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 MAR 11 2008
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE 
 
 A TALE. 
 
 MARIA BAINBRIDGE. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 EDWARD BULL, PUBLISHER, 
 
 UK HOLLES STREET. 
 
 1843.
 
 
 ^3 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In laying before the Public the subse- 
 quent pages, the Author has to request 
 one favour. It is this : — that the reader 
 ^Nrill bear in mind, as he proceeds, that 
 ro the story he is peinising is founded upon 
 -5 FACTS. Some of the incidents, while 
 4 proved by their actual occurrence to be 
 vp perfectly consistent ^nth human nature, 
 are sufficiently contrar}' to that nature, 
 as depicted in icorks of fiction^ to make 
 r the Author feel that the shield of trutli 
 2 may be needed as a safeguard from the 
 A shafts of censure. When, therefore, hi- 
 o is disposed to exclaim once or t\^ce in
 
 11 PREFACE. 
 
 the course of the narrative, " Absurd !" 
 or, "' Unnatural !" let him remember that 
 it is true, and forbear. 
 
 To say more might be to throw prema- 
 ture light upon scenes which should only 
 be brought to view in their due succession. 
 Therefore, with this brief appeal to the 
 justice and forbearance of the public, — 
 and in the hope that not in vain has been 
 the effort to please, the Author begs 
 leave to introduce Rose of Woodlee. 
 
 Toxteih Park, 
 Liverpool.
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE CHILD AND BKIDE. 
 
 They lov'd; but such their guileless passion was. 
 
 As in the dawn of time inform'd the heart 
 
 Of innocence and undissembling truth." 
 
 Thornsoii.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " From their cradles up, 
 "With but a step between their several homes. 
 Twins they had been in pleasure ; after strife 
 And petty quarrels, had grown fond again. 
 Each other's advwate, each other's stay ; 
 And strangers to content if long apart." — 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 In the county of Buckingham there resided, at 
 the close of the last century, two farmers, by 
 name Mcrrival and Morgan. Their dwelling- 
 houses, on the farms of Stanfield and Woodlee, 
 were very near to each other, — and the present 
 occupants, from some similarity of circum- 
 stances, rather than congeniality of character, 
 were early connected in close bonds of intimacy 
 and friendship. 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Both were scions of noble families, and were 
 P\:pik1 of their descent ; but this, while it was a 
 link of union between the two families, acted in 
 equal degree as a bar of exclusion from the 
 sympathies of other neighbours of their class. 
 
 Yet Merrival, the tenant of Stanfield, was 
 well content to rank among the yeomen of his 
 country. The younger son of a younger son, 
 he had never been fed with hopes of higher 
 things; and an early marriage, by which at 
 least biennially another rosy laugher was added 
 to the circle around his Christmas hearth, effec- 
 tually excluded the chance of rising to afHuence 
 by his own exertions. 
 
 Thus ho had wisdom enough to forget, in the 
 cultivation of his lands, and the enjoyments of 
 home, that other branches of his family moved 
 in a liigher sphere ; or he remembered it only 
 with the feeling that he would not exchange for 
 rank or wealth the solid happiness and homely 
 comforts of his present lot. 
 
 Morgan of Woodlec had not, however, at- 
 tained so perfect a state of philosophic indiffe- 
 rence to the pomps of the world ; his childhood
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 3 
 
 had been passed in scenes of comparative splen- 
 dour, and he often recalled with bitterness the 
 injustice which had thrust him into an inferior 
 social sphere. 
 
 His father, — a baronet, who traced his des- 
 cent from the blood-royal of Cambria, — had 
 been twice married ; the issue of each union 
 was an only son, — and he was the youno^est. 
 He lost his mother early ; and deprived of this 
 protection (though his father was ever kind 
 and indulgent to him) his happiness was con- 
 stantly embittered by the tyranny of his bro- 
 ther, who was by many years his senior. 
 
 Proud of his elder son, but quite unable to 
 control him, Sir Owen Morgan resolved on 
 removing the young Edward from this unbro- 
 therly persecution ; and on plea of furtliering 
 his education more rapidly than might be done 
 by a domestic tutor, he placed him under the 
 care of the Eev. Griffith Puvey, a clergyman 
 of high classical attainments in Shropshire. 
 
 There was a very wealthy living in the gift 
 of the Morgan family ; and this his father pro- 
 mised to him, if he chose the church for his 
 
 b2
 
 4 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 profession ; and the strong affection which he 
 soon felt for Mr. Piivey, strengthened the bias 
 thus given to his thoughts. But while his stu- 
 dies advanced with a rapidity that gave delight 
 to his parent, he was (unknown to him) making 
 still more rapid progress in another branch of 
 human knowledge. Mr. Puvey had resident 
 with him his youngest daughter, the fair and 
 amiable Catherine, the only one yet unmarried 
 of a pretty numerous family. How is it that 
 parents so often overlook the almost certainty 
 of affection arising between two young people 
 thus circumstanced ? Both endowed with ten- 
 der, susceptible, and inexperienced hearts, and 
 with every personal grace, how could it be 
 otherwise I True, they were children at first ; 
 but they grew on side,lby side, till they could 
 be no longer deemed such. 
 
 In another year, Edward Morgan was to 
 proceed to Cambridge ; — the young couple 
 began to look forward, first to separation, then 
 to reunion ; their conversations began to ac- 
 quire a new and peculiar interest, and books 
 were discovered to be dull and uninteresting
 
 ROSE OF WOODLKE. 5 
 
 things, — when lo ! a sudden summons was sent 
 to call Edward home ; — his father had been 
 thrown from his horse in hunting, and lay at 
 the point of death. 
 
 He hastened; — he stood at the sufferer's 
 bedside, — their eyes met in one gaze of affec- 
 tion, — the parent's lips moved in speech, but 
 the words were unheard. The soul of Sir Owen 
 Morgan had piissed away from earth. 
 
 Gradually the change in his position dawned 
 on young Edward's understanding; — his father 
 had left no will, — his brother was lord of all I 
 
 Ere long he was made to feel that he was 
 considered an intruder in his ancestral home : 
 he desired, therefore, of his brother the means 
 to pursue his studies at college, and the ratifi- 
 cation of his father's promise of the Gorton 
 living. To his amazement, both were decidedly 
 and harshly refused ; and the living, he said, 
 was already irrevocably promised to another, — 
 the brother of a lady to whom he was about to 
 be married. 
 
 " You need not scowl upon me in that way," 
 concluded the new baronet, in a careless tone ;
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " if you choose to stay on here, to be present 
 at my wedding, you are welcome ; — afterwards, 
 you must see, sir, that this can be no home for 
 
 you." 
 
 Edward needed no second hint; — his indig- 
 nation burst forth in one torrent of passionate 
 eloquence, and then he quitted the place of his 
 birth — for ever. 
 
 Where then could the outcast turn ! His 
 heart felt the magnetic influence of its pole ; — 
 he thought but of one adviser, — longed but for 
 one consoler, — saw but one spot upon the earth ; 
 he hastened to the vicarage. 
 
 Catherine, his Catherine, alone received him ; 
 and, clad in the deepest mourning, she told him 
 that her beloved father had been laid a week 
 before in his quiet grave. 
 
 What changes, what revolutions were here ! 
 
 She blessed heaven for sending him to her in 
 her distress ; and he — how could he forsake 
 her ? It seemed to them that destiny had 
 written their course of action in characters 
 which could not be wrongly read ; — and in a 
 month, these two orphans, with solemn spirits,
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 7 
 
 joined their trembling hands before the altar of 
 God. 
 
 Their story excited much interest, and there 
 were not wanting benevolent hearts to stretch 
 forth the hand of friendship to these young 
 creatures, and aid them with the advices of ex- 
 perience. Many houses were opened to them ; 
 and, but for the pride of independence, they 
 might have called twenty homes their own. 
 
 A small, a very small sum, was Edward Mor- 
 gan's, in right of his mother ; and some little 
 also Mr. Puvey's foresight had saved for a por- 
 tion for his daughter. With their united 
 funds they stocked a small farm ; and under 
 the guidance of a relation of Catherine, with 
 zeal and industry Edv.ard acquired in a few 
 years a sufficient knowledge of practical agri- 
 culture which throughout he had been impatient 
 to take. 
 
 They left the country where their names and 
 histories were known, where his sensitive pride 
 experienced a thousand painful shocks, and 
 where too he was constantly in dread of being 
 thrown in contact with his brother, when he
 
 8 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 feared that his Christian forbearance might be 
 too severely tried, and produce consequences 
 to be regretted to his life's end. 
 
 They left then every familiar scene and fami- 
 liar friend, and took a larger farm in a county 
 where they and all concerning them were quite 
 unknown ; and thus the opening of our story 
 finds them at Woodlee. 
 
 They had been many years there now, and 
 had suffered much grief in the loss of their 
 several elder children ; but one yet survived, 
 and all the pride and tenderness of Morgan's 
 heart was lavished on this only and beautiful 
 daughter. 
 
 For her sake, he denied himself every luxury; 
 — his whole ambition was to give her such a 
 fortune as might (he hoped) insure her restora- 
 tion to the sphere from which their branch of 
 the family had fallen. His Rose was lovely, 
 his Rose was elegant, — nay, he deemed her in 
 all things perfect. She should marry well ; and 
 his grandchildren should be as his fathers were 
 — moving among the magnates of the land. 
 Thus dreamed the partial father ; but under
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 9 
 
 the influence of his sensible, affectionate, and 
 unambitious wife, he pursued meanwhile the 
 even tenor of his days ; and for all practical 
 purposes, his ambitious views for his child were 
 sobered down to meet the present probabilities. 
 
 Though too indulgent and too reasonable to 
 complain, he and his partner often lamented 
 that the attractions of Stanfield deprived them 
 of so much of the society of their darling child. 
 
 As she verged toward womanhood, however, 
 it was observed that she went less frequently 
 to chat with her friends, Lucy and ^Margaret, 
 but that Frank Merrival, the joy and delight 
 of his father's house, would visit his playmate 
 instead, the bearer of some message, or little 
 present, from his mother and sisters ; or with 
 an invitation to his sweet ''Rose of Woodlee,'' 
 to join in some youthful frolic : on which occa- 
 sion he would offer himself as her escort, and 
 often led his companion by a route so circuit- 
 ous, that his sisters had lost patience before 
 their arrival. 
 
 They were but children, however ; and the 
 gay light-hearted Frank, and the gentle affec- 
 
 b3
 
 10 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 tionate Rose, were both so dear to every indi- 
 vidual of their family circles, that, notwith- 
 standiiif]^ the lesson of experience that her 
 parents* own youth might have taught, their 
 growing partiality was alike unperceived by 
 themselves and others ; their affection appeared 
 the same feeling which animated every breast : 
 Rose was looked upon as another daughter by 
 Mr. and Mrs. Merrival ; so what wonder that 
 she called Frank her brother, and that he 
 always spoke of her as his dearest sister ? 
 
 Such childish attachments are, indeed, of 
 perpetual occurrence, and it is only when cir- 
 cumstances afterwards ripen them into what is 
 more emphatically termed lovc^ that they can 
 be worthy of record. 
 
 It is far from my intention to linger over 
 these early and unclouded days of tranquil hap- 
 piness. Even if those for whom our sympathies 
 were demanded, were other than children, it 
 would require a masterly pen to interest readers 
 in the details of so uneventful a period. 
 
 We will date our tale then from their Jirst 
 sorro2t\ an era but too commonly the commence-
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 11 
 
 ment of the histories of individuals. This, how- 
 ever, was not of a very dark complexion, nor 
 was it altogether unmixed with pleasure ; the 
 golden hue of hope at least was mingkd in its 
 web : that first sorrow was — -parting. 
 
 Rose Morgan appeared one day at Stanfield 
 with a brow of unwonted care, while still a 
 lurking smile of conscious importance might be 
 detected in spite of her efforts to repress it. 
 When, however, her friends questioned her as 
 to the cause of her unusual thoughtfulness, she 
 caught her favourite among the younger chil- 
 dren in her arms, and a tear dropped upon his 
 face, as covering him with kisses, she said, 
 " I am going to leave you, my little Charlie, 
 and you will have quite forgotten me before I 
 come back to you." And her eye, half uncon- 
 sciously wandered from the child to Frank, 
 who was culling for her the honeysuckle and 
 creeping roses that flung their tendrils in- 
 vitingly through the open lattice. 
 
 " If Charlie ever forgets you, he will not be 
 like me!" cried Frank. *']3ut what do you 
 mean my little Rose ? where are you going to 
 in such a hurry T"*
 
 12 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " She is but joking," said Margaret. 
 
 " No, that I am sure she is not'/' whispered 
 Lucy, putting her arm around her ; " for I saw 
 a tear drop, did I not, Rose ? Come, take a 
 turn in the field with me, and tell me what is 
 the matter?" 
 
 " You need not look so very grave," re- 
 plied Rose; "if it were not for leaving you 
 all (and again the tell-tale eyes wandered to 
 Frank), I am not sure but that I should be 
 glad. ^Margaret, I know you will envy me — I 
 am going to London." 
 
 " To London ! '' echoed everybody. 
 
 " Yes, — I did not know till yesterday ; but 
 my aunt Massiter has written to advise my 
 mother to let me go and stay with her, to have 
 masters in French and music, and I don't know 
 what ; and to let me learn dressmaking and 
 millinery too (you know she is a very fine 
 milliner), just that I may make my own and 
 mother's clothes nicely." 
 
 " Turn my little Rose into a fine town mantua- 
 maker !"' exclaimed Frank ; "why, we shall not 
 know you again with all your airs and graces —
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 13 
 
 you will quite look down upon poor us then, 
 Rose!" 
 
 " Not if you grow as fast as you have done, 
 Master Frank," said Rose, putting her hand 
 playfully on his shoulder, and trying to exalt 
 herself to equal height. 
 
 " Pooh I" cried he, kissing her, "that is not 
 what I meant." 
 
 " You cannot really think that I shall ever 
 forget my own brother Frank, and dear Lucy 
 and Margaret !" said Rose reproachfully ; ''oh, 
 when absent, I shall only love you better, and 
 think more and more of all at Stanfield." 
 
 " Perhaps !"" sighed Frank ; " but, dear Rose, 
 shall you like to be shut up in a house in town 
 sewing all day, instead of rambling over the 
 commons, and nutting in the woods with us ? — 
 Oh, what walks you will miss ! " 
 
 " I shall not be kept sewing all day; indeed, 
 I think I could not bear that : — but here is my 
 aunt's letter — it is very kind, I think ; read it, 
 Lucy." 
 
 And Lucy read aloud as follows — 
 
 " My dear Sister, 
 
 *' I am much obliged to you and Mr.
 
 14 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Morgan for your invitation, but, indeed, it is 
 impossible for me to leave my business ; and 
 besides you know I do not like the country, 
 and never did ; I am always so frightened with 
 those horrible cows and creatures. However, I 
 have now my proposal to make ; I am really very 
 anxious to become acquainted with my pretty 
 niece (how glad I am that she is pretty!) and 
 as you tell me times are so bad in the country, 
 I think you really ought to make the dear child 
 capable of doing something for herself. What 
 should I have done but for my natural taste in 
 dress \ The wife of a solicitor in good practice 
 could not expect to be reduced to the necessity 
 of earning a livelihood, yet you see his early 
 death has compelled me to it ; poor Alfred's 
 friends and clients have been very kind to 
 me, however, and I am now doing a first-rate 
 business in my way. Now I know that Mr. 
 Morgan is not at all old yet, and it is quite 
 possible that he may contrive to lay by a very 
 pretty fortune for my niece before his end 
 comes. If he does, she ought to have a better 
 education than you can give her in the country;
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. lo 
 
 and in case he does not, I really recommend 
 that she should know something useful to turn 
 her hand to. Now, if you will send her to me, 
 I will keep both these ends in view — I will 
 treat her quite as my own daughter, and she 
 need cost you nothing. I dare say you will 
 find it hard to part with her ; but consider the 
 advantages, my dear Catherine, and do not be 
 selfish ! If even she should never have to get 
 her living my way, think how sweetly she will 
 be able to make up her dresses and your caps 
 and bonnets, and what a saving it will be to 
 you both ! Then she is almost a young woman 
 now, and you ought to begin to think how she 
 is to be settled: at any rate she sees nobody to 
 improve her manners, or form her taste in 
 Bucks (I did not mean a pun), and I can^afford 
 her the advantage of excellent society. Now 
 do not disappoint me, my dear sister, for, in- 
 deed, I shall be delighted to have my pretty 
 little niece under my chaperonage^ (as the 
 fashionables call protection). 
 
 "Ever your affectionate sister, 
 " Caroline Massiter."
 
 16 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " Papa and numinia both wrote to her yester- 
 day/' said Rose, when the buzzing of commen- 
 tators had subsided, and they said that the 
 advice was good, and the kind offer should be 
 accepted, but that their little country girl must 
 not be too much confined ; and that they 
 should like me to learn French and music and 
 dancing, just a little, that I might take to any- 
 thing I fancied best." 
 
 " And when are you to go ?" asked Frank 
 at length. " Oh, I shall never care for any of 
 our old rambles when you are gone." 
 
 " Perhaps your own time for rambling will 
 be cut short, too," said Margaret ; *' father 
 often says, you know, that you ought cither to 
 work more on the farm, or do something for 
 yourself." 
 
 " Well, I don't care how soon," replied 
 Frank ; " only this I know, that I won't stay 
 here when Rose is gone." 
 
 " Then you don't care for your sisters ?" said 
 Margaret. 
 
 '' Oh yes, I do," Frank hastily replied ; 
 " you arc aU my dear dear sisters, you know.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 1 7 
 
 and I love you all alike, only I see least of 
 Rose. But come, what are we all standing 
 here so gloomily for ? — time enough for sorrow 
 when it comes. Make the best of time present, 
 say I — and now for a race ! Rose ! Lucy I — 
 start ! — these flowers for the winner !" 
 
 The laughing girls placed themselves in a 
 line, waited for the word, and started at full 
 speed down the field. Rose foil far behind, but 
 the swift-footed Frank would not see his fa- 
 vourite vanquished, and seizing her hand, dragged 
 her in triumph to the goal, and, despite the 
 shouts of " unfair I — unfair !" crowned her with 
 the roses and honeysuckles he had gathered. 
 
 They were all accustomed to these merry 
 freaks of Frank, who had an instinctive dread 
 of anything melancholy, but they were not long 
 in resuming the subject of discourse. 
 
 '' I wish you could come to London, too, 
 Frank, when you leave home,"" said Rose, ti- 
 midly ; "what are you to do V 
 
 '' What I please, father says. But, dear 
 Rose, I was in London once, you know, and I 
 am sure I could never live there, even if all I
 
 18 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 loved came with me. I could do nothing in a 
 town : a prison would be almost as good to me. 
 Why you never see the bright sunshine there ; 
 and as for the moon, the black smoke quite 
 blots that out. I cannot breathe in London." 
 
 " Well, well,'"* replied Margaret, " you need 
 not be so hot about it ; nobody wants you to go 
 there, I dare say."' 
 
 " I did," said Eose gently ; " but I should 
 be so sorry to see Frank grow dull and unhappy 
 there, that I do not want him now. But is 
 London then such a Tery disagreeable place V 
 
 " You should not have put her against it, you 
 see," remarked Lucy : but never mind him, 
 Rosy, all don't think as my madcap brotlier 
 does." 
 
 " No, indeed," returned INIargaret ; " I wish 
 it was 1 who was to go ! how happy I should 
 be ! But there is no chance, with all these little 
 ones to teach and take care of. However, 
 Rose, you must promise to write me all the 
 news, and send us down all the prettiest 
 fashions, will you ?" 
 
 " If you will promise to follow them all,"
 
 ROSE OF woodlee; 19 
 
 replied Rose laughingly ; otherwise I think it 
 might only mortify you. But how can you care 
 for dress so much f 
 
 " Oh, you will too, when you get to London,'* 
 cried Margaret ; " you will see." 
 
 " I shall love her less if she does," said 
 Frank ; '' for that is the only thing that spoils 
 you, Maggy : your face does not look a bit the 
 prettier when you have a fine bonnet on, than 
 now with your bright brown curls all blowing 
 about." 
 
 " But after all this," interrupted Lucy, " Rose 
 has not yet told us when she is going." 
 
 " That is the worst part of the story," said 
 our little heroine sadly. " Papa has to go to 
 London next Monday, and he says I must be 
 ready to go with him. I shall have to be so 
 busy, and poor mother will feel so lonely." 
 
 " How soon it is !" exclaimed her auditors. 
 *' Dear Rose, how much we shall miss you !" 
 
 " I will go too," said Frank decidedly ; " I 
 won't stay here moping : I'll off to the sea, and 
 go up to London with you, to help to take care 
 of vou."
 
 20 ROSE OF WOODLER. 
 
 " Will you indeed i how nice that will be !" 
 cried Rose, and she danced about in the glee 
 of a young and guileless heart. 
 
 " But Frank forgets that he is not yet quite 
 his own master," said Margaret, with perhaps 
 a little pique from his last reproof. 
 
 '' Not a bit of it ; leave me to settle all that, 
 Miss Maggy; — but come, what shall we do ^ 
 a romp or a ramble, girls I Rose, what do i/oii 
 say r 
 
 " I ought to go home, I think. I only came 
 to tell you my news ; and mamma will miss me." 
 
 " Home ! pooh, we can't spare you to-night." 
 
 " No, indeed, you must stay," said Lucy; " so 
 let us go in, and tell our news ; and Frank, you 
 will run up to Woodlee and tell them not to 
 expect her, won't you V 
 
 "I go ! and alone ! — nay, send Bob, Lucy 
 dear." 
 
 " You know he has hurt his foot." 
 
 " But I cannot go alone. ^' 
 
 " I will go with you, brother," said Grace, a 
 younger sister. 
 
 *' Come, then, " said Frank ; " but Rose,
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 21 
 
 you had better ask your mother's leave your- 
 self, had you not T' 
 
 " Yes, I think I had," replied Eose ; and 
 laughing and blushing, they bounded away 
 together.
 
 22 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " When love glided into my bosom, scared}- did the tender 
 down shade the cheek of my lover." — From the Arabic. 
 
 I HAVE given one sketch from their childhood, 
 for even in childhood their histories were linked ; 
 but will now pass at once to more active scenes. 
 Each has begun his separate career : Hose sits 
 among her aunt's apprentices, in a spacious 
 back room, plying her needle busily, and think- 
 ing — not of the gay scenes which these fine 
 dresses are destined to adorn, but of the broad 
 Thames, and the unseen ocean ; on one of 
 which she knows that Frank now must be. 
 Then she recalls each word and little incident 
 of their last parting (now three days since), 
 and gazes on the little inlaid workbox he gave 
 her. 
 
 " Dear brother Frank !" she nnn-murs half 
 aloud : and the other girls laugh, for they
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 23 
 
 know she is an only child. Then Rose blushes, 
 and talks carelessly of her sister Lucy and her 
 brother Charlie, and says she calls them all 
 brothers and sisters ; and as she is niece to 
 ]Mrs. Massiter, they laugh no more. But they 
 know the embryo passion in Rose's heart better 
 than she herself. 
 
 And thus she goes on for many months, 
 working diligently, for she finds herself useful 
 to her kind aunt ; but not neglecting the les- 
 sons of her masters in French and music. She 
 is her aunt's pride, and her companions' fa- 
 vourite, and is very happy. She remembers 
 Frank and all the Merrivals very tenderly, 
 and spends more of her pocket-money in send- 
 ing little articles of finery to Lucy and Mar- 
 garet, than in her own adornment. Still she 
 forms new friendships, which occupy much 
 more of her mind^ if not of her heart, than they 
 do ; for she is but a child, and absence, though 
 it cannot destroy sincere attachments, yet al- 
 most always lulls them to sleep : the next 
 meeting awakens them, and it is then that the 
 accounts are made up, and we discover whether
 
 24 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 all that is past is also concluded ; or whether 
 it was the commencement only of a train of 
 tender feelings, to end perhaps with life alone. 
 Eose began to be romantic, too ; and to read 
 novels when she could procure them : foolish 
 things most of them were (and so both her 
 kind aunt and her own good sense told her) ; — 
 still, she loved to follow the careers of unna- 
 tural heroines, and wonder how she should have 
 acted under such and such circumstances. And 
 she read of love, fond and true ; clinging to its 
 favourite object with wondrous tenacity ; and 
 though she thought sometimes that it could 
 have been better conquered, or bestowed on a 
 more deserving suppliant, still it seemed to her 
 a very fine thing to love on for ever, right or 
 wrong, when once the faith was plighted : and 
 so she resolved to do — only she determined to 
 be very careful that her lover icas deserving, 
 before she trusted her happiness to him. And 
 when she read of fine-named misses of fourteen 
 or fifteen with half-a-dozen suitors at their feet, 
 she would wonder when her turn would come ; 
 and sometimes wish for it.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 25 
 
 Still, Rose was a sensible girl, and viewed all 
 these things with such simplicity, that they 
 scarcely produced more romance or sentiment- 
 alism in her bosom, than is the natural growth 
 of every young girl's heart that is of soft 
 and gentle mould : only the conversation and 
 confidences of her companions being more real, 
 might have been more injurious to a less pure 
 mind. 
 
 I like young people, especially girls, to lodge 
 a portion of romance in their bosoms ; it is the 
 spring of a thousand delicious emotions, and 
 beautiful and generous thoughts : if it paints 
 in false colours, they are ever more beautiful 
 than the true, and though it deludes, the delu- 
 sions are harmless and delightful. Its dreams 
 of friendship, of love, of heroism, may be im- 
 practicable in this "work a-day world,"" but it 
 is they which shed the golden halo round life's 
 sweetest season, and reflected, afar-off, chequer 
 with light even its latest years. 
 
 Romance, indeed, is a dangerous guide in 
 action^ for he feels rather than thinks ; but 
 with Principle at the helm, and Good -sense for 
 VOL. I. c
 
 26 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 a pilot, he never leads to error : and I question 
 if, poor fellow ! he has not often been unjustly 
 accused as the instigator of foolish deeds, which 
 might be traced to some less justifiable source. 
 
 But leaving Rose to the indulgence of the 
 soft and fanciful dreams of romance, we must 
 now follow the light-hearted Frank to the stern 
 realities with which he had to struggle in his 
 active life. 
 
 At this point I begin to shrink from my 
 task. The phantoms of the unnumbered and 
 admirable sea novels that have of late years 
 charmed the reading public, while all smiles to 
 others, look threateningly on me, and proudly 
 warn me from the element over which they 
 justly claim despotic rule. 
 
 What shall I do ? The necessities of my 
 story urge me on, and must be attended to ; 
 but too greatly do I fear shipwreck, to venture 
 needlessly on the great waters. My humble 
 experience has been limited to a few brief 
 steam voyages in the British seas, — so be mer- 
 ciful, oh my readers ! and remember that it is 
 not presumption which urges me to venture so
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 27 
 
 far from my native shores, but necessity which 
 drives me to the perilous step. 
 
 And now — where point the imperfect data of 
 my tale ? Alas I hoio imperfect. 
 
 They say, Frank sailed ; but they neither 
 name the ship nor the commander. Let me, 
 then, supply these deficiencies, — calling the one 
 the " Pearl,**" and assigning to the other the 
 name of Hotham. 
 
 Even the destined port I cannot tell ; but 
 since the vessel never again dropped anchor in 
 its roads, this may be spared ; only I have 
 learnt that it was freighted for the West Indian 
 market, and was intended to return with a cargo 
 of sugars and coifee. 
 
 The ship was of large size, and having an 
 excellent character for safety and comfort, bore 
 on this voyage a considerable number of pas- 
 sengers : but this information might better 
 have been spared than that of our young hero, 
 Frank's, situation on board. This important 
 point I must, then, leave to the knowledge or 
 imaginations of my readers, being pledged, in 
 
 c2
 
 28 ROSE OF WOODLEE, 
 
 this true narrative, to draw as little as possible 
 upon my own. 
 
 Some persons appear to have received from 
 nature the invaluable boon of becoming fa- 
 vourites wherever they go (which seems to me 
 almost equivalent to endowing them with hap- 
 piness ready made) ; and Frank Merrival was 
 one of these enviable objects. The young and 
 old, the grave and gay, the w^ise and foolish, 
 the rough and polished, all loved him before he 
 had sailed a fortnight in the " Pearl,'' — and 
 this without the least effort on his part ; if, in- 
 deed, the very absence of effort were not one 
 cause of the extent of his conquests. 
 
 There was something in the careless glad- 
 ness of his laugh, in the openness of his brow, 
 in the frankness of his speech, in the courtesy 
 of his manners, and the energy and spirit of his 
 actions, that appeared to equalize him with 
 every rank, age, and sex : and I verily believe 
 that many in that ship may have been as ig- 
 norant as ourselves as to his situation on board ; 
 particularly as Captain Hothan (who was an 
 obliged and grateful friend of his father) treated
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 29 
 
 him in all respects with affection and consider- 
 ation. 
 
 As to Frank himself, the first few days of 
 sickness over, he pined no longer for the shore, 
 but delighted in all he beheld, and at once 
 loved the profession of his choice, with an en- 
 thusiasm which plainly indicated that it was 
 this only for which nature had destined him. 
 
 Only one thing gave him concern, only one 
 thing ever drew from him a sigh. A young 
 lady on board had with her a little rose-tree, 
 which she used to bring on deck almost daily 
 to let it experience the benefit of fresh air and 
 sunshine ; and Frank, associating it somehow 
 with his own " Rose of Woodlee," always re- 
 garded it with the greatest interest. I know 
 not if the young lady assumed herself as the 
 object of this interest, — but when, despite, or 
 perchance in consequence of, their mutual fos- 
 tering, the poor rose -tree drooped and died, she 
 sighed even more deeply than Frank, to find 
 that the point of attraction was gone. 
 
 Prosperous gales had urged them on their 
 course, no storms had alarmed, no sickness had
 
 30 ROSE OF ^YOODLEE. 
 
 distressed, nor had even the heat been seriously 
 inconvenient. 
 
 " In three days, ladies, — in three days, we 
 may hope to hail the land,'' said Captain Ho- 
 tham. And a buzz of pleasure and reciprocal 
 congratulations followed the announcement. 
 
 " I never remember so quick, or so pleasant 
 a passage," continued the skipper. ^'It will put 
 you in good-humour with the sea, youngster/' 
 he added, addressing Frank ; " but you must 
 not expect such smooth sailing always." 
 
 " I should be sorry if it were so/' replied 
 Frank ; " I should soon tire when the novelty 
 was over. It was perils and disasters, and the 
 love of adventures, that made me choose a sea- 
 life ; and without them, one might almost as 
 well be ashore." 
 
 " You speak foolishly, Merrival," said the 
 captain, gravely : " let not him that putteth on 
 his armour boast himself, as him that putteth it 
 off." 
 
 Was there a foreboding in our skipper's heart 
 as he said this ? 
 
 " Aye, aye," chimed in the mate, " you may
 
 ROSE OF AVOODLEE. 31 
 
 be a pretty good fair weather sailor, but yoirve 
 yet to be tried in the foul !" 
 
 '* There is little chance of the trial this trip, 
 Fm afraid," said Frank, as he glanced at the 
 " blue serene " of the heavens, unbroken by the 
 slightest cloud.
 
 S2 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " Then issues forth the storm with sudden burst, 
 And hurls the whole precipitated air 
 Down, in a torrent. On the passive main 
 Descends th' etherial force, and with strong gust 
 Turns from the bottom the discoloured deep." — 
 
 Thomson. 
 
 " At dawn how changed seemed all !" Dark 
 clouds lay in heavy masses on every side of the 
 horizon, creeping onwards with steady but 
 almost imperceptible motion, undiscoverable 
 save by the diminished expanse of the blue 
 above. 
 
 The east was only marked by the more lurid 
 tints which gleamed through the dun vapours 
 from the rising sun, but his light seemed delayed, 
 and even thicker darkness gathered as the 
 morning hour advanced. It appeared as if 
 some mighty weight, urged onwards by restless
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. S3 
 
 force, was pressing towards the ship, which 
 powerlessly awaited the fate which every moment 
 brought more near. Portentous shadows moved 
 over the surface of the deep, each pressing for- 
 ward to the post assigned ; while yet the vessel 
 moved in a line of light, beneath the one blue 
 spot in the wilderness of cloud. 
 
 A strange unnatural silence rendered more 
 terrible the gathering gloom ; — not a breath of 
 wind sighed amid the cordage, or agitated the 
 sails, which still however kept steadily full 
 enough to urge the " PearP"' slowly through the 
 waters : but the very waves seemed muffled, 
 only uttering a low dull murmur as they parted 
 before her prow. 
 
 Even at this early hour, every passenger was 
 on deck ; — they 'could not breathe below, and 
 as the day advanced, some were seen stretched 
 listlessly upon the benches, while others, of 
 more irritable temperaments, paced the deck at 
 intervals, gasping for breath, or fanning them- 
 selves with their handkerchiefs. 
 
 The duty of the ship was done ; — she still 
 kept on her course slowly but steadily, nor had 
 
 c3
 
 
 'i»irtlL«!LfEr' 
 
 Wlpr»r
 
 Xjit.' 
 
 loy 
 
 bemrcekcd 
 fine Iftcre «c 
 
 «i Vfee cot;
 
 36 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Frank laughed. *' Now you are xvorse than 
 myself. Miss Hetherington ; for you are wishing 
 for an actual wreck, and I only desired a storm : 
 h«iceforth I must be acquitted from all blame." 
 
 " It is well that you young people have not 
 our destinies in your hands," said Captain 
 Hotham ; '* but I have an idea that you will 
 both be cured of your adventurous fancies be- 
 fore many hours have passed." 
 
 •• I confess this is not exactly what I ex- 
 pected," said Frank, *' there is no action here, 
 — no excitement, — but a suffocating oppression, 
 — the very breeze is hot as it passes my cheek." 
 
 •• We shall not have even that soon ;" said 
 the skipper, as he again looked anxiously 
 around. 
 
 In fact, as evening approached, the breeze 
 grew fainter and fainter, and as the sun set it 
 completely died away, and the sails flapped 
 idly against the mast : at the same time, a 
 long low roU of distant thunder swept round 
 the western horizon, like a salute of guns to 
 the departing luminary, and the waters heaved, 
 as if the thunder peal had sounded from its
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 37 
 
 inmost depths, while the ship was borne up- 
 wards with a slow and solemn swell, and sunk 
 trembling down again, shaking, as if with 
 terror ; but soon all was still and silent as 
 before. 
 
 " How awful !'' burst from almost every lip. 
 But no more words were spoken, and mothers 
 sate with their children's hands clasped ten- 
 derly in theirs, or husbands with their arms 
 thrown round their trembling wives, giving the 
 feeling, but, alas ! no reality, of protection. 
 
 The men silently obeyed the few orders of 
 the captain ; but when all was done that the 
 most prudent foresight could suggest, they too 
 stood looking apprehensively upon the heavens. 
 
 Few spoke, and those only in whispers ; and 
 these very whispers sounded strange and por- 
 tentous in the breathless stillness of the air. 
 
 " 'Twas listening fear, and dumb amazement all." 
 
 One lady, overcome either by the excitement 
 of over-strained feelings, or by the dull oppres- 
 sion of the atmosphere, suddenly fainted ; 
 others trembled visibly, and Captain Hotham
 
 o5 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 took advantage of the occurrence, to beg all 
 the ladies, at least, to go below; but they clung 
 the closer together, and few showed any dis- 
 position to comply ; it seemed terrible to them 
 anywhere, but most so when separated from 
 those to whom they looked for support. 
 
 This state of things lasted about half-an- 
 hour ; it had become momentarily more dark, 
 and now it w-as utter night, unbroken save by 
 the phosphorescent light of the heavy-rolling 
 waves. 
 
 Suddenly, when the suspense w^as becoming 
 unendurable, a movement was felt in the air, 
 and a soft, warm, sulphurous breath passed 
 slowly along the deck with a sighing sound, as 
 of a living thing. There was a gasp from 
 many lips, a sudden hush, and the sound of 
 hysteric weeping ; — feelings wound up to the 
 utmost could bear no more : two fine children 
 (in brighter hours, the laughing playmates of 
 every one on board), already frightened at the 
 unwonted darkness, now screamed aloud in 
 their parents' arms, as their nurses' stories 
 of silent spirits shot across their minds.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 39 
 
 They were carried struggling to their berths ; 
 and Captain Hotham again urged that the ex- 
 ample should be generally followed. A few of 
 the most sensible, and of the most timid, moved 
 half-reluctantly towards the companion ladders; 
 but ere the first had reached the shelter of the 
 cabin, a blinding flash of lightning burst from 
 the rent bosom of a lurid cloud, and was imme- 
 diately followed by a thunder-peal so tremen- 
 dous, so prolonged, that the deep seemed torn 
 to its foundations, the order of the waves was 
 disturbed — they heaved — they tossed — they 
 broke in every direction ; and the ship quivered 
 in each plank. 
 
 It was no rolling peal, no sudden outbreak, 
 increasing gradually in force, and gradually 
 dying away ; but the bursting of long suppressed 
 wrath, in one tremendous crash ; — each thunder 
 clap was distinct and terrible, — each struck on 
 the stunned ear with fearful distinctness, and 
 smote the heart with awe beyond expression. 
 
