\ !> fA^ foi, f'™ <>9''!S ' S' ^-B S ~ LI B RARY OF THE UNIVERSITY or ILLINOIS 825 &Z\\e V. I EVELYN HARCOURT. A NOVEL. BY THE AUTHOR OF "TEMPTATION, OR, A WIFE's PERILS,' " THE SCHOOL FOR WIVES," ETC. 4 IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. L LONDON: HENRY COLBURN, PUBLISHER, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 1847. F, Shoberl, Jan., Prioter to H.R.H. Prince Albert, Rupert Street, TO ONE WHOSE SINGULAR BEAUTY IS BUT A SLIGHT INDICATION OF A FAR MORE PERFECT DISPOSITION, THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE DEDICATED WITH SINCERE AFFECTION BY THE AUTHORESS. EVELYN HAECOURT. CHAPTER I. She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies ; And all that's best of dark and bright Meets in her aspect and her eyes. Byron. One beautiful afternoon in April, as Lady Lochmaben was driving her bijou of a pony- carriage, with its cream-coloured ponies, know- ing little grooms, and all its aristocratic appurtenances, from Lady Truro's door in Grosvenor Square, an old-fashioned, heavy- looking travelling chariot rumbled up to it, which certainly presented as great a contrast to the miniature bauble whose place it pro- ceeded to occupy, as did the dusty, stumpy, VOL. I. B 2 EVELYN HARCOURT. wizen-faced old man, denominated by courtesy the postboy, to the handsome, showy Comitess, with her profusion of ringlets, her splendid lace veil, and her long whip en parasoL Perhaps, Lady Lochmaben might be struck with this herself, for she honoured the car- riage and its occupants with a supercilious stare of some moments, before, with a single touch of her whip, she sent her thorough-bred ponies flying along, to the admiration of the passers-by. In the mean time, the new comers were proceeding to emerge from their old-fashioned vehicle ; and the very fine gentlemen of Lord Truro's establishment who condescended to wear his livery, grow fat, and sneer at most things for a certain sum yearly, were lazily assisting their exit. The first of the tra- vellers who emerged was a good-humoured looking maid, fat, fair, and forty, who, having first showered down a profusion of bread- crumbs from her lap, descended with consi- EVELYN HARCOURT. 3 derable emphasis upon the pavement, and then, having proceeded to give herself a shake, observed with a smile, that seemed directed to the majestic butler himself — " Well ! I am stiff!" '' Is Lady Truro within ?" inquired a sweet, clear, youthful voice. " My lady is at home, ma'am. Her lady- ship has been expecting you for an hour or more." " Must I see her directly ? " whispered Helen Eridge, as she rejoined her companion on the steps. " Had not you better go to her alone first ? I feel so much like an in- truder." But the hasty reply — " Nonsense, Helen ! you could not be so rude ! You are no more an intruder than I am !" was uttered with such vehement decision, that it seemed to settle the matter at once ; and the quiet Helen followed her less diffident companion through the hall and up^ the broad staircase without B 2 4 EVELYN HARCOURT. further comment. In the space of a few mo- ments they were in a richly-furnished boudoir, opening into one of the most beautiful con- servatories in London, and in the presence of the admired and recherchee Lady Truro herself. Nothing could possibly be imagined more luxurious than this boudoir — nothing more tasteful than its decorations, except, perhaps, its fair inmate. It was hung with rose- coloured silk, over which clear white muslin was fluted. Mirrors encased in these dra- peries served to heighten the brilliant effect of the costly and rare objects the room con- tained. On the marble console table were vases of Sevres porcelain of enormous value ; other specimens, chiefly of that exquisite turquoise blue which is becoming every day more rare, were scattered about; whilst a marble statue of a child caressing a wounded dove, by a celebrated sculptor, irresistibly attracted the eye from all minor objects. Beyond, through the half open doors, might EVELYN HARCOURT. 5 be caught a glimpse of a long suite of rooms, which were actually dazzling with the splen- did decorations peculiar to the time of Louis the Fourteenth, with those graceful cabriole chairs and sofas, and fine marqueterie tables, which so desperately put to shame our fright- ful modern furniture. And added to all this — to all that could dazzle the eye and charm the fancy — came the sweet breath of flowers from the adjoining conservatory, in the midst of which hung a lamp of the most exquisite shape and workmanship. In truth, it resem- bled a fairy palace ; and it might well seem one to the two youthful strangers who now beheld it for the first time. Lady Truro, a beautiful and graceful per- son, rose as they entered, from the sofa, on which she had been reclining. She welcomed them with the utmost condescension, and was all politeness and smiles. She was sorry and glad just at the proper times, and about the proper things; expressed becoming interest 6 EVELYN HARCOURT. respecting their journey and posthorses; hinted that she had stayed at home purposely to re- ceive them; hoped that they would not be too much fatigued to dine down stairs and be introduced to Lord Truro, who had made a point of dining at home for the purpose ; and begged that they would consider themselves completely chez elles, and make whatever use of the servants they pleased. " Would they like to have Deschamps now — her own maid ? Deschamps was no doubt within, and could be sent for immediately." Helen murmured a timid refusal; but Evelyn, to whom Lady Truro appeared chiefly to address herself, was able to answer, with little or no confusion of manner, that " they wished for no Deschamps. Mrs. Hart, the maid they had brought with them, would be quite able to do all they required." And Evelyn turned to admire the exquisite Murillo which had been given to Lord Truro lately during his Spanish excursion, with none EVELYN HARCOURT. 7 of that feeling of overwhelming shyness which was oppressing her more fearful companion. She felt perfectly able to look about her, and take note of every object ; and to her there seemed nothing in the smallest degree calcu- lated to inspire awe in the high-bred but peculiarly feminine creature before them. This absence of timidity was in a manner natural to Evelyn. But there is something very encouraging in the consciousness of beauty ; and Evelyn Harcourt was as beauti- ful a creature as ever illumined a visionary's dream, or inspired a poet's verse. Hers was indeed glorious beauty, the more striking from its peculiar character. There w^as something Asiatic in her magnificent eyes; something almost regal in her lofty brow, and graceful, swan-like throat. Her complexion was of that clearest olive, so lovely, yet so rarely to be met with in this country ; her features were exquisitely moulded ; the mouth in parti- cular, with its " short upper lip " and pout- 8 EVELYN HARCOURT. ing under one, was a model in itself; and the intellectual expression of her countenance be- tokened a mind of no ordinary stamp. There was something commanding in the tone of her beauty, in the very glance of her eye, which struck one at first sight ; it was not to be mistaken. She was a being that must ex- ercise a powerful influence over those within her sphere — she was not one to glide through life quietly and unobserved. Those dark, lustrous eyes might sparkle now with joy and eager anticipation, but there would come a day when their beauteous mirrors might re- flect back the fires of passion, and many a fierce and strong emotion trouble those serene depths ! To a being like her, one whose very countenance was full of the loftiest and most impassioned poetry, Love must come; and what might not Love bring in its train ! Helen Eridge was altogether a different creature. Slight, and rather below the com- mon height, there was nothing in her appear- EVELYN HARCOURT. 9 ance at all calculated to attract observation, and she herself was little disposed to seek it. She was pretty, certainly; with soft, dark, gray eyes, and a fresh, English complexion ; but she was so accustomed to be overlooked ill the presence of her more lovely companion, that she was little, if at all, aware of the per- sonal charms she really possessed. Evelyn was so beautiful ! so surpassingly beautiful I Who could look at any other, whilst Evelyn was by ? — It must be confessed, that very few did ; and on the present occasion Lady Truro was not one of the few. Her attention was completely engrossed by the magnificent crea- ture before her, so far more beautiful than any description had led her to expect; and poor Helen, with her retiring manner and un- pretending appearance, w-as in that fragrant boudoir almost as though she did not exist ; whilst Evelyn had not been there five minutes before the heart of Lady Truro, such as it was, had opened to her, and visions of innu- b5 10 EVELYN HARCOURT. merable proposals which such beauty must command were floating before the dazzled vision of the lady of the mansion. " Look ! look, Helen!" cried Evelyn, seizing her companion's hand, and eagerly drawing her into the conservatory, whilst at the same moment she untied the strings of her own cottage bonnet, and by a rapid movement divested herself of it, thereby disclosing to view a head exquisitely formed as that of a statue, round which the thick masses of jet black hair were gracefully but almost care- lessly wound. " Is not this delicious ? it re- minds me of La Butte." " La Butte ! and where is that ?" inquired Lady Truro, as she cast an eye of mingled admiration and envy upon the Spanish-looking beauty before her. " Oh ! a place near Naples, where we passed some weeks ; but so beautiful ! so beautiful ! And it had a conservatory like this, only much larger. See, Helen, what a cactus! — Oh, EVELYN HARCOURT. 1 1 Lady Truro, how fortunate you are to pos- sess such a paradise, and in the heart of Lon- don !" " It is not a very clean paradise, as you may perceive," replied Lady Truro, laughing, and pointing to the flakes of soot, which, wonderful to say, respect not even the aristo- cratic conservatories of Grosvenor Square. " These plants have to be changed every week; they would soon die here...." She paused, arrested by the look of consternation which Evelyn's face assumed. " Changed ! oh, how sad ! I was hoping to have the care of these flowers — I had those at La Butte ; and I grow so fond of flowers — so fond ! But if they are changed ..." There was something so foreign in her gesture and manner as she uttered these words with almost childish simplicity, that it seemed wonderful she should speak such pure English. But there was certainly nothing English in either her manner or appearance, 12 EVELYN HARCOURT. Still less in the perfect ease, the singular grace, that accompanied every movement, every gesture — a grace as unstudied as her . ,r -c expressions. " What a magnificent creature !" thought Lady Truro to herself, as she repaired to her own room to dress for dinner, after having condescended to accompany her young guests to theirs, in order, as she said, to satisfy her- self that they had been made really comfort- able. ** She will indeed create a sensation ! There is nothing in London to be compared to her." x\nd — " ^^^lat an amiable person Lady Truro seems !" was the remark of Evelyn to her companion, as she closed their door. " I am sure I shall love her so much !" Whilst Helen paused a moment before she replied, thoughtfully — " She is pretty and pleasing, certainly ; but I should think her worldly." EVELYN HARCOURT. 13 CHAPTER II. He learn'd his heart's first love to smother, And — he is wedded to another. Prowse. And such is human life at best — A mother's, a lover's, the green earth's breast; A wreath that is formed of flowerets three — Primrose, and myrtle, and rosemary — A hopeful, a joyful, a sorrowful stave — The cradle, the bridal-bed, and the grave. Neale. We are reconcil'd. — Let him not ask our pardon : The nature of his great offence is dead, And deeper than oblivion do we bury The relics of it. Airs Well that Ends Well. Evelyn Harcourt was an orphan. Her father, the younger son of a country gentle- man of very small fortune, had been sent into the army at an early age, and informed, \vith that candour with which unwelcome truths are 14 EVELYN HARCOURT. very frequently imparted, that his father had no fortune to give him, and that consequently he must carve it out for himself with his sword. Now, he had all the disposition in the world to do so, but it is self-evident that, in order to carve out anything, there must be something to carve upon or through ; and, although in his case the implement was not wanting, any more than the disposition to use it, the oppor- tunity was ; and, consequently, the prodigies of valour of which his affectionate mother had so often dreamed that he would prove the hero, never assumed any shape, except in the visions of her fond fancy. Of all the unlucky men in the army, (and it must be confessed they are not a few) he was one of the most un- lucky. At thirty, he was a captain still, and with little chance of ever rising higher. — Yet at thirty he was not only anxious to marry, but was actually engaged to the pretty but penniless daughter of a country gentleman in Wales. EVELYN HARCOURT. 15 His father was exceedingly indignant. In his opinion, no younger son ought to marry at all ; much less to dream of marrying with- out money. Mr. Eridge, the young lady's sire, too, was averse to the union on his daugh- ter's account ; but he, being an affectionate parent, whose object was not the wealth nor aggrandizement of his children, but their hap- piness, becoming convinced that that of his daughter was really bound up in Captain Har- court, at length gave his consent to the match, provided the young couple would agree to wait for the space of one twelvemonth, at the end of which time she would have attained her twentieth year. To this condition they were obliged to consent ; and Captain Harcourt, having obtained some months' leave of absence, set off with a rich brother officer to Italy, there to while away, as he best might, the tedious moments that must separate him from his betrothed. The year passed away, and with the new 16 EVELYN HARCOURT. one came strange alterations to some, strange sorrows to others. The gentle girl remained constant and true, but he was false ! He was not only changed in heart, but actually- wedded to another ! At first, she would not believe it. She struggled against every proof of his betrayal — she refused to listen when they were repeated to her. But, at length, even the trustingness of her faith was overcome, and, once con- vinced of the bitter truth, she had no alterna- tive but to humble herself beneath the blow, and seek to derive comfort from that saddest of all convictions to those who have really loved — the unworthiness of the loved one. The person whom Captain Harcourt had married was a Neapolitan lady, by whose sin- gular beauty he had been speedily captivated. The acquaintance had begun with no sinister intention on his part. The idea of abandoning his betrothed had never even entered his mind, but by degrees the fascination of the beautiful EVELYN HARCOURT. 17 Italian had bound him with a spell he found it more and more impossible to break through; and when at length he discovered that he was beloved by her with that intensity and ardour peculiar to her own glowing clime, he could resist no longer. He married her without even applying to his father for a consent, which he well knew would be indignantly refused, and was in consequence sternly for- bidden by that father ever to appear in his presence again. The beautiful Evelina, an orphan without money, and almost without relations of her own, followed him to England, and, with more than the enduring tenderness of an English wife, accompanied him through all his wan- derings, submitting to the hardships and trials of a position so new to her^ without even a murmur, and making herself the admiration of every one in the regiment. There was no one, not even the commonest subaltern's wife, not even a soldier of her husband's company. 18 EVELYN HARCOURT. who had not a good word to say for the beau- tiful Mrs. Harcourt — a smile to bestow upon her loyely little girl. And when she died, at length — died in giving birth to a son, who survived her only a few hours — the feeling of deep and universal sorrow that prevailed proved how sincerely the stranger had been beloved. From the hour of her death, her husband became an altered man. She had been all in all to him. Cut off from all intercourse with his own connexions, disappointed in his hopes of advancement in his profession, he had turned to her as the only interest left to him in life. In her he had ''garnered up his heart," audit had never occurred to him that he could lose her. Such an idea would have seemed to him too dreadful to be entertained. Much kindness was shown him by his bro- ther officers. All sympathized with his loss — all mourned as for a relation of their own ; and the memory of that beautiful Italian was EVELYN HARCOURT. 19 long and tenderly cherished by her English friends. After her death, the little Evelyn became doubly the pet and favourite of all. With her, life opened joyously indeed, and her childish path was gay with flowers. Scarcely ever did a harsh word or impatient reprimand meet her ear ; epithets of tenderness, terms of praise and of endearment, were the sounds to which she was accustomed. A gentle and beautiful child is an object so universally engaging, that scarcely any one, however selfish or morose, can refuse a word or look of kindness to such a little being. And it must have been a hard nature that could scowl upon the'innocent glance of those large, earnest eyes, or refuse a caress to the exqui- site little cheek upturned to meet it. At length. Captain Harcourt fell ill, and for a time it seemed but too probable that the poor little girl would lose her only remaining parent. He rallied, however ; and as soon as 20 EVELYN HARCOURT. he was conscious of the least symptom of re- turning strength, he became importunate for leave of absence, to try, as he said, the effect of travelling about with his child. By rapid journeys — far too rapid for one in his weak state — he travelled into Wales ; and, after many years, once more found him- self beneath the roof of the man whose daugh- ter he had so cruelly injured. And, when the kind-hearted Mr. Eridge beheld his altered countenance and listened to his hollow voice, entreating forgiveness for the sorrow he had inflicted, will it be wondered at that that for- giveness was not denied, and that he was once more welcomed within those hospitable walls as he had been of yore ? Mr. and Mrs. Eridge were the most ex- cellent couple that can be imagined. They seemed to exist but to do good and to love one another. Simple and unpretending as the peasantry that surrounded them, and by whom they were held in the most profound EVELYN HARCOURT. 21 veneration, they were as incapable of har- bouring malice or resentment themselves as they were of wilfully occasioning such feelings in others. They had felt bitterly the afflic- tion of their child at the time, it is true, and had thought, not without deep indignation, of the conduct of its author; but, when she had married two years after a cousin of her own, and they saw that the former wound was healed, and that she was happy once more, they forgot the man who had wronged her ; or, if they thought of him at all, it was with a benevolent hope that he might be as happy as she was. They knew nothing of the death of his wife ; indeed, they w^ere altogether ig- norant what had become of him. But, at the time of his unexpected arrival at Oriel, their hearts were more than usually open to tender and generous impressions. Their daughter had lately died — died after nursing her husband through that saddest of all diseases — con- sumption ; and all they now possessed of their 22 EVELYN HARCOURT. darling was the little orphan girl she had left, who was just one year younger than Evelyn Harcourt. It may well be supposed, there- fore, that they could not again behold the man their Helen had formerly loved, so sad- dened and altered too, without strong emo- tion ; and with their own simple kindness, they welcomed him and his little one as friends. And when, soon after, poor Captain Harcourt again fell ill, they nursed him with the ten- derness of parents, and soothed the agonizing anxiety of his dying moments by a solemn assurance that they would cherish and pro- tect his child— that their home should hence- forward be her home, and that she should be to them as a daughter. And with a rare and beautiful fidelity this promise was kept. The little Evelyn grew up under their roof — the sharer alike of the pleasures, the advantages, and the affection they bestowed upon their own granddaughter. EVELYN HARCOURT. 23 Their hearts knew no difference, and their conduct evinced none. But, as Evelyn Harcourt advanced in years, her mind expanded with singular rapidity; and she began to feel an insurmountable de- sire to penetrate beyond the bounds of her wild Welsh home. She pined with an earnest and intense longing to behold the bright land of her mother's birth — the glorious sun-lit skies of Italy. The girl was more than half Italian in her nature, and she had all the en- thusiastic love for that classic land which is so universal amongst its children. The kind-hearted old couple sympathized with her wish, for they thought it but natural that she should long to see the spot of her mother's birth and early recollections ; and, for the mere purpose of indulging her desire, they actually quitted their home, which they had not left for many years, and cheerfully entered upon the mighty undertaking (for such it was to them) of a journey to Italy. 24 EVELYN HARCOURT. As might be supposed, the adventures of such a party, composed of individuals, each more simple-minded and unsophisticated than the others, were innumerable, and some of them not a little ludicrous ; and many were the laughs they occasioned, many the impo- sitions practised upon " ces pauvres Anglais'' But still they went on their way, bearing the same benevolent and happy hearts into a foreiofn land that had animated them in their own, and winning esteem by the influence of their genuine worth and simple kindness. There are some Italians at Naples who still recollect the good old pair who used to take their daily walk, arm in arm, along the Chiaja, looking so thoroughly English and respectable, and so evidently devoted to one another. They had positively grown so much alike, that they might have been taken for brother and sister. Time indeed had scarcely altered either of them in the sight of the other ; he was still to her the Charles of her EVELYN HARCOURT. 25 first, only love ; and in his eyes she was scarcely less fair than when he had taken her to his bosom years ago — his blushing, blue- eyed Mary ! They remained two years at Naples — two years of happiness to Evelyn, whose improve- ment in every respect during that time was almost magical. She associated with some few Italians who had been friends of her mother (for the memory of that mother was still tenderly cherished at Naples), and here the natural talent, the beautiful poetry of the girl's mind, began to develop themselves. She had a great disposition for music ; she com- posed, with the utmost facility, both music and English poetry, and possessed the rare and enviable poAver of improvisation. When ex- cited, and entering fully into her subject, her performance was really extraordinary, not so much from the power or genius of the verses themselves, as from the harmony of the versi- fication, its rapidity, and the exquisite melody VOL. I. C 26 EVELYN HARCOURT. of the acompaniment. This talent she m- herited from her mother, who had possessed it in a supereminent degree. Evelyn was now eighteen, and Mr. and Mrs. Bridge were meditating their return home, when a letter arrived from the Mar- chioness of Truro, a first cousin of Evelyn's, inviting her to spend the ensuing season with her in London. Lady Truro had made one or two overtures of kindness before to her young cousin, and she was the only one of Evelyn's paternal family who had done so. The Eridges had heard her spoken of at Rome, where she had spent a winter, as a most amiable and fascinating person, who, although handsome and much admired, was unexceptionable in her conduct. Evelyn was all eagerness to be allowed to accept her in- vitation, and what could Evelyn ask that they could refuse her ? — The permission she longed for was granted, at length ; not without con- siderable hesitation indeed, for these excellent EVELYN HARCOURT. 27 old people feared they knew not what from the contamination of the world, and the adu- lation her beauty must command ; still, they felt it was but right she should see something more of that world than could be viewed from the Elizabethan windows of their own dear Oriel ; and to enter it under such auspices was an advantage they were not justified in refusing for her. They wrote, therefore, to accept Lady Truro's offer for their protegee ; and Evelyn wrote also to accept it for herself. But she contrived to introduce so much about Helen and her own reluctance at parting from her into her letter, that Lady Truro, who was really good-natured in a certain way, wrote back to invite Helen also for a few weeks to Grosvenor Square, till Evelyn should have become not only acquainted with her hostess, but have learned to feel quite at ease with her. The fact was. Lady Truro had heard from some friends who had been lately at Naples c 2 28 EVELYN HARCOURT. reports of the great beauty and musical talents of Evelyn Harcourt ; and she justly considered that to befriend so attractive a creature could do herself no possible harm, and might do the poor girl very considerable good. If her beauty were really what it was represented to be, she must prove an ornament to any society, and to introduce her into the fashionable world of London could only entail additional eclat upon herself. Evelyn might marry well too ; — and Lady Truro, although her own position by marriage was so pre-eminent, was not so plentifully provided w^th aristocratic connexions herself, as to consider with in- difference the idea of a cousin of her own becoming Duchess of R or Countess of D ! Although she had heard much of Evelyn's beauty and talent, however, she was far from realizing in her own mind what either actually was. She had pictured to herself an un- formed country girl, handsome and clever EVELYN HARCOURT. 99 indeed, but lamentably deficient in ton, and, above all, in that indefinable grace and polish which, in general, nothing but habitual inter- course with really good society gives. She anticipated no small trouble and difficulty in teaching the young ideas of one who, till now, had existed in a remote corner of Wales, and who could have no possible experience of the world — no savoir vivre whatever. She for- got, perhaps, that, until she married, she too had lived always in thecountry ;— and yet, in how incredibly short a time had association with men of a certain set like her husband and his friends, and the influence of the society to which her marriage had at once raised her, taught her all that was necessary to keep her, not only afloat, but actually buoyant in the uncertain and treacherous sea of fashionable opinion ! Who now so inva- riably approved on all points as the lovely Lady Truro ? — who more frequently quoted ? — who more universally admitted to " con- 30 EVELYN HARCOURT. naitre son monde f " But then she was blest with unusual tact and cleverness — at least, she thought so — and perhaps she was not very far wrong ! — EVELYN HARCOURT. 31 CHAPTER III. He was a mortal of the careless kind, Who chose to go where'er he had a mind, And never dreamed his lady was concerned. Lord Byron. ...well dressed — well bred — Well equipaged. COWPER. Lord Truro was good-natured, good-look- ing, and extravagant. He had fallen despe- rately in love with the pretty Barberina Har- court, the only daughter of a poor Yorkshire Squire, whom he had met at Doncaster Races ; and, having no one to control him, no one's consent to obtain but his own, he had speedily proposed, and been of course yet more speedily accepted. At first, they were not unhappy together, that is, when they were together, — for they were much more frequently apart. He was on the Turf, and he was constantly 3^ EVELYN HARCOURT. making excursions to Melton, and other places where it was not his pleasure that she should accompany him ; and, when they were in London, his pursuits, his clubs, and the society of his roue friends, with certain other inter- ests, so engrossed him, that he found little time to bestow upon his wife. But, with re- gard to this, as well as many other things, she had very wisely pris son parti. He was liberal to her ; he allowed her perfect freedom in all ways, and she felt bound to do the same by him. Her marriage had not been one of love, but of ambition ; and the position to which it had raised her had amply gratified the latter passion ; she could, therefore, afford to dispense with the former. In the mean time, her own conduct, and her demeanour in so- ciety, were unexceptionable. Admired and feteed as she was, not the most censorious person could find a word to say against the beautiful Lady Truro. Nobody was more fond of, nobody more eager to attract, general EVELYN HARCOURT. 83 admiration, but she invariably discouraged any particular display of it ; and, though some people called her proud, and a great many exceedingly heartless, yet every one was ready to admit that, considering Lord Truro's shameful neglect of her, and his excesses of all kinds, which were too notorious for her not to be aware of them, there really was no small merit in her unexceptionable conduct ; and that few women, under her circumstances, would have behaved half so well. Lady Truro was, in fact, a person capable, under more favourable ones, of becoming an amiable, perhaps even a superior character. But there is something so debasing in per- petual intercourse with the fashionable world, properly so called, especially when its objects are made the principal ones in life, that the tone of every mind must end in being lowered by it. A life of perpetual excite- ment, at best of a frivolous kind, often worse than frivolous — the impossibility of c 5 34 EVELYN HARCOURT. anything like leisure or quiet reflection — the constant competition — the jealousy — the un- due importance attached to those adventitious advantages which we know in the sight of God to be of none — all these cannot fail to affect, more or less, those who are exposed to them ; though some few who bear about with them the charm of a principle that is above the world may be able to view its follies with regret, without partaking in their intoxication. But such instances are rare. In a few days, Evelyn Harcourt was com- pletely domesticated in Grosvenor Square, and there seemed every prospect that Lady Truro and she would become bosom friends. The young girl was enchanted with everything around her. To her the whole world seemed bright and happy, for her spirit was full of hope that had never yet known disappointment; enthusiasm that had never yet been chilled. Experience with her had hitherto been only joy, and she looked on all things with enchanted eyes. EVELYN HARCOURT. 35 Ah ! how happy, how beautiful, is this freshness of the spirit ! Why does it disappear so soon ? Why does a mist come over all that seemed bright and pure before ? Or, at least why, whilst yet possessing it, are we so un- conscious of the treasure ? In the mean time, Helen Bridge gazed around with a soberer eye. She had more leisure, indeed, for quiet observation ; fewer dazzling circumstances to obscure her judgment. In this house, where her companion was so cor- dially welcomed, her own presence seemed to be in a manner forgotten. Lady Truro was polite, indeed, when they met ; kind even, as far as it was in her nature to be, to one so wholly uninteresting to herself; and Evelyn was tender and affectionate as ever whenever they were together ; — but Evelyn's time was now so much taken up with Lady Truro, that all quiet intercourse between the girls seemed to have ceased. Helen felt sad at heart ; sad to think that 36 EVELYN HARCOURT. the friendship of years should so soon be in- terrupted — for interrupted she saw it must be. Evelyn would soon be immersed in new objects, new interests ; the attractions of the world would have their weight, and the com- panion of her childhood would most probably be forgotten ! Poor Helen ! She tried hard to accustom herself to this idea, repeating to herself constantly that it was only natural — only what was to be expected in the common course of events ; but still she could not re- concile herself to the prospect. The tears would spring to her eyes when she thought of Evelyn estranged from her, meeting her again with an altered heart, perhaps even a patro- nizing manner, like Lady Truro's ; for, in spite of Evelyn's incessant eulogiums and enthu- siastic admiration of her cousin, Helen still thought that cousin worldly, and her manner somewhat chilling. Notwithstanding Helen's timidity and dif- fidence, her observations were acute, and her EVELYN HARCOURT. 87 judgment remarkably clear. Utterly ignorant of the world and its vices, she yet had shrewd- ness and penetration sufficient to enable her to foresee many evils for Evelyn in the cir- cumstances that surrounded her. She disliked the tone of Lord Truro's conversation, and the flippant manner in which he seemed to insinuate, more than openly express, ridicule at everything noble and good. He did not ac- tually laugh at religion, indeed, but she felt sure that he was not deterred from doing so by any religious principle or feeling of his own. Little did he suppose, as he occasionally addressed a remark to the silent girl, who seemed too listless and supine to care even about the favourite at Ascot, that she was internally making very accurate observations upon his character, and thinking to herself that not even to be a Marchioness, with all appliances and means to boot, could she be happy with a man whom she could not re- spect. 38 EVELYN HARCOURT. And yet Lord Truro was good-natured; and he had taken quite a fancy to Evelyn Harcourt, for "she had some spirit — some sense ! In the first place, she was so d — 1-sh handsome ! she had a better figure even than Nina's, and her eyes were positively splendid. Then she had declared she was dying to go to Ascot ; and she had gone into raptures about his new cab horse ! — There was really some sense in Evelyn Harcourt !" "Oh, Helen ! is that you?" cried Evelyn, as her friend entered her room one morning — a room adjoining Lady Truro's dressing- room — " I am so glad you are come ! — Look at my dress ! is it not lovely ? — a present of dear Lady Truro's !" " Beautiful ! — and that is for the King's ball?" " Yes ; won't it be charming ? How I wish you were going too !" " Lideed, so do not I, dearest Evelyn. I EVELYN HARCOURT. 39 have no wish to go ; and by that time I shall be far away — far away from you !" — " Far away ! how ? where ? You are not going yet ?" " On Tuesday. I have written to grand- mamma to say that I shall set out on Tues- day." " Oh, Helen, you don't say so !" cried Evelyn, suddenly throwing down her beautiful dress on the bed, with an utter disregard to the delicate trimmings she had almost feared to touch the instant before. " What shall I do without you ? — ^you will not go !" And the large dark eyes filled with tears, as she threw her arms round Helen's neck. *' Yes, dearest," said Helen, returning her caress with emotion, " I must go, indeed. I am wanted at home, you know, and here you will have plenty to occupy and amuse you without me. I am only in the way ; I feel it more every day. Lady Truro is very kind, 40 EVELYN HARCOURT. but I am sure she wishes me gone. It is as evident as possible." " How can you say so, Helen ? — it is not like yourself. You are quite prejudiced against Lady Truro — I cannot think why." " Indeed I am not. I like her for loving you, but... in short, we will not discuss it, but I have made up my mind to go on Tuesday, and I am sure I am right in my decision." Evelyn sat down, and burst into tears. '* I shall have no pleasure in anything when you are gone," sobbed she. These tears were balm to Helen's heart. They showed that at present at least Evelyn's was unchanged. ** You will promise still to love me, and often write to me," said she. " All these fine people interest me very little for themselves, I confess, but, as connected with you, they will become interesting. You will not let them estrange you from me, my Evelyn — you will still trust me as heretofore ?" EVELYN HARCOURT. 