iWi*Jl (-ZtyUL^l) ."^M&g^fe^^^ - ai b r_a OF TF UNIVER Of ILLI 822> Sh4 IE SITY NOIS 9co V.I UNIVERSITY LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF ILLINOIS AT URBANA-CHAMPAIGN The person charging this material is responsible for its renewal or return to the library on or before the due date. The minimum fee for a lost item is $125.00, $300.00 for bound journals. Theft, mutilation, and underlining of books are reasons for disciplinary action and may result in dismissal from the University. Please note: self-stick notes may result in torn pages and lift some inks. Renew via the Telephone Center at 217-333-8400 846-262-1510 (toll-free) or circlib@uiuc.edu. Renew online by choosing the My Account option at: http://www.library.uiuc.edu/catalog/ OCT Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2010 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign http://www.archive.org/details/counterpartsorcr01shep COUNTERPARTS. OR THE CROSS OF LOVE THE AUTHOR OF " CHARLES AUCHESTER." Two forms that differ in order to correspond : this is the true sense of the word Counterpart." S. T. Coleridge, MS. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. I. LONDON: SMITH, ELDER, & CO., 65 CORNHILL. 1854. EDINBURGH : PRISTED BY OLIVER AM> BOTD. 843 In of 1854. COUNTERPARTS, OB THE CROSS OF LOVE, INDUCTION. It was the calm of summer, and the dead of night : yet sky and sea were spell-bound by gathering gloom until the moon had ^et. As she went down, and her dy- ing look was lost in utter darkness ; you had also your last look of the awful waters. On they rayed and surged, like some dread organ disenchanted of its music ; still higher yet and higher the broad tide swelled, until the little bay was full. The little bay was wild and dangerous with quick- sand and sunken reef, and shattered rocks were lying out to sea that fringed with foam the farther waves and tore them into breakers. vol. I. B 2 COUNTERPARTS. The very settled darkness excited a void unrest : a craving for idea, for object. Glancing to the vault, whose drooping cloud seemed gathered about one's path, there was not a sign of motion or milder gloom. As if nightmare-stricken, the imagination penetrated the deepest deep, and there in the blackness at the base of the cliff, it found a way to escape from the terrors of the sea. A steep acclivity, this way wound in slime and pebble, where the rocks, so gaunt at first, dwarfed grad- ually in the ascent until the height was gained, when the sea was heard roaring far below. A light up there, and full in view, was beckoning as it warned. The lighthouse seemed as a Cyclops ghost just now, for where it towered, yet distant some yards, its shape was vague and tremulous, while its luminous eye, so stedfast, changed and changed again from burn- ing crimson to a golden light. About it fragrance floated ; sultry sighs of jasmine and heavy-hearted roses : for a garden was planted at the summit of the cliff, with gleaming balustrade and trees of softest outline 5 amidst whose flowery paths another building rose. Not a pil- lar nor an arch was visible through the gloom ; yet a single window on the ground, for all the advanced June night-time, still was open to the lawn ; the drooping curtain within unstirred, the flame of the lamp un wav- ered, by the breezeless air. The chamber with its brilliant light seemed forlorn as the stupor of the darkness without ; for within was one alone, and to be alone in a scene so fair was as to INDUCTION. 3 be alone in heaven. The light fell on beautiful hues and shapes ; frescoes were radiant with a golden atmo- sphere j for the lamp had a glow like sunshine, and dif- fused an equal lustre. A bust of alabaster beneath a fretted and shrine-like arch confronted the window : the arch also alabaster, the sculpture as it were a light in light. On all sides, leaning downwards from a soft green ground, shone paintings framed in glittering devices, gnarled and twisted — some oval, others round, many of form irregular as the mouths of caverns — but one, all, suggesting the spirit of the sea. Here the sea lay in its moon-dream, there showered over with star-shadows — again, its dark azure was flushed with sunrise, or belted with the sunset. The storm was there that roused its wildest pulses — the chaf- ing breeze, the columned waterspout. You seemed to see dim gliding mermaids crowned with azure rcses ; you seemed to hear the harps that quivered in bloodless pearly hands. And one painting, as if to king them all, was hung above the arch the whole breadth of the shrine : there, on its waveless blue, the ocean bore a wreck — a wreck whose sad tracery was seen through such translucent air as breathed out the quietude of the distant shore — those rocks of shady sapphire ; and farther violet hills, beneath a violet heaven ! The vaulted ceiling and deep-carved cornice suited best with the notion of the strange apartment ; which was that of an imaginative rather than a studious re- 4 COUNTERPARTS. sort ; for not a book-shelf encumbered the walls, and masses of coral and shell-work npon slabs of petrifac- tion were the only ornaments : furniture there was no other, except a few graceful chairs, and one solid cen- tral table. At that table, itself slightly spread for a meal rather at variance in its simplicity with the ornateness which compassed it about, a youth, just out of boyhood, was sitting. Nothing of him stirred from head to foot, ex- cept his hand ; for he was writing, at intervals, in an open portfolio. Sheets already covered lay about him, inscribed thick and close with verse ; here and there a blot or an erasure, but none to derogate from the con- centrated clearness of the autography. One sheet turned upwards to the lamp the title-page ; it bore the name — STONEHENGE. The thunder was already rolling over the distant sea. Its whisper in dread echoes from the cliff gave no rest to the resounding shore. It came nearer with the mo- ments, yet seemed over the waters to creep with the hours ; for not until two o'clock the tempest burst upon the bay. All the chafed stillness and spell-bound strength broke down at once. The wind was sullen ; in savage agitation it howled down the gully ; it bowed the lilies on the lawn to the earth. No rain yet fell to assuage the fires of the lightning ; the electric fluid streamed livid, far and wide : the cloud-mask shivered, INDUCTION. 5 as the flashes, yellow and angiy red, gushed through the plague-blue tinting that sheeted the sky all over. Nor, as the storm strode nearer and nearer, nor when its fierce heart burst, did the pale young writer pause, or raise his bending head. There was blood in his veins which the thunder could not curdle, and his nerves were soft-sheathed like a sleeping infant's from sympathies with the lightning. He appeared not even conscious how the elements were defying nature, and raging against her calm. He wrote thus on and on, only pausing now and then as his imagination whispered music too sweet for the poet to utter. Suddenly, a flash descended like the forked tongue of some Titan serpent, piercing the lantern of the light- house. A thunder-stroke fell, not after it but with it, with detonation like a bursting sphere. The strong stone- work shook, a black scrawl shuddered down its side, the lantern was smashed inwards, the lightning vn to see after her, and she was gone : having forgotten me, or not forgiven me, I suppose, as I had no ' Good-night!'" " Indeed, Dr Sarona, she looked for you." " And she bade me give you her adieux," said Sa- lome. 184 COUNTERPARTS. " Both at once !" cried Sarona, delicately — coldly — " well, now adieu, and good-night. My patient I shall thank to-morrow. Now, you must, to oblige me, "be not quite two hours going to bed. It is twelve and a thought — too late a great deal for you both — and too early for me." Salome pleaded with her eyes : " Go, dearest, to bed, — do go, this once, directly." " My dear, I always do what is best for myself. I never go to bed until I can sleep, and always immedi- ately I can." He waved them to the door ; they disappeared. " Now I know," said Salome on the stair-top, " that he is going to sit up and write." " I know that he will sit up," said Cecilia, again to herself: " but I also know that he will not write." TABLE-TALK. 185 CHAPTER XL TABLE-TALK. The Misses Lipscumbe came down to breakfeast no later than usual the next morning. It was nothing to them that they had been out the night before : they were too used to society ; and it never made any differ- ence in their hours, except when they had been to a dance, and then they never went to bed at all ; so it came to the same thing. In their full flounced dresses, they appeared, and had no sooner sat down, than they began to talk, as usual, before beginning to eat. " Papa, Dr Sarona is going to be married at last." " To which of you — you or Louie?" 11 Nonsense ! — I say it 's right down abominable that he shouldn't marry a regular beauty." " Well, I am certain, Laura, you are quite in the dark — I know it is the pretty one." " And I know it is not — he never went near her all 186 COUNTERPARTS. the evening. As if I did n't know better than that — with two sisters married, and myself engaged ! Be- sides, / saw : everybody does n't behave alike. I always said, if ever Dr Sarona got engaged, he would behave like nobody else. And she 's been staying there a whole month, besides. Do you suppose she 's staying for any- thing else ? They never have visiters in the house." " Except Mr Bernard." " Mr Bernard is not a lady. Now, papa, do you suppose a girl would stay in the house a whole month with Dr Sarona without being engaged to him ?" " My dear, Dr Sarona thinks sadly too little about cus- tom ; but he is such a good young man that it does not signify in his case." u Laurie, dear, how did you find out that she had been in the house a month ?" " I asked Salome's maid when she was waiting on us." " You good-for-nothing creature, we shall get into a scrape ! — She tells Salome everything." " I do n't care if we do. I 'd have asked Salome if she had not been in the drawing-room. Alice said Miss Dudleigh is a patient — that she came there ill ; but, then, it is all the more likely he would marry her, for he never does anything like anybody else : and I 'm sure he 's romantic, with that black beard of his, like a Jew in an old picture." " I hope, my loves, Dr Sarona is not going to marry a lady who is an invalid — that is such a pity." TABLE-TALK. 187 This matronly speech was made by Mrs Eacer, who had come in to breakfast, as she did almost every other morning ; and whose son, aged ten months, was drink- ing chocolate out of his mamma's cup. " Oh, those doctors always do ! It 's like the hand- some men who always marry plain women!" " I do n't call Dr Sarona handsome : a little more filled out, and with more color, he might do very well. Then, his manner is so repulsive." " Of course, it is to you, Fanny : it is not much like Archie's." u Do you call this girl plain, Laurie ?" " I did not look at her enough to know : I only know I hate her." " She looks very clever, though ! — Do n't you think so?" u Don't ask me. Oh ! how I hate clever people !" " Dr Sarona likes clever women, I should think," said Mrs Kacer, with elevation ; " but I 'm very sure he does not care as much as any gentleman ought for pretty ones, or he would have been married years ago." " She 's a perfect stuck-up person : consequential, without anything to say. You know those people, Fanny, who never laugh when you make free ; and never wear their hair in the fashion." " How does she wear it then ?" " Long curls in the front ! — Outrageous ! " u But Louie, for the matter of that, that pretty little thing wore her hair in curls." 188 COUNTERPARTS. " Nonsense ! — she 's never had her hair turned up. She can't be older than that little Emery. Besides fair curls are so insipid. I adore black hair." " Fanny, do you know any Dudleighs in X ? — Her name is Dudleigh." " No ; but I daresay Archie does — he knows every- body. But it would not signify what name the lady had whom Dr Sarona was going to marry, because his own is such an out of the way name." u Yes, I believe it 's a made up name, and that they took it to hide some scrape." " Nonsense, my dears ! Dr Sarona's ancestry is most respectable, and their German connexions are very wealthy." " Archie's father knew Dr Sarona's, and says he had the largest practice in any county, except Middlesex : I suppose he meant London. But Archie declares the grandfather was only a jeweller at Cheselton. Did Miss Sarona tell you when they are going to be married ?" " No, of course not ! — You know how close she is." " Why, Fanny, you must know better than that !" " No, I do n't ; I thought people were always proud to be engaged : I believe I was." " Perhaps this girl is an orphan, and so he cannot visit her at home ; or perhaps her home is a long way off. All I know is, that Dr Sarona smiled at her when- ever he came near her, and he scarcely ever smiles at anybody ; and when she sang, he stood and took it all in, though he generally mopes in a comer while one is singing." TABLE-TALK. 189 " She sings well of course ?" u Well, Fanny, she does and she does not. I hate deep voices, and I think she sings too much like an actress for a private singer : but she did her shakes beautifully — only I detest shakes. When Dr Sarona is married, I shall never go there again." " You know what they'll all say then ! " "As if I cared! it is a great pity it isn't that other little thing, I call her so very pretty : nicely made too, and she skips about." " How abominably Mr Bernard was behaving to her, too ! I hope she knows what he is. The Saronas are so blind about him, they never allow that he flirts : and really one must forgive him ; he has nothing else to do." " Well, I suppose he is a flirt, as they all say so : but this I will say, that I never saw a flirt do it so gravely before. It is just as if he were thinking of something else. There is one person he never flirts with." " Yes, Miss Sarona ; and she is so handsome too ! and he is so fond of the doctor ! but nobody ever flirts with Salome : I can't tell why, for they all like her desperately." Charles Marley, a little late, came down stairs con- ducting his youthful lady, He might have said with Benedick, that he could find no rhyme to lady but baby ; for he never had one within reach without the other. The baby was in its mother's arms ; but he took it from her while she made the tea. 190 COUNTERPARTS. " There were two novelties last night, Kate ; I wish you had seen them : but I believe they will always be there now." "Ladies or gentlemen?" " Young ladies — both — and both not slightly uncom- mon : one a lovely girl, and the other an accomplished woman." "Sisters?" " Oh, dear, no ! I just heard their names — as unlike as possible. The strangest part of it is, that one of them has been a patient in the house — was there last month, and none of us knew it. I thought at first she was an insane patient, perhaps ; but found it quite im- possible when I saw her eyes. Besides, Sarona would never have risked bringing her down, in that case, when he was obliged to be so much out of the room himself." " But how do you know she is a patient, Charles ?" " He told me so himself. I said, ' Where in the world did that beautiful musician come from ? ' for I thought she was professional. And he answered, ' Wherever she came from, she is under my care now ; and has been for some time past. She was here last month, but too ill to come down ; and I must see that she does not fatigue herself to-night.' He took care she should not ; for he prevented her from singing more than three times, though Lord Federne begged hard for more." " And what do you think, Charles, is she likely to be?" TABLE-TALK. 191 u I do not know what I think. It is very certain that Sarona is interested, somehow, here. And it might be abont the other — she is perfectly exquisite, a rare little beauty, dressed like a child, but evidently a woman. Where she sprung from I cannot tell, for Sarona was not so eager to inform as about the other : he just told me her name, and then turned off to some- thing else ; nor did I see him speak to her. To the other he behaved with more cordiality than I have seen him : you know his manner, generally. Yet, once or twice, I observed a side glance at anybody who ap- proached Miss de Bern, as though that person infringed upon a territory of his own." " Oh, my most romantic Charles ! that is just like you." 11 My romance is queened, therefore I cannot help it. But I have met many ladies in Sarona's presence, and never felt impressed — as I do about these — that they are, or one of them is, to illustrate his history. Two striking persons, — unlike any you meet every day : they are both heroic, or rather, heroic-looking : as if they could rise to circumstances." " What did they talk about ?" " I did not converse with the one I thought so fair ; she was taken up with Mr Bernard : or rather, he was taken up with her. With the other I exchanged a few words : I complimented her upon knowing how to use her voice, and she replied, 1 1 ought to know how, if I am to use it in the presence of Dr Sarona.' She had a 192 COUNTERPARTS. soft voice in speaking, but a haughty manner. The voice of the other is as sweet as a silver bell : the clear- est and most rejoicing tone I ever heard." " She is French, I suppose ?" " Her name is French, but not her manner : nor her look, though her dress may be. She is spirited, but not vivacious." " Hester," said Emery to his wife at breakfast, while Ernestine was also at the table, veiling with her long curls the pages of a German story book, " do you know I have been wondering ever since last night how we came to meet Miss De Berri. Only last week I was hearing about her from the Augustus Capels, who knew the Delapoles at Brussels. Do you know whether little Rose is a patient of Sarona's?" u I never inquired : very likely. She looks delicate enough. Is that the little Eose the Capels talked about so much when they came from Paris ? — the child who took portraits of all the nuns in ballet dresses with angels' wings?" 