 It ceased, and no instant movement followed 
 in the ship : but when Frank Merrival, among 
 the first, cast his eyes around, he beheld
 
 40 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 scene that was for ever impressed upon his 
 memory. 
 
 Each stood transfixed, in the attitudes into 
 which they had been thrown by tlie first stun- 
 ning peal ; some had buried their faces in their 
 hands, to veil their eyes from the blinding light- 
 ning; others had vainly endeavoured to stop 
 their ears ; some with their hands pressed to- 
 gether, looked wildly up to the heavens as if 
 entranced; some dear relatives were clasped in 
 a convulsive embrace in each other's arms ; and 
 a few had thrown themselves prostrate upon 
 the deck ; servants clung to their mistresses' 
 feet ; and every countenance — the rough sai- 
 lor'*s as the timid girl's,— was stamped with the 
 same impress of wondering awe. 
 
 It was but a moment's glance which fixed 
 this scene indelibly upon Frank's memory ; for 
 the spell in which all seemed bound was in- 
 stantly broken by the voice of Captain Hotham. 
 
 " All hands for'ard here to cut away the 
 mast ! — quick with your axes, quick !" 
 
 There was no longer darkness, no longer 
 stillness on board the " Pearl :" a niddv liffht
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 41 
 
 was shed on the pale, upturned faces of the 
 passengers; for a fearful torch was lighted in 
 the midst of them. The foremast had been 
 struck by the lightning; and dry as it was 
 with the previous heat of the weather, the 
 fierce flames crept rapidly down it, crackling 
 and hissing like a huge serpent of fire. 
 
 The shouts of the men, and the heavy strokes 
 of their axes, were mingled with the shrieks of 
 women, and the confusion of many voices ; — 
 for fear takes a thousand effects on different 
 individuals, awe has but one ; its eloquence is 
 mute. 
 
 Few words were needed now to clear the 
 decks ; the ladies, after this fearful example 
 of the lightning's force, exhausted with their 
 emotions, went below, almost with one consent, 
 and, either from choice or persuasion, the 
 greater part of the gentlemen passengers ac- 
 companied them. 
 
 The mast was (piickly cleared away ; and be- 
 fore it had communicated its mischief to any 
 other part, it fell, hissing, overboard, throwing 
 a partial glare upon the dark waters, on whose
 
 42 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 surface it lay smouldering, and almost motion- 
 less, — an object for the gaze of the few re- 
 maining idle hands on deck. 
 
 The thunders and the lightnings still con- 
 tinued, but the monstrous cloud that bore them 
 had sailed onwards in some upper current of 
 air ; and its terrors were now poured forth on 
 some distant part of the great deep, where 
 were no living souls to tremble ])eneath its 
 weight. Others, however, pressed onwards in 
 the same course, whose fury the poor " Pearl" 
 was doomed to await ; for the air around her 
 continued stirless and heavy, and the sea be- 
 calmed, while occasionally an agitated swell 
 heaved its bosom as with a mighty sigh. 
 
 The worst feature of this night of horror had, 
 however, passed away, to return no more. I 
 mean inaction. This it is that makes women 
 so pitiable in the hour of tumult and of trouble 
 — they can do nothing. They have leisure to 
 apprehend a thousand evils, and are powerless 
 to avert the least of them ; while man, privi- 
 leged to act, loses, in the employment of his 
 energies, the present sense of the very evils he 
 is labouring to avert.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 43 
 
 Though now in the midst of the dangers they 
 had before feared, every countenance on deck 
 of the " Pearl" looked animated, every figure 
 active ; for while they knew that strength and 
 knowledge might alike be vain against the 
 wrath of storms and tempests, still there was 
 something to be done, and they were com- 
 paratively happy. 
 
 The loss of the mast was repaired in the best 
 manner the time and darkness allowed, and 
 the sails were set to catch the breeze that 
 Captain Hotham now momentarily expected. 
 The latter was still busy giving directions, and 
 seeing them properly executed ; but Frank 
 Merrival now stood unoccupied, gazing, with 
 folded arms, upon the strange form of a huge 
 cloud, low hanging in the firmament, and whose 
 outline was clearly defined by the dull yellowish 
 hue of its margin. Thus gazing, he was sud- 
 denly startled by a whisper at his side, and a 
 gentle hand was laid upon his arm. 
 
 "Mr. Merrival r 
 
 " Miss Hetherington !" 
 
 " I thought it was you f ' said the poor girl
 
 44 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 in the same low voice, '• I have kept near you 
 whenever I could; — whenever those terrible 
 lightning flashes shewed me whereabouts you 
 were.' 
 
 "But why do you not go below f asked 
 Frank in some surprise. — '• Shall I take you 
 down ■ you will be much better there.^' 
 
 '' I went down with the rest," replied she, 
 ''but I could not stay: — oh, it was so stifling 
 there ! and they all cling together, Mr. Mer- 
 rival, and comfort and cheer each other — some 
 weeping and embracing, and some praying to- 
 gether: but I have nobody, you know — I am 
 alone — quite alone ! — if I died, nobody would 
 mourn me." 
 
 ''^Fie. fie. Miss Hetherington ! " replied 
 Frank, drawing her arm orentlv through his. 
 • It is not like you to nurse these depressing 
 thoughts!'' 
 
 "But I am so frightened in a thunder storm ! 
 and do you know'' (she said in a still lower 
 voice) " my mother was killed in one, — she 
 was sheltering under a tree, and— good God I 
 what a flash was there !''
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 45 
 
 There was a hush till the thunder peal was 
 over, and then Frank turned to reassure the 
 trembling girl, who clung to him, sobbing con- 
 vulsively. 
 
 '* Miss Hetherington, dear Miss Hether- 
 ington, let me persuade you to go below I — in- 
 deed you will be safer there ; and I will stay 
 with you, if you like, whenever I can be spared.*' 
 
 '• No. no,'' she cried, ** I dare not go down. 
 I am under Captain Hotham's protection- you 
 know, and he is here : I cannot, indeed, bear 
 to be among them all below, who are ready to 
 die or live together .'^ 
 
 • But you are going to an under interrupted 
 Frank, *• he and your cousins wUl love vou." 
 
 ••Just listen to that long, long, thunder 
 roll I'' cried the half bewildered girl. ^Mr. Mer- 
 rival— Frank — tell me'' (and she laid her cold 
 trembling hand on his), '' do you think there is 
 really any danger note ? * 
 
 The heavy sulphureous cloud that Frank had 
 already noticed, now hung (a fearful curtain) 
 directly over the ship; — even as she spoke, 
 unnumbered lishtninors darted tbeir forked
 
 46 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 tongues from every side : hither and thither 
 leapt the fateful fires, as if they would lick up 
 the deep in their wrath : they seemed to play 
 among the cordage of the ship ; to pierce the 
 deck, to inflame, to consume, to devour : — and 
 the successive crashes of the stunning thunder, 
 like a visible weight, crushed down the labour- 
 ing vessel into the boiling surge, that now 
 hurled on high its foamed crowned waves, as if 
 in vain defiance of the power that had awaked 
 its wrath. 
 
 In the first moment of these flashing fires, 
 Frank's face had been bowed to whisper com- 
 fort into his companion's ear ; — she was his 
 first thought when the terrors of the clouds 
 abated, and he turned again to reassure her, 
 and to bear her, even by force, to a safer spot. 
 Alas ! what a sight met then the poor boy's 
 eyes ! Her last question still seemed to ring in 
 his ears, — and now — behold her, stretched at 
 his feet, a lifeless corpse ! — disfigured, disco- 
 loured, and shrivelled, by the fires of heaven, so 
 that none on earth might say, " This was she!" 
 Poor Frank ! He stood there, stupified with
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 47 
 
 the sudden shock, and gazing vacantly on the 
 altered form before him ; while recollection 
 fast poured in each little incident that had 
 occurred between them ; every word she had 
 spoken appeared to rush back distinctly upon 
 his mind ; until she whom a short half-hour 
 since he regarded not, and scarcely even liked 
 as an acquaintance, now gained such interest in 
 his mind, that he mourned the friendless girl 
 almost with a brother's love. 
 
 The last few minutes seemed incessantly re- 
 acted in every instant of time — wliat moment 
 then had wrought this awful change I — " Do 
 you think there is really any danger now V^ — 
 He had seen the motion of her pale lips as she 
 spoke the words, and her wild upturned gaze : 
 and then came that blinding flash — and he re - 
 membered that he had heard at his side a low 
 half-stifled shriek, and had felt the soft cold 
 hand slip from his ; — but blinded and deafened 
 and absorbed, he had not then marked these 
 things ; and lo ! — where now she lay ! 
 
 The thunders still pealed around him, filling 
 the air with a ceaseless rumbling sound, like
 
 48 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 the noise of a battle afar off; and the successive 
 flashes bathed the skies in light, — but Frank 
 heeded them not ; he remained there still trans- 
 fixed, while busily worked his mind, and bore 
 him to his much-loved home. What hindered 
 but that he had been the victim? — hand in 
 hand they had stood, and " one was taken and 
 the other left." He pictured in his excited 
 mind his parents^ and his sisters^ grief, had the 
 red flash but changed its destined course a few 
 short inches, — he thought of the tears of his 
 own little Rose of Woodlee, — and the withered 
 rose-tree of the poor girl before him, mingled 
 with his fancies : he knelt, and wept passion- 
 ately : 
 
 " and thus relieved his heart, 
 Full even to bursting else with swelling thought." 
 
 Frank took no account of time ; he knew not 
 if long or short had been the period of his re- 
 veries ; but he was roused by a voice suddenly 
 exclaiming, " Hollo, captain ! here's another, — 
 and a woman !" 
 
 Frank started to his feet ; and catching hold 
 of Captain Hotham's arm, said hurriedly, " It 
 is Miss Hetherington."'
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 49 
 
 " Poor girl !'' cried Hotham, waving off the 
 gathering crowd, " how came she on deck at 
 such a time ? Merrival, is this your doing V 
 
 " Thank God, no, sir. She came on deck in 
 the very restlessness of fear, and I would have 
 taken her down again, when that awful flash — '' 
 
 " Which flash, when all were awful V inter- 
 rupted the captain ; " but this is no time for 
 particulars. Unhappy girl, I believe she has 
 no heart but mine to mourn her loss ; — more 
 fortunate in this than those other victims, 
 whose widows' wailings fill the ship with 
 horror." 
 
 " Other victims ?" said Frank. 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied Captain Hotham, shud- 
 dering; "Mr. Herbert, poor Mant, and a ship- 
 boy dead, and a sailor blinded. But go, — bear 
 her away, lads, gently with the rest ! This is 
 terrible, terrible," he muttered as he walked 
 away; " and not yet over !" 
 
 VOL.
 
 50 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Who knows how soon the gods decree 
 To close the joys which now invite ? 
 To-day is ours ; but shall we see 
 To-morrow's light ?" — 
 
 Translation from Horace's Odes. 
 
 "And not yet over !'' repeated Frank ; and he 
 looked around, and became alive again to the 
 present scene. 
 
 There was need, in truth, for every one to be 
 on the alert. The mass of cloud was broken 
 up into the wildest forms, which were driven 
 rapidly through the upper air. It was no longer 
 oppressive ; — fitful blasts, the harbingers of the 
 gale, shook out the sails, and died away again : 
 a rushing sound as of " mighty rains'"* filled 
 every pause in the artillery of heaven, and the 
 waves dashed heavily over each other, lifting 
 their dark forms menacingly around the ship, 
 like monsters clamouring for prey.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 51 
 
 And other sounds mingled not unfitly with 
 these horrid concords ; — the voice of passionate 
 weeping, the wails of grief, of terror, of despair ; 
 — wives and children mourning over husbands 
 and fathers snatched from them in a moment ; 
 and one, with every hope of the future swal- 
 lowed in that one loss. Mrs. Mant, with three 
 helpless children, was now without a prospect 
 of protection, comfort, or support ; — the situa- 
 tion her husband had procured on one of our 
 islands, was all they had to trust to upon earth : 
 and that all was lost with him. 
 
 " And these are the woes worked by a storm,"" 
 says Frank, musingly ; " how fearfully then 
 has my idle wish been gratified ! and — it is not 
 yet over." 
 
 " Spread the mainsail there," shouted the 
 captain ; " the wind comes now, and the right 
 one, thank God !" 
 
 The wind came, and with it a deluge of rain, 
 which threatened to beat the men down from 
 their perilous footing ; which flooded the decks 
 from end to end, and drove all hurriedly below 
 whom the duties of the ship did not compel to 
 
 d2 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOI
 
 52 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 remain on deck. Such was the din, that every 
 order had to be shouted into the ears of the 
 men, and scarcely could they be executed amid 
 the ragings of the tempest : the §ea was one 
 mass of foam, and beat over the high sides of 
 the ship, washing away every tiling that was 
 not secured, and driving her through the waves 
 with an almost fearful speed. 
 
 Morning began to break, and the strong 
 breeze grew more and more tempestuous; al- 
 most every sail v,as obliged to be clewed up, 
 though each moment made the captain more 
 desirous of making land. Fast, fast went the 
 " Pearl" through the waters, plunging now into 
 caverns of the deep, and vomited forth again 
 with a force which almost hurled it from the 
 bosom of the foaming billows, amidst which she 
 was submerged the next moment still more 
 fearfully. 
 
 No craft could endure this long, and the 
 " Pearl" was crippled in almost every part, nor 
 could the men longer work the ship, for every 
 minute was heard the agonized cry of some one 
 washed overboard ; many, never to rise from
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 53 
 
 the engulphing wave. All day the storm en- 
 dured, and night settled on the seas in deepest 
 gloom ; though at this time the cessation of the 
 rain gave some relief to the diminished number 
 of the worn-out mariners. 
 
 Next morning the sea still ran high ; but the 
 sun shone over the waste of waters, and the 
 clouds melted away before his smiles. 
 
 But, alas ! the hopes that sprung to many a 
 breast at this more cheerful aspect of the morn, 
 were soon destroyed by the announcement that 
 the ship had sprung a dangerous leak, which 
 had already gained fearfully upon them. The 
 pumps were manned without an instant's delay; 
 but so rapidly rushed in the waters, that their 
 utmost exertions could only delay their fate, 
 and thus afford a feeble hope of aid arriving. 
 
 Despair sunk on every heart ; they worked, 
 — but, exhausted with pre\ious suffering, they 
 worked heavily. The ship was lightened of 
 almost the whole of her cargo, and every male 
 passenger lent his hand to the task ; while the 
 ladies dragged themselves once more on deck, 
 to breathe the air of heaven, — but presenting a
 
 54 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 perfect contrast to the gay and smiling groups 
 that but three clays since had trifled the hours 
 away in the same spot. They knew that there 
 was danger, — they read it in the gloomy counte- 
 nances of those dear to them, wlien they saw 
 them in brief intervals of toil ; but the vessel 
 now went tranquilly through the waters, the 
 billows gradually subsided, and their fears were 
 tranquillized : to them, the danger had before 
 appeared more imminent. 
 
 All day they toiled, and all day without di- 
 minishing the water in the hold ; they had in- 
 deed succeeded in keeping it at the same level, 
 but now the strength of every one was ex- 
 hausted, and many refused to labour more. 
 Some, indeed, fainted from fatigue ; others, 
 little used to hard labour, were so stiff" as to 
 be unable to do more, had life depended even 
 upon their individual exertions ; and between 
 those who could not, and those who would not, 
 work, about sunset the pumps stood still. 
 
 "The ladies must go below!"' said Captain 
 Hotham, gloomily. " Frank, my lad, try and 
 clear the quarter-deck of them: there is no
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 55 
 
 need to give them another wretched night of 
 alarm ; so comfort and cheer them if possible, 
 and let them sleep in peace ; — try, too, to get 
 rid of old Montague, and that fool, Harcourt, 
 if possible ; for we want only stout hearts at 
 our council/' 
 
 The skipper, with folded arms and downcast 
 eyes, paced thoughtfully to and fro, while Frank 
 went to perform his mission. 
 
 No one, indeed, could be better calculated to 
 disarm the ladies of their increasing fears : he 
 had a laugh for one, a considerate word for an- 
 other, and cheerful kindness for all ; he soon 
 conducted them to the cabin, and left them 
 drinking their tea with perfect confidence in 
 their safety for the night ; though he concealed 
 not from them that graver dangers might await 
 them on the morrow, which was, he urged, a 
 further reason why they should recruit their 
 strength by a good night's rest. 
 
 In fact, an hour later, most of them, worn 
 out by the previous night of wakeful terrors, 
 slept soundly and peacefully ; and if some few, 
 in mourning the past, or anticipating the fu-
 
 66 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 ture, yielded not so early to the power of the 
 sleepy god, at least their resistance was van- 
 quished ere half the night had fled. 
 
 Meantime, young Merrival returned on deck ; 
 all there was unchanged. The captain still 
 paced backwards and forwards, with care on 
 his brow, and on him every anxious eye was 
 turned. 
 
 When Frank joined him, he looked up, and 
 suddenly throwing off his abstraction, sum- 
 moned the crew and passengers around him. 
 
 Instantly all were in motion ; the sailors, 
 with firm steps and a species of sullen resolu- 
 tion in their countenances, gathered together 
 upon the quarter-deck ; the passengers, with 
 every varied expression, from manly courage 
 to anxiety, indifference, gloom, and fear, ap- 
 proached to hear from Captain Hotham their 
 doom : and he, with the courage of one who is 
 always " prepared for any fate,"" disclosed to 
 them, in unfaltering accents, the imminence of 
 their peril. 
 
 The fear of death is rarely very strong in 
 youth, and Frank was not so deeply occupied
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. .)7 
 
 by this foeling, as not to bo vividly impressed 
 with the wihl picturesqueness of the scene. 
 
 He often afterwards described the effect of 
 the full moonlight upon the pale, upturned 
 faces of that mingled crowd, as they listened 
 breathlessly to the words which announced, 
 as certain, the fate which eacli had previously 
 feared. 
 
 Captain Hotliam, after touching upon the 
 dangers they had already passed through, and 
 the injuries the ship had received from the 
 winged lightnings, proceeded to explain how 
 the fury of the subsequent tempest had not 
 only prevented these injuries from being effi- 
 ciently repaired, but had fearfully increased 
 them : this, he said, it was due to his own 
 credit to explain, that if any escaped from the 
 more certain danger now hanging over them. 
 they might vindicate his conduct. 
 
 A few voices raised in approbation, here in- 
 terrupted him, and he proceeded. 
 
 " My friends, it is needless to explain to you 
 the nature of the peril in which we stand ; — 
 it is plain to all, — for to all T liavc to offer my 
 
 d3
 
 58 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 thanks for their individual exertions through- 
 out this trying day. The leak now gains fast 
 upon us, and we have no longer strength to 
 oppose the inroad of the waters, if even our 
 exertions could now avail to save the ship. 
 You have, I trust, courage to hear the worst ! 
 — I think she cannot float long after the mor- 
 row's dawn." 
 
 A deep silence followed this announcement ; 
 and then a sound, as of an universal sigh, 
 broke forth, and a few murmuring words of 
 prayer or resignation ; some hands were si- 
 lently clasped together ; some eyes were turned 
 solemnly towards the moonlit heavens, and the 
 sailors shifted their attitudes, and coughed 
 away their emotion. 
 
 Frank's voice was next heard, calm, though 
 a little tremulous in its tones. 
 
 " What, then, is to be done, captain I for 
 we are not all, I suppose, to look upon our- 
 selves as lost, yet ? and as I have dear ones to 
 mourn me at home, I would fain cling to life, 
 and hope while I can."' 
 
 *' Yes, surely you can do something to save
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 59 
 
 US r cried several passengers, impatiently ; and 
 their countenances at once lost the expression 
 of resignation, which the first announcement of 
 the state of the " Pearl,'' had impressed upon 
 them. 
 
 " Gentlemen," resumed Captain Hotham, " it 
 was to consult on our next movements that I 
 assembled you here together ; for this is a 
 matter in which we are equally concerned. 
 Happily this is no sudden calamity ; time is 
 before us to determine and to prepare. Hap- 
 pily, too, though, from our delays, we cannot 
 make our port at the time we had expected, 
 some of the islands on the coast of New Granada 
 cannot be far distant. The ship, slowly and 
 heavily as she now ploughs the waters, is bear- 
 ing us towards them ; and my advice is, that 
 we cling to her while she continues to lessen 
 our distance ; but have all prepared for taking 
 to the boats when morning breaks." 
 
 " Open boats will be very dangerous in such 
 a sea !" exclaimed one passenger : " is there 
 no other chance. Captain Hotham ?" 
 
 '* I wish, Mr. Montague,"" replied the skipper.
 
 60 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 '* that there were even open boats for all on 
 board ; but there lies our greatest difficulty ; 
 the largest broke adrift in the storm, and the 
 two remaining can scarcely contain half of us." 
 
 Then suddenly arose a murmur, widely dif- 
 ferent indeed from the preceding. When the 
 same fate was common to all, it was useless to 
 complain ; but when part only appeared to 
 have a chance of safety, every voice at once 
 was raised in a Babel of exclamations. 
 
 With difficulty Hotham obtained silence, and 
 desired all who could swim to stand apart : 
 these, a considerable majority, he desired to 
 set about the construction of rafts, for their 
 own conveyance to neighbouring isles ; while 
 the rest, who, with the ladies and children, 
 were destined for the boats, w^ere employed in 
 bringing up what was most needful for their 
 provision. 
 
 For two hours the work went briskly for- 
 ward, beneath the glorious moonlight of the 
 tropics ; but at this time, dark clouds gathered 
 swiftly from the west, and, as if on that mis- 
 sion bent especially, soon veiled her beams, and
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 61 
 
 cast black shadows, like a funeral pall, over the 
 slowly sinking " Pearl.'** 
 
 None had foreseen this change ; it was felt 
 as an evil portent, and oppressed every heart. 
 But it did worse than this : for they who 
 before, had laboured as if in the light of day, 
 no longer seeing but by the fitful and red glare 
 of lanthorns and torches, proceeded slowly with 
 the work ; and, toil-worn and dispirited, some 
 threw down their tools, and skulking away, 
 flung themselves upon the deck, to murmur or 
 to sleep : while others, more mischievously still, 
 seizing the spirits which had been brought on 
 deck, under cover of the darkness, gave tliem- 
 selves up to the oblivion of intoxication ; and 
 ill-timed jests, oaths, and reckless laughter, 
 startled the ears of the few who yet, with heavy 
 hearts, pursued their midnight toil. 
 
 Morning, — the last morning that was to wake 
 on the once stately and well-appointed "Pearl," 
 broke at length : and with tottering steps, and 
 faces of pale dismay, gathered those doomed 
 ones on the disordered deck. 
 
 The sleepers — the ladies and frightened chil-
 
 62 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 dren — had been scared from their berths by the 
 rush of waters in their cabins ; half-dressed, — 
 shrieking, — they ran frantically about the deck, 
 vainly seeking husbands, brothers, or friends, 
 among the medley of distracted souls : the 
 drunken sailors cursed them, as they ran wildly 
 against them in their hurried search, but they 
 heeded it not then ; and helpless children, 
 clinging, in clamorous tears, to their mother's 
 garments, added to the confusion of the scene. 
 Some presented more touching groups — touch- 
 ing, from submission, and that best courage, 
 resignation. 
 
 Mrs. i\lant, the recent widow, was one of 
 these : her countenance was perfectly calm ; 
 the expression was sweet and thoughtful, and 
 only saddened when, turning from the raging wa- 
 ters, her eyes fell on her children. The youngest 
 slept even now upon her knees ; her arm was 
 around another trembling little one, whom she 
 soothed from time to time with speaking of 
 the heaven where now its father dwelt : but the 
 eldest boy stood proudly at her side, erect and 
 manfully : he grasped his mother's hand tightly
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 63 
 
 in his ; and, imitating her calmness, he looked 
 the while as though he would protect her. 
 
 Most, however, were clustered round the 
 boats and the unfinished rafts, ready in a mo- 
 ment to launch themselves upon the deep : the 
 clamour in these portions of the ship was ter- 
 rific. In vain Captain Hotham endeavoured, 
 by every argument, every command, to restore 
 order ; the most violent struggles took place 
 to gain favourable positions, and many cried 
 out to be permitted instantly to leave the 
 sinking ship. 
 
 It was, indeed, time ; but all the weakest 
 and most helpless individuals, thrust from the 
 place of strife, would then be left without a 
 hope of escape. 
 
 Frank was stationed on the look out with a 
 glass ; and once, borne on the summit of a 
 wave, he thought he saw a dark spot on the 
 horizon's verge. Again — again — yes, the land 
 was indeed in sight. He flew to his commander, 
 whispered the joyful news. 
 
 " Now, then !" cried Captain Hotham, "clear 
 away there ! Ladies, come for'ard : make 
 haste, pray !"
 
 64 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Some few gave way, as the trembling women, 
 under the protection of the skipper and the few 
 true hearts that continued to follow his direc- 
 tions, pressed forward towards the ])oats ; but 
 others pushed fiercely into the places thus va- 
 cated, and the confusion was renewed with 
 two-fold intensity. One or two officers, and 
 others who had arms, attempted to force a 
 passage for the ladies, now hurried forward by 
 their male relatives ; but many of these last, 
 instead of keeping the way open, strove to fol- 
 low their respective parties : and those who 
 had first gained possession of the boats, swore 
 they would cut them adrift if more were forced 
 into them. 
 
 " Hollo there !'"* cried a drunken sailor, who 
 balanced himself with difficulty upon the edge 
 of the larger boat, " if one other of you she 
 devils thrust your useless carcases into my ship, 
 I'll dash her overboard !" and, suiting the 
 action to the word, he aimed a fancied blow 
 with his huge fist, which, wasted ui)on air, 
 threw him from his balance ; and grinning with 
 imbecile rage, he plunged heavily into the rest- 
 less gulph— ^0 rise no more.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. Go 
 
 Taking advantage of tlie slight distraction, 
 which even now this incident occasioned, a 
 gentleman, pushing his wife before him, and 
 calling on his son to follow, jumped into the 
 boat. 
 
 For a moment, this additional weight threat- 
 ened to overbalance the already heavily laden 
 barque : " Confound them all !" cried young 
 Harcourt (who has been before noticed for his 
 timorous spirit) — " we shall be sunk if we are 
 not off directly f' and instantly cutting the 
 painter, the boat fell away from the ship. 
 
 *' Jump, jump, my boy I'* cried ^lontravers, 
 the father, who had last descended ; and the 
 mother stretched forth her arms imploringly. 
 The son, a fine youth of eighteen, obeyed : he 
 touched the side of the boat, but sunk immedi- 
 ately beneath : he rose again — his hand grasped 
 the edge, and several stretched out theirs to 
 aid him. 
 
 " Fools ! strike him down !'' shouted Har- 
 court again, " we are enough without him !" 
 
 Cries of " shame, shame I" replied to this 
 proposition ; but Harcourt, throwing himself
 
 66 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 towards that side of the boat, cried again, in a 
 voice sharpened with selfish fear, " Don't you 
 see how he weighs us down, he will sink us 
 all !" And as already young Montravers, with 
 the aid of those near him, was scrambling over 
 the side, he aimed a blow at his head with an 
 oar he held ; and stunned with the shock, the 
 poor youth sank heavily, amid the shrieks of his 
 mother, and the execrations of all upon Har- 
 court. 
 
 Frank Merrivale, busied till now upon deck, 
 yet saw this transaction, and catching the end 
 of a rope, threw himself over the stern. He 
 swam, he dived, he rose again, he saw an ob- 
 ject upon the waters ; again he struck out 
 gallantly — he laid his hand upon a human face 
 — the waves whelmed them both, and parted 
 them. Among the dashing billows he heard a 
 feeble cry; again, directed by the sound, he 
 seized the young Montravers : he grasped his 
 collar now — he felt the pulses beating in his 
 throat ; he lived then ! 
 
 So little way did the " Pearl" now make, 
 that all this was distinctly seen, and with some 
 difficultv, both were towed in.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. bi 
 
 Captain Ilotham himself was the first to re- 
 ceive them : " Courage!" he cried ; "these boys 
 have not been preserved this morning to perish 
 to-night ! And there were not wanting friendly 
 hearts, who could put to rest their own appre- 
 hensions, while they sought to restore the 
 exhausted youths : nor were their efforts in 
 vain. 
 
 The tumult on deck was now somewhat sub- 
 sided. Under Captain Hotham's immediate di- 
 rections, they proceeded with the construction of 
 rafts ; though now, that so many efficient hands 
 were gone, there was little chance of having 
 them finnly completed. 
 
 Half an hour had passed since Frank and 
 Montravers had been brought on board, and 
 they now were again on their feet. Montravers 
 expressed his gratitude with the warmth of a 
 generous heart ; but pointing to the boat, 
 already a little spot on the ocean, with tears 
 in his eyes, he exclaimed " My poor mother !" 
 
 Many looked wistfully on that object, and 
 wished that it had been their fortune to be 
 among those they deemed so much nearer to
 
 68 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 safety ; when suddenly the captain snatched 
 a glass. " By heavens ! those drunken fools 
 are squabbling in the boat !" 
 
 In fact, it seemed that they could not agree 
 what direction to pursue ; for now their sails 
 were set, now clewed up, and they rowed first 
 in one direction, then in another opposite. 
 " Now they are setting their sail again !'" cried 
 Hotham. " The devil ! what are they at I — 
 they have caught a puff of wind — the sail's torn 
 clean away ! — there they go ! all scrambling 
 and fighting together to larboard. By G — she's 
 
 He passed his glass to another ; — the boat 
 floated indeed keel uppermost, — and a few 
 black specks dotted the waves around. 
 
 "!My poor mother !" murmured Montravers, 
 again. He sank upon the deck and buried hfs 
 face in his hands ; but he wept not now, — 
 
 "Tears stood congealed, and coidd not flow!" 
 
 " Look out ! — our turn is come ! — now, my 
 men !'" cried Hotham, a moment after. " Frank, 
 my lad, how are you now ?"
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 69 
 
 " Quite well, I believe." 
 
 " That's right ! then run to the boat, and see 
 that all 's properly done this time : no scram- 
 bling — everything as orderly as a harbour sail ! 
 Captain Wyon — Mr. Bolland, will you hand 
 the ladies into the boat ? — quickly, if you 
 please, gentlemen ! Stand back, my men ! 
 Mrs. Mant, step forward pray !" 
 
 " How many men will that very small boat 
 hold. Captain Hotham ?" demanded Mr. ^Mont- 
 ague. 
 
 " Not more than five-and-twenty, Frank," 
 shouted he, without thinking it needful to reply 
 otherwise to the old gentleman. 
 
 " Only five-and-twenty ! and eleven of them 
 women and children !" cried Montague, el- 
 bowing his way against a frightened waiting- 
 woman. " What will become of me V 
 
 " Montravers ! — bring poor Montravers ! '' 
 cried Frank, as the number was fast making 
 up. 
 
 " Poor boy,'' whined Montague, " better let 
 him die in peace, — that's charity, to my mind ; 
 he'll only be unhappy, poor fellow !" and he 
 stru Queried yet forwarder in the ranks.
 
 70 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " Here's Montravers,'''' said Captain Wyon, 
 lifting the enfeebled youth into the boat. 
 
 "Nevermind me," said the latter, "let me 
 stay on deck — do, Captain Wyon ! and save 
 your happier life !" 
 
 " There! I said so !" cried Montague : "what 
 can that lad want to live for, now that his fa- 
 ther and mother are drowned V 
 
 " Stand back, sirl"" cried Wyon indignantly. 
 " Yotir selfish soul is least of all worth savinof!'* 
 
 But Montague kept his ground, and when 
 Mr. Bolland, helping in the poor waiting- 
 woman, cried, " Only one more, — who's next f 
 he could no longer refrain, but sprang in, 
 amidst the hisses of those around. 
 
 " I cannot swim — indeed, I cannot ; I have 
 not tried since I was at college, and it would 
 give me my death of cold !" he repeated over 
 and over again, in attempted vindication ; but 
 his words were unheeded, and the boat cut 
 adrift. 
 
 Suddenly, a female cry arose on the deck of 
 the "Pearl," and a young lady ran hurriedly 
 forward from a bulwark, by which she had been 
 concealed. It was Miss Montague.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 71 
 
 " Uncle ! uncle !" she cried, " you promised 
 not to leave me ! — you told me to remain quiet 
 till all was ready, and we should go together. 
 Uncle ! why have you left me to die here all 
 alone r 
 
 Those in the boat heard the cries, and were 
 half-inclined to put back, to exchange the 
 uncle for the niece : — but there was no leisure 
 for delav.
 
 72 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " The skies have spent 
 In that last gust their fury." — Gisbome. 
 
 '• Sleep fell upon the air, and stilled the ocean." — Wordsworth. 
 
 It was now day ! — but that day had been to 
 many, and was yet to be to more, the dawning 
 of a perpetual night. 
 
 The vain appeal of Miss Montague was sud- 
 denly responded to by a universal cry ; and her 
 last words, " Why have you left me here to 
 die alone f were sharpened by terror into a 
 prolonged and wailing shriek, that was borne 
 far over the waters, and caused the selfish 
 uncle to stop his ears, long after every sound 
 had ceased. 
 
 That wild tumultuous cry was mingled with 
 loud shouts of command, and shrieks of fear ; 
 there were dying wails, and voices calling upon 
 God in the agony of mortal terror, — and all, all
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. io 
 
 smothered in the sullen rush of waters. The 
 ship heaved slowly; — rocked for a moment 
 upon the summit of the mountainous billow, 
 then fell heavily upon its side, and sank into 
 the whirlpool of its death, with the salt waves 
 murmuring over her a solemn dirge. 
 
 At the first moment of this danger, the boat 
 shot away from the sinking ^' Pearl '" with the 
 speed of light ; every hand was lent to the oar, 
 and not till they were at a safe distance did 
 any turn to look upon the companions they had 
 left. 
 
 One of the rafts had also put to sea, and was 
 labouring on the verge of the vortex caused by 
 the sinking ship ; the other was less fortunate. 
 A single rope, but half cut through by the blow 
 of some trembling hand,* still held it to the 
 vessel ; too late was it discovered, and down, 
 down, was it borne into the fathomless deep, 
 whirling around in the eddying pool, the last 
 object to sink, — as were the cries of the wretched 
 ones who had entrusted to it their lives, the 
 last sounds that were heard on the subsiding 
 waters. 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 74 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Wliere was the gallant ship I There were a 
 few spars upon the ocean's breast, — a broken 
 mast, — a coop or two, — and apart, a small 
 boat, and an ill-constructed raft, bearin;2^ all 
 that lived of her passengers and crew ; — but 
 tliis was all. 
 
 A few minutes, and other objects rose to the 
 surface ; and, with heavy hearts, Frank and 
 the party in his little barque passed over the 
 spot where the " PearF' had been, with the 
 faint hope of saving some who might yet have 
 life. 
 
 " I feel," said Mrs. Mant, sadly, " as if I 
 were trampling on the graves of those I loved." 
 
 Frank's heart echoed the sentiment, but he 
 continued rowing around the fatal spot. 
 
 Captain Hotham'had gone down with the 
 ship ho commanded ; his was the first body 
 they saw, — it rose close to the boat. Some- 
 thing appeared to have struck his head, and 
 shortened perhaps his suffering, for there was a 
 broad gash, which of itself would have pro- 
 claimed death. None other was seen for some 
 time ; but as they were leaving this region of
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 75 
 
 horror, they found Captain Wyon, wliose situ- 
 ation showed that his heart had continued 
 brave and unselfish even in its last gasp, — 
 for his left arm encircled Miss Montague, whom 
 he appeared to have seized in the midst of her 
 dying words, while his right grasped a spar 
 which, from the cordage attached, was known 
 to belong to the ill-fated raft. They were both 
 dead. 
 
 Mr. Bolland now hailed them from the other 
 raft, that it was dangerous and useless to delay 
 longer, and pointed to the distant land, which 
 now, in the open day and clearer sky, was 
 visible even from the boats with the naked eye. 
 
 For some time these few survivors tried to 
 keep together, but it was proved a vain endea- 
 vour : the raft was hardly manageable, and of 
 the nine persons it bore, two only were seamen, 
 and these of small experience. 
 
 To add to their misery, the sun became into- 
 lerably hot : and without any protection from 
 his rays (which shot again from the face of the 
 waters in scarcely diminished intensity), all 
 exertion was felt almost insupportable, — which, 
 
 E 2
 
 76 
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 however, they were compelled to use, their sail 
 being so heavy as rather to impede than ad- 
 vance their progress. 
 
 In the boat they spread an awning over the 
 ladies and children ; and in the earlier part of 
 the day, favoured by a fitful though favourable 
 breeze, made great progress in their course. 
 
 About noon, both parties, though in different 
 degrees, were elated with newly awakened 
 hopes ; they were still at this hour within hail 
 of each other by a speaking trumpet, and by 
 mutual agreement they laid upon their oars, 
 and in the respite snatched from toil partook 
 refreshment, and cheered the faint of heart. It 
 was the last communication they had together. 
 