41 " Oh, Helen, my sister, my darling ! do not talk so ! — Estranged ! As if I ever could be estranged from you !" " They say the world makes great changes, Evelyn ; but if it should make you selfish or cold-hearted, it would spoil a beautiful nature. Be on your guard, however; and, above all, do not let any one laugh you out of your love for what is good. Think of our dear parents —of their goodness, their pride in you ; and how they have ever encouraged us both to love what is noble, and simple, and pure. Alas ! they would have little in common with such a world as this ! I sometimes think, if they could suddenly be transported here — into this fine house — among all these fashionable people..." " They would be quizzed, I am afraid !" said Evelyn, mournfully. " They would ; — despised, with all their goodness !...But then, Evelyn, I remember the end !...T\iQXQ must be an end for all; — and, 42 EVELYN HARCOURT. supposing it to be satisfactory now to fritter away one's life as these people seem to me to be doing, it must be unsatisfactory to look back upon afterwards !" " I think I shall return to Oriel," said Evelyn, thc^ughtfuUy. She paused — and, half turning round, sur- veyed her dress — "To be sure, Lady Truro has been very kind... very kind — and I am sure she loves me..." EVELYN HARCOURT. 43 CHAPTER IV. Round her she made an atmosphere of life : The very air seemed lighter from her eyes — They were so soft — so beautiful — and rife With all we can imagine of the skies. Lord Byron. .... All the world desires her — they come to see fair Portia. Merchant of Venice. .... Know'st thou the youth ? Ibid. Evelyn did not return to Oriel, although her friend departed the next Tuesday, as she had resolved to do, and, for the first time in her life, Evelyn knew what it was really to grieve. She felt a weight upon her heart — a suffocating sensation in her throat, as the moment of parting approached, which she could neither account for nor overcome ; and 44 EVELYN HARCOURT. when at length Helen tore herself away from the arms that still endeavoured to retain her, Evelyn felt as if the bitterness of a whole life were concentrated in that one moment of over- whelming sorrow. But though her grief was keen at first, it soon subsided. Her feelings were acute, when roused; but, as is generally the case with ardent dispositions, their very violence speedily exhausted itself. In a few days, she was as ready as ever to be charmed with all the dazzling novelties that surrounded her, and to enter keenly into every project for amuse- ment, every interest of Lady Truro's. That lady seemed to think she could never do enough to show kindness to her young pro- tegee. Delighted to possess so amiable and yielding a companion, charmed with her beauty, and flattered by her earnest admira- tion for herself, she overwhelmed her with attentions and proofs of regard, irresistible from one in her position to a girl like Evelyn, EVELYN HARCOURT. 45 fresh, unsophisticated, and warm-hearted as she was. Evelyn could not see the shadow of a fault in Lady Truro, and had any one then accused her of selfishness, she would have rejected the imputation with anger ; for what could be less selfish, less worldly, than her conduct towards herself? Evelyn was now in a perpetual state of rapturous excitement. One pleasure suc- ceeded another with such rapidity, that she sometimes felt almost fatigued with their excess, and was conscious of a wish that she could pause, as it were, for a time, and enjoy herself more at leisure. But a greater excitement than all was ap- proaching; and never did young lady just released from the iron rule of the school-room, and panting for the freedom which she believes can be conferred only by " a name and by a ring," look forward with more intense expecta- tion — more eager delight — to her first appear- ance in society, than did this simple-hearted 46 EVELYN HARCOURT. girl, in whose dreams (and they had been many and bright) the idea of making a good match, as it is called, had never even entered ! At the next Drawing-room, she was to be presented, and the approaching court ball was to witness her debut. Oh ! what consultations between Lady Truro and Mamselle Anna, respecting her dress and appearance, and then between Lady Truro and her own maid ! What deliberations ! What exclamations ! What flattery ! One would have thought the fate of the nation depended upon the colour of a ribbon, or the choice of a silk ! And all for one to whom Nature had been so lavish in her gifts, that Art could do nothing — posi- tively nothing — to enhance them ! The utmost one could hope was, that it might not in any way mar what was already so perfect. Even Deschamps could not help observing at last, when poussee a bout by the incessant journeys up and down stairs, and the innumerable re- quests for her opinion about this dress and the EVELYN HARCOURT. 47 Other trimming which the new comer occa- casioned, ''Mais, miledi, que veiit-elle done? Qu'est ee que ^afait, que fa soit broche ou uni, avec une figure semblable f On croiroit bien que Mademoiselle fut laide /" There were no fond parents to gaze with conscious pride upon Evelyn's exquisite face and faultless figure when arrayed for the pre- sence of her Sovereign — no troops of admiring cousins hurrying to see her dressed for court — no soldier-brother, stiff and cross in his uni- form, and ready to vote the whole concern of the Drawing-room a bore, to soften as he gazed upon her, and at length relax into a smile of proud delight at possessing so beauti- ful a sister. Evelyn had none of these. Even her own Helen and her good old parents were not there to be gratified by her appearance ; but amongst those who did see her there was but one opinion ; and in Lady Truro's smiling exclamation, " Well, Evelyn, I will undertake to say that you will see no one to-day to 48 EVELYN HARCOURT. compete with yourself," and Deschanips' short aside to Mademoiselle Anna, '' Ma foil faut avouer qu'elle est divine comme fa /" and Lord Truro's expressive start, and almost involun- tary exclamation, " By George, how lovely !" the same spirit of admiration was sufficiently manifest. Evelyn Harcourt did indeed look peerlessly beautiful that day — the first of her introduc- tion and her triumphs ! Even Royalty itself contributed its share to the intoxication of the hour, and the first voice in the realm was heard to pass a strong eulogium on her beauty. From that hour, she entered an atmosphere of adulation that was sufficient to turn many a wiser head than hers. From that hour, she became the fashion — the Beauty, par ea^cellence, of the season — the wonder whom all talked about — raved about — longed to behold ! Lady Truro was in Paradise ! Her expec- tations had been great, but the reality infinitely EVELYN HARCOURT. 49 surpassed them, and her love for her young cousin increased in proportion with her suc- cess, and the eclat she reflected upon herself. Nothing in all the annals of London fashion ever surpassed the sensation the young beauty created that year. No party, however bril- liant or exclusive, was considered perfect un- less she were present. At the Opera, a stranger might wonder what occasioned almost every glass in the house to be so frequently directed towards one particular box in the dress-tier, till a glimpse at the exquisite face it contained suddenly explained the mystery; and many an unfortunate girl in a ball-room, when in- wardly lamenting the destruction of her fresh trimmings by the sudden crush that over- whelmed her, would be told by her partner that it was only the beautiful Miss Harcourt's arrival that occasioned the pressure, and would then be dragged still further into the crowd, that he might catch a glimpse of her peerless countenance. VOL. I. D 50 EVELYN HARCOURT. All London talked of her! All London raved about her ! At crowded dinner-parties, her charms formed alike the conversation of the grave cabinet minister, and the timid de- butante. People manoeuvred for an intro- duction to her as they had never manoeuvred before, and the sight of the Truro livery amongst the equestrians in Hyde Park created a general buzz, that proceeded from party to party. — " Here comes the Beauty !" — " 'Pon my soul, yes ! That's Truro's bloodmare !" — " What, Miss Harcourt! where, oh, where? I'm dying to see her !" — " There, on the left, riding beside Lady Truro !" — " Haverfordwest is next to her !" — " Yes, Haverfordwest is making up to her furiously !" — '' But it won't do, mark my words !" — *' Well, she is lovely, I must say...." Lady Truro was a judicious chaperon. She was as select and exclusive for Evelyn as it was possible to be for any one, and two-thirds EVELYN HARCOURT. 51 of the invitations forced upon them were sys- tematically refused. Evelyn must not appear too often; she must not make herself too common ! Once hacked about and paraded at every ball, like any other beauty, both her freshness and her fame would soon be on the wane. It was rather a privilege now to get a sight of her — the greatest to be admitted to her acquaintance. To obtain the entree of Lady Truro's coterie was considered a far greater distinction than to frequent Almack's. Doubtful or objectionable people were known sometimes to penetrate there, even in those exclusive days ; but no one that was doubtful or objectionable ever found their way within Lady Truro's doors. All the greatest and most desirable partis of the day were, of course, assiduously culti- vated, and that lady made it a matter of pride that none but the most brilliant matches should be even submitted to her fair cousin. She was not without hopes that, young as Evelyn D 2 LIBRARY mmRswi OF iLUMois 52 EVELYN HARCOURT. was, she might jet marry this year. There were two or three devoted swains who, as she believed, wanted nothing but a little encou- ragement to speak out ; amongst whom were the Duke of Shetland and Lord Haverford- west. The Duke of Shetland was good-looking and agreeable, and he had of course been shot at by all the beauties, and manoeuvred for by all the mammas, since the time when he had been fortunate enough to emancipate himself from that part of the aristocratic dress of his own mother by which her apron was attached. Even his very holidays had been struggled for and sought after, when his hobbedyhoy Grace was honouring Eton with his idleness and ducal frolics ; for such things have been known as the childish loves of a boy and girl being renewed when they are older ; and at the worst, it can never be a disadvantage for a young lady to be on sisterly terms with a Duke! EVELYN HARCOURT. 53 But his Grace of Shetland had hitherto resisted all nets, all attractions ! he had nei- ther married one of his schoolfellow's sisters, nor wished to marry his own sister's gover- ness ; and he had been not a little scandalized at the match his friend Truro had made, of whose sense and judgment he had fondly en- tertained a far better notion, than to imagine he would be caught by a penniless Miss Har- court, of Yorkshire, whom nobody out of that county had ever even heard of. In his opi- nion, it was a piece of particular maladresse to marry early. Wives, at the best, must always be bores, however independent one might be of them. There was always the chance that they might take upon themselves to know something they had no business to know — perhaps even to advise or remon- strate ; and a remonstrating wife who would bear ? Then there was the trouble of looking after them, for they must be looked after, to say nothing of the nuisance of having a cub 54 EVELYN HARCOURT. of a son growing up into manhood, long before his unlucky father required to dye a single hair ! But, alas for the inconsistency of human nature ! Although the Duke so unsparingly condemned his friend for the step he had taken, he was now blindly treading in the very same steps himself, and not only ad- miring a Miss Harcourt, but actually thinking of marrying one too ! His folly was equal to his friend's. There was something so new, so peculiar in Evelyn's exquisite loveliness, so unlike any thing that had appeared before in London, in his time at least, that he felt himself irre- sistibly attracted towards her. She was so natural ! she had such a keen relish for the pleasures which others pursued — not as plea- sures, but as mere means to an end ! She had no end, no aim, but to enjoy herself ! Her mind was clear and limpid ; you might look through it, and perceive no thought of guile. EVELYN HARCOURT. 55 It was refreshing to talk to her, to gaze upon her. The eye, the heart, felt that sensation of satisfied repose, which is produced even to the most worldly, the most biases; and some- times peculiarly to them, by the beautiful power of Nature's own truth. This love of the natural and true is not easily extinguished in our hearts ; even those who possess it the least themselves, some- times value it the most in others. He who has had the most experience of the world - liness and insincerity of women, the best cause to know them well, is precisely the one who makes choice of the most simple and unsophisticated girl for his wife. He values such qualities in proportion with what he knows to be their rarity. And the reason why we prove so frequently wrong in our speculations for the matrimonial choice of our friends is, simply, that we too often judge from the past experience the former pre- ferences of those friends. If a man have 56 EVELYN HARCOURT. been an ardent admirer of beauty, we pro- phecy that he will be caught by some pretty face ; or, if he have always paid particular homage to genius, we feel certain he will be captivated by a woman of mind. If he have always been devoted to married women, we determine that he will choose a person of a certain age, a woman of the world — perhaps, a jointured widow! Yet these speculations most often turn out to be totally wrong, and it is easy to account for it. The disadvan- tages too frequently inseparable from beauty, learning, and worldly wisdom, are best known to those who have seen the most of them; and often the very qualities that a man most seeks for and prizes in the lady of his bachelor worship, are precisely the last he would wish to bring within the sanctuary of his home ! '' Oh ! do tell me," said Evelyn, one even- ing, suddenly raising her magnificent eyes and fixing them full on the Duke of Shetland, EVELYN HARCOURT. 57 who was, as usual, in attendance upon her in Lady Truro's opera-box, " who was that gen- tleman Lord Mersey was talking to when we met you to-day in the Park ? " " That gentleman ! — how can I hope to answer such a question ? Were we not talk- ing to several ? I know, I interrupted young Howard in the midst of one of his endless stories when I perceived you" . . . " This gentleman rode away as we came up. I have seen him several times before, and I have the greatest possible curiosity to know who he is." " Happy man, to excite the notice, the curiosity of Miss Harcourt ! Who can he be ? But I will strive not to think of him — it is more than I am equal to ! " " That is not the way to make me think of him less, if woman's curiosity be what it is described to be ! You had better gratify mine now." " Was it De Benyon ? a handsome fellow, d5 58 EVELYN HARCOURT. with dark hair — young De Benyon, of the Guards?" *' Oh dear, no ! I know him. Not the smallest resemblance." " Then I cannot imagine." " You mean, you are resolved not to try." " Far from it ; you wrong me. I am rather of a generous turn, I believe, and I would willingly prove it in this instance, especially as I consider you in a manner pledged, if I discover the name of your hero, never to bestow another thought upon him." " No, no !" cried Evelyn, laughing, '' I will make no such promise. I have not bestowed many thoughts upon him as yet, but if I •should see him again, I cannot pledge myself not to think that that is the man !" " What a position do you place me in !" cried the Duke, with a gesture of mock de- spair. " You ask me the name of a he, who rode away as you appeared — sufficient proof EVELYN HARCOURT. 59 to my mind that he was a he of no taste ; and yet you" . . . " There he is, I declare ! " cried Evelyn eagerly, " in Lady Fitzarthur's box ! He is just come in — there — looking at the stage ! Now, who is he ?" " That ! You do not mean that you don't know Sherborne ? Impossible !" *' And why? Does it argue oneself un- known not to know him ?" " Why, almost. A man of his notoriety ! his eminence !" " Is that then the author of ' Nina' and ' Retrospections,' and that wonderful play that all the world is raving about ?" " Even so. And wherefore not ?" Evelyn's eyes were fixed intently on the opposite box, and she paused a moment before she replied, with a perplexed air — " I was told he was a ... a middle-aged man !" The Duke could not refrain from laughing. 60 EVELYN HARCOURT. *' He was said to have written the comic song called ' The middle-aged man,' " said he, at length ; " but whoever cast such an impu- tation upon him as to call Jiim one, must have fancied himself the original of that song, I suppose, and so sought to revenge himself upon its author. Perhaps, however, you would call me a middle-aged man ? Sherborne is two or three years my junior !" " Hush, hush !" cried Evelyn, putting her finger on her lips, " here is Malibran"... The opera was one of Evelyn's greatest pleasures, not only for the sake of the bril- liant coup d'ceil it afforded, nor yet for the pleasure to which she was, however, by no means insensible, of being the " observed of all observers," but for the exquisite delight the music occasioned her. She was one of the few, the very few, in that brilliant assem- blage, who really desired to listen in silence to every note ; and how many enthusiastic feelings, how many fairy visions, were con- EVELYN HARCOURT. 6 1 jured up by her vivid fancy within the narrow bounds of Lady Truro's opera-box ! Music had always a powerful charm for her — it raised her for a time into a world of her own, a heaven of beauteous and inspiring dreams ! That night, the opera was " Semiramide," one of her greatest favourites, and almost every air of which she knew by heart. The performance of it, however, was doomed to be unexpectedly interrupted. Malibran, who a short time before had broken her elbow, and still wore her arm in a sling, was ob- served to be not in her usual force, and when the second act commenced, and she had to appear on the stage, she advanced with a slow and faltering step, which was very unlike her habitual manner. Twice the symphony was played, and still she made no attempt to sing. At length, after rocking herself backwards and forwards for a few moments, suddenly, to the consternation of all, she fell flat upon the stage, without a sign of life ! There was a, stifled 62 EVELYN HARCOURT. shriek throughout the house, and Evelyn shuddered and turned pale. To her it seemed impossible that the unfortunate actress could survive that fall — so heavy, so apparently stunning! Of course, she was instantly re- moved, the curtain fell, and the performance was for the time suspended. Then there was a rush of young men behind the scenes to ascertain the cause of the catastrophe ; and there were not wanting some who declared it was all a sham of hers, got up out of spite to Laporte, who had in some way affronted her, and that she was now laughing immoderately at the success of her trick. Whether this were or were not true, Laporte soon came forward to announce that her illness would prevent her from appearing again that night, and an act from another opera was shortly after performed. But Evelyn's spirits were damped by this occurrence. That sudden, fearful fall was still before her eyes, and she still seemed to EVELYN HARCOURT. 63 hear the shriek that had resounded through the house. A feeling of nervousness had crept over her, which she could not shake off, and she felt relieved when Lady Truro, herself not well, proposed going home early. As she rose to depart, however, she could not refrain from casting one hasty glance at Lady Fitz- arthur's box. Only two persons were visible there — Lady Fitzarthur, and her sister. Miss Brownlow. The " middle-aged man " had departed. 64 EVELYN HARCOURT. CHAPTER V. .... for myself alone I would not be ambitious in my wish. .... Yet for you I would be trebled twenty times myself; A thousand times more fair .... That only to stand high on your account . . . .... But the full sum of me Is an unlessoned girl — unschooled — unpractised. Merchant of Venice. .... 'tis a hall Where people dance, and sup, and dance again. Lord Byron. Evelyn felt a greater desire than she could account for to herself to make the acquaint- ance of Arthur Sherborne. There had been something about him, an expression in his countenance that had struck her even before she knew who he was ; but now — now that she knew him to be the author of poetry which had always seemed to her the most exquisite EVELYN HARCOURT. 65 she had over read, and works of fiction which had become celebrated throughout Europe, she did indeed feel eager to ascertain whether that lofty genius betrayed itself in common life ; whether any of the exquisite and inspiring thoughts with which his works abounded found their way into his ordinary discourse. If they did, what a privilege to be admitted to his acquaintance ! The morning after the opera, Lady Truro found her with a whole pile of his works, which she had collected from the library, before her ; readino^ over and over a^ain some of the most beautiful parts of them. It appeared to her that she had never till now fully appreciated their merits ! The sight of the author had done more to open her eyes than half a dozen of the most partial reviews could have done. She felt elated to think she had seen him — inconceivably eager to see him again. " Oh, do you not delight in his poetry?" cried she, pointing to the open volumes, as 66 EVELYN HARCOURT. her cousin exclaimed with surprise at her un- usual occupation, '' I have always been so fond of it !" *' He ought to be flattered, I am sure !" replied Lady Truro. " It is a pity he cannot see you now, with this heap of books before you ; I question whether he ever received a greater compliment He might not feel it so, however," she added, after a pause. " He is very singular — very reserved — very fastidious." *' Fastidious ! no wonder !" " And he avoids fresh introductions. / might have been acquainted with him. Sir Aubrey Harcourt once offered to bring him here indeed (they are great friends), but I am not without my pride in my own way, and I choose to be sought by — rather than to seek — even Lions ! I had no reason to suppose the gentleman wished to know me, so I de- termined not to put myself out of the way to know him. I rather discouraged the idea of his coming, and he never came ! — " EVELYN HARCOURT. 67 " Oh! what a pity !" cried Evelyn earnestly. ** Surely a man like him one would wish to know on any terms." " Do you think so, my love ? If you wish to know him, you may easily do so. You have but to give a hint to the Duke or Lord Haverfordwest; either of them could easily manage it !" " What ! if he is so fastidious ?" Lady Truro smiled almost contemptuously. " I do not imagine he would be fastidious with you, my dear." Evelyn was astonished to find how con- stantly this Mr. Sherborne was in her thoughts. Wherever she went, she detected herself on the look-out for him ; whatever she were doing, the idea of him in a short time presented it- self. He seemed to have suddenly bewitched her! She saw him no more, however, for some days ; and she was beginning to despair of 68 EVELYN HARCOURT. ever seeing him again, when an invitation arrived to a ball at L House, where every one distinguished for beauty, fashion, or for high literary talent, was sure to be assembled. There she might see him — there he might possibly condescend to go ; and almost with- out being conscious of it, she paid far greater attention to the details of her toilet than was her wont, and was less inclined than usual to be satisfied with its results. Before they had been five minutes in L House, they were joined by the Duke of Shet- land, who had a way of making a kind of pro- perty of Evelyn, and affichemg his attentions to her in public, which delighted Lady Truro, and made her augur well for the result. She was beginning indeed to make pretty sure of him for her young cousin, provided no pains were taken — no anxiety betrayed to bring matters to a point. The very day previous, she had said to Lord Truro, during the single half hour he had condescended to bestow upon EVELYN HARCOURT. 69 her, ^^ I think Evelyn will marry the Duke ! Nothing was ever like his attention !" — to which her lord had replied in the intervals of humming a favourite air of the last new ballet, " Take my advice, Barberina, and don't you and Miss Evelyn be too ready to lay that flat- tering unction to your souls. When Shetland tells me he is going to marry her, I will believe it !— till then Good by !— I'm off!" But, in spite of this warning, Lady Truro did still continue to lay the flattering unction to her soul. As for Evelyn — but we will not anticipate her feelings. " By the by, Miss Harcourt, * the middle- aged man ' is here to-night," said the Duke ; " and I told him how much your curiosity was excited about him the other day." " Oh no ! you did not ! . . " " Indeed I did ; and what is more, I offered to introduce him to you, or rather, to ask your permission to do so. There ! was not that generous on my part ? . . But I can't make 70 EVELYN HARCOURT. the fellow out ! He affects singularity, in- sensibility ! what not ! He fought off — talked of his shyness — his diffidence and insigni- ficance. I know it was something that rhymed !" " Just what I told you the other day, Evelyn," said Lady Truro. " // se fait prier ! now I can't bear that." Evelyn made no answer ; in her heart she felt cruelly mortified. She had cherished a hope almost unknown to herself of that night making Mr. Sherborne's acquaintance! But now it seemed as if a barrier had been sud- denly placed between them — a barrier of his own raising ! She should never know him — never express to him, as she had longed to do, her earnest admiration of his works ! At length, they reached the music gallery ; and, when once emancipated from the pressure of the doorway, and at large in that noble room w^hich can hardly ever be too crowded, Evelyn looked eagerly round for the object of EVELYN HARCOURT. 71 her interest. But it was not till she had joined the dancers that she perceived him seated in a distant corner by a young and at- tractive person, whose face she did not even know. Her curiosity was instantly excited. '' Who is that pretty girl in white?" in- quired she of her partner ; *' there — by Mr. Sherborne ?" " Oh ! that is his cousin, Lady Annette Sherborne." And Evelyn, without scarcely knowing it, felt pleased to hear that it was a relation. But she would have found it very difficult to analyze her sensations a moment afterwards, when her companion added, " It is said they are engaged to each other ; I don't know how true it is. There is no doubt, I imagine, of the lady's preference, but whether he likes her is another thing; some people say not. But he is such a strange fellow that one cannot tell ; one never knows what he feels." 72 EVELYN HARCOURT. Evelyn gazed at Lady Annette with a sin- gular mixture of interest and curiosity. ** It is a handsome countenance !" said she, almost unconsciously. " Yes, he is a handsome fellow, certainly," replied her companion, who imagined she was alluding to Mr. Sherborne. " Such an intel- lectual countenance ! But as usual he looks horribly bored, does not he ? He hates balls, and scarcely ever goes to them. I wonder, for my part, that he is here to-night. There ! — Lady Annette is trying to provoke him to talk to her ; but it won't do — he is in one of his absent moods this evening — thinking, perhaps, of his next new novel ! . . She is pretty — don't you think so ?" " Very." " And rich too ; she will have ninety thou- sand pounds, at least. A good match for him!.." From this moment, till the termination of the quadrille, Evelyn was totally unconscious EVELYN HARCOURT. 73 of what her companion was talking about. She listened to him indeed, and answered mechanically where answers were required ; but her thoughts were not with her words. She was thinking of that fair, bright-eyed girl, and wondering whether indeed hers were the happy lot to call such a being her own ; and whether, if it were so, she appreciated the happiness. She wondered, too, whether he, who could so exquisitely describe the highest species of love, had felt it himself, and for his cousin. Then it suddenly struck her that his atti- tude was less one of happiness than of ab- straction. His eyes seemed mechanically to follow the various groups moving around him, but it was with a thoughtful and preoccupied expression. And now and then, when Lady Annette addressed some observation to him, he seemed to awaken from his reverie; — but, after a few words of reply, he would relapse again into silence and apparent VOL, I. E 74 EVELYN HARCOURT. abstraction. It was certainly not the manner of love ! That night was one of peculiar triumph for Lady Truro. Evelyn was radiant in her beauty, and never had the homage paid to it been more striking, more flattering ; never had its superiority over all others appeared so pre-eminent. Happy indeed was he who obtained the honour of her hand for one dance during that evening — an honour more than once sought for by Royalty itself. But, in the midst of all this adulation, so intoxicating to a young and ardent spirit like hers, her thoughts were constantly recurring to that one solitary exception, the only being in all this brilliant crowd, who cared not to know her — who rather sought indeed to avoid her acquaintance. His features dwelt in her memory — his absent, melancholy look, and, above all, that lofty and most earnest expression, unlike any other she had ever beheld, strangely haunted her. EVELYN HARCOURT. 75 How little do one half of the world know or imagine what is passing in the minds of the other half! As Evelyn stood up in the quadrille by the side of the young D of O ^ the envy of every girl in those princely halls, no one certainly imagined that her thoughts were far less fixed on the distinguished honour that was paid her, or the evident admiration of the royal scion by her side, than on the silent and melancholy poet who stood, as it were, apart, the only one who seemed to refuse allegiance to her beauty. He had left his seat, and Lady Annette was dancing in the royal quadrille. He was standing near her, apparently watching the dancers. Once, Evelyn caught his eye ; but it glanced over her and away so instantly, that her heart throbbed with a sensation of wounded pride ; and she determined to look at him no more. A few minutes after, how- ever, she could not refrain from stealing one 76 EVELYN HARCOURT. more glance in his direction, as she turned to reply to a remark of the Due D'O ; and her face in another instant was glowing with blushes, for she detected him gazing intently at herself. Many people who observed that blush and that confusion, gave to them a very different interpretation from the true one, imagining that the compliments of Royalty were beginning to assume something of a ten- derer tone ; -^ and perhaps some idea of this kind might occasion the earnest and pro- longed gaze of Mr. Sherborne himself. Be this as it may, from that moment Evelyn for- gave him his previous sins of indifference and avoidance, and felt, with a degree of pleasure she could scarcely account for to herself, that they were no longer perfect strangers to each other. From this time, she met him more fre- quently. He seemed to have grown less sauvage all of a sudden, and he might now occasionally be seen at parties, much as he EVELYN HARCOURT. 77 was known to dislike them. Yet all this time he was continuing to write, and a new work of his was actually in the press. The general eagerness and impatience for its ap- pearance were, as usual, intense ; and its sale, when it did appear, was almost un- exampled. To describe the delight of Evelyn would be really a vain attempt. Every word was de- voured by her with an eagerness almost too great for enjoyment ; whole pages were com- mitted to memory without her even intending it, and the tears which other parts occasioned might well have gratified the vanity of the most unreasonable author upon earth. She longed more than ever to know him, yet she seemed to have no chance of doing so ; — and pride stood in the way of her making the least overture, the smallest attempt, at ac- quaintance herself. On one occasion, she had met him at dinner, and what a happy day that was ! — for, though he sat at some 78 EVELYN HARCOURT. distance from her, yet she could now and then hear the sound of his voice, and even distinguish a few words at intervals. Their eyes, too, sometimes met, and she fancied that his looked not unkindly upon her, though they were very soon turned away. During the long interval after dinner in the draw- ing-room, she kept wondering to herself whe- ther he would depart without coming up- stairs. Oh ! who does not know the misery of that tedious time, when the moments seem actually to creep ? — who has not suffered from the dullness of the conversation uttered often in subdued tones, as though to conceal its stupidity by rendering it more solemn ? — - the rustling of the rich satins or silks, as some lady moves in her chair, or takes coffee — the gleam of hope, whenever a distant door is heard to shut ; and, lastly, the throb of anxiety when the gentlemen do appear at length, slowly sauntering in, one by one, till the wished-for one is come ? — Who is there EVELYN HARCOURT. 79 that has not felt all this at one period or another ? I have always wondered that amongst the " miseries of human life," the following was not inserted — " After having waited, till your patience is utterly exhausted, for the appearance of the gentlemen from the dining-room, in one of whom all your interest is centred, and whom you do not expect to have another opportu- nity of meeting for some time, finding your- self so completely ' hemmed in' on all sides by ladies, that Vobjet aiine cannot possibly penetrate to where you are ; and whilst in a fever of mortification you sit watching his disconsolate countenance, suddenly beholding him pounced upon by a pretty and fascinating young married woman, * quite the fashion,' who happens to be peculiarly disposed to flirting at the time, and who you know to have a spare Opera- ticket in her possession." This was not Evelyn's case on the occasion 80 EVELYN HARCOURT. we speak of, for Mr. Sherborne and she were not even acquainted. Yet her heart beat violently when he slowly entered the draw- ing-room in conversation with Lord Mersey, and soon after seated himself not far from where she was ; quite near enough for her to catch some of the conversation which followed between him and Lady Scone. *'0h! Mr. Sherborne," cried that lady^ "you really must write something in my album. It has been the object of my am- bition ever since " "Ever since the world condescended to patronize me ! Yes, yes, / know. I might write any nonsense, and you would be equally pleased ! Ah ! Shakespeare was for once wrong when he talked as he did about a name. Everythijig'^ in a name, / believe," " Very true, very true ! I acknowledge the weakness .... But you will still oblige me !" Evelyn could not hear all that followed, but she caught a sentence here and there :•— EVELYN HARCOURT. gl ^' I cannot command my own powers. — There are moments when I could not write to oblige you even ; others, when the estro is upon me, when I could go on day and night without food or sleep. ..." *" Ah ! then some day or night, when the estro is upon you, be a good creature, and write something for my " Evelyn felt a kind of indignation at Lady Scone. How little could she appreciate such a mind as Mr. Sherborne's ! " At least, I have a better riijht to know him than she has !" thought Evelyn to herself. Lady Fanny Colpoys, so celebrated for her beautiful voice, was asked to sing. She performed some Italian songs, at that time the rage, and then, out of compliment to the lion of the evening, chose some lines of his, so exquisite, that they had been set to music almost immediately after their appearance. Evelyn knew this ballad well ; it had always been one of her greatest favourites. Towards E 5 82 EVELYN HARCOURT. the close of it. Lady Fanny, who knew the lines but very imperfectly, forgot one of them, and, pausing for a moment, looked round as though for assistance. But no one could prompt her — no one could remember the exact words, till Evelyn, who was at some distance, in a trembling voice repeated the line, and enabled her to proceed. It was a great effort, for she felt timid before Mr. Sher-^ borne; and afterwards, she was startled to find that he had approached nearer, much nearer to her than he was before, and his eyes were fixed upon her .... But it was not an expression of contempt — *no, that she was sure of ! — it was a look of kindness. She went home happy that night ! Sometimes, she met him out riding; and however large might be the party she was with, however far removed they might be from each other in passing, she was sure to perceive him at once ; and, though they ex- EVELYN HARCOURT. 