11 The same : how strangely things happen ! They are such a different circle, — quite out of X : and Bernard, too, — there was he talking with Miss De Berri all the evening. I should have supposed he brought her witli him." " That is his manner with all ladies : he has a great deal of breeding, but is terribly inconsiderate. Just what one would expect, however, from his strange posi- tion : so unnatural for a young man with his powers not TABLE-TALK. 193 to come out at all in public life, or at least to continue his authorly career." " He has much of the dreamer about him, certain! v : ir may yet be different. Well, but about this child?'' " She is about the age of Ernestine, I should think.'' " Older : that affair of the caricatures was four years ago at least. However, I was going to say it was sin- gular in Mrs Delapole not to accompany her : the first time, too." " I shall ask Mrs Delapole when I see her ; for I in- tend to call, as I hear she has been very kind to my godson : had him to spend his holidays with her at Brussels." •• With Eose ? I think it was rather an experiment upon Kaildon. I should like to call with you." •• Ah, Ernest ! you have already begun to learn that it is better for little girls to go to bed at nine o'clock than at half-past twelve." " What for, mamma ?" " With those tired eyes. Put that book away now, and go out for a run in the square." " What did you do last night, my dear Eose ; and how many people were there ? Bless me, child, you are whitewashed this morning : your doctor ought to see you now." " You think he would prescribe rouge ? Dear auntie, I did not count the people ; and they all, every one, did nothing but talk until the committee was over." VOL. I. O 194 COUNTERPARTS. u 'T is a strange fancy, my love, for Miss Sarona to hold her parties the same evening ; it must make such confusion. It would be better management to settle them at the fortnight. Besides, Dr Sarona's absence must naturally keep so many away : a young lady of Miss Sarona's age has it not in her power to ask gentle- men to join her circle, as a married lady can, or a lady past a certain age." " Oh dear ! she asks all kinds of gentlemen : I never saw so many together in my life. I suppose you know why I was invited — that I might see Mr Bernard." " Ah ! the great young poet, who was supposed, when he first published, to be a German. Poor Friedhoff Loss tried hard to translate a canto or two of his first work, but gave it up. I remember his saying to me, 1 I thought it would be easy to render into German be- cause of the largeness of the ideas, but I find that Ger- man is not a language large enough to hold them.' ' " I never knew Loss said so." " How should you, my love ? You were but so high, and you never saw Loss." " But vou have told me about him often." " Yes ; and some day you must see him, when you go back ; and when you are older and stronger-headed, and not so liable to be infected by his transcendental- ism." " Auntie, you are very ideal this morning." " Rose, you know I don't allow such a word in my vocabulary : when you are ten years older it will be TABLE-TALK. 195 struck out of yours. I hope Mr Bernard does not talk about < ideal.' " u Sufficiently in his poetry, ma'am. " " Rose, where have you seen his poetry ? *' " Miss Sarona lent it me — at least lent me • Stone- henge.' I asked her for it." u Lent to you ! — that hook ! it is not fit for any lady — any young lady, to read : t<:> say nothing of its being fabulous, it is very irreligious, and full of false philoso- phy. I wonder Dr Sarona has such a book in his library : I must ask him about it." k - Indeed you must not — he had nothing to do with it — he did not lend it to me — he would not have lent it to me, of course ! I have returned the book, for I did not understand it, and it is a dull subject." " It is a fine poem, however, making allowance for the vagaries of youth. I hear he is a very different per- son now, and has laid aside his pen." *• He uses his pencil, though ; he pair,:-."' •• Indeed! And did you talk about paintir •• We talked about everything : you would like him, aunt ; he has so much simplicity. He is a sweet crea- ture altogether." " I hope you did not tell him so, my 1 "No ; I don't remember that I did." " So Dr Sarona did not show himself the whole even- ing ! Well, I wonder how his sister contrived without him. He is very superior ; a thoroughly sensible young man, and transparent as water. His whole mind seems 196 COUNTERPARTS. bent on his profession ; and yet such propriety has he, that no one would suspect him of being professional at all. So you did not see him, — he did not speak to you?" " Not before I came away." " And when are you to go to him again ? Your looks do not satisfy me yet." " I do not think Dr Sarona wishes to see me again : I am sure it is not necessary." " Bless the child ! has she taken one of her dislikes to that man ? My dear Rose, you must allow me to judge for you. Unless you look very differently, I shall take you to him to-morrow." " What is puckering up your face and making you a fright this morning, Moss ?" " Am I a fright ?" said Moss, rushing to the looking- glass in the breakfast-room. Lord Federne had been up two hours, but had waited breakfast as usual for his son, who had just sauntered in at eleven o'clock, or later, perfectly dressed, his glossy hair catching the sunbeams like satin, his handsome eyes bedimmed. Federne broke into laughter to see him at the looking-glass. " Come, Mossie, I'm very thirsty, for I 've been walk- ing by the sea. You've had quite enough of your mir- ror this morning, I suspect ; and don't you know you always were a fright ?" " I hope not, father. I do'nt want any breakfast : I am going out." " Not without breakfast, I assure you ; and not alone." TABLE-TALK. 197 •• No, I hope not: I never wish to be alone when I can be with you." 11 You are going to see after Miss De Berri, Moss." " I am not : I am only going to get some flowers for her." "Not at present, Moss, it's premature. Call with me first ; I '11 find her up." u Oh ! I know where she lives. I want to take her some flowers that I may see her by daylight." u Then see her by daylight first ; the rest will fol- low." " Very well : it \s all the same to me. I must read some German to-day, too, father, some time." •• Miss De Berri speaks German?" u I 've heard her quote to Bernard. Papa, did you ever see such a pair of little hands as Bernard's ? I wish mine were as small." " Yours are small enough — his too small to be natural; yet they suit him. Another cutlet, Moss, or no Miss De Bern!"' Moss accepted and ate it, as if it were indeed an alter- native. 198 COUNTERPARTS. CHAPTER XII. THE BEACH. In the room at Rockedge where the lightnings had peeped at the l Stonehenge' manuscript, the poet sat that same morning. A "breakfast tray, with one cup and plate and one coffee-stand, was pushed far along the table, and whoever had breakfasted had eaten as little as the finest lady ever eats in the morning ; yet were there no papers about, nor news journals, nor novels, nor the last impression of a cigar. Bernard was playing exactly like a child with an immense dog, which had thrown itself across his feet. It was a golden tawny dog with a black dash or two, its thick silken hair gathered to its throat like a mane ; its large eyes quivered with expression : a bright blending of fun and fondness. It snapped, and reared, and rolled on the carpet, — then routed about the room and out of the window to the lawn : while grubbing there among the THE BEACH. 199 moss, its master, who evidently had not followed it because of languor if not fatigue, moved slowly to the bell and rang it, ordering his horse and groom. In half an hour Bernard passed the lodge on horse- back, his dog still close behind him, and never running either back or forwards. The day was bright, and what- ever wind there was breathed soft. Though the stir and flutter of the spring were everywhere, and though the rider delighted in such exercise as entirely as he de- tested walking, there was no thrill nor excitement in his aspect : scarce seemed there conscious life. His countenance preserved its lovely, lost expression 5 the eye its settled haze, the mouth its pathetic melancholy. All along that road the same, and the same when the palaces rose real from the delicate morning distance. The same when Bernard, springing from his horse at almost exactly the central point of X, gave his reins to the groom, while the dog laid its muzzle upon his 1 as though to say it would not leave him even there. Bernard had not been in X for many weeks by day- light, and he could not resist the almost childish curiosity, which was part of him, to stay and to stare at everything that was new, or that he had forgotten : always choosing the footpath next the cliff, though it was on the other side the people crowded. A heap of bright boats freshly paint- ed, and drying high upon the beach, arrested him at length : he was always interested in boats, and took some 1 to read their names this morning, leaning awhile upon 200 COUNTERPARTS. the wooden railing we have mentioned before, and as usual going off into a dream upon those very names. The water was coming up, the white sunshine sheened it, and gave an arid brightness to the wilderness of stones and weeds : it shone also upon two figures sitting close together, and bending so that their heads very nearly touched. One of these heads was unbonneted, wore a blue veil most like a hood, and was shaded with a green parasol. Bernard knew that head in an instant, but not the owner of the other, about whom it is probable he did not even think ; for in an instant he was underneath the balustrade and sauntering down the slope. But he passed the figures, and still went towards the sea with his face turned from them. "Oh!" cried Miss De Berri, "there is some one walking into the water. And what a dog ! Oh what a glory ! he is throwing stones for it." " It must be Mr Bernard," said Cecilia, quietly. " I heard him behind us, and I heard him call his dog. And I know what he is come for, too." " So do I. I wish he would turn round : I want to see his face again. I was dreaming about him last night." " He will turn presently : he knows that you are here. And now, if you will not think me a wretch, I shall go home." " Oh, please do not ! I really would rather not be alone should he condescend to speak to me : not on my THE BEACH. 201 own account, nor his, but because my aunt is coming out this morning, and I do not wish to give her anything to say — about him at least. Will you stay?" u Indeed I will. Perhaps he did not see us after all, and our disquietude has been in vain." u He is watching the waves, — you know he is a painting poet. There he comes, and the dog with him — all dripping : what a study he would be for Land- seer !" Bernard faced about, seemed to catch their apparition for the first time, fell a step back with a slide, put up his hand to shade his eyes, and at last took off his hat. Eose bowed — Cecilia fixed her eyes upon the sea, with an air of being merely present in the body and absent in the spirit : she did not return his bow ; for, unfortunately for her courtesies, it happened that she had just been hearing what Bernard had said about her singing. Bose, in telling her, had also conveyed her own impression that Bernard was too much delighted to confess he really felt (as some gentlemen are supposed to be) ; — she besides had no idea it would signify in one way or the other to Miss Dudleigh, as she believed her disap- pointed in the aspect of the poet. But Cecilia, witli a temperament whose slightest effects were extremes, was in a writhe of contemptuous passion. Not that she had expected Bernard to like her personally, or to notice her ; but that she had aspired to charm him by that which she considered to be her only charm, disallowing every other to herself. So she behaved, and certainly 202 COUNTEEPAETS. looked as she behaved, impertinently self-possessed. Bernard came straight up to Bose then, and for a mo- ment stood upright. "'It 's you ! I little thought to meet you again so soon. And how have you been all night '? May I sit down, or are you tete-a-tete?" " Well, Mr Bernard, we were tete-a-tete, hut shall be most proud if you will join us. Have you been walking all the way from Bockedge?" He threw himself upon the beach : " No, I rode. Do you ride ? You ought to ride, — it would do you much good : you have quite a constitution for it." " My doctor did say it would be very good for me 5 but I cannot bear the looks of the masters : and my aunt cannot keep horses, except for the carriage, as she does not wish to enlarge her establishment, I have never learned to ride, either : she is in such a fright lest I should fall off, if I mounted without instruction." " You should ride a pony, — not to be too far from the ground : if you 're weak, you 're sure to turn giddy on a tall powerful horse, Who is your doctor ? I 'm sorry you are in such hands." " I have consulted Dr Sarona." " Ah ! I was just going to beg you to do so. He made you put by your brushes then, — the viper ! he always abridges people's enjoyments. " " I fancied he did just the contrary : — he suggested that I should study music, though he prohibited painting." u Just like him ! anything but what one wants/ 7 THE BEACH. 203 " But I do want music, more than painting, now." " With whom do you study music ? I don't know a decent performer in X." " With Miss Dudleigh, I am proud to say." "Does she understand music?" A smile, whose mirth was wreathed in sweetness, breathed over his mouth as he bent across Eose to look under Cecilia's bonnet. But Miss Dudleigh who had turned her head and tossed it back, replied,with a scornfulness which would have been ridiculous had it not been melancholy : — " I do not understand it : — I teach it." " More shame for you then !" cried Kafe in the same sweet manner, yet bending forwards. But she saw neither the attitude nor the expression : she only heard the words ; and, deeming they required no reply, disposed herself to give none. She could not have explained why she did not answer ; for in fact the presence of Bernard inspired her with an interest pain- ful and obscure, It was not his genius ; though before genius alone she bowed : it was not that singular fasci- nation which was apart from his intellectual bearing — it was perhaps, as she thought it, his rare and thorough breeding. Yet it could not be denied that Sarona's was as choice : she did not fear with him — she did not render herself consciously unacceptable : — there must have been something else. Perhaps, the antithesis oi experience — her own so slight even for years so few, and his the experience of a man of fashion, to which his social sensitiveness had been subdued. At all 204 COUNTERPARTS. events, Bernard, who was as unaccustomed to have his light speeches gravely received as his grave ones, had his crest raffled like a proud child's temper, by the solemn silence she preserved. He took no more pains, therefore, to make her speak, but bent down over Tina, who was under Miss de Bern's bonnet upon her lap : he stroked one snowy paw, and in an instant the whole white head peeped out. " What a cunning little fellow ! it makes my monster look like a lion. It came from Florence, of course?" " I believe so. But I admire yours a great deal more. You should have a picture by Landseer." " Xecl wouldn't paint him — he 's too undoglike. I 've tried myself : not that I wanted to have a portrait of the brute, but for practice. The first sketch I took while he was tumbling about among the rocks, he looked like a kelpie, quite awful ; the other time he was staring at me, and it came so human that I was obliged to burn it : he 's got such loving eyes." " Why does he keep such a long way from you, looking after you so ? he wants you to throw him a stone — do throw him one !" " Not a bit of it : he don't care for stones much. He knows I never let him come to me when I am talking to ladies, and he wants to come, that 's all." " But why won't you let him come ?" " Because he 's ever in the water when he can get to it, and would wet your pretty frock through and through if he came near you. Besides he 's too large for the THE BEACH. 