 The breeze became more and more fitful, and 
 required perpetual watchfulness. About three 
 ©""clock, a ridge of white foam drove along the 
 surface of the waters with a sharper gust than 
 ordinary. Frank and his boat's crew marked 
 its progress, and prepared for its coming : it 
 arrived, — and a shriek of men's voices was 
 borne on its breath. The wind seemed to sigh 
 as it filled their little sail, and urged them
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 77 
 
 more swiftly on towards that heightening shore. 
 They looked for their comrades, — they sought 
 for the white speck of canvas, or the slight 
 black line of mast which had before pointed 
 out the raft, — but in vain. " The wind had 
 passed over it, and it was gone ; the place 
 thereof knew it no more." 
 
 The breeze, which made their little boat 
 skim like a bird over the waters, with gladness, 
 and spirit, and life in its every motion, had 
 been too much for the raft: it caught the 
 heavy and unyielding sail suddenly, and plunged 
 the unmanageable log, head foremost into the 
 greedy deep. 
 
 The boat was now alone. 
 
 Profounder sadness sunk on every heart ; but 
 this was no time for its indulgence ; and the 
 nearer and nearer view of the long-desired 
 land soon occupied every bosom with its own 
 sensations. 
 
 Hope quickly resumed her reign : and, could 
 it be ! even the pulsations of joy were felt in 
 those very bosoms, which had quailed but now 
 beneath the tortures of grief and terror. Truly, 
 "we are fearfully and wonderfully made !''
 
 ' ^ ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Voices were heard again in natural tones, 
 and several of the party amused themselves 
 in conjectures concerning the land they ap- 
 proached. 
 
 " Poor Captain Hotham will prove a true 
 prophet yet," remarked a lady. "He said, 
 that Mr. Ralph Montravers, and Mr. Merrival, 
 had not been preserved from drowning in the 
 morning to perish at night; — and, lo ! here we 
 are ahnost at land." 
 
 " Be not too confident," replied Mrs. jNIant, 
 solemnly : " the winds and the lightnings of 
 Heaven strike without a warning." 
 
 The first speaker looked upon the widow, 
 shuddered, and was silent ; but a sailor near 
 them joined in the conversation. 
 
 " Aye, miss,'' said he, " and many a sliore, 
 when ye get to it, is so begirt with rocks and 
 breakers, that we'd better amain keep out at 
 sea, than try a landing. I don't someways 
 think that we shall sleep ashore to-night." 
 
 " Don't mind his croaking, ladies !" said an- 
 other. "It's best to hope the best any way, 
 to my mind."
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 79 
 
 *' Who's most like to be right, BillT' re- 
 turned the first : " here's the breeze falling off 
 from us now again, so out with your oars, an*l 
 pull away, my hearties !" 
 
 " How provoking !" exclaimed Frank Merri- 
 val. '* Had that breeze held, we should have 
 been ashore in a couple of hours ; — and now, 
 we are going to be becalmed again !" 
 
 It was so, indeed ! The wind grew fainter 
 and fainter, and with the heat almost suffo- 
 catingly oppressive, they were obliged to toil 
 incessantly in rowing. There was too much at 
 stake, however, to allow their exertions to flag, 
 and they were still buoyed up by the hope of 
 making land that night. 
 
 It appeared to be of small extent, — almost 
 certainly an island, apparently well wooded. 
 This, at least, was comforting ; and other 
 dusky spots appearing on the horizon, they 
 were in hopes that, even if this should prove 
 uninhabited, they might the following day gain, 
 in their boat, some more favourable resting- 
 place. 
 
 Thus supported by the enchantress Hope,
 
 80 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 they rowed on vigorously, though with wearied 
 arms : it was a race against the sun, which 
 was falling rapidly towards the horizon. Alas I 
 he sunk to his rest, and left them, in the brief 
 twilight, upon the deep, struggling against a 
 contrary current, and yet a full mile from the 
 shore, which began to appear, too, rocky and 
 frowning in the evening shades. 
 
 Who could say, then, if hopes or apprehen- 
 sions were predominant ! The men strained 
 every nerve, — their fatigue was forgotten ; 
 Frank and Montravers pulled with the rest, 
 and cheered them on, for the sake of the weaker 
 ones dependent on them. They had to contest 
 each inch with the opposing current, but they 
 gained ground, — and succeeded in reaching 
 the shallower waters, under the lee of the 
 island. 
 
 Stern rocks here opposed their inhospitable 
 forms, rough guardians of the isle : the angry 
 waves, irritated with constant warfare, and 
 practised in incessant buffctings, turned also 
 against that unhappy boat's crew their anger; 
 and not satisfied with soaking them through 
 with blinding showers of spray, they threatened,
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 81 
 
 at every moment, to capsize the boat, or sink 
 her with the full weight of one of the mon- 
 strous billows which hung their " curled crests" 
 above them. 
 
 Even the ladies and the elder children were 
 now compelled to exert themselves in baling 
 out the water, while the men still pulled along 
 the coast, in search of a practicable landing- 
 place ; and in this condition were they when 
 the night set in suddenly, as if a curtain had 
 been stretched between the sky and earth. 
 
 What was now to be done ! Some wrung 
 their hands in mute despair, and every effort 
 was for a moment relinquished. 
 
 " Row for your lives !'' shouted Frank : ''or 
 we shall fall back into the current, and drift 
 out to sea again !" 
 
 *' The best thing we can do, my lad!'' cried 
 another. " It is madness to attempt landing 
 here, in the dark, — and there are no breakers 
 out there." 
 
 There was a brief and hurried consultation. 
 The ladies were all terrified at the idea of 
 being all night at sea in an open boat, 
 
 E 3
 
 82 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 with a renewal of the same fatigue on the 
 morrow ; but when asked if they liked the 
 perils of the landing better, they could but 
 weep, or be silent. 
 
 " Why talk here f cried Mr. Montague, 
 who had preserved almost perfect silence, 
 throughout the day, — ^' to do nothing is worst 
 of all ! we shall be wrecked yet — indeed we 
 shall ! Zounds ! what a wave — Fm soaked 
 through again : do land, good men — pray do !" 
 
 "If you are wrecked, it will be no more 
 than you deserve, vile old curmudgeon !" cried 
 one sailor. 
 
 " Where is the selfish old brute f demanded 
 another, groping in the darkness, and stumbling 
 in the tossing boat. " Let me but lay hands 
 on him, and Til soon send him where he ought 
 to have been long since, instead of his niece — 
 poor thing !" 
 
 " Aye," said a third, " if weVe wrecked, Fll 
 swear it's all along of him ! such old beasts 
 ben't fit to sail with honest men I — Have ye 
 found him, Bill i I'll lend a hand to heave him 
 overboard !" 
 
 "Good sailors! kind, dear friends!" cried
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 83 
 
 the terrified sexagenarian, — " Til give you 
 twenty pounds, I will indeed, — twenty pounds 
 each, if you will save me ! Fifty ! — I'll give 
 you fifty !^^ 
 
 " Perish your gold ! you shall never gloat 
 over it again, old rascal !" shouted the first 
 sailor, and making at him, directed by the 
 sound of his voice, he roughly seized him by 
 the arm. 
 
 " Pray let me go ! for God's sake don't 
 murder me !" cried Montague, in an agony ; 
 but in vain he implored. Others, in the dark- 
 ness, flung down their oars, and threw them- 
 selves upon him: — they struggled, — fell to- 
 gether upon the edge of the boat already half 
 full of water, — and a huge wave heaving be- 
 neath it at the moment, it rolled over to lee- 
 ward, and all were precipitated pell-mell into 
 the wild mass of foaming waves. 
 
 In vain had Frank and Montravers remon- 
 strated, in vain had the ladies shrieked and 
 implored ; the sailors, in their excitement, 
 heard or heeded them not, and sunk into the 
 waters, still grappling with the fancied Jonaii 
 of the crew.
 
 84 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Oh for a heavenly vision of boiled, 
 Baked, and roasted." — Tempest. 
 
 " Be patient, though thine herte should breke ; 
 Arrayne not heaven's decree." — Tales of Wonder. 
 
 Thus was the last remnant of those who sailed 
 in the fated "Pearl," whelmed, like the rest, in 
 the wild waters ; but the roaring breakers that 
 opposed with all their resistless fury the landing 
 of the boat, content with the proof of their 
 power already displayed, relented towards the 
 wretched few now struggling in their cold em- 
 brace ; and bore to land singly, those whom 
 they had resisted in a body. 
 
 But, alas ! accustomed only to rude combat 
 with the stubborn rocks, they knew not the 
 frail frames of their present foes, and flung 
 them so roughly on the surf-beat shore, that
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 85 
 
 omnipresent death claimed many for his prey ; 
 and, mingled with the sullen and ceaseless 
 dashing of the waves, might be heard 
 
 " Gemiti di chi langue, e di chi spira." 
 
 Some, in their sudden immersion, instinc- 
 tively seized the floating oars; others struck out 
 for land, though doubtful on which side it lay ; 
 but more, bewildered by the shock, without a 
 thought either of death or preservation, were 
 tossed from wave to wave, till flung, living or a 
 corpse, upon the beach. 
 
 There were none there who took account of 
 time ; but when Frank Mcrrival became sensi- 
 ble of his situation, his eyes opened upon the 
 cold bright moon, sailing in all her beauty over 
 him, and touching with ghostly light the angles 
 of the rocks among which he lay. 
 
 He tried to rise ; but he was cold and stift*, 
 and bruised. lie lay, half buried, in a carpet 
 of slippery, slimy, and ill-odoured sea-weeds, 
 to which his preservation from being dashed to 
 pieces might, probably, be attributed ; for a 
 high pinnacle stood between him and the beat- 
 ing surge, over which it was evident that he
 
 86 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 must have been hurled, and had fallen in the 
 little nook behind, into which, however, the 
 spray still dashed at intervals, — and Frank 
 made another effort to leave his uncomfortable 
 situation. 
 
 Presently, as he moved slowly and cautiously, 
 and still but half alive, he found that he 
 grasped something in his left hand, and could 
 not unlock his stiffened fingers ; he seemed 
 chained to the rock, and too feeble to resist, 
 sunk back again, and, closing his eyes, tried to 
 collect more perfectly his thoughts. 
 
 At first he remembered only his morning 
 exploit, and felt as if he were again diving for 
 Montravers, and catching hold of him ; — but 
 presently the sight of the rocks recalled to him 
 the adventure of the boat, and living over again 
 this scene, he remembered striking out for the 
 land, and seizing something which he thought 
 an oar — but which seemed of iron, dragging 
 him down beneath the waters, instead of buoy- 
 ing him up ; and he strove to shake it from 
 him, but felt as if the oar was still within his 
 grasp.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 87 
 
 He sat up — his left hand was, indeed, bound 
 as with an icy fetter, and, in the deep bkickness 
 of the shadow, he saw but a dark and shapeless 
 mass in the midst of the clinging weeds. He 
 felt it move beside him, and his heart gave a 
 throb of fear which sent the life-blood once 
 more tingling through his veins. He was him- 
 self again ! he scrambled to his feet, and freed 
 his hand with a violent jerk: for a moment the 
 inert weight clung to it, and then fell off with a 
 sighing, gasping groan. 
 
 It was something then which lived ! Frank 
 stooped again, though groaning himself with 
 the pain wliich attended every movement ; but 
 he stooped to that dark form, and, passing his 
 hand over it, he felt a human face — it was a 
 human face ; — it was a child's. He bore it, 
 staggering with the weight and with weakness, 
 into the moonlight, and recognized in the pale 
 disfigured features, those of the eldest son of 
 Mrs. Mant ; the boy whose bold demeanour he 
 had admired ere the sinking of the "Pearl."' 
 
 And he lived ! the breath came faintly 
 thrcJugh those livid lips — he felt it on his cheek.
 
 88 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 He had saved him then ; though unconsciously, 
 he had saved a second fellow-creature in one 
 day : the fancied oar which he had grasped 
 had been this child ; he had borne him with 
 him as he swam along, and had broken his fall, 
 for tlie child was quite unhurt. 
 
 Frank tended him for nearly an hour ; he 
 rubbed him with his hands, and wrung the 
 w^ater from his hair and clothes ; and the 
 friction, bestowed on another, gave warmth 
 also to his own frame, and renewed action 
 to his stiffened muscles. Within the period 
 named the child spoke, and called upon his 
 mother. Frank soothed, and bore him to the 
 foot of a tree, which sent its long shadow to 
 the spot where they stood ; there, charging 
 him to remain, he left him, with the promise to 
 seek his mother. 
 
 Still shivering from cold and excitement, 
 Frank scrambled with feeble steps among the 
 rocks ; and often he started as the white moon- 
 beams fell on the uncouth forms of the cliffs, 
 displaying here and tliere some dark bush, or 
 tuft of giant sea-weeds, which deceived him into
 
 ROSE OF avoodlf:e. 89 
 
 the hope of some new comrade drifted on the 
 island. 
 
 He walked for some distance in this direction 
 without finding any token of the wrecked boat, 
 except a large basket, which, having discharged 
 its hastily packed provisions into the water, 
 now lay in mockery upon the smooth banks of 
 a little creek where they might have safely 
 landed. 
 
 Frank hailed to the utmost strength of his 
 voice — but no voice replied : save the dull dash- 
 ing of the sea, all was utter silence and desola- 
 tion, and his heart sunk within him : what, if 
 he, a mere boy, and a child still younger, 
 should alone have been saved ! he shuddered 
 at the thought, and chilled to the hearths core 
 by the dreadful sense of solitude, he sat down 
 and wept. It was not, however, in Frank's 
 nature to be hopeless long. The moonlight 
 fell on a silvery spot higher up the creek, and 
 hastening to it, he found a rivulet of pure 
 water dashing over low rocks beneath gigantic 
 trees, and saved by a little fall from contami- 
 nation with the briny waves.
 
 90 ROSE OF -VN'OODLEE. 
 
 He drank to free his mouth from the bitter 
 taste, and felt much refreshed : he remembered 
 then that he had a pocket flask of rum ; he 
 wondered that it had not occurred to him 
 before, and swallowing some, he diluted the 
 remainder, and hurried back to the place where 
 he had left the child — little Henry Mant. 
 
 He found him shivering and frightened, and 
 calling still on " his mother."' " Where is 
 mamma?'' he cried, as he perceived Frank, — 
 " you said you would bring her to me, and she 
 is not come with you — and sister and baby?" 
 
 " I could not bring her to you, my poor 
 boy,"** said Frank, " but do not shiver so ! — 
 come, drink a little of this, it will do you good.'' 
 
 " Why cannot you bring mamma ?" cried the 
 child again. " Is she dead, as my poor papa is ? 
 Tell me, Mr. Frank, for if she is dead, I should 
 like to die too ;" and he took his protector's 
 hand, and looked pitifully up in his face. 
 
 " I hope not, my poor boy," said Frank, 
 taking the child in his arms, " but I have not 
 found her yet.'* 
 
 "I will find her!" cried little Henry— " I
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 91 
 
 can find her, I know ; she woukl not leave nio, 
 for mamma never told a fib, and she said that 
 we should live or die together ; so she cannot 
 be far." 
 
 They searched the beach, therefore, in the 
 opposite direction, and soon saw traces of the 
 ruined boat. Planks were thrown up thickly 
 among the rocks, along which they scrambled 
 with great difficulty : these, however, were so 
 much broken, that it seemed almost impossible 
 that human beings could survive. 
 
 Frank's heart sunk more and more ; but at 
 length he perceived at the foot of a rock which 
 stood isolated, and on one side submerged, an 
 appearance as of two bodies. Leaving the 
 child, he waded through the surf, and reached 
 them : they presented a fearful spectacle ! Man- 
 gled, blood-stained, frightfully disfigured, but 
 still wreathed together, lay old Montague and 
 the sailor who had attacked him. There was 
 no life there — and poor Frank turned shudder- 
 ing away. 
 
 As they walked further, Frank found the body 
 of another seaman, with the head still under
 
 92 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 water ; this was equally hopeless : but, at the 
 same time, little Henry, with a joyful cry, 
 snatched away his hand and ran forward. 
 Caught by the sight of woman's garments, he 
 thought but of his mother, and threw himself 
 upon the chill body before him. 
 
 *' Frank, dear Frank, help me to wake her !" 
 he cried. " Mamma, why do you lie upon your 
 face so still — Henry, your own Henry, calls 
 you ! " It was in vain ! when the face was 
 turned, it was another than she. The boy 
 seemed not frightened at the sight of death, — 
 he felt only his disappointment, and refused to 
 go further. 
 
 Frank sate beside him, and sought, to smother 
 his own grief, to soothe and cheer the child. 
 
 " I cannot live alone ! I will die too ! " was 
 his constant cry. 
 
 Frank could not bear his artless grief — he 
 wept for company, and thanked the Almighty 
 less for his own preservation, than that he had 
 no dear kindred for whom to mourn. AVhen 
 half determined to seek repose, and leave all 
 further search till daylight, suddenly a startling
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 93 
 
 sound broke upon his ear : — it was repeated : — 
 he sprung to his feet, — it was, — it was a sea- 
 man's loud hallo ! 
 
 Frank hailed in reply ; and in a minute, a 
 sailor, half-naked, and still dripping with wet, 
 was seen on the top of a rock beckoning to 
 them. 
 
 Frank and his young charge instantly joined 
 him with delight, which was increased by the 
 intelligence that he had just parted from young 
 Montravers, who was employed in trying to 
 revive a lady who was going from one swoon 
 into another, and was badly bruised. 
 
 " It is my mother," cried Henry Mant : and 
 hardly could Frank restrain him from running 
 forward alone over the slippery cliffs, by re- 
 calling his recent disappointment. 
 
 This time, however, the boy's hopes did not 
 deceive him ; and the caresses of her child did 
 more than all else which had been devised to 
 revive Mrs. Mant. Her youngest was found in 
 her arms, but quite dead, and the other child 
 was seen no more. 
 
 One other lady (Miss Munton), a sailor, and
 
 94 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 cabin-boy, were all the remaining sun'ivors ; 
 though the bodies of several of their other 
 companions were discovered on the following 
 day. 
 
 These eight — wet and miserable, and mourn- 
 ing for lost kindred or friends — passed the 
 remainder of the night clustered together be- 
 neath some lofty trees : some wept the past, 
 or anticipated the evils of the future ; the 
 others sunk into a sound, if not a happy sleep. 
 
 The morning sun shone on faces clouded with 
 grief and anxiety ; but the calls of hunger 
 roused the sufferers to action. Frank first led 
 the little party to the streamlet he had found 
 the preceding night; there was comfort in this : 
 its cool pure waters refreshed them — its mur- 
 muring music soothed : they found, too, some 
 fruits upon the trees, which, though unsubstan- 
 tial food, yet relieved their present hunger. 
 
 The unfortunates then separated : Frank 
 and one of the sailors hastened to the shore, to 
 gather anything useful that might be drifted 
 among the rocks. Montravers and the other 
 seaman went to explore the interior of their
 
 ROSE OF AVOODLEE. 95 
 
 little island, where, however, they had but faint 
 hopes of finding inhabitants. And the ship- 
 boy was left to assist and protect the ladies. 
 Mrs. ^Jant opposed this ; she would have kept 
 no hand from the useful work, but Miss Mun- 
 ton implored them with tears in her eyes, not 
 to leave them alone in that frightful place. 
 
 Montravers returned first from his investi- 
 gation : he had found but one thing to afford 
 them comfort, or encourage hopes of their 
 emancipation. The island was uninhabited, 
 and only about four miles in extent ; but it had 
 known the steps of man, apparently at no dis- 
 tant period. On the northern side several large 
 trees had been cut down, and the strokes of 
 the axe appeared fresh, being scarcely over- 
 grown with the slightest moss. There was a 
 saw-pit, too, wliich bore evidence of having 
 been used recently. Thus ships had touched 
 there, and might do so again, perhaps, soon. 
 Alas ! if it were not so ! for there was little 
 else to afford them consolation. 
 
 The exploring party had not seen any qua- 
 drupeds, and but few birds, in their walk ; and
 
 96 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 the trees were thinly scattered, except on the 
 banks of the rivulet. 
 
 It was now near noon, and Montravers, with 
 his companions, employed themselves in inter- 
 wea\ing the branches of the underwood, so as 
 to form a shelter impervious to the sunbeams. 
 In their absence Mrs. Mant and the boys had 
 gathered together heaps of dry leaves and 
 grass, which afforded couches sufficiently lux- 
 urious for the whole party. 
 
 In the necessity of making the best of ex- 
 isting circumstances, Mrs. Mant had resumed 
 her wonted serenity of countenance ; nay, at 
 moments, amidst the murmurs and lamenta- 
 tions of her less resigned companion, she even 
 forced herself to appear cheerful ; but her eye 
 would then fall upon her sole surviving child, 
 and tears would spring unbidden to her eyes. 
 
 Once in the course of the day, ^Miss Munton, 
 provoked that others were not inclined, like 
 her, to sit down listlessly to bemoan their cruel 
 fate, was even so unfeeling as to upbraid Mrs. 
 Mant with want of common affection. *' How 
 can you busy yourself about these things ?"
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 97 
 
 she cried. *' I feel it really shockincr to see 
 you, a new widow, with two drowned children, 
 amusing yourself with gathering leaves and 
 trumpery r' 
 
 Airs. Mant's pale cheek flushed, but indigna- 
 tion checked tears : folding her little boy in 
 her arms, she replied, " Miss Munton, I should 
 show myself little grateful to the God who ha^ 
 preserved this dear one from so many perils, 
 if I did not perform what lies in my power, to 
 add to the remaining comforts of him, and mv 
 other companions in affliction.'' 
 
 " Well," returned Miss Munton, "you always 
 thought yourself a saint, I know ; but it seems 
 to me that I grieve a great deal more for my 
 poor dear lost sister, than you for your husband 
 and children. For my part, I cannot endure 
 unfeeling people.*" 
 
 With these words the young lady threw her- 
 self upon the ground, sobbing pathetically. 
 Strange I that vanity and selfishness should 
 survive unchecked even a passage tlirough '* the 
 valley of the shadow of death !'' 
 
 But Miss Munton wearied of grief when left 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 alone, and subsequently even lent her fair 
 hands to the work, displaying the superior re- 
 finement of her mind, by adorning the couch 
 she spread with fresh flowers of brilliant tints. 
 
 Towards evening, the whole party, toil-worn 
 and dispirited, assembled again by the stream. 
 There were young and ardent spirits there, 
 however, and women, who are as " oil to the 
 vinegar of man ;^' and with rest, and the cool' 
 ness of the embowered shade, cheerfulness was 
 soon resumed. Always a duty, it here became 
 a paramount one ; and Frank, who had no 
 kindred to mourn, above all felt it to be so : 
 his buoyant mind saw hope lurking, where 
 others beheld but gloomy shadows ; and his 
 gaiety found food for smiles in the thousand 
 inconveniences which, viewed through the me- 
 dium of a less happy temper, appeared serious 
 evils. 
 
 They had not been very successful in their 
 search among the cliffs : a small case of spirits, 
 a piece of pork, and a sack of biscuits, saturated 
 with sea-water, were all the viands they had 
 recovered ; on these, however, they supped.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 99 
 
 with a relish which hunger alone could give, and 
 concluded their repast more leisurely, with a 
 dessert of choicest fruits, and a modicum of 
 rum and water, of which the ladies also were 
 glad to partake. 
 
 Thus cheered, the sailors began to remind 
 each other of various former adventures ; and, 
 encouraged by the attention of the company, 
 soon vied with each other in the narration of 
 marvellous stories which they had heard or 
 known, of shipwrecks, savages, and escapes. 
 Little Harry was delighted with every thing ; 
 and his childish glee beguiled his mother into 
 smiles. Montravers closed his mind to the 
 memory of his griefs ; Miss Munton became 
 sentimental; and Frank, sharing the feelings 
 of all, at last grew sentimental too ; and re- 
 callinor the words of the unfortunate Miss He- 
 therington, thought that if his own Hose of 
 Woodlee were there, " it might not after all 
 be so very disagreeable to be wrecked on a 
 beautiful desert island, to live on delightful 
 fruits, and sit together under the shade of the 
 cocoa-nut trees, like Paul and Virginia." 
 
 f2
 
 100 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 But the remembrance of Rose soon brought 
 sadder feelings ; what grief would she, — what 
 grief would his dear family experience, — could 
 they know his present situation ! and what if 
 he should never behold them more ! But he 
 spurned the depressing idea from his bosom, 
 and fed his brighter hopes by a thousand re- 
 membrances of former shipwrecked mariners, 
 who yet had returned to tell their own adven- 
 tures at the domestic hearth ; and he grate- 
 fully acknowledged that he had already been 
 delivered from dangers as great as many of 
 those with which his favourite style of reading 
 had stored his mind. 
 
 In this state of feeling, he gladly seconded 
 Mrs. Mant's proposal that they should all 
 kneel together, to offer thanks for their signal 
 preservation thus far, and prayers for the con- 
 tinued support and protection of the Almighty. 
 
 This duty performed, the little party stretched 
 themselves upon their leafy couches, and this 
 night all slept profoundly. 
 
 Alas ! the morning brought new griefs ! 
 Miss Munton arose not with the rest. They
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 101 
 
 sought her; and behokl, she was stretched 
 lifeless on the couch she had spread ! the sleep 
 that relieved her heart of its fears and its cares, 
 was an eternal sleep! It might be that her 
 fatigues and sufferings had been too much for 
 a feeble constitution, — it might be that the 
 gorgeous flowers which she had scattered over 
 her couch were baleful in their beauty, — they 
 knew not : they only knew that " the arrow 
 which flieth by night"" had found her, — that 
 their companion was dead. 
 
 Unloved in life by those who now gathered 
 around her, she was yet wept in death, — aye, 
 bitterly wept. Misfortune had been a bond to 
 unite every heart ; but one was gone, — one of 
 those few survivors, — and their faith was 
 shaken. Who could now trust that he should 
 be rescued from the jaws of death, since even 
 from those whom he had hitherto spared, the 
 grim tyrant singled out his prey. Gloom fell 
 on every heart, and Hope was stifled with her 
 sister Faith. 
 
 At length the now high-risen sun, piercing 
 the canopy of verdure, lent a mocking beam of
 
 102 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 light to the glazed eyeballs of the newly dead. 
 " It will not do to leave her here, poor thing," 
 said one of the rough sailors ; " these hot cli- 
 mates agree devilish ill with corpses.'"' 
 
 These words, with a thrill of horror, roused 
 all from their desponding abstraction of mind ; 
 and ^Irs. Mant kneeling beside the body, 
 closed the stiffening eyelids ; and breathing 
 over the departed the touching prayers too 
 vividly engraven on her memory, she took her 
 little boy by the hand, and walked apart. 
 
 A brief consultation now ensued, and the 
 seamen were sent to hollow a grave in the sand, 
 near where they had interred the bodies washed 
 ashore. On their return, they all bore her 
 gently to the beach, and in silence the sands 
 were smoothed over her, — a young fair girl. 
 
 It were tedious to repeat the oft-told tale of 
 shipwrecked voyagers ! What is it but a record 
 of fainting hearts, slender resources, toilsome 
 days, and nights when hunger warred with 
 sleep. Alas ! the week's end found their pro- 
 visions failing fast, and deliverance apparently 
 as remote as ever.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 103 
 
 Nothing more had been washed up from the 
 wreck ; the animal food was consumed, the bis- 
 cuit was doled out by INIontravers in the small- 
 est portions; the few shell-fish they could 
 gather among the rocks, — fruits which nou- 
 rished not the body, and palled upon the taste, 
 — and perchance some crude and unpalateable 
 roots, which they eat too with apprehension, — 
 these were their viands ; and except the ga- 
 thering of this scanty subsistence, they had no 
 employment. 
 
 Even Frank's spirits began to fail ; — his 
 voice was saddened, and his words of hope were 
 listened to, but they no longer cheered. The 
 horizon's edge was marked by an undulating 
 shadowy line, which they knew must be the 
 coast of South America ; but its contiguity was 
 but as a mockery, — a tantalizing vision of a 
 haven they could not attain ; and they ceased 
 to feel sanguine that deliverance would come to 
 them from thence. 
 
 Another week, — and sorrow and suffering 
 pressed still more heavily upon that wretched 
 few ; but most upon her at whom so many of 
 misfortune's shafts had been already hurled.
 
 104 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 A fever had attacked little Harry ; — Mrs. 
 Mant bore him to a distant spot, that if it were 
 infectious, the evil might not spread ; — and 
 there, beside her sole surviving child, the un- 
 happy mother watched, and wept, and prayed. 
 
 Frank took to her daily the decreasing pit- 
 tance of food, and often added to her portion 
 from his own ; — but youth, and toil, and appe- 
 tite, struggled hard against compassion, and 
 his wasting strength forbad the continuance of 
 this sacrifice. 
 
 There was a furious storm one night, and the 
 rocks buried beneath the foaming surge, their 
 best supply, the shell-fish, was cut off*. The 
 stoutest heart then sunk, the gentlest spirit 
 murmured ; only Mrs. Mant in her solitude 
 prayed beside her suffering child, that both 
 might rather die than live to suffer more. It 
 was very sad to hear that patient child so 
 gently ask food, yet turn with loathing from 
 the fruit which alone she had to offer. AVhat 
 mother would not weep ? 
 
 At evening, Frank bore to her some roots, 
 the slender produce of his day's search. He no
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 1 05 
 
 longer kept aloof at her rrentle bidding, as at 
 former times ; but sitting beside her, said 
 sadly : " I begin to think, Mrs. Mant, that we 
 are all destined for the prey of death ; why 
 then should I try to avoid his snares ? A fever 
 might shorten my sufferings. Are these the 
 ways of Providence ; — to preserve from many 
 deaths, only to make us fall by one more lin- 
 gering and painful a few days later !" 
 
 " You are wrong, Mr. Herri val," returned 
 the lady ; " why have you thus lost your trust 
 in Him who can save, even in the last extre- 
 mity, if so He wills ? Our after-life may yet 
 prove wherefore we have suffered."*"* 
 
 " Yet you feel sure that this poor boy will 
 die," said Frank ; " do you not then mistrust f 
 
 " I submit,"*"' said the mother, in a tremulous 
 voice ; " but ah, Mr. Frank, we have waked 
 him with our words !"' 
 
 " I have not slept, mamma," said the little 
 fellow, taking his mother's hand ; '* I have 
 heard all that you and dear Frank have been 
 saying, and I think I understand it.**' 
 
 *' Are you glad to see me again, Harry r 
 
 f3
 
 lOG ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 asked Frank, holding his arm to support his 
 attenuated form. 
 
 " Do not touch me, Frank," said the child ; 
 " you will take the fever, and die too ; and 
 mamma says you saved me in the water, so that 
 would be ungrateful." 
 
 '* Are you hungry, my child ? — kind Frank 
 has brought us some roots,'^ said his mother. 
 
 " No, mamma ; but Fve been thinking a 
 long while." 
 
 " About what, love f 
 
 " I have been thinking, dear mamma, what 
 you would do when I am dead, and you have 
 no one else to love you and take care of you. 
 I know you are poor, my mamma ; and now 
 father's gone to heaven, I used to think how I 
 would work for you when I grew a little bigger, 
 just as he would have done." 
 
 His mother's tears were her sole reply. 
 
 '• Don't cry, dear mamma !" resumed the 
 child. " You will love mannna, and work for 
 her, won't you, Frank ? slie is so good !" 
 
 " I will love her, indeed," said young Merri- 
 val, " and serve her indefatigably in all things
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 107 
 
 possible. But, alas ! Mrs. Mant, I trust that 
 if we escape hence, you have more al)le friends 
 to aid you than a dependent lad like me." 
 
 " No, no, — poor mamma will have no one to 
 love her when I am dead," cried the child, im- 
 patiently ; "I heard her say, when dear papa 
 was killed, that she had no comfort left but her 
 children, and mamma always speaks truth." 
 
 " Alas,^Mr. Merrival !" sobbed the mother, in 
 much emotion, " this darling boy knows not 
 that in him will be removed the sole obstacle to 
 my reconciliation with my own family. I was 
 the favourite child of both my parents, and they 
 projected a splendid marriage for me, which, as 
 the daughter of a very wealthy baronet of 
 ancient descent, they were, perhaps, entitled to 
 expect. Their hearts were bent upon seeing 
 me a countess, but I refused the selfish suitor, 
 and by my union with Arthur Mant, offended 
 them so deeply, that they vowed never to 
 behold my husband, or even his unoffending 
 children. Every effort at reconciliation was in 
 vain, — unexpected misfortunes overwhelmed us, 
 — nine years of struggling against the current 
 reduced my husband from a state of competence
 
 108 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 to poverty, and he was fain to accept a situation 
 in the West Indies : — you know the rest ! An 
 all-wise Providence has seen fit to bereave me 
 of the husband and children I have loved per- 
 haps too well ; and it becomes not me to say 
 that I am too severely punished for my youthful 
 error. It is a bitter cup ! but, perhaps — per- 
 haps this sudden bereavement is merciful, com- 
 pared with seeing my infants drag on a weary 
 life of friendless poverty ! For myself, when 
 they see me desolate, I doubt not tliat my 
 bruised heart will be permitted to beat again 
 beneath the shelter of my father's roof ! — I 
 may be able to forgive them their relentless 
 severity." 
 
 " Mamma, I shall be glad to die," said the 
 gentle child, " if you will then be poor no more, 
 and will be loved again." 
 
 " Alas, alas !" cried the mother, with an 
 irresistible burst of grief, " had they relented 
 sooner, thou mightest have been spared, my 
 pretty one ! But be still, my heart ! this is the 
 Lord's doin^, and who shall arraign the excel- 
 lence of His government !" 
 
 " Who shall dare to repine ?" cried Frank,
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 109 
 
 " when you, with all your trials, thus submit ! 
 Good night, Mrs. Mant, I shall not forgot this 
 evening. Kiss me, Harry. Good bye ! I will 
 try and bring you some nice fish tomorrow." 
 
 " Hunger made me pass a sleepless night !" 
 said Montravers to Frank, when the daylight 
 summoned them to toil again : — '^ how do you 
 bear up against all this 2" 
 
 " But ill,'** said his friend; ** yet, Montravers, 
 if you but saw Mrs. Mant and that dear child, 
 you would not murmur. We have no dear one 
 fading away before our eyes, as she has ; yet she 
 is so resigned !" 
 
 " Well," returned Montravers, " there is 
 truth in that. Do you know, Frank, last night, 
 as I felt the gnawing pains, and thought what 
 might yet be in store for us, I was truly thank- 
 ful that those I loved had been spared it all. 
 My mother was never strong ; and oh, it would 
 have been dreadful to see her starving here, and 
 my poor father and I looking helplessly on. I 
 wish you had not saved me, Frank." 
 
 *' Fie, fie, take heart !'' replied Merival ; " we 
 are not yet so badly off, but that we nn'ght be 
 worse ; and you will live to thank me for life
 
 110 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 yet. Come, let us follow to the beach, and see 
 what the storm has brouc^ht us." 
 
 Scarcely had they dragged themselves, with 
 feeble steps, a hundred yards, when a shout of 
 joy broke upon their ears ; and the sailors who 
 had gone down to the rocks before tliem, were 
 seen returning with a fish of considerable size. 
 
 What a poor creature is man ! Behold I a 
 fish driven upon the rocks by a storm, can lighten 
 five human hearts of their misery, and gild 
 their gloomy brows with the light of smiles ! 
 The fire was lighted, the fish was rudely cut to 
 pieces and broiled upon the embers. Im- 
 patiently they grouped around, — their eyes 
 eagerly anticipated the lingering moment; — 
 scarce could their hands be restrained from 
 seizing the morsels from among the kindled 
 wood. " They eat, drank, and were satisfied." 
 
 Frank wasted hardly a minute in devouring 
 his own repast ; — then, wrapping the choicest 
 morsels in fresh leaves, he bore them, with in- 
 vigorated steps, to Mrs. ^lant. 
 
 Even she smiled languidly as she saw the 
 unwonted fare, then shook her head and pointed
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 1 1 I 
 
 to the child upon her lap. The flush of fever 
 had left his cheek, the light of life his eye, }'et 
 he put out his hand feebly for the food. His 
 mother raised him tenderly, and put a mouthful 
 to his lips : — Harry tasted, — and his eye kin- 
 dled for a moment. 
 
 " Now. mannna,'' he said, " I have not been 
 starved, you know ; don't cry, dear mamma !'' 
 
 There was a sudden gasp, — a faint sigh, — a 
 slight convulsion, and Harry Mant lay dead in 
 his mother's arms. 
 
 What can I add ! Could words describe the 
 parent's agony, as her last tie to life was severed ? 
 What wonder that she sank insensible, and 
 remained so long in this state, that poor Frank 
 believed that one blow had slain them both ! 
 
 One hour, — two, passed; and Frank still 
 strove to win back life to that attenuated 
 frame ; — then, despairingly, ho sought his 
 friends, to share with them his grief. 
 
 " Montravcrs, Montravers !" he shouted, 
 when he gained the sunmiit of the highest rock : 
 — but his voice died upon his lips. A shout 
 tells of life, of energy ; — death, or the news of 
 death, seems to forbid so rude a sound.
 