83 changed no salutation, no form of greeting, yet she fancied he no longer looked coldly upon her ; — ^he no longer thought her utterly beneath his notice, as at first. She had made up her mind that she was never to know him. She was resolved to make no overture, and he had evidently deter- mined on the same thing. She must content herself with what she could learn of his mind through his works. But one day — one memorable day — at a large dinner-party, which every other person was voting the dullest that had taken place that season, she found herself suddenly, un- expectedly, seated next to Arthur Sherborne. The first moment of that discovery was almost less pleasurable than painful ; and she turned towards the handsome and " irresistible" Lord Castleton, who had taken her in to dinner, with a momentary determination to talk to him without ceasing during the whole time it lasted. She had longed for just such 84 EVELYN HARCOURT. a chance as tins, oh, how often ! But now that it was come, she felt far more frightened than elated. In a few moments she perceived that Mr. Sherborne was silent; he had turned away from his neighbour on the other side, and was listening to her conversation. Her heart beat quickly; she blushed— hesitated — • stammered^-and broke off suddenly ; to Lord Castleton's utter surprise, who could not con- ceive what on earth he had said or done to occasion such agitation. In the mean time^ she turned a little towards Mr. Sherborne, and stole a timid glance upwards. She met his eye — ^but its gentle expression at once reassured her; it seemed to ask why they should not be friends. She resolved, cost what it might, to break the ice ; it was for her to do so, and it might freeze again, if he wished that it should. In a trembling voice, she ventured some trifling observation on the weather, and then EVELYN HARCOURT. 85 blushed with shame at such a commencement with such a man. But, if the remark were foolish, he at least did not seem to think so. He caught at the opening ; they entered into conversation, and from that instant all diffi- culty vanishedj^I will not say all reserve on her part, for her enthusiastic admiration of his genius rendered her fearful and diffident be- fore him, — ^she who knew not what it was to be shy with others. She felt her own immea- surable inferiority to him ; whilst he was con- scious of nothing but surprise, and some little dissatisfaction with himself, for having j udged her prematurely, and imagined that a creature so ingenuous, enthusiastic, and natural as he now perceived her to be, must, of necessity, because she was beautiful, be a heartless and worldly coquette. *' Well, Evelyn ! so you and your favourite author have at last made acquaintance," said Lady Truro, as they were returning home 86 EVELYN HARCOURT. afterwards. " Did you find him agreeal)le ? He seemed to me more talkative than usual." Evelyn felt a strong disinclination to speak of him at all. Something whispered to her that Lady Truro was incapable of appreciating him, and that she could neither sympathize with nor comprehend the kind of enthusiasm with which he had inspired herself. She made some indifferent reply, and turned the subject — and from that time she carefully avoided all mention of his name. " Shall you ride to-morrow, as usual, in the Park?" he had inquired, a moment before they had parted, that memorable evening ; — and this simple question had filled Evelyn with a hope and gladness not to be described. It had given her something to look forward to. She felt certain she should see him ; and, althouo;h the weather looked so doubtful that Lady Truro was more than half disposed to send away the horses when they had actually EVELYN HARCOURT. 87 come round to the door, Evelyn was so posi- tive it would not rain, so eager to go, that her cousin could not but indulge her. They set out, therefore ; the Duke of Shetland was soon, as usual, in attendance, and they were gradually joined by one after another of the beaux of the Truro clique. But Evelyn's spirits began to droop. IMr. Sherborne would never join such a phalanx, especially when ha had not even been introduced to Lady Truro. She perceived hira at length, and her heart beat quickly as she saw him approach. But, with a bow to herself, and-a smile and a nod to two or three of her accompanying satellites whom he knew, he passed on at a slow and sauntering pace, and her hopes sank at once. The pleasure— the interest of her ride was over; and when, a few minutes afterwards, she felt a drop of rain, she announced the alarming fact to her companions, careless how soon they returned home now. The whole party agreed that it was better to retrace 88 EVELYN HARCOURT. their steps, than to run the risk of a wetting ; and all urged their horses into a canter, which lasted till they had overtaken Mr. Sherborne, who was proceeding leisurely along, either unconscious of the impending shower, or in- different to it. No sooner did Evelyn per- ceive him than she declared she must stop ! she was quite out of breath, and she could canter no further without resting. All paused, of course ; and, in another moment, Mr. Sher- borne, startled from his reverie by the ap- proach of their party, and encouraged by her sweet smile, had joined it, and been formally introduced to Lady Truro. Then succeeded a short interval of happiness for Evelyn. Her cousin was sufficiently en- grossed by two of the most agreeable and fashionable roues in London to require no- thing more ; and most of their other beaux, including the Duke, having taken their leave when they stopped, on the plea of dinner en- gagements, &c., she was left at liberty to EVELYN HARCOITRT. 89 converse with Mr. Sherborne during the short interval that remained before they should reach Grosvenor Square* She already began to feel that they had made some progress in their acquaintance. She had begun to talk to him of his works ; and he, after allowing some little surprise to escape him at finding that she had even read so many of them, had begun to inquire, with much apparent interest, which she preferred, and on what accounts, &c. Never were two persons more intent upon, more engrossed in, their conversation. The rain might have fallen in torrents, and they would have scarcely heeded it. His astonishment was every moment in- creasing. This beautiful creature, whom he had hitherto supposed to be devoted to no- thing but the admiration of the world — a mere gaudy butterfly, nearly as thoughtless and as evanescent, seemed to be almost as intimately acquainted with every thing he 90 EVELYN HARCOURT. had written as he was himself! It was very strange ! " I will never again take things for granted," said Arthur Sherborne to himself, as he gazed upon the magnificent eyes turned towards his. " You have something to answer for, Miss Harcourt," said he, at length, in a low voice ; " you have ministered strangely to my vanity within the last half hour; and I begin to think myself twice the man I did before. If you should hear that I am grown intolerably conceited, you may reproach yourself." Evelyn blushed at these words. Oh ! how beautiful was that blush ! " But I am not singular, at least, in my admiration," she replied timidly ; " you must hear the same from everybody." " I care little for the admiration of enery- body ; and, if I did, how much of it could I trust to as sincere? But yours. ..I am vain enough — credulous enough, if you will, to believe you only express what you feel." EVELYN HARCOURT. 91 " It is paying me but a poor compliment to call it credulity !" " I will not call it so, then... I am a strange, wayward being, often wanting a motive for exertion, — a stimulus to urge me on to what I might be. You have inspired me with one within the last half hour. It is, indeed, worth while to labour, if, amongst the mass of soulless and unsympathizing beings to whom an author must address himself in his works, he can feel sure of one solitary, bright excep- tion — one heart that approves his toil, and sympathizes with what shall remain in memory of him after death — one spirit for whom he has not watched, and meditated, and aspired in vain !..." Evelyn was silent. Such words, addressed to her, and from him !...it seemed too exqui- site to be real. Alas ! the time soon came when they must part. Lady Truro was remarkably gracious in her adieus; and, to Evelyn's great asto- 92 EVELYN HARCOURT*. nishment, even went so far as to invite him to an evening party at her house for the following day. His particular friend, Sir Aubrey Har- court, was to be there, she said, and others whom he knew; she hoped he would waive ceremony, and come. He bowed ;— expressed himself much flat- tered, but doubted whether he had not another engagement. He would come, however, if he could ; he should be too happy ! As he said this, Evelyn's eye met his, and she felt certain that he would come. " I thought I could not do better than ask him," said Lady Truro, as they entered the house ; " he is quite the rage just now ; really, that last book of his a fait fureur — much more than it deserves, / think; but these things are all fashion.... However, since he is so much run after, it is just as well to be civil to him. He is somebody for one's guests to stare at ; and really, the man is not nearly so conceited as one might expect, considering his EVELYN HARCOURT. 93 extraordinary talents, and the fuss that is made about them ! I' think he is improved, too, lately. — How I should like to know what he got for that play of his — something stu- pendous, of course !" " Very true !" replied Evelyn abstractedly. 94 EVEtYN HARCOURT. CHAPTER VI. In thoughts like these, true wisdom may discera Longings sublime and aspirations high, Which some are born with. Lord Byeon. But she was pensive, more than melancholy, And serious more than pensive ; and serene It may be, more than either ; — not unholy Her thoughts. Ihid, Nothing could afford a greater contrast than the life of Evelyn Harcourt and that of Helen Eridge ; the only occupation of the former was amusement, the only amusement of the latter was occupation, always of a sohd, fre- quently of a serious kind. Helen, without being clever, was of a peculiarly thoughtful disposition, which delighted to search out the truth of things. There are some minds natu- EVELYN HARCOURT. 95 rally gifted with a power of looking at subjects in a comprehensive point of view, and detect- ing what is real and what is shadowy in this strange and variable existence. This power perhaps most commonly belongs to persons of a calm and equable disposition, but it by no means argues coldness nor insensibility of feel- ing, although it requires a clear judgment and an enlarged mind ; a certain nobility of soul, in short, (if we may be allowed the expression) without which the Present, with all the grosser objects of this world, will always be para- mount. Few people look deeply into any subject, although, even in material things, they are continually reminded that the remoteness of objects neither diminishes their reality nor their importance. What would be thought of a person who endeavoured to maintain that because a single darkened pane of glass con- cealed from his view whole plains and moun- tains, those plains and mountains were smaller 96 EVELYN HARCOURT. and more insignificant than the darkened pane of glass ? Yet, when men sacrifice the Future to the Present, as so many do, are they not acting according to such reasoning? The Present is before them indeed, tangible and real; the Future, if looked for at all, appears inconceivably diminished in the distance. But the Future shall one day become the Present, when that for which it was sacrificed shall have merged into the mighty and unchangeable abyss of the Past ! He, therefore, that most bears the Future in mind, and remembering the effect upon his mental as well as corporeal vision, of remoteness in the objects concerned, judges of them not as they seem to be, but as he knows that they really are— he is the only wise and true philosopher ; I might add, too, the only religious man, for is not faith the very essence of religion — a faith that teaches us to look ever beyond the Present and to forget this world, in whose miry paths our feet are treading, whilst we aspire to another of which the far EVELYN HARCOURT. 97 and serene skies are but the emblem ? Chris- tianity breathes this doctrine throughout — the doctrine of hope for the Future, It tests all things ; and before its pure and divine light the glittering and the false, the hollow and the vain, the earnest and the solemn, assume their true colour — their real shape ! Gain often appears loss ! — success misfortune ! — affliction a blessing ! — Prosperity a curse ! " The first last, and the last first !" Thoughts such as these were continually passing through the mind of Helen Bridge ; thoughts graver perhaps than usually occupy the attention of one so young, but which yet do sometimes enter in we know not how, and, once received, employ in earnest contempla- tion the immortal spirit they so intimately concern. She would think of her companion — the friend of her childhood — who had hitherto shared her every feeling; and she would ponder over the change that had taken place in that friend's lot, till she felt sad at VOL. I. F 98 EVELYN HARCOURT. heart — sad to think that their childish days were over. Evelyn had been all in all to her. Her wild, jexuberant spirits had not been the less grateful to Helen, because she was more quiet and subdued herself; and the thoughtless en- thusiasm of the happy girl had not perhaps endeared her the less to her graver companion, because, ever since their days of infancy, she had been accustomed to watch over and pro- tect her. Evelyn wrote to her often, and as tenderly as ever; it was clear that her heart was at present unchanged. But Helen could not conceal from herself that their objects, their interests, their pleasures, were no longer the same. The very persons about whom Evelyn wrote were most of them unknown to her, and those she did know she felt little inclined to like. It must end, she thought, in a certain estrano:ement between them. Her own life was monotonous in its quiet EVELYN HARCOURT. 99 regularity, and in heart she was solitary. Her grand-parents, in spite of their doting affection for her, were utterly incapable of sympathizing with her more intellectual and inquiring mind; and indeed the old have seldom much in common with the young. She devoted herself to them, and they cherished her with double tenderness now that they had but her to cherish ; but her books, her rambles, her solitary meditations, were all things in which they could take no part. They missed Evelyn sadly. Her ringing voice and merry laugh were heard no more at Oriel, and they found it hard to reconcile themselves to the change. She had been the spoiled child, the plaything of the house, and every one felt the void her absence had pro- duced. The old man had got into a habit of wishing for her as he sat in the chimney- corner in the evenings — his favourite place, even in summer, whilst his wife sat beside him, in her high-backed, carved oak chair, with F 2 100 EVELYN HARCOURT. spectacles on nose, knitting away as inde- fatigably as though the food of the next day depended on the result of her labours. At such times, Evelyn had been wont to enliven the little circle. Her merry prattle, her musical talents, had whiled away many a tedious hour — tedious to those whose plea- sures were decreasing, as their infirmities increased. But now there was seriousness where there used to have been mirth — silence where there used to have been melody ! Still, the picture was a beautiful one — beautiful, from the very serenity that charac- terized it. The old, panelled room, with its oriel windows and high-backed chairs ; the massive oak table, the carved bookcases, the quaint, old-fashioned organ, the very bird- cages, covered with their green baize, (the old lady's peculiar care) all spoke of quiet home- habits and domestic comfort. Then the ve- nerable old man, with his long silver hair, his patriarchal face, and mild expression ; and his EVELYN HARCOURT. 101 faithful helpmate, with her quaint costume, never varied for years past — her kindly coun- tenance, on which time had left all those mellowed tints which a beautiful skin at length acquires ; — both were a study in them- selves. Even the poor old spaniel, Gwynu, the faithful companion of many a year, added his share to the effect of the scene, as with his nose just resting against his master's heel, as though to remind him of his presence, he dozed away his untroubled hours. There was the grandchild, too, the very per- sonification of innocence and youth, sometimes conversing with them upon topics connected with their own time, on which, like most others of a former generation, they dearly loved to speak ; sometimes (and then the pic- ture was indeed a touching one) reading aloud to them from the large silver-clasped Bible. Then the old man would lean his head upon his hand to listen ; and his wife, laying her knitting bv, would gaze through her spectacles 102 EVELYN HARCOURT. upon the face of the fair girl, and not a sound would be heard throughout that ancient, quiet chamber, but the tones of her young voice. There were times, indeed, when the old house was merry with youthful sports, for Mr. Eridge had other grandchildren, besides Helen, who were younger than she was ; and occasionally they would be allowed to visit Oriel for a time. They were the children of his only son, who had died, some years before, abroad. This son had married unfortunately, and his wife, an ill-tempered, eccentric, fine lady, had made him wretched during his life, and after his death had contrived by her ex- travagance to involve herself more than once in considerable difficulties. Mr. Eridge could not be called rich. The estate of Oriel, which had been in his family for many generations, was less profitable than it had been, and he had little income besides what he derived from it ; he was therefore by no means able to meet the demands constantly EVELYN HARCOURT. 108 made upon hira by bis selfisb and grasping daugbter-in-law. He did what he could, how- ever ; for be never forgot that she was the widow of his son Harry, and the mother of his Harry's children. Twice he paid her debts, thereby considerably diminishing his own income, and sacrificino^ the little savino^s of many years. He offered, too — nay, he en- treated to be allowed — to undertake the main- tenance and education of his two grandsons, on the eldest of whom his estate was entailed ; but this the mother peremptorily refused, as well as the proposal made by the good old couple that she and her children should take up their abode permanently at Oriel. Her fancy was to live abroad ; and abroad she would continue to live. Occasionally, how- ever, she had sent the boys to their grand- father's for a time ; and now that they were at a private tutor's, it was arranged that they should in future spend all their vacations at Oriel. 104 EVELYN HARCOURT. The old man delighted in having them. Little as he could enter into their pursuits or amusements, they were still his descendants, the offspring of his Harry ; and he cherished them with that blind and doting fondness which is sometimes observable in the old to- wards their grandchildren, even more than towards their own children. At the time of which we speak, these boys were expected at Oriel; and Helen looked forward to their arrival with very little of the satisfaction her grandfather experienced. She remembered what they had been during their last visit ; and she had no reason to expect that they would be less selfish, less headstrong, nor more considerate now. Her heart sank within her when she heard Mr. Bridge ob- serve one morning at breakfast, " In three days more the dear boys will be here. Mary, you will have their sheets well aired — bless their hearts !" And the old lady replied with alacrity — EVELYN HARCOURT. 105 " No doubt, no doubt, my dear. Their beds were slept in last night, and shall be till they arrive. I languish to see them, dear lambs !" So did not Helen. She, on the contrary, felt that these would be her last three days of peace. But she kept her reflections to her- self. And when they arrived, and she saw them, she almost laughed at herself for her previous anxieties. They were grown into rational beings, almost into men ; and she perceived that she need entertain no apprehensions of accidents in the ponds, nor any overwhelming sense of responsibility on their account. They were very well able to take care of, as well as to amuse themselves, and would probably in- terfere as little with her pursuits, as their uncle. Captain Percy, who had accompanied them, would do. It was wonderful how separation from their mother had improved them, and still more F 5 106 EVELYN IIARCOURT. constant association with this uncle, who was neither capricious nor unreasonable, like her, but a sensible, judicious, and j)leasant com- panion for them, and one whose example they naturally felt disposed to emulate. Helen was so struck with their vast improvement, that, instead of shunning their society, as she had formerly done, she now found herself very constantly seeking it. It was so delightful to see how Captain Percy influenced them ! He was so kind, and yet so firm ! He would be minded ! A word from him would control them at any time ; and yet they seemed to love him and treat him like a brother. His method of management appeared to her so good, that she thought she could not learn too much of it for her own future guidance ; and she consequently made a point, on prin- ciple, of seeing as much as possible of her cousins, especially when their uncle was with them. EVELYN HARCOURT. 107 CHAPTER VII. To you my soul's affections move Devoutly, warmly, true ; My life is now a task of love, One long, long thought of you. MOOEE. I have not loved the world... .. in the crowd They could not deem me one of such. I stood Among them, but not of them — in a shroud Of thoughts which were not their thoughts. Childe Harold. Amiens. The Duke hath been all this day to look you. Jacques. And I have been all this day to avoid him. As You Like It. Our talk grew somewhat serious. Shelley. In the mean time, a new object had entered into Evelyn's existence, a new chord had been awakened in her bosom ; and suddenly, as by some hidden and mighty agency, her soul 108 EVELYN HARCOURT. became surrounded, as it were, with a flood of light and inspiration. Oh, the enchant- ment of love — first love ! How many a voice has sung its praises since first it illumined the earth ! How many a heart has striven, in the fulness of its own unutterable ecstasy, to image forth its treasures ! But never could it be ! The Spirit is too divine to be imagined unless felt, and nothing but its own presence can teach us what it is.... As little could any effort of man paint the brightness of the sun, as the celestial spirit of love, first love, be described to one who knows it not. It was only lately that Evelyn had become conscious of the nature of her own feelings. She had long deceived herself — long imagined it was admiration only that she felt for Mr. Sherborne — admiration for talents so exalted, a genius so aspiring and so rare. This had indeed been the origin of her desire to know him ; for she had always, as had Helen also, wished most earnestly to make his acquaint- EVELYN HARCOURT. 109 ance; but at what period her feelings had first begun to change, at what time admi- ration had first merged into love, she knew not. She only knew that love was now there ; that, whatever were her occupation, he was in her thoughts, raising them, as it were, to himself ; that, wherever she went, he it was she looked for, and that, if she saw him not, she turned within the recesses of her own heart, and found him there! Every thing beautiful, of sight, and sound, and imagina- tion, seemed in some hidden manner to be connected with him. Love shed its lustre over all, and the earth to her seemed one paradise of hope. She knew not that he loved her, yet still she was happy. She looked not beyond the present ; it was sufficient to see him ; to con- verse with him, however rarely ; to think of him, and feel the brightness of his intellect ; and, when she saw him not, to look forward to seeing him again. And how each look. 1 1 EVELYN HARCOURT. each word, was prized, and meditated on, and repeated again and again to herself! As yet Lady Truro suspected nothing. From the moment that Evelyn had become conscious of the nature of her feelings, they had been safe from detection ; she guarded her secret with a jealous care, of which no one who had known her previously would have imagined her capable. She avoided all allusion to Mr. Sherborne; and, if he were spoken of, she turned away as soon as pos- sible from the subject. A certain instinctive consciousness told her that Lady Truro would not sympathize with her love, and that she was incapable of appreciating its object. Yet, Evelyn was fondly attached to her cousin ; she loved her with the earnest and confiding devotion of a young heart that had never yet known deception ; she would have gone to the ends of the earth to serve her, and there was nothing she would not have sacrificed for her sake. EVELYN IIARCOURT. 1 1 1 Evelyn was continually meeting Mr. Sher- borne in society ; he no longer seemed to shun it as formerly, and he might now be fre- quently seen at assemblies and crowded balls, though he never danced. It was difficult to say what it was he came for — certainly not for her ; for sometimes he would remain during a whole evening in the same room with her, and never even approach or look at her. But she was conscious that her manner must appear to him any thing but encouraging. Ever since she had begun to awaken to the consciousness of her own feelings, an over- powering timidity had seized upon her. Whilst, in reality, her heart was dancing within her with joy at his approach, the tones of her voice would sound cold and constrained as she replied to his greeting ; she scarcely dared to raise her eyes to his ; she felt abashed in his presence. Words sometimes altogether failed her, and she would stand there beside him, silent, cold, stern even, in 112 EVELYN HAKCOURT. her glorious beauty, until, chilled by a manner so unaccountable to him, so different from what it had been during their first acquaint- ance, he would leave her, and retreat to a distance. Then the blood would rush sud- denly back to her cheeks, and she would long, earnestly long, for his return ; but he would come no more. This coldness of manner did not pass un- noticed by Lady Truro. " It was a pity," she would say, " to be so formal and forbidding to one as universally courted as he was, espe- cially when at first she had seemed to like him : it must appear to him like caprice. The acquaintance of a man of his notoriety was by no means to be despised ; on the contrary, he was one whom it was really desirable to know. He was reserved — perhaps, singular; but a person of his talent had a right to be odd ; nay, would be singular, if he were not so. As for conceit, or the paltry vanity of giving himself airs, she must say he was EVELYN HARCOURT. 113 wonderfully free from any thing of the kind, though at one time she had not thought so." Such speeches as these Lady Truro was continually making; and Evelyn either lis- tened to them in total silence, or made some reply, which sounded like the height of indif- ference. But, in reality, her object on such oc- casions was to conceal her face from her cousin, lest the burning blushes which the mention of that name never failed to call forth should attract her attention and excite her suspicions. It would have taken a good deal, however, to excite any suspicion in Lady Truro's mind about such a man as Arthur Sherborne. Not- withstanding his singular beauty and unri- valled genius, she had never contemplated him in the light of a dangerous person, nor one by any means likely to captivate the heart of a young and lovely girl like Evelyn Harcourt. It was generally understood that he was not a marrying man. His father, whose tastes had been luxurious and extra- 114 EVELYN HARCOURT. vagant to the greatest degree, had died much involved; and it was notorious that he had determined on paying all that father's debts. For this purpose, he lived in the simplest and least expensive manner, invariably appro- priating the immense sums his works obtained to that object, which indeed now had been very nearly accomplished. He was notoriously indifferent to women. No one could remember any instance of pre- ference ever shown by him for any one in particular. Either too philosophical or too abstracted to dream of love for himself, ex- quisitely as he could conceive and inimitably portray the divine nature of that passion, he was generally considered as far too high above the ordinary interests and concerns of life to enable him to mix in its follies, or share its passions. He seemed to contemplate them, as it were, from his own lofty eminence, and to be entirely absorbed in that contem- plation. A lonely and meditative philoso- EVELYN HARCOURT. 115 pher, he painted the various scenes, the groups, the lights and shadows he saw be- neath him, as no other hand could paint, but apparently without a wish to behold them nearer, without a desire to mingle in them, like his fellows. And, though his heart was teeming with benevolence towards all man- kind, yet the world viewed him with less of kindness than of fear. His very superiority rendered him to many an object of awe ; to some of envy indeed, but to a greater number one of dislike. It was imagined that talents so extraordinary must render him superci- lious towards his kind, and the somewhat lonely life he preferred to lead rather tended to foster this impression. In short, every one who knew him would have said that Arthur Sherborne was the very last man in London likely to conceive a passion for a young and inexperienced girl — perhaps, the last man likely to inspire one ; but on this latter point opinions might possibly have differed. 1 1 6 EVELYN HARCOURT. As for Lady Truro, she would almost sooner have expected that Evelyn should fall in love with her own lord than with the celebrated Author, whom she appeared to regard with a degree of fear that almost paralyzed her in his presence. It was wonderful that Mr. Sherborne had not long ago been utterly dis- gusted by the marked coldness and reserve of her manner to him ; but perhaps her acknow- ledged admiration of his works, and the un- tiring perseverance with which she read them again and again, might, by gratifying his va- nity, blind him to the dislike she really seemed to entertain towards him personally. Lady Truro hoped it might be so ; for she had no wish to offend one on whom the world lavished its smiles as profusely as it did on Mr. Sher- borne ; and, besides, she was very well pleased to have him frequently at her parties. A Juvenile Fete was to be given about this time at Lady Susan East's beautiful villa at EVELYN HARCOURT. 117 W , in honour of a youthful branch of the royal family ; and Lady Truro and her young cousin were among the prices. But the former, being indisposed, had requested a friend of hers, Lady Belharris, to take charge of Evelyn, and to perform the flattering part of chaperon to the young beauty on the occasion. The day rose dark and cloudy ; and, when Evelyn first entered her cousin's room in the morning, it was raining hard. About noon, however, the clouds parted, the sun appeared, and as beautiful and serene a summer's day as had been felt during that season burst forth all at once. " 1 wish I were going with you," said Lady Truro, as Evelyn entered her boudoir, dressed in the simplest but most perfect taste, and looking fresher and more lovely than an open- ino- rose : " I would order the carriage and go now— I declare I would, if Locock had not said he would call to-day. But perhaps the excitement might be bad for me— I certainly 118 EVELYN HARCOURT. do feel very weak this morning, and, if he were to find out that I had been to a breakfast, I suppose I should get a most tremendous scolding ! — " " Yes, dear Barberina," replied Evelyn af- fectionately, " you know he told you not to leave the house till he had seen you ; and, though a quiet country drive might do you good, going to a dejeuner like this is very different." " Yes ! — Well ! you must go without me." " But, after all, why should I go at all ? Why should I not stay and drive with you ? I can tell Lady Belharris, when she calls for me, that I have changed ray mind. Do let me give it up — I had much rather." " No, my dear ; it would be a thousand pities : si Men mise, si comme il faut, as you are ! No ; I will not hear of it. It is to be a very pretty thing, unusually pretty and brilliant they tell me, and you will enjoy it exceedingly. The Duke is to be there too." EVELYN HARCOURT. 1 ] 9 '' Is he ?" said Evelyn abstractedly ; for she was thinking whether one other person would be there. She feared it was not likely ; if he should be, indeed .... "■ What shall I do with myself till this doctor comes?" said Lady Truro, languidly raising her head from the splendid cushion on which it was reposing, and looking round the room as though in quest of occupation. " All the world will be gone to this breakfast — no one will call — " " Why not let me stay with you, as I wish ? I should like it so much !" " My dear, I have too much regard for Deschamps' feelings — too much for the Duke's.." " The Duke's !" " Yes, the Duke's. You need not look so innocent and so astonished. I wonder what he would say to me if I were to keep you from this dejeuner, and only to amuse my- self!" 120 EVELYN HARCOURT. " Let him say what he likes ; I am sure, I don't mind." " But I do ; — and you must too, let me tell you." Lady Truro paused, and looked steadily at Evelyn, as though she would read her inmost thoughts. Perhaps, however, she considered it better to say nothing now of her own ; it was not yet time, and any attempt to in- fluence her might do mischief. " I shall do very well, dear," said she, after a moment's silence. " Perhaps, Mrs. William Gardner may come ; she is always pleasant — and Helen Montgomery.... If you could find me an amusing book. . " " Oh ! there is Mr. Sherborne's last work ; you have never read it." " No, not through ; and, to tell you the truth, I never mean to do so. It is very clever, I admit ; very deep, very fine — but it has too much of the ' sublime and beautiful ' for me. I cannot enjoy being carried up to EVELYN HARCOURT. 121 such a tremendous height ; it makes me giddy." Evelyn turned away in silence. She felt a real pity for any one that could talk so of Mr. Sherborne's works. Just then, there was a tremendous rap at the door. " There is Lady Belharris .... Now, go, Evelyn, dear ; be sensible, and tell the Duke I expect him on Wednesday evening. Here is a bouquet for you." '* Oh no, not those beautiful flowers — keep them yourself, Barberina." " Now don't be childish — there — take thera ; — they were meant for you." Lady Truro did not tell her that the Duke had sent them that morning with " his compli- ments to Miss Harcourt !" " I really don't like leaving you all alone, dear Barberina," said Evelyn. " I wish Lord Truro . . . . " She stopped short. — A singular expression VOL. I. G 122 EVELYN HARCOURT. passed over Lady Truro's countenance ; but it lasted only for a moment. " You had better wish nothing about Lord Truro, my dear;" said she, half laughing, half seriously — ** If you must wish anything, let it be that your husband may never give you greater cause of complaint than mine does me." Any one who had heard hes ^ words might have supposed Lady Truro was utterly uncon- scious that she had any causes of complaint. Evelyn sighed : s she ( pened the door ; — '' I shall never marry !" said she .... The day was indeed lovely. The rain had completely laid even the obstinate London dust, whilst it had refreshed the air, and there was not a cloud to be seen in the deep expanse of blue ; so clear, so serene, that Evelyn longed to traverse its pathless depths, like the happy birds that seemed winging their flight rejoicing towards the sun. EVELYN HARCOURT. 