205 society of ladies : unless peradventure they wanted to take a long walk after twelve o'clock at night ; then, with a dark lantern at his collar, he 'd be stouter pro- tection than a dozen men." " I wish he might come here : do you mind his com- ing ? I want so to see his splendid face : it is so grand and sweet." " Mind his coming! of course not, if you don't. And I can keep him in I believe. He knows all I say to him. Come here, Cock ! " The dog bounced over the stones, showering the wet spray in clouds, and having reached Bernard began to bark and rear. " Down, sir, down ! lie down there and dry yourself: don't touch anybody." He lay down straightway, and cast his wild implor- ing eyes into his master's face. " What is his name, Mr Bernard ?" " Cockle : he was born down on the beach, on a heap of cockleshells — his mother was as water-mad as he is. Yes, I found him there one morning, and he never left me afterwards. His mother ran away, though." Cock growled deep in his throat, and his eye grew savage. " She was better lost than found, however. "Will you go away Cock and leave me ?" A long plaintive howl, and eyes liquid with fond- ness upturned to the speaker's — a noble frown rutting the heavy brows. 206 COUNTERPARTS. " No, no, no ! come, hush that noise ! He under- stands all I say to him." " Oh, I am sure of it — spirits in prison." " Ay, they're spirit.-, whether in or out of prison, / know. I don't understand how : but we don't under- stand half we do know. He knows everybody, and re- members them, too. Cock, this young lady is an Un- dine : go and bring her a crab." Cock set off and scoured the whole length of the beach : he was soon out of sight. " He knows where to go : he's gone to the lower shingle. There are no crabs just about." In five minutes Cock came back, with a straggling- green thing in his mouth. He dropped it at Miss de Berri's feet. " Take it back and put it into the sea, good Cock ! " said Eose, in her sweet voice. •• Ah! she don't like it to be hurt — she's quite right." But Cock was down at the margin and plunging into the water. " Anything for an excuse to get a ducking," said Bernard, still gazing at Bose with the softest kindness : for he could not forget hers to the little sprawler. " Cock — Cock — you 've had quite enough. Come back!" for Cock was swimming out to sea. He turned, though, at Bernard's voice — that, for all its soft- reached as far as the scent of flowers — soon dashed dripping to the land, and burst over the stones again : THE BEACH. 207 this time taking no note of his master, nor of Undine ; bat stepping up to Cecilia, and examining her with his great benevolent eyes. Her head was still averted ; she was leaning half-sideways, and had begun to build a little mound up of the loose stones, placing them as regularly as though her life depended upon their being found in a circle. Perhaps she did not see Cock at first ; but he was determined to see her, and marched about her mound till his face almost touched her bonnet, then put his two stupendous paws upon her lap, and wagged his sweeping tail. She took no notice of him, but drew herself a little higher upon the shore ; he fol- lowed, and at last began to howl. " Come here, Cock!" said his master, impatiently. " How dare you go where you 're not wanted !" Cock came heavily on behind, and threw himself along the shore, still howling as he looked up at Bernard. He held out his hand, all gloved as it was. Cock pulled off the glove with his teeth, and was running off with it — " That 's one of his tricks : he likes to hide my gloves, and my hat too sometimes. Oh, he 's a saucy hoik ! He '11 bring it to you and tuck it under your frock, if he can 't find a place down yonder. What 's to do now ? "What 's he up to ? ' ' For Cock had carried the glove to Cecilia and dropped it on the mound. He ran and leaped, mean- while, backwards and forwards. 208 COUNTERPARTS. " Hide it for him," half- whispered Rose. But Ber- nard stretched himself across the beach, made a long arm behind Miss De Berri, and restored the glove to himself. Cock came up to him howling. " You are an incorrigible brute. Will you always forget what's due to yourself? And always beg to make friends of people who don't like you ? I tell you what it is, Cock, I shall have to send you home along with one of the chairmen on the cliff — cringing and fawning ! Isn't my love enough for you?" "Poor fellow!" said Rose, touching his wet coat with her tiny hand. " Don't scold him : he only meant to be kind." " Some ladies are afraid of big dogs, too, I know," returned Bernard mischievously, yet with the natural sweetness of his temper breaking through : " they think they're going mad. It's a great mistake ; they don't go mad any more than people with big minds : it 's little worrying minds and scratch-about dogs that run mad. Leave off growling, Cock, and learn to be con- tented. NeVer mind about being liked : it's a good deal better to be disliked — all but hated. No, no more gloves for you to-day : lie down ! " And, at last, he did lie down ; his eyes fixed on his master, and winking approval at everything he said. Rose and he talked on together : not a shadow of unin- terest crossed their conversation : it was so natural, that it was almost impossible to believe they had not always lived together. He was simple as herself, she profound as he. THE BEACH. 209 So thought Miss Dudleigh, who heard every word ; though she had taken a book out of her pocket, which contained a long list of German substantives she had used for her pupils at Miss Staynes' : she held it very close to her eyes, too, and appeared to be reading. What chiefly struck her, was, that whatever each said, was as a link in the same chain of coincident impression : whatever Bernard said, Rose might have said 5 what- ever Rose began, he finished. They might almost have been said to exchange natures ; but that the natures seemed alike — unisonous, not according : the very im- mutable difference of sex, and stamp, and organism, only serving to illustrate the likeness between them more completely : to preserve this very oneness unal- loyed, in the assertion of the mutual temperament. They did not talk long, though, however long it seemed to Cecilia : not more than half an hour had passed, with interludes of silence, while the sea played alone upon the ear, when Mrs Delapole reached the balustrade of the beach. It was not so very often that this lady ven- tured abroad to walk; this was one of her pedcstrianisms, for the soft sunshine and softest air had tempted her : she came to fetch Rose. Rose knew that she was coming, but not that she was going to walk ; she also would not the least have cared to be found with Ber- nard ; and it never entered her mind, that should she be found there, to all intents and purposes alone, with him (for Miss Dudleigh would have been no protection according to the regime her relation served), almost any VOL. I. P 210 COUNTERPARTS. impression might be induced of their pleasure in each other's society. Neither did Eose feel this only because she was young and innocent ; she would have felt just the same had she been ten or twenty years older : that if she took a pleasure in Bernard's society and he in hers, they had a right to it on both their parts. But Mrs Delapole was almost petrified, as may be read- ily believed, to find Kose sitting beside a gentleman on the beach. Assuredly she would not have been alarmed anywhere but in England : which is rather an anomaly ; as women are better secluded by conventionalism in Eng- land than upon the continent : yet here she was alarmed, and felt herself justly intimidated. She considered Rose, too, so extremely unformed and childish as to require con- tinued supervision ; but as the purest grace was mani- fest in every action and turn of Eose's person, she expected her own vigilance to stand in stead. Add- ing, that Mrs Delapole had at once an easy and a happy temper, we shall imply that she was one of the most troublesome and inimical characters it is possible to meet with. She prepared herself to be very perfect on the occasion of discovering Eose with her knight : she aspired to pure sang-froid : to carrying her off coolly, with demonstration towards him, that, however subdued, should suffice. Little indeed did she anticipate that her artillery would be dispersed by the breath of a poet's nostrils. Cecilia had seen her coming and had pre- pared Eose, who told Bernard her aunt was about to appear ; and Bernard, by one or two well-timed THE BEACH. 211 questions had saved himself even the trouble of an in- vestigation. With his singular gallantry, he sprang upon his feet, offering his hand to Rose to raise her too ; then letting hers fall, he stood with his hat off and bending, until Mrs Delapole approached. The wind swept the hair from his lustrous forehead ; his ex- quisite shape, his graceful hands, his peculiar smile — more from the eyes than the lips — all turned her fears aside : she had indeed nothing either to say or do ; and he said and did for all. " I beg I may have the honor of introducing myself, in order that I may apologise for taking up Miss De Bern's time. I am Mr Bernard, and last night I had the pleasure of meeting her at the house of my dear friend, Dr Sarona. I came over from Rockedge, out there,' 1 pointing with his finger to the cliff, " with my dog, and was going to see Sarona (for I declare I could not catch a glimpse of him last night), when Cock there insisted upon running down into the sea. I was obliged to go after him — for he's a fine fellow, and worth stealing — when I discovered my friends, Miss Dudleigh and Miss De Berri ; and I confess I was very glad of an opportunity to ask them how they were." Rose could hardly keep her countenance, unsophis- ticated as she was, at this instance of true social tact on Bernard's part, in adducing Miss Dudleigh's presence : unfortunately for the subject of it, she did not hear him include her name ; had she done so ; how entirely she would have been restored to her better self ! But it 212 COUNTERPARTS. happened, by one of those minute chances without which the vaster links of circumstance could not hold together, that Cecilia had walked a few steps nearer the sea; whose voice drowned all articulation, though she yet heard Bernard's voice. She was aroused from a dim sort of impression that she was not wanted, by Hose's tones. Eose wanted to present her to her aunt. And by her very innate sense of self-contempt Cecilia was forced into reactions-she bowed to Mrs Delapole like a lady of rank. Mrs Delapole put out her hand, thanked her with real kindness, in which there was only an indis- tinct trace of patronage, for her attention to Eose : of whom she spoke as though Miss De Berri were only a little girl, evidently considering Miss Dudleigh con- summately adult : and requested she would come and spend an evening with her niece. Miss Dudleigh be- -haved, in reply, as though it were on her part a con- descension to go out at all, without accepting the gene- ral invitation. Mrs Delapole immediately conceived her to have been in a higher niche of the social scale one previous day; liked her all the better for it, of course, and concluded in her own mind a treaty with this slave of misfortune. Meantime, Bernard, who had put his hat on again and beckoned his clog to his side, stood rather apart ; his eyes hidden under the long lids, and pointing his footprint into the loose stones. Eose stood too, but close to Cecilia ; into whose countenance her large wistful orbs searched constantly while her aunt was speaking. And when Mrs Delapole suggested to THE BEACH. 213 her that she must indeed come home, for she had been ordered by her doctor to dine at one, she made great haste to move ; leaving all but Miss Dudleigh behind her, and holding her by her hand. Mrs Delapole had turned to salute Bernard, who bowed, and in another moment requested permission to escort them home. " I should be very much obliged to you, Mr Bernard ; but we live a long way off: quite at the West End." u The more reason why you should allow me to take you safely. Besides, I have not been X way west for quite three months, and I Ve quite forgotten how the old place looks : they 're building here, there, and everywhere. I am going to return to Sarona's after- wards, so that I shan't be in your way." Bernard laughed his irresistible laugh. Mrs Dela- pole could not help being delighted. " Oh, that will never do ; if you come home with me you must stay to luncheon : this child dines at one, which I make my luncheon hour, and I shall be very happy if you will join us." " On one condition — that you give this little girl of yours a pony, and let her ride to Rockedge and back, every morning : a better recipe for her than a quire of prescriptions." Again Mrs Delapole was charmed ; she could not have denned why. " Dr Sarona said that horse-exercise would be the very best thing for her. But I have no horses here, 214 COUNTERPARTS. except the carriage ponies ; and I cannot think of letting her ride with any of the masters : it is out of the ques- tion. Neither do I approve of the riding-school." " Of course not. And Miss Sarona doesn't ride, or my groom should be at her service, and yours. By the way, it 's a very odd fancy of Miss Sarona's not to ride. I've asked her very often, and she always refused, declaring she can 't ride : which she may tell anybody else who '11 believe it." Suddenly Bernard changed his manner, turned quite round, and with the utmost imaginable carelessness, inquired of Miss Dudleigh, — " You ride, do you not ? Why don't you ride with Miss De Berri?" " I never was on a horse in my life, nor had one to mount ; but I am sure I could ride easily enough, if I had." " Of course you could. My dear madam, what could be better than for these young ladies to ride together ? I '11 take care of them ; and if you will join us, it will be the better for us all. At all events, I promise you I 'd take care of Miss De Berri : at least Miss Dudleigh and I would between us. Would n't we? Cecilia, imagining herself called upon to do so, took the cue, and said, very composedly : — " I would do all in my power, certainly." " Well, you rather surprise me, Mr Bernard. Such an offer, however kind and well-timed, requires con- sideration. If you will oblige me with your arm we will talk about it." THE BEACH. 215 u In a moment. I am quite disgusted with myself for having kept you standing so long : the beach is as diy as a royal carpet ,though. You're coming, too ?" — addressing Miss Dudleigh in a rather familiar fashion. " We shall be very happy to see you, Miss Dudleigh, remarked Mrs Delapole, graciously. u You are very kind, madam, but I wait for Miss Sarona : she must not come here and find me gone." Then Mrs Delapole would have put out her hand, but Cecilia only bowed ; thus impressing her, quite in- tentionally, the more. Rose sent a look back after her, so did Cock, the dog ; whom Bernard had to call before he would follow. Then he offered his arm to Mrs Delapole, and Rose, on his other side, earned Tina in both hers : she did not touch his arm. Cecilia watched them out of sight, along the path, as far as she could see, and then went down among the stones again. Salome appeared in about half an hour, at her usual time. During that half hour, Miss Dudleigh had been meditating most painfully on what it would be best to do in reference to that morning's visitation. Should she tell Sarona, or Salome, or leave it unrelated ? Rea- sons struggled multitudinously in her mind together. She knew Sarona well enough to be very sure that he intensified all but his intellectual impressions, just as she did her own : made the most of every thing ; could seize a watchword if one gave him the capital letter. She was certain that if she told him Bernard had been lounging with them on the beach, he would conjure up the ultimate possible effect of such an encounter between 216 COUNTERPARTS. Miss De Berri and the poet : for she could not say that Bernard had talked to her. On the other hand, should Bernard call to see Sarona that very day, would he not himself mention that he had met and talked to Rose ? Perhaps not — she was not sure : she had not made out Bernard. After thoughts which would have lasted other persons a month, expended fruitlessly upon this barren topic, she determined not to mention anything that had happened. Salome's face, so calm and "brilliant, struck her strangely, as they met this day to return together. Cecilia was so excited within, so torn and confused l>y the wildest anticipations, that this countenance seemed to her sight the very genius of repose. How is it, asked she of her own heart, has she, so young, found the secret of all peace? For Salome's bright, large eye, with its dark lash, gave scarcely a peaceful suggestion ; nor was her smile so mild as it was sweet and keen. But upon the arched brow and curling lips, that never curled in pride, there lay a meaning which no one could interpret. Calm certainly breathed as a veil upon that significance ; but there is calm before the storm, not less than when the storm is overpast. " I have another pupil for you, if you like. Herz makes no objection : I have been telling him about it." " You are both too kind. I shall be thankful to get as many pupils as I can ; because, you know, then I shall be able to leave you." " Are you so anxious, then, to leave us?" asked Sa- lome, almost in a tender voice. THE BEACH. 