 
 
 " Yes ! but he has certainly very good taste, 
 for it suits mine exactly ! (Now, talk to me of 
 Charles Seymour, for he is, at least, one of 
 your ' interesting subjects', I am certain.) I 
 like flowers under the windows, and climbing 
 up this trellis-work, so it appears does Mr 
 Dalrymple. Now, Eleanor, make your con- 
 fessions." 
 
 Eleanor availed herself of the permission. 
 She could talk to Mabel — she could tell her 
 anything — she could open her whole heart to 
 her. There was something so sympathizing 
 in Mabel's disposition ! She understood an 
 idea in its exact meaning — she appreciated it 
 according to its exact value. She was not 
 mirthful when her companion was serious, nor 
 sad when she was gay. She did not moralize 
 or lecture, when she should have soothed or 
 vol. I. R
 
 242 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 advised ; therefore, even those naturally reserved, 
 as was Eleanor, found a secret satisfaction in 
 bestowing their confidence upon her. For 
 though to the stern realities of life, all are 
 sooner or later compelled to attend, there are 
 few, nevertheless, who are not alive to the 
 charms of its poetry and romance, and thus 
 was Mabel Neville! 
 
 Days, and even weeks, passed. The Neville 
 family had established itself at the Glen, yet 
 Mr Dalrymple had not paid one visit to his 
 new tenants. He was absent from Hazelymph, 
 and Eleanor's fear and Mabel's curiosity had 
 well nigh subsided respecting him. 
 
 " Why has he been so kind to us," was 
 the question the latter often asked herself as 
 well as others, as day by day she learned to 
 appreciate still more and more the delicate 
 tact, and the refined taste which all his 
 arrangements had exhibited. This question
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 243 
 
 Mrs Neville could have answered, but she was 
 silent. She fancied that in Herbert's heart 
 existed still the undivided memory of one who 
 was the strong link between the past and the 
 present, and that while there was certainly room 
 for censure, there was also much cause for pity 
 respecting him. 
 
 It was evening, in the beautiful month of 
 June — the reign of summer was fully esta- 
 blished. The calm soft air waved over luxu- 
 riant masses of woods, and light green corn 
 fields, and all nature seemed rejoicing in its 
 own beauty. 
 
 Charles Seymour had left his uncle recovered 
 from his temporary indisposition in the care of 
 Percival, and with his friend Beverley was spend- 
 ing some days at the Glen. With his ever pecu- 
 liar talent of fascinating, Beverley had succeeded 
 in making friends, and even becoming intimate 
 with every member of the family — but Mabel 
 
 R 2
 
 244 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 was naturally his most particular attraction, 
 nor was she at all less alive, in her turn, to the 
 graces and animation of his person and manner. 
 It was very pleasant always to have a com- 
 panion in riding, walking, or gardening, or 
 even teaching Ada and Georgy, for Mr Beverley 
 never knew what ' ennui ' was ; and the 
 thorough simplicity of the life at the Glen 
 charmed his fancy. Charles was so happy too, 
 he almost envied him his position of bride- 
 groom elect. Not that Beverley had the 
 slightest wish to captivate the beautiful Mabel. 
 He liked to engross her sweet smiles, and 
 earnest conversation, like all selfish, worldly, 
 and idle men, because he had no higher object 
 of interest. 
 
 There was something certainly irresistibly 
 attractive about her rather nonchalante manner, 
 and her absence of all guile, and even, in some 
 degree, in her disrespect for those convention-
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 245 
 
 alisms, which make each scene in the great 
 gay hollow world only a repetition of the one 
 that preceded it. It was a life of liberty instead 
 of the slavery to which he was accustomed, 
 and Beverley fully appreciated it, particularly as 
 he had been rather successful in his late 
 gambling speculations at Ascot. All seemed 
 to smile upon him. 
 
 " No, I cannot refuse you anything, Miss 
 Neville," he exclaimed, as, kneeling by Mabel's 
 side, he was assisting her, rather awkwardly 
 it was true, to bring a very fragrant but rebel- 
 lious wreath of honeysuckles and china roses 
 into something like order. 
 
 " What a bad gardener you do make, and 
 how very ungrateful I am to you for all these 
 wonderful exertions." Mabel looked up in his 
 face with her mirthful mischievous smile. She 
 had thrown off her straw hat, and her hair, 
 which was very bright, and of that rich golden
 
 246 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 colour so deservedly admired by the old 
 painters, waived upon her fair young brow, 
 while a brilliant hue of health and animation 
 flushed her cheek. She was so engrossed in 
 her occupation, and in rallying her companion 
 upon his awkwardness, that she did not hear 
 the sound of approaching footsteps, but a 
 shadow fell upon the turf before her, and in 
 another moment Charles Seymour was at her 
 side, introducing Mr Dalrymple. She frankly 
 shook hands with him, while he for a moment 
 gazed upon her without uttering a word. He 
 looked more than ordinarily sad and stern - 3 there 
 was certainly nothing prepossessing in his 
 manner, Mabel thought, but she said quickly, 
 " I have longed, so often longed to see you, 
 Mr Dalrymple, and thank you for all your 
 kind forethought; you have made us so happy 
 here." 
 
 " He could not, at the moment, summon
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 247 
 
 courage, hard and stern as he was in appear- 
 ance, to break the spell Mabel's manner, 
 look, and voice had thrown around him. It 
 was not Mabel Stewart who stood before 
 him — yet he was strangely and painfully 
 reminded of her. As for the young girl 
 herself, she looked at him with surprise ; and 
 as she remembered Eleanor's description of him, 
 a slight, and to her, unusual fear, came across 
 her as he stood by her side, tall, dark, motion- 
 less, yet gazing with earnest eyes upon her face. 
 The next moment he roused himself, and ad- 
 dressed to her some common-place remark, while 
 she thought him rather old, and very care- 
 worn-looking (though certainly he had been 
 handsome) and unquestionably rude and odd 
 in manner. In short, he made a disagreeable 
 first impression, and he knew it. He would 
 have been glad had it been otherwise. 
 He might as well have been a mere foolish
 
 248 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 youth, blundering and blushing on his first 
 entrance into society, instead of a man who 
 had seen the world, and lived a life of feeling 
 and experience. But so it often happens, 
 that real worth, strength, and greatness of 
 mind, put forth at first sight no claim to appre- 
 ciation, whereas the mere senseless worldling has 
 often flowery w T ords at his command, and wins 
 golden opinions, from tact and self-possession 
 alone. 
 
 Mabel mistook Dalrymple's silence and 
 abstraction, for stupidity or contempt. For 
 the first time she seemed to dislike being under 
 obligation to him. She was disappointed ; it 
 had been hitherto so delightful to feel 
 grateful. Beverley came to her assistance. 
 
 " You do not know what an idol you are 
 here, Mr Dalrymple, and to Miss Mabel Neville 
 in particular," he said rather mischievously, as 
 he watched the unmistakeable expression of
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 249 
 
 Mabel's countenance. " Hitherto you have 
 been but an imaginary being ; I am glad you 
 are arrived in your own person to hear your 
 own praises echoed on all sides." 
 