 1 12 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 With a sinking heart he descended to the 
 beach, and walked heavily forward. There 
 was no one in sight, — no trace of their usual 
 employ. 
 
 He quickened his pace, and strove to shout 
 again, under the impulse of a new anxiety ; but 
 the sullen dashing of the waves was his sole 
 reply : shuddering at the desolation of all 
 within and without, he now even ran along the 
 beach, slipping often among the slimy weeds ; 
 but he sprang to his feet again, and hurried on 
 without a pause. Where were they then ? — 
 
 Suddenly, something caught his eye, glitter- 
 ing in the shadow of a rock ; — it was a little 
 heap of fish, of all strange shapes, evidently 
 collected there by his companions, — and Mon- 
 t raver's knife lay beside them. 
 
 A few hours since, this sight would have 
 enraptured him ; — now, utterly unnerved, every- 
 thing seemed a portent of horror ; — and almost 
 without a thought of why, — he reclimbed the 
 rocks in breathless haste, and shouted yet 
 again. He saw nought, — heard nought; — and 
 darted off once more over the island, with a
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 113 
 
 speed of which he had thought himself incapa- 
 ble, he reached in a few minutes the spot they 
 had made their home : tlie dying embers still 
 smouldered beside the brook, but no living thing 
 was there. He flung himself upon the earth 
 and wept aloud. 
 
 Do any wonder at his vague alarms ? Let 
 them recall some passage in their own lives, 
 when enfeebled in body, and much excited in 
 mind, they have been equally deaf to reason, 
 and perhaps more than equally been governed 
 by distraction. 
 
 Poor Frank ! he wept — and the throbbing 
 of his heart was stilled : with calmness, the 
 thought of Mrs. Mant returned. For his 
 comrades, what if they were not divided as on 
 former days ? they would surely reassemble, as 
 usual, at eve : but she — how desolate would she 
 feel if she should recover from her death-like 
 swoon, to find herself alone with her dead child ! 
 In haste he rose, and took the way towards 
 her abiding place. 
 
 He knew afar the tree beneath which she 
 was left, he hurried on, and boheld, from the
 
 114 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 other side, his friend Montravers approaching, 
 waving his arms in tlie air, and shouting in 
 frantic joy — 
 
 " We are saved ! we are saved !" he cried ; 
 " a ship is even now at hand, and setting in for 
 the shore ; the wind is with, it ; be quick, 
 quick, quick !"" 
 
 Tliey heard the words ere yet he was at 
 hand. Frank flew to the unhappy lady ; she 
 had recovered ; the tears were on her pale, pale, 
 cheeks, but they turned paler still as she listened 
 to those cries. 
 
 " It is too late for him !" she faltered, and, 
 burying her face in her hands, she wept again. 
 
 Montravers stood still, as he saw the mournful 
 group ; but the blissful vision of the winged 
 ship was before his eyes, — and he could not 
 be sad. 
 
 Death had claimed its last and sweetest 
 victim I That night the six survivors of the 
 gallant " Pearl" were received on board the 
 " Mermaid," a homeward-bound merchantman. 
 The late storm had damaged her hull, and they 
 put into the nearest island for repairs ; it was
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 115 
 
 most providentially the islet between Marguc- 
 rita and the main, where refuged those few 
 souls. 
 
 They remained there still some days, and 
 then sailed for England, with a fair wind. 
 
 Little Harry ^Mant was buried beneath the 
 tree which had sheltered his dying head. And 
 his mother was alone.
 
 116 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Such tale as told to any maid 
 By such a youth, in the green shade 
 'T\\ ere dangerous to hear." — Wordsworth. 
 
 " Her lovely words, him seemed due recompence 
 Of all his passed paines : one loving houre 
 For many years of sorrow can dispence : 
 A dram of sweete is worth a pound of soure." — 
 Faery Queene. 
 
 We must now return to our young heroine, 
 Rose of Woodlee. Time had fled rapidly with 
 her, and so silently that she heard not the beat- 
 ing of his passing wings ; and while he deve- 
 loped her form, scarcely any material alteration 
 was wrouglit in her simple character ; her mind, 
 indeed, was enlarged, but she was scarcely con- 
 scious of any change. She was still a child. 
 
 The same idle gossip was going on in the 
 apprentices' i oom of Mrs. Massiter s millinery
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 117 
 
 establishment, as when we last glanced at the 
 party ; but work was now slack, for it was the 
 autumn season ; and some of the girls were 
 reading novels in secluded corners, and others 
 were gazing listlessly at the passers by, while 
 their unfinished caps or ruffles rested, with 
 dangling trimmings, on their knees. 
 
 A strong peal from the house-door bell, at 
 length attracted the attention of even the novel 
 readers, and interrupted several dire yawns of 
 ennui from the idlers. " Who is that, Alicia?" 
 asked several eager voices : and half a dozen 
 ringlet-adorned heads were thrust through the 
 open window. 
 
 "Pooh!" said Miss Alicia, resuming her 
 seat, "it is but a ragged beggar : what impu- 
 dence to ring in that way I"" 
 
 " La ! did you see him look up ?" asked 
 another damsel, also jerking back her head — 
 " what a handsome young fellow !'"' 
 
 Upon this. Miss Alicia, and several other 
 young ladies thrust their heads out again, and 
 withdrew them again tittering, when the 
 " ragged beggar," with another peal at the
 
 118 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 bell, ran his eye impatiently over the staring 
 girls. 
 
 The sensation excited in the group at the 
 window now began to spread; — two or three 
 more joined in the conversation, " What is the 
 matter ?" asked Rose, putting down her novel, 
 and shaking back the clustering curls which had 
 fallen over her face, as she bent over the book 
 on her knee. 
 
 " It is nothing, dear, but a beggar-boy with 
 a handsome face," said Louisa Gray, a quiet 
 melancholy looking girl, and Rose's chief friend. 
 
 "Oh, here is sixpence for him!'" replied 
 Rose, " will one of you throw it out?" and she 
 turned towards her book again. 
 
 " He looks like a sailor," said the girl who 
 threw the money, '^but he does not pick it up."" 
 
 " A sailor !" cried Rose, springing to her 
 feet ; " poor fellow, I must give him some- 
 thing!" and directly, amidst the scarcely sup- 
 pressed laughs and railleries of her companions, 
 she threw open the room door, and bounded 
 down the stairs. 
 
 A third stunning peal threatened to break
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 119 
 
 the bell- wire ; and Jenny, from the area below, 
 shouted in no moderate rage, *' Get away, you 
 impertinent rascal ! 'aven't I told ye afore that 
 we never opens the door to wagrants such 
 as you !" 
 
 At the very words, however, and ])efore the 
 youth could explain his errand to the storming 
 kitchen-maid, the door was opened ;--and, to 
 the amazement of the girls (who, now fairly 
 under the influence of idle curiosity, crowded 
 round every window), he rushed instantaneously 
 into the house. 
 
 Five minutes passed — a quarter of an hour 
 — and no Rose returned : — and, stranger still, 
 no beggar boy left the house. The goo<l- 
 humoured railleries ceased : the impatient si- 
 lence of curiosity followed, and then the voice 
 of malice breathed, in whispers low, ill-natured 
 hints about handsome youths and silly romantic 
 girls. 
 
 '' Miss Rose daren't do this if aunt Massiter 
 was at home, spoilt as she is," said one damsel. 
 
 *' I wish she would come and catch her!" 
 whispered another, spitefully ; and a third left
 
 120 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 the room to endeavour to spy a little what was 
 going on. These were but few, however ; with 
 the majority, Rose was too great a favourite to 
 be lightly censured. 
 
 But in five minutes more, others began to 
 think " it was very odd, nay, not altogether 
 proper/" But Louisa Gray still smiled in con- 
 fidence, and bade them wait. 
 
 At length (half an hour had well nigh passed) 
 a rapid step w^as heard in the long passage 
 which united the dwelling house with the mil- 
 linery rooms, and Rose, with a flushed cheek 
 and a radiant eye, rushed, fainting^ into the 
 room. " Do not stop me,'' she cried, as they 
 pressed towards her : — she unlocked her work- 
 box drawer, and seized something, leaving all 
 the other miscellaneous contents littered over 
 the table and floor; — then, pushing aside her in- 
 quisitive companions with unceremonious good 
 humour, she darted from the room again, 
 leaving them as wise as before. 
 
 "Weill what do you think now! — Pretty 
 behaviour! — Mystery with a vengeance! — / 
 never saw such conduct ! " and many similar
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 121 
 
 exclamations burst simultaneously from the dis- 
 appointed group. Louisa Gray employed her- 
 self in collecting the scattered contents of the 
 work-box, and carefully rearranging them, ap- 
 peared to miss some article, and looked very 
 grave. 
 
 " There — the fellow has gone at last !" cried 
 a girl who continued stationed at the window : 
 — " and he is tearing down the street like a 
 thief with a constable at his heels ! " 
 
 ''And I do declare,'" cried another, " there's 
 Miss Rose staring after him at the house-door, 
 like a fine lady after her lover !" 
 
 " It must be Frank Merrival returned !"*" ex- 
 claimed Louisa in monologue. 
 
 "Dear, how strange! — how romantic if it 
 should be so ! — but in such rags ! — he must 
 have been shipwrecked ! " cried several, who 
 had already, girl like, built a complete love 
 story on the friendship of two children. " Dear 
 me, that accounts for it all ! '' 
 
 "What all?" said Louisa Gray; *' what is 
 there strange or romantic in a boy going to 
 VOL. I. G
 
 122 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 sea, — or in liis returning home with a wardrobe 
 the worse for wear?" 
 
 Presently Rose Morgan re-entered the room 
 with slow and pensive step, and downcast eye. 
 Love intoxicates his victims before he strikes ; 
 she was wild with delight before — the dart had 
 now pierced her bosom ; she stood for one mo- 
 ment silent and with quivering lip, among that 
 gazing crowd, then, throwing herself into the 
 arms of Louisa Gray, she burst into tears. 
 
 The whispers and wonderments that now cir- 
 cled through the room, most of my readers will 
 be able to imagine, and those who cannot, may 
 be content under the loss of silly impertinences, 
 and more silly conjectures. Rose had not yet 
 learnt reserve, and, as soon as she was suffi- 
 ciently composed, her feelings were relieved by 
 being shared in infinitely small portions among 
 the whole circle of her companions. This full 
 confidence put a stop to murmurs, and Rose 
 became more popular than ever. It is a good- 
 natured world after all, for, flatter people's 
 foibles ever so little, and they will be disposed 
 to serve you with all the zeal of true friendship,
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 123 
 
 for the moment : provided, of course, that you 
 do not, at the same time, wound them on other 
 points. 
 
 Louisa Gray, and no doubt my readers also, 
 were right in their conjectures : — the ragged 
 beggar was Frank Merrival, though Rose her- 
 self, in the first moment, could scarcely recog- 
 nize him. 
 
 She wept as she related the sorrows of 
 which she "knew, as yet, least part '' (for poor 
 Frank had been too much engaged in devouring 
 the cold meat she had ordered for him, to 
 enter much into the particulars of his adven- 
 tures) ; but a feeling heart filled up the details 
 of the picture of a wTecked ship, and com- 
 panions lost; and the pathos of her tender 
 voice, affected also some of her young com- 
 panions. 
 
 It were a strange sight to behold that group 
 of giddy young women, who, a short half 
 hour since, had been exercising their inge- 
 nuity in every variety of sarcasm and inuendo 
 against poor Rose, now standing around that 
 fairest girl, gazing upon her quivering lips, 
 
 g2
 
 124 
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 while their eyes were suffused with tears of 
 sympathy, at seeing the crystal drops which 
 fell, all unconsciously, from her hazel eyes, as 
 she related the fearful perils her own Frank 
 had run ; how he had suffered from hunger, and 
 cold, and begged a mouthful of bread from door 
 to door, as he journeyed barefoot all the way 
 from Portsmouth to London. 
 
 " And is he going home now ?" asked one 
 of the party. '* We must not let him beg any 
 more in tliose rags ; what say you, girls, shall 
 we make a subscription for him ? — He will pay 
 us again, some day, I dare say !'' 
 
 ''There is no need?" said Rose, proudly. 
 
 " No, to be sure!'' cried Alicia. " I should 
 not care, for my part, but Mrs. Massitcr will 
 lend him money, no doubt. 
 
 " Frank Merrival, I suspect," said Louisa 
 Gray, smiling, " has no need either to beg or 
 l)orrow for his journey into Buckinghamshire." 
 
 Rose blushed and smiled in reply ; she saw 
 that her friend had discovered the secret of her 
 abrupt visit to her work-box. 
 
 In fact, she had received but the day before
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 12.') 
 
 from her mother a five-pound note, intended as 
 her half yearly allowance of pocket money ; 
 this morning only she had been recapitulating 
 the fifty things she intended to purchase with 
 it, but, at the sight of Frank's distress, these 
 were all forgotten, and her little wealth was 
 bestowed unreservedly upon him. 
 
 Rose had nothing more to tell, and began to 
 listen eagerly for her young hero's return ; but 
 the subject still engrossed every mind, and, 
 broken into little groups, with many " I won- 
 ders," and " I thinks," the circumstances of the 
 story were discussed again and again, to the 
 exclusion of every other. 
 
 In the midst of all this excitement, Mrs. 
 Massiter returned from her walk. " What is 
 this !" she exclaimed, on entering the working- 
 room — " every one idle the moment I am out 
 of the way ! Pray, is all the work done ?" 
 
 There was a general movement ; and just in 
 the wrong moment, came a message from a 
 lady leaving town, to know if her turban was 
 finished. 
 
 "Where is it?" cried Mrs. Massiter: '* I
 
 126 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 saw her carriage, already packed, at the door 
 as I was passing : where is the turban?" 
 
 There was a murmur again, and the name of 
 Rose was buzzed in various tones ; she was on 
 the point of again being hurled from the pin- 
 nacle of popularity. 
 
 " What is this, child! where is the turban!" 
 repeated the matron angrily. 
 
 "It is here, ma'am," said Louisa Gray, 
 bringing a tumbled mass of muslin and lace 
 from a window recess, — "but it is not Miss 
 Morgan's fault, she was not making it/' 
 
 " But Miss Morgan kept us talking !" mut- 
 tered Alicia. 
 
 " Don't blame her," said another voice ; " you 
 know you let this fall when you were looking 
 out of the window at Mr. Merrival.*" 
 
 " Mr. Merrival ! what is all this nonsense?" 
 cried Mrs. Massiter, more provoked than before. 
 
 "It is Frank, aunt ; dear Frank has re- 
 turned, and he " 
 
 " He has nothing to do with Lady Nugent's 
 embroidered India muslin turban," replied the 
 milliner (who would, at another time, have been
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 127 
 
 much interested in the intelligence), " I never 
 knew anything more provoking ! I shall cer- 
 tainly lose her patronage ! I thought, Rose, 
 that you had been long enough here by this 
 time to be trusted to superintend a little in my 
 absence : but no ! I must make myself a per- 
 fect galley-slave, I suppose, to the end of the 
 chapter ! "" 
 
 Here entered a servant, to say that Lady 
 Nugenfs footman could not wait, as her lady- 
 ship was starting immediately. " Go one of 
 you, and make the best excuse you can," said 
 Mrs. Massiter. " Upon my word, I never saw 
 such a set of idle good-for-nothing girls. Go 
 you. Rose." 
 
 " Wait one moment," said Louisa Grey ; 
 " it is just finished, and the creases are scarcely 
 perceptible in the folds." 
 
 And finished it was, while the above conver- 
 sation had been going on, by the nimble-fin- 
 gered Louisa ; and when the head-dress had 
 been put in a bandbox, and despatched by Lady 
 Nugent's footman, Mrs. Massiter was in a good 
 humour again, and as eager as Rose could wish
 
 1 28 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 to hear all about Frank. And in good time ; 
 for ere their explanations were concluded, the 
 youth again sounded a long summons upon the 
 house-door bell and knocker, with a master's 
 air. 
 
 Rose rushed down stairs, and in a moment 
 was clasped in Frank's arms. 
 
 " Dear Rose," said he, " I am not ashamed 
 to embrace you now ; but really in those rags 
 I could hardly make up my mind to see you at 
 all." 
 
 " Oh, I would never have forgiven you, if 
 you had been in London without," replied 
 Rose. " How lucky it was that I happened to 
 have money just now ; if you had come two 
 days since, I should have had none to give you, 
 and to-morrow perhaps it might have been 
 half spent. How handsome you look !" she 
 continued, as with a face of delight she sur- 
 veyed him from liead to foot, " I could not 
 tell before, for I saw nothing but your poor 
 scratched feet, and the elbow-point peeping 
 out through both shirt and jacket ; but now," 
 she added, parting his long dishevelled locks
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 129 
 
 upon his brow, " now I see so many changes, 
 so many improvements, in my own dear bro- 
 ther. Oh, I am so happy T"* and she clasped 
 his rough brown hand in both of her's, and 
 looked gladly up in his face, as in the days of 
 their simple childhood. 
 
 Frank was no less happy ; he kissed her 
 again and again, and told her how much she 
 too was improved. " You really look almost a 
 woman now," he said ; " but you are the same 
 dear, good-natured little girl that I loved at 
 Stanfield, for all that." 
 
 " Why should I be changed, Frank ? Louisa 
 Gray told me that you might ; that your busy 
 life, and the pleasure of finding yourself acting 
 as a man, might make you laugh at things you 
 loved in happy childhood ; — but I have had 
 nothing to change me, — I have had the same 
 employments, the same thoughts, the same 
 wishes, day after day." 
 
 " That's a darling !" cried Frank ; " the 
 thoughts were of me, were they not ? — and the 
 wishes were for — what — dear Rose \ Ha, ha ! 
 
 g3
 
 ISO ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 I fancy yours and mine might be wonderfully 
 like each other, if compared." 
 
 " Not a bit, depend upon it," replied Rose, 
 laughing and blushing ; " but what stuff is this 
 to talk about, when I have not heard half your 
 adventures. Dear Frank, you will not go to 
 sea again ?" 
 
 " Dear Rose," replied the youth with a laugh, 
 ^' I hope to go many times more yet. But here 
 comes your aunt." 
 
 Frank was soon delighting the good lady 
 with various incidents of his calamitous voyage ; 
 but to him this became irksome, and he pro- 
 posed to Rose that they two should walk toge- 
 ther. She eagerly acceded to the proposition, 
 and her aunt meantime promised to occupy 
 herself in writing to her sister, as Frank told 
 her that he would be the bearer of it, as he 
 purposed leaving London on the morrow for 
 his home. 
 
 "Rose," said vouno: Mcrrival, as thev bounded 
 down the steps of the house, " I almost forgot, 
 in my thanks for this handsome outfit, to return 
 you the surplus of your generous gift. It is 
 not much, seven shillings only — take it."
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 131 
 
 *'For shame, Frank ! — I shall not, indeed." 
 
 " But you will want it ; — I have robbed you 
 enough already .'"' 
 
 " Nay, you rather will want it on your jour- 
 ney home to-morrow — so say no more, I beg : 
 am I not your sister f 
 
 " Hang to-morrow ! it will take caro of it- 
 self, and take me from you," cried Frank. 
 " But come, what shall we do with it then ? 
 and where shall we go for a frolic ? I want 
 some fun, after all my hard life." 
 
 " Anywhere," said Rose, " where we can be 
 together longest." 
 
 So this boy and girl decided on going to the 
 theatre, to expend the last shillings of Rose 
 Morgan"*s half-year's allowance ; Frank ll^ving 
 his morrow's journey to the same chances which 
 had favoured him from Portsmouth hither. 
 What then I They sat there at their ease, 
 with no one to notice or interrupt them, for 
 four whole hours ; and moreover had bright 
 sights before their eyes, and pleasant nmsic in 
 their ears : what would they better ? At their 
 age, it were in vain to wish them to weigh to- 
 morrow against to-day.
 
 1 32 ROSE OF AVOODLEE. 
 
 A week before, Eose had declaimed, with 
 more warmth than the subject required, or 
 (sooth to say) than was altogether becoming, 
 against persons who could talk at a theatre, or 
 in short could think of anything but the moving 
 spectacle before them : with all a girl's enthu- 
 siasm, she had, upon former visits to the play- 
 houses, gazed and listened, with a soul en- 
 tranced, to joys or sorrows that appeared to 
 her only not real ; and she deemed those selfish 
 or soulless, who could stare at the spectators, 
 speak of irrelevant matters, or sit listless or 
 abstracted, with such scenes enacted before 
 their eyes. Now, she would have pronounced 
 herself selfish and soulless, if she had turned 
 her attention for any instant from the still truer 
 tragedy that Frank revealed in earnest whis- 
 pers, while his fine countenance varied with 
 every incident of his varied tale. 
 
 The play was " Romeo and Juliet ;" but that 
 terrible catastrophe struck her with less horror 
 than the deaths of Miss Hetlicrington and Miss 
 Munton ; nor had any fiction drawn from her 
 half the tears she shed over the fate of little
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 1 :^3 
 
 Plarry Mant. Lighter details followed, as the 
 evening advanced ; and as the comedy was 
 playing, no face was lighted up with mirth more 
 radiantly than was that of Eose of Woodlee 
 with happiness, as Frank, her own dear hero 
 Frank, slightly related how he had plunged into 
 the waters to the rescue of his friend Montra- 
 vers. 
 
 All these things could not touch in vain a 
 tender and youthful heart like our heroine's : 
 new emotions thrilled her bosom, — emotions of 
 intoxicating happiness. Her words were few, 
 but they were full of feeling ; they sprung from 
 deeper sources than they could yesterday have 
 done, while smiles lingered longer on her lips, 
 and tears in her eyes. 
 
 Frank saw that she was changed, — but he 
 thought it was the gradual development of the 
 past year ; — he guessed not that it had been 
 the work of an hour, and that he was the ma- 
 gician. 
 
 The performance was over ; and Frank and 
 Rose walked through the moonlit streets to- 
 wards Mrs. Massiter's. Rose began to fear a
 
 134 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 censure ; but it was a fleeting apprehension, 
 blotted from her mind by words more important 
 in her eyes than any reproof. 
 
 " Dear Rose, walk slower," said Frank. 
 " You know I must start in four hours, and 
 you are in a hurry to get away from me. 
 Hark, the watchmen are calling twelve." 
 
 " I am in no haste to leave you, Frank ; but 
 I am not used to be out, and I know even with 
 you my aunt will be uneasy." 
 
 " And do you mind what she says to you so 
 much 1 — Will you not mind your brother too. 
 Rose ? Tell me, would you rather please her 
 or me V 
 
 " How can you ask, Frank ? You know I 
 always liked to do what you w^ould have me, 
 and I have only known my aunt a short time." 
 
 " Then you' would rather offend her than 
 
 me 
 
 ?" 
 
 " Offend you, Frank ? — what do you mean ?" 
 
 " I want to find out if you really do love me 
 
 as you used to do, when 1 brought you into so 
 
 many scrapes. I am sure you must want some 
 
 refreshment ; let us then, dear Rose, drink to
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 135 
 
 each other's healths, and enjoy a mouthful to- 
 gether once more before we part. Come with 
 me, and I will take you somewhere where we 
 may sup quietly and comfortably : it will not 
 make you much later home." 
 
 " But, Frank—" 
 
 *' Never mind — I have one shilling left."' 
 
 " I did not mean that; — but I really must 
 make haste home." 
 
 " Then you do fear your aunt's anger more 
 than mine T 
 
 " No, Frank, — but why should you be angry? 
 Perhaps I ought not even to have gone to the 
 theatre without asking leave ; and it is so late 
 now ! — do not linger thus any longer : come." 
 
 " Very well," cried Frank, dropping her 
 hand in feigned displeasure ; " I am with you 
 but one night, and you will not grant me such 
 a small request as this 1 It would not always 
 have been thus ; London has changed you, 
 Rose !" 
 
 " No, no, indeed, Frank," cried she, taking 
 again his hand ; "I will come with you, since 
 you wish it, but do not stay long." 
 
 " You will really come ?"
 
 136 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 '' Yes, Frank, I cannot bear to displease 
 you/* 
 
 He laughed in triumph ; and having gained 
 his point in proving his power, he drew her 
 arm through his, and quickened his pace. 
 
 '• Do you forgive me, Rose ?" said he, laugh- 
 ing still. '• You know I had no other way of 
 finding out if you were the same ; and now, 
 though I have been with you but one day, I 
 feel sure that vou love me still — nothinor like 
 proof."* 
 
 " Louisa Gray is right, I see," replied Rose; 
 •• she says that all men are tyrants in their 
 hearts, and I find you at least are so. Fie, fie, 
 Frank ! I never thought so before." 
 
 A little more raillery, — then a silence : they 
 were drawing near her home. 
 
 '' Frank," said Rose, "why will you go to 
 sea again ? How can vou, after these horrid 
 things • only six saved ! just think how terrible ! 
 what a narrow escape !" 
 
 " It was indeed terrible," replied Frank ; 
 " but I have no heart for sadness to-night ; — 
 you have made me too happy, Rose ; and I feel
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 137 
 
 now, for tlie first time, as if I could forget those 
 frightful things," 
 
 " You told me," resumed Rose, " that poor 
 Mrs. Mant said you might all know some day 
 wherefore you had suffered ; I should believe 
 her, if it would dissuade you from facing again 
 such dangers. Why not stay in England ?" 
 
 " I am fit for nothing but a sailor," said 
 Frank, in reply. " NV^hy, Rose, would you 
 have me trudging up and down after a plough 
 all day ? — or see me chained to a desk in some 
 smoky town ? — or perhaps smiling and sn\irking 
 at every body behind a counter ? Pooh ! I'll 
 have none of these ! there is nothing like the 
 sea ! and perhaps you will think so too some 
 day." 
 
 Rose sighed, and paused ; and then asked of 
 his future plans. 
 
 " Montravers has promised to get me a 
 mate's berth in one of his uncle's ships," said 
 Frank. " He had nobody left at home to re- 
 turn to, so he borrowed some money the first 
 thing ; and leaving Mrs. Mant at Portsmouth, 
 went to Sir Thomas Mottram, h<'r father's, to
 
 138 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 break all the disasters to them. I wish I knew 
 how they received her, poor lady ! After set- 
 tling her there, my friend is to join me at Stan- 
 field, and then he will take me down to his 
 uncle's at Liverpool. So you see I cannot see 
 you again, Rosey ; and here we are at aunt 
 Massiter's." 
 
 That lady's chidings of her truant niece, I 
 shall leave to the imagination of my readers ; 
 but Frank's pleading of her cause was not in 
 vain ; and in spite of the unfavourable circum- 
 stances, Frank Merrival, on taking leave of 
 the good lady, had his usual fortune of leaving 
 a favourable impression.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 139 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " The gods are just ; 
 But how can finite measure infinite ? 
 Reason ! alas, it doth not know itself ! 
 Yet man, vain man, would with his short-lined plummet 
 Fathom the vast abyss of heavenly justice. 
 Whatever is, is in its causes just ; 
 Since all things are by fate. But purblind man 
 Sees but a part of the chain, the n&arest links ; 
 His eyes not carrying to that equal beam 
 That poises all, above." Dryden. 
 
 Some readers may have been sufficiently in- 
 terested by the afflictions of Mrs. Mant, to 
 desire to know the sequel of her history ; and 
 others may only care to learn, as quickly as may 
 be, what I have to tell them about Rose of 
 Woodlee ; let the latter, then, pass over this 
 chapter, as foreign to their purpose : it is, I 
 acknowledge, a mere episode, indulged in for 
 the sake of the former division of readers.
 
 140 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 I shall not dwell upon the sense of desolation 
 which filled the breast of this amiable woman, 
 on returning alone to the country which she 
 had left so recently, surrounded by beings lov- 
 ing and beloved. She strove to bear her suf- 
 ferings with composure, and to fortify her mind 
 against the anticipated meeting with her family; 
 but she knew not how much need she had of 
 this strength : perhaps it was well for her that 
 she was not permitted to sit down alone in 
 quiet, to endure the dull monotony of grief 
 preying daily on the mind ; even her's, sup- 
 ported and purified as it was by genuine religion, 
 might have suffered from such a reaction. Mon- 
 travers returned at night to Portsmouth, and 
 Mrs. Mant, rendered apprehensive by repeated 
 trials, took alarm at once, at the saddened 
 expression of his features. 
 
 " Will they not even now receive me V she 
 exclaimed in a voice of agony — " oh, Mr. Mon- 
 travers, this is surely a cruel breaking of the 
 bruised reed !" 
 
 " Fear nothing on that head, my dear ma- 
 dam,'" replied Montravers ; " Sir Thomas and
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 141 
 
 Lady Mottram are most anxious to welcome 
 
 you." 
 
 " Thank God for that," cried the poor lady; 
 " I may at length, then, hope at least for peace." 
 
 " Your mother is ill, however," added Mon- 
 travers, in a hesitating voice ; " she has had 
 much sorrow lately — death is everywhere, Mrs. 
 Mant." 
 
 She sat down, trembling violently, but mo- 
 tioned to him to proceed. 
 
 " My dear friend," said the young man, 
 taking one of her cold hands gently in his, " I 
 know not how to soften the tidings that I 
 bring, nor do I know if the previous alienation 
 of your family will increase or lessen your afflic- 
 tion, but I have to announce to you that your 
 brother and sister are both dead : it is from their 
 only surviving child, that your parents now pant 
 to ask forgiveness for their long neglect." 
 
 It was even so ; the sorrow which their 
 harshness had procured for their once favourite 
 daughter had been visited upon their own 
 heads ; while self-upbraiding gave a bitterness 
 to their cup which she could not know. About
 
 142 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 the time that the proscribed part of the family 
 had embarked in the " Pearl," Mr. Mottram, 
 the only son of Sir Thomas, and the destined 
 heir of all the long-descended wealth and 
 honours, was thrown from his horse, in hunting. 
 He was carried home bruised and senseless, 
 and was nursed, for some weeks, by a fond 
 mother with the most assiduous care : all, how- 
 ever, was in vain, — in a raging fever he ex- 
 pired. 
 
 His parents were at first inconsolable ; and, 
 indeed, the manner of such a death is a suf- 
 ficiently fearful shock, even where affection 
 weeps not over the bereavement ! In their 
 affliction, their hearts began to relent towards 
 their banished daughter, and they thought of 
 making overtures of reconciliation; especially 
 as little Henry was then heir presumptive to 
 the baronetcy. 
 
 Their dislike, however, to Mr. ^lant — a mere 
 merchant's son, — had not diminished ; and 
 they resolved to wait, at least till after the 
 approaching confinement of their eldest daugh- 
 ter, before they took this step. Lady Castle-
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 143 
 
 hurst was of a character widely different from 
 her sister. She was of a sweet disposition, 
 but her mind and constitution were equally 
 weak: she loved her sister tenderly, — but after 
 her elopement, she could only weep, and unre- 
 sistingly obey her father's commands, to have 
 no further intercourse with the companion of 
 her early years : once or twice she wrote to her 
 secretly, and even ventured to meet her at 
 church, to stand sponsor to her first-born ne- 
 phew ; but this being discovered, and bringing 
 upon her the anger ^of her parents, she ven- 
 tured no further, and became more fearful than 
 ever. Soon after this, she received the pro- 
 posals of Lord Castlehurst, an elderly noble- 
 man, of manners most repugnant to one of her* 
 gentle character ; but her parents urged the 
 suit, and with their severity to her sister in her 
 mind, she allowed herself to be persuaded to 
 purchase a coronet at the price of her happi- 
 ness. 
 
 From this time, her health began to fail ; 
 and her wasting form seemed to reproach her 
 mother, though she confessed not that she was
 
 144 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 unhappy. Two infants had already been *'born 
 to die,'" and it was with redoubled anxiety that 
 Lady Mottram, mourning bitterly for her recent 
 bereavement, went to attend her daughter on 
 the present occasion. 
 
 Lord Castlehurst himself scarcely desired 
 that his child should prove a son more ardently 
 than did Sir Thomas and Lady Mottram ; but 
 the gentle mother sighed when their wishes 
 were fulfilled, for she feared too truly to find in 
 him a barrier (which a daughter had not 
 proved) to a reconciliation with her sister. 
 Mrs. Mant was again forgotten, but it mattered 
 not : for three weeks, the baby lived and throve, 
 and showed none of the symptoms which had 
 carried its predecessors yet earlier to the grave, 
 — every heart was exulting and at ease ! But 
 ere a fourth had passed, consumption — which 
 had long been waiting for its prey — bore both 
 mother and infant to the shadowy world : Lord 
 Castlehurst mourned his heir, and Lady Mot- 
 tram wept the second time within two short 
 months over a child ! 
 
 She returned, heart-broken, to her home.
 
 ROSE OF -SVOODLEE. 145 
 
 Sir Thomas could afford her no consolation ; 
 and gloom and discomfort appeared setthng 
 beneath their splendid roof. Then did their 
 thoughts once more return to their banished 
 Laura : — she and her little ones might yet fill 
 their halls with the voice of mirth and gladness ! 
 — they still had children, and children's chil- 
 dren, to glad them in their declining years. 
 Why, then, should their house be longer left 
 unto them desolate ? they would acknowledge 
 their harshness — Laura should be recalled ! 
 
 Alas ! too late repentance ! They enquired 
 at the house where she had lived, but she was 
 no longer there : " her lodgers," the woman of 
 the house told them, " had sailed nearly six 
 months since for America." Sir Thomas has- 
 tened home, ho locked himself in his library, 
 and turning over the contents of his escritoire, 
 found several letters from his daughter,— some 
 unopened, nearly all unread ! The last of these, 
 announcing her intended voyage to the West 
 Indies, implored him, in the most moving 
 terms, to grant her one farewell interview. 
 How he lamented then his obduracy ! He has- 
 VOL. I. ir
 
 146 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 tenecl to his wife, and in this new affliction 
 they rivalled each other in self-upbraidings. 
 What had their child done to be thus long, 
 thus cruelly punished ? They wept over her 
 letters, affectionate and dutiful oven in the 
 midst of sorrow and poverty. A word from 
 Sir Thomas, at one time, would have procured 
 her husband an eligible public appointment. 
 It had not been spoken ! A trifling loan, at 
 another period, would have supported his sink- 
 ing credit. It had been refused ! One letter 
 had been written on what she thought was her 
 death-bod ; what tenderness it breathed ! what 
 fortitude ! what resignation ! She feared it 
 was then too late to receive their pardon before 
 she expired ; but she could not bear to doubt 
 that it would in such an hour be granted ; and 
 plaintively she prayed that their protection 
 might be extended to her unoffending little 
 ones. 
 
 This letter had been unread, unnoticed. 
 Now, every sentence wrung their hearts, for 
 she was gone — lost to them, perhaps, for over ; 
 and by their own stern deeds ! Oh ! what
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 147 
 
 must she liavo tliought of parents wlio coulil 
 resist such appeals ? They wept, — bitterly 
 wept, and would not be consoled. Sir Thomas, 
 however, set on foot enquiries ; and when he 
 had learnt by what ship they had sailed, and 
 had despatched letters to his daughter and to 
 various official persons in the island, his heart 
 was more at ease, and he ventured to look 
 forward with something like satisfaction to the 
 period of their reunion. 
 
 Not so with Lady Mottram : this last shock 
 had been too much for her enfeebled frame and 
 broken spirits, — she sank under it, and fell 
 into a low, nervous state of despondency that 
 threatened to bear her slowly, but surely, to 
 the tomb. 
 
 At the period of young Montravers' arrival 
 at their seat in Derbyshire, she had been for 
 three months a prisoner in her room, and, lat- 
 terly, confined entirely to her bed. 
 
 It was with the utmost caution that her hus- 
 band announced the arrival of the stranger ; 
 and broke gradually to her the intelligence 
 that her daughter was in England, and would 
 
 II 2
 
 148 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 soon embrace her; to Mrs. Mant herself, he 
 left the task of disclosing the weight of sorrow 
 that had fallen to her share. 
 
 JNIontravers safely performed his mission. 
 He escorted his unhappy friend from Ports- 
 mouth into Derbyshire ; he saw her weep upon 
 her lone estrano^ed father's breast — and heard 
 him implore the forgiveness of his child ; and 
 then feeling his presence in such a scene intru- 
 sion, he bade her a kind farewell ; and, with a 
 promise to see her again, hastened to join his 
 friend, Frank, at Stanfield. 
 
 Day by day did the exemplary ^Irs. Mant 
 watch by the couch of her declining mother ; 
 and day by day she listened with a bleeding 
 heart to the same querulous lamentations, but 
 no complaint escaped from her lips. 
 
 " Was not one saved, Laura? — are you sure 
 that no happy chance can have preserved one 
 of your little ones f said the wretched invalid, 
 one evening, after wringing her daughter*s heart 
 with a series of minute enquiries into the fear- 
 ful calamity which had left her childless and a 
 widow.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 1 49 
 
 " Dear mother, hope it not," repHed Mrs. 
 Mant, sadly. 
 