217 " Ah ! your house is only rather too much like heaven. I should never get to heaven if I lived there ; for I suppose one must fight." " For saying that our house is like heaven, I can forgive you for wishing to leave us," said Salome, in the same manner as before. She knew well enough what she was thinking ; though, for once in her life, Cecilia did not know. " There is one thing, Miss Sarona — I cannot consent to take any more pupils in your brother's house." " But you pay him, you know ; so you cannot mind." Salome expected some outburst here ; but there was none. So she went on. " But it is not at our house, however. It is Mrs Emery, who wishes you to give Ernestine some lessons. The moment she had heard your first song she came up to me and asked about you. She had no idea you taught — said you did not look like a teacher : to which Herz, who was standing by, quite agreed. She was so delighted when she heard you would give lessons, that she told her husband immediately, and they almost settled it on the spot. They wish you to go to their house ; that, as Mrs Emery said, they might have the pleasure of hearing you sing now and then. Certainly, I never saw Mrs Emery so much moved." " She is very kind. How thankful I am to you and to Dr Sarona! But you will imagine it is not easy to rest only thankful : I must do something for all these things." 218 COUNTERPARTS. CHAPTER XIII. CROSS PURPOSES. They entered the hall as Fridolin was showing forth a patient. Sarona, who always came to the door, found them there. He said to Cecilia, immediately, " You know I was to thank you to-morrow ; which is to-day. I thank you very much." And he held out his hand. Salome, quite naturally, to all appearance, went on up stairs, even as he spoke. " Miss Sarona has "been telling me of your great kindness in speaking for me to Mrs Emery." " You spoke for yourself last night — and very beau- tifully too. You know I have not seen you since, to ask what you think of Bernard — my Bernard. Cecilia had walked into the dining-room, not wishing to detain him ; but Sarona followed her, placed himself against the door, and folded his arms. " Well, I don't think about him at all : I have not CROSS PURPOSES. 219 even examined his face. I did not think Mr Bernard looked particularly like a poet." Sarona's eye shone steadfastly ; a frown gathered to his forehead : he did not smile. " What did he look like, then ?" " A very graceful gentleman — a man of rank, I thought ; and yet not at all English : I could quite rea- lise what you told me about his cross breeding." " That is all one can realise, of course. Genius is not an incident of breeding, it is an ideal accident." u Oh yes ! I know that : I only mean I did not see much of Mr Bernard. I was looking so much more at Miss De Berri." " Do you know how she is going on ?" " I saw her this morning. I think Mrs Delapole will bring her to-morrow : I do not like her looks, yet." " How ! — What ! — What do you mean ? — Does she look particularly ill?" " Really, you must know better than I about that. I think her extraordinarily delicate." " Delicate as a blossom — light as thistledown — im- patient as a butterfly under a glass : that is all. — She is not ill, believe me." " I am thankful, indeed, to hear you say so : after that assurance I have no care left." " And are you, then, so careful of her?" " More so than I can explain to myself. I seem to care for nothing else." " A mysterious care ! I have it, too : that is, I am 220 COUNTERPARTS. very anxious to see her as well as she can become ; and it takes too long to please me." At this moment Frid, who had been fidgeting in the hall, knocked at the dining-room door, and informed the physician that three patients yet awaited him. About four o'clock, a double knock was heard by Sa- lome and Cecilia, who were sitting in the drawing-room. Salome was writing, Cecilia working some muslin for Miss Sarona ; having earnestly entreated that she might do so. " There now !" said Salome, — " another patient, and Herz is out. It is some quite new person, or they would not come at this time." " They are coming up stairs : it is a visiter — and I shall go." " You must stay : indeed, Cecilia, you must. Herz says I am not to allow you to go out of the room when callers come ; that it is very bad for you." In another instant there was a knock at the drawing- room door. Cecilia trembled within herself ; for she re- membered Sarona was out, and was very certain she knew who knocked. Salome, thinking it was Fridolin on some mysterious errand, went to the door and opened it. Outside, stood Bernard. She was astonished, evi- dently, and as evidently charmed. They shook hands very warmly ; and Bernard came into the drawing- room. " Miss Dudleigh, you know," said Salome. Bernard showed the nearest approach to a start he had ever CROSS PURPOSES. 221 shown in his life, to see Cecilia sitting there : he was puzzled too ; but he made the best of it, and took a chair by the fire, near Salome. After asking for her brother, and being told he was out but would soon be in, he looked beneath his eyelids at Cecilia. " I left your charge at home," he said. " She was very tired though : it was a long pull for such a little lady. I told her aunt so ; and we settled ail about the horses — that is, if you are pleased." Salome's large eyes grew larger. She was voiceless with amaze. As for Cecilia, she infinitely despised her- self for getting into such a scrape. Her cheek burned as beneath a brand ; but she showed not the slightest color. She owed much to this. She replied quietly, as though her heart were not beating in treble time, and thrilling her from head to foot, — " I thought it would be too long for Miss De Berri to walk ; but, of course, I could not say so to her aunt. As for the riding, on my part, it is quite out of the ques- tion. I cannot afford to ride : I am poor. Miss Sa- rona will tell you so." " I don't understand one word about it," said Sa- lome. " Mr Bernard, what have you been doing this morning ? " Miss Salome, I 've been with Miss De Berri and her friend there upon the beach. I didn't go on pur- pose, of course ; but I found them there. I couldn't help it, you know, if I found them there. Ave you angry with me?" 222 COUNTERPARTS. Salome laughed heartily. Bernard spoke just like a wheedling little boy ; but he was evidently altogether at home with her. " Angry with you ? — Who ever is ? — And what would you care if I were ? I am very glad to hear you have been talking to Miss De Berri — she will do you good." " Am I so very bad?" asked Bernard, taking up a straggling end of cotton and making a cat's-cradle upon his tiny hands. " She would do any one good who was as good as goodness itself: — so refreshing, so exquisitely sweet- tempered, and so lovely looking!" u She 's well made enough. Shan't I see Sarona un- less I wait till six ? I 've ordered my own dinner, and if I don't get back, it will all be spoiled. I can't ' afford'' to lose my dinner." " You shall have some dinner here, if you'll stay, Mi- Bernard. And Herz will be so glad." " I should like to stay ; but I must go and meet my man at the Rockedge road, and tell him to eat my din- ner ! I left Cock down in your dining-room : I hope you '11 excuse me, but I could not leave him in the street ; somebody 'd be giving him chloroform to sniff, and so making away with him." " You should have brought him up stairs. Good- bye, Mr Bernard. Now, do not disappoint us." He did not. Sarona, who had waited for his knock, having come home just in time to be prepared for it, rushed out into the hall. Then Salome and Cecilia CROSS PURPOSES. 223 came down, for dinner was ready, and they entered the dining-room to find the gentlemen already there. Miss Dudleigh opposed Bernard ; but she had no better sight of his face than ever : she could discern nothing but the dazzle of his forehead, behind the lamp, and the gleam of his little hands. The latter were chiefly employed in toying with his knife and fork ; for he apparently had no kind of appetite. u I thought you had come to dine with me, Rafe : I see no signs of dining about you." u The fact is, I am dining upon your society : for, in other respects, I have dined. I had what 's called ' lunch,' by Miss De Berri's aunt ; but it was more solid than my dinners, for the most part." u Lunch at Miss De Berri's!" It cannot be written that Sarona never started : he was too perfectly natural not to start sometimes ; and too nervous. " Yes, and I sat with her all the morning on the beach. What an entertaining little thing she is ! " Sarona had recovered from his start ; he answered, coldly, vivaciously : — " She is a most remarkable person altogether. ►So you have been in X all the morning ? " " Yes, I came to see you." " So it appears." " I declare I did. And I was so pleased to see Miss De Berri again, fur I had a thousand things to say to her : she put a thousand things into my head. And she 's going to ride with me and Miss Dudleigh." 224 COUNTERPARTS. " Mr Bernard, you will excuse me ; but you remem- ber what I said up stairs." This was the first time Cecilia had addressed him. "No! I don't : besides you didn't mean it. I shall appeal to Sarona. Everybody holds by him." " Not now, then : give me leave to eat my dinner in peace. I am obliged to feed myself, or I should never get on." Bernard, a little abashed as it appeared, played with his spoon, and a shy sweetness came upon his face ; for Sarona had spoken unapproachably. At last, Salome rose. Miss Dudleigh followed her. Bernard held the door open for them, and then came to the table, drawing his chair in nearer Sarona's." " So you 're angry with me ! What have I done ? " " Dearest Bafe, nothing. I am a sour fellow some- times, but only when I am tired. I am quite fresh now : and oh, so thankful to see you again. How have you been this long, long time ?" " Passably ill : that means, very well indeed. But, for God's sake ! who is that girl, tell me, who has gone up with your sister?" " A ward of mine — a sort of ward, at least." " A sort of ward ! — An heiress of course ! " " So poor as to be penniless when I brought her here. But one of these days she will be rich." " You'll make her so?" " She will make herself so. She is a woman of CROSS PURPOSES. 225 " She doesn't show it." " You have not seen her ; then you shut your " No ; 1 kept them wide open. She looks clever, but conceited." Sarona laughed, and passed one arm round Bernard's neck. His manner, without being the least assumptive, was that of the superior ; yet their ages were almost to a year the same. He laughed, as if evidently convicted of Bernard's child-like mischievousness. " I never talk to you in that mood, you know, Kafe. You are saying just what you do not mean. Surely it does not make you jealous to find a woman who is worthy to queen it over us ?" " Not a "bit, or I should be jealous of Miss De Berri. She 's just like Titania : the sweetest little soul of a face that ever looked out of ringlets. She doesn't really seem to know what sort of world she 's come to dabble in. Such a way of expressing herself, too ! I never heard a woman speak to the purpose before." Bernard's smile was shining over his whole face as he spoke ; every shade was melted, the dreaminess dis- persed itself in that genial expression ; his eyes seemed to gather lustre even while he smiled. Open and frank and fraternal, he had not a mystery left about him. But Sarona saw not how he looked : like Cecilia in the morning, he only heard the words. With his own proud paleness undisturbed, his perfect lips unparted, he cast his eyes down upon the tablecloth. Bernard did vol. I. Q 228 COUNTERPARTS. not perceive his manner, or else made nothing of it : lie returned to his theme in another variation. " I say, Sarona, do make that ward of yours ride with Miss De Bern ! You see I cannot ride with her alone : it would be unpleasant to her ; and if Miss Dud- leigh goes, it will be quite correct, as they call it," laughing. " You can make that proud woman do any- thing, I know. She shall have a horse of mine, and Miss De Berri is going to have a pony I know of ; only I can't persuade the other : you must." " But my dear Rafe, I am afraid Miss Dudleigh will not like using your horse. She is, as you see, very proud. I will hire a horse for her, if she likesto join you." " Then you can have my horse, and tell her it's a hired one ! — that 's it." " I will try to persuade her first that you are really kind enough to wish it. I strongly disapprove of ruses, unless they are absolutely necessary." Bernard was gone ; it was ten o'clock that night. Sarona, who that evening had stayed at home, came up from the hall after letting him out with his dog ; for he had not returned again up stairs. Cecilia, who had refused to sing to Salome, lest the gentlemen should hear her, was sitting by the fire, again working. Sarona came up to her quickly. " Don't do that work : it's not the thing for you. Take it away, Loma : it is not fit for her." " Dearest Herz ! I thought so myself, but she would do it. Will you sing for us instead?" CROSS PURPOSES. 227 " She is too tired to sing," observed Sarona, but in a peculiar, eager voice. " No, I am not," and she went to the piano instantly ; she sang the " Pilgerspruch," from Mendelssohn, and then arose. But Salome was gone. Sarona was stand- ing with his back to her : he leaned against the mantel- shelf ; one arm arched his brow. He spoke not — stirred not. It rushed through Cecilia's brain to go and speak to him : she well knew what to say. Neither was she afraid. As she advanced, he raised his eyes and smiled, but coldly. " I am afraid you thought it very strange I did not tell you that we met Mr Bernard. It was quite an ac- cident ; but still, as I wish to tell you everything, I ought to have told you that. I hope you will forgive me." " Forgive you ! I have no one to forgive but myself. How far are we below the angels ! But why did you not tell me?" " I did not know Mr Bernard was coming, and I thought you would not hear it at all." " Why should I not hear it at all? I wish you to tell me that." Proud were his tones ; but, oh how gentle now. " I don't quite know why ; but I felt, perhaps — per- haps that you would not have liked Mr Bernard to see much of Miss De Bern." He turned upon her ; the flash of his eye grew troub- led ; his gentle voice fell lower. 228 COUNTERPARTS. " Rather I should fear her seeing Mr Bernard : that is the way to put it. I have no right to put it either way ; nor do I : still I thank you. Once more ; do not be very vexed with me. Blindfold your imagination, or it will blindfold you." " I do not intend to blindfold my imagination. I would rather myself be blind. You know, better than I do, that a pure heart leads the imagination in no paths but the paths of light." " But then, what hearts are pure ?" THE TEMPERAMENTS. 229 CHAPTER XIV THE TEMPERAMENTS. The next morning came Miss De Berri, attended by her aunt. The latter lady had her interview first, and, as it would appear, settled everything about Rose to her own mind. For when Rose herself went in, Sarona asked her not a question about her feelings. He gave her one look, intense as usual, but not so prolonged, and then said, quite in a style of his own. not at all profes- sional : — " Your aunt wishes you to ride, I find : it will be very good for you ; if you do not ride too far at a time, or too fast. I must speak to Mr Bernard about that : I find he is to be your escort. 