 " It must always be pleasant to gain Miss 
 Neville's approbation/' returned Dalrymple, 
 drily, and somewhat haughtily, as he eyed 
 Beverley with a glance of displeasure, " but 
 she must be the best judge whether she has, 
 or has not sadly overrated my merits." He 
 turned to Mabel, conscious, as was indeed the 
 case, that she was comparing him, much to 
 his disadvantage, with the young, handsome, 
 aristocratic-looking Hastings Beverley, while 
 his old feeling of distrust of all that was fair 
 and beautiful, came back to mar the pleasure 
 he inwardly felt, as he gazed upon Mabel. 
 
 " All is indeed so charming, so very lovely 
 here," she said gaily, " that I am glad you 
 are come to claim your own — these sunsets
 
 250 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 and woods, and river, and clouds, I always 
 consider your's, Mr Dalrymple, and until you 
 bequeath them to us by word of mouth, I 
 feel we have been enjoying a pleasure to which 
 we were not entitled." 
 
 There was an absence of all shyness in 
 MabePs manner produced by a total want of 
 self-importance and self-love, which never failed 
 to bring the minds of those with whom she 
 conversed, in close communion with her own, 
 and even Dalrymple was not quite proof against 
 the pleasing influence. 
 
 " I am glad to find you appreciate what is 
 indeed irresistibly beautiful, but so few are 
 contented with such pure enjoyment, and at 
 your age particularly, Miss Neville, most require 
 excitement to interest, and flattery to ani- 
 mate." 
 
 " Excitement ! flattery ! what words of 
 fearful import," exclaimed Mabel, laughing.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 251 
 
 " I hardly know if I understand their real 
 meaning, certainly not from experience." 
 
 " Miss Neville, you cannot answer either 
 for yourself or others," said Beverley, " or at 
 least if you can now, a very short time will 
 teach a different lesson. I am sure you will 
 not promise me that this seclusion will always 
 suit you." 
 
 " Certainly not. I should enjoy, even now, 
 a great deal of society, a great deal of gaiety. 
 I enjoy all and everything, but I hope you 
 do not think I must necessarily sigh for it,*' 
 she replied, with a bright smile, which the 
 misanthrope, ' malgre luij thought had a little 
 coquetry in it ; " but at present I am quite 
 happy if only you will help me to tie up these 
 flowers, and not be so very impatient, Mr 
 Beverley." 
 
 " Nor so very self-opinionated, you may add ; 
 you must let me have it all my own way;
 
 252 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 I am sure you are tiring yourself, " and 
 Beverley cast a look of entreaty on Mabel, 
 which however had not the effect of making 
 her desist from her labours. 
 
 u No, no ! I am teaching you the art of 
 ornamental gardening, and you must be 
 submissive ; you must first of all fancy your- 
 self perfectly ignorant even of the rudiments. 
 Is that to be reckoned possible ? I am going 
 to allow you to weigh your own merits." 
 
 Beverley could have listened for hours to 
 Mabel; he could have waited upon her, 
 assisted her, he could have submitted to all 
 the inconvenience of stooping down amidst 
 briars and bushes, and tying up tiny rose- 
 shoots that would always break when they 
 were intended to bend — he could have done 
 all this, and felt himself amply repaid by 
 Mabel's thankless sallies, if only he had 
 been alone with her — if only Mr Dalrymple
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 253 
 
 had shown the least inclination to depart. 
 But the latter seemed riveted to the spot 
 more from a species of fascination than by 
 any share he took in the evening's occupa- 
 tion, except, Mabel thought, to chill the 
 warm bright air with his dignified and 
 almost stately presence. She was determined 
 not to stand in awe of him, as she was 
 sure so many had done before her. Her 
 disposition led her to a resolute attempt at 
 overcoming obstacles ; Eleanor's to a quiet 
 submission. 
 
 " We fully appreciate these," she said, 
 addressing Dalrymple, as her eye rested 
 upon the conservatory filled with choice 
 beauties. u Now I really am very much 
 obliged to you, Mr Beverley ; you have been 
 of the greatest service to me, though I 
 have appeared so ungrateful; let us gather 
 some of these geraniums."
 
 254 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 In a moment Dalrymple was at her side, 
 offering to carry the basket which hung upon 
 her arm as she moved towards the green- 
 house. 
 
 " You have inherited your mother's taste 
 for flowers," he said kindly. " I am so glad 
 you like them." 
 
 His voice sounded less stern, but she did 
 
 not feel inclined to give him the slight 
 
 trouble (it might be a gratification) of assisting 
 
 her — indeed the basket was already in 
 
 Beverley's possession. She did not guess the 
 
 crowd of thoughts that passed through his 
 
 mind, while she formed her own hasty 
 
 opinion. " He has evidently lived too much 
 
 alone, poor man," she said to herself. " I hope 
 
 he will not expect us to enliven him very 
 
 often, notwithstanding he has been so 
 
 kind to us." On this idea Mabel still dwelt. 
 
 She had not, she feared, sufficiently expressed
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 255 
 
 her thanks — it would have been so easy to 
 repeat them, to any other person than Mr 
 Dalrymyle ! Now it was a duty she owed 
 herself not to forget her obligation to him. 
 She little knew how Dalrymple's heart refused 
 the praise she bestowed, how painfully her 
 thanks vibrated on his ear. He could not 
 divulge the secret, and openly confess the 
 motive which had conduced to his apparent 
 benevolence and generosity. At length the 
 geraniums were gathered, and the basket was 
 full, and again taken under Mr Beverley's 
 protection; Mabel was prepared to go home- 
 wards, and Mr Dalrymyle, refusing an 
 invitation to dine at the Glen, took his 
 departure ; Mabel rejoicing that it had not 
 been his fate to remain, and that of Mr 
 Beverley to spend a solitary evening at 
 Hazelymph !
 
 256 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 "Pour trouver quelque agrement dans lasociete de ses 
 amis, et de ses connaissances, il faut ne rien desirer, se 
 contenter de pen, savoir supporter beaucoup." 
 
 While days passed only too quickly and 
 happily at the Glen, and while both Seymour 
 and Beverley felt the allotted term of their 
 stay would be necessarily of too short 
 duration, Lady Florence Trevelyan, Mabel's 
 dear friend, was being initiated into the life 
 she was destined henceforth to lead. The 
 Earl of Merivale has been already described 
 as sleepy and good-natured, enjoying the 
 possession of his comfortable arm-chair at 
 Melverley during the Easter recess, instead
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 257 
 
 of chaperoning his wife and daughters to 
 London balls and dinner-parties. It is 
 necessary to introduce the reader to the 
 Countess and the ladies Matilda and 
 Honoria. 
 
 Lady Merivale was a most affectionate but 
 
 worldly mother ; in this respect she resembled 
 
 most who are of the gay world of fashion, 
 
 and many who move in a less exalted sphere. 
 