 '' I must hope it, Laura : do not talk to me 
 of impossibility ; — would not any one have said 
 it was impossible a year since, that I could see 
 all my family swept away so rapidly ? children 
 and children's children ; and you only left be- 
 side me, Laura, — with your pale sorrowing face 
 seeming to upbraid mo with having made you, 
 too, childless." 
 
 "Mother! mother! in mercy, do not talk 
 thus : it is of God's good pleasure that we have 
 been bereaved. Let us not dare to think that 
 we have been hardly or unjustly used." 
 
 "No, no, — it is just, quite just upon me," 
 resumed the mother. " I shut my heart for a 
 single fault against one of my children ; so 
 the rest were snatched from me. Butyou, Laura, 
 how have you merited such afflictions T' 
 
 " We are not thus to judge the workings of 
 Providence, dear mother, — man must not ask 
 of God, What is this that thou hast done I But 
 were our punishments in this world propor- 
 tioned to our sins aerainst Him, no doubt I
 
 150 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 have merited even this calamity, overwhelming 
 as it is" — 
 
 " Hush, child ! you have not deserved it," 
 said Lady Mottram, impatiently ; " it was to 
 heap more sorrows on my head that they pe- 
 rished ; no sooner did Sir Thomas and I yearn 
 for the children, yearn to embrace our last sur- 
 viving descendants, than they are lost to us for 
 ever ; and even their father gone. If only he 
 had been spared whom we long hated, we might 
 have had hopes for the future : but — now — "'' 
 
 '' Dearest mother, forbear this strain," said 
 Mrs. Mant, weeping ; " believe me, I would 
 not, if I could, recall those dear ones to life : it 
 would be most selfish to do so. We know not 
 from what ills my innocent babes have been 
 preserved ; and for my husband, why should I 
 mourn ? — he lived prepared for death, and I 
 would almost as soon grieve over the liberation 
 of a friend from a dismal dungeon, when res- 
 tored to the free light of day, as lament over 
 his escape from this world of sorrow. For 
 ourselves we must weep, my mother ; it is 
 nature's law ; — but thus to mourn over the de-
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 1 5 1 
 
 parted, injures ourselves, and can work no sort 
 of good/"* 
 
 " It is true, it is true !" exclaimed Lady 
 Mottram ; " but, Laura, you argue in vain : I 
 think over the whole chain of circumstances 
 again and again ; and I cannot get over the 
 feeling — the blood of your children is on my 
 head — /thrust them into the whelming waters/' 
 " Dearest, dearest mother, this is mere 
 frenzy,""* cried Mrs. Mant, kneeling beside her, 
 and sobbing, despite herself, till she almost 
 shared the nervous excitement from which her 
 parent suffered. " I would entreat you to be 
 composed, for your Laura's sake, if day by day 
 these feelings had not increased upon you ; — 
 but hear me now. You trace all this wide 
 devastation in our family to one source, — your 
 refusal to be reconciled with me. Why not 
 trace it further still, and make my forbidden 
 union the spring of all our sorrows ? You 
 shake your head. God forbid that it should 
 be so ; but if we set ourselves to assign motives 
 for the dispensations of our Creator, one of 
 these is as likely as the other to be right. The
 
 152 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 ways of God are just and perfect ways, but they 
 are often hidden from the eyes of man. Yet, 
 mother, if these chastisements bring us to ac- 
 knowledge our errors, teach us resignation to 
 the Divine will, and wean us from the love of 
 the world, who knows but what His holy 
 purpose will have been fulfilled ? It is no light 
 thing to save a soul, my mother ! — the shorten- 
 ing of many lives would be a light price for the 
 attainment of this end. My mother, trust in 
 God.^^ 
 
 Laura's voice had grown firm and earnest as 
 she proceeded ; and her words sank deep into 
 her mother's heart. Her hands clasped that 
 mother"'s, as she knelt; and her eyes were fixed 
 upon her countenance. But as she ceased, her 
 head bowed upon her knees, and with a shiver- 
 ing sob she fainted at her feet. 
 
 Her frame and mind had both been over- 
 wrought ; — for days she had been worked into 
 continual and most painful excitement, and had 
 taxed her energies to restrain these feelings ; — 
 this last effort was too much. Lady Mottram, 
 feeble and nervous as she was, found strength
 
 ROSE OP WOODLEE. 1 BS 
 
 now; — she rose calmly, and rung the bell lor 
 aid ; then, supporting her daughter's liead, 
 bent over her with the purest tenderness, for- 
 getting at length her own afflictions in ano- 
 ther's. After assisting her maid to recover 
 Mrs. Mant, she kissed her affectionately, and 
 bade her go to rest, and ta-ke good care of her 
 health. On former nights, she had parted with 
 wearisome lamentations over the sleepless and 
 wretched night which she anticipated : 
 
 " For 'tis the highest pride of human misery. 
 To say it knows not of an opiate." 
 
 All this was omitted now, yet her night was 
 indeed sleepless, and passed in solemn thought. 
 Religion was not new to the mind of Lady 
 Mottram ; but she had hitherto only known, 
 not felt, its truths. Her daughter's appeal, 
 rendered more impressive by its abrupt termi- 
 nation, had touched a chord to which lier heart 
 responded ; and owning now that chastisement 
 was merited from a God whom she had for- 
 gotten in the hour of prosperity, her murmur- 
 ings were stilled. 
 
 II S
 
 154 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 At an early hour, leaning on the arm of her 
 maid, she walked into her daughter's room. 
 
 " My dear mother, is it possible ?" cried 
 Mrs. Mant, startled at the visit of the invalid. 
 
 " Yes, Laura," said Lady Mottram, sinking 
 into an easy chair, half-exhausted with the un- 
 usual effort ; "I feel that 1 have yielded to 
 my fancied weakness too long ; I must follow 
 your example, and struggle against it, even 
 though I faint in the effort," she added, with a 
 smile. 
 
 And henceforth she strove to do so ; but it 
 was too late. The distressing malady which a 
 mental effort might at first have conquered, 
 had now taken fast hold of her constitution, 
 and it continued gradually to wear away the 
 springs of life. 
 
 It is not my intention to follow the changes 
 which were wrought in the mind of this lady 
 during the several months that she yet lin- 
 gered ; but they were such as filled her daugh- 
 ter's heart with joy, and her own with peace. 
 She no longer wearied or pained the ears of 
 her auditors with sinful rcpinings ; but though
 
 ROSE OF '^'OODLEE. 155 
 
 excessive and depressing debility and ft'vori8h 
 restlessness precluded cheerfulness, she was 
 always composed, resigned, and thankful, — al- 
 most happy. 
 
 Sir Thomas, whose visits had hitherto been 
 as short and as rare as was consistent with a 
 sincere attachment, now found pleasure in en- 
 livening his wife in her confinement ; and 
 devoted many hours a day to her society, and 
 that of his daughter, often taking part in their 
 conversations on the most important topics, 
 and always very gladly joining in his lady's ex- 
 pressions of gratitude to their child, for the 
 comfort which she had restored to their hearts. 
 
 As the day of death approached more nigh, 
 Sir Thomas could not refrain from expressing 
 to his wife his surprise at the calmness with 
 which she could await her final hour, the bare 
 apprehension of which, he knew, had formerly 
 filled her with horror. She smiled faintly, in 
 reply ; and then said, '• I trust my strength 
 will not fail me in the hour of need. It is very 
 near." Some time afterwards, she begged him 
 to remain with her that night, — Mrs. Mant 
 never left her mother's side, — and the three
 
 136 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 OMiversed long, with more than ordinary affec- 
 tion ; and with more than ordinar\- fervour, she 
 expressed her sei£se of the Divine mercy towards 
 her. 
 
 At length she expressed weariness, and a 
 desire to sleep ; they closed the curtains round 
 her. and sat apart. She slept for some hours 
 calmly as an infant. This was unusual ; and 
 the watchers could not but admit a ray of plea- 
 sore, almost of hope. But towards momine. 
 she called them to her side. 
 
 •^ Thomas, my husband." she said, with a 
 quivering' lip. " my hour is come.*" Then 
 taking both his hand and that of their daughter 
 in hers, she added : " God bless you both ; God 
 Men Tou, Laura, as you hare been my bless- 
 ing ; you taught me to seek, and 1 hare foimd.' 
 She sank back on her pillow for a moment : 
 and theo starting up, and catching her dausrh- 
 ter's hand, she again looked eagerly into her 
 fiiee, and said, with a peculiar and flitting smile, 
 abnost angiJic in its elevation of expression, 
 •^ It is good for me to have been afflicted."" 
 
 Thev were her last words.
 
 157 
 
 Ait 
 
 mmlA^ 
 
 luiwel oi lie 
 
 b«BidkeHwi«r 
 
 topiit tftnoE 
 
 tokr; wmiAgf 
 
 Tht gnml^ 
 
 kB 
 
 ti«.
 
 158 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 it was in vain to resist ; but still, if it be true 
 that 
 
 •' The chief happiness of human life 
 Is not in pleasure, but in rest from pain," 
 
 her's was real happiness, and such as she had 
 not enjoyed since her simple girlhood. Sir 
 Thomas rejoiced in the success of his remedy, 
 and delighted in the society of his daughter ; 
 but he was of a social disposition, — and as his 
 spirits recovered their wonted cheerfulness, his 
 desire for intercourse with the world increased, 
 and he at length obtained his companion's ac- 
 quiescence in his wish to winter at Florence. 
 
 Mrs. Mant found much there to interest her, 
 and gradually ceased to regret the more rural 
 and secluded scenes they had left.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 159 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " To mourn, avails not ; man is born to bear. 
 
 The happiest taste not happiness sincere ; 
 
 But find the cordial draught is mixed with care." 
 
 Pojycs Iliad. 
 
 Frank Merrival's unexpected return to his 
 father's house created, as may bo supposed, no 
 slight sensation at Stanfield and Woodlee: one 
 of the children was instantly despatched with 
 the news to Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, and when 
 the united families were assembled around the 
 supper-board, Frank commenced, at the general 
 desire, a detailed account of his adventures, 
 which they as yet had only gathered in frag- 
 ments, from the day of his j)arting with Mr. 
 Morgan, and his daughter Rose, in London, to 
 the parting with the same dear Rose after the 
 theatre on the previous night.
 
 160 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 The children clustered around him with eairer 
 questionings, or wondering looks— his sisters 
 wept at his sufferings — tlie matrons shed tears, 
 as tender, of gratitude, at his wonderful escape; 
 farmer Morgan shook his hand again and again, 
 and swore he was a gallant boy, and former 
 Merrival blessed his son, told him he was proud 
 of him, and hoped he should always have reason 
 to be so ; but, in tlie mean time, he declared 
 he did not know what to do for him, since his 
 patron, Captain Hotham, was dead. 
 
 Frank relieved this anxiety by mentioning 
 the hope that Montravers had held out ; and 
 bade his sisters take care of their hearts, for he 
 expected him at Stanfield in a few days. The 
 caution was a wise one, fn* Montravers was 
 singularly handsome, and his countenance bore 
 that shade of melancholy which is so peculiarly 
 interesting to a female bosom ; and it was 
 especially a wise one, because, though Margaret 
 and Lucy ^lerrival were excellent girls, and 
 not without pretensions to beauty, or to educa- 
 tion, they might in vain have exerted all their 
 arts of pleasing to captivate their brother''s
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 161 
 
 friend, — for he was not easily excited to love. 
 Thus, though he liked their society, as lively and 
 good-humoured companions, he delighted (juito 
 as much in a romp with the children, or a quiet 
 talk with the old people ; and much more in a 
 long ramble with Frank, when they could con- 
 verse, undisturbed, of the past, and of their 
 prospects for the future. 
 
 Tlie warm-hearted kindness, however, that 
 was lavished on them on all hands, soon had 
 their effect upon the spirits of llalph Mon- 
 travers; and when at length urgent letters 
 from his uncle in Liverpool rendered it neces- 
 sary that they should leave Stanfield, it was 
 with regret, hardly less deep than that of tho 
 circle with whom he had become a universal 
 favourite, that he tore himself away. 
 
 As for Frank, action was inspiriting to him ; 
 and a bright future seemed almost more real 
 to his mind, than a present which partook of 
 sorrow. Nor was this only happy for himself; 
 while he loved his family for the tears they 
 shed at parting, he kissed tho drops away, and 
 imparted to them his smiles, till every heart,
 
 1^ ROSE OF VOODLEE. 
 
 in the genuine overflow of feeling, cried, '* God 
 bless him V This was not the gaiety of insen- 
 sibility, but of youth, and hope, and happiness, 
 and a heart at ease. 
 
 The first halt which the friends made on their 
 journey was at Derby — when, after a night's 
 rest, they went to Mottram Court. They were 
 received with the warmest cordiality by Sir 
 Thomas Mottram and Mrs. Mant ; and Frank 
 in particular, the friend of her utmost adversity, 
 was gratefully welcomed by the lady. 
 
 Offers of services, in any way, were most 
 strenuously urged, but as firmly declined by 
 Frank — he could not bear the idea of being re- 
 warded for his services. On arriving at Liver- 
 pool, however, he found a letter from Sir 
 Thomas, enclosing a bill for one hundred 
 pounds, offered in such terms that the youth 
 knew not how to decline a favour, which was, 
 besides, particularly acceptable in itself, as his 
 father had not been able to supply his ward- 
 robe, and other necessaries, so amply as either 
 had wished. By Mr. John Montravers, the 
 merchant uncle of his friend, Frank was re-
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 163 
 
 oeived but carelessly : he praised him for his 
 "good conduct in jumping into the sea after 
 his nephew," but evidently regarded him merely 
 as an inferior, whom that nephew patronised. 
 He had scarcely an idea unconnected with 
 business ; and, laughing to scorn the proposal 
 of Ralph that he should go to college during 
 the remaining years of his minority, and pre- 
 pare for one of the liberal professions, he bade 
 him think of making money before he began to 
 spend it ; and recommended that he should 
 enter his name in the firm of Montravers, 
 Hacket, and Tait, and relieve him in his declin- 
 ing years of part of his toils. 
 
 This proposal was, at first, most distasteful 
 to the young Montravers, and every day spent 
 under his uncle's roof increased his discomfort ; 
 but, by his father's will, he found himself placed 
 entirely at the disposal of this relative during 
 his minority ; and with him, all pursuits but 
 his own appeared an ignoble waste of life. 
 Thus circumstanced, Ralph adopted the only 
 alternative that remained to him, and, yielding 
 to his uncle's persuasions, he placed his name
 
 164 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 in the finii, but stipulated that he should relieve 
 Mr. Tait, who had been for some years resident 
 at Rio Janiero ; preferring to meet again the 
 perils of the ocean, rather than endure daily 
 martyrdom with the one-idead Mr. John 
 Montravers. 
 
 The preliminaries being arranged, Ralph 
 hastened to take his passage in the " Indi- 
 cator," to which ship Frank Merrival had been 
 appointed second mate, and which was then on 
 the point of sailing ; nor was the society of his 
 friend forgotten among the inducements to this 
 step, for Montravers had few who cared for 
 him. The voyage was pleasant and prosperous 
 — Mr. Tait was delighted to return to his 
 native country — and Montravers was content 
 to remain away from it. Frank, meanwhile, 
 gave perfect satisfaction to his employers, and 
 was more than ever pleased with his profession. 
 
 He made two otlicr voyages as first mate ; 
 and by this time had so far won the approba- 
 tion of the firm, that they listened at length 
 to young Montravers' reconunendation, and 
 promised him the command of the " Hope " on
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 165 
 
 its arrival in port, as the captain of this ship 
 had died at Trinidad. It was to be fitted out 
 for South America, and was to bring home young 
 Montravers, whose minority had by this time 
 terminated. Tlie object of Frank's ambition 
 was now on the point of being attained — young 
 as he was, he was to bear the style and title of 
 captain ! and, to make the draught of happi- 
 ness more intoxicating, the ship, his first com- 
 mand, would not be ready for two months ; so 
 that he had leisure, for the first time for several 
 years, to return to his family — and Rose.
 
 166 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " Belle Adele, sur verd gazon, 
 
 Pleurait son absent amant ; 
 
 A peine avait elle seize ans ; 
 . C'est de Famour le beau printemps." — 
 
 Fraser's 3Iagazine. 
 
 What a revolution had one day wrought in the 
 guileless heart of our young heroine ! Her's 
 was no longer " a life becalmed, a heavy quiet 
 state ;" though she still scarce recognized the 
 master-passion of the female heart, she felt the 
 workings of the unknown power ; " for love" 
 (to continue my quotation), all strife, all rapid, 
 is the hurricane of life." 
 
 Her pensive reveries, her sudden starts, her 
 fitful spirits, and her secret tears, all exposed 
 her to the observation and tlie railleries of her 
 associates : but it was Louisa Gray alone, who 
 seriously warned her friend of the encroach-
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 167 
 
 ments of a passion which she had herself by 
 bitter suffering been taught to dread. 
 
 " Rose, dear Rose," she said, when she saw 
 that several weeks had passed and only in- 
 creased her gentle sadness; " Rose, dear Rose! 
 do you know that you are nourishing a serpent 
 in your bosom ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" cried Rose, starting 
 from a reverie in which she had long been 
 buried. " Oh Louisa, how you frightened me ! 
 I did not know that any one was in the room." 
 " A month since you would not have been so 
 easily frightened." 
 
 " But such words, Louisa, are enough to 
 startle me." 
 
 '* Why should they ?" replied Mentoria: ''but 
 you know what I mean ! To your thoughts — 
 when I disturbed you — I appeal." 
 
 " A serpent ! — you cannot mean Frank f 
 cried Rose, rising, while a flush of anger over- 
 spread her face. 
 
 "No!" returned Louisa, smiling, and kissing 
 her young friend's crimson brow. " I know no 
 ill of Mr. Merrival ; but love is a true serpent;
 
 168 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 and he lurks in your unsuspicious heart : he 
 glides so gently into his sweet resting-place, 
 and nestles there so securely, that few like to 
 expel him ; and his bright eye so dazzles, and 
 his bright colours so please, and his soft whis- 
 pers thrill through every nerve so deliciously, 
 that scarce any remember that poison lurks 
 beneath his tongue, which may embitter their 
 lives for long years to come." 
 
 " Dear Louisa,"' said Kose, after a moment's 
 pause of surprise, " I never heard you talk in 
 this way before. But why address such words 
 to me V 
 
 " Why, Rose ? Because you love Frank 
 Merrival — even as I loved Stephen Main- 
 waring ; and, like me, perhaps, you may some 
 day find that love turned to venom in your 
 heart. You know my story. Rose," she added, 
 in much agitation, — " think of it !" 
 
 "But, dear Louisa,'" returned the embarrassed 
 girl, " I have always loved Frank.*" 
 
 " But not always as you love him now%" in- 
 terrupted her friend : *' the change itself ought 
 to make you fear."
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 169 
 
 " Fear what, Louisa I — no harm can come to 
 me from Frank ! and how can I help loving 
 him I — He is so brave, so kind, so noble, so 
 handsome, so spirited ; — think of him jumping 
 into the sea after Mr. Montravers ! — think of 
 him depriving himself of food upon the desert 
 island, to take to Mrs. Mant. Oh ! Louisa, 
 how can I help loving him T' 
 
 " Dear girl," said Miss Gray, affectionately, 
 " all this is hard to resist; but it is for your own 
 sake that I urge, — that I warn you. Imagine, 
 only, how you would feel, if, after nourishing 
 this serpent passion for several years, till it at- 
 tained yet larger growth, Frank were to marry 
 another ! How, I ask, would you feel ? Be- 
 lieve me, even if he had plighted his faith to 
 you, it were a dangerous trust in one so young, 
 so gay." 
 
 " Oh I do not judge of all men by your 
 Stephen T exclaimed Rose. " And do not 
 think me so weak," she added in a faltering 
 voice, "as to let myself be wretched if my 
 friend were happy. I would try to love Frank's 
 VOL. I. I
 
 1 70 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 wife for his sake. But, Louisa, how strangely 
 you talk ! he is so much too young to marry." 
 
 "It is true," replied her cautious friend ; 
 " and therein lies the greater danger. Rose, I 
 have dearly bought my experience, — my right 
 of remonstrance on this subject ; and I warn 
 you once again not to yield to the witcheries of 
 love. Frank Merrival seems worthy of yours, 
 — I confess it, — so I do not bid you yet to 
 strangle the bosom snake ; but if you regard 
 your own peace, lull it with opiates, that so it 
 may be easily mastered if need arise. You do 
 not heed me ! Oh ! Rose, if you would but 
 believe how lightly love rules in the breast of 
 most men. A few years of separation, and they 
 forget, — a fairer mistress, and they are un- 
 faithful, — a richer or a nobler, and they are 
 dazzled, — aye, even when vows have been 
 spoken in the face of heaven. Rose ! will you 
 not believe me ?" 
 
 " Yes, I do, dear Louisa : I believe that it 
 may be so with most nen, but not with Frank ! 
 If he had pledged his faith, I could never 
 doubt I and though ho has not — though ho
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 171 
 
 never should, yet cannot I cease to love ! Did 
 not you say that he deserved all love C 
 
 " I did ; I believe it to be so," replied Louisa 
 Gray. " But, remember what a mere youth he 
 is; — oh! he may have as many changes as 
 Proteus ere he reaches manhood : what ho now 
 loves he may learn to hate, and what he hates, 
 to love ; none are so sincere, so passionate, at 
 the time, as these boy lovers — but none less 
 constant. Rose, for your peace sake, trust 
 him not ! When do you see time fulfil the 
 promise of these childish attachments ? Your 
 love cannot flow on smoothly for ever : such 
 happiness is not for earth. Change, or death, 
 or rivalry, will work you woe. Oh ! build not 
 your happiness thus upon sand I" 
 
 " Louisa," returned Rose, "for mercy's sake, 
 do not use these ominous words. You have 
 taught me this day to know how well I love 
 Frank Merrival ; but my affections are not 
 unworthily placed : and if, through them, it 
 pleases God at any time to aftiict me, through 
 Him, I trust, I shall be enabled to bear such 
 
 12
 
 172 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 afflictions as a Christian should. But we have 
 talked enough, or too much, on this subject." 
 
 " I believe we have," said Louisa. " My 
 zeal has, perhaps, been indiscreet : but I love 
 you, Rose ; and would not willino^ly see your 
 peace of mind thus early trusted in so frail a 
 bark : besides, it scarcely seems maidenly to 
 love so well one who has not yet pledged his 
 to you." 
 
 " In this you may be right," said Rose, with 
 somewhat of the dignity of wounded delicacy 
 in her tones : " but I know that Frank always 
 loved me, and I think he always will." 
 
 ••' Time will show," replied her boding friend ; 
 " but girls often strangely deceive themselves, 
 even when least there seems room for doubt. 
 Think of Stephen ; and meanwhile, dear Rose, 
 do not be angry with me, and I will try with 
 you to hope the best, as sincerely as I wish it." 
 
 After this well-meant, but ill-managed con- 
 versation. Rose became even more sad, more 
 thoughtful, and more pale than before; she 
 lost her appetite, too, and avoided her friend : 
 and her aunt, who was not slow to mark these
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 173 
 
 changes (without attributing them to the right 
 cause), determined on sending her home, for 
 the benefit of the fresh air of the country. 
 
 Rose's spirits revived at the thought ! — she 
 would ramble again over all her old haunts, 
 and think unrestrained of Frank ; she would 
 receive caresses from those who had caressed 
 Frank ; his name would be frequent on every 
 lip ; it would be lisped by the little ones, blessed 
 by the old, and daily familiar to her ear, as to 
 her heart, from the converse of his sisters. Oh, 
 Margaret and Lucy so dearly loved their bro- 
 ther ! — nobody there thought it wrong to love 
 Frank ; and to her own dear kind mother she 
 could pour out all her heart ! Even in thought, 
 she did not say she would, for in some bosoms 
 love is very reserved, and Rose was fast learn- 
 ing to nurse her passion in secret, keeping the 
 knowledge of it from every eye, as if it were a 
 crime. That love, — so guileless, so pure, so 
 true — a crime ! Louisa Gray had done this : 
 and thus, like most timid persons, '* increased 
 the very evil which she feared." Had she 
 gently encouraged the confidence of her young
 
 174 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 friend, Rosens love might for the present have 
 continued the sister-like affection it had hither- 
 to been : it would have gradually subsided, 
 after its first gushing overflow, into its former 
 channel, — a bounteous stream, indeed, but calm, 
 not tumultuous, in its current. 
 
 As it was, Rose's return to the scenes of her 
 childhood only nourished her passion. Every 
 woodland walk, every garden flower, was food 
 to it ; and before she had been a fortnight at 
 home, she was stretched on a bed of sickness. 
 A nervous fever seemed to threaten her life : 
 her mind, however, was strong in its gentle- 
 ness ; and finding the necessity, nay, the duty, 
 of struggling with her feelings, she effected the 
 conquest, and as soon as she was able, with a 
 smile at herself, she wrote to Louisa Gray, 
 that her pet snake had stung her once, but that 
 she had administered an opiate, and he was 
 lulled to rest. 
 
 It is needless to say how tenderly her mother 
 and her friends nursed their darling Rose, in 
 this illness : but the conversation with which 
 Margaret and Lucy sought to amuse her Ian-
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 175 
 
 giiid hours was not tho best calculated in the 
 world to fortify her heart. 
 
 Their whole talk was of the recent visit of 
 Frank and Montravers : but as they rivalled 
 each other in superlative encomiums on the 
 beauty, the manners, the conversation, the ac- 
 complishments of Montravers, Rose actually 
 gi'ew jealous of him, for they forgot to praise 
 Frank. Our heroine thousrht her friends much 
 altered for the worse ; and hearing them thus 
 openly talking of what they called love, she 
 only buried her own sentiments still deeper in 
 her heart : feeling that they were of a nature 
 widely different, and thought this must be (as 
 in truth it is) a most selfish passion, since they 
 were so occupied with the state of their own 
 hearts, that they could not read her's, as of 
 yore. 
 
 At length, Rose recovered ; and she was not 
 sorry to return again to London. She had 
 never been at Woodlee without Frank for her 
 neighbour, and she thought it very dull.
 
 176 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 " "We live by admiration, hope, and love ; 
 And even as these are well and wisely fixed, 
 In dignity of being we ascend." — Wordsworth. 
 
 " That love is surely worse than folly, 
 "Which is maintained on one side wholly." — 
 
 Bernard of Ventadour. 
 
 As time passed on, Rose Morgan became a still 
 greater favourite with her aunt ; she gave her a 
 share in her lucrative business, forbade her to 
 seclude herself all day in the apprentices' room, 
 and set herself assiduously to seek a " good 
 ma tell" for her beautiful niece. 
 
 For this purpose she took the unconscious 
 girl to concerts and plays — made parties to 
 Vauxhall — gave tea and card entertainments at 
 home — and walked with her in the Park on 
 Sunday afternoons.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 177 
 
 As may be supposed, all these things were 
 rather pleasing to Rose in themselves, though 
 she entered not into them with half the zest 
 which the kind but worldly Mrs. Massiter de- 
 sired ; and many reproachful eludings did the 
 timid girl receive, for shrinking abashed or 
 annoyed, from the admiration and compliments 
 of her satellites, instead of feeling flattered, and 
 being proud of the attentions she received. 
 
 Rose, when pressed upon the subject, ac- 
 knowledged that the gentlemen whom her aunt 
 so carefully selected for her escort in all places 
 of public amusement, were most respectable 
 men — nay, that some of them were very agreea- 
 ble ; but she could not be brought to confess 
 a preference to any in particular, whether 
 replying to tlie serious harangues of her pro- 
 tectress, the searching raillery of her young 
 companions, or pouring out her heart in confi- 
 dence to her friend Louisa Gray. 
 
 The fact was, that Rose had a silly habit of 
 comparing every man with whom she became at 
 all intimate, with a certain youthful friend of 
 her's, hight Frank Murrival : at the theatre in 
 
 l3
 
 178 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 particular, her neighbours, for the time being, 
 was apt to find her silent and abstracted ; for, 
 somehow, the remembrance of one particular 
 night, when she did not witness the perform- 
 ance of " Eomeo and Juliet," would force itself 
 into her mind, rendering her perfectly deaf to 
 every voice but that of memory. This seems 
 to us a curious phenomenon — well deserving 
 the attention of the learned. Tlie wealthiest 
 of our young heroine's admirers was a portly 
 jeweller, with grizzled hair, and staid and dig- 
 nified demeanour : and Eose, who knew that 
 fully half a century of winters had rolled over 
 his head, in the childish simplicity of her heart, 
 looked upon him rather in the light of a grand- 
 father than a lover, and was accustomed to 
 seek his arm in walking, or the chair next his 
 at the card- table, as a sort of safe refuge, when 
 annoyed by the assiduities of her more youthful 
 acquaintances. 
 
 " Let Eose alone," wrote Mrs. Massiter to 
 her sister, on noticing these things — " let Eose 
 alone for making a prudent choice ; but who 
 would have thought that the sly little puss knew
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 1 70 
 
 SO well what she was about. Yet, so close and 
 demure is she still, that she will not say a word 
 on the subject either to me or the girls, and 
 affects even not to understand the most direct 
 hint. It will be a ' capital match,' and you 
 will soon have to commend mo for my good 
 management, and greet the dear child as Mrs. 
 Monypenny.""' 
 
 In a few days Mrs. Morgan answered this 
 letter, expressing perfect confidence that her 
 daughter's choice would be a happy one for 
 herself, for that she could not have been at- 
 tracted by wealth alone ; and thanking her 
 sister as warmly as she could desire for her care 
 of her child, and her good management. But, 
 with an expression of annoyance and disap- 
 pointment, Mrs.Massiter flung the letter (scarce 
 read) into the fire: for, within these few days, she 
 had discovered that she had been mistaken, and 
 she did not relish the confession of this fact, 
 which it would be necessary to make to her 
 correspondent. 
 
 Rose had one evening accompanied her aunt 
 and a party of her gay friends to Covent 
 Garden, and had contrived, as usual, to seat
 
 ISO ROSE OF WOODLEEL 
 
 heneM neict to the dignified jeweller — at her 
 otiber side was a persevering young coxcomb, 
 whose pretty nothings were poured into her ear 
 in so loud a whisp^, as seriously to annoy our 
 iairhefoine ; and who, finding that neither inat- 
 tentions, nor any other ordinary means would 
 aTail to silence tiim, turned from him most point- 
 edly, and addressed herself to her other neigh- 
 bour ! though, in doing so. she could not see 
 the stage. This was so directly contrary to the 
 jtsaal piactke of our play-loving heroine, that 
 Mr. Monypenny. though not of brilliant in- 
 ttdkct, discovered the cause ; and taking Rose's 
 hand (as she thought in a very paternal manner) 
 he turned solenmly to his young rival, and in a 
 srave tone assured him that he considered that 
 the voun^r lady had silently appealed to him for 
 pfolection. and that he would not allow her to 
 be annoyed ; and then proceeded to fulminate 
 anch censures at younar puppies in general, and 
 the in«lividual in question in particular, that 
 the offender (disposed to laugh at first), grew 
 irritated, and retorted in no measured terms ; 
 and. finally, when cries of *' silence '^ from the
 
 182 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 continued his discourse, to the great amuse- 
 ment of some, and the annoyance of others of 
 their party. Mrs. Massiter, in particular, was 
 an anxious listener — though she was by no 
 means satisfied with her niece's demeanour. 
 The afterpiece on this night was one of the 
 countless plays in which the plot turns on the 
 heroine's refusal of some wealthy and middle- 
 aged suitor of her parents' choice, for the sake 
 of a gayer gallant, whom she marries despite 
 all opposition. 
 
 " What a warning is that to the young and 
 thoughtless !" said Monypenny ; " think what 
 may be their future fate, poor misguided couple. 
 I am really shocked to see the manner in which 
 young ladies throw themselves away now-a- 
 days, on any curly-headed puppy that comes to 
 ask them, without once thinking if he is a 
 fitting guardian and adviser in the perils of 
 life, and the temptations of the world ; or if he 
 has wealth enough to give her all the comforts 
 she will require in her declining years — they 
 trust to chance, poor simpletons, for this : but 
 you, Miss Morgan" (and he pressed Rose's
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 183 
 
 hand tenderly), " you are not one of these 
 foolish maidens. Oh, Rose — permit me to call 
 you Rose, — you know not how much your con- 
 duct this evening has pleased me ; you shrunk 
 from the idle converse of that pert coxcomb 
 (whom I so lately dismissed as he deserved) 
 and turned to me, from whose graver character 
 (though still sufficiently young in years), you 
 may gather wisdom. I applaud, I honour you 
 for it, my sweet young friend ; and, let me add, 
 that I have long watched your conduct with 
 interest, and discovered, before this night, the 
 steadiness of your character, and, I may add, 
 the timid preference you have ever shewn for 
 my society." 
 
 " But are you not afraid of making me vain 
 by such commendations, and from such a 
 quarter T replied Rose, half laughing, an<l not 
 well knowing what answer to make to this long 
 address. 
 
 *' No, my modest young friend," returned the 
 jeweller ; " you are superior even to the foible 
 of vanity only too connnon to your sex : even 
 your beauty, great as it is,'"' he added, with an
 
 184 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 admiring glance, "seems not to exalt you in 
 your own opinion, or to make you insensible to 
 more solid merits in others/'' 
 
 ''To yours, for instance f asked Rose archly. 
 
 " I am pleased, indeed, to believe that our 
 approbation is mutual ; " replied he, yet more 
 complacently: "allow me, dear ^liss Morgan, 
 to direct your attention for one instant to the 
 stage ; — you perceive the affluent Goldby, after 
 pleading his cause by every sober argument 
 which would prevail with the sensible of her 
 sex, condescends even to kneel to the beautiful 
 Almeria ; — the monkey lieutenant, concealed in 
 the cupboard, looks laughing forth, — and the 
 saucy fair one mocks at his appeal. Oh, Rose! 
 (I love that sweet name. Rose) — how different 
 would be your conduct in such a situation ! 
 Would that I were at this moment in Goldby^s 
 attitude, and you were my Almeria ! But sit- 
 ting side by side as we are, tell me what would 
 be your reply ?" 
 
 " You surely are jesting," said Rose, in an 
 incredulous tone, but blushing at the same 
 time, half in mirth, half in confusion.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 185 
 
 " No, I do not jest," returned our lover, at- 
 tempting to raise her hand to his lips. '* But 
 this modest doubt becomes you, my sweet Rose. 
 It is true that 1 have seen but little of you, 
 considering the importance of the choice in 
 question ; but I am not easily deceived in my 
 judgments, my dear young lady ; and I am 
 happy to say that your kind aunt has given me 
 so excellent a character of you, as fully to 
 second my views. You perceive, therefore, 
 that I am not too hasty in pressing your con- 
 sent to be mine — my wife.'' 
 
 " Yours !" exclaimed Rose, fixing her large 
 eyes upon his features in simple wonder ; — 
 " Yours I'' she repeated, laughing outright, as 
 she beheld the stately earnestness of their ex- 
 pression. " But, my dear sir, you forget. I 
 am afraid that you cannot, at your years, have 
 any kind aunt yet living, to speak to the ex- 
 cellence of your character ; and without that, 
 upon our slight opportunities of acquaintance, 
 and considering the importance of the step in 
 question, it would be the height of imprudence 
 should I consent to your most flattering pro- 
 posal.'"'
 
 186 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 The wooer was surprised in his turn. Rose 
 Morojan's manner was hardly to be mistaken ; 
 her looks, her accents, the arch expression of 
 her countenance, the alhision to his years, — all 
 offended him ; but then, could the girl be such 
 a fool ! She might not be portionless ; but 
 yet to refuse one of the wealthiest jewellers in 
 the city, was madness in a country farmer's 
 daughter, — in a youthful milliner. He returned 
 to the attack. With more than ordinary pom- 
 pous gravity, " Miss Morgan," he said, " your 
 answer has somewhat disappointed me. It is 
 not made with the modest air I am accustomed 
 to note in you. But I can make allowance for 
 the gaiety of youth (a season which I have my- 
 self but lately passed through), and attribute 
 to the exhiliration of spirits consequent on my 
 offer, your somewhat — excuse me — flippant de- 
 meanour." 
 
 " I deserve your reproof,*" said Rose, blush- 
 ing; " and am really sorry if I have hurt your 
 feelings ; but, indeed, it seemed to me so very 
 strange ! I never tliought of you, sir"" (and a 
 timid laugli lurked in the corners of her mouth.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 187 
 
 and her downcast eyes), " in the light of— a — 
 a lover." 
 
 " Perhaps not," said the jeweller, more com- 
 placently ; " but now tliat I have declared my 
 intentions, — however" (seeing her embarrass- 
 ment increase, and interpreting it favourably 
 to his views), " I do not wish to hurry you, 
 my dear ; I will call to-morrow to receive your 
 answer — your consent, may I say ?" 
 
 " Indeed, sir," resumed Kose, hurriedly, as 
 she saw the curtain about to fall, " you need 
 not come. I am much obliged to you, but I 
 never could think of you as a — a husband." 
 