1 ' " Oh, I did not knoAV it was settled : I had nothing to do with it. I believe my aunt talked about me to Mr Bernard : she talks about me to everyone." 230 COUNTERPARTS. " I hope you do not dislike the idea, then : am I to suppose so?" " I should like to ride very much, now that I have so much time. It was very kind of Mr Bernard to propose it ; but I do not understand why it entered his head to do so." " It is inconceivable. But Bernard is a spoiled child : everybody spoils him, and I dare say you will not prove an exception. He gets all he wishes, and more than he wants." " Dear me, I should have thought just the contrary ! A more dissatisfied-looking person I never saw." " Dissatisfied ! — well — do you think anything can be so unsatisfactory as repletion ? But you do not know Bernard. All that he has he deserves : that is one thing. I hope you like him : that you cannot help it, seems natural, to me." " He is a most exquisite person, and his kindness of disposition strikes me more than his genius." " He is too generous — generous to a weakness — brave to a fault. I myself prefer his disposition to his intellect. You will find him an entrancing companion." " Oh, I shall not be able to talk if I ride ; and why I so wish to ride is because I shall see more of Miss Dudleigh, of whom I can never see enough." " But I hope you are not one of the l dissatisfied?' ' " According to your own suggestion, I suppose I can- not be. But with Miss Dudleigh's society I could never be replete." THE TEMPERAMENTS. 231 " You have arranged with her too, then? You are all beforehand with me. Well, I never knew Bernard in such a preternatural condition of activity : since yes- terday morning to have achieved so much ! Your aunt tells me she is very glad that you met him here, because she had a great curiosity to see him, and your meeting him, or his meeting you, led to her introduction. All parties are thus contented, which is a rare coincidence." " My aunt kept her curiosity very cool, at least," re- turned Rose, timidly : for Sarona's manner this morning was quick and high ; " she knew Mr Bernard as an author, years ago, and never expressed it until yesterday. I think she would have forgotten it again if we had not met him ; but she admired his manner : she thinks so much of manner." u And I suppose would not stand exempt from a favoritism for do-nothing gentlemen." " I should think Mr Bernard anything but a do- nothing." " I mean a gentleman who has nothing he is obliged to do — who does what he pleases." " I have no doubt my aunt takes into consideration that Mr Bernard is a man of family and fortune, if you mean that; she always does : in fact there are very few persons who do not." " And are you one?" Sarona spoke with a sharp swiftness ; his smile just touched his countenance. " I believe I don't care one way or the other : it is of no consequence what I think." 232 COUNTERPARTS. Miss Dudleigh might have said the same words ; but how differently they would have sounded. Rose pro- nounced them inwardly, as if afraid of being heard, and as if actually she felt herself of no consequence. The tone — it could not have been the words — affected Sarona strangely. He fidgeted in his seat ; looked down ; his face softened as if a mist veiled its keen expression. When again he spoke, it was with that singular suavity which in his behaviour took the place of warmth. u I do not think you know of how much consequence : you should not say it is of no consequence. If you even feel it — which you do, or you would not say so — you must not express it. Every body's opinion is of value somewhere ; and to hear those disparage themselves whom we rank very high, is more painful than to have to find fault ourselves." Rose did not answer : she was too much convicted of what Sarona condemned. He waited a moment ; but she did not raise her eyes. " Ah, I am too impertinent in my pertinence : it is not everybody who may say what they think. I beg your pardon : I will not horrify you again." Rose looked up now ; her eyes expanded, as the moon fills her horns with light : their circle was all-radiant ; but though undazzling as that very moonlight, Sarona did not meet it. He glanced past Rose to the window : his manner almost scared away her answer : or would have done so, had she not determined to speak. " It is very kind of you, — it is very kind of any one, THE TEMPERAMENTS. 233 — to find fault with me : I mean, to tell me when I should not say things that I do say. I have many, many faults, but one is not ingratitude to those who are willing and able to cure me of them." Sarona mused a moment, with eyes that sparkled against the window-light behind her ; then his smile, all gentleness, returned, — a strange bitterness mingling with its very sweetness ; as that bitter fragrance of the late clematis which we call its sweet. He seemed, — he who generally poured forth his words, — to be searching everywhere for a reply in vain. He shifted his position : he coughed shortly ; and so long was it before he spoke, that Miss De Berri rose. " Oh, do not go : that is, not until I have assured you that I meant to find no fault : I could find none. And as to your being ungrateful ! you might as well talk of being ugly, or of being stupid ! Besides, to be grateful implies that you have received some actual be- nefit. And I have not even made you well : have not even done my part. Your aunt appears to think I am remiss in this last particular." "I am very sorry she troubled you with her impa- tience : she is impatient. I believe she wishes me to look well by the time my father returns from France in the summer ; though I am sure I do not know why she should be, for he never cares whether I am well or ill." " Oh, fie ! " " Oh, I do not mean that he is not kind to me : but very few fathers do." 234 COUNTERPARTS. " Very few do not, thank God ! My father gave me everything. I loved him as well as my mother • and do still." Rose glanced with a timid yet trustful expression at Sarona : she would have liked to hear a great deal about his father, but could not ask him to tell her. He too would have given the world to go on talking, but felt as if even now he had said too much. He would have given the world, and more, to have heard her go on talking about her father, — about anything : — most of all about herself. He was unaware that he did not even ex- press this desire in his behaviour: he felt it too muck even to remember it must be expressed to be understood, on the part of one so young to all impressions as Rose. She meanwhile was occupying herself with the recol- lection, that all the time she had stayed — and which seemed to her so long, though it was a very short few minutes — she had not spoken of her health, and therefore ouffht not to intrude. She felt at once dazzled and de- jected ; she knew not how : nor did she recover herself until she found herself out of his presence. Sarona returning to his own room and closing the door, sat down forlorn. His mood was one which happens to a full-grown man perhaps once in a hundred instances — to every woman once, who has an aroused intellect and a tender heart. Disappointment and desire, despair and hope, pride and passion, were the elements; and, fused into each other as the fluent glories of blue and crimson pass to purple, they saturated the soul with a melancholy too THE TEMPERAMENT?. 235 profound for plaint. In a boyish breast they might have wrought contentiously ; but the first struggle of a boy with suffering is the earnest of rejoicing youth — triumphant manhood : there is no mighty suffering till the soul is matured to suffer. Here it was matured and more : an almost angel-purity, a power like seraph-strength, were ever mediant between the spirit and the outer life. With a sensitiveness too keen to analyse, even by his own searching tests, Saronawas not aware that his endur- ance had never yet been taxed; for that very sensitiveness had but served to intensify his perception of the remotest suffering and cause of suffering in others : he had never spent it upon himself. An experience of others, as widely extended as it was intricate and scrutinizing, was accompanied in him by an absolute inexperience of his own inmostnature. Over his intellect he had consummate control : strange it would have been if he had not known it well, for his existence had been purely and practically intellectual ever since he had begun to " reflect." But of his own heart — his springs of fancy — his mysterious spiritual needs, he took no account : he was perfectly feminine alike in suffering and in secrecy : his innocence baffled his wisdom. Xone can realize such a struggle, ex- cept those who also have suffered in secret • because none out of themselves were strong enough to trust : and none either but those who have been unaccustomed to suffer on their own account. Sarona, with all his ex- perience, had suffered for others again and again — had suffered even with them : he had laid out his entire life 236 COUNTERPARTS. for the lives of others. A youth of the loftiest training had led him to a life all love : but love that was indeed untouched, as untainted either by expectation or reward. It had been natural to him so to walk : he had not said to himself, " I will deny myself the joys of life ; I will devote my will to the sacrifice of self; I will never look for home, except in heaven." On the contrary, he had been accustomed ever to enjoy mere existence : he had but fed the demands of his nature, in living for others : he had made a very heaven of his home. But suffering for himself was a new suggestion : he could not even grasp it, though he longed to wring it forth and prove it. The very effort to assimilate with it caused more agony than he could well endure : the travail deepened with self-consciousness until he lost all sense of time ; and the few minutes he was left alone and unoccupied were as an eternity of that void of self which men call Hell. For the first time, too, when his patients were with him — for he was rarely left alone, and this morning- he was overwhelmed with them — Sarona gave not his whole attention. It had been his habit to identify him- self with them one by one : his untiring sympathy, his sustaining gentleness, were more looked and longed for than his marvellous modifications of remedy or palliative Now he did not seem less interested, less kindly, or less willing ; but he inly wandered, to nothing in particular : a vague bourne, like that of a pilgrim in a dream — still wandering and recalling himself — straying and recover- ed ; till, lo ! at the end of the morning he found himself THE TEMPERAMENTS. 237 drowned in weariness. He was not used to be tired, except at the proper time : that is, when he got to the evening of the day; and then his fatigue only served to shed a kind of twilight over his faculties, and to facili- tate meditation : for it was in the evening he often wrote, or prepared notes for writing. Now the weariness that so oppressed him seemed a suspension of the power to meditate : he could no more have written than he could have gone to sleep ; and cither one or the other would have been to him desirable at that instant. He did not know in his own case, as he would have known in the case of another, that such spiritual exhaustion as neces- sarily follows spiritual anguish, as physical prostra- tion succeeds to physical pain. He was indeed so far ignorant and unassuming of its real cause as to be very angry with himself. His pride, so deep and dread that his gentleness kept out of sight, awoke and lashed him : he knew not either that it is the last extreme of pride to question its own existence. For he murmured and up- braided inwardly his want of self-respect, that he should permit himself so to be tormented : and on whose ac- count ? We write a " Selah " here. Miss Dudleigh was out when Kose entered and left the house ; she had gone to give her first lesson to her second pupil. Salome called for her, and when they returned together they did not see Sarona : — nor at all, until the evening. At dinner-time as usual he ap- peared, but Salome directly observed his weariness : indeed it would have been impossible not to observe it, 238 COUNTERPARTS. for he could not shake it off. Cecilia did not know, or was not quite sure, that Rose had been that morning : she could not inquire ; — still she rather thought so. How deeply she was afflicted to see that shadow upon Sarona's presence she could not have expressed ; "but it entered into her at once exactly how to behave : she indeed understood enough to know he would rage inwardly if he supposed himself conquered by his trouble sufficient- ly to show it, even before her. Therefore she began to talk, and continued talking during the whole dinner- time, to Salome. Salome was perfectly astonished at her resources and command over them ; for she had not been used to see Miss Dudleigh take the lead : — ever following Sarona, as she had done in sympathy or meta- physical skirmish, but never making herself necessary to the conversation between herself and her brother. Sarona made a great show of eating very little, and it lasted a very long time. Very gravely, with eyes that never once looked up, he helped himself and his com- panions: — he had not even a half-smile for Cecilia ; though it was very true, what Miss Lipscumbe had said, that he smiled more often upon her than upon any one who crossed his path. She would not let Salome speak to him : she gave her no time to put in a word, except in reply to her inexhaustive questions and sug- gestions. Had she known of what Salome's pure heart was full that evening, she would have been more cau- tious on her own account ; for Salome had no idea but one, so prevalent with her of late, that it bade fair to THE TEMPERAMENTS. 239 settle quietly into a habit, — and which indissolubly connected Cecilia's existence and her brother's together, in the imaginative view she took. But dinner could not last for ever; though, like Sarona's day, that day it had seemed to all the parties concerned to last so long. As soon as it was over, Sarona called Miss Dud- leigh into his consulting-room. Salome could hardly preserve her coolness : she blindly foresaw what would never happen : she was as assured that Sarona was about to address Cecilia as he had never yet ad- dressed a woman, as though he had informed her of such intentions. She marvelled that Cecilia could be so calm j could step forth so naturally • and concluded lliat she was totally unprepared : — for what, we will not commit ourselves by stating. Nor even Sarona's in- different tones, when he said, u I have not given you a sitting for a very long time, and I must inquire how you are," had the slightest counteraction in them : — they rather confirmed her romantic, unworldly hopes. She went up stairs as they went out together, and together into the cabinet. It was a cold night, a rude east wind prevailed, but the cabinet was as warm as a conservatory for tropical plants. Sarona forced Miss Dudleigh, seeing that she shivered, into his own large chair with the cushioned elbows, which he drew to the fire from its usual position at the desk. And nothing had ever touched her like that stroke of his natural chivalry, whose inimitable grace no present and absorb- ing depression could put out of the question. lie did 240 COUNTERPARTS. not take a chair, lie stood ; and she could not ask him to sit down : she could have asked him to do nothing, not even to be seated, just then. She expected some strange confession : so far she agreed with Salome; but she little expected how very little would make way after this ceremonious preparation. " It 's very cold, Miss Dudleigh, — you are very cold." " I am a very cold creature, I never get warm : — I am either cold or hot, always." " That is very strange, — I am also like that. I never was warm ; and I suppose I never shall be. Those hot summer-days I almost faint with heat ; yet anything short of actual hot weather chills me. I only know one person who is always warm, except when he is ill — Bernard. By the way, Miss Dudleigh, I have a veiy great favour to ask of you. You will oblige me by riding with him, — so very much, you cannot think." " Riding with him ! " " Yes, yes, — with Miss De Berri and him. He has promised me a horse of his own for you : a horse he has lent to several of his lady-friends." " I will do anything else ; but I cannot, and will not, ride a horse of Mr Bernard's." " Then of course I have nothing left to say. You refuse me." " Not to ride ; only to ride his horses." " Then you will ride upon a horse of my provision," exclaimed Sarona eagerly and yet surprised. " Indeed I will." THE TEMPERAMENTS. 