123 Did any one ever gaze at those azure regions, and not feel something of inspiration towards the heaven that fancy pictures there ? I pity those who can ! To me the sky is full of light and hope ; and whether in the early morning, when the stars grow pale, or in the "•entle eventide, when all nature seems dis- posed to contemplation, or in the solemn night, when worlds of dazzling brilliancy seem gazing down upon the haunts of men, to watch their sleep — never can I look out upon those illimi- table heavens without an intense longing for that immortality which perchance shall reveal their mysteries ! The ocean is grand and sublime, but it produces not the same sensa- tions as the sky. It calls forth wonder and admiration, but it speaks of this world — of the uncertain and treacherous Present, of which it forms so true an emblem. But the sky, the far and serene sky, tells of the Future ; that future w^hich shall be as infinitely above the present, as the heavens are above the earth. G 2 124 EVELYN HARCOURT. I remember the impression made upon me when yet a child by hearing one say, who had spent many years at sea, that his greatest pleasure had often consisted in lying on the deck for hours during fine weather, and watch- ing the exquisite and airy tracery of the clouds as they gleamed athwart the sails; some piled in pyramids one above another; some stretching far across the sky, like mighty monsters of the air ; some scattered in arrowy lines, as thouo^h fluno^ with vehement force from a hand ; some fleecy, and immeasurably distant ; some white, and luminous, and shin- ing, as we might fancy angel's wings. Who cannot sympathize with such a contemplation, and with all who bring down beauty and in- spiration from the skies ? There is no accounting for our various moods of mind, though it is certain that matter has a singular influence over some of them. What joyous and serene feelings may be called forth by a bright and sunny day ! — EVELYN HARCOURT. 125 and if the mists happen to hang somewhat lower than usual about this strange ball of ours, what gloom, and sullen fancies, and morbid discontent, will sit brooding upon the spirits of many of its children ! — But, if the sun, and balmy airs, and har- monious sounds, and all the sweet influences of a delicious summer afternoon, had power to dissipate malignant humours and ensure content, there would not have been one me- lancholy heart that day. As Evelyn was whirled rapidly along, the breath of heaven seemed to her all balm ; each tree she passed was picturesque in her eyes, and every little plot of garden-ground wafted delicious per- fume. All things shone around her ; and her spirit rejoiced within her, and was glad. She felt little inclined to converse ; her thoughts were full of him she loved. Every- thing beautiful, and happy, and inspiring, al- ways connected itself in her mind with him. The spirit of his poetry and his lofty philo- 126 EVELYN HARCOURT. sophy had communicated itself to her, and she had learnt to look at all things with some- thing of his eyes. Singular and beautiful power of love, which can imbue the heart of the worshipper with the doctrines and spirit of the worshipped ! They soon arrived at the place of their des- tination ; and Lady Belharris, with the lovely Evelyn on her arm, and her troop of besashed and beflounced little ones following in her rear, was soon in the midst of the gay throng assembled on the lawn, and returning the in- numerable greetings which met her on all sides; whilst Evelyn stole furtive glances around, in search of one face, one form, which as yet she could not see. " How do you do, Lady Belharris ?" *' Only just come?" ''And are all these your little people ? Good gracious ! is it pos- sible ?"■ "Good morning, Miss Harcourt !" " No, I have only two here ; the others are too young — Lady Mary said she would EVELYN HARCOURT. 127 not bring them." " Yes, that is my sister, standing by Madame de St. Angelo — there, in blue." " Charmed to see you, Miss Har- court. Lady Truro not here?" *'0h! I am sorry ; but I thought her looking ill the other...." "Shall I lift you up, my little fellow ?" '' But I don't see Punch." " Not see Punch ? Why, Harry, my dear, where are your eyes ?" " The Princess is not come." " Not yet ; when she does come, they will have the jugglers." " What a charming place !" " Is not it ? — and so near London ! — de- lightful !" '' There — the Princess is come. Don't you hear them playing * God save the King V " " But the King is not here, is he, mamma?" inquired a little treble voice. '' Hush, Cecil ! Did not I tell you to ask no foolish questions?" 128 EVELYN HARCOURT. The scene was indeed a brilliant one, as the Princess M of was ushered out upon the lawn by the lady of the house. The smooth fresh turf, with the flickering shadows playing upon it, as the soft wind waved the feathery foliage — the groups of lovely children scattered about — the parterres of flowers — the vases, and the bright sun, and cloudless sky — all presented as beautiful a picture as can well be imagined. Many a little heart beat with emotion, as the inspiring air was played which no national anthem ever surpassed, and many a little spirit envied the youthful scion of Royalty in whose honour this/e1fe was given. But, of all the gay throng assembled on that sunny lawn, there was none, young or old, who felt the thrill of intense excitement with which Evelyn listened to those melodious sounds. As she stood, turned towards the band, with her head slightly upraised, her eyes sparkling through the tears that had sprung to them, her noble EVELYN HARCOURT. 129 countenance singularly expressive of the en- thusiasm she was feeling, she was unconscious of everything but that inspiring melody. And it was not till it had ceased, and she had turned away with a sigh of excited feeling, that she became aware of Mr. Sherborne's presence and vicinity, and that he was intently regarding her. Her cheeks instantly became the deepest crimson, and she returned his salutation with an embarrassment so evident, that he could not fail to be struck by it. In another moment, he was by her side ; and she was trembling under all that tumult of joy, of hope, and unconquerable timidity, which his presence invariably occasioned. His first words were insiofnificant enough. " Is Lady Truro not here ?" "No; she has not been very well the last few days^and so I I came with Lady Belharris." There was a pause. " You are fond of music," said he, at length. G 5 130 EVELYN HARCOURT. *' I saw it just now as you were listening to the band. You felt at that moment as if you were a queen yourself; was it not so?" She smiled, and looked up at him, but her lip quivered, and she made no answer. Again there was a pause, and he felt dis- couraged ; whilst she longed to speak, but could not. But once more the music struck up, and, amongst the tumult of emotions which was agitating her, she perceived the Duke of Shetland, who had just arrived, ap- proaching. She instantly turned away ; her fear of his approach suddenly inspired her with courage. " The jugglers are beginning, I think," said she. " I should like to go and look at them." Mr. Sherborne at once offered his arm, as indeed he could scarcely avoid doing; she took it, and then turned to look for Lady Belharris, who was talking to a group of ladies near. EVELYN H ARCOURT. 131 " Lady Belharris, I dare say the children are dying to see the jugglers, as I am childish enough to be. Do come ! Shall I take charge of Beaujolois?" " Oh, how kind of you ! — if she will not be in your way. Beau, my dear, go to Miss Harcourt, and mind you are not trouble- some." How Evelyn's hand trembled as it rested upon his arm ! and she trembled yet more lest he should perceive it. She was close to him — they touched one another — she was in a perfect heaven of happiness ! And it was not long before even her exces- sive shyness and conscious timidity began to disappear in the intense interest excited by his conversation. They talked of his works, of authors in general, and himself in par- ticular; and she soon forgot everything in her eager desire to learn more about him — more of his heart. He told her much con- nected with the composition of his works ; 1S2 EVELYN HARCOURT. how one had been written languidly, and, as it were, with effort, (because he felt he had been too long idle) and consequently bore a totally different character from the rest ; how another had been composed during a period of joy, when a beloved friend had just re- turned after a long absence ; how a third had formed the pastime and amusement of inter- vals of ease during a painful illness ; and how another had been written in sorrow, and bore the marks of a grieving though not a hopeless spirit. " And those exquisite lines, * My hour is past,' " said Evelyn, timidly ; ** v^ere you un- happy when you wrote them ?" " Not unhappy, but sad. The bitterness of my sorrow had passed away — (some months before I had lost my mother) — and it had left behind it a mild but not unpleasing melancholy. I have always thought this frame of mind one of the best — the most disposed to virtue of which our nature is capable. The spirit comes EVELYN HARCOURT. 133 out refined, as it were, — chastened from the sorrow that has been oppressing it, and up- springs with a fresher and more divine impulse towards the heaven whence it derives its hope. It experiences that calm, that serene consciousness of superiority, of which we are always sensible when we are able for the time to raise ourselves above the petty concerns, the debasing interests of this world, and com- mune with higher things — a proof, if any were wanting, that the true nature of the spirit — its real purpose and destiny — is to rise !...The heart is also, at the same time, more humble, more tender, more open to the gentle in- fluences of compassion and sympathy. It has suffered ; and to it all sufferers are sacred ; it regards them as friends, for theirs has been the same struggle — the same experience.... I believe that such moods of mind — those of contemplation, perhaps of melancholy, though not oi gloom — have produced the most elevated works, the most lofty and pure philosophy 134 EVELYN HARCOURT. that has enlightened the world. In actual grief, few can write — few have ever done so. The mind has enough to do to struggle with the tempest of its own emotions, and, like the waving corn, to bend beneath it, that it may rise again, drooping, but not crushed. It has enough to do to endure ; it cannot describe its endurance. The faculty of observation always implies a certain degree of mental freedom, of composure ; indeed, I doubt whether any emotion, whether of a sorrowful or gladsome nature, were ever successfully portrayed at the actual time of its existence. It is from recollection or from imagination that men chiefly paint; they gather more from the Past and the Future than from the Present. The most melancholy work I ever com- posed . . . . " " ' Retrospections !' " cried Evelyn, almost involuntarily; " it is one of my greatest favourites !" Mr. Sherborne looked at her and smiled. EVELYN HARCOURT. 135 " You are a strange persou," said he ; " you seem to know almost as much about my works as I do myself. But you afford another proof of what I was about to observe — that the happiest and most peaceful out- ward circumstances oftentimes dispose the mind to its saddest moods, and that those who are the most cheerful at heart frequently incline most to writings that breathe a grave and searching philosophy. You will perhaps be surprised to hear that those * Retrospec- tions' were written during the most lovely summer I ever remember, when I was full of health and spirits, free, and at peace. My time was my own, and I spent it in my own way — a way that would seem passing strange to some. " There was a stream near the old farm-house where I was living, and a picturesque mill. My mornings were passed chiefly under the shade of the birch and weeping- willows that overhung the water. Sometimes I have lingered for a ] 36 EVELYN HARCOURT. whole day together within hearing of that mill !...! often catch myself striving to recal those days — ^the beautiful sights and sounds that filled my eyes with light and my ears with melody in that sequestered spot — the dreamy delight of the summer noons — the serenity of the evenings — and, above all, the solemn glory of the calm and illumined night ! ...It was that spot that gave rise to ' Retro- spections r " Evelyn was silent. Her eyes were full of tears ; and she half turned away that he might not see them. " I fear, I weary you," he said at length ; " these are not subjects indeed for such a scene as this." " Oh, do not say so !" interrupted Evelyn, for once forgetting her timidity in the eager- ness of the moment. " I could go on listening for ever" .... As she raised her glorious eyes towards him, he perceived the tears that hung upon EVELYN HARCOURT. 137 their fringes, and be gazed upon her with a surprise not unmixed with compassion. ** Surely the life you lead must be very distasteful to you," he said at length. " Yours is not a mind to interest itself in the frivolous occupations, the worse than frivolous objects, of the society you move in ! . . . Can it be so ?'* " You will despise me, I know," she re- plied, with ingenuousness ; " but I fear it does, or, at least, has done. But, oh ! how paltry — how unprofitable, does the life I have lately led seem to me now !" " Strive then to render it as little so as possible. You seem strangely to have escaped the pollution of society hitherto ; you may do so still. Teach yourself to look at the things which surround you in their true light ; not as they are generally regarded. Look to their termination /" " You remind me of what was said to me some time ago by a sister of mine, far supe- rior to myself — ' Think of the end !* " 138 EVELYN HARCOURT. " She was right. The end must be the point to aim at, where all life is clearly but the means to it, a preparation for it. I seem to be takino: strano^e liberties with one I know SO little, but it is partly your own fault ; you have encouraged me to talk to you in this manner. If I weary you, you must stop me " There was no fear of her being wearied. Swiftly — too swiftly — passed the moments, whilst he continued to speak of those grave and lofty themes in which his soul delighted ; and she listened entranced ! How strange was their discourse ! How passing strange would it have seemed to those assembled there ! They were in the midst of mirth, and glitter, and frivolity — the world was before them and around them ; but their talk was of things above the world — the dim and the unseen — the mighty and undiscoverable Future, Never perhaps had such words been uttered in that spot before ! — never certainly EVELYN HARCOURT. 139 in the midst of such an assemblage !... Strange power of the Spirit, that can elevate it above material things, that it may wander in regions where it cannot always rest ! At length, however, Evelyn was recalled to the scene around her ; for in the midst of her conversation with Mr. Sherborne, she per- ceived the Duke approaching. There was no escape this time. In vain she strove to avoid his eye — to move in a contrary direction — he had soon made his way to her, and, with a glance of satisfaction at the bouquet which she held in her hand, he began to pay his usual homage of hackneyed and tiresome com- pliments with more than his usual self-suffi- ciency. But she was not in a mood to receive either them or himself very graciously ; never had she felt so little disposed to look favour- ably on him ; never had she been so struck with the frivolity, the fadeur of those petits riens he was supposed to utter with so much grace. She could hardly listen to him with 140 EVELYN HARCOURT. common politeness, and her weariness and preoccupation were so apparent that at last even he could not fail to be struck with them. Finding it impossible to elicit from her more than the shortest and most absent re- plies, he at length determined to try the effect of pique upon her. Leaving her abruptly, he devoted himself for the rest of the day to the beautiful Lady Katherine Stanhope, little dreaming how unaffectedly grateful Evelyn felt to him for doing so, since it afforded her the happiness of another short half-hour's conversation with Mr. Sherborne, whose movements she had anxiously watched during the prosing of the Duke, fearful lest, in replying to the greetings of one after another of his friends, he should move away entirely out of her reach. In the course of the conversation which took place between them afterwards, he men- tioned some grave, and one or two even ab- struse works, which he strongly recommended EVELYN HARCOURT. 141 her to read, conceiring they might be useful to a mind ardent and inquiring as hers seemed to be. He told her the effect they had pro- duced upon his own, when, as was now her case, the vast regions of knowledge lay un- discovered before him, and he had paused, as it were, on their confines, with a spirit burn- ing to explore their glowing paths, yet doubt- ful where to enter or what clue to follow ! . . . And, whilst he spoke thus, such was the gentleness of his tone, the simplicity of his manner, that she forgot who it was that was addressing her ; his celebrity, his genius — she felt, as it were, raised for the moment to his level, and possessed of a mind capable of en- tering into and comprehending his. That evening, a powerful interest, a sweet and mysterious sympathy, sprang up between the beautiful girl and the lofty and meditative philosopher ! From that day, they understood one another, and a new and bright era com- menced in the life of one of them. 142 EVELYN HARCOURT. CHAPTER VIII. i suoi pensieri in lui dormir non ponno. Tasso. And from that hour did she with earnest thought Heap knowledge Shelley. Je suis au desespoir que 1' amour me contraigne A pousser des soupirs CORNEILLE. " Strange !" said Arthur Sherborne, as he rode homewards, suffering his horse to saunter on as it listed — " Strange ! that such a mind should spring up, as it were, untaught ! un- tutored ! . . . . This world is full of mysteries, but such as this is perhaps as strange as any .... How mistaken I was in her ! — and it is not the first time my judgment has thus erred. I fancied her vain, worldly, ambi- EVELYN HARCO JRT. 143 tious. . . .Wdl ! it is humiliating to one like me to discover what she is ! *' Strange, indeed ! — How one longs to know the reason of such vast mental disproportion as one sees every where around ! — to learn what shall be the destiny, the scope, if I may so term it, of some minds hereafter ! There does seem to be as vast a distance between individual minds amon^r men as we mio^ht fancy to exist between the angels and the highest of our species. " Oh ! that we could look beyond the veil ! — but none ever did so ... . and the wisdom of thus limiting our vision is so evident, that it should satisfy even those who have not faith and submission to wait without a question. " One thing is sure ; whatever may be our lot above, it is above we should aspire whilst here. No spirit ever soared too much ; none can become less fit for heaven by keeping heaven in view. ** I am orlad I have seen her. What a mass 144 EVELYN HARCOURT. of follies, and worldliness, and vanity that has sickened one's very soul, does the sight of such a creature redeem in one's eyes ! — so simple, so earnest, so pure ! *' But she will lose her freshness . . . .young as she is, she can never withstand the de- basinof influences around her. How she has continued what she is, up to this time, is in- conceivable to me ! But there are some spirits that Heaven does seem peculiarly to nourish and inspire with its own truth. " What a sin to sacrifice her to any of the heartless roues that are hemming her in ! . . yet such will be her fate, no doubt... She will be forced into it ; for Lady Truro, if I mistake not, is ambitious amongst the most ambitious . . . The Duke of Shetland, perhaps. . .Yes . . •' How different was her manner to me to- day from what it has been of late ! What can be the cause?. ...not caprice ; — she is in- capable of that ! . . Perhaps, Lady Truro may object to my acquaintance ! . . . yet why ? EVELYN HARCOURT. 145 The World's voice — fashion — is for me, and I suspect her ear is open to no other . . . It is possible indeed that she may fear .... but I have given her no cause ; and every one knows I am not a man to marry ! "How radiant that countenance! how happy ! Never have I beheld her look so beautiful as to-day .... Her spirit was awakened as I have never seen it before ! " And I will continue to awaken it, if I have the power. Yes ; it is worth much to arrest even but for a time the progress of the evil that is hanging over her — to protect one so innocent, so helpless .... "Never did I meet before with so ingenuous a mind — one so utterly ignorant of guile, so unsuspicious of evil ! . . . One may gaze into its clear depths as into a glassy lake, and see all calm and serene below. And just as the soft breath of the west wind gently ripples the surface of such tranquil waters,. so does her soul tremble and thrill with emotion at VOL. I. H 1 46 EVELYN HARCOURT. every noble thought, every inspiring idea, every generous and enthusiastic sentiment .... What ecstasy to awaken such in one single immortal being ! to call forth tones of melody which have remained unuttered before ! — -to have the power, as to-day, by one word to raise a soul far above this miry world on which our feet tread ! . . . "How her beautiful spirit answered to every touch !....once, her eyes filled with tears — I am sure it was so ! When I spoke of the summer I passed at Blenden .... Perhaps she felt at that moment how heartless, how worldly her cousin but no ! She is far 'too guileless herself to read the heart of Lady Truro ! — that heart is at present to her a sealed book — and long, long may it continue so ! . . . . She loves her too — loves her with all the warmth and gratitude of her own ardent affections. . . .And it may be years before she discovers the true nature of a worldly heart ! Well, be it so ! EVELYN HARCOURT. 147 " Will she read the books I spoke of ?...She means to do so. — She was sincere in her pro- mises, at least ! . . . . "We shall see " Such were the thoughts that passed through the mind of Arthur Sherborne, as he slowly returned towards London ; whilst many a brilliant equipage, filled with gaily-dressed ladies and sleepy children, rolled by him un- heeded on its way to the great city. From this time, Evelyn found no difficulty in conversing with Mr. Sherborne ; she had plenty to say to him about the books she had been reading, plenty of questions to ask and difficulties to submit to him ! He found she had indeed kept her word about the works he had recommended her to read. She had pro- cured them all the very day after her conver- sation with him. As for Lady Truro, she could make no h2 ] 48 EVELYN HARCOURT. thing of the change that had come over her young cousin all at once. Evelyn seemed to be always reading now — always poring over books — not novels, nor anything of a light or entertaining description, but the driest and most uninteresting productions that could be imagined. Lady Truro set it all down to caprice, as she invariably did every thing that was incomprehensible to her ; but it was a caprice of a very strange sort, and one that she sincerely hoped would soon pass off; for it was not very likely to increase Evelyn's chance of making a brilliant match this year ; and indeed, in her opinion, her spirits were already beginning to be affected by so much dry study. In the mean time, she herself continued feverish and unwell; and Evelyn could not help suspecting that mind was in some way connected with her malady, and that there was some inward anxiety continually preying upon hers, which prevented her from rallying as she ought to do. EVELYN HARCOURT. 149 Lord Truro was less than ever at home; hut there was reason to believe that, on one occasion lately, a serious dispute of some kind had taken place between him and his wife. He had darted out of the house in a state of great apparent excitement, and she had retired to her own room, where she had remained alone during the rest of the evening, upon the plea of indisposition, refusing even to admit Eve- lyn. Evelyn had naturally felt uneasy at this, and she had questioned Deschamps; but Deschamps could tell nothing positive, though she sighed, and winked, and talked a great deal about the '* torrent de larmes " that Madame la Marquise had shed, and her own fears that Monsieur le Marquis was " ires mauvais sujet /" The next morning, when Evelyn indistinctly alluded to the scene that had taken place, Lady Truro silenced her at once, by begging in the most earnest manner that she would never make the slightest allusion to it again 150 EVELYN HARCOURT. — never even mention that evening in her presence ! " And I am to see you wretched and anxious !" returned Evelyn, with considerable warmth, " and yet to remain even more igno- rant of the cause than Deschamps. I am to be made a stranger of, in short, as though I were indifferent whether you were happy or miserable ! But I can guess I — I know very well that Lord Truro...." " Hush, hush !" cried her cousin, impera- tively. " Not a word about Lord Truro, You know nothing, and you must continue to know nothing." Then, taking Evelyn's hand in her own, she added in a softer voice, and not without some emotion, " I appreciate all your kindness, your affectionate regard for me ; and trust me, my love, I would more gladly open my heart to you, than you would listen to what I might disclose ; but it is out of the question ; and I am wrong even to allude thus remotely to the subject. You EVELYN HARCOURT. 151 must be kind to me in my own way. You must bear with me as I am. You must bear to see me anxious and wretched, (for I am both) and not inquire the cause." Since that time, Lady Truro's spirits had been exceedingly variable, and her strength had appeared to diminish. She was obliged to give up the office of chaperon altogether, and Evelyn was entrusted to the care of Lady Belharris and one or two others, whose posi- tion in society was pre-eminent, and whose prudence could be relied upon. By this means, Lady Truro continued in ignorance of her attachment to Mr. Sherborne ; an attach- ment which could not possibly have passed unnoticed by her, had she continued to ac- company her young cousin into the world. The fervour of Evelyn's love was indeed each day increasing ; but the dream of happi- ness in which she had of late been indulging was beginning to be chequered by moments of anxious fear, of miserable uncertainty, as 152 EVELYN HARCOURT. to his feelings. Was she beloved ?.... Alas ! she had no reason to think so ! That Mr. Sherborne liked her, that she had excited an interest in his mind far greater than he felt for a mere common acquaintance, that he took pleasure in meeting her, in talking to her, she felt convinced ; but more than this, alas ! she dared not hope. In vain she sought to discover his feelings with regard to his cousin. Lady Annette. That she loved him, there could not be the smallest doubt : Evelyn had been introduced to her, and she had seen enough of her man- ner to Mr. Sherborne, clear-sighted as she was now become, to feel convinced that love was not wanting, on that side at least. On the other.... she could not tell. Sometimes would come a moment of ex- quisite hope ! A smile from him, a look, a word of kindness, would raise her into such a heaven of joy, that she would feel as if no- thing could ever depress her again — nothing EVELYN HARCOURT. 153 shake her confidence ! But then dark mo- ments too soon succeeded, and her cheek would burn and her spirit shrink within her at the consciousness of her own love, and the terrible fear lest that love should be unre- turned. Who can describe the shame of these sensations ? the contempt of herself, the utter prostration of spirit she occasionally experienced ? And then would come intervals of pride, towering pride ; when she resolved to treat him with coldness ; to prove to him that he was nothing to her; that, if A^ were indifferent, others were at her feet ! She often wondered at herself for the state of thoughtless happiness in which she had revelled during the first weeks of their ac- quaintance ; when, ignorant as yet of her own love, she had rested in the dreamy delight of the present, and never cast a thought beyond, when the mere hope of seeing him to-morrow had been joy enough for to-day ; and to read H 5 154 EVELYN HARCOURT. his works, and ponder over every word he had uttered, was sufficient to fill her soul with light and gladness ! Now,.,-. " I could bear it all," would she say to herself, when brooding in solitude over her own bitter reflections, " were it not that I feel as if I had been guilty of a crime !...And yet — what wrong have I done ? I know not. Weak I have been ; but I cannot accuse my- self of one single thought, or act, that is worthy to be condemned. How is it, then, that I have sunk so low in my own esteem ? Surely, I am in fact less despicable now than I was before I knew him ! My mind has been ennobled ; my objects have become less trifling, less vain, less worldly ; a portion of his spirit has passed within me, and I am better than I was ! Why cannot I always think so ? '' I cannot blame hhn. No ; whatever I may suffer, I can accuse him of nothing. He has never, directly or indirectly, sought to EVELYN HARCOURT. 155 win my love. — And yet I love him.... how I blush to acknowledge it even to myself ! " Sometimes I long to open my heart to some one, to seek for counsel, for sympathy. But who is there that could afford it? — not Barberina, certainly. She has enough to bear in her own sorrows ; sorrows in which I am allowed no share!. ..and she could not enter into mine. " Perhaps, if Helen were here .... but I know not whether even to her I could brintr myself to confess my weakness, my degrada- tion. — And yet, surely there can be no degra- dation in loving one like him — one so far above all the rest of the world ! Who but must worship such astonishing intellect — such lofty and inspiring genius ! . . . Ah ! to love such a being must ennoble one's own nature : then what would it be to possess his love"... 156 EVELYN HARCOURT. CHAPTER IX. With no distracting world to call her off From love. Bi'RON. What did that sudden sound bespeak? * * * * There sate a lady. Byron. It is that settled, ceaseless gloom The fabled Hebrew wanderer bore, That will not look beyond the tomb, And cannot hope for rest before. Childe Harold. The boys had left Oriel, and Helen was astonished to find how much she missed them. She had participated in most of their amuse- ments ; she had ridden, and walked, and fished with them ; and she had found little or no time during their stay for those quiet readino's to which she had been accustomed. EVELYN HARCOURT. 157 And now she found that she had strangely got out of the habit of these. If she tried to fix her attention to some book that had formerly interested her, she perceived her thoughts insensibly wandering back to the events of the last few weeks, and with a keen and continual regret she wished she could recal them ; and, what was very remarkable, she found she thought less of the cousins whom she had known so long, and who were really become so companionable, than she did of Captain Percy, their uncle, whom till lately she had never beheld. Captain Percy was a half-brother of Mrs. Harry Bridge's, and many years her junior. He was one of those persons who seem to possess a peculiar charm, a nameless some- thing, that irresistibly attract the good will of strangers, and command the affection of friends. He was the most popular man in his regiment, and he was almost worshipped by his own family. Even Mrs. Harry, crabbed 158 EVELYN HARCOURT. and queer as she was, delighted in him ; and no one had any thing but a kind word to say for Fred Percy. He was so high-minded, so kind-hearted, so generous ! Poor though he was, he yet, somehow or other, always con- trived to keep a few pounds in reserve to lend to a friend in case of need. If any one wanted help or kindness, Fred Percy was sure to be applied to ; his heart overflowed with bene- volence and good-will towards all the world, and it was literally out of his nature to do a selfish or an unfriendly thing. It was remarkable how completely he gave the tone to his regiment ; he had acquired a kind of authority by the mere influence of his amiable and excellent qualities. His word was a species of law. " Fred Percy says so and so," was sufficient to establish any thing as an undoubted fact. If Fred Percy thought proper to notice such a one, it was a signal for his brother officers to vie with each other in noticing him too ; and if Fred Percy gave EVELYN HARCOURT. 159 it as his opinion that such a step ought to be taken, no objection that could be raised against it was allowed to have the slightest weight. In short, no one was ever so much liked as Fred Percy, and no one ever deserved better to be so. Without being strictly handsome, he had one of the pleasantest and most attractive countenances in the world, bright as the sun- shine, and open as the day. Nature had written his character in her own clear and undeniable language on his countenance ; and, to crown the whole, he was gifted with one of the most melodious voices in the world, a very captivating thing by the way, whether in man or woman, and one which not unfre- quently stands in lieu of good looks. Perhaps, after this description, my readers will not be surprised, whatever Helen might be, that she found her thoughts more fre- quently recurring to Captain Percy, and his sayings and doings during the last fortnight, 160 EVELYN HARCOURT. than to those graver studies in which she had formerly taken so much delight. During this fortnight, they had been almost constant com- panions. He had come, at first, intending only to remain a day or two ; but he had been so much pleased with Oriel and its inhabi- tants, as well as with the various amusements it afforded, that he had gladly accepted the hospitable invitation of the old couple to re- main as long as he possibly could ; and nothing but a positive engagement, which he could not forego, had induced him to depart when he did. Helen's soft blue eyes and gentle smile were becoming each day more capti- vating to him, and he would willingly have lingered yet for many a day by her side. On the banks of the clear stream, or hanging idly over the rustic bridge, or riding, or wan- dering far into the woods, or making excur- sions to Bridge Priory, and other lovely spots in the neighbourhood, they had been ever together ; and such companionship soon pro- EVELYN HARCOURT. 1 6 1 duces intimacy, and intimacy interest. They learnt thus more of one another's heart and mind in a single fortnight, than they would have done for years in a crowded city ; and all they learnt tended to draw them closer together. It ended in their separating with great regret on both sides ; on his, perhaps, the most, because he could better analyze his feelings than she could hers. Since his departure, every thing seemed to have undergone a change in her eyes — every thing had become " stale, flat, and unpro- fitable." She felt a void, greater even than the loss of Evelyn had occasioned, and it was the more irksome, because she could not under- stand, or rather, to speak more correctly, she would not admit to herself the cause of it. Her chief pleasure now consisted in taking the longest possible walks in all directions round Oriel. It was pleasant to come home quite tired out, for that generally ensured her peaceful sleep afterwards ; and she had lately 162 EVELYN HARCOURT. been initiated into the unwelcome secret of restless and wakeful nights. Evelyn and she had always been accustomed to ramble about unattended in every direction around their sequestered home, and she had no fears. One beautiful day, when she had wandered a good deal further than usual, feeling fa- tigued, she sat down under a hedge to rest for a short time, and, taking out her book, opened it with a resolute determination to read attentively for once. But it would not do ! In a few minutes, she detected herself watching the smoke of a neighbouring cot- tage, as it slowly wreathed itself into the air, and disappeared in the tranquil expanse ; whilst her thoughts had flown back to Captain Percy, and she was recalling, for the hun- dredth time, the expression of his counte- nance, and the fervent pressure of his hand, when he had bidden her farewell. But, in the midst of her reverie, she was suddenly startled by hearing a faint low groan EVELYN HARCOURT. 163 on the other side of the hedge. She listened attentively. Yes, there was another — a deep groan, expressive of intense suffering of some kind, and it sounded like a woman's voice. She called aloud, inquiring who was there, and what was the matter ; but, receiving no reply, she looked round for some aperture, by which she might penetrate to the other side of the hedge, and, perceiving a gate at some little distance, she ran to it. In another mo- ment she was in a meadow, and close to some one sitting on the ground ; a lady, apparently to judge by her dress ; but the face of this person was totally concealed by her bonnet, as she bent her head down nearly upon her knees. Helen paused a moment, uncertain how to address her ; but it was clear that she was in distress of some kind, and the gentle girl's desire to aid her soon overcame her timidity. " You are unhappy," said she; " can I do nothing to comfort you ?" 