 Even Mrs Neville, in general right judging 
 
 and discerning as she was, would willingly, 
 
 had opportunity offered, have seen her own 
 
 daughters shine in that brilliant society of 
 
 which Lady Florence Trevelyan was already 
 
 described as being the ornament of the 
 
 season. Lady Merivale was also handsome, 
 
 proud, weak, laying the greatest stress upon 
 
 trifles, a worshipper of fashion and rank. 
 
 Her husband had lately succeeded to the 
 
 title. Her two eldest daughters were in 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 their own opinion, and in that of their 
 mother, perfectly well-bred, and perfectly 
 fashionably dressed; in that of the world 
 (but it might have been mistaken ) also perfectly 
 heartless. They energetically assisted their 
 mother's endeavours to procure them suitable 
 marriages, — the word suitable applying not to 
 the possession of intellectual, or even moral 
 qualities in the object sought, but rather to 
 the rank and wealth which would ensure a 
 high position in society. 
 
 To those who are biassed by certain insur- 
 mountable prejudices, it may seem strange 
 that in regard to that search which we 
 are assured is the main object of maternal 
 solicitude, no previous admonitions, either 
 general or particular, are wont to be con- 
 sidered of any moment. Year after year 
 afford proofs of irretrievable errors in 
 conscience and in judgment being followed by
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 259 
 
 the total shipwreck of domestic happiness, but 
 
 still the same phantom lures the ambitious 
 
 towards the fatal goal. 
 
 Lady Matilda was more proud than vain; 
 
 Lady Honoria too vain not to be extremely 
 
 silly. In person Matilda was of the same 
 
 style as Florence, though of inferior beauty. 
 
 She moved with an imperial air, which was 
 
 particularly remarkable when she threw open 
 
 the door of the saloon in her father's 
 
 London mansion in Belgrave square, and 
 
 entered, the daughter of the Earl of Merivale. 
 
 There was the conscious possession of a fine, 
 
 and extremely well-dressed figure, small mouth, 
 
 and even teeth. The nose was rather too 
 
 much inclined to come in contact with the 
 
 chin, yet harmonized wonderfully with a pair 
 
 of large black round eyes. A profusion of 
 
 perfectly black hair drawn off the face and 
 
 twisted into a Grecian knot at the back of 
 
 s 2
 
 260 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 the head, displayed the aristocratic proportions 
 of the ear, and the turn of a slender, long 
 white throat. She was young, yet looked 
 any age between twenty and forty ; there 
 was neither brightness in her complexion 
 nor in her smile ; and the air of condescension 
 with which she endeavoured to mask her pride, 
 might have belonged to an ancient Dowager. 
 Lady Honoria was smaller and less im- 
 posing-looking, extremely pretty, and very 
 conceited. Lady Matilda fancied she captivated 
 at first sight; her younger sister, on the 
 contrary, was always fearful of not pleasing, — 
 her vanity tending to a constant and trouble- 
 some examination of the looks, words, and 
 manner of those whose admiration she desired. 
 She had rather have been worshipped by a 
 peasant, than passed by with mere casual 
 notice by a peer of the realm. Her desire 
 was to create a series of sensations without in
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 261 
 
 any way gratifying her troop of devotees by 
 more than a languishing look and a good- 
 natured simper. Yet she had a certain degree 
 of romance in her composition, which led 
 her to fancy herself always slightly in love. 
 Her light quick step moved upon the soft 
 carpet of her luxurious new London home, 
 while her large blue eyes were in general 
 more intent upon the pretty reflection which 
 was visible in many a surrounding mirror, 
 than upon any employment which would 
 have been less attractive and more useful. 
 Indeed, during the London season, the constant 
 attempt to repair, during the short day, the 
 injury done to personal beauty by the long 
 nights, of necessity precluded any exertion 
 more powerful than the reading a fashionable 
 work, or the choosing a becoming head- 
 dress. 
 
 At Merivale House frivolity was the reigning
 
 262 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 deity, and ennui the presiding genius. In 
 the education and management of her daugh- 
 ters the Countess had followed the plan 
 which had heen found so advantageous in 
 regard to herself, her youthful beauty having 
 secured the prospect of a fine park in 
 Cumberland, a splendid mansion in Belgrave 
 square, and the Earl of Merivale, who was 
 handsome and easy-tempered. 
 
 Certainly the Earl had not yet made his 
 appearance who was equivalent to Matilda's 
 eyes and forehead, and five feet seven of 
 aristocratic elegance, nor had even the second 
 son of a Duke asked for more than a smile 
 from Honoria's blue eyes and cherry lips. 
 But now that Lady Florence was to be 
 introduced (which was not a subject of 
 congratulation to her elder sisters), the ladies 
 Matilda and Honoria were secretly advised 
 to lower their expectations, for Florence was
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 263 
 
 by far the most strikingly beautiful of the 
 three. 
 
 " Really, my dear Florence, this correspon- 
 dence must cease, sooner or later/' said the 
 Countess one morning, in a tone of languid 
 distress. Florence looked up from a long letter 
 she had been eagerly perusing while waiting for 
 her mother and sisters, as one by one they 
 sauntered leisurely into the breakfast-room at 
 their usual late hour, soon after their arrival 
 for the season at Merivale House. 
 
 " Do you really wish me to give up 
 writing to Mabel, Mamma ? Mabel ! so good, 
 so kind, and so very much attached to me?" 
 
 " School-days' friendship, my dear; very 
 romantic, and very charming while it lasts, 
 but that, you know, cannot be for long." 
 
 "Why not, Matilda," replied Florence, 
 rather alarmed at the prophetic tone assumed
 
 264 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 by her elder sister, who had chimed in with 
 the Countess's views. 
 
 " Because nothing so perfectly unnatural 
 and irrational, so totally incompatible with our 
 position in life, can last long ; consider, we are 
 now daughters of the Earl and Countess of 
 Merivale." 
 
 " Matilda is perfectly right, — I respect her 
 judgment," returned the Countess. " Your 
 friendship began when you were girls together, 
 and you had comparatively no knowledge of 
 the relative classes of society. Of course 
 you can be very good-natured and very civil 
 when you meet, without being confidential — 
 but when are you likely to meet?'' 
 
 " Oh, this summer, dear Mamma ; Mabel 
 and I have promised ourselves this pleasure — 
 pray Matilda remember this." Poor Florence 
 had an intuitive idea and dread that in the
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 265 
 
 end her elder sister's influence would under- 
 mine the constancy of her attachment to 
 Mabel. 
 
 " Dear Florence ! there is something so 
 romantic in friendship," said little lady Honoria, 
 as she smoothed the long fair ringlets that fell 
 over her face and neck, and leant a very 
 pretty hand and arm sparkling with massive 
 gold bracelets upon an ebony table. " Is 
 Mabel really a friend ? How very delightful 
 it must be to have a real friend ! One 
 only reads of such romance now — how nice 
 it must be to have some one to whom 
 one can confide all one's secret sorrows. 
 Do not take poor Florence's friend away 
 from her." Though simple, Lady Honoria 
 was really good-natured. 
 