241 " Thank you a thousand times. As you have been so kind, may I inquire what objection you have to rid- ing Bernard's horse?'' " And I only wonder you should ask me why. It is utterly absurd. Place yourself in my position one mo- ment, and you will understand why. even to please you, I could not do this. If you had not proposed to get me a horse yourself, and had persevered in wishing me to ride, I should have even requested you to procure me one." " Strange girl ! I think you and I are bom with the same disposition. I can quite understand : but I did not think any one could have so hit the difference be- tween a debt and an obligation. You do this for me, you know." u Yes, I understand so. On no other account would I accompany anybody, either a friend of yours or of my own, either in riding or in any other expedition where it is necessary to spend money. For you see I have no money to spend, and if I were to spend I should be de- frauding others." " You. would not defraud Bernard : — he has horses enough, and to spare." " I should defraud him of what I could never repay. It would sink me to death to be indebted to him, or to anybody : — it only does not sink me to be indebted to you, because I expect some day to be enabled to repay you." VOL. I. » 242 COUNTERPARTS. " Pray do you consider me so ill-conditioned as to re- quire payment?" " Oh I do not mean in money ! And very likely I am audacious in expecting that I shall ever have the power in my hands to reward you sufficiently for your goodness towards me." " Reward is not payment : it is a free gift, however w * have won it. And from you I have already received my reward : to save from one hour of suffering is enough to sustain me for years : to know that one spirit has found shelter, if not rest, at my side." " Oh do not talk so ! I cannot bear it ; though I feel all : feel more than you can say. I only desire to re- semble you in that you live for others. I only wish to imitate you in life, as I resemble you in disposition. For it is very true that I do resemble you. The first day I ever saw you my tongue was loosed : I could say everything to you that occurred to me, because nothing occurred to me that was not consonant with what you said. I could be myself to you ; and though I could realise that there was that in you to make others fear, I never found myself afraid. It is all temperament." " Ah these fateful temperaments ! I often think of what Disraeli wrote, — he who knows more than we all, and dares not reveal the half of what he knows, — that ( all is Eace ; there is no other Truth.' But a co- incident article of my creed is this — all is Tempera- ment : without understanding it, there is no arriving at Truth." THE TEMPERAMENTS. 243 " But I do not think that you really believe what you assert there ; because if you did you would per- ceive exactly the counter-influence of all temperaments that are identical." " And do I not ? You mean something I do not come at." " A great deal, which I have no right to say ; and perhaps no right to think." 11 You may say anything you like." " No, I know better. I see that I ought not even to have said so much." " So little, you mean." His voice was roughened, his behaviour chilled. His very attitude, as he flung his head back and folded his arms, suggested at once disdain and defiance. It was a curious instance of that alienation between a masculine and a feminine nature where the mystery of sex encroaches upon their similitude of temperament : — on his part the masculine necessity to draw all and en- fold within itself; on hers, the feminine tendency to put forth all suggestions, and to lay hold on all it dis- cerns, without discrimination. It was a wayward act on her part to endeavour to elucidate this dark mood of Sarona's ; and no sooner had she performed it than she saw her mistake : he did not know her, or know himself, so well as she knew him. And he was besides not yet far gone enough into the deeps of sorrow to be desirous for the sympathy which in that night of night the proud- est stoops to covet. He was only very melancholy 244 COUNTERPARTS. just now ; and there is nothing creeps to pride like me- lancholy : the grey is as the shadow of the purple, and as sorrow closes round them they pass into her dark as one. This was just what Miss Dudleigh thought. She knew, by that wondrous presentiment which apper- tains to those who will have to endure all sorrow, — "by that calm foreboding which spells the insurgent spirit and will not let it rise, — she knew that this was with Sarona but the beginning of sorrows. She saw that from himself he had to fear the most — his spirit- purity, his might of innocence : — she interpreted even that his high-lived and aspiring youth had only saved him strength to struggle with awakened Fancy. And she thought she was aware besides that aome&img within him roused, wrought for him keener suffering than the stir of pride and passion : — something which, if love be strong as death, is itself cruel as the grave. " I am very glad if I have not said too much : — that is all I care for. One never can repair the error of hav- ing gone too far. Are we to ride together to-morrow, Miss De Berri and I?" He turned and smiled. " I have not the least doubt in the world that you will have to be ready to-morrow. Bernard is evidently in a hurry ; and I thank him for being so : it will be the very best thing for our young friend. I trust in you entirely not to let her be over- done : I am more than half afraid they will run wild together." " Oh no, there is no fear : we need have none. Miss THE TEMPERAMENTS. 245 De Berri is far too anxious to get well, to commit the least imprudence. I think no one knows exactly how she suffers. " " I do, I presume." " I think neither you nor I could, because our tem- perament so differs." u I know, or ought to know, ail the better on that account. Of what use should I be unless I could abso- lutely define all kinds of miseries?" u To define them is not to enter into them. I do not suppose we can ever define what we have to bear ourselves ; but I suppose we may be of more use to others who are enduring what we shall never have to endure, just because we stand aloof from it and can analyse it. It is like the instrumental divisions of an orchestra, which balance each other, and do so utterly accord without assimilation." " I see that : but what then becomes of what we are fond of calling sympathy ? " " Is not sympathy from syn, ' with,' and i pathos?' ' M When and how did you learn Greek? " u I have never learned Greek : — I found that deriva- tion for myself in a dictionary, because I believe noth- ing leads one so astray as calling things by their wrong names. To feel with a person is not to feel for them. I should suppose you would be very unlikely to suffer for everybody you incline to medicate, either body or soul ; — still you must in a sense suffer with them, of course, in order to do them good : — place yourself in an 246 COUNTERPARTS. imaginative identity with them ; which does not deprive you of the power to help them, exactly because it is ideal." " And to feel for people, then, is not sympathy. What is it then?" " To feel for them, it does not imply that you have no sympathy with them : I think only it places the sympathy more out of sight ; because in feeling for and towards a person, you are more loftily excited ; you ac- knowledge something out of yourself which is greater than that which is in you. You perhaps worship ; per- haps only love ; still you are in a state of enthusiasm which is beyond all other states, except the state it leads to." u I will not listen to you any longer, for I am afraid you will confound and entangle me too with your ideal- ism. It is worthy of a woman, though ; and happy would be the man who could so idealise, — happy, what- ever he had to undergo, or forego. You said, a moment ago, that Miss De Berri wanted to get well : do you think then she really and actually surfers so much as to make her so desirous ? She is very difficult to manage : she makes so light of her troubles ; and I do not see anything except debility. She does not get on ; that is the worst : she is exactly where she was when she first came to me. Does she complain to you ?" " Never. I gather from her expressions that she is quite well already, when she says anything about her health, having been asked. But of course I know THE TEMPERAMENTS. 247 better ; and she continually adverts to ( when I am well,' 1 when I am strong,' and in that way. Mrs Delapole seems very anxious she should look well when her father comes to fetch her." " They are going to take her away, then ? I did not know that : though it was not very likely we should he allowed to keep her. Will they take her to France ? " tl Her father is, you know, an Attache*." " No, I did not know it — how should I ? Nobody ever tells me anything except yourself." " Rose has told me. Her father is a gentleman moving in the first circle in Paris, and lives in true diplomatic prestige. Her own mother died when she was five years old, and it is years since her father mar- ried again. He married a widow ; a woman of rather high rank, with two sons ; and he has sons of his own too. Rose was placed at school in a convent, whose superieure was a connexion of the stepmother's ; and because neither she nor Rose's father had any time to think about her. But Mrs Delapole, who is Monsieur De Berri's own sister, was horrified at her being in a con- vent : for she is a very Protestant person ; and at last prevailed so far as to be allowed to take Rose to live with her a year or two : to teach her Protestantism, I suppose. The stepmother was glad not to have her home, for she has it all her own way : and also because Rose resolutely refused to engage herself to yonng L'Estradellc, her stepmother's eldest son, without see- ing him." 248 COUNTERPARTS. Sarona had fixed his eyes on Miss Dudleigh; they, not his lips nor half-withdrawn expression, entreated for more and more/' " But it was just the same after she had seen him : which they insisted upon her doing. He is considered very handsome, and is a brave officer ; which of course they thought would ensure her captivation. They teased her a great deal ; hut her father, who has a kind of lin serins: sentiment towards her own mother, whom she resembles in person it appears, would not put con- straint upon her. The stepmother, however, was so angry and disappointed, that it was out of the question for Eose to stay in the house : especially as L'Estradelle had really a kind of fancy for her ; so they sent her to Mrs Delapole at Brussels, and from Brussels they went to London — from London, they came here; because London did not at all agree with Bose . She had been two years in England before with Mrs Delapole, and she excessively likes England. Her own mother was English ; and was married at sixteen, — a mere child ; and I am very certain was not happy until she died. She was of high English blood too — a Hastings. However the affair has blown over at Paris ; L'Estradelle is gone to Italy, and Kose's father wants her back : perhaps to dispose, of her again. Eose declares she will not live in France, but will return to England as soon as she is of age." u I suppose she is rich by inheritance, as she intends to come back." " She has a fair fortune : her mother's money — about THE TEMPERAMENTS. 249 a thousand a-year. But she cannot touch it yet, al- though they have touched it in order to educate her." " Why does she not stay in England with her aunt?" " Oh ! Mrs Delapole has a husband at Brussels, also a diplomatic fixture. She is quits fashionable enough to leave him sometimes, but not fashionable enough to leave him altogether. Besides, she has two daughters of her own there, both married." " I quite see — we can do nothing. Nothing could preserve her to us except her own determination." " I do not see how that could : she is not inde- pendent yet." " Then the determination of another. I have a pre- sentiment that we shall not lose her." " So have I." " She seems to tell you everything." ■• Not at all. However one loves, one must have loved a long time — have grown to another completely — to deserve that perfect confidence which is the highest heaven of love." " Confidence is not sympathy, I perceive !"' " Xo, I think it is just what temperaments which are counterpart maintain instead of sympathy. If we have confidence in a person, we do not even require to un- derstand them. Faith is done away with by sight. " We have had enough of metaphysics for this time. But really, do you assert that one grows not up in love in an instant? I think the contrary." " I was speaking of that love which is the soul of 250 COUNTERPARTS. friendship. I should not speak of other love : I un- derstand it not. Deeply as I love Miss De Bern, I could not presume upon the kindness she has shown me already ; and the more because I am certain 1 shall never lose her as a friend." " Then you are indeed happy. Well, I ought to write, and I do not feel inclined : I generally enjoy my scribblings in the evening ; but if I scribble to-night, I shall only perpetrate nonsense. So I shall arrange for to-morrow, take one look at my list, and then come up stairs and hear you sing : that is, if you are not as much too tired to sing, as I am too tired to write." " I am never too tired to sing. I have not to create, not even to combine, in singing; as you have in writing." " What is singing to you, then?" asked Sarona, a little restored to himself, yet still only half awake. " What it is to the wind to blow or the flowers to drop their scent : it is no more effort than to breathe." " That is the secret of your effects. Or what it is to some people to wish and to have I suppose." He spoke to himself as Cecilia opened the door ; but she heard his last words, and began to droop inwardly from that moment. Could that of which lie seemed so cer- tain remain a doubt to her ? She rated his wisdom not too far above her own here, but was mistaken in attri- buting to his wisdom what sprang from his heart alone. In less than half an hour he was again in the draw- ing-room. Salome could not help watching how Cecilia looked, how he looked, and how they both behaved. THE TEMPERAMENTS. 251 She was surprised they were both so easy ; but not surprised that Sarona came up to the sofa on which she jitting with Cecilia, and bent over them to dis- cover what they were about. A chair was placed before them, over the back of which hung a long band of rib- bon, doubled and knotted. Salome had been instruct- ing Cecilia how to hold her bridle. Sarona laughed, for he took it in at once ; and he gave a queer glance at Dudleigh, which she understood perfectly, and which rather shamed her : also Salome put upon that glance, and upon Cecilia's shame, an interpretation of her own. She was twisting the impromptu reins round and round her hand now — for the initiation was evidently over, and she was not designing to take any obvious notice of the two on whom her whole thoughts were bent — when her brother, starting up so suddenly that both the ladies started also, left the room again and sprang down stairs, without any announcement of any intentions he might have on hand. Then they heard him shut the street door, and Salome laughed — she could no longer help it ; but she was not the least as- tonished, and rather gratified, that Cecilia did not laugh, but looked grave and amazed. " What is the matter with Herz to-night ? He is gone out : did you hear him go, and do you know where he is going?" 11 Of course not ; though I heard him go. No doubt it is to see a patient, the last thing."' 252 COUNTERPARTS. " But it is not the last thing: it is only half-past nine. Besides, I always know when he has any very immediate cases on hand : he tells me, that I may be able to send for him in case he is wanted. No ; it is some errand extraordinary : I cannot conjecture what." " My dear Miss Sarona, how should I know ? You look as if you thought Dr Sarona had been telling me down stairs. And I assure you he has not." " Xo, I do not think so : nothing of the kind. I never am curious about Herz and his conversations with you, because he so delights to talk to you that it is a pleasure to me to know you are together." Salome would have liked to know all that they had both been saying ; but it did not tend to disabuse her of her settled impression, that Cecilia made no offer to explain a word : — m fact Miss Dudleigh was reflecting how very glad she should be if she had it in her power to tell Salome all. Still she felt she could not even hint at what was yet thrilling in her brain : it would have been sacrilege and ingratitude — besides, it was altogether out of the question. She was not comfort- able under her reserve, and sat so silently, and looked so subdued, that Salome rejoiced more and more : was more and more persuaded that Herz had given her something to feel as well as think about. Presently, Cecilia aroused herself- evidently with an effort : for she was indeed in an entanglement of sensa- tions — she aroused herself to say, — " And you did not finish the history of Fridolin after all — do tell me about him." THE TEMPERAMENTS. 