 " And why then has Miss Morgan always 
 shewn so much preference for my society T' de- 
 manded the jeweller, coldly. " I have not been 
 mistaken in that. If, madam, you wished to 
 amuse yourself at my expense '' 
 
 *' No, indeed," said Rose, drawing her shawl 
 around her; " I — I only liked to bo near you — 
 because — because — I thought you were a sort 
 of protection, when — tlio others — were too 
 attentive." 
 
 " Mighty well," cried Monypenny, now much
 
 188 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 incensed ; " I was too old, I suppose, to enter 
 your silly conceited brain, as a lover, among all 
 your gay boy gallants ; and I am rejected, am 
 I V 
 
 Rose bowed her head. 
 
 " Mr. Monypenny, won't you hand Miss 
 Morgan to the coach T' said Mrs, Massiter, 
 from behind. " We are all going." 
 
 " Not I," said the jeweller, sharply; and he 
 stalked over the benches alone. 
 
 So poor Rose, having rejected her first lover, 
 had to follow her party out of the theatre un- 
 escorted, as best she might. Rose failed not 
 to communicate the whole adventure to her 
 aunt, as soon as they arrived at home ; but to 
 her great surprise, instead of laughing or won- 
 dering with her at the proposal, Mrs. Massiter 
 rebuked her pretty sharply for her summary 
 dismissal of her wealthy suitor. She was irri- 
 tated, in short ; and Rose went to bed in tears. 
 She was quite unused to anything like harsh- 
 ness, and supposed that she must in some man- 
 ner have acted very wrongly ; at an early hour, 
 therefore, she hastened to Louisa Gray for ad- 
 vice and consolation ; and happily found both.
 
 ROSI-: OF WOODLEF. 1S9 
 
 Thus fortified, she met her aunt's further 
 remonstrances and persuasions with gentle firm- 
 ness ; and Mrs. Massitcr at length agreed that 
 it was, after all, very material for her to prefer 
 a younger and handsomer man, and that her 
 niece might have a better offer yet: — so the 
 wealthy Mr. Monypenny was dismissed for ever 
 from the number of Rose's suitors. 
 
 Our young heroine gained something by 
 this incident ; — she became more clear-sighted, 
 more careful, — perhaps somewhat more re- 
 served ; and without fancying a lover in every 
 person who paid her attention, she learned to 
 cheek the hopes of some who were so, without 
 offending them. Her aunt meanwhile looked 
 around her, and at last fixed upon a person to 
 whom she thought it would be impossible for 
 Rose to make any objection : and with all the 
 zeal of a match-maker, she detennined to carry 
 through this new project.
 
 190 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " His courtship was like the pawing of an elephant." — 
 
 Caltb WiUiams. 
 
 Mrs. Massiter came in from her walk one day 
 in high spirits ;— she had been to visit her par- 
 ticular friend Miss Stancliffe, a friend upon 
 whom she greatly prided herself; for Miss 
 Stancliffe was a lady of independent fortune, a 
 most genteel person, the daughter of a country 
 gentleman. She had been admired in her day; 
 but having preferred a life of independence in 
 a house of her own, to becoming, as she said, 
 the slave and housekeeper of any man, now de- 
 lighted chiefly in preventing her friends follow- 
 ing her example ; while she still assured them, 
 that, for her own part, she was convinced a 
 single life was the only one which afforded a
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 191 
 
 security of happiness. Despite this inconsis- 
 tency, and a fair share of other harmless foibles, 
 Miss Stancliffe's opinion was consulted, as a 
 sort of oracle, by the circle in which she reigned 
 supreme, and not even her enemies could deny 
 that she was always most generously anxious to 
 assist her friends — with her advice. She dwelt 
 apart, she said, and lived a life of observation, 
 so her advice should be worth something ; while, 
 in truth, this observation seldom extended fur- 
 ther than the four very narrow walls of the 
 four rooms of her house, or such enlargement 
 of prospect as could be obtained througli the 
 dusty windows of a hackney-coach ; — for Miss 
 Stancliffo was far too genteel to walk in the 
 London streets, and was fond besides of aftect- 
 ing great delicacy of constitution, — another 
 effect, it was presumed, of her gentle nurture. 
 
 *' I hope Miss Stancliffe is better to-day, 
 aunt V said Rose, for it was the custom never 
 to consider the lady in perfect health. 
 
 " Yes, pretty well, my dear ; — but. Hose, I 
 met an admirer of yours there, who walked 
 home with me, and he talked of little else, I 
 promise you."
 
 192 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " Which of them V asked Rose, laughing ; 
 " for you give me credit for so many.'"' 
 
 " Oh, this is a new conquest, — one that you 
 may be proud of, I can tell you ; but you know 
 him too, and I am sure, hard as you are to 
 please, even you must think him agreeable and 
 handsome. It is Mr. Dennison." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Dennison is certainly handsome, 
 very handsome,"" said Rose ; " and I think he 
 seems agreeable. What did he say of me, 
 aunt?" 
 
 " At last," cried Mrs. Massiter, in triumph, 
 " we have fixed upon the rio^ht one at last ! 
 Ha, Rose !" 
 
 " Nonsense, aunt," said she, laughing and 
 blushing ; "I never thought of ^Ir. Dennison 
 before, and I dare say never shall again." 
 
 " But I bog you will, my dear. Rose, I mean 
 to speak seriously to you. It is the duty of 
 every young woman to think of settling herself 
 advantageously in life, as much as it is for her 
 friends to assist her. You are placed here 
 under my protection, and I endeavour to do 
 my part towards you in such a manner as your
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 193( 
 
 fatlicr and mother would wish ; — but I am 
 sorry to say, my dear, that you do not second 
 me as you ought ; — you are a good little girl, 
 and anything in the way of getting your own 
 living I am sure you would do, — but you do 
 not seem to consider how much better it would 
 be to unite yourself to some one who would 
 provide at once for you, without any further 
 anxiety on your part, or that of your family. 
 I do not mean that I would have you snap at 
 any offer that comes in your way, as some girls 
 do ; — far from it. But look round among your 
 acquaintance ; and if you find any man likely 
 to make you happy and comfortable for life, 
 there is surely no disgrace in trying to make 
 yourself agreeable to him; — if you do not suc- 
 ceed, there is no harm done : — and of course 
 you do not make the slightest advance that 
 may seem forward and indelicate. I would 
 only have you behave to men as you would to 
 your female friends. Girls must have very 
 weak minds that are afraid of entangling their 
 own feelings, — it is a silly, false delicacy, that 
 governs such ; while young women deceive them- 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 selves with calling it maidenly reserve, and mo- 
 dest diffidence, and such like pretty terms, 
 picked up from novels. Now, Kose, I should 
 wish to see you above such missyish nonsense. 
 Here is this Mr. Dennison — a most respectable 
 silk-mercer ; rich, handsome, well-educated, 
 agreeable, and altogether 'comme il faut ;' — why 
 should you be ashamed of acknowledging these 
 qualities in him f 
 
 " I am not, aunt. He may be all this, — 
 but—" 
 
 '' Hush, my dear; your huts are always ab- 
 surd on these subjects. You are to view it in 
 this light : — Of course I should like to marry, 
 if I could marry well and liappily, and so would 
 my family wish me to do. "Well, here is a 
 young man in whom I see no objection ; — I will 
 try to please him. If I succeed, — good ; if 
 not, — I will look elsewhere." 
 
 " Oh, aunt, my mother never taught me to 
 calculate in this way ; — I cannot do it. I do 
 not care to marry. All this has nothing to do 
 with love. I have heard her say that a mar- 
 riage can never bo happy without this ; — and 1 
 am sure it cannot.''
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 195 
 
 " Silly girl, what is to hinder your loving 
 Mr. Dennison f 
 
 " But to love first, aunt ! I am sure a girl 
 ought to try not to do this. When Mr. Den- 
 nison shows that he loves, it will be time enough 
 for me to think if / do."" 
 
 '' Well, well, there is no putting grey heads 
 on young shoulders, I see ; girls will have girls' 
 feelings, despite our wise lessons ; so take your 
 own way, my dear. But I must tell you what 
 passed this morning, and then we shall see 
 what you think of it. ' I have been advising 
 my young friend here to marry," said Cecilia, 
 when we were comfortably settled after my en- 
 trance ; ' do you not think it very sensible 
 advice V 
 
 " ' Decidedly,' said I ; ' and I am sure Mr. 
 Dennison is a gentleman of too much sense and 
 knowledge of the world, not to agree with our 
 opinion.'' 
 
 " ' Oh, ladies,** replied he, laughing, ' I see 
 that I should have no chance against such odds, 
 were I ever so much averse to the project ; but 
 1 assure you this is far from being the case : I 
 
 k2
 
 196 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 only feel at a loss whom to elect to the honour 
 of being ^Irs. Alfred Dennison.' " 
 
 " That sounds very conceited," remarked the 
 simple-minded Rose. 
 
 " Pooh, child ; it is mere sound, and becomes 
 him very well,'"* returned her aunt. ' If that is 
 all your difficulty,' said Cecilia Stancliffe, ' I 
 dare say we can find you a suitable lady ; — 
 what say you to the pretty Miss A — V 
 
 " ' Or the rich Miss B— V said I. 
 
 " ' Or one of the Misses C — V chimed in my 
 friend ; and so we went on, naming all, and 
 more than all, our acquaintance, except you, 
 Rose, whom 1 could not well mention, you 
 know, — and Cecilia did not. So imagine my 
 delight, my dear, when he stopped us at last. 
 ' No, no, no, ladies,' said he, ' none of those 
 will do for me ; — but there is one handsomer 
 than any of them, a fine girl indeed, whom I 
 am surprised that you have not named, as 1 
 think you must know her : I mean Miss Mor- 
 gan, madam. She does take my fancy.' 
 
 " ' Rose Morgan," ejaculated I. 
 
 " ' Miss Morgan of Woodlee !' exclaimed my
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. }^)7 
 
 friend. ' This lady, Mr. Dcnnison, is her 
 aunt.' 
 
 "'Indeed," said he, starting. 'Well, ma- 
 dam, to my mind your niece is one of the pret- 
 tiest young women in town, and I should be 
 proud of an introduction to her ;' and I can 
 assure you, Rose, that as he walked with me 
 to the corner of the street, he said some very 
 pretty things of you, which I will not do him 
 the injury to repeat second-hand. But, my 
 dear girl, do think seriously now what an ad- 
 vantageous match it would be : your poor mo- 
 ther would be delighted, I know, to get you so 
 well off her hands ; and then the connection 
 would be every thing to our business ; I should 
 advise you still to continue a partner here, for a 
 time at least, — and — " 
 
 " Dear aunt," interrupted Rose, laughing, 
 " you are as bad as Alnaschar in the Arabian 
 Nights, who kicked over the basket of crockery 
 on which all his fine day-dreams depended. I 
 do not yet know this gentleman, except to 
 speak to occasionally, and already you fancy 
 him in love with me ; and what is more, — me 
 with him.""'
 
 198 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " Well, think of it, that is all, my dear. I 
 am serious ; and I dare say he is so, if you are 
 not. But, by the way, I have more to tell you. 
 Miss Staneliffe has asked us to an evening 
 party next Monday, and I told her we would 
 go." 
 
 "A party at Miss Stancliffe's !" exclaimed 
 Rose ; *' that will be something new ; and plea- 
 sant, I am sure." 
 
 Even Rose, with all her sageness, was flattered 
 by an invitation from one whom she had been 
 taught to consider so very fine a lady, and she has- 
 tened to impart the intelligence to Louisa Gray. 
 Monday came, — and Rose, in her best array, 
 accompanied her aunt to Miss Stancliffe's even- 
 ing party. Only two guests had arrived before 
 them, — and these were habitual satellites of 
 our fine lady, — a sort of occasional toadies, who 
 attended to spare her trouble, poor thing, in 
 her delicate state of health. 
 
 The house would be deemed a curiosity in 
 the northern metropolis, where " independent 
 gentlewomen" of Miss Stancliffe's class would 
 be content with apartments, or at most a flat :
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 199 
 
 but in London, such miniature dwellings are 
 not unfrequent ; and Miss Cecilia Stancliffe 
 would have disdained the idea of sharing a roof 
 with half-a-dozen strangers. 
 
 On being admitted by Miss Cecilia's maid, 
 the guests found themselves in a small, cold- 
 looking hall, where they were invited to dis- 
 robe ; off this were a number of cupboards, a 
 pantry, and store-room, the convenience and 
 compactness of which Mrs. Massiter pointed 
 out to her niece. The right-hand corner of 
 the hall was cut off by a door, which opened 
 upon a steep and narrow staircase, and left 
 them in utter darkness as the door swung to 
 behind them ; the maid, however, tripped on 
 before, and, guided by the sound of her stops, 
 the visitors more cautiously followed ; and in a 
 few secbnds, the opening of another door above 
 gave them a ray of light, and afforded entrance 
 at the angle of tlie room directly above the 
 hall. Four paces led them across this to 
 the door in the corresponding corner, from 
 which the steep spiral stairs led them in ex- 
 actly the same manner into the drawing-room ;
 
 200 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 through this (as similar portals intimated) it 
 was necessary to pass to two bedroom stories 
 yet higher, the whole bearing an exact resem- 
 blance to a house of cards. 
 
 " What would become of this dwelling, if it 
 were not wedged in between its more substaq- 
 tial neighbours f whispered Rose, smiling, to 
 her aunt. 
 
 *' Never mind, my dear ; you will see how 
 elegant she has every thing about her,"" replied 
 Mrs. Massiter ; and making eight or nine min- 
 cing steps forward, she reached the head of the 
 room, where sate her friend close to the wall, 
 and between her satellites, to receive her com- 
 pany in fitting state. 
 
 '' Ha, how are you, Mrs. Massiter ?" lisped 
 the lady, languidly, as she presented her ring- 
 adorned hand to her friend ; " Miss Morgan, I 
 am glad to see you ; sit down, pray." 
 
 " Do be seated," said one satellite. 
 
 '* Take a seat on the sofa," echoed the other. 
 
 " Dorinda, my dear," said the fine lady, " I 
 think you have never been introduced to my 
 admired young friend Miss Morgan V
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 201 
 
 " I have never before had that pleasure, Miss 
 Stancliffe. She is really very pretty, don't you 
 admire her ?" she added, affecting to whisper. 
 " Ladies, do sit on the sofa." 
 
 Mrs. Massiter, who had previous experience 
 of this honourable seat, had already taken a 
 chair ; but she had not sufficient ' savoir faire ' 
 to avoid complying with these reiterated entrea- 
 ties, and reluctantly preceded her niece to the 
 indicated couch. 
 
 It was a hard and narrow seat of black hair- 
 cloth, whose sharp rosewood border precluded 
 comfort to those who attempted to lean back, 
 and whose length barely admitted three persons. 
 
 Presently a vulgar-looking personage entered, 
 who, having shaken Miss Stancliffe heartily by 
 the hand, and announced with sufficient brus- 
 querie that he had come to take tea with her, 
 was similarly marshalled to the vacant place ; 
 and Rose, for the long hours which the evening 
 party endured, found herself inextricably wedged 
 in between her aunt and this new comer — Hug- 
 gins, by name — as uncomfortable as the bodkin 
 in a chaise ; happily, she was at first disposed 
 
 Kd
 
 202 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 to be pleased with every thing, and did not 
 anticipate the misery she was about to endure. 
 
 Let no blame, however, fall upon Miss Stan- 
 cliffe or her assistants for this arrangement ; it 
 was not only politic, but absolutely necessary 
 (as a glance at the apartment will clearly shew) 
 to pack each arrival fairly out of the way, be- 
 fore others came. 
 
 This room, like every other in the house, 
 measured just twenty feet by ten; and this 
 minus two of the angles, of which (as before 
 mentioned) they were robbed by the stairs. A 
 work-table, surmounted by an elegant assort- 
 ment of scent bottles, stood between these 
 doors : the window was opposite, supported on 
 one side by a cottage piano, on the other by a 
 bookcase of fluted silk, tastefully made to cor- 
 respond therewith. The twenty feet of length 
 being thus curtailed at either end, it may be 
 imagined the intermediate space was sufficiently 
 occupied by the hair- cloth sofa against the wall, 
 the table in front of it, and the fireplace oppo- 
 site, whose mantel-piece was adorned with 
 various elegancies ; and above which was a
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 203 
 
 looking-glass in a richly gilt frame, slanted 
 gently forward, as otherwise it was placed too 
 high to afford its fair owner a glimpse of her 
 rich gauze cap and borrowed curls. At each 
 side of the fireplace, three of the smallest pos- 
 sible rosewood chairs stood contending for 
 elbow-room ; and in due time, one division of 
 these was advanced to the table, and occupied 
 by three additional male guests ; and the other, 
 leaving its station under the conduct of Miss 
 Stancliffe and her satellites, occupied a position 
 opposite to the sofa. 
 
 When the whole party was thus arranged, 
 one would have thought it difl&cult for another 
 guest to find accommodation ; yet it was evi- 
 dent that one was expected, — for Mr. Denni- 
 son*s name was whispered frecjuently among 
 the triumvirate. 
 
 " Mr. Dennison is always late,"" said Miss 
 Stancliffe, aside ; " but, for my part, I cannot 
 say that I altogether dislike it, — it is a fashion- 
 able foible, at any rate." 
 
 " Do you know Mr. Dennison T' asked Miss 
 Dorinda of Mrs. Massiter.
 
 204 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " I am slightly acquainted with him." 
 
 " We expect him here to-night ; but he is 
 always late." 
 
 " So I believe," replied the attorney's widow. 
 
 " But don't you think, Mrs. Massiter, that 
 there is something fashionable, as I may say, 
 in this foible of his ?" enquired the other lady, 
 with the air of an original discoverer of an im- 
 portant fact. 
 
 " Some people," observed one gentleman in a 
 whisper to another, " are like dogs, as respects 
 conversation : they live on the crumbs that fall 
 from their master's table." 
 
 " There is Eliza Mac Nab talking again of 
 Mr. Dennison's lateness," said Dorinda to Mrs. 
 Massiter, a few minutes afterwards. " Really 
 one might compare her to a dog who runs 
 about picking up the crumbs of conversation 
 that fall from its master's table. Ha, ha, ha ! 
 I hope she did not hear." 
 
 At the same time she overheard Miss Stan- 
 cliffo suggest in a whisper, that it was useless 
 to wait tea any longer for the dilatory gentle- 
 man ; and turning to her she said, *' Cecilia
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 205 
 
 love, you will be quite exhausted ; — don't you 
 think we had better order tea without waiting 
 longer?" 
 
 Have my readers ever met with a Dorinda ? 
 — I have. 
 
 These little peculiarities did not altogether 
 escape the observation of our Rose of Wood- 
 lee, — but much more of her attention than was 
 agreeable to her, was engrossed by her too close 
 neighbour, Mr. Huggins. 
 
 '' I say — how come you to be visiting among 
 such a set of old cats, eh ? — stoopid a'n't it V^ 
 
 " Hush ! they will hear you," said Rose. 
 
 " Never mind 'em, wo can talk together snug 
 here," said this acquaintance of half an hour. 
 '* I say," whispering in her ear, " don't you 
 think my lady (as I always call her,) don't you 
 think my lady snuffing at her smelling-bottle 
 there, is a great humbug ? Catties ! how she 
 turns up her eyes like a dying duck ! ha, ha ! 
 Why don't you hanswer, eh ?" 
 
 "' I have nothing to say to such remarks," 
 replied Rose. 
 
 Nothing abashed, Mr. Huggins now ad-
 
 206 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 dressed the lady of the house in a tone of 
 much 'empresseiuent,' — "Miss Stancliffe, excuse 
 me — but could you lend your smelling bottle 
 for one minute to Miss Morgan here ; — she 's 
 quite faint, I assure you." 
 
 " Indeed I am not," said Rose, rather indig- 
 nantly. 
 
 But th(^re was an instant confusion in the 
 little circle. 
 
 " My dear child, are you ill f inquired Mrs. 
 Massiter. 
 
 " Eliza, there are a variety of essences on my 
 work table," said Miss Stancliffe, applying her 
 own bottle affectedly to her nostrils ; " it must 
 be this hot room. Make haste !" 
 
 " Dear me, I should not wonder if it was the 
 'eat !" exclaimed Dorinda. " It's the 'eat, isn't 
 it. Miss Morgan ?" 
 
 And simultaneously with these exclamations 
 and interrogations from the ladies, tlie three 
 unnamed gentlemen started from their seats, 
 two of them overturning their little rose-wood 
 chairs in their hasty movements, while the 
 third, more successful in reaching the indicated
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 207 
 
 table, struck his head so violently against that 
 of Miss Eliza Mac Nab, that the bottle of 
 aromatic vines^ar she had seized, was dashed to 
 the ground, and part of the pungent essence 
 vengefully spirted into the gentleman's eyes. 
 He stamped for pain ; the lady supported her- 
 self against the wall, and pressed her hand 
 upon her injured brow : the other gentlemen 
 picked up their chairs, resolving to attempt no 
 further movements in so confined an arena; 
 and Mr. Iluggins, throwing himself back on the 
 sofa, laughed aloud, and rubbed his hands in 
 glee. 
 
 '• Look at them ! look at them !" whispered 
 he to poor Rose, between his bursts of laughter, 
 " a'n't that real fun, Miss Morgan ? Vm sure 
 you ought to thank me for making a bit of 
 stir." And then, as the confusion subsided a 
 little, he affected to inquire solicitously after 
 her health. " Do not trouble yourself further, 
 Miss Mac Nab ; — gentlemen, do not trouble 
 yourselves, — I am happy to say that Miss 
 Morgan is better now." And ho rearranged 
 her handkerchief over her shoulders, and looked 
 at her with a caricature tenderness.
 
 208 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " Miss Morgcan may be better," said Miss 
 Stancliffe resentfully, " but really all this con- 
 fusion has been almost too much for my weak 
 nerves : pray, my dear, are you usually so deli- 
 cate ?" 
 
 " Indeed, madam," replied Rose, " it was not 
 my — 
 
 " Hush, hush, you simple little spoilsport," 
 whispered Huggins, pinching her elbow, " be 
 quiet, and we'll see if we can't 'ave some more 
 fun by and bye." Then speaking aloud ; — " As 
 to the confusion, my lady, you see it would all 
 have been prevented if you had handed over 
 your own bottle for a minute ; but the upset of 
 the haromatic vinegar will, I dare say, keep us 
 all from fainting for the rest of the night. I 
 say, sir, how 's your eyes ?" 
 
 " I'm 'alf blinded," replied the unlucky indi- 
 vidual addressed, " and I dare say it was you 
 that I heard laughing at my torments. I hope 
 ma'am that your head wasn't much 'urt f 
 
 Here this interesting suLject was broken in 
 upon by the entrance of the maid, with the tea- 
 tray, and conversation was resumed upon other 
 topics.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLRE. 209 
 
 Taking advantage of this, Hose, turning 
 her back as much as possible upon her 
 tormentor, addressed some observation to her 
 aunt. Quiet however was not long permitted 
 her. 
 
 " I say, Miss Morgan, — '"' 
 
 Rose did not choose to hear. 
 
 " Miss Morgan, I say, are you fond of — '' 
 
 Still Rose did not turn. 
 
 She was next assaulted by what Mr. Hug- 
 gins termed a * nudge "* with his elbow : and as 
 Rose could not affect to have lost feeling, as 
 well as hearing, she half-turned towards him. 
 
 " I say,'' with another nudge, " you a'n't 
 offended with me, are you I Ah, don't look so 
 cruel now with those pretty eyes, you'll kill me 
 if you do." 
 
 '' What nonsense !" exclaimed Rose, half 
 laughing, despite herself, at his absurdity. 
 
 *' That's right, laugh on ! It a'n't natural 
 for young folks like us to keep talking to those 
 old codgers; — so. Miss Rose, not to offend you 
 again, you shall fix what we shall talk about. 
 Corao now !"
 
 210 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " I would rather not talk," said Rose, finding 
 a reply was expected. 
 
 " Now that's what I call prudish,^' returned 
 Huggins. '' But, I say, do you like music ?" 
 
 " Yes, very much.'' 
 
 " Well, then, if you are for listening, Fll give 
 you a right good song."'' 
 
 " It might not be agreeable to the rest,"^ said 
 Rose, alarmed at the preparatory clearing of 
 the throat. 
 
 " The rest be hanged ! — that's prudish 
 again V exclaimed her tormentor. " However, 
 since you will have it so, we'll do the civil. 
 Ladies and gentlemen, and Miss Staneliffe in 
 particular, Miss Morgan, here, wants a song, — 
 so, I'm sure none of you will 'ave any objections 
 to my obliging a fair lady T' 
 
 -' We are going to tea, now," said Eliza Mac 
 Nab. 
 
 " Miss Staneliffe don't like music till after 
 tea," chimed in Dorinda. 
 
 " Oh, my dear Cecilia ! will you not favour 
 us with a song after tea ?" said Mrs. Massiter ; 
 '' I do so love music, vou know."
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 211 
 
 ** Well/' exclaimed Hiic^gins, "if you all love 
 music, confound me if I see how a cup of catlap 
 is to make any difference ! They only want to 
 put us off, Miss Morgan ; — but we won't mind 
 them, — here goes ! 
 
 " Fse a Yorkshireman just come to town, 
 And my coming to town was a gay -day ;" 
 
 — Why you all look glum ! What do you turn 
 away for, Rosebud I — ha I ha! Rosebud! — that's 
 pretty aVt it V 
 
 "■ I wish you would not bring me in, on all 
 occasions, Mr. Hugginson ! — you know very 
 well that I did not either ask for the song, or 
 the smelling-bottle,'' said poor Rose, with a 
 glowing cheek. " You make me feel exceed- 
 ingly awkward." 
 
 '' Do I ? I wish I could kneel and ask your 
 pardon, tlicn : you know, all I want is just to 
 please and amuse you ; — but there's no telling 
 how to catch you women ! If nothing but 
 paying fine compliments to your beauty will do, 
 Jack Huggins has little chance, for I'd rather 
 look at a pretty face than praise it, any day ! 
 though, on my word, yours is worth the 
 trouble.''
 
 212 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " I dislike compliments,"' said Rose, shrinking 
 from his staring gaze. 
 
 " That's right !" returned Huggins. *' I like 
 you the better for it, mv llosebud ! Compli- 
 ments and such trash I leave to puppies like 
 this Dennison, who has chosen to drop in at 
 last ; — do you know him ?" 
 
 " A little,*" replied Rose, bowing in return to 
 Dennison's salutation. 
 
 His arrival made some commotion in Miss 
 Stancliffe's circle, for the handsome manufac- 
 turer was a personage of importance, not alone 
 in his own eyes. The ladies all decked their 
 countenances with smiles of welcome, and the 
 gentlemen shook his hand with much appear- 
 ance of cordiality : there arose some difficulty, 
 however, about his accommodation ; but Miss 
 Dorinda at length moved her chair round the 
 corner of the table, and Miss Stand iffe desired 
 him to occupy the vacant space beside her. 
 
 *'Ha, ha, ha !" laughed Huggins in Rose's ear. 
 Our heroine looked her surprise. 
 
 " You must take the music-stool, Mr. Den- 
 nison, ha, ha, ha! It's a thousand pities, for 
 it'll stop the ladies singing to the pianer after
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 213 
 
 their tea. But there's no hother seat — so the 
 music-stool, or your thumb !'' 
 
 Mr. Dcnnison (juietly took the indicated 
 seat, while Miss Stanclifle looked daggers of 
 dignity at the facetious Huggins. 
 
 " Ha, ha, capital ! — a glance worthy of Mrs. 
 Siddons,"" said this incorrigible person ; then, 
 putting his lips close to the ear of the shrinking 
 Rose, " I say, Miss Morgan, did you see my 
 lady's look? d'ye know I wasn't hasked 'ere 
 to-night ; but I 'appened to know of this blow 
 out, so I dropped in, as I often do : — six chairs, 
 and three on the sophy ! — she never hasks 
 more. Good, a'n't it? next time I think I'll 
 bring a friend : she'll be finely posed, ch f 
 
 " I wonder that you're admitted, or rather 
 that you like to force yourself into company 
 thus," said Rose, gravely. 
 
 " Twaddle I" exclaimed Huggins, still whis- 
 pering closely. " I'll let you into a bit of a 
 secret, my dear ! — Tell me, do you like tea ?" 
 
 *' Yes," replied Rose very coldly. 
 
 " And do you like t/i'is tea?" he added, pass- 
 ing her a cup.
 
 214 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 '* It is ver)^ good, I thank you,'^ she added 
 in the same tone. 
 
 *^ Good ! I should think it was !" whispered 
 Huffgins ; " / gave it her — I deal in these things 
 (in a large way you know) and am always 
 bringing her a something in this line : so now 
 you know why my lady, with all her airs, don't 
 affront Jack Huggins." 
 
 Rose now gladly turned to answer some 
 slight remark addressed to her by Dennison ; 
 and contrived for some minutes to close her 
 ear to the voice of her unpleasant neighbour. 
 
 At length, his importunities to take another 
 piece of muffin, could no longer be endured 
 without a reply. 
 
 '• But you've beaten nothing !" he remon- 
 strated: and, whispering again in his offensive 
 manner, '* I say, she gives no supper, only bits 
 of cake, and thimbles full of wine on a tray." 
 
 Rose was now more than ever annoyed ; for 
 she saw that these whisperings excited the ob- 
 senation of Mr. Dennison, who looked on with 
 evident anxiety : and — naturally loth to be con- 
 sidered on familiar terms with such a person
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 215 
 
 by the gentlemanly stranger — she determined 
 at once to shew that she was no willing parti- 
 cipator in these private communications ; and 
 said ver}' distinctly, and with some asperity of 
 manner; — •* I have already declined several 
 times, Mr. Huggins, and if you are still de- 
 termined to press me to eat more than I wish, 
 at least you need not add to your rudeness the 
 affectation of whispering." 
 
 " Bravo ! you have it there, Huggins !*' said 
 one gentleman ; several of the party laughed ; 
 Mr. Dennison's brow cleared up ; Mrs. Mas- 
 siter looked surprised ; and Rose was covered 
 with confusion at the attention she had drawn 
 upon herself. Huggins, however, was nothing 
 abashed — his obtuse intellect perceived not 
 that he offended, and his ideas of politeness, 
 and making himself agreeable, did not go 
 beyond paying attention, of whatever sort. 
 " Don't be snappish now," he said, '' I won't 
 whisper if you don't like it : — but I know some 
 girls don't like everybody to hear what gentle- 
 men are saying to them — no accounting for 
 tastes. Talking of tastes, by the bye — 1 sup-
 
 216 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 pose you don't like muffin ; take some of this 
 nice thin bread and butter ? Ws capital butter, 
 rfaith — real country butter, she gets it from 
 Greenaway's — I'm sure you'll like it." 
 
 " I have finished," said Rose once more, very 
 decidedly. 
 
 " Well, but one little bit !"" and then touch- 
 ing her with his foot, and winking familiarly, 
 " remember what I told you !" 
 
 Rose did not answer, though her countenance 
 shewed plainly her extreme annoyance. 
 
 " I am afraid that you are not comfortable 
 on the sofa, Miss Morgan," interposed Miss 
 Stancliffe. '' Really there is one inconvenience 
 to counterbalance the many 'agremens' of a 
 small apartment; — it is difficult, if the party is 
 large, to cliange one's seat without general in- 
 convenience — shall we attempt it, my dear ?" 
 
 " Oh, don't trouble yourself, my lady !" said 
 Huggins, '' we are very comfortable, a'n't we, 
 RoseT' 
 
 '' Miss Morcian^ if you please, sir!" said Den- 
 nison sternly, unable longer to restrain his in- 
 dignation : '^ in polite society "
 
 ROSE OP WOODLEE. 217 
 
 *' Eeally, Mr. Huggins," interrupted Dorinda, 
 who had been a long time silent, ''you should 
 not call ladies by their Christian names ; it is 
 never done in polite society, I assure you." 
 
 *'A'n't it, Dorinda, dear f said Huggins, 
 mockingly. "Well, and so you won't take one 
 little bit of bread and butter f he resumed, 
 with a sentimentally entreating look at our 
 heroine. 
 
 " I have answered before !" said she impati- 
 ently. " It is disagreeable to me — why should I f' 
 
 " To please me, my love !'" returned Huggins, 
 tenderly. 
 
 " The devil!" exclaimed Dennison, half start- 
 ing up, and wholly upsetting his cup of tea. 
 
 " Mr. Dennison has burnt himself," said 
 Huggins with a sneer : " it serves him right, 
 for using such hot words in polite society." 
 
 " Gentlemen !" cried Dennison, "• how have 
 you endured this man's impertinence all the 
 evening without turning him out of the room V* 
 
 There was a stir and confusion of voices ; the 
 gentlemen were evidently in conspiracy, and 
 Dorinda repeated again and again that Huggins 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 was no invited guest; but he— leaning compo- 
 sedly over the narrow table, so as to command 
 the ear of his hostess, whispered distinctly — 
 "I say, Miss Stancliffe, do you like tea? — A 
 nod's as good as a wink to a — a — a fainting lady." 
 
 The well-born Cecilia Stancliffe took the 
 hint, and with a few hysterical screams at- 
 tracted general attention, and then got up a 
 fainting fit, which proved an effectual diversion 
 in favour of the politic tea-dealer. 
 
 " Cleverly managed, eh ?" said he, chuckling 
 gleefully as he inflicted a slight pinch on our 
 heroine's arm. "You see I have put you up to 
 a thing or two ; in truth, I like you. Rosebud : 
 that's not your Christian name, you know, so no 
 offence : I like you, in spite of your proud and 
 coy looks, and it won't be my fault if you don't 
 like me too, by and bye." 
 
 When quiet was restored around her. Miss 
 Stancliffe thought fit to recover ; and having 
 sweetly smiled upon her assiduous guests, and 
 communicated a tremulous motion to her eye- 
 lids, which had a most touching effect ; she next 
 essayed to speak, and in languid accents ex"
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 219 
 
 pressed her belief that a round game would 
 furnish the best means of preserving the har- 
 mony of the evening. 
 
 Miss Mac Nab hastened to produce cards 
 and counters from some recess of the bookcase, 
 and Miss Dorinda took this favourable oppor- 
 tunity of suggesting that the best way of 
 spending the evening would be in her opinion a 
 game of cards. 
 
 In a few minutes, accordingly, the whole 
 party were once more amicably seated around the 
 sofa table : the fish were counted out, the rate of 
 playing was fixed, and the cards were dealt for 
 the game of speculation — the best suited (as 
 Miss Mac Nab remarked with equal facetious- 
 ness and originality) to the commercial genius 
 of the party. 
 
 Rose was the first to deal, and her * turn up' 
 being advertised for sale, the competition be- 
 tween Iluggins and Dcnnison became so eager, 
 that, at a hint from her aunt. Hose changed her 
 mind, and kept it herself: there were many 
 sharp things said on either side, but this too 
 passed off. 
 
 l2
 
 220 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Presently Huggins proposed to enter into 
 partnership with his fair neighbour. Eose 
 at first declined, but as Miss Stancliffe had 
 joined her pool with Mr. Dennison's, and the 
 example was generally followed round the table, 
 he urged her so earnestly, that, weary of con- 
 tention, and fearful of exciting further observa- 
 tion, she quietly consented. 
 
 " Ah, how happy you have made me !" ex- 
 claimed Huggins, " I look upon this as a good 
 omen ! ^lorgan and Huggins — or Huggins and 
 Morgan ! aye, it sounds very well ! But, I say, 
 how would you like a partnership for life, eh ? 
 — to change Morgan for Huggins! — no bad 
 thing, eh?" and he gave her hand a squeeze 
 beneath the table, that was certainly not tender. 
 
 Rose withdrew it, reddening angrily. 
 «*Heydey I I have offended again 'ave I ? I 
 know it's a short acquaintance ; but I didn't 
 like to propose right out, you know. No, no, 1 
 must learn a thing or two about you first, more 
 than your pretty face and good company." 
 
 This was making matters worse, and Rose 
 grew redder and more red.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. '221 
 
 " You understand," continued her persecutor, 
 " I did not mean to ofifend. But, I say, where 
 do you live 1 — You will let me come and see you 
 sometimes, won't you f 
 
 " Unfortunately," said Rose pointedly, " 1 
 cannot grant your request, having no house to 
 invite you to." 
 
 *' Only a visitor, eh ? — from the country per- 
 haps ? Never mind, — we'll find a way. I say, 
 did you ever get a love-letter f 
 
 " Sir !" said Rose, not catching the lowered 
 tones of this last whisper. 
 
 " Did you ever get a love-letter ? I know 
 girls delight in these things," said the man, 
 whispering again. 
 
 " I do not understand impertinent whispers," 
 cried Rose, now really angry. " Dear aunt, I 
 wish you could change places with me !" Tears 
 of annoyance and mortification were in her eyes, 
 she was harassed almost past endurance, and 
 could brook no longer the observation which she 
 now again excited. 
 
 "I wish that gentleman,'' said Dennison, 
 "would change places with me rather! I am 
 sure it might be managed."
 
 222 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 *' You arc very polite," interposed Miss 
 Stancliffe, struggling to conceal the pique she 
 felt ; *' but remember we are partners." 
 
 " And therefore cannot be parted," said Miss 
 Mac Nab. 
 