164 EVELYN HARCOURT. The person thus addressed raised her head at these words, and disclosed to view a face by no means devoid of traces of beauty, but so care-worn, so expressive of suffering, that it was painful to look upon. She fixed her eyes gloomily on Helen, and replied with apparent effort — '^ You mean kindly, no doubt ; but pass on ; no one can comfort me." " Do not say so," returned Helen, touched by the expression of hopeless misery these words conveyed ; " if I cannot comfort, may I not sympathize with you ?" " You cannot sympathize with what you never felt." " I do not wish to intrude upon your grief, believe me ; but surely...." " Young lady, your face is gentle," inter- rupted the other, " and I can believe you would gladly soothe any sorrow if you could ; but I would not grieve your heart — no ! — nor shock your young eyes, by the knowledge and EVELYN HARCOURT. 165 sight of what one human being may suffer, and not die !" She rose as she uttered these words, and Helen, awed by her manner, continued silent. She felt as though she had been guilty of presumption in talking of sympathy to one of whose grief she knew nothing. " Am I wrong in imagining it is Miss Eridge I am addressing?" inquired the stranger, courteously. Then, as Helen ti- midly assented, she continued — " Are you not unusually far from your own own home ? — can I be of any use to you ? If you want a guide, I can easily furnish you with one." '' Oh, no !" replied Helen ; " I can find my own way back ; I am accustomed to take long walks alone. But is it possible that you live near here, madam ? I thought there was no house within ten miles of Oriel, of which we did not know the owners — at least, by 166 EVELYN H ARCOURT. " I am little known, and I do not wish to be more so," replied the other hastily ; — then, conscious that there was something ungracious in this reply, she added gently, " My abode is an humble one, and it does not even belong to me — you may have heard of it ! — the Penrhyns' farm-house." " Oh yes, I know it. — They are excellent people." " They are. There is my domicile, chosen for the sake of its retirement — its privacy. My wish — my object — is to be alone." As she uttered these words in a tone of cold and concentrated misery, that fell with a chill upon Helen's spirit, she moved on a few paces, as though desirous to depart. A moment after, however, she paused, and said, with painful effort, ** Though I have refused your sympathy so churlishly, as it must appear to you, I am not ungrate- ful for it. Yours is a kind heart, I am sure; and I trust that sorrow, when it EVELYN HARCOURT. 167 comes to you, may be of a gentle species, softening jour spirit, but not blighting it. — Farewell !" '^ And am I to see no more of a neiofhbour I have discovered thus accidentally ?" " No — do not attempt it. You are too young yet to grow familiar with the sight of grief. Go home — go home, young lady ; and, as you look upon the blue sky above you, pray earnestly that you may never learn to grieve with a sorrow that not even a placid scene like this could soothe." She slowly departed ; leaving Helen full of compassion, wonder, and curiosity, to know more of so sino^ular a beinof. She watched her till she had disappeared among the trees, and then turned in the contrary direction, pondering within herself what species of affliction it could be that thus defied all con- solation, and refused all confidence. As she sauntered along, lost in thought, she came rather suddenly upon a neat, white- 168 EVELYN HARCOURT. washed farm-house, the door of which stood invitingly open. Two or three children were playing near, and a respectable-looking woman was nursing her baby on the threshold. Helen paused ; for it struck her that here she might learn something more of the singular being who had so strongly excited her inter- est. Being invited to enter, and having ac- cepted the offer of a draught of milk, she described her meeting with the strange lady, and inquired who she was. The woman shook her head at first, and looked solemn and mysterious ; but, being pressed to reply, she told, by degrees, all she knew of the stranger. " The lady's name was Howard," she said, " and she had been living there about four- teen months. She had come alone — without even a servant, and had first spent a few weeks at the little inn at LI . But, not liking the noise, nor the dirt of the place, — (it was dirty, every one knew) — and wishing to o EVELYN HARCOURT. 169 get into some house where she could be waited upon by the family, she had applied to the Penrhyns, who had at first refused to receive her, knowing nothing of her. But she had at last somehow got over old Master Penrhyn, who was a kind-hearted old soul, 'specially to those in trouble ! and the missis not much less, for that matter ; — and they had taken in the poor soul. She had two small rooms to herself — astonishin snug ! and she paid for them, the missis said, as reg'lar as the clock ! She lived quite alone ; and 'times for weeks together, she would not leave the house; others, she would wander about the place, like as it seemed she had a-done to-day — and sit under the trees a-bemoanino' of herself, till it made a body 'most foolish to hear her !" " And did nobody know the reason of her grief?" " No ! not a creature. Some thought she was not altogether in her right mind, though VOL. I. 1 1 70 EVELYN HARCOURT. quite harmless, poor lady ; but many con- sidered it was more like something on her conscience, that wouldn't let her rest, day nor night. Her spirits varied too. 'Times, when the fits was not on her, she would be cheerful like, a-noticing of Mrs. James's little folks, and in particklar the babby ! She was very partial to the babby !" " Did no one ever come to see her?" " No one, as was ever heard tell on. She couldn't abide a strange face, and she seemed to have no folks of her own. The missis thought she were a widder, for she always wear black — but no one could say positive, for she never spoke of her own matters. But her low fits ! Oh ! they was dreadful ! 'Times she would sit in a stupor, like, and take no notice; and 'times she would cry, fit to break her heart ; and 'times she would moan ! The moaning was the worst, because that did seem unnatural, like, and not what a Christian should do. But every one was sorry for her ; EVELYN HARCOURT. 171 for she was quite harmless, and very thankful, the family said, to be let stay with them." Such were the chief particulars that Helen collected from the farmer's wife; and they inspired her with a strange desire to minister to the comfort of one so forlorn. The whole manner and appearance of the lady — (for that she was one Helen had no doubt) — did not convey the idea of anything like insanity. Her language was good, her manner calm, and even commanding ; and there w^as some- thing in her whole demeanour which betokened superiority of mind as well as station. During the rest of that day, Helen did little else but ponder over this strange adventure, and consider wuthin herself how she could contrive, without intrusion, to show kindness and sympathy to this lonely being ; for, that sympathy would end by becoming welcome, even if it were not so at first, she could not but feel certain, in spite of her assurances to the contrary. 1 2 1 72 EVELYN HARCOURT. After much thought, she determined, in the first place, to make acquaintance with the Penrhyns, excellent people whom she knew well by name, though they lived too far from Oriel to admit of the friendly intercourse and constant exchange of visits that passed between the Erido^es and all those in their immediate neighbourhood. It was not long before she had established herself on a most amicable footing with this w^orthy family, which consisted of many members of all ages, living together in a primitive and indeed almost patriarchal manner. She confided to " the missis" — as the old Mrs. Penrhyn was generally called — her earnest desire to be of some use to their afflicted inmate ; and the good woman fully entered into the wish. " They were all fond of the poor lady," she said ; *' for she was a gentle, harmless creature, and whatever might have been her faults in past times, she suffered heart-sorrow enough for them now — there could be no EVELYN HARCOURT. 173 doubt of that ! For her own part, she had once believed her crazed, but she thought so no longer ; so far from that, she looked upon her with peculiar reverence, as one whom God had thought fit to afflict above most, doubtless for His own wise ends. She was now inclined to think it was more owing to constitutional low spirits, than to any particular cause, that she grieved !" Helen soon discovered that the Recluse was fond of flowers ; and the day of this discovery was a happy one to her ! There were flowers in the Penrhyns' garden, to be sure, and Mrs. James's and Mrs. Owen's children would often gather her some ; but there were better ones at Oriel ; and she should have the best. Helen might now be seen constantly hastening along in the direction of Wynnesland with a basket containing fruit and flowers ; — and though it was a long, long way to walk, and it had become dull from its familiarity, she found herself more frequently bending her steps in 174 EVELYN HARCOURT. that direction than in any other. It was so pleasant to think she was the means of afford- ing even so slight a gratification to the soli- tary sufferer ! Her good offices, too, might not stop here. They did not. " The missis " one day hinted that she thought a few books might be an amusement to Mrs. Howard ; " she had but few of her own, and she must know them all by heart." The next morning Helen arrived with a packet of books — the best she could select from the Oriel library ; and Mrs. James undertook to leave them casually, as it were, in the lady's room when she took up her tea. There was good news for Helen two days after ; some of the books had been read, and Mrs. Howard had inquired who had left them. Perhaps she had seen the Eridge coat- of- arms in them — but she seemed to know they came from a distance. Encouraged by this success, Helen brought more, when those had been EVELYN H ARCOURT. 175 read ; and oh ! how happy was she in these expeditions ! She was contributing to the comfort of a fellow-creature, and one so sorely stricken ! This new pursuit, this new interest, had served to divert her mind from itself; she no longer felt the time hang heavy, nor the place uninteresting ; she no longer recurred to her separation from Evelyn with bitterness, nor to the idea of Captain Percy with something almost amounting to shame. She had hope for every body; — hope that Evelyn might come out of the furnace of the world bright and unchanged — and as for Captain Percy ! — she had hopes connected with him too, but they were of so vague a nature, that perhaps she could scarcely have defined them even to herself. One day, when she made her appearance at Wynnesland with her usual basket of flowers and books, she was not a little surprised to find that the Recluse had desired to see her the next time she called. She had inquired 176 EVELYN HARCOURT. who it was that brought so many things with such kind regularity, and when informed that it was Miss Bridge herself, she had betrayed considerable emotion, and even shed a few tears. The interview was touching. The young girl felt timid in the presence of one upon whom she had in a manner forced obligations, and the thanks expressed by the other were painful to her to listen to. She rejoiced when it was over. The ice was now broken, and henceforth, she trusted, they would be friends. And who could tell what she might not be able to effect, in raising that crushed spirit ? The more she saw of the lady, the more she felt convinced that her position in life had been one of great respectability; though nothing could be more simple than her dress, her ap- pearance, and everything belonging to her. She was essentially lady-like. It was clear that her associates had not been people of low minds, nor even of inferior station. EVELYN HARCOURT. 177 Helen's visits to her soon became regular. There were days indeed, and these were many, when the dark fits were upon her, when even Helen could not be admitted ; — but the Pen- rhyns thought — could it be fancy ? — that the intervals of peace were becoming somewhat longer ! Oh ! what happy news for Helen ! Their interviews would have seemed singular to most people. Mrs. Howard never spoke of herself, or at least but rarely : in the presence of her young companion, she always made a strong effort to appear cheerful — to converse upon such topics as might be interesting at her age. One so gentle, so innocent as Helen should have no shadow cast upon her spirit by the forlorn being whom she had striven to benefit. At first, these efforts had been in- expressibly painful to the Recluse, but the very struggles they had cost her had, without her being conscious of it, proved beneficial. It was precisely such exertion — such tem- porary restraint — that her mind required ; — 1 5 178 EVELYN HARCOURT. it had too long been permitted to prey upon itself; and the continual indulgence, nay, the encouragement of her morbid melancholy, had tended unspeakably to increase the malady under which it laboured. Now, there was a stimulus, a motive for exertion ; gratitude urged her to conceal all traces of the trials which were wearing her heart and brain, and to reward the disinterested benevolence of her young friend, by allowing her to imagine her presence was a comfort. And real benefit soon followed where the semblance of it had been. The poor woman began to look forward with pleasure and expec- tation to these visits of Helen's, and to feel them less and less of a restraint. She still indeed resolutely withheld all confidence from her, and avoided as carefully as ever all allusion to her own former life ; but she began to take an interest in the concerns of her companion, and a pleasure in hearing all that related to her, and those dear to her. EVELYN HARCOURT. 179 And who can tell what sublime feelings of gratitude and love glowed in the bosom of the innocent Helen, as she perceived that her efforts had not been wholly vain — that she had in some measure smoothed the rugged path of this solitary being — that she was be- coming necessary to her ! It is singular that, whilst all mankind are searching for happiness in countless varieties of modes, and that the universal cry, the craving of all, is happiness, still happiness ! so few should seek it in the only manner which almost invariably ensures it. If there be one abiding dispensation of Providence more beau- tiful than the rest — one, proving more un- answerably His love and care for all — it is that by which He has ordained that benefits conferred return to those who confer them, and that, in working out the happiness of the species, the happiness of the individual shall ever be foun ^ . Yet, the general conduct of mankind would seem to imply that exactly the 180 EVELYN HARCOURT. reverse were the case, and that individual happiness were totally inconsistent with that of the mass. Mrs. Howard was sitting one morning by her open window, with her little work-table be- fore her, thinking of Helen, and wondering whether she would call that day ; when Helen entered with a somewhat graver countenance than usual. " Something is wrong," said the lady. " I see it by your face, my dear. Is any one ill at Oriel, or have you bad news from Miss Harcourt ?" *' No ; but I am sad to think that I shall see you no more for a time. I am going away." *' Going !" cried the other, letting her work fall from her hands, and fixing her eyes upon her companion with an expression of singular incredulity — '^ going ! no, no ! I am not to lose you !" " For a time — only for a time. I shall EVELYN HARCOURT. 181 soon be back ; but I cannot refuse to go when it is to see Evelyn — to wish her good bye. And she so unhappy too!" And Helen proceeded to relate that Lady Truro was in a very bad state of health — Evelyn was extremely anxious about her — quite uneasy ; and the doctors had ordered her abroad. But, before they set off, (for of course her favourite cousin was to accom- pany her) Evelyn wished to see Helen, to bid her good bye. Lady Truro would not hear of her leaving her, or she would have come down herself to Oriel for a few days, to bid fare- well to her dear parents, as she affectionately called them ; but if Helen could come for a fort- night to London, it would be such a delight ! She had quite set her heart upon Helen's coming. "Grandpapa has settled that I am to go on Thursday. Who knows when I may see her again ?" No answer was returned, and the needle 1 8 2 EVELYN H ARCOURT. was still drawn out at intervals ; but Helen's heart swelled as she perceived the tears trick- ling down those very furrows, which always appeared to her as though they had been pro- duced by incessant weeping. " I am grieved to leave you, madam," said she ; " but it will not be for long." Mrs. Howard gently laid down her work, rose, and leaned out of the window for a few moments. Then, feeling the old sinking of the spirit, the well-known sensation of de- spair coming over her, she retreated into the next room, and, locking the door behind her, battled energetically with the foe. Helen listened anxiously. There were two or three stifled sobs — an occasional faint groan, like that which had arrested her attention the first day of their meeting, — and then, all was still. In about ten minutes, the door was unlocked, and the lady came forth, to all appearance calm, but with her countenance pale as death, and a peculiar dark circle round the eyes, EVELYN HARCOURT. 183 which Helen had sometimes observed before — but rarely. She advanced to the table, seated herself, and quietly resumed her work. ** You are right, my dear, to go," said she. '* Thursday, you say ; and this is — what?" '^ Saturday, ma'am. I shall be able to come here again twice, at least." " No, my love ; you must not come again." " Oh, do not say so !" cried Helen, earnestly. " I am unwilling enough to leave you, as it is. Do not make our separation longer than it need he !" " The dark fit is coming," said Mrs. Howard, whilst a strange expression passed over her features. *' It is coming — and then — you know...." She paused, looked upward, and pressed her hands upon her bosom, like one struggling for breath ; but in a moment it had passed away. 184 EVELYN HARCOURT. Helen perceived that she was putting a mighty check upon herself. '- Let the dark fit come," said she, in a soft, low voice, " but do not drive me from you. Have you no confidence in me? — am I not your friend ?" " Child ! " said Mrs. Howard, solemnly. " You are — you have been — a friend to me, such as I never thought to possess in this world ; and I will not reward your good with evil. I will not make you wish to shun me." " I shall never wish that, under any cir- cumstances," said Helen, gently. " Have I shunned you hitherto? have I not rather forced myself upon you — against your will, indeed ?" The lady clasped her hands together. " But I tell you that you do not know me !" she ex- claimed, with sudden violence ; " you do not know me ; and I would spare you the know- ledge. I would warn you against myself! What if I should some day shock you — terrify EVELYN HARCOURT. 185 your very soul?" She approached her face to Helen's ear, and in a sharp, hissing whisper, added—" What if I should be madT For a moment, Helen recoiled from her with terror ; but it was only for a moment. She sau^ the quivering lip, the ashy cheek, the agony of anxiety with which those eye- balls strained to catch a glimpse of what was passing in her mind ; and she resolved, in spite of all, to be true to the miserable being whom she had but just begun to lift from the depths of despair. Her countenance was beautiful as that of an angel, as she said, in a low, clear voice — " Fear not : I shall not be terrified. Even if madness should come upon you, I will not forsake you. But you are not mad — only borne down by sorrow : and if / have scarcely yet known what sorrow is, may I not better speak to you of hope ?" As she uttered these words, the straining eyes gradually sunk under her gentle gaze. 186 EVELYN HARCOURT. the clinched hands relaxed, the colour slowly returned to the ashy and convulsed lips, and Mrs. Howard hid her face in her hands, and wept ! An hour or two afterwards, these two were sitting quietly side by side at the open win- dow, and Helen had just closed the Bible which she had been reading aloud, when, looking up in the face of her companion, she saw that it was calm and serene. " Yes," said Mrs. Howard, as though in answer to her mild appeal ; ''I think, I hope, the dark fit is over — for this day, at least ; and I can struggle on, since you promise not to forsake me." " I do promise it : and for my sake, whilst I am absent, strive against it, fight with it, pray against it ! And, above all, do not for- get these precious words, which have soothed many a heart as crushed as yours." As she spoke, she rose to go ; and the lady, taking her by the hand, blessed her fervently. EVELYN HARCOURT. 187 Helen never forgot that earnest, solemn blessing. She called twice afterwards before her de- parture, but neither time was she admitted. The Penrhyns said the lady had been quiet since Saturday, but low, very low ; and she had taken little notice of anything. She had, however, given the strictest orders that, if Miss Eridge called again, she should not be admitted : she could not bear to part from her, she said. Helen was grieved — but there was no remedy. She endeavoured to console herself by providing as far as she could for the com- forts of the poor recluse during her absence. The kind-hearted Mrs. Eridge promised to send her fruit, flowers, and books, regularly. Willingly w^ould she have undertaken to go to her herself; but Mrs. Howard had posi- tively refused all offers of this kind when they had been made to her through Helen ; 188 EVELYN HARCOURT. and there was but too much reason to fear that any further attempts to press kindness or sympathy upon her would only do harm, where good was intended. EVELYN HARCOURT. 189 CHAPTER X. And thus it was That she was pensive, nor perceived Her occupation .... Mazeppa. Countess. Do not you love him ? Helen. I confess Before high Heaven and you that next unto high Heaven I love him I know I love in vain — strive against hope .... AlVs Well that Ends Well. The effects of her fond jealousies so grieving That she shuts up herself .... Winter's Tale. Helen could hardly recover from her asto- nishment at the change which a few months had effected in Evelyn ; and in nothing did she appear so much altered as in her spirits. Instead of the wild and exuberant gaiety which ] 90 EVELYN HARCOURT. was natural to her, she was now grave and thoughtful — often preoccupied — sometimes even melancholy. What could be the reason ? Lady Truro was now chiefly confined to her room, and Helen scarcely saw her at all ; in- deed, her mornings were spent very much alone ; for Lady Truro, with her usual selfish- ness, insisted on having Evelyn with her al- most always till luncheon-time. But, in the afternoons, when a few of her immediate clique were admitted to her, the girls were usually able to be together for some hours, and sometimes they would take a quiet walk in the Square ; sometimes they would drive out (for to the simple Helen the mere sight of the streets and shops was novelty and amusement) ; and oftener still they would ride with Lady Belharris, who had remained in town thus late, in order to attend the con- finement of her young sister. Lady Alfred Montgomery, which was now almost daily expected. EVELYN HARCOURT. 191 In these rides, they were continually meet- ing Mr. Sherborne ; and Helen, who had of course been all eagerness to make his ac- quaintance, was all admiration of him when she had done so. Her fondness for his works had formerly almost equalled that of Evelyn ; and now that she saw him, she could scarcely express herself strongly enough in his praise. " He is charming !" said she to her friend one day, " perfectly charming. I never saw such a countenance, such an eloquent, beau- tiful expression when he speaks ! And what eyes ! — surely, there never were such eyes before !...He is so gentle too — so unaffected ! I am quite surprised to find how little afraid of him I feel. One would never guess from his manner in society that he were in any way remarkable ; — he never seems to remember it liimself. He brings himself down to the level of the person he is talking to with such perfect simplicity ! He is so ready to con- verse on any subject! And when one re- 192 EVELYN HARCOURT. members what he is Well ! he is a won- derful man, certainly — wonderful in all ways ! You did not write me half enough in his praise, Evelyn." " Yet, my fear was that you would think what I said so absurdly extravagant — so ex- aggerated !" " It would be quite impossible to exaggerate about him, it seems to me. He stands alone — certainly the most extraordinary man of his day. Surely, all the fine ladies in London must be raving about him !" Evelyn was arranging some flowers for Lady Truro, and her back was turned to Helen, as she replied, in a tone of the utmost indifference — " Possibly I never heard, it, how- ever." Helen was surprised at her cold and care- less manner. She remembered the enthusiastic admiration she had always formerly expressed for Mr, Sherborne's works ; and how full of EVELYN HARCOURT. 193 the gifted author all her early letters had been ; and she had expected to find in her one of his most devoted admirers. But Eve- lyn's manner to him seemed to be decidedly more reserved than it was to any other person. Perhaps it might be that she was afraid of him ! A stransje transformation had come over her, and one for which there seemed no possible means of accounting. If she had grown vain, or worldly, or ambitious, Helen would not have wondered — if she had imbibed a taste for dissipation, a dislike to rational pursuits, it would not have been surprising ; — but nothing of all this had oc- curred. In the midst of gaiety and adulation, she had become sober ; and whilst surrounded by the glitter and turmoil of society, and avowedly the reigning belle of the season, she had first taken to quiet and literary pur- suits. There must be an explanation to the phenomenon, a clue to the mystery, Helen VOL. I. K 194 EVELYN HARCOURT. felt convinced; and that clue she presently- stumbled upon by mere accident. They were riding in the Regent's Park one evening with Lady Belharris and some others, when they were joined by Mr. Sherborne, who came round to Evelyn's side, and, in the course of conversation with her, asked her some question about one of the books she was reading. From what followed, Helen soon gathered that it was by his advice these books were studied ; and for the first moment it only struck her as a little singular that Evelyn should never have mentioned this to her ; — but, suddenly, an idea came across her — a possibility — ^which would account for all — all the singularities and changes that had puzzled her so much. She watched them both narrowly during the remainder of the ride. Evelyn's manner was reserved — almost distant — towards Mr. Sherborne; but her cheek was unusually flushed, and her eye restless and disturbed ; EVELYN HARCOURT. 195 and, though she seemed to answer his remarks with a certain constraint, Helen observed that she paid not the slightest attention to those of any other person. She even once or twice replied quite at random to observations made by others of the party, so as to excite their notice and astonishment. When Mr. Sherborne took his leave too, Helen, who knew her countenance so well, perceived that she was moved. The hand she held out was given awkwardly ; and, after he was gone, she sank into a kind of reverie, and made no reply to the farewell salutation of Lord Haverfordwest, till reminded to do so by Lady Belharris, who was shocked at her want of courtesy. It must be so ; there could be no doubt of it. " Evelyn, dear ! how cold and forbidding you are to Mr. Sherborne," observed Helen, suddenly, when they had returned home. " Is it possible that you dislike him ?" K 2 196 EVELYN HARCOURT. Evelyn started, as if she had been struck, and turned very pale. " Am I cold?" said she. The attack was too sudden — she had no time to parry it — no time to prepare her counte- nance, nor her reply. Her secret was be- trayed — or would be immediately. " I am sure he must be struck with it !'* continued Helen — " Is it that you dislike him?" " Dislike him ! — of course not ! Why should I dislike him ?" " Ah ! why, indeed ? — why, rather, should you not like him ? — Evelyn, Evelyn, I strongly suspect...." Evelyn blushed to her very temples — " What do you suspect?" inquired she, faintly. " I see, I need not tell you — and I am right, am I not ? — Ah ! why did you treat me with such reserve — such coldness ? — why did you not tell me how it was with you before, EVELYN HARCOURT. 197 instead of leaving me to find it out thus by myself? Was I not capable of sympathy — of discretion ? — was I not to be trusted ? . . . And could I blame you for loving such a man?..," But Evelyn could not answer. She had hid her face in her hands, and was weeping passionately. In a short time, however, she had confessed all ; — her weakness — her shame — her love ! She had longed to tell it all before, but had been unable. And now — even now — in the presence of the friend of her childhood — her more than sister — with whom, till lately, she had shared every thought — she felt abashed — humbled. No wonder ! for many a time had her cheek glowed with shame, even in soli- tude, at the thought that her love might be — perhaps was — unreturned ! Helen sought to soothe her by every means in her power. She could not, however, say the only thing that Evelyn longed to hear ; she had, as yet, observed no proof of love on 198 EVELYN HARCOURT. his part. Interest there evidently was— real regard — and love might, and probably did, exist ; but Helen could not say she had seen it, and she would give no encouragement where she felt no certainty that encourage- ment ought to be given. But, oh ! with what interest, with what earnest anxiety, did she now watch Mr. Sher- borne for Evelyn's sake, and how she strove to discover those proofs of love in him which her calmer judgment told her she did not perceive ! There were times, indeed, when she caught his eyes fixed upon Evelyn, but the glance was always short, and he soon turned away to other objects. Even if there were love on his side, she feared it could not be the powerful and ex- clusive devotion that Evelyn ought to in- spire — that alone could satisfy imperious affections such as hers. Lady Alfred Montgomery was now con- EVELYN HARCOURT. 199 fined, and Lady Belharris was soon going out of town ; but, in the mean time, she had arranged a final party of pleasure, which was to take place previous to her departure, and to which the girls looked forward with some eagerness ; Helen, on Evelyn's account, and Evelyn on her own ; for both knew that Mr. Sherborne would be there. This party of pleasure was to be an expe- dition to ** The Paradise," a place which really was something like its name, belonging to Mr. Euston Trevor, a handsome bachelor about town, and a particular friend of Lady Belharris's. The party was to be exclusively hers, and she was to invite all the guests, with the exception of two or three men whom Mr. Trevor wished to ask himself. Besides Evelyn and Helen, there were to be Lady Annette Sherborne, and a young Mrs. Norman, lately married, and full of blushes and timidity, but withal beautiful as a May morning ; for Mr. Trevor was a notorious admirer of beauty, 200 EVELYN HARCOURT. and indeed his authority was at all times suf- ficient to establish the reputation of any woman as being one in the London world. He was one of the most agreeable and popular of roues^ and he really had more good nature and good feeling than is common to such persons. The day did not begin auspiciously for Evelyn. After much discussion, it was settled by Lady Belharris that she should go in Mrs. Norman's britzska, that lady having undertaken to convey Lord Haverfordwest and Mr. Fitz- roy. The truth was, Lord Haverfordwest, a conceited idiot, without sense or feeling, but withal a most unexceptionable parti, had hinted to Lady Belharris that he desired this arrangement, and she, who was really inter- ested for Evelyn, and wished nothing better than to see her well married, according to her own acceptation of that term, resolved to give the young Earl every opportunity of pro- posing to her, feeling quite convinced, as she EVELYN HARCOURT. 201 did, that the Duke of Shetland never would do so. This opinion she had more than once hinted to Ladj Truro, but without in the smallest degree shaking the confidence of that lad J on the subject. However, as the Duke was now off to Scotland, to attend the death- bed of his uncle, who, it was supposed, might yet linger on some days, there seemed little chance of his having any opportunity of seeing Evelyn again before her departure for the continent. Perhaps it might be the fact of his grace's absence that increased the assiduity of Lord Haverfordwest; for, with all his conceit, he could hardly put his claims in competition with those of the first parti of the day — the all-conquering, and, as yet, unconquered Duke of Shetland. But, whatever were the cause, it is certain that he had now resolved on lay- ing siege to Evelyn in greater earnest than he had ever done before. Helen, who knew well how annoying to her K 5 202 EVELYN HARCOURT. friend must be Lady Belharris's distribution of the party, did all she could — a great deal for so shy a person, to be allowed to go with Mrs. Norman in her place. But her efforts were fruitless ! Lady Belharris had her rea- sons, as we have already seen, and she over- ruled her at once, with that air of quiet but well-bred decision which a woman of the world knows so well how to assume, and with which she can at once silence and at the same time abash one less experienced in aplomb than herself. Poor Evelyn ! there was a cloud upon her spirit, which she found it impossible to dispel. Mrs. Norman wondered to herself whether " the Beauty" were always as grave and taciturn as on the present occasion, and thought, in her own mind, that Lord Haverfordwest could scarcely be flattered by the manner in which his assiduities were received. *' This is very unsatisfactory !" said to her- self the pretty bride, who, like many persons EVELYN HARCOURT. ?03 that have not lived much in London, was in- clined to exaggerate in her own mind the mystery and exclusiveness of its coteries ;— *' perhaps I am not good enough for her — or perhaps she would rather have had him to herself with her friend in the other carriage ! But it was Lady Belharris's arrangement, not mine. — I wish George had come with us, instead of riding, as he would do. It would have been much more pleasant for me." To conceal her awkwardness, she directed as much as possible of her conversation to her brother, who sat opposite to her — a shy lad of eighteen, just entering the army; whom Mr. Euston Trevor had, out of good nature, included in his invitation; — and thus Lord Haverfordwest was left completely at liberty to bestow his platitudes upon the unlucky Evelyn. The drive seemed interminable, and the way to Paradise very much like purgatory — but it was reached at last. They found some 204 EVELYN HARCOURT. of the gentlemen already arrived; amongst others, Mr. Norman, to whom his wife in- stantly hurried, with a sensation of inconceiv- able relief, and a strong desire to make him at once acquainted with her troubles during the trajet. The party soon sauntered out in scattered groups, to amuse themselves till dinner-time in the gardens and grounds, which, though not large, were beautifully laid out. But here again poor Evelyn was unlucky. She had lingered near Lady Belharris, in the hope that Mr. Sherborne would approach her — but in vain ! What was her surprise — almost her indignation — to see him offer his arm to Helen, and disappear with her and Lady Annette in the shrubberies ! This was a peril- ous moment for Evelyn ! She was almost on the verge of betraying herself ! — her breath came quick — a mist swam before her eyes — and if she had not sunk down upon a seat which chanced opportunely to be near, she EVELYN HARCOURT. 