253 ■ lost -willingly. I told you that the gipsy, who was a fortune-teller, came to our garden-gate when Herz was digging with all his might, and pronounced a long oration, of which he was the subject. He went on working, but he heard all she said. She told him he would sail all round the world, consult the stars, grow rich, meet with a lady with golden hair down to her feet, — that she would die of love for him, — that he would forget her and marry somebody else, — a princess with raven tresses and eyes like the rising moon : — a parcel of rhodomantade, in short, of which he took no notice, until she asked for a bit of silver to cross his palm with. He was quite a little fellow then, and had given all his money to mamma to keep, that he might buy a present for my father's birthday. So he gathered his best flowers, amongst which were some moss-rose buds and sprigs of myrtle and geranium, and handed them to the gipsy over the gate. She was so delighted that she crossed his -palm without any silver, and told him, " all fortunes were written in that hollow.'' They talked a good while, and at last he fetched her some tea out of the house, and a slice of bread and butter and gathered her a few cherries off a tree of his own. ^Slj dear mamma was rather scared to find he had been talking to a gipsy : I verily believe she was afraid of his being stolen ; and she forbade him to speak to her again. Herz was as filial as the old Hebrew law would have it, and he never did speak to her again ; though she used to come and lean upon the garden-gate, and 254 COUNTERPARTS. watch him by the hour ; coaxing him, with the strangest gestures, to approach. At last she was no more seen, and we supposed the whole horde had left our country- side. It was years before they came again. But one moon- light-night, just after Herz had returned from Ger- many, and was about nineteen, we were all sitting in our drawing-room, with the windows open, when somebody beckoned to Herz from the lawn. My mother was work- ing and did not see, my father was reading at the lamp ; but I saw, and Herz saw, that the person who beckoned him had also one hand laid upon her mouth : — for it was a woman, — I could see so much, even in the moon- light. He said to mamma, " It is a beautiful moonlight- night, I shall go and take a stroll," and jumped out of the window. I saw him leave the garden with that shadow of something ; I saw them pass down the lane behind the lawn, and then I saw no more. But Herz did not come in to supper, and we grew very anxious ; it was so unlike him to be late at night. None of us went to bed until he returned. It was one o'clock then, and he came in at the window from which he had gone out ; and behold, wrapped in his greatcoat (Avhich it appeared he had sent a servant to fetch before he left the garden) , was a new-born baby : a little brown image, with most beautiful dark eyes. And then we heard that the shadow that beckoned him was the very gipsy to whom he had given flowers years before. The horde had re- THE TEMPERAMENTS. 255 turned that summer to their old quarters, and the baby was the child of this gipsy's only daughter and favourite child, who had married a gipsy of the same caste. The gipsy who was Ilerz's admirer had heard in the village that he was a doctor, just returned from foreign parts ; and as her daughter was very ill, she had fetched him to see whether he could do the sick girl any good. But the young gipsy was dead beforehe got to the tent; and so was the baby too they thought. When he found the baby, it did not breathe, and was not dressed: it was quite black too, and cold. But Herz said he had a sensation of its being alive, and for an hour or more he warmed it next him, and breathed into it. It certainly was not dead, for it revived ; and that baby was Fridolin. We got a very healthy wet-nurse for it in our village ; which, no doubt was the reason it prospered : for prosper it did, and grew very fat. The gipsies went away again that autumn ; but Herz's friend promised to come and fetch the baby as soon as it was weaned. She came, but by that time the child knew Herz, and would not leave him : it clung to him as if it would grow there ; and none could persuade it to be put down on the floor, where it liked best to sleep, nor to take any food, until the gipsy left it. Herz promised to bring him up properly, and to take care of him, if she would let him be answerable ; and at last she consented : very hardly, for they are the most exclusive race. Zedcka told Herz she only allowed him to keep her boy, her child of a child, because " he had fastened upon the drops in your blood that are of 256 COUNTERPARTS. ours," — meaning, I suppose, that Herz has something Oriental appertaining to him : which I believe is true. She tied a whole "bundle of amulets round the child's neck, and made Herz promise never to touch them. Of course he promised, and I have no doubt Frid wears them to this day. Herz had him baptised, though ; and we chose the name Fridolin on account of the legend of that name, which was the greatest favourite with Herz as a child. Besides, Herz always said that Frid should be his page, one day. He put him to school, but he made out nothing there, and was continually in hot water. After a year or so, we had him here ; and Herz took him entirely in hand, endeavouring to discover his predisposition. It is decidedly for chemistry; and Herz means him to be a chemist one day, but at present lets him run about, because he is never well when shut up. He is for ever at Jett and Saphir's: and Herz encourages him to go there, because he picks up a great deal in that way." " Arthur Jett and Julian Saphir : by the way, Miss Sarona, I have never seen them yet." " And where did you hear of them ? Herz told you, I suppose." " No, my pupil, yesterday, at Mrs Emery's." " Ernestine ! What can that child know about Arthur and Julian ?" " Everything — she told me their whole history." " Why, even I do not know it. I know Herz did a great deal for them, but he never told anybody." THE TEMPERAMENTS. 257 u I might have found out, I dare say, for the little thing would have told me every thing ; but I did not choose to take the time out of her lesson for talk, and I said so to her." " Was not Mrs Emery in the room then?" " She behaved like a true-born lady. She asked me whether I should not prefer to be alone with Ernestine, and I said, that the first lesson I certainly should, be- cause I could not judge of her voice unless she sang quite composedly — for I saw she had more awe of her mamma than of me — but that always afterwards I should prefer her to be in the room, if she could spare the time." " That would charm Mrs Emery : she will like you for ever." " I only care for her to like me to teach Ernestine : she will do me credit — has a beautiful touch, and a sort of voice that I can make a stvle on." " There is Herz at last. No, it is not : it was not his knock." " It was the postman, I think : I used to hear that knock when I was in bed up stairs." " Yes, there is Frid. Come in, Frid." Frid brought a letter to Miss Dudleigh, and presented it as a page should. Miss Dudleigh stared upon Salome. " I never had such a thing the whole last year I was at Miss Staynes'. I know nobody who would write to me. It cannot be for me ; it is some mistake. Oh ! I dare say from Miss De Berri — I quite forgot her. But it is not like a lady's writing." vol. i. S 258 COUNTERPARTS. She broke the seal. " Mr Bernard presents his compliments to Miss Dudleigh, and with her guardian's permission, will have the honor of calling for her to-morrow at eleven o'clock. Miss De Berri will accompany Mr Bernard, a Veques- She tossed the envelope to Salome. Salome read and laughed. " What a billet ! I am sure Mr Bernard must have got a private secretary. He used to write the most in- coherent flying scraps of notes : even Herz sometimes used to puzzle over them." " This is sufficiently incoherent, Miss Sarona, for he never says whether / am to be a Vequestrienne : in- deed, how in the world am I to be so ? I have had no time to think about it. If I go, I must go in a cloak and bonnet. I shall be of all the more service, under the circumstances, the uglier I look. Who in the world is my guardian? I am sure I don't know." " Herz, of course ; that is a touch of fun : he can never resist fun. And, dear Cecilia, I will not have you disguise yourself : you shall have a habit and hat ; mine are at your service." " Yours, Miss Sarona ! I could not think of such a thing." " You will hurt me very much if you do not. My only fear is lest they should not fit you. There is Herz. Come with me now and try them on. Or, I will go first and get them out, for they have been hid- THE TEMPERAMENTS. 259 den away so long I only hope the moth is not in them ; they were put away very carefully." Salome, in rather an excitement for her, snatched up one of the drawing-room candlesticks and left the room. She hurried so much that she was half-way up stairs before Miss Dudleigh had reached the door. There she met Sarona, who appeared to have knocked and been admitted and to have got up stairs all in a breath. He certainly was breathless now, and pale as though he had been absorbing the moonlight. He almost threw himself upon the sofa, an attitude quite new to Miss Dudleigh ; but when she would have followed Salome, he called her back. " Excuse me, Miss Dudleigh ; where is Loma?" " Gone up stairs, and on my account. I am quite ashamed to tell you for what ; but she would take no denial. She wishes me to wear her riding-dress when I go with Miss De Berri and Mr Bernard." " Do I hear you right? Loma! she wishes you to wear her habit ! Did she say so ? Did you ask her?" " Ask her ! Of course not." " You need not be so proud — you do not know why I have reason to be so astonished. She absolutely asked you?" " She said I must wear it." u She is a darling — she is an angel — there is no one like her, no not one ! I hope God will not take her to heaven just yet : but she is fit for nothing else. God bless her! — dearest. Would that I were like her!" 260 COUNTEEPAETS. Sarona had risen, started from the sofa, his eager voice was flung forth as though the heart beat fast be- neath the words ; he paced the room, he paused ; seen by the flame of the single candle, his eyes burned liquid, as though he saw through tears. Still no tear fell, and Cecilia perceived that on whatever account he was touched so tenderlv, the cause was out of himself. She longed to know so intensely that, together with her sympathy, it impelled her to ask Sarona ; at least to say : " Oh, dear, how I wish I understood this mystery !" " About Loma? you think then that there is more than you see ? It is so : and now, Miss Dudleigh, I promise to tell you — you, the first person I ever told, except Bernard. But I cannot tell you now ; she is coming down, and I would not have her know I told you for all the world contains. I hope you love her — that you will love her as she deserves, some clay. I am not fit to stand beside her ; I ought not to belong to her : there is nothing of her in me ! I never knew what she was till now ; for I never so knew I was myself unlike her." Cecilia was smitten with his vehemence ; her heart beat faster, too ; she felt as if all high, heroic, glorious thoughts were pressing into her brain as they passed from his : even without understanding, she felt what lie was feeling. And Salome came down, calm, smiling, with her brilliant eyes set full upon them both, as she entered, before Miss Dudleigh's heart or his were re- stored to their constant pulse. Again did Salome per- THE TEMPERAMENTS. 261 eeive, and misinterpret, tlieir mutual excitement : how should she do otherwise, with all her expectations called forth daily and hourly, of some romantic crisis ? She looked as if she did not like to disturb them ; but Sarona, coming quite close upon Miss Dudleigh, said in the lowest whisper : "Go with her, and do not refuse her anything" They came down again in a quarter of an hour, Salome leading Cecilia, and holding the length of the habit behind as if she were supporting a train. " Does she not look well in it, Herz ? Would you have known her?" " Is that intended as a compliment or the reverse, Loma ? I should have known her although she had pulled that hat over her eyes. It must not be so, Miss Dudleigh : I will not have ' that forehead,' as Federne says, concealed ! " " How beautifully you have altered it, Herz ! What a milliner you would have been if you had not been a man!" 11 1 understand modes, I believe, though I am not in the fashion. Why, Loma, where is the feather?" " She made me pluck it out : she was stubborn on that point." " And pray why, Miss Dudleigh ?" " I am not tall enough to wear a feather." " Oh ! if that is the reason ! — Loma, do not let her stand in that cloth by the fire : she will have a fever." 262 COUNTERPARTS. " Dr Sarona, you must read this note from Mr Ber- nard : it came this evening." Sarona read it ; then raised his "brows and smiled, as one smiles upon an infant at its play. " If he is to he here at half-past eleven — no, eleven he says, I must send to order your steed at that time : I have been down to Linton's to select it. I think it will suit you very well, as far as I am a judge." ROCKEDGE. 263 CHAPTER XV. LOCKEDGE. The next morning came, not, as Miss Dudleigh had expected, masked in clouds and weeping ; it was a genuine X spring morning ; more beautiful than the venial green of meadows glittered the sunny sea. The promised hour arrived, and Bernard was not too late. " Dear ! " exclaimed Salome, who accompanied Cecilia into the hall, " there is Herz at the door— this time in the morning too ! Her brother was not actually at the door, for he was out in the road talking to Bernard, who was in his saddle, and who held the leading-rein of a pony upon which Miss De Bern sat, looking younger, smaller, and certainly more fair than ever. The groom behind the group held another horse, the most beautiful Cecilia had ever seen, and evidently pre- pared for herself; for, close as Sarona stood to Bernard, and softly as they spoke together, she heard each word 264 COUNTERPARTS. of Bernard's, but his alone : his accents thrilled with petulance. u Very ridiculous, I say. She ought to have written and told me so. However, she need not ride Trystram, I 'm sure : there are many who would be glad to do so ; and I suppose we shall have to take up with some jobbing brute. Eemember, Sarona, I absolve myself from all responsibility." Sarona answered, but unheard. " Very fine ! I say she ought to have made up her mind before. Lady Eidout rides Trystram, and there's not a greater coward than she. " Jerriman," turning to the groom, " take Trystram back and put him up : the lady is afraid to mount him. Meet us on the Rockedge road, though ; for we shall take that way, and perhaps shall want you." "Yes, sir;" but the groom looked very cross, and stroked Trystram's neck. Scarcely had he left the crescent, when another horse with a man upon it came cantering the other way. Bernard was evidently determined to let it be seen that he was out of temper, for until they had ridden far along the cliff he did not speak ; and though he then suddenly recovered his sweetness for Miss De Berri, it was only for Miss De Berri. Cecilia appeared to suffer very little from his silence ; she kept her horse as far as possible from his, but not the less she watched him. Bernard was a most beautiful horseman ; it was a charm as signal to see him in his saddle as to watch him ROCKEDGE. 