 " How can you be so absurd, Honoria ! 
 you should never have any secret sorrows. 
 If you were not always fancying yourself
 
 266 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 in love, you would not have any," returned 
 Lady Matilda, drawing up her proud throat, 
 and taking up the newspaper, as she moved 
 with stately step towards the breakfast 
 table. 
 
 "Matilda and I perfectly agree, my dear 
 Florence — it is only through the medium 
 of such acquaintances as those you have 
 unluckily formed at Mrs Dacre's (I know 
 she is a very good woman), and living a 
 monotonous country life, that any feelings 
 so perfectly irrational, ridiculous, and incon- 
 venient as friendship or love are called into 
 existence." 
 
 " Oh ! dear Mamma," lisped Honoria, 
 "indeed you are mistaken." 
 
 " No, my love, I repeat what I have often 
 said, — if you wish to succeed in the world 
 you must not give way to any romantic 
 folly ; if a girl sighs and looks dismal, all
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 267 
 
 her prospects are marred at once ; a com- 
 posed, cheerful demeanour, is far more becoming 
 in every way. It is so extremely injurious 
 to beauty to feel anything very sensitively ! 
 besides, it is extremely undignified." 
 
 Florence could not help smiling, though 
 she checked her mirth, as she perceived that 
 her mother was perfectly serious. 
 
 "I was always, I confess, against your 
 going to Mrs Dacre's house ; still more against 
 your continuing there after your grandfather's 
 death. There was some slight excuse before 
 that. But the Earl, who was just recovering 
 from an attack of gout, felt out of spirits, 
 and declared when Honoria left the school- 
 room that nothing should induce him to 
 begin again with a French, German, and 
 English governess for you alone. I was 
 obliged to give a reluctant consent —but
 
 268 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Florence, dear, you are reasonable I am sure 
 about Miss Neville." 
 
 <c You will not bave time to write very 
 often to your dear friend," laugbingly inter- 
 posed Lady Honoria, " if you have so many 
 calls upon your time as I have. I have 
 been anxious to have a few more singing- 
 lessons, but really the days are so short." 
 
 " Your intimacy need not be discontinued all 
 at once, Florence. You can answer Miss 
 Neville's letter politely, even kindly. Of course 
 politeness can never lower any one — just 
 the contrary ; you should be particularly 
 careful to avoid anything like ' brusquerie' 
 in society, — at the same time be as sincere 
 as is compatible with circumstances." 
 
 This species of advice was not new to 
 Florence. She knew her mother's theory, 
 and it sometimes grieved her to think that if
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 269 
 
 Mrs Dacre were right, her mother must be 
 wrong. Indeed, her conscience told her that 
 all was wrong at Merivale House, — but how 
 could she set it right? It was much easier 
 to follow in the train of others than to mark 
 out a new path for herself. That would be 
 ridiculous ; besides she had no wish to do so. 
 She might, and always would, think of Mabel 
 with affection. 
 
 " Very well, Mamma/' she replied quietly, 
 " but indeed I should be very sorry to hurt 
 Mabel's feelings — you do not know what 
 promises we made to each other — and because 
 she is poor, and I am your daughter, and 
 am going to mix in the gay world, and — " 
 
 " What folly you are talking ; Florence," 
 exclaimed Matilda, half angrily ; " I really do 
 hope you will not bring new notions into the 
 family, but conform to Honoria's and my ways, 
 and my mother's wishes. Indeed, I dare say
 
 270 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 you will very soon learn, to look upon life with 
 the same eyes that we do — you are only a child 
 as yet," she added more kindly. 
 
 " I can only say that my friend Mabel is 
 quite as lady-like, and looks as much an Earl's 
 daughter, as either you or I, or Honoria," and 
 Florence coloured with annoyance. 
 
 " I have not the least wish to hurt Miss 
 Neville's feelings, my dear," said the Countess, 
 in a pacifying tone. " If she has really the 
 good sense you give her credit for, she will 
 very soon herself relieve you from any em- 
 barrassment with regard to her acquaintance. 
 Besides, she, of course, will lead a quiet 
 country life. I dare say she will make a 
 very good match in her own station. It is 
 so essential to preserve a proper distinction 
 as to rank where it is possible, though there 
 is in these days an unfortunate levelling spirit 
 which I do not remember in my youth."
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 271 
 
 "Very well, Mamma," added Lady Matilda, 
 "only think if Honoria and I had not re- 
 spected our own position. ' It certainly was 
 a difficult task at first, but, by degrees, those 
 who were so unfortunate as to be misled by 
 what I must call blind and senseless admi- 
 ration, have discovered the real distance that 
 separates us, — and I hope Florence will learn 
 by our experience." 
 
 " I assure you it is a very distressing 
 duty, dear Florence," said the pretty Honoria, 
 " to give pain to others who love you 
 hopelessly, and whose affections you cannot 
 return. They are not to blame, poor 
 creatures," and Lady Honoria left the break- 
 fast-room with a sigh." 
 
 " Well, now, my dear Florence, I must 
 tell you I have several invitations for you. 
 My particular friend the Duchess of Der- 
 wentwater, dear Lady Marsdale, and many
 
 272 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 others, have begged me to introduce you to 
 them. Indeed, I do not think I shall 
 have much difficulty," and the Countess 
 glanced with complacency on her daughter's 
 youthful beauty, a counterpart of her own 
 in her juvenile days. 
 
 " There certainly could be no harm in 
 Miss Neville paying Florence a visit once 
 a year at Melverley Manor," said Lady 
 Matilda, who lingered at the door of the 
 breakfast-room, instead of following her 
 sister as usual, in order to come to her 
 mother's assistance should Florence plead 
 too earnestly. " Of course such a visit 
 would never be returned; that could not be 
 expected." 
 
 " I am afraid it would only do Miss 
 Neville harm," replied the Countess with a 
 very wise look. " I am afraid it would give 
 her tastes which she would be unable to
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 273 
 
 gratify at her own home ; but if Florence 
 wishes it very much — " she added, good- 
 naturedly. 
 
 " I hardly think Mabel would like to 
 come, unless she felt that she was not in- 
 vited merely on sufferance. I assure you 
 Mabel is as proud as either of my sisters, 
 though in a different way." 
 
 " Well, my dear, I only hope you have 
 not made any absurd promises, for you 
 must positively break them, though I will not 
 insist upon your not writing occasionally. 
 Matilda, have you accepted Lady St Cloud's 
 offer to chaperone you to-night? I cannot 
 possibly, you know, take out three daughters." 
 
 " No, Mamma," said Lady Matilda, peevishly. 
 " It is a great pity, I think, to introduce 
 Florence this year ; one year more or less 
 could not have signified at her age. She 
 might really have remained one more season 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 at her friend Mrs Dacre's, and have made 
 her appearance at the county hall in the 
 autumn, when we shall have a large party 
 at Melverley. Miss Neville might even be 
 invited there." 
 