205 might almost have fallen. As it was, no one noticed her agitation, and she had time to re- cover herself in some degree before she was joined by Lord Haverfordwest. Then, in spite of her very broad hints to Lady Belharris to re- main with her — not to go — somehow or other, most unaccountably. Lady Belharris did go — and she was left alone with him under the tree ! Everybody seemed in league against her. — Everybody conspired to torment her ! " Really, Trevor is a lucky fellow," Lord Haverfordwest began. " What a lovely spot this is !" *' Lovely, indeed !" replied Evelyn, with something like asperity. " Had we not better do more than merely admire it from this seat? Lady Belharris went that way, I think." She rose ; Lord Haverfordwest offered his arm, and they walked on for some moments in silence. He was pondering within himself how to begin ; somehow or other, he felt un- accountably shy. Those magnificent eyes 206 EVELYN HARCOURT. could look so fierce on occasion ! He rather dreaded them. He exhorted himself to remember who and what he was, and ditto repeated with regard to her. He reminded himself what a match he would be for her, and what a triumph for him to cut out his friend the Duke ! " E — hem ! this is really a lovely spot ! — E— hem !" " Very." " It makes one long to be ruralizing in the country. I should so like to show you Castle Haverfordwest, Miss Harcourt ! — E — hem ! — Perhaps . . . . " " It is in Pembrokeshire, I imagine. —Where can Lady Belharris be?...." " I shall never have such another oppor- tunity !" thought Lord Haverfordwest. "Now or never !. His heart beat violently. " You cannot but have observed. Miss Har- court, that...." EVELYN HARCOURT. S07 ** Oh yes ! I saw it from the house. The spire is more distinct than here, and it is very picturesque. Those trees might be thinned with advantage, however, to let in the view." Lord Haverfordwest was silenced. For a moment a doubt came across him whether this misunderstanding were intentional or not, but he soon convinced himself it could not be so. He must be foolishly timid ; — lovers al- ways were ! — " Here is a delicious seat !" said he. " Do let me persuade you to rest for a few moments, whilst I place myself at your feet — where — I would too gladly — always...." " I advise you not," said Evelyn, decidedly. " The grass looks damp, and it rained this morning However," she continued a moment after, hi a tone of almost ludicrous indifference, " no doubt, you are the best judge. Pray, have you any idea what o'clock it is ?" " Miss Harcourt, you torture me by this wilful misunderstanding of my.... You see in 208 EVELYN HARCOURT. me a lover of the most devoted description — a slave, in short — a . . . . " He paused. He felt at a loss as to what else she might be supposed to see in him ; so, as he could make out nothing more, he had recourse to repetition. " In short, a lover, whose — whose happi- ness — L might even say whose fate hangs upon your will. To call you mine... . " " Lord Haverfordwest !" exclaimed Evelyn, rising with inexpressible dignity, '* I beg you will cease. I had not the smallest idea of this ; I never imagined you entertained any feelings of this sort. Pray let us return to the house ; I cannot listen further." '' Beautiful, bewitching, beloved being !'* cried Lord Haverfordwest, enchanted with his own apt alliteration, and making an awkward attempt to seize her hand, which she reso- lutely withheld, " Do not doom me to despair — to des — I was going to say to destruction I 'pon my soul I was ! — I can't live without you ! EVELYN HARCOXJRT. 209 'pon my soul I can't ! Now, my angel, 'pon my soul...." " Lord Haverfordwest, you astonish me ! After what I have said...." " Lovely being ! may I not flatter myself that in time at least. ...in time...." "Hear me, my lord!" cried Evelyn, in a tone that commanded his instant silence : '* I am amazed at your persisting in this language, when I have so distinctly told you it is disa- greeable to me. I beg it may cease at once. Your good opinion is flattering, no doubt, but I must be allowed to consult my own wishes and feelings, and they are decidedly unfavour- able to yours." She spoke with a tone and in a manner that not even he could misunderstand. " And am I to consider myself rejected, then ?" cried he, his round red face becoming rounder and redder with rage and astonish- ment ; "rejected? — L..." " I am sorry to give you pain, but I cannot S 1 EVELYN HARCOURT. accuse myself of ever having encouraged such advances as these." *' Miss Harcourt ! Miss Harcourt ! do not suppose I am blind, though I have put myself in your power, and enabled you to treat me with this contempt. You have good reasons for what you are doing, and it is quite clear to me what your aim is ! But, mark my words — you worCt succeed ! I'll bet half my income you don't catch him !" Evelyn's face became crimson at these words ; the real meaning of which she totally misunderstood. Imagining her secret was dis- covered, and overwhelmed with shame, anger, and confusion, she covered her face with her hands, and turned away. Just at that moment, footsteps were heard approaching, and Mr. Sherborne and Helen appeared, arm in arm, in such earnest conver- sation, that they were actually upon the others before they even perceived them. There was no time to retreat ; yet the confusion of both EVELYN UARCOURT. 211 parties was most evident. But, even in that moment of hurry and excitement, Evelyn did not fail to perceive the blush that overspread the cheeks of Helen as she met her eye ; and an overpowering sensation of jealousy took possession of her own soul. A few awkward observations were exchanofed between the parties, and then the new-comers were hurrying off, as though conscious they were disturbing a tete-ct'tete, when Evelyn, in plain terms, requested them to accompany her as far as the house. There was no mistakinor this — and the baffled and crestfallen Earl turned away in an opposite direction, to digest his mortification as he best might, and debate within himself the possibility of cutting the whole concern of the dinner altogether, and returning to town at once. But his pride opposed itself to this step ; — it would have too much the appearance of a defeat. No, he would brave it out for the sake of his offended dignity ; and Miss Harcourt 2 1 2 EVELYN H ARCOURT. should not at least have the triumph of ima- gining she had succeeded in wounding him. He would turn the tables upon her, and wither her by his neglect — his contempt ! He would make her repent her rejection of him ! — In the mean time, Evelyn, who had perceived Lady Annette at some distance, had abruptly quitted her companions, as though delighted to shake them off, and had joined her. Lady Annette received her with apparent plea- sure. " How nice of you to take compassion on poor solitary me !" said she ; " and how won- derful that you, the envied of all enviers, the admired of all admirers, should prefer a quiet walk to the incense that all are so ready to offer ! But what have you done with Lord Haverfordwest? Not refused him, I hope?" Then, observing Evelyn's look of embarrass- ment, she added, pointing towards Miss Eridge and Mr. Sherborne, " There go one pair of happy lovers, at least !" EVELYN HARCOURT. 2 1 3 " Lovers !" cried Evelyn, as a pang of un- utterable bitterness shot through her heart. " Lovers ! — your cousin and Helen !" " You look astonished. Have you any doubt of it ?" ** They know each other so little — they never met till lately ; and I thought — I was told...." " That my cousin was engaged to me — is not that what you were going to say ? Ah, well ! it was so reported, I know : one of the on dits of society, because I happen to have money, and he has not ; but there never was a word of truth in it, I do assure you. Arthur is a good creature, and I have a great regard for him, and admiration, and all that ; but, as for marrying him, it is the last thing I should dream of. He would bore me to death — he is infinitely too clever for me — too exalted.... I should die of it !" Evelyn looked at her with unfeigned asto- nishment. And this was the person whom she 214 EVELYN HARCOURT. had believed to be devoted to Mr. Sherborne, whose whole soul she had imagined was wrapped up in him ! — She w^as conscious of a sensation of relief even at that moment ; it was happiness to know that from Ladj Annette, at least, he was safe — one too so little capable of appre- ciating him ! But soon the sickening recol- lection of Helen returned. Could Helen, in- deed, be playing so false a part, as to seek to win his affections for herself, after all that she had discovered, too, so lately? Some- thing told her that it could not be so ; yet she remembered the enthusiastic admiration with which she had lately spoken of him — she, who was so seldom enthusiastic about any body ; and her mind felt disturbed and wretched. Turning to her companion, she inquired, as calmly as she could, what reasons she had for supposing that Mr. Sherborne and Helen were lovers. EVELYN HARCOURT. 215 Lady Annette seemed astonished at the question. " Their whole conduct," she said, " was a proof of it ; she could scarcely con- ceive how any two persons could show their partiality more plainly. Miss Eridge seemed to have eyes and ears for Mr. Sherborne alone ; and as for him, he certainly always contrived, somehow or other, to be where she was. The other day, when they had all ridden to Chiswick together, whom had he talked to but her? — and to-day, what could be thought of their conduct to-day ? His manoeuvres to go in the same carriage with her ; their con- versation almost exclusively addressed to one another during the drive, most of it inaudible to the others ! What could two people do more to prove their regard, their preference, for each other's society ?... Perhaps, however. Miss Eridge was a flirt." *' 'No, no," cried Evelyn, hurriedly, " it is not in her nature to flirt." " Then what can one suppose, but that cela 216 EVELYN HARCOURT. devient serieuj? — mais tres serieuw meme! I cannot wonder you are annoyed ; your friend has no fortune, I understand, and Ar- thur inherited nothing from his father but debts. It is true, he has paid many of them off, and he is making mints just now by his works ; but, after all, fashion is very uncer- tain, and a bad provision to marry upon, at any rate." Evelyn made no answer — she was wonder- ing to herself what any one could see in this world worth living for. Every thing was so hollow, so distasteful ; disappointment was Inrking every where. Had Lady Annette's object been to make her thoroughly miserable, she could not have succeeded better ; but, to do her justice, she was innocent of any such intention. She was not indeed quite clear that Evelyn had not at one time entertained some sort of preference for Mr. Sherborne herself; but, whether this had or had not been the case, she really did EVELYN HARCOURT. 217 believe it was Helen Eridge who was capti- vating him now, and that most completely. The truth was, Lady Annette loved her cousin herself, and it had been from no want of encouragement on her own part, nor that of her father, that Arthur Sherborne had not returned her attachment. She had sought to captivate him by every means in her power ; and, although it suited her pride, which had been cruelly mortified by his indifference, to declare that the report of their engagement was wholly without foundation, yet the fact was, that that report had originated in cer- tain words of the noble Earl himself, incau- tiously uttered on an occasion when joviality had got the better of discretion, and ex- pressing a fervent hope, as well as expectation, that his nephew would one day become his son-in-law. These words were repeated with certain additions ; and they ended in pro- ducing an explanation from Arthur Sherborne himself, which completely put a stop to all VOL. I. L 218 EVELYN HARCOURT. hopes of the kind for the future, though it could not destroy Lady Annette's attachment. She still regarded, with the utmost dislike and jealousy, any one whom she imagined him to prefer. At one time, she had been jealous of Evelyn, but this had long since passed away. Mr. Sherborne had formerly talked of her, and praised her beauty, her simplicity ; but lately he had not even mentioned her name. It was not likely, indeed, that a girl like Miss Harcourt should stoop to care for one who, with all his talents and noto- riety, was still but a younger son, and not even a rich one. But Helen Bridge — she feared that was altogether a different matter. Helen Bridge had neither money, as she believed, nor high connexions, nor even great beauty to recom- mend her ; and she might well be proud to connect herself with one whose family was noble and ancient as any in the land, whose name was ringing throughout Europe, and EVELYN HARCOURT. 219 whose works were beginning to be translated into almost every language. Such an alliance would indeed be a brilliant one for her, and she was therefore to be feared. Lady Annette regarded her not only with fear, but with aversion also. But Evelyn's feelings were even more bitter than Lady Annette's ; she felt as if the world had suddenly become a blank to her ; her judgment was for the time completely ob- scured, and she could no longer trust one human being. Helen, her sister, the com- panion of her childhood, had turned against her ; had sought to deprive her of what was far dearer than life ; and now, what remained to her? Who could she confide in hence- forth? Life and its pleasures were over for her, and she passionately longed to die. It all seemed clear now, too clear; and busy memory recalled innumerable little cir- cumstances, which she wondered at herself for having overlooked before ; — all proofs to L 2 220 EVELYN HARCOURT. her distorted fancy of the existence of the evil which she had but just learnt to dread, but which each instant served to confirm more and more strongly. The rest of that day passed she knew not how — it all seemed like a painful and weary dream. The tedious dinner, the flat conver- sation, the sickening gaiety of some, the worse dulness of others — all seemed to her intolerable at the time, though afterwards she retained but an indistinct recollection of it. But she remembered, with a painful clear- ness, the evident desire of Mr. Sherborne to get next Helen at dinner ; his look of satis- faction when he succeeded ; and the earnest tone of the conversation that followed. All this she had observed, and it ate into her soul with all those burning sensations of jealous rage, which nearly madden the brain that feels them ! She fancied, too, that Helen was conscious of her observation, and that she strove to discourage his attentions when her EVELYN HARCOURT. 221 eje was upon them ; but that their conver- sation was instantly resumed whenever she turned away from them, and with greater interest than ever. Oh, who can describe the misery of that drive home ! Evelyn had but one earnest wish — that anguish had power to destroy ! — If it were but possible to die of mental suf- fering as of bodily disease, she should not linger long, she felt assured. And there were Arthur and Helen in the carriage before her, still conversing together, as though unconscious that there was one not far off, who was learning her first bitter lesson of the nature of jealousy — beginning to con- ceive what might be the sensations of despair ! When she arrived in Grosvenor Square, she instantly took refuge in Lady Truro's room, where she knew that Helen could not pene- trate ; and, desiring Deschamps to tell Miss Eridge that she meant to pass the night with her cousin, she presently stole up to her own 222 EVELYN HARCOURT. room, and having fastened the door, threw herself down on a chair by the open window, like one stupified. And it was not till the morning light had begun to penetrate into the chamber that she at length undressed, and fell into a troubled and feverish slumber. EVELYN HARCOURT. 223 CHAPTER XI. Iphtgenie. Vous Taimez! Que faisois-je? et quelle erreur fatale ATa fait entre mes bras recevoir ma rivale ? Perfide ! cet affront peut-il se pardonner ? CORNEILLE. Pharcismane. D'ou vient done aujourdhui ce secret entretien S'il est vrai qu'en ces lieux tu ne medites rien. Arsame. Ce n'est pas un secret qu'on puisse reveler; Un interet sacre me defend de parler. Ibid. Evelyn slept late the following morning ; and awoke at last with a confused and weary sense of some impending evil. Who has not, at one time or another of life, experienced this most painful sensation — the consciousness of some unexplained weight upon the spirit — of something dreadful that either has occurred 224 EVELYN HARCOURT. or is about to occur ; of some misfortune that cannot be averted ? For my own part, I have always thought that nothing on earth is worse to bear than the first waking from the sound and dreamless sleep that not unfre- quently succeeds to the excitement of violent sorrow ! It is some time before the mind becomes alive to the reality of its misery — to the remembrance of all that has gone before ; and as, little by little, the soft, mysterious veil which sleep has cast over the wrung heart and heavy brain is withdrawn, the stern, hard, relentless grief — perhaps Death itself — appears in view, and the soul is born again to an anguish rendered doubly bitter by the welcome rest, the total oblivion, that has pre- ceded it. In short, just in the same manner as the sensations that accompany the resto- ration of suspended animation are far more exquisitely painful than those immediately preceding death, so, in my opinion, the first waking up from sleep, after an overwhelming EVELYN HARCOURT. 225 misfortune, is often infinitely worse than the very moments of its actual occurrence. When Evelyn awoke that morning, she gazed around her with a strange kind of surprise at the novelty of her own sensations. What had happened ? Was it some fearful dream, whose influence she could not shake off, that haunted her ?.... All that surrounded her ap- peared the same as usual, but something was changed ! — could it be herself ?... Then, gra- dually, by little and little, she began to recall to mind each separate incident of the pre- ceding day, till at length the whole of the suffering that had been crowded into the short space of a few hours came rushing back upon her, and overwhelmed her with its fearful re- collection. Then it all became real enough, and her heart sank within her at the prospect of the weary life to which she must in future look forward. For what hope had she in the world?. ...He loved her not !.... he loved ano- ther!..., L 5 226 EVELYN HARCOURT. She was told that Miss Bridge had been more than once to her bedside already, but had gone away again, desiring she might not be disturbed. Evelyn rejoiced that she had done so. Above all things, she most dreaded seeing Helen — she could scarcely bear to think of her with tolerable composure — Helen, whom but till yesterday she had loved and trusted as her own soul ! — The more she reflected, the more incredible did it seem to her that she should have con- tinued so long blind to the evidences of that mutual though somewhat sudden regard which she was now but too well convinced had sprung up between her friend and Mr. Sher- borne. But that that friend should have suffered her to remain in ignorance of it — nay, should have actually striven to conceal it from her, and after wringing from her, as it were, her own secret — the confession of her love — should have sought to win from her the heart of him she worshipped — was a degree EVELYN HARCOURT. 227 of treacherous duplicity too dreadful almost to be contemplated ! Yet that it was so, there could not be a doubt. She presently descended to Lady Truro, whom she found in unusual agitation. Lord Truro had just announced that their depar- ture to the continent must take place con- siderably sooner than had been intended — in a few days at farthest ; and his wife was quite overcome by the scene that had occurred between them. Evelyn felt a kind of malicious exultation at this intelligence. It was true, their hastened departure would separate her all the sooner from Mr. Sherborne, but Helen would be separated from him, too ; and there was comfort in that thought — unless, indeed, he should propose to her first — unless he had proposed to her already. As these ideas passed rapidly through the mind of Evelyn, she descended to the draw- ing-room. It was better to get the meeting 228 EVELYN HARCOURT. with Helen over as soon as possible ; it must take place — the sooner the better, therefore ! " Where is Miss Eridge ?" she inquired of a servant w^hom she met on the stairs. " Miss Eridge is in the pink drawing-room, I believe, ma'am." Evelyn turned towards it. She opened the door ; Helen was not there, but she fan- cied she heard her voice beyond. She ad- vanced towards the conservatory, penetrated to the boudoir, and there, standing close to- gether, apparently in earnest conversation, were — Helen and Mr. Sherborne ! Evelyn stood petrified at the sight. All was indeed confirmed — all was over!.... Despair lent her calmness. With a cold, haughty bow to Mr. Sherborne, and a slight apology for her intrusion, she retreated in haste, utterly disregarding the entreaties of both that she would remain ; and, rushing up stairs with the speed of lightning, she once more took refuge in her own room. EVELYN HARCOURT. 229 And when, half an hour afterwards, Helen, who was miserable about her, went up to seek her, she found her door locked ; and it was not till after repeated entreaties for admittance that she succeeded in obtaining even as much as a word in reply. At length, however, Evelyn did open the door, standing herself so as to oppose all entrance, and, in a cold, sullen voice, inquired what she w^anted. " Oh ! Evelyn ! dear Evelyn ! do not speak to me so !" cried Helen, almost in tears. " Let me come in for a few moments — will you not?" Evelyn moved aside, and, having admitted her, seated herself without uttering a syl- lable, and fixed her eyes sullenly on the ground. " You are angry, Evelyn — I see it ; and I cannot but suspect the cause ! But, oh ! how can you do me such injustice as to suppose, for one moment. ..." "To suppose what?" interrupted Evelyn, 230 EVELYN HARCOURT. raising her eyes, and fixing them upon Helen with an indefinable expression. *' I hope I may be wrong, dear Evelyn, but I feared You thought it strange to find Mr. Sherborne with me just now." " I ! — by no means !■ — After his conduct of yesterday, it seemed to me the most natural thing in the world that he should seek you to-day ! only what one would ex- pect...." " Oh ! Evelyn, if it were but in my power — but it is not ! I may not tell you the reason of his seeking me." " Spare yourself the trouble, I beg ; I can well imagine it." "No, you cannot — you are far, far from imagining it — it has nothing whatever to do with what you fancy. ...with myself!" " And for what purpose then, may I ask, was he here this morning ? Did he not come to see 2/ou f " "He did; but,..." EVELYN HARCOURT. 231 " Why did he come ? — Tell me that ! quick! quick !" " I cannot, Evelyn ; I am under a solemn promise not to mention the cause of his coming ; but it was not for me ! it was some- thing connected " " And you expect me to believe that it was not for you! Go; I am not the fool, the dupe you imagine. What ! do you suppose people have no eyes ? Your mutual feelings are apparent to all the world ! one must indeed be blind not to see them ; every one remarked upon them yesterday ! every one thought . . ." " I rejoice to hear it, Evelyn ; — it is at least some excuse for you — can you remember our long friendship — our childhood passed together — and yet doubt my word ?" " What was his object this morning ? Tell me that, and I may believe you." " I cannot; I have promised not to tell it ; for some time, at least. — It concerned another: and . . . ." 232 EVELYN HARCOURT. A sadden gleam of hope shot through Evelyn's heart, like a ray of light from Heaven. " Tell me but this !'' she exclaimed with inexpressible eagerness — " Was his object in any way connected with me ? . . . . was it ... . oh, was it " It would be hard to say which felt the bitterest pang the moment after, — she, who must destroy the new-born hope that had but just begun to bless that troubled heart, — or she, who learnt that she had hoped in vain. But Helen did not waver. She felt it would be no kindness to encourage hopes which she had but too good reason to fear were without foundation. ^* It was not in any way connected with you, dear Evelyn," said she decidedly. — " If it had been, do you think I should not have told you so directly ? It was a person you do not even know. Would that I could think EVELYN HARCOURT. 233 he loves you ; but, alas ! of that I feel no cer- tainty — sometimes even — little hope." Until that moment Evelyn had retained her composure, and she kept her eyes fixed upon her companion with a cold, sullen, impenetrable expression ; — but no sooner were these words uttered, than her features changed with incon- ceivable rapidity — her eyes seemed literally to flash fire — and her whole form to dilate with the most vehement passion. " Stop, stop !" she cried, with fearful vio- lence. *' This is more than I can bear ! Is it not enough that you have basely sought to captivate the affections of him I love — that you have abused my confidence — stung my very soul — and now you turn upon me, and insult me by such words as these ! I will not bear it ! — Thank God ! we are to part immediately ! I am grateful for it ! I could not continue to live thus ! I could not en- dure what I have done the last twenty-four hours, and keep my reason Thank God ! 234 EVELYN HARCOURT. we set off in three days — only three days more !" " No, Evelyn — not three days, not three hours — if you really wish to part from me — if you disbelieve my word ! I will go at once — I will not stay when you suffer from my presence !" Evelyn was silent. " Oh ! Evelyn ! will you not speak one kind word to me?" cried Helen, bursting into tears. — " At least, let us part friends. I do not wish to stay, I am sure — nothing should tempt me to do so now ; but at least let us not part in anger ! — Indeed — indeed I have not injured you ! — Say one farewell to me." " Farewell !" said Evelyn ; and her heart half relented ; but then the thought came across her that that outstretched hand had lately been clasped in his ; — perhaps even was already promised to him — and her soul burned with agonizing jealousy at the bare idea. EVELYN HARCOURT. 285 And she scarcely touched the proffered hand, but turned away. "Oh, Evelyn ! the day will come when you will repent this — when you will know how wrong you were. But I will pray for you — yes ! I can still do that !".... And in another moment Helen was gone. Evelyn felt bewildered. The tumult of her passion was such, that she was incapable of judgment or of reflection. There are not many natures like hers, and it is fortunate that there are not. The suffering of weeks of ordinary beings was concentrated in a few hours of her intense emotions, and with the game impetuosity that she loved did she now suffer from the agony, the degradation, of havinof loved in vain. Her mind was over- wrought — utterly unstrung ! She was blinded by the violence of her prejudices. To her, there seemed at that time not the shadow of a doubt of Helen's duplicity — of her attach- ment to Mr. Sherborne. Helen's solemn 236 EVELYN HARCOURT. assurances, her indignant denial of the whole, went for nothing in her mind ; Helen was his, and he was lost to her for ever ! Hour after hour passed away, and still she sat there — silent — motionless — in the same attitude. She felt abandoned by all the world ! — alone in her misery — no one could sym- pathize with her — no one could conceive what she endured. It was not till many hours after that she was roused by a message from Lady Truro, requesting to see her in her dressing-room. She found Lady Annette there, in the act of informing Lady Truro, in confidence, of her own conviction that Mr. Sherborne had only a few hours before proposed to Miss Bridge, for that, to her knowledge, they had had a private interview that morning; — and this circum- stance, coupled with the equally astonishing fact of Miss Eridge being actually gone two hours ago — set off suddenly with her maid upon the plea of unexpected news, which ren- EVELYN HARCOURT. 237 dered her departure necessary — made it cer- tainly appear somewhat probable that these suspicions were correct. Evelyn commanded herself to listen with apparent calmness. She felt it was better to know the worst at once — to have no doubt remaining in her own mind — she could now give herself up entirely to her despair. Mr. Sherborne called the next day in Gros- venor Square ; but Lady Truro was not visible, and Evelyn of course did not see him. She ascertained, however, that he had inquired at what hour Miss Eridge had departed the pre- vious morning, and also what was Mr. Eridge's post-town. She further discovered, by means of Deschamps, that, previous to her departure, Helen had written a note to Mr. Sherborne, which she had left with one of the servants, to be taken to his lodgings as soon as possible. What further confirmation of their engagement was needed ?...In her opinion, none !... 288 EVELYN HARCOURT. How the next few days passed, Evelyn could scarcely tell ! It was all like a strange and troubled dream, from which she vainly endeavoured to rouse herself ! She had indeed a distinct remembrance, afterwards, of Lady Truro's having commented upon her evident depression and absence of mind, and inquired the cause — and of sundry hints about the Duke of Shetland and his absence as con- nected with that depression — but with the exception of this, and a few other circum- stances that for some reason had made a slio'ht impression upon her mind, all the rest that occurred during this short period was for- gotten, obliterated — almost as though it had never been. Wherever she went, whatever she did, there was one miserable, overpower- ing certainty ever present to her mind — he loved her not ! — he loved Helen ! And all that seemed beautiful and inspiring before now suddenly lost its charm for this young girl ! The sky was no longer bright — EVELYN HARCOURT. 239 the summer air no longer balmy — the placid moon and countless stars on which, in the still hours of night, she had lately so loved to gaze, whilst dreaming that his eyes were also di- rected there — no longer beamed upon her with their own soft and mysterious light ; — his image, which had hallowed every page of that enchanted lore he had first opened to her view, no longer smiled upon her as at first, encouraging her efforts, smoothing away her difiiculties, cheering her lonely and pensive labours ; — the music of his voice, which she ever fondly fancied she could hear, whilst reading again and again the exquisite produc- tions of his own unrivalled genius, was mute for her.... A gloom seemed to have encom- passed all things, and all that was beautiful and happy in creation had vanished from her sight!... The world had become suddenly darkened ! 240 EVELYN HARCOURT. CHAPTEE XII. In manners vain, In conversation frivolous, in dress Extreme. COWPER. Believe me, you are marvellously changed. Merchant of Venice. Ote moi cet objet, je ne le puis soufifrir. CORNEILLE. Mrs. Harry Eridge was a very odd person — one of those people about whom most of their acquaintance shake their heads, look wise, and declare that " they are utterly unaccount- able — utterly !" and the rest very charitably determine that they are undoubtedly mad ! But Mrs. Eridge was not mad, although she constantly acted as if she were ; she was only exceedingly capricious, violent in her temper, EVELYN HARCOURT. 241 and fond of affecting singularity. She had married for love ; but this had not prevented her from making the object of her attachment utterly wretched during the period of their union. The truth was, she could not exist without some one to torment. As long as her husband had lived, she had existed very well upon tormenting him, and since his death she had done her best to supply his place by tor- menting the children he had left, with occa- sional intervals of rapturous fondness for them, which she was always astonished and indignant to find they did not reciprocate. Her father, a younger son of good family, had been poor, but extravagant ; and her mother, a Duke's daughter, still more so. How this fashionable pair had contrived to scramble on at all, no one could exactly tell ; but they had scrambled on from day to day and from year to year, and that was all they could hope to do. Lady Anne Percy had died whilst her daughters were yet in the school-room, and VOL. I. M 242 EVELYN HARCOURT. from that period, Beatrice, the eldest, had become, in a manner, mistress of her sisters and of the whole family. The education of these girls had been ter- ribly neglected ; indeed, they could scarcely be said to have had any at all, and they grew up almost without principles — in short, with just as much good as nature gave them, and no more. When they had " come out," as it is called, they visited about amongst their high and rich connexions, and contracted habits of extravagance little calculated to render them either contented daughters at home, or good wives to men of moderate pre- tensions. Their father, finding he derived little domestic comfort from them, soon mar- ried again, a young and pretty woman, to their infinite disgust ; and then they were seized, one and all, with the most intense longing to escape from the paternal roof, which became more and more intolerable to them, as each year brought with it an addition to the EVELYN HARCOURT. 243 already overstocked family, in the shape of a squalling infant of enormous dimensions and the most robust constitution. In a couple of years they had all married, and all badly, in a worldly point of view; nevertheless, some of them were happy, (those whose dispositions were in themselves calcu- lated for happiness) and one or two even made good wives and mothers. Beatrice, however, whose match had been considered the best at the time, proved the least con- tented with her lot ; but then it was evident to all that, under no possible circumstances, could Beatrice ever have been happy. Indeed, she never had been so. — not even as a child. Since the death of her husband, she had lived almost entirely abroad, preferring the freedom and laisser oiler of a life on the con- tinent to the greater confinement and regu- larity of an English home. She had seen but little of her sisters, still less of the children of her father's second marriage, with the excep- M 2 244 EVELYN HARCOURT. tion of Frederic, her stepmother's eldest son. She did condescend to like him, in her own singular, uncertain, and capricious manner; but of the rest she always spoke with a kind of contemptuous bitterness, as though it were utterly unpardonable in them to have been born at all. Mrs. Eridge had not had a single sixpence settled upon her by her father at her marriage. It was all he could do to struggle on himself, find food for his numerous tribe, and get his sons fairly launched in the various professions they were to follow. He could not attempt to provide fortunes for his daughters. Frederic, however, was better off than the rest of the family, for an old third cousin, who had been fond of him as a child, had left him three hundred a year, besides presenting him with his commission ; so that he was looked upon by his brothers and sisters as a kind of inde- pendent and good-humoured Croesus ! How much of that three hundred a year found its EVELYN HARCOURT. ^45 way into the pocket of his mother, or became invested in the transitory shape of frocks and coats for her numerous progeny, cannot be ascertained, for he was never known to divulge such secrets; but certain it is that he did spend his income, and yet not upon himself, for his own personal expenses were few, and his wishes singularly moderate. No one was ever yet so surrounded by poor relations on all sides as Fred Percy — families of nephews and nieces, all growing up around him, each more unprovided for than the rest, all looking up to him as the guardian-angel — the protector and influential man of their race. " Ask Uncle Fred !" was the general cry in doubt or emergency of any kind. — " ril write to your brother Frederic, and ask him what steps I should take about the boy !'' was the satisfactory answer of his brothers-in- law to their wives, in anxious debates about those overgrown boys whose spirits were fired with ambitious ardour to strut in uniform. — 246 EVELYN HARCOURT. " Fred will talk to him when he comes, and bring him to his senses, if anything can !" was the comforting conclusion in the mind of his father, when any one of his younger sons, with a soul above goosequills, revolted against the clerkship in a country business, procured not without immense difficulty, or even perhaps the writership to India, obtained by means of an unceasing solicitation and powerful interest. In short, Frederic was the guide and support as well as the pride of his family ; and nobody knew what anybody would do without Fred ! His popularity, too, was reflected back upon his relations ; every one was disposed to be kind to a brother of Fred Percy's, and' to go out of their way to give him a lift. He was such a deuced good fellow himself ! Mrs. Bridge was proud of his popularity, and she was always endeavouring to instil into his mind that he might marry well — that he might benefit his family immensely if he mar- ried as he ought. He would be inexcusable EVELYN HARCOURT. 