 " True," returned Dennison. " But ^Nlr. 
 Huggins must allow me to ask by what right 
 he persists in annoying that young lady f 
 
 " Annoying, you silken puppy !" exclaimed 
 Huggins, " is it annoying, pray, to tell a pretty 
 girl I love her ?" 
 
 Rose, now unable to repress her agitation, 
 burst into tears upon her aunt's shoulder ; and 
 Dennison's anger inflamed by the sight, he 
 desired Huggins to leave the room. 
 
 "Leave it yourself, if you don't like your 
 company," cried the offender. " What's the 
 harm of a few tears ? It's just her natural agita- 
 tation, poor thing ! Look at them, Rose, and tell 
 them so." 
 
 '' We had better go home, said Mrs. Massiter, 
 " that faintncss early in the evening has upset 
 you." 
 
 '' I am better now," said Rose, smiling through 
 her tears, " let us go home, aunt."
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 223 
 
 " I will escort you," whispered Hugging. 
 *' We shall get on nicely afterwards." 
 
 " No, sir, I shall protect the ladies," said 
 Dennison, catching the whisper ; *' unless, 
 indeed, Miss Morgan prefers you." 
 
 " Oh, no, no I" faltered Rose. 
 
 The imprisoning table was at lenj^th removed. 
 Rose, her aunt, and Huggins, all hastened to 
 stretch their cramped limbs ; and, despite the 
 entreaties of Miss Stancliffe that they would 
 wait till she sent for a coach, Mrs. Massiter 
 persisted in walking homo ; and Mr. Dennison 
 in escorting them. 
 
 " Never, never will I have that silly girl in 
 my house again, to destroy the harmony of the 
 efvening !" exclaimed Miss Stancliffe, in a voice 
 of chagrin, as they one by one disappeared down 
 the narrow stair. 
 
 " Unless as Mrs. Huggins," said the owner 
 of that patronymic, glancing back from the 
 stair head. " Ha, ha, ha ! unless as Mrs. Hug- 
 gins.^' 
 
 Dennison persisted in taking the still trem- 
 bling Rose under his protection ; and Huggins
 
 224 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 led the way, with the ekler lady on his arm, 
 with whom he lauglied and joked as they walked 
 along, without giving offence ; and from whom 
 he obtained permission to call and enquire after 
 Miss Morgan's indisposition the following day. 
 
 Their escorts left them at their door, to re- 
 turn by different ways to Miss Stancliffe's 
 abode : and the ladies were glad to gain the 
 repose of their own parlour. 
 
 " Well, I congratulate you on your new con- 
 quest, Rose," eagerly began Mrs. Massiter. 
 
 " Oh, my dear aunt, do not talk of the horrid 
 man." 
 
 " Horrid man ! Mr. Dennison a horrid man !" 
 
 " Oh, him !" said Rose, smiling. " Indeed, 
 he was very kind and civil. I thought you 
 meant Mr. Huggins. But good night, my dear 
 aunt ;" and kissing her, she tripped away to 
 her pillow, and her confidant, Louisa Grey.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " Alii ! tanto amo la non amanto amata !" — Tusso. 
 
 The following morning, at the breakfast table, 
 the occurrences of the previous niglit formed 
 the sole topic of conversation between the aunt 
 and niece : and the former, on learning all the 
 particulars of Mr. Huggins's conduct, greatly 
 regretted the permission she had granted him 
 to inquire in person after Rose's health. The 
 young lady, on her part, now that her spirits 
 had recovered their composure, found more 
 food for mirth than anger, in the remembrance 
 of her ill-mannered admirer, and only begged 
 that if he should happen to call, she might bo 
 denied to him. 
 
 The precaution was not in vain ; he indeed 
 made his appearance, and would scarcely credit
 
 226 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Mrs. Massiter's assurance that Miss Morgan 
 was out. 
 
 " Did she know that I was coming ?" he 
 asked repeatedly. 
 
 Mrs. Massiter replied coolly, that she had 
 known it, but that it had possibly escaped her 
 memory, or that she had not thought it neces- 
 sary to remain at home on that account. 
 
 " Very odd that," said Huggins, " after what 
 passed between us ! However, madam, you will 
 tell 'er that I came to see 'ow she was, after my 
 lady's fine blow out ; and please ma*am to give 
 'er this five and sixpence, — it was hour winnings 
 at speculation ; for I went back to sec after 
 the hinterests of our firm, as in duty bound. 
 Ha ! ha! I know 'ow to look after 'er hinterests 
 already you see, ma'am ; ha ! ha !" 
 
 "I am sure my niece will disclaim all right to 
 participate your gains, sir, as she left so early," 
 said Mrs. Massiter. 
 
 " Not she, it will buy her a ribbon," replied 
 Huggins ; "and besides, ma'am," he added with 
 a knowing wink, " it Ml shew 'er that I a'n't 
 stingy, and that goes a long way with the 
 women."
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 227 
 
 Mrs. Massiter, however, persisted in declining 
 the proffered silver in her niece's name ; and 
 Huggins, finding that Rose was not likely soon 
 to return, withdrew, muttering that he could 
 spare no more time from the sliop, but tliat Mrs. 
 M — was a crabbeder old cat than he took her 
 for. 
 
 This assiduous wooer did not rest here ; for 
 in the evening he sent up his shopboy charged 
 with a pound of tea, directed " to ^liss Kose 
 Morgan, with Mr. John Huggins's kind com- 
 pliments," and the boy was instructed to say 
 that his master was sorry that he was engaged, 
 and could not bring it himself; but as Miss 
 Morgan had praised the tea so much last night, 
 he hoped she would do him the lionour to drink 
 that, and think of him. 
 
 The ladies were puzzled how to receive this 
 proffered gift, accompanied by such a message, 
 and much discussion ensued thereon. At lengtli 
 Rose, detennined to put a stop at once to these 
 impertinences, wrote as follows : ''Miss Morgan 
 returns Mr. Huggins's tea, as her aunt is per- 
 fectly satisfied with that supplied by her usual 
 grocer."
 
 228 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " There, that must convince him how little 
 favour he had gained in my eyes." exclaimed 
 Rose, pleased with what she reasonably deemed 
 her decisive billet. She knew not the nature 
 of the man however. 
 
 The following day the servant announced 
 ^' a visitor," without having asked his name. 
 
 " It will be Mr. Dennison," said the aunt, 
 " Come, my dear, — I thought we should see him 
 to day.*' 
 
 Rose, staying only to finish some trimmings 
 on which she was engaged, followed her relative 
 into the parlour ; and, opening the door, beheld 
 to her surprise and disappointment the per- 
 petual Huggins. 
 
 Instantly she retreated, but not unobserved ; 
 he darted after her, calling as he pursued, 
 " Miss Morgan ! Rosebud, what are you run- 
 ning away for ? — come back, — hark'ee, 
 darling I" 
 
 But Rose ran faster than he ; and as even 
 Huggins was sensible of some impropriety in 
 this conduct, he found his way back to the par- 
 lour, and endeavoured to apologize, and make 
 his peace with Mrs. Massiter. This was not
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 22.0 
 
 difficult with so placable a lady ; sho endea- 
 voured, however, as civilly as possible, to make 
 him understand that his attentions were unwel- 
 come to Miss Morgan : and Mr. Dennison 
 being announced a few minutes afterwards, she 
 seized the opportunity to convince him of this, 
 by yet another practical lesson. 
 
 " Tell Miss Morgan that Mr. Dennison is 
 here," said she to the girl ; " and desire her to 
 come down." 
 
 Huggins frowned on the gentleman, whom hv. 
 now began seriously to consider as a rival, and 
 waited impatiently the effects of this message. 
 
 Rose, supposing that her persecutor must have 
 taken his leave, returned to the room, her face 
 still flushed with recent excitement, and look- 
 ing unusually lovely in the eyes of both gentle- 
 men. 
 
 Dennison rose to meet her, but Huggins 
 looked on in sullen silence : finding that her 
 eyes were studiously averted from him, he puffed, 
 and fumed, and fidgeted, and at length, irri- 
 tated beyond endurance at seeing her convers- 
 ing freely with Dennison, ho strode fiercely up
 
 230 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 to her, and seizing her arm, exclaimed, '* So, 
 miss, you wish to affront me, for the sake of 
 that puppy, do you J" 
 
 " For shame ! ^Ir. Huggins !" cried Mrs. 
 Massiter, rising, while Denni son's eyes flashed 
 with angry indignation, and he only hesitated 
 how to act, from a doubt whether such conduct 
 might in any degree be authorized by the inti- 
 macy of the parties. 
 
 " I say, miss, what do you mean,'' continued 
 Huggins, " by running away from me as if I 
 was the devil ? — but you can came down to my 
 fine gentleman here, and smile and smirk, as if 
 you were a pair of sworn lovers forsooth, in- 
 stead of almost strangers. Hang me, if I'll 
 take it from you." 
 
 '' Then you shall take this from me, sir,'' 
 cried Dennison, now seeing that the ladies were 
 greatly alarmed ; and with the word, he caught 
 hold of the arm with which he still grasped that 
 of poor Rose, and exerting all his force, he 
 thrust him violently from him towards the door, 
 through which he commanded him to disappear 
 instantly.
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 231 
 
 Huggins staggered, and almost fell ; but 
 quickly recovering himself, and foaming with 
 rage, he rushed towards Dennison, and aimed 
 at him a blow in reprisal. Mrs. Massiter 
 screamed, Rose turned pale with fright, but 
 Dennison avoided the blow. " This is no time 
 or place for fighting, sir," he said ; " nor is 
 passion fit for the presence of ladies. You may 
 brawl in the streets, if you choose it ;" and sud- 
 denly seizing the infuriate tea-dealer by the 
 shoulders, he thrust him from the room, and 
 bolted the door within. 
 
 It is hardly necessary to say that Rose was 
 no longed annoyed by the impertinences of her 
 disagreeable acquaintance. 
 
 Mrs. Massiter thought she could not do less 
 than invite " their champion,'' as she termed 
 him, to take tea with them the following even- 
 ing; and, to her great delight, he readily 
 acceded to her request, and came accordingly. 
 
 " I hope, Miss Morgan," said ho, after the 
 first compliments were over, *' that you have 
 received no further annoyance from your vulgar 
 admirer ?"
 
 232 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " None," said Kose. 
 
 "Ah, I flattered myself you would not," re- 
 turned Dennison ; " I believe the rascal will 
 hardly venture to intrude into your presence 
 again. I gave him a good lesson, before I had 
 done with him yesterday." 
 
 " Did you see him then again V asked Mrs. 
 Massiter. 
 
 " I made a point of doing so, madam. I 
 could not think of leaving a young lady exposed 
 to the risk of such a fellow's impertinence ; and 
 on leaving you, I went directly to Cheapside, — 
 and finding him at home, I desired him, in 
 Miss Morgan's name, to desist from his visits 
 in future. The rascal was disposed to bully ; 
 and, ha, ha ! wished to return my compliment, 
 and shew 7ne the door ; but I gave him a lesson 
 with my cane, which will keep him quiet enough, 
 I've a notion."" 
 
 " And did you not receive any injur)' yourself 
 in the encounter ?" asked Louisa Gray, who 
 generally formed one of the family party. 
 
 " A trifle, a mere trifle," returned Dennison, 
 glancing at his hand, round which he was twist-
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 233 
 
 ing and untwisting liis liandkerchicf with an 
 assiduity which liad attracted her attention. 
 I only sprained my finger, I believe, in treating 
 the fellow as he deserved." 
 
 " I am sure we cannot be too much obliged 
 to you, Mr. Dennison," said Mrs. Massiter, in 
 her most flattering manner. " My poor Rose 
 would have been worried to death, but for your 
 I may say chivalrous interference.'' 
 
 Dennison bowed complacently, and gave a 
 side glance at Rose, secretly hoping for a con- 
 firmation of her gratitude. 
 
 Very different thoughts, however, occupied 
 our heroine's mind. " Frank would not have 
 boasted such an exploit, or mentioned such a 
 hurt!" she mentally exclaimed. It was the 
 first time, however, that she had found herself 
 instituting a comparison between the two ; and 
 now, on prosecuting it further, she blushed to 
 find that he stood the simple test far better 
 than any whom she had yet brought before this 
 mental tribunal. 
 
 The course of the evening displayed further 
 merits in her new friend, and of a kind too
 
 234 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 which young Merrival had not to boast. He 
 was well read in the lighter literature of the 
 day ; and delighted Rose by conversing with 
 her on all her favourite novels and romances. 
 Their tastes she found agreed remarkably well, 
 while his occasional criticisms gave her a high 
 idea of his judgment and good sense ; he loved 
 poetry too, and quoted several passages with 
 much feeling ; and ere the evening closed, he 
 promised to lend her some volumes which she 
 had never met with. 
 
 Meanwhile, Mrs. Massiter and Louisa Gray 
 plied their needles busily, taking very little 
 part in this conversation ; they exchanged, 
 however, smiles and glances from time to time, 
 as they marked the unusual animation of their 
 favourite. 
 
 Rose quietly joined in their praises of the 
 guest after his departure ; but Dennison, on 
 his side, felt his heart on fire with a new emo- 
 tion. His rest was broken and disturbed ; and 
 whether waking or asleep, Rose mingled in his 
 visions and in his thoughts; — the spark, kin- 
 dled by admiration, had, in the communion of
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 235 
 
 this quiet evening, been fanned into a bright 
 and steady flame ; and again and again he 
 caught himself muttering, in his restlessness, 
 '' By heavens, I love the girl !"" 
 
 The following day, he failed not to select the 
 promised books, and carrieil them himself to 
 Mrs. Massiter's. He did not, however, ven- 
 ture to ask for the ladies, 
 
 " For true love is audacious never," 
 
 but lingered for some time about the house, 
 expecting nothing, but chained by that sort of 
 fascination which lovers only can understand. 
 
 He still was walking thoughtfully, or rather 
 dreamily, near her abode, wlien Rose, accom- 
 panied by her friend, appeared at the door, and 
 arm-in-arm advanced down the street. His 
 heart beat, as they approached ; but ashamed 
 of the feelings he had been indulging, he 
 turned round, and walked on hastily ; then 
 stopping for a minute at a shop window, he 
 suffered the ladies to overtake him ; and affect- 
 ing then for the first time to perceive them, he 
 accosted them as if their encounter was purely 
 accidental.
 
 236 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Such are the little artifices which lovers are 
 perpetually devising to conceal weaknesses, 
 which, after all, no heart but their own would 
 guess. He took care, however, that the favours 
 of chance should not be rejected, and, declaring 
 that his way was the same as theirs, offered his 
 escort in their walk. Rose again remarked that 
 *' He was really a very pleasant young man ;" 
 but there was no emotion in her bosom to 
 respond to his. 
 
 Dennison at this time made the discovery 
 that a daily walk was necessary to his health, 
 or peace, or pleasure — no matter which ; and 
 his steps were invariably bent in the same di- 
 rection, in the vague hope of meeting, or at 
 least obtaining a glimpse of his beloved. 
 
 " The house she dwelt in was a sainted shrine, 
 Her chamber windows did surpass in glory 
 The portals of the dawn." 
 
 But he trusted not to these chances alone for 
 continuing the acquaintance so auspiciously 
 conunenced. He would join Rose and her aunt 
 in their Sunday promenade in the Park or 
 Kensington Gardens;— he would offer himself
 
 ROSE OF WOOD LEE. 237 
 
 as an escort at places of public amusement, 
 and, besides availing himself of Mrs. Massiter's 
 very frequent invitations " to drop in at tea- 
 time,'' he contrived to make occasions, by bring- 
 ing a volume that Miss Morgan wished to see, 
 or executing some little commission for any of 
 the ladies. 
 
 Thus, by degrees, whenever they spent their 
 evening at home, they expected Mr. Dennison. 
 as a matter of course, to form one of their little 
 circle. This was a footing far more intimate 
 than any former wooer had obtained, and Mrs. 
 Massiter was proportionably confident of the 
 results. Rose, however, though always finding 
 that the evening was strangely dull if he 
 chanced not to come, yet studiously endea- 
 voured to avoid giving him any encouragement; 
 and so well she knew the state of her own feel- 
 ings, that she succeeded in almost blinding 
 herself as to his. 
 
 Louisa Gray, however, was charged by Mrs. 
 Massiter to sound the heart of her niece, and 
 the conclusion of their conversation will shew 
 that, as usual, the bye-standers saw the game 
 more clearly than the players.
 
 238 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 • " Well, my dear," said Miss Gray, " I can 
 only repeat that I am as fully convinced of his 
 love, as of my own friendship, and if you do not 
 really return it, as you say, I must assure you 
 that you are wrong to encourage him as you do." 
 
 " Encourage him, Louisa ! I never dreamt of 
 doing so !" returned Kose ; "and, indeed, I do 
 not see that he shews any more attachment for 
 me than yourself, or any one else/' 
 
 " But if you were convinced that I am right, 
 Rose — what would your feelings — what would 
 your answer be?*" 
 
 " I could not love him," returned Rose. 
 
 " And why ? You acknowledge him to be 
 amiable and agreeable : what would you have !" 
 
 " I really cannot say exactly," replied our 
 heroine ; " but he is not (^uite the man after 
 my own heart, in spite of his many recommen- 
 dations." 
 
 " Will girls for ever talk in this silly way ?" 
 exclaimed Louisa : " they can give reasons 
 for liking in friendship, and even in the choice 
 of a ribbon, or a sweetmeat, but in matters of 
 love, forsooth, on which the happiness of their
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 2o9 
 
 lives depends, reason is bade to hold her tongue, 
 and whim, or fancy, or caprice, or folly, called 
 to pronounce sentence ! *' 
 
 " Well then, if I must find fault," said Rose, 
 smiling, "I think him rather vain, or conceited, 
 if you will — and — and — he lacks spirit, to my 
 fancy— and strength of mind perhaps. I do not 
 think I could rely upon him for support now in 
 a shipwreck ! or any great danger or difficulty." 
 " Shipwreck !" exclaimed Louisa Gray ; " and 
 how, pray, is a London citizen to be brought 
 into any sucli peril ? Ah ! Rose, I see, and 
 I grieve to see, where your thoughts still rest ; 
 I had hoped you were cured of this : but young 
 Merrival, and his mighty exploits, have turned 
 your brain, I think." 
 
 " A scene of peril best brings out the cha- 
 racter," cried Rose, rather indignantly ; " and I 
 think you would hardly, yourself, expect much 
 courage from your favourite at such a time.'' 
 
 " He shewed spirit, and courage, too, against 
 Mr. Huggins," said Louisa. '* You are un- 
 grateful. Rose." 
 
 " And made a display of a hurt finger !" re-
 
 240 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 torted her companion. Besides, it was easy 
 to overpower such a man as Huggins ; however, 
 I do not wish to find out faults in one whom I 
 really like very much : and, as you say, a 
 manufacturer does not rerjuire the soul of a 
 hero I But love him I do not, Louisa ; per- 
 haps, as you say, reason has nothing to do with 
 one's feelings on these occasions, beyond re- 
 straining the inclination when its bias is to- 
 wards a dangerous preference ; but I, for one, 
 will never marry until love points the way, and 
 reason follows." 
 
 " Which means, that you will never marry 
 until Mr. Merrival asks you," replied Louisa. 
 " Take care, then : I foresee that you have a 
 good chance of a single life, my dear. But, in 
 the meantime, you are certainly drawing young 
 Dennison on to the peril of his happiness. ^Vlly 
 do you encourage him. Rose V 
 
 " Again that accusation ! What would you 
 have me do, Louisa ? Am I to refuse to read 
 the books ho lends me \ Am I to decline sing- 
 ing with him, when he has copied me the songs ? 
 — or shall I return the flowers which he was 
 at so much pains to procure me ?"
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 2U 
 
 " Ah, Rose ! can you think of all hi:s con- 
 stant and delicate attentions, and persist in 
 doubting his attachment ; I am distresseil for 
 him;^ 
 
 '' What can I do T' said Rose. " Poor man, 
 he certainly does come here very often/' 
 
 " Onhj every night," returned Louisa. 
 
 "To-night, he is going to introduce his sister,'' 
 said Rose, blushing ; *' she plays the harp lute, 
 and he said she should accompany us in the 
 duet he was teaching me. Really, 1 do not 
 know what to do !" 
 
 '' For shame. Rose ; your own words con- 
 demn you : unless, indeed, you come to your 
 senses, and resolve to requite the affection of a 
 young man every way calculated to make you 
 happy, and sure to be acceptable to your 
 family." 
 
 Rose shook her head, and with a suppressed 
 sigh, turned from her friend ; her gentle heart 
 was pained ; but she sang, as she walked away, 
 averse from the new duet alluded to : — 
 
 " Vainly woulclst tlu)U ftttt-r love ; 
 Where he listotli, will lu- row ; 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Where he lists, he points his dart ; 
 Where he lists, he strikes a heart ! 
 Do not then to him dictate, 
 'Tis vain to strive, — for love is fate." 
 
 Tlie evening afforded Rose an opportunity of 
 throwing a chilling blight on Dennison's hopes; 
 she strove at first, indeed, to assume a coldness 
 and reserve she did not feel ; but she found it 
 impossible to shun conversation with one who 
 was still at her side wherever she took her seat, 
 listening, and joining in, if she commenced a 
 dialogue with another, and addressing her him- 
 self, if she took refuge in a secluded corner. 
 She sang, too, first a simple ballad, unaccompa- 
 nied, such as she used to chant in childhood, 
 during happy woodland rambles with Frank 
 Merrival and his sisters, and afterwards the 
 duets which Dennison had taught her ; how 
 could she help it ? Miss Dennison, who was 
 almost a stranger, requested it, and brought 
 her lute expressly to accompany them ; it were 
 caprice, it were rudeness, to change her wonted 
 l)ehavIour — she could not do it. 
 
 She was uneasy, however; she saw Dcnnison's 
 behaviour with opened eyes, and feared, indeed,
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 243 
 
 that Louisa was right. His sister, too, seemed 
 to court her confidence and friendship more 
 assiduously than coukl be accounted for without 
 supposing a particular interest in the object ; 
 and she was more than ever resolved to endea- 
 vour to check the hopes of a man whom she es- 
 teemed, and thus spare him the pain of urging 
 a suit which could only be rejected. 
 
 On this evening, it was arranged that the 
 whole party should visit Vauxhall, a few days 
 hence ; and on the niglit indicated, they met, 
 accordingly, on the banks of the Thames, and 
 with two other gentlemen, whom !Mrs. Massiter 
 had invited to join their party, they took a 
 wherry down to the gardens. 
 
 Rose had been a little indisposed in the 
 morning, and had greatly wished to remain at 
 home ; but her aunt had over-ruled her objec- 
 tions. 
 
 The evening was lovely ; and, as they glided 
 rapidly up the stream, the soft air of the sum- 
 mer evening, and the soothing effect of the de- 
 clining light, tranquillized our young heroine's 
 feelings, and she sank into a delicious reverie, 
 
 M 2
 
 24 i ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 wliicli the gay voices of her companions dis- 
 turbed not ; while the hum of the mighty city, 
 remote and confused, harmonized well with the 
 fanciful visions in which she was indulging, to 
 the total forgetfulness of the present scene. No 
 matter what these dreams might be, she was 
 suddenly roused from them by a sharp shock, 
 and a cry of alarm from the other ladies in 
 the boat. The wherry had fallen foul of a 
 barge, then slowly moving out of the dense mass 
 of boats of all descriptions which lined the 
 banks, and one of the watermen was precipi- 
 tated into the vsluggish stream. Dennison was 
 nearest the spot, but while calling out, as loudly 
 as the ladies — 
 
 " Oh, save him — save him !" he himself made 
 no exertions to that end, but started u]> and sat 
 down again, and uttered various exclamations 
 of anxiety, while others took the necessary 
 steps for the poor fellow's preservation. This 
 was easily effected, and our party escaped with 
 the alarm and agitation, which had not been 
 slight ; but Rose, in the hurry and excitement 
 of her spirits, could not help whispcrinor to 
 Louisa Gray:
 
 ROSE OF WOOD L RE. 2 t,' 
 
 *' Did I not tell you that he wanted energy. 
 It would have been the same had / fallen in." 
 
 Rose Morgan"'s nerves did not soon recover 
 from the shock of this accident, for which 
 (owing to her deep reverie), she had been ut- 
 terly unprepared. Dennison, as usual, proffered 
 his arm, and glad of the support (contrary to 
 her previous intention), slie accepted it. She 
 was silent, however, and he soon perceived her 
 indisposition, which was increased by the glare 
 of the thousand lamps, and the loud music of 
 the several bands; and, with the utmost soli- 
 citude, he would have led her apart to a retired 
 and shady alley ; this Rose declined, however, 
 and rallying, with a powerful effort, she went 
 throuo:h several of the amusements of the even- 
 ing, without betraying further weakness. At 
 length, as ill luck would have it, as they were 
 borne along by the gay crowd, hurrying from 
 the theatre to the fire-works, they were sepa- 
 rated from their party ; antl while Rose, an- 
 noyetl and flurried with an accident so little de- 
 sired at the present time, was endeavouring to 
 quicken her steps, a disturbance arose near
 
 24:6 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 them ; there were sounds of men in pursuit, and 
 cries of — 
 
 " Stop the thief ! Restore my watch ! Catch 
 the villain ! '' 
 
 And presently one was seen forcing his way 
 through the throng, dealing blows on every side ; 
 crouching now to escape sight ; springing one 
 minute over some obstacle, and the next, avail- 
 ing himself of a freer space to run with what 
 speed he might. Dennison had drawn his com- 
 panion apart in the first moment of alarm ; 
 they were in the shadow of the statue in the 
 free and open space ; two or three feeble lamps 
 hung from the trees near, but, contrasted with 
 the glare around, the place was in darkness. 
 Suddenly the fugitive doubled in his flight, and 
 to their great alarm, took the direction of their 
 place of refuge, closely followed by a shouting 
 troop of pursuers. 
 
 He held aloft his prize — the stolen watch, 
 — it glittered in the light : 
 
 " Comrade, take it !*" he cried, '^ I'm almost 
 spent ! " And he thrust his hand into the 
 pocket of the shrinking Dennison, and scarcely
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 2^7 
 
 halting for a second in his course, darted with 
 the speed of light around the clump of trees, 
 and running back over the open space he had 
 just traversed, he gained the shelter of a dark 
 and forsaken alley, and buried himself again in 
 the throng of spectators, gazing with up-turned 
 faces on the pyrotechnic display ; while yet his 
 pursuers, who had both seen his action and heard 
 his words, were engaged in searching and inter- 
 rogating Dennison and the frightened Rose. 
 
 Fortunately, the fonner was well-known to 
 the owner of the watch, and experienced no 
 further annoyance ; but Rose, nervous and ex- 
 cited before, on this new alarm fainted away. 
 It was the first time she had ever done so ; and 
 Dennison, who was equally new to his situation, 
 wrung his hands in distress, when he found 
 himself thus left alone with the senseless girl. 
 He supported her in breathless anxiety, — he 
 chafed her hands and her temples, — and at 
 length, hearing stops approaching, he called 
 aloud for help. A party of strangers drew 
 near accordingly, and the smelling-bottle of a 
 lady of the group speedily recalled her to life.
 
 -4S ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Poor Rose was exceedingly embarrassed to 
 find herself thus separated from her aunt, and 
 her head reclining on the arm of him whom she 
 was most anxious to shun ; she roused herself 
 instantly, and declaring herself better, — nay, 
 quite well. — begged him to seek out her party. 
 Dennison would not leave her, however, and 
 gazed on her with eyes of such tender affection, 
 that the heart's blood rushed furiously once 
 again through the poor girl's veins, in the new 
 alarm that he would take this favourable oppor- 
 tunity of urging his suit. He did not, how- 
 ever : but his softened voice, and the frequent 
 elo^^uent pressure of her hand, with broken 
 words and sighs, revealed the efforts which he 
 made to restrain the expression of his feelings. 
 By the advice of the party of strangers (who 
 had ere this moved on) Dennison supported his 
 still feeble companion to one of the supper- 
 booths ; and there, when somewhat revived 
 with a glass of wine. Rose again urged him to 
 leave her, and go in search of Mrs. Massiter. 
 He, however, still said it was impossible to 
 leave her alone; and as they mu?t perceive
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 249 
 
 their absence so soon as the firevrorks should 
 be over, this wouM be one of the first places in 
 which they would be sought. 
 
 The event proved that he was right in this 
 respect ; but the intermediate half-hour was 
 one of the greatest difficulty and annoyance to 
 Rose, while Dennison on the contrary would 
 gladly have had it prolonged through half the 
 night : we need not explain the thoughts or 
 sensations of either party; they are such as 
 naturally arose from their respective sentiments, 
 when thrown into this new situation. 
 
 Many were the exclamations, much the com- 
 miseration, when the adventure was explained 
 to their friends ; and many were the inquiring 
 glances with which Mrs. Massiter and Louisa 
 Grey sought to learn how much might yet re- 
 main untold. Dennison was in high spirits ; 
 Rose, shrinking and silent. She only spoke, 
 when her aunt, thinking to further the object 
 she had so much at heart, invited Dennison to 
 call on the morrow, if he had an hour to spare. 
 
 '• Poor child,'' said she, '* we have been so 
 busy of late, that she has been too closely con- 
 
 m3
 
 -50 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 fined ; — I am sure her indisposition can have 
 no other cause/'' 
 
 *• Rose does not like going out alone. Mr. 
 Dennison ; and she has not enjoyed her usual 
 walk for a week at least. Indeed, I can nei- 
 ther spare time to go with her, nor allow it to 
 any of my young people." 
 
 Of course, Dennison eagerly offered his ser- 
 vices ; he should be delighted, if Miss Morgan 
 would accept liis escort; — he should at any 
 time be at her service. 
 
 Rose then — addressing her aunt chiefly — as- 
 serted that she should be quite well on the 
 morrow, and required no exercise for her re- 
 establishment, and attempted many other ex- 
 cuses and evasions of the project. Her voice 
 was feeble, however ; and, too languid for 
 debate; her objections were smilingly over- 
 ruled. 
 
 And when the morrow came, she did not 
 regret that it had been so. " Perhaps it will 
 bring matters to a crisis," she said to Louisa 
 Gray ; '• and the sooner the better." 
 
 With this impression on her mind, it may be
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 251 
 
 imagined that she bore a heart of care in her 
 tete-a-tete walk with her unloved lover ; he, on 
 the contrar}-, had not lost the excitation of the 
 previous night, and talked gaily on a variety of 
 topics, as they threaded the thronged mazes of 
 the busy streets, and sought the quiet and com- 
 paratively secluded esplanade adjoining the 
 Adelplii Hotel. 
 
 There, to enjoy the fresh air from the river, 
 Dennison brought his fair companion ; and also 
 because, to tell the truth, he knew no spot 
 within moderate distance promising more secu- 
 rity from interruptions to conversation. 
 
 " \N"hat a lovely day !*' he exclaimed, as, 
 drawing the hand of Rose further upon his arm, 
 he turned the angle from the crowded thorough- 
 fare, and with a freer and lighter step pro- 
 ceeded along the quiet cross-road. " What a 
 really lovely day I" he repeated ; '* and there is 
 something in the temporary escape from all the 
 noise and bustle behind us, that quite exhili- 
 rates the spirits. That blue sky would be a 
 worthy canopy for a country landscape, would 
 it not. Miss Morgan • A\'e town folks do not 
 often see it so clear.''
 
 252 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " It is a charming day indeed,'' replied Rose ; 
 " such weather as this always makes me wish 
 to ba in the country again." 
 
 " Ah, I should like to live out of tosvn too," 
 said Dennison, " and hope to do so some day. 
 I can imagine no greater happiness than a cot- 
 tage in some fair rural scene, with all we love 
 around us, and leisure — and '' 
 
 He stopped, and Rose felt her hand lightly 
 pressed ; she made no reply, for her heart beat 
 confusedly, anticipating what might follow. 
 It was not yet; however, for Dennison appeared 
 no less embarrassed than herself. They walked 
 on for some time in silence, which the gentle- 
 man was the first to break, by some remarks on 
 a pleasure party rowing gaily along to the sound 
 of music, close below the place of their pro- 
 menade. 
 
 Rose endeavoured to follow up the subject, 
 but it soon dropped ; and Dennison returning 
 to topics of nearer interest, observed that she 
 seemed scarcely recovered from her indisposir 
 tion of the preceding night. 
 
 *' Hardly, I believe:"' returned Rose, "but,''
 
 ROSE OP WOODLEE. 253 
 
 she added, blushing, " I think, in my confusion, 
 I never remembered to thank you for your care 
 of me." 
 
 " Indeed, no thanks are necessary,'' said 
 Dennison. " My dear Miss Morgan, you can- 
 not imagine how Iiappy 1 felt during that half 
 hour when you had none but me to depend 
 upon. Can you forgive me for so strange a 
 pleasure in your sufferings I — at first, I own, I 
 was greatly alarmed — but after you had revived 
 
 — I — I indulged such fancies, such hopes " 
 
 He paused — and glanced at Rose — but reatl- 
 ing no encouragement in her expressive counte- 
 nance, he backed again from the point he 
 seemed so rapidly approaching. 
 
 '' By-the-bye," he continued, " did you know 
 the lady whose smelling-bottle afforded us such 
 timely aid I " 
 
 '" No," said Rose, '' indeed, I scarcely saw 
 her.'' 
 
 '' Of course you could not," he resumed ; 
 '* but really, you ladies who are subject to these 
 unseasonable fainting fits, ought never to bo 
 without such a friend in need : — will Miss
 
 254 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Morgan then allow me to present her with this 
 for her future companion T' 
 
 Thus saying, he put into our heroine's hand 
 a small packet. She hesitated a moment — but 
 then opening it carelessly, beheld a richly 
 chased and elegant silver vinaigrette. 
 
 " I cannot accept this, sir/' said Rose de- 
 cidedly. 
 
 " Cannot ! Oh, do not say so, Miss Morgan ; 
 it is a trifle I know — but it will give me so 
 much pleasure ! You will take it ! will you 
 not ; it may do you good service yet you know ;" 
 he added more gaily, "so do not reject its 
 proffered friendship ;" 
 
 " I cannot accept gifts — particularly one so 
 handsome as this, from — from — strangers,"" said 
 Rose. 
 
 " Strangers ! " exclaimed Dennison, indig- 
 nantly; "does Miss Morgan then look upon me 
 as a stranger, after an acquaintance so long, 
 so intimate, as ours ! How cold is the heart 
 then that has taught mine to beat with rap- 
 ture, or shrink with timidity ! — but you cannot 
 mean it, Miss Morgan. Rose," he continued
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 255 
 
 passionately, as he pressed her hand between 
 both of his, " will you not accept my gift I the 
 the first fruits of a love as ardent as was ever 
 the sacrifice of a human heart. Will you not 
 accept so small a gift from one who would fain 
 entreat one a thousand times greater in return T 
 '* I cannot indeed; I cannot, Mr. Dcnnison,'' 
 replied Rose, decidedly, but with a tremblinsj 
 voice. 
 
 " Cannot ! rather say that you will not, Miss 
 Morgan." 
 
 " Then, sir, I will not accept your gift. 
 '' Let it perish then !" exclaimed Dennison, 
 and, snatching the costly viniagrctte from the 
 hand whence he had hitherto refused to take 
 it, he flung it over the parapet, and it sunk with 
 a dull splash into the river beneath. 
 
 With folded arms Dennison gazed for a 
 minute upon the spot where it had disappeared, 
 and then walked rapidly forward a short dis- 
 tance ; his steps, however, gradually became 
 less hurried, and the crimson flush on his brow- 
 paled to its wonted tint. 
 
 Rose walked beside him with as much com-
 
 256 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 posure as she could assume, while surprised and 
 annoyed at this unexpected ebullition of feeling; 
 and, by a strong effort, she was the first to break 
 silence. 
 
 " I believe that we had better return home, 
 Mr. Dennison,'' said she, with some dignity of 
 manner. 
 
 Her companion did not reply, but when Rose, 
 pursuing this design, was on the point of turn- 
 ing from the esplanade, he suddenly caught her 
 hand, and begged her to take one more turn. 
 
 " You are displeased. Miss Morgan,'' he 
 exclaimed ; " and you have reason to be so : I 
 am a hot-headed fool, but will you not forgive 
 my rudeness f 
 
 " I have little to forgive, Mr. Dennison,'" 
 returned Rose; " though I do not see why you 
 should be offended at my declining your gift — 
 believe me, I am not the less sensible of your 
 kindness." 
 
 " But why refuse so mere a trifle V cried 
 Dennison. " I confess it mortified me ; but it 
 did more than this ! Ah, Miss Morgan, if 
 you knew how much that simple sentence 
 pained me ! "
 
 ROSE OF WOODLKE. 257 
 
 " I am sorry for it," replied Rose in a low 
 voice ; " I esteem you far too much, Mr. Den- 
 nison, to wish to cause you a moment's pain ; 
 nay, I would gladly spare it you, but I cannot 
 accept a gift where I have nothing to give in 
 return." 
 