 "My dear Matilda, you know that I have 
 often told you that you must all have an 
 equal chance, and Florence is past eighteen. 
 It is certainly very unfortunate that we 
 cannot find a " parti" exactly suited to you.'' 
 
 il The fact is, Mamma, I really think it is 
 timidity which prevents those whose rank and 
 position are nearly equal to ours, and indeed 
 quite equal in some cases, from coming for- 
 ward. I believe we are always supposed to 
 be proud," and Lady Matilda smiled be- 
 nignly ; " but I have no wish to be reckoned 
 so superior to the rest of the world. I am 
 sure Honoria is often positively too friendly 
 and intimate with some who would never
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 275 
 
 presume to make either of us an offer. Have 
 I not often told you so?" continued Matilda, 
 who by this time had reached the morning 
 room in which she and her sister had been 
 in the habit of spending part of their short 
 day." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, you have, and I have some- 
 times regretted following your advice," replied 
 Honoria with a sentimental and conceited air. 
 " It is so difficult to keep exactly in the straight 
 line — a little encouragement is so quickly 
 followed by an ' empressement,' from which I 
 am obliged to shrink without giving more 
 pain or offence than it is possible to avoid." 
 
 " Honoria, I wish you had accepted Lord 
 Slingsby's offer last year. His father and 
 elder brother have both died since the last 
 London season, and you would have made 
 room for Florence nicely." 
 
 "I really could not, dear Matilda," replied 
 
 T 2
 
 276 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 the little blonde, as she took a piece of em- 
 broidery out of her ivory workbox, and, 
 reclining upon her own particular deep- 
 cushioned sofa, began to examine her shades 
 of rose-coloured floss silk; " Would you have 
 wished me to marry a man for whom I 
 really had no sentiment ? how could we 
 have walked through the vale of life to- 
 gether without some similarity of feeling. 5 ' 
 
 "There is such a splendid music-room at 
 Slingsby Castle, Honoria," continued Lady 
 Matilda, as if pursuing her own train of 
 thought, without heeding her sister's reply ; 
 "I believe the floors are all inlaid with differ- 
 ent kinds of marble ; there is a picture- 
 gallery, a fine piece of water, and — " 
 
 " Really, Matilda," exclaimed Florence, 
 laughing, " one would fancy you were 
 enumerating Lord Slingsby's good qualities, 
 instead of his possessions. I dare say he
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 277 
 
 was very unprepossessing, old, cross — hump- 
 backed, perhaps." 
 
 " No, not exactly ; but I could not love 
 him." 
 
 Lord Slingsby was half-witted, and ex- 
 tremely plain. Even the Countess had not 
 pressed his suit. 
 
 "Now at Lady St Cloud's you meet no 
 one, positively not a creature of one's own 
 set. I do not wish to become intimate with 
 her ; besides, she is such a little flirt that she 
 engrosses all the attention. I wonder how 
 she can be thought graceful. She has no 
 { tournure ;' and that little manner some think 
 so pretty and animated, I consider quite 
 silly and so undignified." 
 
 "But, dear Matilda, few are so very mag- 
 nificent and so perfectly self-possessed as you 
 are," returned Florence, rather maliciously. 
 
 "I have no wish to be otherwise. If you
 
 278 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 do not maintain your own dignity, you will 
 find your value diminished in the eyes of the 
 world." 
 
 Florence did not reply, but she silently 
 contrasted the opinions she heard discussed 
 with those she knew good Mrs Dacre^ advo- 
 cated. She was too new to the life she was 
 about to lead to feel perfectly at home among 
 such utter worldliness and frivolity. She felt 
 lonely and unhappy as she thought of those 
 pleasant days past, when Mabel's friendship, 
 her lively conversation, her kindly mischief, 
 and real good nature, were a source of such 
 true pleasure. But she knew too well the 
 force of the influence to which she was sub- 
 ject, and folding up Mabel's long letter that 
 she still held in her hand, she prepared to 
 inspect several articles of dress which awaited 
 her approval. 
 
 "Now you are beginning life in earnest,
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 279 
 
 my dear child," said her mother, as she fol- 
 lowed her to her room, " Much depends upon 
 yourself. You must beware of introductions 
 to any who are not ' des notres.' I hope 
 you will not waste your time as your sisters 
 have done, for they, I must say, have set you 
 a shocking example. A girl like you attracts 
 speedy notice ;" and giving her daughter a kiss 
 of approbation, the Countess retreated to her 
 writing-table ; Florence to collect her some- 
 what bewildered ideas, and examine her first 
 ball-dress. 
 
 That night Lady Florence Trevelyan made 
 her first appearance in the gay world. Young, 
 beautiful, and high-born, it greeted her with 
 a smile which set at instantaneous defiance 
 all the experience, the precepts, the admoni- 
 tions she had received from others, as well 
 as the secret misgivings of her own heart. 
 All seemed bright and real as her dark eyes
 
 280 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 flashed with the consciousness that admira- 
 tion was no less her due than her actual 
 possession. She felt that she had but to 
 choose, and the best of earth's gifts would 
 be at her feet. 
 
 It was comparatively early the following 
 morning when Lady Florence rushed into her 
 elder sister's room to unburden her heart of 
 its load of delight, and give an account of 
 the preceding evening, for Lady Matilda had 
 after all accepted the chaperonage of little 
 Lady St Cloud. 
 
 "I cannot understand how you can ever 
 grow tired of dancing, Matilda, and yet I 
 have often heard you say that you have re- 
 turned home wearied and out of spirits. I 
 never was so happy in my life, and Mamma 
 said that I created quite a sensation," said 
 Florence, laughing. 
 
 " Pray don't expect me to encourage your
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 281 
 
 vanity," replied her sleepy sister. " Honoria 
 is so vain that she is miserable if she does 
 not attract every one's attention; but I wish 
 you had not disturbed me so early — I am 
 sure the day is long enough." 
 
 " But I could not sleep ; all is so new and 
 so delightful to me. I had certainly no idea 
 how excessively pleasant it is to be admired. 
 I believe it is only the old and ugly who 
 preach against the vanities of the world, 
 after all." 
 
 " Oh, you will be tired of them soon, like 
 others, if you go year after year to the same 
 balls, the same places, and meet the same 
 uninteresting people." 
 
 "How can you call people uninteresting, 
 Matilda, who are devoted to you merely on 
 first acquaintance. Mamma introduced me 
 to so many — Lord Drayton, rather deaf; 
 Lord Peter Feversham, son of the Marquis
 
 282 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 of Callowmere, very rich indeed, Mamma 
 said, and I thought him so pleasant and 
 handsome. I think he is engaged to Lady 
 Catherine Douglas." 
 
 " Oh ! of course I know them all, Florence," 
 returned Matilda rather peevishly. "Lord 
 Drayton proposed to me the first year I was 
 introduced; he wanted to marry some one 
 of real rank, being only a new-made peer, 
 and therefore I refused him. I don't think 
 Lord Peter looks very distingue though he 
 has a classical outline of features, and is 
 agreeable enough — but as to Lady Catherine 
 Douglas (and here Matilda looked very 
 mysterious) I longed to tell him that she 
 has the worst temper in the world, besides 
 being a very great flirt." 
 