247 indeed, if, with his opportunities, he did not make a most excellent match. Although he was far from returning her partiality, yet, as he sincerely pitied his un- fortunate nephews and nieces who were under her capricious and tyrannical control, he made a point of going to see her as often as he could, and these visits were looked for- ward to as glimpses of heaven by them. His influence could obtain for them what nothing else could ; and, whilst he remained, all was comparative peace. At the time of which we speak, it so hap- pened that Paris was unusually dull, and Mrs. Harry had been suddenly seized with an uncontrollable desire to behold her sisters once more, and introduce her daughters to her various relations. Accordingly, one fine day, to the great astonishment of everybody, she made her appearance in England ; and having saluted her father, gone into hysterics 248 EVELYN HARCOURT. over his gray hairs, and shocked her step- mother by her strong disapprobation of her half sisters, she next proceeded to the abode of her own favourite sister, once a lively, merry, ambitious girl, but now the sober, matter-of-fact wife of a country rector, and the mother of six chubby children. Poor Mrs. Heneage, whose thoughts were centred in Little Upton Parsonage, was com- pletely upset by the arrival of Beatrice and her two daughters. What on earth was she to do with them ? — Beatrice, with her strange temper, her horror of everything English, and her impudent French maid without a cap ! Mrs. Heneage's own cap nearly flew off her head in virtuous indignation at the turpitude of that maid ! Such an example to female servants in general, and to the female servants of the Rectory in particular .'...And when she was always putting up Mr. H. to preach against the love of finery, and vanity of female apparel ! Then the Miss Bridges, with their EVELYN HARCOURT. 249 French idioms — their dresses fitting so tight to their shapes, and their hair done so beau- tifully smooth — how would her own two square, stumpy girls, with their red hands, rough plaits, and shining cheeks, ever get on with them ? To be sure, they looked good- natured enough ; but of course they had been brought up to despise everybody and every- thing not Parisian. And what was poor Mr. Heneage to do, who could never endure a noise, and who abo- minated everything French with the virulent hatred of which only a narrow-minded John Bull is capable ? How would he ever endure such an influx of noise, and worldliness, and foreign trash ? The sisters had not met for years, and Mrs. Eridge had never been at Little Upton Rec- tory in her life. She had always entertained a very decided contempt for its master, whom she considered as little better than a cabbage- stalk ; and she had told her sister at the time M 5 250 EVELYN HARCOURT. of her marriage that she was throwing her- self completely away upon such a man, and would henceforth become a mere vegetable herself. For some years after, whenever she had condescended to write to the female vegetable, she had not been able to resist making some allusion of a sneering nature to the male ditto, then only a poor curate; which, even if it could be supposed to be gratifying to the feelings of his wife, could scarcely be so to his own, should he chance to overlook the letter. But then his name was Andrew ! — and who could bear a man whose name was Andrew ? — not Mrs. Harry Eridge, certainly ! For some time past, however, she had trans- ferred her antipathy from Andrew to another brother-in-law, whom even she could not accuse of resemblance to a vegetable, but who, being a strong-minded, acute, well- judging lawyer, had taken the liberty of par- ticularly disapproving of her mode of pro- EVELYN HARCOURT. 251 ceeding in general, and more especially of her manner of spending her income, about which she had once in a weak moment consulted him. Poor Andrew had, consequently, been latterly left in peace. But, though Mrs. Harry had forgotten much of the past, and had perhaps never, in her consummate selfishness, been even conscious of the pain she had inflicted, Mrs. Heneage could not forget it ; and now, when years and ties had attached her to her slow but excel- lent partner with a fervour which nothing but death could destroy, she could hardly bear to think of the period when a few satirical re- marks, from a sister she did not esteem, had power to make her feel ashamed of that ex- cellent companion, who had been so true to her through life. If she could have made any decent excuse for not receiving her sister at Little Upton, she would have done so ; but there was no possibility of it. Mrs- Bridge had written to 252 EVELYN HARCOURT. announce her coming the day before she set off from London, and, before a letter of ex- cuses could leave the Rectory, she would have made her appearance there. The meeting of the sisters was really ab- surd. Mrs. Heneage had grown matter-of- fact and nervous as she grew older ; and she had attained that time of life when it is more natural to make a quiet and almost impercep- tible curtsey, than to seize a person round the neck and devour them with vehement kisses. Mrs. Harry, on the other hand, was just now in the humour for scenes. She had worked herself up into a belief that she must be dreadfully agitated on beholding her sister, and she thought fit to picture her to herself as she had been when they last met — a pretty, slight, delicate-looking creature, nursing a lovely baby of a few months old. But when she rushed into the drawing- room, which looked as matter-of-fact and homely as its inhabitants, and exclaimed. EVELYN HARCOURT. 253 " Oil est-elle f ou est-elle f cette hien'aimte Elisabeth f " and up rose Mrs. Heneage's plump figure with as much haste as her quiet habits would allow, the revulsion of feeling was too great. Putting her hands before her eyes, (having first assured herself of the im- mediate vicinity of a sofa) Mrs. Eridge sank down, murmuring, '^ Ah ! je me meurs ! ce n'est plus mon Elisabeth /" and had a com- fortable hysteric, not a little to the conster- nation and amazement of all parties concerned, but chiefly to that of the beet-root-cheeked maid, who had never beheld such an exhibition in her whole life before. This seemed a bad beginning; but much more was yet to come — scenes were to be the order of the day. There was another ''foi- blesse,'' as Mrs. Harry called it, over " cette chlre Elisabeth'^ " altered figure, when she escorted her to her bed-room to dress for dinner ; and poor Elizabeth had to endure re- proaches for her indifference and unkindness 254 EVELYN HARCOURT. in not having a ^^foiblesse " herself. In vain she protested that it was not her way, and that, if .9^6 were altered in appearance, Beatrice really was hardly at all so. Nothing would do ! Mrs. Harry was '^ the most ill- used, least ap- preciated, most neglected being upon earth : nobody cared for her — nobody comprehended her. To her own children, as well as to every one else, she was a ^'femme incomprise.'" Mrs. Heneage turned inquiringly to the daughters ; — the eldest smiled meaningly — " It is only mamma's way !" whispered she. " She will be better presently — when dinner is over." Excuses were made for Mr. Heneage, who was too unwell to appear. He was afraid he was about to have a fit of gout — he had had some sharp twinges the previous night, and he would, therefore, not leave his room this evening. To-morrow, he hoped he should be able to see his sister-in-law, and do the honours of his own house. EVELYN HARCOURT. 255 There were no hysterics upon this announce- ment ; indeed, it seemed rather to have a calming tendency — and poor Elizabeth, awed by the degage look with which the impudent French maid surveyed her cap, sneaked out of the room, to repeat, for the twentieth time, to her own unsophisticated maiden, who had but lately emerged from the village school, the injunction that the young ladies were to have on their best frocks for dinner, and that the cook was to take unheard-of pains with the dinner. "Ah fa ! Elisabeth ! I must see your children !" graciously observed Mrs. Eridge, when the dessert was placed on the table ; " how many have you ?" " Six ; — but the boys are at school, just now, I am sorry to say !" " SiJ^ ! ah, c'est affreuoc ! mais, enfin, il faut les voir, ces petits anges ! Above all, I must see the enchantinor anp^el I remember..." " Anne !" ^56 EVELYN HARCOURT. " Ah, yes I — Anne — " Mrs. Heneage immediately desired the young ladies might be summoned ; and, in the space of a few minutes, in they came, their faces still red with the extra washing and scrubbing bestowed upon them by Martha, in her anxious desire to carry out her mis- tress's directions, and to " do them justice." They were not ugly, but they were tho- roughly British-looking, awkward, and un- gainly. Their gowns were ill made, their shoulders high, their arms red, and they wore very red coral necklaces, and long gloves of a yellowish colour, drawn up very high indeed. Full of awe of their cousins, and yet eager curiosity to behold them, in they marched — the eldest, a great, overgrown girl, with a short thick waist, leading the way. But what was their consternation, when, on their mo- ther taking Anne, the second, by the hand, and pointing her out by name to Mrs. Bridge, that lady uttered a piercing shriek, and. EVELYN HARCOURT. 257 covering her face with her hands, fell back in her chair, apparently overcome with horror. " Good heavens !" cried Mrs. Heneage, ex- cessively alarmed ; " what is the matter now, sister ?" " Oh ! take her away ! take her away !" cried Mrs. Harry, covering her face with one hand, and with the other pointing to Anne — " That the beautiful angel I saw ! Ah ! quelle horreur !.,. Why, it's Monsieur Heneage lui-meme! Elle lid ressemble comme deux gouttes (Teaic ! Take her away ! My nerves won't stand this ! — Je me sens maL,.ah.,, .'" There was a general confusion ; and the unfortunate Anne, who was guilty of so strong a resemblance to her father, sought to conceal herself behind her sisters, but in vain. " Mamma is not well to-day," whispered Adelaide to Mrs. Heneage. " She is often like this when she has been much excited, but it will go off presently. You do not under- stand her yet !" 258 EVELYN HARCOURT. " No ! nor ever shall !" thought poor Mrs. Heneage, who was nearly at her wits' end. Anne was speedily banished from the scene of action, and flew to increase, if possible, the curiosity and astonishment of the maids, which had already been worked up almost beyond endurance by the strange tales Made- moiselle Pulcherie Aimee Zemire Felicite Petit Pierre had to tell of her eccentric mis- tress, and her wonderful sayings and doings. Decidedly, if Mrs. Harry had come to Little Upton with the determination of en- lightening its inhabitants as to how singular and disagreeable she could make herself, she could not have succeeded better. Her con- duct the whole of this first eveninof was a series of oddities ! — " Making tea in the drawing-room," she declared, " was an abo- mination that no words could sufficiently condemn; — it was enough to determine any one to leave England altogether. How could dear Elizabeth allow her daughters to degrade EVELYN HARCOURT. 259 themselves by such a practice — worthy only of barbarians ? How could she hope that any well -judging man — any one, comme il faut, would marry girls who were known — actually known — unblushingly — to make tea in the drawing-room, and not only to make it, but apparently to glory in making it !" " Mais, c'est inconcevable, ces modes an- glaises ! — c'est emhetant, pa! Ilfaut venir ct Paris, ma cMrie'' " No, thank you, Beatrice ; I prefer my own country. To me, there's no place like home !" " Ah I c'est inoui /" — Her last words, as her sister accompanied her to her room, were comforting — " Merci bien, ma chlre ! — spent a ravishing evening — ^but these campagnes ! they are sad to die ! The town, ah ! the town ! speak to me of that ! On ne s'ennuie pas en ville, il faut avoiier. — Bonsoir, cJier ange,..'' 260 EVELYN HARCOURT. CHAPTER XIII. Reconnois la voix qui frappe ton oreille. CORNEILLE. Thus always teasing others — always teased — Her only pleasure is — to be displeased. COWPER. ... Ah ! why with us delight to rest ! Hence — far away — tormenting Power, Unwelcome Guest! . . . Ah ! foe to peace ! from us remove Thy dreaded sway. Mrs. Hemans. ^'Ah! quelle chaleur insupportable I mats on etouffe ipV were the first words poor Mr. Heneage heard uttered at his bedside, by a voice whose accents had never at any time sounded pleasingly in his ears. What with the sentiment it gave utterance to now, and his unmitigated horror of the French language EVELYN HARCOURT. 261 at any time, he felt in for a sharper fit of gout than usual. ^^ Eh Men, mon ami; et comment pa va-filf Mais, vous voilcl afft^euseinent clianffel vous avez Vair (Tim moiirant. It makes fear — cela fait peur. But one cannot wonder, avec cela quHl y a ifi une odeur abominable de drogues, Pouah ! cela ejnpeste ! Tenez, je rtCen vais vous Jeter toutes ces horreurs lei par lafenMre — by the window. Permettez,...''' " Good gracious, ma'am ! I beg you will do no such thing ! — those medicines are essen- tial to me. And allow me to say, ma'am, that as I am but an indifferent French scholar, if not disagreeable to you, I should prefer the use of the mother tongue whilst we converse. I never studied French." " Ah ! what pity ! Mais il est encore temps ! — My faith ! what a wicked nightcap ! — quel mediant bonnet de nuit I Mais est ce qn'on porte une chose semblable f Dieu ! que cela vous rend laid /" 262 EVELYN HARCOURT. *' I am sorry my nightcap does not satisfy you, madam. — This visit is a great honour, and I rejoice to see you well." " Me well ! ah, par e^emple ! qui est-ce qui vous a dit fa f Me well ! when I am dying of ills of chest — absolutely dying of ills of chest ! c'est singulier, fa, par esemple .'.... Mais c'est une horreur, que ce bonnet de nuit idr " My wife informed me, madam, that you seemed in excellent health." " She inform you ! — she know nothing of me, your wife ; with that that no one care for me — no one understand my constitution — my ills ! My children ! they absolutely detest me ! — It is hardly believable." " I hope not, ma'am ! I hope not !" " But I tell you that yes ! — and my own family, they absolutely render me foolish ! They feel no more for my ills of chest than if I were an old shoe ! C'est inoui /" " Really, madam, I cannot believe...." EVELYN HARCOURT. 263 " But I beg, sir, you not contradict me ! I know these things, I assure you, my good Mr. a... a... and I suffer with a patience ab- solutely of a martyr. Ma poitrine me tue ! I know it! — however, I submit...." " I hope, madam, your fears may exceed the reality. I believe disease of the chest generally manifests itself by very consider- able...." '* Mais non, je vous dis I But now, my good Mr. a...., when I tell you that to con- tradict me is certain death — absolutely cer- tain death.... My ills of nerves are so cruel, that the smallest contradiction.... Ah ! I shall have one of my ills of nerves now — on the instant.... Ah !...." " Oh ! e:oodness forbid !" cried the unfor- tunate Mr. Heneage, ringing his bell with ex- traordinary violence. " Have one moment's patience, my dear madam ! wait till some one comes !" But Mrs. Bridge's ills of nerves could not 264 EVELYN HARCOURT. wait any more than their mistress ; and, when the servant appeared, he found himself de- stined to the pleasing task of supporting the strange lady out of the room, as he best might ; whilst his unfortunate master lay suf- fering under ills of nerves somewhat more real than those of Mrs. Bridge. " Ma femme de chanibre, sur le champ .'" cried that lady. '' Je me meurs /" '' Ma'am !" '' Ma femme de chambre, Nigaud.'' "Nego! — negus, I suppose, she means. — Beg pardon, ma'am, but I don't understand parley woo." " My woman of the chamber, butor /" " 0— h !" These scenes were repeated, not once, but twenty times a day, till the patience of every one in the house was fairly worn out, and the in- mates of Little Upton Rectory looked forward with feelings of intense and desperate longing EVELYN HARCOURT. ^65 to the time when their extraordinary guest should think proper to rid them of the ex- ceeding torment of herself and her nerves. Poor Mr. Heneage had not had so serious a fit of gout for many a long day ; and all owing, as he constantly repeated to his wife, to the introduction of a mad person into the house; whilst Mrs. Harry's flattering notice of him to her sister was — ''Ah pa! ma chlre Elisabeth, mais ton marl rCa plus le sens com- mun ! But it is sad — c'est ineme embetant I He has baddened considerably since I saw him ! And he carries such an abominable nightcap ! it absolutely makes me tremble to see ! How can you support such a horror?.... Ah ! my poor cherished angel, how I pity you ! equally as spouse and mother, your fate is worthy of tears Ce monstre Icil mais sa laideur est epouvantable ! fen suis encore touts tremblante — toiite saisie. ..." Nothing was more remarkable than the VOL. I. N ^66 EVELYN HARCOURT. costumes of various kinds which Mrs. Harry thought proper to adopt at different hours of the day. Sometimes she would come down in the morning in what she called " des pits flottants,'' like a Grecian statue; sometimes she would wear a bonnet and green veil at breakfast ; and oftener still, to walk out in, an old black pelisse lined with fur, though the weather was almost too hot to be en- durable. Her caprices, too, were as endless as her costumes. Sometimes she would take a fit of sentiment, and insist upon sitting the whole morning almost in Mrs. Heneage's pocket, " pour contempler ct son aise les traits cheris de cette bonne Elisabeth — cette eoscellente mire de familhr Sometimes she would entreat to be left alone, as her ills of nerves made it absolute torture to her to hear a sound, or behold a human countenance ; and sometimes she would complain of the cruelty of every one, in abandoning her to herself — she, who EVELYN HARCOURT. 267 could never endure solitude without havintr o an attack of " les vapeurs /" ^' Ah fa, Mr. a , je vais quitter voire tranquille demeure — the asylum of peace !" exclaimed she, one morning, as she entered the breakfast-room, where Mr. Heueage had resumed his usual place. This was too exhi- larating news to be quarrelled with, even though expressed in French ; and Mr. Heneage reflected with rapture how much more tran- quil his " demeure " would be under such circumstances. " Indeed, ma'am !" replied he, endeavour- ing not to look too cheerful. ** In what di- rection do you contemplate bending your steps?" '* Ah ! I shall go to Mr. Bridge, the father of my lost tresor, car il me faut ahsolument de V argent! D'abord, je rCen ai point. I have nothing but fifty-three half-crowns — that is absolutely all !" ** Fifty-three half-crowns, Mrs. Bridge !" N 2 268 EVELYN HARCOURT. " But I tell you that is all " Adelaide was heard explaining, in a low voice to her cousins, that mamma had a pecu- liarity — whenever a half-crown was given her in change, she always put it away in a bag she kept for the purpose. She said it would be more useful with other half-crowns than by itself. Looks were exchanged — and one or two smiles quickly suppressed, when Mrs. Bridge's voice was heard again — " I have written to Frederic, to come and conduct me to the father of my adorable defunt ; and he writes to me that he shall be here after to-morrow — aprh demain, ou bien not till the week following. S'il retards son arrivee — ah ! I wait here." A dead silence followed this announcement. It is needless to observe that ardent vows were offered up for the speedy arrival of Frederic. " Ah ! I see it all !" cried Mrs. Eridge, EVELYN HARCOURT. 2G9 after a pause, her eyes sparkling with pas- sion. " You die of envy to disembarrass yourselves of me — to get me out from this roof ! — I see it ! Your hurting silence is more shocking than words And these poor angels !" turning to her daughter — " Eh Men, itres cheris, sidvez-moi ; nous allons moiirir sur le grand chemin. This is no more an asylum for us. We go die on the grand road in each other's arms ! " But her daughters manifested no desire to die under any such circumstances. They did not even rise from their seats when she moved towards the door ; so that, finding herself unattended in her flight, she thought better of it, and sank down in an arm-chair, ex- claiming, in a pathetic tone, ''Ahl je n'en puis plus ! Je me sens atteinte au cceur /" The youngest of the Hen cages began to giggle convulsively, and to pinch her sister's elbows. '' It is very unkind to talk so, sister !" sai 270 EVELYN HARCOURT. Mrs. Heneage, with a manner of almost hope- less dejection, " We do all we can to make you comfortable. I'm sure I strive, from morning till night, but I don't know how to manage to satisfy you...." " What would you have, madam — what would you have?" urged Mr. Heneage's stronger voice, in a tone of very considerable irritation. Mrs. Eridge put her fingers into her ears — " Ah I mais quelle horreur ! cette voia^ Id me fait mal auw dents. My hairs dress them- selves up ! Ah, 'par e£i?emple ! I am glad I am not of your paroisse, my dear Mr. a... a, if you preach like that !" And Mrs. Harry, having placed herself in convenient vicinity to the sofa, gave out the usual announcement that she had " a weak- ness ;" and sank back in hysterics into the arms of her sister and her daughters. The next day, being Sunday, the lady de- clared her intention of going to hear her bro- EVELYN HARCOURT. 271 ther-in-law preach ; an attention which, after the insinuation of the previous day respecting his voice, he could just as well have dispensed with. " Her ills of chest, indeed," she said, " had never been worse ; but that was no matter ; go she would, even if she had to be carried into church !" Mr. Heneage felt nervous, what with cer- tain twinges in his right foot, and the appre- hension of her remarks ; and when he saw the lady sailing majestically up the aisle in a Greek cap, embroidered by herself, a cashmere shawl negl'gently thrown over her shoulders, and the aforementioned fur pelisse, and per- ceived that the eyes of the whole congrega- tion were fixed with unspeakable wonder upon her, he felt himself actually blushing with shame and vexation in his own reading- desk ! There was, however, no help for it ; and, excepting that she insisted on singing the psalms considerably louder than any other person, notwithstanding the hints of her 272 EVELYN HARCOURT. daughters, her conduct in church was per- fectly decorous and inoffensive. The next day ended the endurance of the Heneages; Frederic arrived, and Mrs. Harry and her daughters took their departure for Oriel. The old lady and gentleman had never seen their daughter-in-law but once, shortly after her marriage, and they retained but a slight recollection of her person. They felt some- what nervous when they found she was coming to Oriel ; but they prepared to receive her with the cordiality due to the widow of their son ; and they rejoiced to find that her bro- ther, whom they sincerely liked, was coming with her. Mrs. Harry had determined upon a scene, of course, on arriving — scenes being always her passion ; but she was frustrated in her intention by the good old couple coming out to the porch to receive her. She would not, however, be entirely baulked ; — she darted EVELYN HARCOURT. 273 out of the carriage the moment she perceived them, and, rushing up to the old gentleman, exclaimed — ^^ Ah ! d la Jin je le vois ! le pere de man tresor ! Ah ! what delicious emotion humects my eyelids !" The father of her treasure, however, who scarcely understood a word of French, kept shaking her by the hand, and repeating — ** Thank ye, ma'am, thank ye ! — ^glad to see ye, my dear ma'am l^These fine lassies my grand- daughters ? — bless their hearts — thank ye, ma'am ! Helen, ray love, these are your cousins — your poor Uncle Harry's children, you know, love. Ay, poor boy !" The old lady was equally hospitable in her way, though she looked with amazement upon her daughter-in-law's Greek cap, fur pelisse, and other singularities ; and wondered, just as keenly as she had done years ago, how dear Harry could ever have fancied so strange a body. " Dear ma'am ! sure you must be tired — N 5 274 EVELYN HARCOURT. and you, my dears ! — but I hope you'll refresh yourselves before dinner. Captain Percy, ain't they tired? — not at all — oh! well! young folks don't tire so easily, I know. We had the dear boys here lately, ma'am ; — so grown ! quite men ! Bless their hearts ! — we were so concerned to lose them !" " Ah I qu'il est doua; pour le coeur d'une mere ! — it is very gentle for the mother's heart to hear such distinguished testimony — such high consideration for the delights of her soul." " Bless me !" thought Mr. Bridge ; " one would think she were French in reality. Can it be poor Harry's widow, after all ? . . . " In the mean time, Helen's thoughts and feelings were neither idle nor insensible. She was beginning to be conscious of certain sen- sations, which, though of a novel and agita- ting, were by no means of an unpleasing kind. How much indeed had she not felt at the prospect of meeting Frederic Percy again ! EVELYN HARCOURT. 275 How often had she endeavoured to picture to herself the expression of his countenance — the manner of his greeting ! Had he looked forward to seeing her with any of the same pleasure of which she had been conscious? She longed to know. What a strano^e thino^ is love ! That one little instant, when their hands met, and they exchanged a few words of common salutation — so common, that all the world might have heard them — repaid Helen for days and nights of restless thought, and a degree of dejection for which she could scarcely account to her- self. For one single moment, her hand rested in his, and his eyes were fixed on hers — not unkindly. " I must make you acquainted with my nieces," said he, giving them a little friendly push towards her. " They are naughty girls, but, after a little of your example, we may hope they will become better." She soon felt perfectly at ease with these 276 EVELYN HARCOURT. young ladies; and tlieyj on their part, en- chanted to find one so gentle, sympathizing, and amiable as she was, speedily confided all their crriefs to her — their trials from mamma, their weariness, their detestation of the life they led, all their sorrows, in short ; whilst she listened, sympathized, and advised. The evening of their arrival, Mrs. Harry announced herself to be too '' soufrante,'' too overcome by the agitation of beholding the parents of her 'Uresor,'' to appear at dinner ; the good old couple, therefore, who really believed her to be unwell, were unre- mitting in their attentions, their messages, and offers of service. They laid it all down to her tenderness for the memory of their son, and were all the better disposed in her favour in consequence. But the next day she again declared herself unable to appear ; " her ills of nerves were so severe ;" — and she accord- ingly solaced herself in her own room with reading a French novel she had picked up in EVELYN HARCOURT. ^77 a town on the road ; and by that means left the rest of the party at liberty to amuse themselves, after their own fashion — a treat her unfortunate daughters were but little ac- customed to, and which they enjoyed doubly in consequence. " Oh, Uncle Fred !" cried Adelaide, as he lingered with them by the waterside for a few moments, after Helen had gone in to dress for dinner, " what a charming creature Miss Eridge is ! and so pretty ! How I do love her already ! Why did you never tell us what a sweet creature she was ?" "/* she a sweet creature ?" " Oh ! Uncle Fred, don't you think so ?" ** He does, I am sure," said Julia ; " he must !" But Uncle Fred had thrown a stone into the water ; and he seemed to be attentively watching the circles it had occasioned, as they grew wider and wider. His thoughts were evidently not with the present scene. 278 EVELYN HARCOURT. " \Miat are you thinking about so intently. Uncle Fred ?" inquired Adelaide, looking up in his face with a certain degree of curiosity. " I was thinking does your mother come down to dinner to-day, or not ?" " And is that all you were thinking about — reflecting so deeply Oh! you are not telling us truth ! — it was something else — something much more important than that. Now, what was it — I am dying to know I" " Is your mother coming down, naughty girl?" "Oh! I really don't know ?.... she did not say she should not, so I suppose so.... But why do you care so particularly to know?.... do tell me...." ** Because let us go in and dress for dinner, that we may be down before her..." "Now, Uncle Fred, how can you be so proToking !...." EVELYN HARCOURT. 279 CHAPTER XIV. Clytemnestre. C'est done a moi d'embrasser vos genoux — Achille (la relevant). Ah, madame ! I love not many words. Airs Well that Ends Well O, I shall die for food ! Here will I lie down, and mea- sure out my grave. As you Like it. Pand. Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow. Const. I am not mad — I would to Heaven I were, For then 'tis like I should forget myself. Oh, if I could, what griefs should I forget ! King John. Mr. Bridge was one day sitting quietly in his own antique justice-room, thinking to him- self what a blessing it was to rest a little after the excitement of Mrs. Harry's sharp voice and endless superlatives, w^hen the door sud- denly opened, and Mrs. Harry herself walked 280 EVELYN HARCOURT. in. The poor old gentleman would almost as soon have seen a ghost ; but, before he had had time to recover from the shock of her appearance, he found his knees tightly com- pressed between two sharp bony hands, and a head, encompassed in a scarlet cap with a green tassel, laid upon them. *' Ah, my father ! my respectable heau-' pere /" sobbed Mrs. Harry. " Bless me, ma'am ! oh dear !" cried her ^eaw-p^^^, struggling frantically to free him* self. " Pray !....dear me !....what can ! oh, lord !...," But still his knees were compressed as though in a vice, " Excellent father of a family ! father of my tresor I you see the wife of your adorable son denuee de tout ! I am without money ; I come to you for succour !" Mr. Bridge's first feeling was one of in- dignation at this address ; but even that was absorbed in his intense desire to effect the EVELYN HARCOURT. 281 emancipation of his knees. The woman's fin- gers must be of iron ! ** Ma'am, excuse me ; but I must beg, ma'am, you will rise from that posture — so extremely unbecoming my poor son Harry's widow, and on all accounts so highly.... ma'am, I do assure you, you occasion me serious in- convenience !" '^ Ah, je me meurs T cried Mrs. Harry, gently sinking backwards upon the footstool of this " father of a family." But, after a moment's reflection, it occurred to her that it was an impolitic moment in which to faint, just when she had got him all to herself, and might effect something import- ant. Having, therefore, as she said, ''fait des efforts inouis,'' she raised herself upon a chair, and proceeded to tremble in a very dis- tressing and remarkable manner, and to smell incessantly at a salts bottle, with a massive gold top, studded with precious stones. Mr. Bridge, finding his knees thus happily 282 EA^ELYN HARCOURT. delivered, then began to expostulate with her. He recapitulated all he had done for her at different times — alluded to the warning he had given on the last occasion of his paying her debts, that he would never do the same for her again — and declared that he could not consider himself justified in impoverishing others to meet the demands of her extrava- gance ; and that, in short, he could not and would not afford her any larger allowance than that she now received. "But I am denuee de tout, I tell you, my respectable parent ! you will not refuse suc- cour to the widow of your adorable. ..." "Ma'am, the adorable widow of my son should learn common sense. You'll excuse me, ma'am, but I'm an old man, and a plain- spoken one, and I honestly confess I don't understand three words of what you say. I wouldn't be harsh, ma'am — it's not my nature — but I can't, I really can't stand by and see such.... In short, ma'am, to be plain with you, EVELYN HARCOURT. 283 which is always the best way, I cannot and will not give you any more money." " Then I starve on the grand road with my children! Barbarous! you see me starve...." *' Ma'am !" " Yes, I disembarrass you of me and of my young girls — those children of love ! — on the moment we set out !" "Bless my soul, ma'am ! Mrs. Harry " " Ob, my ills of nerves ! they attack me ! — Je me trouve mall ah !...." Mr. Bridge was more discomposed than he had been for years. He knew not what to do. His wife had never fainted in her life, or at least not to his knowledge, and it was a sort of thing in which he had no experience what- ever. His kind heart began to smite him for harshness to the widow of his son ; yet, he could not but think that widow very odious, and her extravagance utterly unpardonable. And to talk of quitting the house ! of starving, too ! It was really an insult ! 284 EVELYN HARCOURT. Mrs. Harry was presently conveyed out of the room in a state of rigid and angry insen- sibility, though every now and then there were sighs, groans, and bursts of consciousness strangely to the purpose, inasmuch as the words, "Grand road !"— " Starve !" and " My tresorP' were distinctly audible. For several days after this scene, she thought proper to sulk in her own room, much to the relief of the old lady and Helen, though not to that of her unfortunate daugh- ters, whom she obliged to be almost constantly with her, simply in order that she might have some one on whom to vent her spleen. Frederic Percy was indignant at the tyranny and injustice of her conduct towards these gentle and unoffending girls, whose only fault was that they were, if possible, too yielding, too ready to submit to her caprices without a murmur. But there was no redress. She would not listen even to his remonstrances ; she had been baffled in her attempts to obtain EVELYN HARCOURT. 285 money, disappointed in her own wishes, and now she was in one of her worst fits of ill- humour and obstinacy. At length, after many days, the lady con- descended to reappear below ; but her manner was strikingly altered from w^hat it had been, and her countenance wore a sullen and gloomy expression. It was her general practice in the evenings to stretch herself on the sofa and go to sleep; and every now and then she would wake up, and, after staring for a few moments with an expression of ineffable disgust at the tranquil figure of the old lady, as she sat in her high- backed chair at her eternal knitting, would exclaim, ''Ah, del! mah c est triste amourir icil c'est consider ahlement embetant, parole d'honneurl Si cela dure, fen deriendrai folle " and would then compose herself to sleep again, whilst an occasional snore of a portentous description would cause Helen to start and stop short in her reading; her 286 EVELYN HARCOURT. grandmother, who was slightly deaf, to look round, with a puzzled expression, in search of the cause of so extraordinary a sound ; and the rest of the party to exchange glances and smiles with one another. But no one heeded her— no one attempted to disturb her ; it was found better to leave her on all occasions en- tirely to her own devices ; for opposition or remonstrance of any kind, however slight, only served to exasperate her, and of course occasioned a risk of one of those terrible " attaques de nerfs,'' which had now become a matter of positive dread to the old couple. In the mean time, whilst the sister was thus rendering herself anything but agreeable to the inmates of Oriel, the brother was each day becoming a greater favourite with them all. Mr. and Mrs. Bridge had grown quite fond of him — he was so cheerful, so entertaining, so gentlemanlike ! He never seemed to think it irksome nor troublesome to talk to them — to devote himself to their pleasure. He would EVELYN HARCOURT. 287 read to them half the evening, if they liked it ; and he was always ready to accommodate his step to the slower one of the old man during his walks, or to listen to the somewhat mono- tonous prosing of Mrs. Evidge about her school and her poor, her clergyman and her parish. In short, he was charming ; and it was difficult to say which of the two delighted in him most. As for Helen, my readers will already have formed a tolerably shrewd guess as to the nature of her feelings ; it is therefore unne- cessary for me to allude to them more par- ticularly, except to observe that the more she associated with him, and the more she saw of the excellence of his disposition and goodness of his heart, the stronger those feelings natu- rally became. Frederic Percy was much struck with the great change that had taken place in Helen's spirits since last he saw lier. Nothing could have been more cheerful or lighthearted than she was during his first visit to Oriel; but 288 EVELYN HARCOURT. now she was often both serious and abstracted — sometimes even apparently unhappy. Little did he imagine that he himself had something to do with her absent and thoughtful de- meanour, and that he occasioned her many an anxious and painful feeling, though often, too, very delicious ones. But the truth was, that Helen had at this time a cause of depression totally unconnected with Frederic Percy. The unkindness of Evelyn had sunk deep into her heart. It was the first great mortification she had experienced in life ; but it was one from which she thought she should never en- tirely recover — never, certainly, could its re- membrance be effaced from her memory. That Evelyn should doubt her, should refuse to be- lieve her positive assertions, and even to listen to her, was as wonderful as it was terrible; that they should have parted in anger, on one side at least, was agonizing to reflect upon — and all on account of a promise of secresy which had been extorted from her, and which EVELYN HARCOURT. 