 These last words were spoken with a peculiar 
 and pointed expression. Dennison feared that 
 he understood too well their import, and, in a 
 tone of deep despondency, repeated — 
 
 '' Nothing ! And if to that despicable 
 bauble I added all that I possess — heart — hand 
 — every thing ; would they still be spurned ! 
 Answer ! I cannot bear this doubt ! Do not 
 look tluis — in pity speak, Miss Morgan T 
 
 " Be calm, I implore you, Mr. Dennison," 
 replied Rose, while her lip quivered with emo- 
 tion. " You alarm me with your violence ; 
 believe me, I greatly esteem you ; I value your 
 friendship, but I can only feel pained by your 
 preference ; for even for all this I can offer 
 nothing in exchange V 
 
 '' You despise me!" exclaimed Dennison bit- 
 terly.
 
 258 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " Not SO ;" returned Rose, " I have said I 
 esteemed you." 
 
 " Is it anything in my person — character — 
 manners — mode of living — that displeases you f' 
 continued Dennison, with the rapid utterance 
 of self-love and affection at once wounded : 
 "tell me the objection — there is nothing that I 
 would not change at your wish." 
 
 " In myself, not in you, lies the barrier," said 
 Rose. 
 
 " Ah, you are proud, perhaps," cried Den- 
 nison, in the same tone; "they told me that 
 you were of a good family ; a relation of Sir 
 WilHam, and of the M.P. and so forth ; per- 
 haps you scorn a citizen of no connections ?" 
 
 " My father," replied Rose, in certainly a 
 very proud tone, " is a farmer, and I am a 
 
 milliner ! You wrong me, Mr. Dennison, 
 
 and this conversation had better cease." 
 
 " Perhaps you dislike a town life," con- 
 tinued the lover ; " say but the word, and I 
 give up the business and live where you will — 
 become what you please." 
 
 " This is in vain !" said Rose, with more of
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 259 
 
 warmth than slie had yet spoken ; " these are 
 but trifles and weigh not a breath with me. 
 But I have answered you, Mr. Dennison, and 
 have no more to say on the subject." 
 
 There was a moment's silence, then Denni- 
 son, stopping suddenly short, exclaimed, as he 
 gazed on her with eyes that flashed with con- 
 tending emotions : 
 
 *' Then you love another ! Ah, why conceal 
 the fact I Tell me at once that your affections 
 are fixed — that your heart is pledged — your 
 hand engaged — and keep me not thus balancing 
 on the ver^e of utter wretchedness I'' 
 
 The eyes of Rose fell before his piercing 
 glance, and confused, and alarmed, by his wild 
 manner, she stammered a feeble negative. 
 
 " Not engaged ! why then do you think me 
 unworthy of your love ? Oh ! forgive my per- 
 tinacy ; for my whole happiness, the joy, or 
 misery of a life depends upon this moment ! 
 and tell me, my kind, gentle, Rose, — tell me to 
 hope I — say that time may effect a change — 
 that I may yet win that dear, dear, hand !" and 
 he pressed it fervently to his lips.
 
 260 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Rose shook her head, and gently withdrew 
 the hand : she could scarcely command her voice 
 to speak, but bade him not to hope : " Hearts, 
 I fear, are not to be persuaded by reasons," 
 she added, with a faint struggling smile, " or 
 mine might yield ; but to that inner recess 
 where love dwells, we know not who has the 
 pass-key." 
 
 There was a pathos in her tone, and a pity in 
 the tear that dimmed her eye, which combined to 
 sooth the excited nerves of Dennison ; but a 
 thought so fanciful, expressed at such a time, 
 convinced him that he had indeed nothing to 
 hope : he silently offered his arm to his compa- 
 nion, and with a deep sigh, turned from the quiet 
 esplanade, and mingled once more with the busy 
 throng. 
 
 Only once on their way were words exchanged 
 — Rose expressed fatigue, and begged him to 
 call a coach. 
 
 He did so ; and handing her in, only said 
 half reproachfully as he pressed her hand : 
 
 " You would hasten our separation ! Fare- 
 well !"
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 261 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " From my heart I sent 
 Full many a heavy sigh, and sometimes spent 
 Unmanly tears. I thought I must confesso 
 If she I loved had smiled, no happinessc 
 Might equalize it, and her frowne much worse 
 (0 God, forgive mel) than the Churches curse." 
 
 Wither s Satires. 
 
 Rose Morgan, agitated and distressed by the 
 conversation detailed in the last chapter, endea- 
 voured to e^ain her chamber unobserved, in order 
 to recover her wonted composure before meeting 
 with her aunt. Scarcely, however, had she 
 thrown off her walking dress, when that watch- 
 ful relative entered the apartment. 
 
 " So, Rose, you have returned alone in a 
 hackney-coach ; — what have you done with 
 your gallant escort, my dear V 
 
 " I was tired, aunt,'' said Rose, blushing ;
 
 262 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 "and I believe we both thought it better to 
 part, as soon as he had seen me safe in the 
 coach." 
 
 " Oh, some lovers' quarrel !" said Mrs. Mas- 
 siter, smiling. 
 
 " It was a lover's declaration, my dear aunt," 
 faltered Rose, blushing still deeper than before ; 
 " and, — and I suppose it is proper to tell you, 
 — what I believe you do not expect, I, — I, — 
 
 " Never mind, my dear," said the aunt, em- 
 bracing her affectionately ; "I will spare your 
 embarrassment,- and congratulate you most 
 heartily, my own love." 
 
 " You mistake, aunt,'"* interrupted Rose. 
 " I thought how it would be, — I said as much 
 to Louisa Gray," continued Mrs. Massiter, 
 without noticing the correction; '' indeed I am 
 rejoiced at your prospects, my dear ; ]Mr. Den- 
 nison is — " 
 
 " Mr. Dennison has many excellent qualities, 
 aunt, but he is nothing more than a friend to 
 me — I refused his hand." 
 
 "- Refused him !" exclaimed Mrs. Massiter, 
 starting back : " did I hear you aright J"
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 2G3 
 
 " Yes, aunt," replied Rose, more finiily, '' I 
 hope you do not think my conduct has ever 
 seemed to afford him encouragement ; for I have 
 never felt my own heart endangered, and cer- 
 tainly had no wish to entangle his." 
 
 " Xo doubt, no doubt ; you please yourself in 
 these matters, Miss Morgan; but if you want my 
 opinion, I must tell you, I think you have acted 
 very ill ; and had better have asked the advice 
 of your friends, before rejecting so suitable — I 
 may say so advantageous, an offer. You have 
 paid little attention to the lecture I gave you 
 on this subject, before the commencement of 
 your intimacy with this poor unhappy young 
 man : I had flattered myself — " 
 
 '* My dear aunt, forgive my interruption," 
 said Rose, tremulously ; " but pray spare me 
 now — for these reflections are useless — and 
 indeed the day has not been without pain to 
 me." 
 
 She sat down trembling, and her aunt, pity- 
 ing her emotion, spared her for the present — 
 but only to return to the subject at their next 
 interview ; the rather as she interpreted the
 
 264 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 agitation of her gentle niece into an in<lication 
 of regret at her precipitation. 
 
 She was very urgent with Eose to give her 
 reasons for conduct by her so unexpected ; but 
 the poor girl's sole plea, — " That she did not 
 love/' was answered by a contemptuous — 
 " Pshaw!'' or the argument was pursued into 
 the deeper, nay, unfatliomable recess, of — " Why 
 do you not love ? AVliat are your objections," 
 &c. 
 
 In short, the evening was as uncomfortable as 
 well might be, when its sole variations wore the 
 changes rung on remonstrances, upbraidings, 
 and unanswerable categories ; and the patient 
 listener was, at last, about to plead a too real 
 headache, as an excuse for retiring early to 
 bed, when a note was brought in, and handed 
 to ^Irs. Massiter, with the common form of 
 words : 
 
 " The boy is waiting for an answer/' 
 " Kcad that !" exclaimed she, tossing it to 
 her niece. " That poor young man ! who can 
 tell what you may have to answer for, child ?" 
 But she repented the words, when she saw
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 20") 
 
 the pale quivering lip of Rose, as her eye ran 
 hastily over the few lines before her. 
 
 The note was from ]\Iiss Dennison, inquiring 
 if her brother had dined with the ladies, as he 
 had not been at home since morning, and had 
 left no word where he was going ; an omission, 
 she said, almost unprecedented, particularly as 
 he had made an appointment with a friend, who 
 had been waiting his return for some hours. 
 
 A thousand dark and wild imaginings shot 
 through Rose's mind, as she recalled their 
 abrupt parting ; for young ladies are said to be 
 ever ready to imagine mighty effects from their 
 fiats of happiness or misery ; but she strove to 
 appear calm, and persuade herself that, as she 
 urged to her aunt — 
 
 " Mr. Dennison must have met with some 
 friend; or dined at a club; or gone to the 
 theatre, or some of the thousand places of 
 amusement where young men resort, to pass 
 heavy hours, or seek forgetfulness of heavier 
 cares." 
 
 Yet her pale cheek, and brow of care, be- 
 lied her indifferent words ; and, after Mrs. 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Massiter's unsatisfactory reply was despatched, 
 they sat together till long past midnight, waste- 
 ing the hours in conjectures equally painful and 
 unavailing. Mrs. Massiter, however, retired to 
 rest at length more satisfied with her niece ; 
 for she was convinced that so much anxiety 
 and distress could not coexist with perfect in- 
 difference of heart ; and as she herself felt no 
 real alarm on young Dennison's account (how- 
 ever much she thought it politic to affect), she 
 allowed herself to hope, that on these new 
 grounds '^ the match might yet be brought 
 about." 
 
 Rose passed a sleepless night, reviewing in 
 her mind every circumstance that bore relation 
 to Dennison's love, and particularly the events 
 of this day : at one moment she blamed herself 
 for harshness, and the next, stood exculpated at 
 the same bar, by the palpable necessity of de- 
 stroying his hopes at once. Now she almost ap- 
 plauded her firmness, in a case where indecision 
 would not only be culpably weak, but cruel ; 
 and anon shuddered, lest Dennison's fate should 
 prove that she had now been still more cruel ;
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 'Ji'u 
 
 and lost herself again in maze of gloomy con- 
 jectures on the subject of his sister's unprece- 
 dented ignorance of his movements. 
 
 With the first sunbeam that pierced the 
 dense atmosphere of the metropolis, in very 
 restlessness of spirit, she would have risen ; but 
 so rarely had peaceful sleep been chased by 
 care or sickness from her pillow, that failing 
 the wonted refreshment, she found herself giddy 
 and feverish, and after bathing her aching 
 temples with cold water, she resumed her 
 couch. 
 
 Her aunt visited her at an early hour, and 
 prescribed affectionatt^ly for her indisposition ; 
 but she was internally pleased at what she 
 deemed a confirmation of her wishes. She did 
 not allude, however, to the subject on both 
 their minds ; so that Rose, seeing that slie was 
 about to leave her, could not refrain from call- 
 ing her back. 
 
 " Dear aunt," she said, " don't you think 
 you ought — don't you think you had better, 
 send to inquire if Mr. Dennison has yet re- 
 turned i "" 
 
 n2
 
 268 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Mrs. Massiter smiled her assent ; and, at 
 mid-day, after seeing the young people at their 
 tasks, she went herself to visit the sister of the 
 love-sick youth. Miss Dennison welcomed her 
 with warmth ; her brow was clouded, and the 
 trace of tears was on her cheek : she was glad, 
 she said, to have a friend to consult with. 
 
 " Has not your brother returned yet?'' in- 
 quired Mrs. Massiter, with a^sudden panic. 
 
 " Oh, yes," replied the young lady ; "he was 
 brought home by a watchman, about three 
 o'clock this morning; but what has befallen 
 him, I cannot guess. He scarcely speaks, and 
 will not be spoken to ; only now and then 
 he mutters something about being the most 
 wretched of .men — that life has no more joy for 
 him, and so forth ; and he looks so wild and 
 miserable, that indeed, ]\Irs. Massiter, I am 
 afraid something very shocking has happened 
 to him." And the poor girl ceased her rela- 
 tion, struggling with tears. 
 
 " Do not be alarmed. Miss Charlotte," re- 
 plied the visitor, in a cheering tone : " I believe 
 I can throw a light upon this subject, which
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 269 
 
 will remove your fears ; it is only love which is 
 his ailment." 
 
 " Love !" exclaimed Miss Dcnnison. '' Ah, 
 madam, if this were all, why should he not 
 have confided in me, as before ? You allude, of 
 course, to Hose Morgan T' 
 
 *' I do,'' returned Mrs. Massiter ; your 
 brother proposed to her yesterday and was 
 refused ! " 
 
 "Refused! you cannot mean it, ma'am f 
 cried the lover's sister. " What could Miss 
 Morgan object to in my brother ?" 
 
 " Heaven knows ! " ejaculated her friend, 
 shrugging her shoulders ; " but where is Mr, 
 Dennison now? I believe I shall bo able to 
 act the physician in this case : Rose does not 
 know her own mind, I suspect.*" 
 
 " I should think not," rejoined Charlotte. 
 " But, my dear Mrs. Massiter, what can Ed- 
 ward have done with himself all the evening i 
 — the watchman told the shop-boy, who open<Ml 
 the door, that lie was found near the Adelphi, 
 ranting and ravin ls and tossing his arms about, 
 and that some of the people of tlic Ilottjl said
 
 270 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 he had been about there all day, and for a 
 time they fancied he would have thrown him- 
 self into the river ; but as many boats were 
 moored below, they concluded he would be safe 
 enough, and gave up watching him." 
 
 " Ha ! — we must cure him of such naughty 
 fancies, Charlotte ; you know the play says : 
 * One word and one kind glance can cure despair,' 
 
 and Rose must bestow them. But is he in 
 bedr' 
 
 " No, indeed !" said the sister; " I could not 
 persuade him to do any thing so wise as to go 
 to bed last night ; but I sat with him till the 
 servants were up to observe him ; for the watch- 
 man's account frightened me. A little while 
 ago, after two or three hours' rest, I went to 
 him again, and found him nearly as before, 
 sitting by the fire gloomily, and silent, and 
 pale. I tried to reason with him, but he only 
 replied by begging me to leave him alone ; and 
 threw himself on the sofa, looking so exhausted 
 that I hope he will sleep.'' 
 
 " Eose must chide him for this treatment of 
 so kind a sister," said Mrs. ^Massiter ; " but is
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 271 
 
 he still in the room ? I long to try the effect 
 of the consolation I can bring him : may I see 
 him, Charlotte f 
 
 " Indeed, I am half afraid to venture,'" said 
 Miss Dennison ; " but if you have a message 
 from Miss Morgan " 
 
 " Oh, no message,"*"* interrupted Mrs. Mas- 
 siter ; " but I know something of the heart, my 
 young friend ; and you shall see what wonders 
 the very name of Rose will effect — come !'"* 
 
 Miss Dennison, therefore, led the way to the 
 opposite room, and entered cautiously. *' He is 
 asleep,"*"* she said. 
 
 *' Never mind that," replied the elder lady, 
 pressing forward : and taking up her position 
 behind the couch whereon reposed the exhausted 
 youth, she whispered in his ear the name of 
 '■' Rose." 
 
 His lips repeated it passionately. 
 
 ''Edward Dennison, Rose Morgan calls you,'' 
 repeated the visitor again, leaning forward on 
 tiptoe. The sleeper started, and shading his 
 eyes with his hand, glanced round — " Oh, 
 Charlotte, is it only you J" he exclaimed. " I
 
 ^li'l ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 thought — I dreamed — but no matter — why 
 have you awoke me to wretchedness \ It was 
 unkind ! Sleep is the only blessing left me now 
 in life, since she despises me !" 
 
 '• Do not speak so, my dearest brother,'' said 
 Charlotte, approaching him affectionately, '' I 
 know whom you speak of, and I come to tell 
 you her aunt is now here."" 
 
 '• Is she '" returned Dennison languidly. 
 
 " Yes, is she,^ interposed Mrs. Massiter 
 coming forward ; '* and much edified am I by 
 the strange sympathy which exists between you 
 young people : — in one house I leave Rose 
 Morgan pale, ill, and wretched, after a sleep- 
 less night ; and in another I find Mr. Denni- 
 son in a similar condition." 
 
 ''Is iJie ill — is slie \\Tetched?" exclaimed 
 Dennison, starting up ; '' but, alas ! what cause 
 has she V 
 
 " Perhaps no less an one than yourself," said 
 Mrs. Massiter. 
 
 '• How do you mean, madam ? Can you 
 know — has she told you — how every prospect of 
 happiness for me on earth was cruslied and
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 273 
 
 blighted yesterday, and by her ? But I blame 
 her not I" 
 
 '' She has told me all,'' replied the visitor. 
 " What makes her ill ? gentle as she is, can 
 it be pity? Pity for me, for the wound she 
 thought it right to inflict? Ha, even that 
 were something — a pouring in of balm."' 
 
 '' This is mere folly and extravagance ! the 
 girl has turned your brain, Edward !" said Char- 
 lotte in a vexeJ tone. 
 
 " Talk with more respect of Miss Morgan."' 
 said young Dennison fiercely. " You said she 
 was ill, madam ?"' 
 
 "Yes," replied Mrs. Massiter ; "I assure 
 you she was quite miserable all night : finding 
 that you had not returned home, she did 
 nothing but alarm herself with conjecturing 
 every possible ill that could have befallen you, 
 and blame herself as the cause ; and the first 
 thing she said this morning was to beg me to 
 send to inquire after you." 
 
 "Is it possible ! are you indeed a messengei 
 from her ?" cried Dennison, springing forward 
 and snatching the hand of the surprised 
 
 N o
 
 274 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 speaker: " Ah, madam, you inspire me with new 
 life !" 
 
 Mrs. Massiter looked triumphantly at Char- 
 lotte, but that young lady entered little into the 
 feelings of either party. 
 
 "This is intolerable," she exclaimed, "silly 
 romantic boy ! what can this Dulcinea of yours 
 be to you now ? Did she not refuse your prof- 
 fered hand ? think no more of her, I charge 
 you." 
 
 "It is true," said Dennison, in a dejected 
 tone ; " her kindness made me forget myself. 
 It is but the pity of the judge for the captive 
 he has condemned to death. Alas ! my sen- 
 tence is worse — a lingering joyless life I" 
 
 " Fie, fie ! Mr. Dennison," rejoined the ma- 
 noeuvring milliner, " it is my turn to chide you 
 now, if you shew so faint a heart ; — does one 
 overthrow make you shrink from the field i 
 Perseverance, let me tell you, sometimes effects 
 wonders ! But that poor child is all this time 
 sufi'ering the torments of anxiety and self re- 
 proach. I must hasten to relieve her of them. 
 I suppose you will call soon, to show yourself 
 safe and sound, which is better than report."
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 275 
 
 " I call, Mrs. Massitcr ! do you forget V" ex- 
 claimed the young man, in surprise, not unmin- 
 gled with pleasure. 
 
 " Indeed I would not go," said Charlotte; ^'it 
 is only again endangering your peace, and most 
 needlessly." 
 
 «' I differ from you," returned Mrs. Massiter ; 
 " and indeed, I think you hafl better escort me 
 home now, Mr. Dennison ; it is the least requi- 
 tal you can make to a young lady, for a night 
 of anxiety on your account, to pay your respects 
 to her in the morning." 
 
 Dennison smiled, and glanced hesitatingly at 
 
 his sister. 
 
 "Indeed you must not go," said she anxiously: 
 <'dear Edward, do not. He is not fit, Mrs. 
 Massiter ; remember that he has not been in 
 bed all night !" 
 
 " The night air is dangerous; we must reform 
 that habit," resumed Mrs. Massiter : " but a 
 walk in the sunshine is a cure in itself for a 
 host of ills,- will you come, Mr. Dennison?" 
 
 " Yes," said the lover, in a resolved tone : " I 
 will see her once again, cost what it may.—
 
 270 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Dear Charlotte, do not look so grave. I will 
 take the breakfast now, my sister, that I re- 
 jected so uncivilly before. See, I am better 
 already !" 
 
 Charlotte rang for the breakfast, and the 
 ladies withdrew to the other room ; few words 
 were exchanged between them, and they parted 
 less warmly than fhey had met. ^Irs. Massiter 
 however, indemnified herself for this silence, 
 when Dennison, still pale, and, despite his efforts, 
 feeble, offered his arm to conduct her home. 
 
 Rose Morgan had indeed been alarmed at 
 her aunt's protracted absence, and had pictured 
 to herself the desolation of the weeping sister, 
 and the unavailing consolation of the friend. 
 
 Apprehension is of rapid growth, and like 
 the genius of the fairy tale, when once the 
 vapour has spread itself into a terrible and 
 gigantic form, it is not easy to force it 
 back into its previous narrow and manageable 
 bounds. Nothing but death she now thought 
 could have befallen the young man, to keep her 
 aunt thus long away at this busy period, so 
 that her surprise was the greater when she
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 277 
 
 beheld him enter, with her relative, the very 
 room where she was nursing these inquietudes. 
 
 She started first, then hastened forward, and 
 offering her hand, welcomed him with real 
 pleasure. She was in this unguarded moment 
 proceeding to say otlier kind things, hut was 
 recalled to a sense of their relative situations 
 by the look of wild delight, mingled with 
 incredulity, with which ho met her cordial 
 advances ; and shrinking back, blushing deeply, 
 she preserved almost a total silence tluring the 
 rest of their interview. 
 
 Thus Mrs. Massiter's expectations of a 
 happy effect from the sudden meeting were 
 not perfectly satisfied, neither were the anxie- 
 ties of Dennison set at rest ; but with respect 
 to the latter, benefit was derived from it, at 
 least, so far as reprieve is a benefit to the sen- 
 tenced criminal; — instead of sitting down at 
 once in dull despair, he was upheld by a feverish 
 and fitful hope. 
 
 Several months passed on ; Dennison still 
 continued to visit at Mrs. Massiter's; but he 
 was no longer a constantly expected guest.
 
 278 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 Once or twice a week he dropped into tea, and 
 stayed sometimes till a late hour, gazing upon 
 Rose, but speaking seldom, except when ad- 
 dressed. If she was at work, his hand was 
 always ready to pick up the fallen scissors, or 
 seek the missing thimble ; if she presided at 
 the teaboard, he was not to be prevented as- 
 suming the post of adjutant ; but though these 
 and a thousand other constant but trifling assi- 
 duities, together with his wasting form and 
 pallid cheeks, wrung her heart with pity, they 
 were not the qualities calculated to win it to love. 
 
 Dennison soon was convinced that her first 
 sentence was her final one ; but he would reply 
 to his sister's affectionate remonstrances, that 
 there was so much pleasure even in looking at 
 and hearing her, and sometimes meeting her 
 gentle smile, that he preferred it to the peace 
 that might follow, should he tear the wasting 
 passion from the heart. 
 
 As may be supposed, the ladies generally 
 were so moved with pity at the change in their 
 lately gay and gallant favourite, that Rose had 
 to rebut, in all companies, the charge of cruelty,
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 279 
 
 and listen to such pleasins; remarks as the half 
 jesting, " if he dies for love, his death will be 
 at your door, Miss Morgan ;" or the more sen- 
 timental, " You are talking of that poor young 
 man, Edward Dennison. Oh, he is in a con- 
 sumption, plain enough ; it is a thousand pities!" 
 
 Even Miss Stancliffe, who had hitherto kept to 
 her resolution of not inviting Rose again to her 
 house, now called for her in a hackney coach, 
 and took her home to a ti'te-a-tete, and lecture. 
 She was not long in entering upon the subject. 
 
 " It was here, I think, that you first became 
 acquainted with that unhappy young man, 
 Edward Dennison, Miss Morgan?" 
 
 " I had met him several times before that 
 evening," replied Rose. Then, wishing to avoid 
 this perpetual subject of annoyance, she added 
 in an animated tone, " Surely, Miss Stancliffe, 
 that is a new timepiece i what a pretty little 
 thing !" 
 
 " You dislike the topic, Miss Morgan, and 
 no wonder," said her hostess : " even your iron 
 nerves must shrink appalled when you gaze 
 upon the wreck of that fine young man, and
 
 280 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 think that it is your work ; and for me, with 
 my more delicate system, I should long since 
 have sunk under my sense of my cruelty, if any 
 possible circumstances could have led me to 
 commit it." 
 
 " You never had a proposal then, Miss 
 Stancliffe V inquired Rose with an arch glance. 
 
 The spinster applied her essencess to her 
 nostrils, as she replied, waving her hand with 
 ineffable grace, '' Many, child, many." 
 
 " How then, ma'am, may I ask,"' said Rose in 
 the same quiet humour, " did you avoid driving 
 your suitors to despair by your objections. It 
 would be a useful lesson ? " 
 
 " I have, indeed, acquired much painful 
 knowledge of the world,'" resumed Miss Stan- 
 cliffe, " and could give many valuable lessons to 
 the young and thoughtless ; but you probe my 
 sorrow too deeply, Miss Morgan — ha ! forbear, 
 ha, ho !" The sighs were heavy and frequent, 
 the smelling bottle applied till tears of senti- 
 ment having watered either cheek, they were 
 transferred to the folds of an embroidered 
 cambric handkerchief.
 
 ROSE OP WOODLEE. 281 
 
 Rose thought a sympathizing silence no more 
 than decorous, and sipped her tea to hide the 
 lurking smile, ^liss Stancliffe, therefore, after 
 a pause of fitting duration, thus continued. 
 
 " We have wandered from our point, Miss 
 Morgan. Concerning that poor young man, 
 Dennison ; though he is but a tradesman, I 
 assure you I consider him as a friend ; and his 
 ill-fated attachment having conunenced, as I 
 may say, under my auspices, I consider myself 
 privileged, nay, called upon, to interfere, and in 
 short, invited you here to remonstrate with you 
 on your unbecoming conduct." 
 
 " Is it so very wrong, then," said Rose, with 
 an air of more than her usual simplicity, '' to 
 prefer a single life to a lover's happiness ' I 
 had not thought to incur such a censure from 
 you, ma'am, whose example, at least, seems to 
 countenance this unbecoming conduct." 
 
 *' No impertinence, minx I'** exclaimed Miss 
 Stancliffe, putting down hei* scent bottle. *' I 
 tell you your behaviour throughout has been 
 shameful ; encouraging the nuin at first, 
 to gratify your foolish vanity, with the hope,
 
 282 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 forsooth, to see him die at your feet at last I 
 Can you plead my example for that, too V 
 
 "Oh nOj certainly, ma'am;" said Rose, 
 pointedly. 
 
 " Had he consulted me," continued the 
 lady, " I could have told him from the first 
 what he had to expect. I remarked you on 
 the evening that he had the ill fortune to meet 
 you in this house ; I saw at once that you were 
 a coquet !" 
 
 " A coquet, Miss Stancliffe r 
 
 " Yes, Miss Morgan ; these may be the 
 manners of your farm-house ; but your beha- 
 viour to Huggins was almost as improper as 
 your conduct to his successor." 
 
 *' Indeed, ma*am !" said Rose ; "I had no 
 idea that I was culpably cruel there also. A 
 poor girl, then, has no choice ; she is bound to 
 accept the first hand stretched out to her ; and 
 I ought, I suppose, to be Mrs. ^lonypenny. 
 But, my dear Miss Stancliffe, I wish you would 
 give me one example from your own life of the 
 conduct proper to be pursued ; it would be 
 better than many precepts."
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 283 
 
 '* It is very true,'' replied the spinster, " that 
 I have preferred a single life to trusting my 
 happiness with any man, and my choice was a 
 wise one ; but the case is widely different with 
 you, Miss Morgan ; you cannot pretend that 
 you have formed any such resolution ; and 
 since you doubtless intend, or rather wish (for 
 you may miss your mark), to marry some day, 
 I should be glad to know on what pretext you 
 refuse a young man, so much above what you 
 have a right to expect, as Edward Dennison ? 
 It is rank vanity; it is the self-conceit of a 
 silly cold-hearted girl, that would enjoy the 
 triumph of seeing a lover pine away beneath 
 her frown, and would then, puffed up with 
 vanity, expect to make other and perhaps 
 greater conquests. You look surprised, ^liss 
 Morgan ; ha ! I have studied the world, I have 
 read your heart, you stand convicted ! and I 
 now call upon you to look with pity upon 
 Dennison, since he has risked his life and hap- 
 piness so unworthily." 
 
 " I am surprised, I own," said Rose, rising 
 proudly, and laying her liand upon the bell.
 
 284 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 " If you will allow me. Miss Stancliffe, I will 
 ring." 
 
 " For what ?'" cried her hostess, surprised in 
 her turn. 
 
 " I wish to order a chair to take me home,""' 
 replied Eose, still calmly, and ringing as she 
 spoke. " I am at your mercy here, Miss Stan- 
 cliffe, and can only say that the person you 
 describe is indeed unworthy of Mr. Dennison." 
 
 " I think so, I assure you," said Miss Stan- 
 cliffe, much irritated ; " and I shall, now that I 
 know more of you, make a point of advising 
 him to have nothing more to say to you. You 
 may seek a more suitable lover where you can, 
 Miss Morgan." 
 
 " You cannot do me a greater service," re- 
 turned Rose. " If Mr. Dennison could be 
 persuaded that much as I esteem him, I cannot 
 give him my heart, it would increase the happi- 
 ness of us both." 
 
 Here the servant entered, and Miss Stan- 
 cliffe resuming her essences, said in her usual 
 languid tone, " Catherine, bo so good as to 
 step down to Mathews' and order his sedan ;
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 285 
 
 the company of this young lady is rather too 
 much for me this evening." 
 
 " La, ma'am, are you ill T cried Catherine. 
 " Bless me, what can we do for her, dear lady. 
 Her nerves are so weak. Miss Morgan, you 
 wouldn't believe.'' 
 
 '• If you will order the sedan," said Rose, 
 " I will attend to your mistress." 
 
 " Shall I call at the 'pot'ecary's, ma'am, for 
 something ; some drops — some cordials " 
 
 '' No, no, good Catherine, I only want quiet," 
 said the lady ; and the maid, with many prying, 
 inquisitive looks, retired. 
 
 " Poor Dennison ! the thought of his wasting 
 away for a girl who disregards his sufferings is 
 at all times too much for my spirits !" resumed 
 Miss Stancliffe ; but as the words were not 
 addressed directly to her, Rose did not think it 
 necessary to reply, and in five minutes the 
 chair was announced, and taking a cold leave 
 of her hostess, she threaded her way down the 
 dark and narrow staircase. 
 
 Not yet were the excitements of the evening 
 over. Dennison had been at her aunt's, and in
 
 286 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 her absence our heroine had been the sole topic 
 of conversation. He had opened his heart to 
 his sympathising auditors, and derived at least 
 some temporary consolation from the friendship 
 of Mrs. Massiter and Louisa Gray. " He still 
 loved,'' he said, " but he believed what the 
 poets tell, that love cannot survive hope ; and 
 his hope was fast expiring ; he wished the 
 spark of life would fade as rapidly. 
 
 Mrs. Massiter chided his despondency, and 
 bade his hope yet live : Dennison smiled faintly 
 at the flattering voice, but his eyes sought the 
 serious orbs of his younger counsellor — there 
 was no bidding to "hope on" read there. 
 
 "You are right, Miss Gray,'' said Dennison; 
 " you and my sister are right : I have hoped 
 too long already ! Her gentleness, her kind- 
 ness of manner, are but natural to her; she 
 shuns me when she can, and in this is wiser 
 than I ! I know I cannot win her love; but it 
 would console me if I knew^ the barrier that 
 was between us. Tell me, my friends, does she 
 love another ?" 
 
 " No, I assure you," said Mrs. Massiter; but 
 Louisa Gray was again silent.
 
 ROSE OF AVOODLEE. 287 
 
 " Speak, I conjure you, Miss Gray,**' saiil 
 Dennisoii ; " know you anything of this ?" 
 
 " I cannot speak ;" replied Louisa, " I hav(j 
 no certitude." 
 
 "It is impossible!" cried Mrs. Massiter. 
 " She knows no one at all intimately, except 
 yourself, Mr. Dennison." 
 
 There was a silence, broken at length by the 
 gentleman. 
 
 "This cannot last!" he exclaimed sadly; 
 " Charlotte has convinced me that I am wear- 
 ing out my frame in this conflict of my feelings; 
 she would be left alone, poor girl, if I did ; 
 and I promised her this morning to bring my 
 fate to the issue — to offer my heart and hand 
 once more, and, if rejected, to see my beloved 
 no more. Heaven knows what will become of 
 it ! I walked here to-night for this purpose, 
 but I am not sorry she is absent; it would per- 
 haps be too great an excitement to my feelings. 
 To you ladies, my kind friends, I leave it to 
 prepare my way : if she has another attach- 
 ment, I shall be spared the trial." 
 
 There were tears in every eye as his me-
 
 2SS ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 lancholy accents ceased ; he himself seemed 
 almost overpowered with his emotions, and 
 silently pressing both their hands, he took his 
 leave. 
 
 '• Louisa, do you think then that her heart is 
 another's I" asked Mrs. Massiter after a pause 
 of some duration. 
 
 '• I think, ma'am, nothing else can account 
 for her insensibility to so long and ardent an 
 attachment ; in a young man too, whom she 
 certainly likes, esteems, and pities." 
 
 •• But the thing is impossible. Who could 
 it be r 
 
 "Unless young Merrival I" conjectured Louisa. 
 
 ''- 1 used " 
 
 "Pshaw I" interrupted Mrs. Massiter; ''they 
 have not met since they were children! the idea 
 is ridiculous."* 
 
 At this crisis, Rose herself returned from her 
 visit, of which the abrupt conclusion surprised 
 her friends not a little. She accounted for it, 
 however, by the indisposition which Miss Stan- 
 cliffe had herself thought fit to assume to her 
 domestic, for she was unwilling to bring for-
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 289 
 
 ward the name of Dennison, which had become 
 to her a som'ce of pain and annoyance. 
 
 On this occasion, however, her caution availed 
 her nothing, for Mrs. Massiter began with un- 
 wonted gravity — 
 
 " We have had a visitor too. Rose ; Mr. 
 Dennison has just been here !" 
 
 " Indeed !" again said our heroine, sitting 
 down and throwing her shawl from her shoulders. 
 
 '' My dear ma'am, had you not better defer 
 this to another time'" said Louisa; " Rose looks 
 agitated already." 
 
 " The better for my purpose, Miss Gray ;'' 
 rephed Mrs. Massiter; *' Rose's feelings are not 
 particularly tender, when she can see the suffer- 
 ings of so true a lover as Dennison, unmoved." 
 
 '' How hard you all think of me V said Rose 
 in tremulous accents, " because I cannot love 
 him, am I to lose the affection of everj'body 
 else r' and overcome with previous excitement 
 she burst into tears. 
 
 " Dear child I"' said her aunt tenderly, " we 
 all love you, and it is only our wish for vour 
 happiness, and pity for poor Dennison, that 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 
 
 makes us urge you thus. Why are you so ob- 
 stinate, Roser"* 
 
 " Oh, aunt, forbear ! my mother would not 
 persecute me thus ! Let me go home, it will be 
 better for him, and all of us." 
 
 "I, indeed, think you are right !" said Louisa 
 Gray. 
 
 "But why not visit Woodlee as Dennison's 
 bride?" asked Mrs. Massiter. 
 
 '* Could you forgive yourself if I married him 
 and was unhappy, my dear aunt ? I say now, 
 as I said at first, I cannot love Dennison as a 
 husband should be loved ; I could not look up 
 to him with that perfect reliance, that reverence 
 I may say, that I should wish to feel ; I doubt 
 not the truth or the constancy of his attach- 
 ment, but I cannot reciprocate it." 
 
 " This is something more than romance !" 
 cried Mrs. Massiter. '* Rose Morgan, you love 
 another!" 
 
 Rose crimsoned for a moment, but calmly 
 said, "And who then, my aunt?" She re- 
 membered the conversation detailed in our 
 tenth chapter, when Louisa Gray remarked
 
 ROSE OF WOODLEE. 291 
 
 "That it was indelicate and unmaidenly to feel 
 a passion for one who had not first given evi- 
 dence of his attachment," and she continued to 
 maintain her accustomed reserve on this subject. 
 
 " Nay, I know not who," replied Mrs. Mas- 
 siter; "but some hints I have certainly heard 
 of your play-fellow, the young sailor, Merrival." 
 
 " We were but children when we last met," 
 returned Rose in the same calm voice, "and 
 certainly we never then spoke of any love but 
 such as we had felt from our cradles — this, 
 aunt, I acknowledge I still feel." 
 
 " Did I not say so !" cried Mrs. Massiter 
 triumphantly. " Well, well, my dear, I believe 
 my commission is fulfilled, so wo will say no 
 more about it now." 
 
 " What commission ?" asked Rose. 
 
 " Never mind, my love, I think you had 
 better go to bed now, for we have sadly too 
 much work in hand, and must bo up early. 
 Without your quick fingers, Louisa, I don't 
 know what we should do — wo must make you 
 a partner some day ; Rose has often asked it." 
 
 Thus, more pleasantly than it had at first

 
 I" '* I 
 
 r:v 
 
 "m^
 
 ' ER3 TY OF ILUNOtt-UMANA 
 
 3 0112 040255 280 
 
 1- ^^i