 It had been whispered that Lord Peter 
 Feversham had excited an unusual interest 
 in Lady Matilda's not over-sensitive heart, —
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 283 
 
 but that did not at the present moment 
 come within the catalogue of her confes- 
 sions. 
 
 "But I long to tell you of an adventure 
 last night, Matilda — really quite an adventure. 
 As I was leaving the ball-room, feeling so 
 happy, and wishing to-morrow night had 
 arrived, Sir Frederick Maypole, who was 
 handing me to the carriage, was suddenly 
 called away to his sister, who was fainting 
 from the extreme heat." 
 
 " She only hoped to create a sensation, 
 Florence, — how can you be so easily taken 
 in?" interrupted Lady Matilda. 
 
 " Well, I was left alone for a few moments, for 
 accident had separated me from Mamma; and feel- f 
 ing almost frightened in the great crowd, I looked 
 round for some protection,- — when suddenly a 
 gentleman whom I had not hitherto observed 
 
 came up to me, and with the most enchanting
 
 284 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 bow in the world, so courteous, and yet so 
 respectful, offered me his arm to lead me 
 to the carriage. I turned round to thank 
 him for his kindness just as we passed 
 under a chandelier. He was so striking- 
 looking, tall, dark, rather melancholy, 
 a kind of beau-ideal of Mabel's and my 
 dreams !" 
 
 "Your's and Mabel's, my dear Florence, 
 what are you thinking of? but who is he?" 
 exclaimed Lady Matilda, with more interest 
 in her manner than she had hitherto 
 shown. 
 
 " I have no idea, — I could not of course 
 ask him ; but he heard my name. I shall 
 never be content till I see the interesting 
 unknown again." 
 
 " Why, you are quite romantic ! What 
 would not Honoria give to be the heroine of 
 your little adventure !"
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 285 
 
 u He was so unlike all the others to whom 
 I had been introduced, — they were very pleasant, 
 and danced beautifully, oh it was all very 
 charming — but this magnificent incognito 
 looked as if he could not condescend to so 
 frivolous an amusement. He felt conscious 
 of superiority to me and every one else — 
 yet he was so respectful, so courteous 1" 
 
 " Who can he be ! Perhaps Lord Henry 
 St George, returned from foreign service; 
 perhaps a foreign prince ; had he on a great 
 many orders?" 
 
 " I had not time to observe ; I only thought 
 his countenance with all its sadness had an 
 expression in it that pleased me extremely. 
 He evidently knew I was a novice." 
 
 " That proves that you are scarcely yet fit 
 for entering the world, Florence ; I told Mamma 
 so — you should never appear as if you felt
 
 286 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 any deficiency, or as if anything were strange 
 to you. Nothing should take you by 
 surprise," 
 
 " Oh ! but I know I am ignorant, Matilda ! 
 I am not perfect enough to wish for no 
 support, no control." A recollection of Mrs 
 Dacre's advice had come at this moment ^to 
 Florence's assistance. 
 
 " Well, my dear, you are very childish, 
 these ideas have been fostered by your 
 simple-minded companions, and probably also 
 by some of Miss Burney's old-fashioned 
 novels ; you must give them up. Did Lord 
 Peter Feversham say he was going to Lady 
 Angus's this evening?" 
 
 " No, for Lady Catherine Douglas is not 
 going, I heard," replied Florence, rather 
 maliciously. 
 
 " Oh ! it is of no importance to me.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 287 
 
 Poor man, how I shall pity him if he makes 
 that absurd match. Now Florence do leave 
 me, it is getting late, and I shall never be 
 dressed for that stupid dejeuner I promised 
 to go to." 
 
 <c Poor Mabel," soliloquized Lady Florence 
 as she left her sister's room. "I am really 
 so sorry for her — but what can be done ? as 
 Mamma says. We do move in different 
 spheres — this kind of friendship cannot last. 
 It was almost a pity we ever became so 
 intimate. It would be quite impossible for 
 her to mix in our society, though she is 
 in reality as much fitted for it as any one 
 of us. I am afraid I shall hardly have 
 time to write even once a week if I go out 
 very much. Drawing-rooms, Court balls, 
 dejeuners ! I wonder whether I shall ever see 
 that handsome unknown again. As Matilda 
 says, he must be a foreign prince — did he
 
 288 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 think me handsome, — how I should like to 
 know I" 
 
 Lady Florence Trevelyan had in the mean- 
 time reached her sisters' morning room, in 
 which she had appropriated a corner to 
 herself, and drawing a chair to a writing- 
 table, she was in the act of sitting down 
 to make some excuse to her friend Mabel 
 for her silence, past and future, when she 
 received a message from the Countess, 
 begging that she would immediately go to 
 her, for the purpose of giving her opinion 
 upon the setting of some diamonds in which 
 she was to appear at the approaching Drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Post-time came inopportunely in the midst 
 of numerous engagements, and the following 
 day produced its own particular interruptions. 
 Florence began to feel more and more the 
 truth of her mother's and sister's assertions
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 289 
 
 that to keep up an intimacy with Mabel 
 would be quite impossible. At the end of 
 a week she despatched a few hasty lines 
 apologizing, excusing herself, but assuring her 
 that she was still her affectionate friend. 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " Why has Time a pace 
 
 That seems unequal in our mortal race ?" 
 
 It was the last evening that Seymour and 
 his friend Beverley were to spend at the 
 Glen. 
 
 Seymour felt that duty, if not inclination, 
 recalled him to Linstead, for Sir Philip was 
 still indisposed ; while Beverley — who had 
 private reasons for keeping in retirement — 
 instead of sauntering as was his custom through 
 a London season, had unfortunately no good 
 excuse for remaining with the Nevilles after 
 Seymour's departure. 
 
 A riding party had been arranged, as usual ;
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 291 
 
 consisting of Eleanor, Mabel, and the two 
 friends. 
 
 It was to be the last, and the pleasantest 
 of all! The day had been so sultry, that 
 the mere breath of the evening air — as it 
 swept across the forest, bearing with it the 
 fragrance of honeysuckle, gorse, heather, and 
 the happy insect -hum— was of itself sufficiently 
 exhilarating to have produced a change from 
 gloom to brightness, even in the most apathetic. 
 But, in the present party, no such change 
 was required. Each thought, if there existed 
 so fabulous a feeling as happiness, it was now 
 to be experienced, diffused through the medium 
 of each gratified sense, and by the consciousness 
 of giving, as well as receiving pleasure. Yet 
 in each, the sensation was different, modified 
 by individual nature, and by circumstances. 
 