289 she was too conscientious to break, but which she now bitterly repented ever having given. Sometimes, she thought of writing to Mr. Sherborne, and entreating him to release her from this promise, or at least to make an ex- ception in favour of Evelyn ; but then, what reason could she assign to him for such a re- quest? Might not he suspect, or at least infer, something of Evelyn's jealousy, and of her love for himself from it ? And, after all, was it not kinder to Evelyn not to undeceive her at present ? If she con- tinued to believe that Mr. Sherborne were at- tached to another person, she might conquer her own passion for him in time; but, as long as she fancied him free, it was clear she would still hope on; and Helen believed that it would be hope thrown away. She felt convinced that he had no feeling for Evelyn beyond that of interest for a pleasing and captivating per- son ; — there was nothing like love on his side, she felt only too certain. VOL. I. O 290 EVELYN HARCOURT. But we may as well explain the circum- stances that gave rise to this unfortunate mis- understandingbetween the friends; and, in order to do so, we must carry our readers back to the period of Helen's last visit in Grosvenor Square. A few days after her arrival there, she had chanced, in the course of conversation, to al- lude to the singular Recluse whom she had so strangely discovered a short time before at Wynnesland. Lady Belharris and several gentlemen were present, and there had been a discussion about handwriting; some of the party maintaining that it was indicative of character, and others denying positively that it was so. Evelyn took from her own and her friend's reticules all the letters they con- tained, and, half in jest, half in earnest, held them out, that the directions might be scru- tinized, and the characters of the writers de- duced from them. Among the rest was a letter from Mrs. Howard, whose writing was very peculiar. On this being examined and EVELYN HARCOITRT. 291 commented upon, Mr. Chisliolm, one of the gentlemen present, appeared much struck by it, and begged to be allowed to examine it more closely. Helen observed at the time that his manner was peculiar, and that his countenance changed as he looked nearer at it ; and thinking that he might possibly know something of Mrs. Howard, she took an op- portunity, whilst the others were still busily discussing their theories, to inquire whether he were acquainted with her. His answer was confused — almost unintel- ligible ; and he immediately began to ask so many questions respecting Mrs. Howard, with so much eagerness and anxiety, that Helen could scarcely reply to them — and, at last, when the conversation of the others seemed to be dying away, he whispered an agitated entreaty that she would say nothing to any one of what had passed, nor indeed mention Mrs. Howard again. " It might be of the very greatest consequence !" o 2 292 EVELYN HARCOURT. Helen of course promised, imagining from his excited manner that the Recluse might be some relation of his, with whose place of abode he had thus accidentally become acquainted ; and she only trusted that by her unintentional betrayal of it to him, she had done her poor friend no injury. Some time elapsed, and she saw no more of Mr. Chisholm. But, one afternoon, during their ride, Mr. Sherborne approached, and in a low voice informed her that that gentleman was at Wynnesland, whither he had gone al- most immediately after the conversation with her which we have alluded to ; that he had seen Mrs. Howard, unknown to herself, and made inquiries respecting her, and that he had every reason to believe she was a relation of his own, who had been long supposed to be dead. She was, however, so altered in ap- pearance, (if it were she) that he could feel no positive certainty as to her identity, and being apprehensive, from the accounts he had EVELYN HARCOURT. 293 heard from the Penrhyns, of her state of mind, that, if he were to present himself suddenly before her, it might have a powerful and inju- rious effect upon her nerves, he had commis- sioned Mr. Sherborne to inquire of Miss Eridge whether she could give no further clue, no in- formation, respecting this singular individual, which might lead to a greater certainty in his mind as to her real name. " Much," Mr. Sherborne said, " depended on her identity being proved. There was very large property to which she was entitled, if it were she ; and Mr. Chisholm was in a state of the most pain- ful and intense anxiety upon the subject. Above all, he insisted on the strictest and most solemn secresy ; there were circum- stances connected with his relation, which on no account would he have proclaimed to the world, or even inquired into. His friend Mr. Sherborne must prevail upon Miss Eridge to give the most solemn promise to betray to no living being a syllable connected with the 294 EVELYN HARCOURT. affair — not even to allude to it in the remotest manner. Helen gave all the information in her power, but it was little enough, as my readers are already aware. She knew of no person with whom Mrs. Howard was in the habit of cor- responding — of no other name by which she had been at any time known. She was even ignorant in what manner or from whence she received her little income, or what had been her place of abode before she came to Wynnes- land. All she knew of her was her sorrow, and her strange endurance ; and of that she told what she had seen and heard — the dark hints — the mysterious allusions — the occa- sional self-accusations that had burst forth, as it were, in spite of herself. When asked by Mr. Sherborne the fearful question whether she believed her to be insane, she unhesi- tatingly answered, " No ! Her manner was not that of insanity, but of a deep and intense mental anguish, which might in the end pro- EVELYN HARCOURT. S95 dace, though it had not yet as she believed produced, insanity." Mr. Chisholm was awaiting Helen's answer, before he should decide on presenting himself to Mrs. Howard, and making the inquiries he desired, himself. He wished to know more particularly what, in her opinion, would be the risk of a person suddenly presenting himself before her, who had been connected with the former cause of her sorrow, and whom she sought, perhaps, to avoid. Helen could only urge great caution in such an attempt. She thought that, in Mrs. Howard's condition, it was impossible to fore- see the effect of any fresh agony — any un- closing of former wounds, which were yet so far from being healed. She would give no advice ; how could she, where she did not even know the circumstances ? But she urged the greatest caution, and, if possible, prepara- tion by letter. On the day of the breakfast at Mr. Euston 296 EVELYN HARCOURT. Trevor's, Mr. Sherborne had received an agi» tated note from his friend, saying that he had at last had an interview with Mrs. Howard, whom he now knew beyond a doubt to be his long lost relative ; but that what had passed between them during their meeting had been of a nature to make it rather to be hoped that she was insane. And now he knew not what to do ; for, since their interview, she had quitted the Penrhyns, and no traces of her could be dis- covered. Her absence had not been detected at first, for, as she was in the habit of often locking herself into her room for hours toge- ther, (at which times no one ever thought (rf disturbing her) her having fastened her door on this occasion excited no remark ; and she must have been gone many hours before her departure was even suspected. It was dis- covered, too, first, in the evening, so late, that it was impossible to take any steps towards pursuing her that night ; and when the Pen- EVELYN HARCOURT. 297 rhyns, alarmed beyond measure at her disap- pearance, made every possible inquiry con- cerning her the next morning, they never thought of the only really efficient step, namely, sending to inform Mr. Chisholm of it; for though they were aware, from his frequent and minute inquiries, that he was interested about her, they were totally ignorant of his recent meeting with her, which indeed he had purposely contrived should take place during one of her distant walks. Two days, therefore, elapsed before he was even informed of her escape ; and then, when he did set on foot the most vigilant inquiry, not the smallest trace of her could be dis- covered. The Pen rhyns' fears all tended to- wards self-destruction ; they had often dreaded such a result during her paroxysms of severer suffering ; and they declared their belief that she was far more likely to be found in some one of the adjacent ponds, which they per- sisted in dragging day after day, than in any o 5 298 EVELYN HARCOURT. crowded city or secluded cottage 1 But Mr. Chisholm knew enough to feel a very tolerable certainty that the unfortunate lady had not destroyed herself. Her sudden departure was to him perfectly to be accounted for ; but he was not the less anxious to discover her place of refuge. She had left most of her scanty wardrobe behind her, and a note, begging Mrs. Pen- rhyn's acceptance of it, and of the amount of rent due up to that day three months. A few w^ords of thanks and farewell to the family were added, but the letter afforded not the slightest clue as to her intentions or destina- tion. A sentence, however, at the end, half erased, but with some difficulty made out as far as it had gone, might, it was hoped, lead to some discovery in the end. ' ' Pray put the enclosed letter to Miss Eridge in the post immediately after " She had probably changed her mind, and reflected that it would be better to post this EVELYN HARCOURT. 299 letter herself, than to trust it to others ; but one fact might be gathered from the mention of it — that she had written a letter, which Helen would probably soon receive. Mr. Chisholm therefore begged his friend to inquire immediately whether Miss Eridge had heard from her, and if she had, what was the substance of her communication, and what the postmark of her letter. Helen had re- ceived none as yet, but she promised to inform Mr. Sherborne as soon as she should do so ; and it was the discussion of this matter which had occasioned their confidential communica- tion on the day of the party at Mr. Euston Trevor's, and which had so cruelly excited poor Evelyn's jealousy. The next morning — the morning of the friend's quarrel — Helen had received the ex- pected letter, which she was on the point of enclosing to Mr. Sherborne, when that gen- tleman himself appeared in Grosvenor Square, with a message from Mr. Chisholm, who had 300 EVELYN HARCOURT. arrived in town, and was anxious to have an interview with Helen himself, Mrs. Howard's letter was as follows : — > "My beloved young friend will be surprised — and in her gentle kindness even distressed—* to hear that the unfortunate being to whom she devoted herself with such noble generosity, has left her late asylum at the Penrhyns. My reasons for doing so, I cannot divulge ; but this much I may say, that, since I lost you, I have endured a shock greater than any I have known for years — one that made it impossible for me to continue where I was. I am, there- fore, once more a wanderer on the face of the earth, and you will never again have the peaceful tenour of your life disturbed by the sight of misery such as mine. I shall see you no more, my dearly loved Helen, but the bless- ing of one, heart-broken, but not ungrateful, will be yours, and you shall never be forgotten in my prayers. Farewell " EVELYN HARCOURT. 301 This letter was dated from Wyiinesland on the day of her departure from thence ; but it had only a twopenny postmark upon it, and must therefore have been brought to London either by herself, or some one else, and posted there. Mr. Sherborne promised to deliver it to his friend, and earnestly entreated Helen to grant that friend a few moments' interview. It was true she could probably tell him nothing he did not already know, but he had set his heart upon seeing her, and, harassed and depressed as he had been by the whole occurrence, Mr. Sherborne was anxious this boon should not be denied him. Helen at length therefore consented to see him ; and it was whilst dis- cussing the best time for him to call upon her that Evelyn had entered, and detected her and Mr. Sherborne together. The quarrel that immediately followed be- tween the girls determined Helen upon re- turning home at once, which, as she had her 302 EVELYN HARCOURT. own maid with her, she was fortunately able to do ; and having hastily made her prepara- tions, and left a note with one of the servants for Mr. Sherborne, informing him of the sud- den change in her plans, and the consequent impossibility of her seeing his friend, she took her departure with a melancholy and crushed heart. From that time she had heard nothing fur- ther of Mrs. Howard, but Mr. Sherborne had returned her that lady's letter, promising to inform her immediately if his friend should succeed in discovering any traces of the fugi- tive. My readers must excuse this long and tedious digression, which was necessary, how- ever, to preserve the thread of the narrative, and explain the reasons of Helen's conduct. EVELYN HARCOURT. 303 CHAPTER XV. Paul. The sweetest, dearest, creature's dead. \st Lord. The higher powers forbid! Paul. She's dead . . . ... go and see : if you can bring Tincture or lustre in her cheek, her eye — Heat outwardly, or breath within, I'll serve you As I would do the gods. Winter's Tale. V enfant. Je I'ainie. Leonor. Vous I'aimez ! CORNEILLE. A de plus hauts partis, Rodriques doit pretendre. Ibid. ''' Ah fa, my dear Fred ! — what a horrible person the young Bridge ! " observed Mrs. Harry to her brother one evening, as they were descending the stairs on their way to the library, where the family were assembled just before tea. 304 EVELYN HARCOURT. " Pray, who do you mean by the young* Bridge ?" '* But, as if you did not know la jeune Bridge — that one they call Helen ! She is insupportable !" " I differ ftom you then. I think her remarkably pleasing." " Ah, defend me from her ! — a young person who in this moment makes the tea in the saloon ! You are infinitely too civil to her ! Now won't she go and fall in love with you ? My faith, yes !" Her brother fixed his eyes intently on her countenance. " If you think proper to talk so of Miss Bridge, sister, I must beg you will not allude to her ao^ain before me. I will not suffer her to be made . . . . " " Ah, is it possible ! My worst suspicions verified ! Mais elle Va ensorcele, cette petite morveuse ! Well, my brother, I would ra- ther see you spread out dead before me, EVELYN HARCOURT. 305 than behold you the spouse of that detest- able...." " Silence, or we shall quarrel !" cried Fre- deric, in a fierce tone, " and that I do not wish to do for your sake, as well as that of your children. But, by heavens, you shall not abuse that girl in my presence !" As he spoke, they approached the library- door, and he entered the room with a feeling of greater irritation than he was often con- scious of. But the scene of happy domestic peace that met his view in that quaint old library soon calmed him into a better frame of mind. The venerable old man was sitting in his accustomed chair, listening to the voice of his grand -daughter, who was reading to him, according to nightly custom. As Frederic entered, Helen raised her, eyes, and for one short moment they rested upon him ; but they were instantly withdrawn again, and fell upon the page before her. There was something, 306 EVELYN HARCOURT. however, in that momentary glance that filled his heart with gladness, and made all things appear suddenly bright to him. And with what delight did he listen to the tones of that gentle voice, which was a little, a very little lowered since his entrance ! — He placed himself in an arm-chair at some distance, where he could observe her without her seeing him ; and then, pretending to com- pose himself to sleep, he in reality abandoned himself to the dreamy delight of his own thoughts. He heard Mrs. Harry's audible sighs, her Mon Dieu^ ! and " quel horreur^ /" evidently levelled at him, without betraying the smallest consciousness ; he observed her take off her " bonnet a V impossible,''' as she chose to denominate the strange mass of frippery with which her maid had bedizened her head, and arrange herself on the sofa to sleep; he heard the jocular observations of his nieces to each other concerning his own drowsiness ; and perceived Helen turn round, EVELYN HARCOURT. 307 and give one hasty glance at him, as she over- heard them too. But still he affected to be unconscious, and, as no one disturbed him, he was able to admire at his ease those long, fair, silken ringlets, the graceful head, and beau- tiful form of the young girl, as she sat beside her old grandfather, with the quaintly-bound volume in her hand. What a picture it was ! with the sombre wainscot, and the gigantic carved mantel- piece, forming an admirable background, which threw out into light those two exquisite heads, each exquisite in its own way ; whilst the figure of the old woman quietly knitting in the shade, with her sober-coloured gar- ments, added inexpressibly to the effect of the group. At length, the chapter was finished, Helen closed the book, and there was a short pause, during which Frederic affected suddenly to rouse himself, and, jumping up, advanced to- wards the tea-table, where he knew Helen 308 EVELYN HARCOURT. would immediately join his nieces. She was, however, arrested in the act of doing so by her grandmother. " Helen, love, I've been knitting very strangely, I'm afraid, somehow ! Do just come and undo this knot for me before you make tea, there's a dear ! I can't see as I used, even with my specs; but young folks like you . . . . " Helen took the knitting. Perhaps she might wish that it had not required her assist- ance just then ; but, if such a thought occurred to her, she did not give it utterance, but qui- etly, according to custom, undid the knots, set it to rights, and returned it to Mrs. Eridge. " It is all right now, grandmamma." But the old lady did not answer. She had sunk back in her chair, with her spectacles in her hand, tired and weary. Helen laid the work upon her lap. " Here is your knitting, ma'am — it is ready for you now." EVELYN HARCOURT. 309 " Come, come ! you must rouse yourself, my dear Mary," said Mr. Eridge ; *' you know you always scold me if I let you get dozing after dinner ! Musn't be lazy, my love." '* Grandmamma, grandmamma !" cried Helen, in a voice whose piercing tones penetrated to the hearts of all within that chamber. Every one was up in a moment — every one instantly surrounded the arm-chair of Mrs. Eridge. There she was, apparently asleep, her eyes closed, and her countenance wearing its own gentle and benevolent expression. There was almost a smile upon her lips. Her gray hair was parted on her still smooth brow ; one hand was on her knees, on which her spec- tacles had dropped ; the other rested on the arm of the chair, in an attitude of the most profound repose. It looked like sleep; but it was, in reality, the sleep which knows no waking — it was death I Who can describe the scene that followed ? 310 EVELYN HARCOURT. — the unspeakable anguish of the old man — the agony of Helen — the horror of all ! What a contrast that chamber now, to what it had been but a few moments before, when Peace had seemed to brood there, breathing an atmosphere of sanctity around ! Now Death had entered — unseen, unheard — without a moment's warning, and had sought out one of the little circle — one so beloved ! In a space of time almost incredible, me- dical assistance was procured ; the servants flew in the cause of their beloved mistress. No one would abandon hope — no one would believe it was really death ! And when, at length, it became but too plain that she was gone, that no earthly power could recal her, and even the aged widower knelt him down beside the breathless remains of her with whom he had spent a lifetime, and bowed his head beneath his calamity — each, even of the household, retired for a time to some secret place, where they EVELYN HARCOURT. 311 might weep away some of their heart-sorrow ; and not an eye closed that weary night throughout the house. The news spread like wildfire in the sur- rounding neighbourhood. The poor, with whom she had mixed for years on terms not of mere charity, but of daily intercourse and friendly sympathy, mourned as for a parent ; and numbers flocked to the house the follow- ing days, with the touching entreaty that they might be allowed some trifle the lady had touched, be it ever so small — a sock or a mitten she had knitted, or a few stitches of her work. " It should be kept for her pre- cious sake, just to remind of her goodness, and how she had been beloved by her own poor ! " There was scarcely an individual, high or low, for miles round, who did not attend her funeral ; and though there was no pomp, no ostentation, no train of hired mourners, there was the heartfelt sorrow which cannot be 312 EVELYN HARCOURT. bought, and which nothing but a life of good- ness can produce. Every one was astonished at the firm- ness of the old man, and every one honoured him for the manly fortitude, the beautiful submission, with which he bent beneath a blow to him utterly overwhelming. That he mourned with a sorrow not to be com- forted, could be seen by his hollow eye and changed countenance ; but it was not a sorrow without hope. He looked forward to meeting her again in a Land w^here they should never be parted more. She was only gone before him, where he hoped soon to follow ! Many a fireside was melancholy the day of that funeral, and many a group of careless children moved about with subdued voices — and many a poor, hard-working woman found the tears constantly rise to her eyes, as she remembered that the good old lady of Oriel was gone to her last long home, and would EVELYN HARCOURT. 3 1 3 never be seen any more among the dependants whom she had cherished ! Frederic Percy was the greatest comfort and assistance to Mr. Eridge at this time ; and his kind thoughtfulness spared him many of those afflicting details which necessarily follow such an event. The old man had conceived a real affection for him, and would frequently speak of his kindness with strong emotion to Helen, who, if she said but little on such occa- sions, felt perhaps only so much the more. As for Mrs. Harry, she had continued invi- sible since the melancholy event. For the first week after it, she had had a series of hysterical fits and attaques defoiblesse, which had nearly worn out her unfortunate daughters and maid, whom she kept in close attendance upon her, and who were forced to take it by turns to sleep in her room, as she declared her ills of nerves made it utterly impossible for her to remain at night alone, a corpse being in the house. VOL. I. P 314 EVELYN HARCOURT. After the funeral, she sent a message to the old man, through one of her daughters, offering to take her departure immediately from Oriel, if more agreeable to him, (an offer that had already been made in her name, though without her knowledge, by her brother) but Mr. Eridge returned her a kind answer, saying that it never could be his wish to part from any of his own family ; and, under his present heavy bereavement, the more he Avas surrounded by them, the more welcome it would be to him. It was a pleasure to have his dear grandsons (who had been sent for) with him, and he was getting quite fond of the girls. As for Frederic Percy, he did not know how he should ever part with him ! — He hoped they would all stay as long as they possibly could — the longer the better I Mrs. Harry was very well pleased to stay. She was just now composing a French novel, which was to set Paris in a flame, and at the same time replenish her empty pockets ; — and EVELYN HARCOURT. 3 1 5 till this was completed, it was highly expedient that she should continue to live free of expense. She should certainly stay, till she had married, or in some other way disposed of her heroine, Anastasie Leopoldine Adoree Zephyrine de la Saint Cyr Rochefoucault ! . . . " And is it true that you are really going on Monday, Captain Percy ?" inquired Helen, timidly, and without raising her eyes ; — '' so soon !" " Alas ! too true. Miss Bridge," replied he ; — " I had settled to go to-day, but your dear old grandfather pressed — nay, almost forced me to stay, and I was but too willing to be persuaded." " Grandpapa will miss you very, very much. I cannot think what he will do without you." There was a short pause. She felt his eyes were upon her, and she blushed. " And will no one else miss me ?" he said p 2 316 EVELYN HARCOURT. at length, in a low, agitated voice. " Shall you feel no regret at parting, after the time we have spent — the scenes we have witnessed together ?" She blushed yet more deeply — " I shall indeed miss you," she said in a trembling voice; — "I must be worse than heartless — I must be ungrateful not to do so. ....I shall indeed miss you...." " Bless you a thousand times for those words !" cried he, tenderly ; '* they do indeed comfort me. Oh, Helen ! dearest Helen ! hear me for once — hear me now ! How long, how ardently, have I not pined to tell you what was in my heart ! And though it is in vain — though I know it is presumption — madness — to speak to you as I am doing, yet can I not refrain from telling you how fondly, how passion- ately you are worshipped — that to win your love, were I but worthy of you, would be ... . nay, turn not away from me ! tell me at least that you forgive this rashness — my idolatry EVELYN HARCOURT. 317 — that you will think of me with indulgence, even if . . . ." '* Can you doubt it ?" murmured Heleu softly. He seized her hand, which yielded unre- sistingly to his grasp. " Helen, can it be possible? do you not deceive me ? , . .Would you be mine ? ray very own ? . . . Poor as I am — with nothing, not even a home to offer you — nothing but love such as no words can express . . . !" There was a moment's pause ; and the hearts of both beat wildly — the one with expectation amounting to agony — the other, with many and conflicting emotions. " I would !" said Helen, at length ; — and there was nothing of doubt nor of hesitation in her manner, " I would indeed link my fate with yours, were it not . . . ." But in vain she struggled to continue ! He heard but the first words, and she found herself clasped to that noble heart, which 3 1 8 EVELYN HARCOURT. had long ago given itself unreservedly to her. — " Nay, hear me ! hear me !" she cried, struggling though but feebly to disengage herself, " Frederic, dear Frederic, hear me !" " Bless you for those sweet vsrords . . . !" " I cannot — I never will leave my grand- father — how could I, when he is so afflicted V There was a pause of a few moments. Frederic's countenance fell. " Not now, perhaps ! but after a time — Surely . . . ," " I could not leave the dear old man with- out some one to watch over him — to minister to him in his declining years. Think what he has lost ! Evelyn is away, and she may never return — or she may marry. — Oh, Frederic ! he has cherished me from childhood, and I cannot desert him now ! You could not wish me to do so." " And will you never be mine, then, Helen ? — Alas ! you cannot really love me." EVELYN HARCOURT. 319 " Do not grieve me by such words," she cried, in a broken voice — " Oh Frederic, be generous ! Help me against myself — against my own weakness. — Do not make my trial harder by doubting me. Have I not con- fessed ?" *' You have — you have ! — You do love me ! — Tell me so but once more, and I will bear all — any thing you wish, and think right. I will leave you to-morrow, if you like." " Alas ! if you knew how my heart sinks at the idea of your going, you would not doubt my love ! I require all my strength to bear up against it — all my...." The door opened, and Mrs. Harry entered, with a species of white dressing-gown loosely thrown around her person, looped up at various points with what she was pleased to call " des agraffes'" — in reality brooches com- posed of Scotch pebbles. She had on a pair of black silk stockings, and her hair was what she called " epars " on her shoulders. 320 EVELYN HARCOURT. ^'Ahfa /" cried she ; " I am in convulsion ! Je viens de tuer une jeune fille, et un enfant en has age V " What are you talking ahout, sister?" ex- claimed Frederic, very impatiently, for he was provoked beyond endurance at the inter- ruption. " Ah ! they suffer torments unknown ! A carriage smash them in the great road ! break the arm and knock out the teeth of the young person, and cut the child in three piece — Ah I mais c^est inoui /.. ." " Heavens ! let us send assistance !" cried Helen, rushing to the bell. " When did it happen ? — where are they V " Where are they ! Mais, par exemple, they are in my room, Ici Jiaut, I kill them upstairs in de chintz turret. Le cceur de cette jeune personne avoit trop tot parte ! — But what is this? // 7ne semble que vous pleurez ! — What is it you do together in this Piece?" EVELYN HARCOURT. 321 " Do not give yourself any uneasiness about that, sister," returned Frederic, abruptly. ** You had better go and kill some more women and children in the chintz tur- ret !" " No ; I make Anastasie Leopoldine live ! She marry Victor Alphonse de Saint Amedee, and have twins fine as the day — beaux comme le jour ! But / stay here ! I like to hear your discourse." " You will do no such thing, if you please, sister. Miss Eridge and I do not wish our discourse overheard." "Ah ! ah ! you are talking to her of love, I imagine myself! Cest-il clair, pa V " Whatever I am talking about, it does not concern you. Sister, sister, do not provoke me !" "Nay, Frederic," gently interposed Helen, " do not let us treat Mrs. Eridge with such want of confidence. Why should we conceal from her what she has a right to know ? I P 5 322 EVELYN HARCOURT. am sure she will enter into ray feelings, and approve...." " Ah ! what is all that galimatias f " " The truth is, sister, since you must know it, that I have proposed to Miss Eridge, and ...." " He has not been refused !" said Helen, smiling. But she was cut short by a perfect torrent of volubility. " You propose to this young person ! Ah ! but it is absolutely unknown! — this young person, that have not the penny — that make tea in the saloon ! But I won't suffer it. No ! my word of honour, it shan't do itself! Ah petite morveuse, vous avez osL.r *' Silence !" cried Frederic, passionately ; but Mrs. Harry was not to be silenced. " You dare to make yourself his promised ! to think of espousing him ! Ah ! my ills of nerves ! ah !...." EVELYN HARCOURT. 323 " You had better go, Helen !" said Frederic. " Leave her to me. Send her daughters here, my love, if you can find them, and leave us to- gether." " Be gentle with her, Frederic," whispered Helen. *' Do not let her provoke you. She cannot part us, you know — she cannot alter our hearts to each other. For my sake, be forbearing !" Frederic found it no easy matter, however, to be forbearing, even for her sake. The scene that followed baffles all description. Never had Mrs. Eridge yielded to the im- pulses of her ungovernable temper in the pre- sence of her brother as she did on this occa- sion. She abused him — she argued — she en- treated ; and when entreaties proved vain, she had recourse to threats. Still, he re- mained unmoved. He answered quietly that nothing could alter his determination. " His heart had long been Helen's ; and, whether she became his wife or not, hers it should ever 324 EVELYN HARCOURT. continue. None but she should ever receive his faith or his hand !" At length, when the lady had fairly ex- hausted her invectives, she had recourse to those faithful and long-tried friends, her nerves. Hysteric succeeded to hysteric — foiblesse to foiblesse, but still the obdurate Frederic showed no symptom of relenting. Finding that her daughters did not appear, he quietly rang the bell; and, when the servant an- swered it, desired that Mrs. Harry's maid should be summoned ; — and no sooner had she made her appearance, than he delivered his shrieking sister into her charge, and him- self very composedly left the room. When he was fairly out of hearing, Mrs. Harry began to recover surprisingly. She reflected that much might yet be done to prevent this hateful alliance. The girl her- self might perhaps be influenced ; and, at any rate, the consent of the grandfather had yet to be obtained. Now, it was not very EVELYN HARCOURT. 325 likely lie would give it easily ; for, indepen- dently of any dislike of his own to losing Helen, it was a match he could hardly ap- prove in any way. Frederic, though not so totally unprovided for as his brothers and sisters, had still but a mere pittance besides his pay, for his liberality to his own family had of course prevented his ever saving any- thing. His regiment too had only just gone to Canada, where it would remain some years, and he had no future prospects — no expecta- tions whatever. Mr. Eridge never could con- sent to such a marriage — it was impossible ! Acting, as she always did, on the impulse of the moment, Mrs. Harry sprang from the sofa, and, hastily re-arranging the folds of the drapery around her person, darted at once to the private room of her father-in-law. The poor old man was seated at his writing- desk, engaged in a melancholy though not an unpleasing occupation. He was reading over some of the letters he had at various times 326 EVELYN HARCOURT. received from his lost wife. The collection was a small one, for this faithful and primitive couple had been but rarely separated during their married life ; but the few letters that he did possess spoke volumes for the tender- ness of that love, of which her whole life had been one abiding proof. The old man was so absorbed in this occu- pation, that he did not hear Mrs. Harry's agitated tap at the door. It was, however, so impatiently repeated, that he started, the letter fell from his hand ; and before he had time to remove his spectacles and wipe away the drops that had gathered to his eyelids, the unwelcome figure of his daughter-in-law pre- sented itself. She dashed into the room and subject at once. Without the smallest preparation, and, strange to say, with very little interlarding of French, she informed the old man of what she termed the shameful conduct of her bro- ther and Miss Bridge. She inveighed against EVELYN HARCOURT. 327 their slyness in having carried on a private understanding so long, and even during " the late melancholy circumstances, without any one suspecting it ; and appealed to Mr. Bridge, whether it were a marriage that ought to be permitted ! "As for Frederic, his family had other views for him — they all looked to him to build up again his impoverished race. Ad- mired, sought, run after as he was, they all looked to him to make a brilliant, and, above all, a wealthy alliance. And, as for Miss Helen, who that cared for her could wish to see her banished to a distant country — ex- posed to poverty, trial, and privations of all kinds — she, who had been brought up in the very lap of luxury? She would probably starve in Canada, with three or four children en has age, and it would kill her dear old grandfather to hear of it !" Her dear old grandfather, though not killed by such melancholy prospects, was certainly 3*28 EVELYN HARCOURT. struck dumb by the torrent of eloquence that poured with such resistless fury from Mrs. Harry's lips. He was unable to follow the rapidity of her reasoning or of her invectives, yet he contrived to gather something of the matter in hand from what fell from her. He saw that she was angry — that she thought her brother had behaved infamously ; though in what manner, unless it were in loving Helen (a very natural and excusable crime, in Mr. Bridge's opinion), he was at a loss to discover. In the mean time, he listened to all that the angry lady had to say with an attention that convinced her she had gained her point. And under this consoling impression she gra- dually calmed herself, and, resuming her French manner and phraseology, swept out of the room, to introduce into her novel an in- teresting and graphic description of two lovers parted by a tyrannical and cruel father, and driven in despair to elope from his house. EVELYN HARCOURT. 329 CHAPTER XVI. Et ma fille, en un mot, tu peux I'aimer, et me plaire. CORNEILLE. Say what thou canst, Til go along with thee. As You Like it. " Yes, mj children, be happy !" said the old man, wipin