 Eleanor's was calm and serious, yet most 
 intense ; while Mabel's arose from almost pure 
 
 u2
 
 292 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 physical enjoyment alone, heightened, it was 
 true, by the pleasure she could not conceal 
 from herself she took in Beverley's society. 
 She was in general enthusiastic in her admi- 
 ration of beauty, iu art or nature; yet, as 
 Beverley rode by her side, green glades, majestic 
 trees, blue mountain glimpses, and sparkling 
 streamlets, were well nigh overlooked. She 
 so thoroughly enjoyed his merry laugh, his 
 good-humoured joke, the zest with which he 
 related his many adventures ! It was so 
 pleasant to look upon his bright countenance, 
 to her idea, unmasked by any experience of 
 care. To her present enjoyment there was 
 but one foil — " It could not last," she thought. 
 To-morrow he would be gone — how she should 
 miss him! how dull her daily routine would 
 be; how uninteresting the teaching her little 
 sisters ! how grave and dark the old library 
 would look. Eleanor would be cheered by
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 293 
 
 Charles Seymour's letters ! How dull their 
 rides would be in future ! 
 
 Beverley seemed to have guessed what was 
 passing through her mind, during a very short 
 silence, as Eleanor and Seymour were riding 
 on before. 
 
 He turned towards her — "There is a very 
 tyrannical law, certainly, Miss Neville, which 
 decrees that all happy moments are to pass 
 quickly away, while anxiety lengthens hours 
 into days. T. feel I shall never be so happy 
 again as I have been lately." He spoke 
 truly. He felt, to a certain degree, changed — 
 improved; he was susceptible to influences, 
 good and bad ; the last week or two had had 
 a wholesome, though it would necessarily be 
 a transient, effect upon his character. 
 
 Mabel blushed, as she felt his remark gave 
 her pleasure. 
 
 " I suppose you mean to be complimentary,
 
 294 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 Mr Beverley ; and I am really very much 
 obliged for the share you intend I should take 
 in your pretty little speech; but I suppose 
 I am wiser than you, for I know that no very 
 pleasant moments last long — I know that they 
 are not to be trusted." 
 
 Beverley thought that he was not quite so 
 unacquainted with the mysteries of life as his 
 fair companion supposed him to be, or as she 
 indeed was herself; but he said nothing. He 
 inwardly sighed, as he felt that an immea- 
 surable distance removed her in her perfect 
 innocence and simplicity from himself. On 
 first acquaintance he had wished to interest 
 Mabel. He felt he had succeeded, perhaps 
 even beyond his wishes or expectations — 
 prudence had long advised him to beware, 
 and he had heeded her warnings, though with 
 more difficulty than he fancied he should 
 experience.
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 295 
 
 " I am, unfortunately, such a wanderer upon 
 the fair surface of life, (it really has a very 
 fair surface at times,) that I have no hope 
 of ever being able to remain very long in 
 one spot ; besides the contrast with the dark- 
 ness that would necessarily follow lengthened 
 sunshine would be unbearable." 
 
 " What can Mr Beverley mean," thought 
 Mabel ; " is he excusing himself for leaving 
 me? does he fancy that I am expecting him 
 to play the part of an " innamorato," and that 
 I shall be disappointed if he does not kneel 
 down, and offer me his own fascinating self 
 and all his worldly goods? For a moment 
 her pride was aroused ; she determined that 
 the advantage should be on her side, as she 
 said, coolly — 
 
 " You are enigmatical, Mr Beverley ; you 
 are not in general given to moralizing, but, 
 on the contrary, are much more naturally
 
 296 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 occupied in amusing those who are fortunate 
 to have so agreeable a companion. I think 
 it quite absurd to throw all advantages and 
 pleasures away, because you cannot command 
 an unlimited supply of them.' , 
 
 " But some trials are so much harder to 
 bear than others." 
 
 " Surely you have not had many hard trials 
 to endure?" returned Mabel, laughing, and 
 casting a searching glance at her companion. 
 " If you have, you must either have a charmed 
 life, or no heart ! It appears as if you met 
 all states of existence with an imperturbable 
 equanimity." 
 
 " Now really, Miss Neville, I think you are 
 very hard-hearted ! Do you think we appear 
 what we are inwardly ? That we possess what 
 we most covet — you should give me credit 
 for extreme fortitude and good temper, at 
 least."
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 297 
 
 " I do so, and perhaps for something more," 
 replied Mabel. 
 
 " I try to enjoy the sweet, and pass lightly 
 over the bitter. Is that not calculated to call 
 forth your praise?" 
 
 " Perhaps so — but all have not your power 
 of control — of condensing the good, and 
 evaporating the evil." 
 
 " Those who have not, lose the greatest 
 charm of life." 
 
 " But I had rather see everything in its 
 true light — at least, I think so," she added, 
 gravely. " I like to feel that I can make up 
 my mind to what is my lot — namely, living 
 in comparative seclusion on the confines of this 
 grand, mysterious, poetry-speaking forest. 
 Many, I am aware, would sigh away their life 
 doomed to such retirement." And Mabel 
 thought of her friend Florence, and her love for 
 worldly excitement.
 
 298 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " I am convinced, more and more each day, 
 that we are very dependent creatures, not only 
 upon each other, but upon circumstances. I 
 believe if I had been brought up in a wood- 
 man's cottage, I should have handled an axe 
 marvellously well." 
 
 " I cannot fancy those very aristocratic hands 
 labouring for their own support." 
 
 " I fear, indeed, I am but of little use in 
 the world; and you, I think, Miss Neville, 
 agree with me." 
 
 " Why do you put me to the torture of 
 replying to such a question?" replied Mabel, 
 laughing. "Besides, I think you are in a 
 controversial mood — whichever side I advocate, 
 I fancy you will oppose." 
 
 " Well, I will turn round and confess, that 
 I think, with all my dolce far niente life, I am 
 of as much use as hundreds of my species, 
 who are not rich enough to keep a pack of
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 299 
 
 fox-hounds for the benefit of adjoining counties ; 
 who have no venerable parents entirely de- 
 pendent upon their filial attention; or whose 
 sisters, being rich and handsome, have no need 
 of their brother's introductions. Now, can 
 you tell me how I may be of more use in 
 the world than I have hitherto been ?" he 
 continued, anxious to engage Mabel's attention 
 at any risk. 
 
 "No, it is impossible ! I am really quite 
 puzzled; every scheme I devise is chased 
 away by half-a-dozen others. In short, yours 
 is a hopeless case." 
 
 " I have neither learning, nor wit, nor 
 money, nor — " 
 
 " If you are seriously asking advice, I should 
 say we all had some talent, for which we 
 shall be accountable. You must settle down 
 into a quiet country life. There is Mr 
 Dalrymple, for instance."
 
 300 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " A very unfavourable specimen — you are 
 not in earnest, Miss Neville. Would you 
 have me misanthropical, dull, melancholy, 
 austere?" 
 
 " You have, at last, come to the end of 
 his failings," exclaimed Mabel, with some 
 warmth, for she knew Mr Dalrymple was no 
 favourite with Beverley. "He has a grand 
 soul, and kind heart, which it is well to 
 appreciate." 
 
 " If you appreciate them, I am convinced 
 Mr Dalrymple will be satisfied," replied 
 Beverley, rather mortified at the tone Mabel 
 assumed. " But, may I find some slight 
 favour in your eyes — will you undertake my 
 hopeless reform?" 
 
 . " Certainly not ; but I am glad you at 
 least acknowledge it is hopeless," and Mabel 
 laughed merrily. " In the first place, I should 
 have been bound to set you a good example;
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 301 
 
 now we shall neither of us influence the other 
 very materially." 
 
 " That is unkind. I am afraid the happiest 
 part of my useless life will have left a sting 
 behind it. I believe you have allowed me 
 a buoyant disposition ; I must draw largely 
 upon it in future. What should I be — what 
 would most of us be, if we were constantly 
 weighed down by the recollection of moments 
 which prudence tells us had better be quickly 
 forgotten." 
 
 " Ah ! there you fly before your enemy, 
 instead of facing him. I find you are not 
 superior, after all. I had rather encounter 
 an unpleasant possibility, than shrink from 
 examining into its details." 
 
 " But I dare not look back upon these 
 last happy days. Perhaps you are right in 
 laying claim to a courage which does not belong 
 to me."
 
 302 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 " You must first prove that I have need 
 of courage. Yes, I grant that these last 
 days have been very pleasant — very merry 
 and happy." 
 
 " But I feel more — they must not be 
 repeated. If I were anything else but a wan- 
 derer in this beautiful world — if I might allow 
 myself to be touched by the alchemist, which 
 turns all to gold! As it is, I must look 
 upon life as a game, in which the most for- 
 tunate wins the highest stakes." 
 
 He was in earnest, and felt more than he 
 cared to show. He had a heart after all! 
 comparatively slight though its pleadings were, 
 and worldly though he was by nature, as well 
 as habit. But his last words were not 
 pleasing to Mabel. She fancied she discovered 
 in them traces of the light, volatile, transient 
 feelings to which he had no right to give
 
 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 303 
 
 utterance. Perhaps, too, she ought to be dis- 
 pleased with herself. Her thoughtless con- 
 versation might have given him reason to 
 think that she was but a heartless coquette, 
 and that he was privileged to treat her as 
 such. Her pride and vanity were more hurt 
 than gratified by the half avowal that had 
 been uttered. She looked at Beverley steadily, 
 with an expression of vexation on her coun- 
 tenance which it rarely wore. 
 
 " I dare say we are all very much like each 
 other in some respects," she at length calmly 
 replied — " what we fancy to-day, we disapprove 
 of to-morrow ; and what we at one moment 
 earnestly covet, we discard negligently when 
 gained.' ' 
 
 Her expression of displeasure had not been 
 unnoticed by Beverley. He would not have 
 offended her for the world : but his excuses
 
 304 SEYMOUR AND HIS FRIENDS. 
 
 were not destined to be available, for while 
 he was endeavouring to re-establish himself 
 in her good opinion their tete-a-tete was inter- 
 rupted. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
 rrinted by Keineil and Weight, Little Pulteney Street, Haymarkef
 
 INTERESTING NEW NOVELS. 
 
 COURT SECRET S. 
 
 By Mrs Thomson, 
 Author of "Anne Boleyn," &c. 3 vols. 
 
 A WOMAN'S STORY. 
 
 By Mrs S. C. Hall. 3 vols. 
 
 " ' A Woman's Story' is interesting. It is well and carefully 
 written, and is quite equal to any of Mrs S. C. Hall's other works." 
 — Athenaeum. 
 
 THE STORY OF MY LIFE. 
 
 By Lord William Lennox. 3 vols. 
 " An extremely amusing book. The characters are drawn to 
 nature, the incidents are highly entertaining, and the description of 
 men and manners faultless." — Sporting Review. 
 
 THE SQUIRE OF BEECHWOOD. 
 
 By "Scrutator." 
 Dedicated to the Duke of Beaufort. 3 vols. 
 " A photograph of real life in the best circles." — Court 
 Journal. 
 
 THE TWO ARISTOCRACIES. 
 
 By Mrs Gore. 3 vols. 
 
 LIFE AND ITS REALITIES. 
 
 By Lady Chatterton. 3 vols. 
 "A novel of lofty moral purpose, of great descriptive power, of 
 high-toned feeling, and of admirable sentiment." — Observer. 
 
 THE YOUNG BRIDE. 
 
 By Mrs Briscoe. 3 vols. 
 
 " There is a charm in the style, and a sustained interest through- 
 out the work." — Observer. 
 
 NOTHING NEW. 
 
 By the Author of " John Halifax, Gentleman." 2 vols. 
 " Two volumes, displaying all those superior merits which have 
 made ' John Halifax ' one of the most popular works of the day." 
 —Post. 
 
 TRUE TO NATURE. 
 
 "A very delightful tale." — John Bull. 
 HUBS! ANU BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS 10 RBNBY COLBUEH 
 L3 > ;i; i; \r MARLBOROUGH STREET.
 
 LADY FALKLAND'S NEW WORK ON INDIA. 
 
 Second Edition, Revised. Now ready, in 2 vols. 8vo., 
 ■with illustrations, 30s. bound, 
 
 CHOW CHOW; 
 
 Being Selections from a Journal kept in INDIA, 
 By the Viscountess Falkland. 
 
 " The narrative of Lady Falkland's experience of India and 
 Indian life, during her husband's government of Bombay, is a 
 lively and agreeable work. Lady Falkland's position gave her 
 advantageous opportunities of getting the best information on any 
 subject that attracted her. Her pictures are fresh and pleasant." 
 — Spectator. 
 
 " Lady Falkland's work may be read with interest and pleasure, 
 and the reader will rise from the perusal instructed as well as 
 amused."— Athenseum. 
 
 Also, just published, in 2 vols., with illustrations, 21s. 
 
 PASSAGES IN THE LIFE 
 OF A SOLDIER, 
 
 OR, MILITARY SERVICE IN THE EAST AND WEST. 
 By Lieut.-Col. Sir James E. Alexander, K.C.L.S., &c. 
 
 " These volumes are deeply interesting and full of valuable 
 information." — Messenger. 
 
 " One great merit of the ' Passages ' is readableness. Another 
 feature of the work is experience. The author has served in 
 India, South Africa, Canada, and the Crimea ; and, having given 
 a good deal of attention to military matters, his opinion is worth 
 attention." — Spectator. 
 
 Also, now ready, in 2 vols., with illustrations, 21s. 
 
 AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF 
 ELIZABETH DAVIS, 
 
 A BALACLAVA NURSE. 
 Edited by Jane Williams. 
 
 " In this true story of a^Welshwoman's life, we fancy, now and 
 then, that we are reading fiction by Defoe. The course of events 
 is so natural, yet so unusual and amusing, the whole book, in the 
 quaint brevity of its manner, is so unlike the majority of stories 
 and biographies now-a-days published, that it is in the truest and 
 best sense of the word a new book, not a book like half the books 
 that have been written before it, and half those we are yet destined 
 to read. We think we must have said more than enough to send a 
 great many of our readers to this curious and pleasant book." — 
 Examiner. 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, SUCCESSORS TO HENRY C0LBURN, 
 13 GREAT MARLBOROUQH STREET.