265 dance ; he never was so happy as when riding, either ; which might account in some measure for the singular effect he produced — at once so graceful and so debonair. And immediately they had entered the smooth worn level road that led to Rockedge, he found his tongue ; and blythe his mood became, shifting like the atmos- phere of that April morning. " Isn't it beautiful, Miss De Berri, along here ? People laugh, and wonder what I can find to admire — no trees and no brakes — no snatches of scenery to dash into one's sketch-book. But see that down ! so green here at the side, and swelling up so blue — look at the bloom all over it, like the colors in a cathedral window ; the sky meeting it straight, as clear as a desert ; and the sea on the other side ; the sunlight like quicksilver ; the purple patches on the water ; the beautiful little ships with their sails in a white flame ; and then the clouds making all dim, as it you were to breathe on steel. Oh, look ! Miss De Berri, at that flight of gulls ! how they tumble over dark, and then flash like snow and silver ! I can't think why I 'm so fond of this road, unless it's because it seems interminable." " Yes, Mr Bernard, and such exquisite changes — changes every moment ; and so much room to watch them." " Yes — ah ! like feeling in a face. I declare I do not care for beauty, if one has it all at once : however perfect, I abhor the unchangeable. Don't imagine I like inconstancy ! Ah ! I know a lady, she 's very 266 COUNTERPARTS. beautiful too, they say, but she has only one look ; and that look, though it 's very fitful now in her eyes, and now about her mouth, has no sort of expression in it — it means nothing. I used to think it meant much, but I Ve discovered that she 's perfectly ignorant of any meaning you may have behind your words. And yet sometimes, too, she fancies you intend something when you scarcely know what you said : Is that her vanity?" " Oh ! Mr Bernard, I think ignorant people must be vain." " Yes, and ignorant people learn a great deal too ; but it's of no use to them : they cannot make it pass — they are like low-bred people who ape the manners of the great. But the faces I like must have a look which prepossesses you in the first instance to look again. It isn't always statuesque faces that are monotonous either : except of course in marble ; for sometimes one sees a face with a decided outline, full of all the whims and vagaries of expression, and one becomes perfectly infatuated in trying to trace them home." Miss De Berri smiled ; looked suddenly past Bernard at Cecilia, and then immediately at him. But Bernard seemed annoyed, drooped his long eyelids, drew down his lip, and gathered in its smiling corners. It was some minutes before he smiled again and went on in his dreamy tones. " Ah ! I know one face like that ; and only one — Sarona's. Who would believe, to look at him just for a moment, that his pale face and monstrous black beard ROCKEDGE. 267 absorb all expressions ? Yet watch him for half an hour, and you shall see strange glimpses of such a brain that he might be painted in a thousand characters. Yet, though his eyes brighten and darken, have such dreams in them when darkest, and such stories when they 're wide awake, I think his mouth the feature that con- tains his essence : lie can talk without opening his lips. There 's one thing, though — I never understand half he says in that way!" Bernard laughed invitingly, but though Rose smiled, she did not laugh ; however, she replied : u I think there is always more expression of the in- ward nature about the mouth than about the eyes. Are you fond of painting faces ?" " I'm fond of all painting. I used to paint faces ; and who do you think taught me more about figures than all the masters ? — Sarona : I read anatomy with him. It 's wonderful how he adapts himself : lie can do anything with his head and hands ; we won't say so much for his heart. I suppose he knows he could not use his head and hands so much if he were to use his heart ; — of course no one can." c Bernard, arc we going to walk all along this road?" " You shall have a canter if you like : I thought per- haps you 'd be more at ease if you only walked till you became used to Minnie. She would like a canter, though ; and, as for my boy, I can scarcely keep him in. I tell you, Miss De Berri, you ride very prettily : very prettily indeed." 268 COUNTERPARTS. " But, Mr Bernard, I don't hold my reins right, I am quite sure ; Miss Dudleigh holds hers so differently : do show me how !" " It doesn't matter how you hold them : Miss De Berri, do you know the proverb, ' An ounce of mother- wit is worth a pound of clergy ?' " Rose laughed at last ; " that is one of your own sallies, I should think, Mr Bernard : Miss Dudleigh, would you like to canter ?" " I like whatever you like." It happened that the horse Cecilia rode had a pecu- liar fancy for eschewing certain objects — anything white and solitary, as a post, a milestone, or even a country- man in a smock. And it also happens that very few horses, which are not thorough bred, are altogether exempt from a fancy for eschewing certain objects — in professional language, shying. Cecilia, in her school- taught ignorance, knew no more of horses than of gen- tlemen. She was not in the least aware that there are foibles incident to both, and was wholly unprovided with any method of treating a horse that thought proper to be seized with one of its own : she neither knew when to coax, to caress, to restrain, or to give rein ; and exactly as they were passing a milestone, she was flung backwards from her seat. For the moment all became as blackness ; terror took away her sight ; and sensation sank down in the midst of her. Still she was not ab- solutely unconscious — she heard a sound Rose made — no scream : a low and loving cry ; she also knew that Bernard had thrown himself from his saddle and was ROCKEDGE. 269 beside her. In a moment he raised her in his arms ; from their folding strength she could not flee, and as the darkness dissolved from her eyes, it melted into the vision of his face. She saw it now : there was nothing between it and her, except the mystery which was never to fall from his daylight presence for her life : she saw its shadows beneath the sunshine, its outline in- fant-like and strange, its stranger lustre, and the look, more strange than all, that pained with pathos. In an instant, at the sight of trouble, his mood became bene- ficently simple : those inward snares, woven round the soul he captured, were scattered by his kindness : he took her to the bank and placed her on the grass, but spoke not till her own words had made way. " You see I ought not to have come out with you, Mr Bernard : I did not imagine that it could happen, for I was not the least nervous. I will not fall again, though." " Certainly not, for an excellent reason, you shan't mount him again. Xo airs ! I 'm stubborn when I choose : and now, when I intend to put your saddle on my horse, and you upon him. I can manage anything in the shape of a horse, and I '11 teach you how to punish one. Just lean against that stone, which was the demon of your misadventure, and don't be fright- ened — for you are, whatever you pretend." " Oh ! pray, Mr Bernard, excuse me ! and let us go on as we were : I promise not to fall." " You '11 be off in ten minutes. It was my fault" — 270 COUNTERPARTS. with his sweet smile — " and you must let me repair it now. Ah ! you had better not make me angry again." " I am sure I did not know I had made you angry." " Yes, you do know — or if you don't, you don't. Look at that pretty child holding my horse ! bravely, Miss De Berri : he'll be as gentle as a lamb with such a gentle lady. See, Miss Dudleigh ! there 's your pal- frey gone slinking to the wall : he 's as much ashamed as I am." Bernard then proceeded to achieve in five minutes a performance which would have taken many a master- groom at least ten ; he changed the saddles of the horses with a rapidity and neatness of manipulation worthy of a musician : as was also the light enchanted laugh with which he led his favorite to Cecilia's side. Having mounted her, he remounted too ; and his first action was to still the ladies' steeds, which obeyed his very whisper ; while he took the misdemeaning qua- druped to the milestone, and made him pass and repass it at least twenty times. " Now, I think, he 's seasoned, and we may go. You shall have a real canter now." Past the long downs, along the resounding level, still by the downs that swelled and sank, still with the sea at hand, its immeasurable beauty for a barrier ; still through the soft swift rush of the thwarted wind, blown hetween the ocean and the waste of grass : blown over the salt sweetness, over the mossy green ! So fast they went, that they were far and far along the road before IiOCKEDGE. 271 Bernard drew them in, looking round at both their faces with a glittering exultation. " Come, Miss De Berri, where are your roses? Why you 're not tired ! oh, don't be tired, please, or Sarona will be l savage ' as he says." For Rose had no color ; her face only wore a yet more vivid softness, as when one sees a white flower in the .sun. She seemed refreshed but not exhilarated. " I am not tired really : at least, I am not so tired as I should have been at home. I am so very much obliged to you for bringing me this way, for I wanted to see Bockedge." " Did you really ? How very kind of you ! There's nothing to see now ; you must come in the summer. They say they can 't make flowers grow by the sea ; but i" can : my gardener is so proud of my patch there. We will ride round the garden if you like, to-day : I won't ask you into the house, because I've got you both alone, and you know how people talk ; but if you are pleased to like it, I '11 ask Mrs Delapole to bring you. Your guardian has been there a hundred times." This was said, with a look that laughed, at Cecilia. " I cannot imagine, Mr Bernard, why you call Dr Sarona my guardian." " Because he told me you were his ward." " Just listen, then ; for you ought to know him. I was a governess in a school at X, and I had been there a long time : Dr Sarona called to see a little girl who was ill, and I was sent for to speak to him by chance : 272 COUNTERPARTS. he thought I looked ill, as I was then, and said he would prescribe for me. His prescription was to send his sister — his own sister — to take me to his house. I have been there ever since." She spoke rapidly, passionately. No poet could help feeling there was passion in those tones : but many poets are unaware that to some natures all feeling is passion — and gratitude the greatest. "I suppose you are very fond of him ?"' said Ber- nard, most sweetly smiling and bending over his horse's neck. " I revere him, Mr Bernard: though that is scarcely a word to express my feeling." " Ah ! there 's something in him to revere : he 's rather too good for me, but I love him all the better for it. There 's Jerriman ! Won't he be astonished to see me on your horse and you on mine ? I wonder whether he '11 have breeding enough to keep his face. Yes, grave as an owl. You see, Jerriman, I wanted you after all. And now ride on, and get the lodge gates open. You shall ride back along the downs, Miss De Berri. I hate riding-schools : I hate schools of every kind — don't you, Miss Dudleigh?" " Indeed I have reason to do so, but no right : I ought to be in one now." " Xonsense. You 're not half stupid enough, nor vulgar enough, nor humble enough. See ! that 's my house, where I live all alone, Miss De Berri." " But I cannot see a house — I only see a double gate ROCKEDGE. 273 and trees : what beautiful trees, Mr Bernard ! how many there are in leaf!" " I Ve so many evergreens. We transplanted them — at least I didn't — it was when I was a little hoy. That 's my nurse at the gate — she 's the only lady who ever condescends to notice me." Cecilia could not help smiling; she remembered Sarona's story. The carnage road, so wide and smooth, went between a shadow of shrubs where an undergrowth of ever- greens clothed the tapering stems of the yet unfolded trees above them, which in summer wove deep coolness between their interlacing boughs. And without a break, though here and there rose twisted seats or an arch of trellis ready nailed with creepers, it wound be- fore the house, and formed a terrace-walk beyond the lawn immediately above the sea. This side aspired the lighthouse, which rose like some pillar of archaic temple from a swell of grass : at the basis of its granite-glittering shaft was planted a bed of crocuses, encircling it as with a wreath of flame. The horse which Bernard rode, of course objected to pass the lighthouse, would have run back, would have pawed the lawn, would have galloped over the cliff in preference ; only he was not permitted to do so : on the contrary, he was drawn in very tight, very determinate!}' turned, made to walk straight up to the lighthouse and smell the crocuses, and then brought back again — kis rider laughing at his discomfiture. They passed along the frontage ; they passed the wide VOL. I. T 274 COUNTERPARTS. windows of the summer drawing-room, so seldom en- tered ; the broad glass-door, through whose arch one caught a marble-lightning from the statues in the hall ; the oriel of the dining-room, where Bernard never dined ; and then came upon the window of the room where Bernard lived, and had written in his boyhood. Per- haps Kose saw the pictures, or their frames, afar ; per- haps the ghostly beauty of the bust — at all events, she looked so wistfully at the window, and drew her pony so far from Bernard, that he saw she wanted something. " What is it, Miss De Bern ? there 's nothing pretty there — it 's only my little room." " But all your pictures are there : your beautiful sea- pictures. Oh ! how I should like to see them ! " " And so you shall — certainly, if you like ; but I 'm afraid they 're not worth seeing, for I painted them when I was quite a youngster, and I only kept them because I was so happy when I painted them : so un- happy, and jet so happy. If you and Miss Dudleigh will rest here a moment, I '11 tie this monkey up to that tree and fetch them out." " What is he gone to do ?" exclaimed Kose, as Ber- nard raised the sash of the window from without, and vaulted up the single step into his study. "He is gone for the paintings : he is taking them down : he is standing upon a chair to reach them. Just look at that arch, Miss De Bern, and the color of the walls." u And that bust under the archway : it is a bust of ROCKEDGE. 275 ►Shelley I am sure. I thought there was no bust of Shelley : Mr Bernard must have sculptured it himself. What a wonderful creature he is!" There was no time for other words to pass, for Ber- nard brought a picture in each hand as he came out again, and handed them both to Rose. It is impossible to say how these girls felt ; the one a paintress, the other an art-enthusiast : they were alike controlled, amazed. And, long before they were satisfied with looking, Ber- nard returned again laden anew, and ready to take the others back. Rose said — and she could not have paid a compliment more complete — " Do not bring any more, Mr Bernard ; I cannot bear to see them, and have them snatched away. Oh ! how I should like to have them a whole day!" " You shall do so any day you like, I 'm sure. I can "t bring Lerici, for it 's up over the arch. I 'm so proud that you like my pictures : nobody likes them except Sarona, and he only likes them because he likes me. Nov.- I 'm going to take you to another region." Then Bernard unknotted his bridle, and led his horse beside the ladies. They turned the angle of the build- ing ; more lawn spread here, inlaid with flower-beds, belted, like the lawn before the terrace, with evergreens : chiefly the araucarias, with their inimitable gloom and grace. Here, too, began the conservatory, which ex- tended behind the farther drawing-room, and also opened into that library which Sarona lauded. But before you approached the glass-domed flower palace, were many doors in arches ; and here again they stayed. 276 COUNTERPARTS. " Do you like champagne, Miss De Berri ?" " Very much, indeed ; but, pray, do not trouble your- self to get any." " Does it get into your head ? — Because, if you turn giddy, you'll tumble off." " No, it is the only wine that does not ; but I 'm ashamed Mr Bernard : what would my aunt think of me?" " She '11 think nothing, as we shall not tell her." He ran down a long stone passage, also arched. u How could you let him go, Miss De Berri?" " Because I know he likes it. He is so pleased, 1 would do anything to please him, and could refuse him nothing." Cecilia thought directly of Sarona ; and though Rose had spoken innocently as a child, and guiltless of any meaning, her heart turned cold. She could not even smile when she saw Bernard come back, although Rose laughed, as if he had been her brother. lie held a bottle in one hand, and two tall glasses in the other ; in another instant the cork was drawn, and, smiling glee- fully, he filled the glasses to the brim. Rose took the glass he offered her and drank the wine. Cecilia re- fused, saying she could not drink wine at all. This was an excuse, of course ; but it did not serve, for Bernard, rushing down the passage and again returning before it was possible to remonstrate, brought in his hand a silver cup, with snowdrops raised upon its burnished surface. " That 's the first mug I ever drank out of, Miss Dud- ROCKEDGE. 277 leigh, and I was so fond of it, that I always took it to bed with me. I brought it, because I think milk tastes best out of silver." Cecilia drank the milk, but perfectly unconscious how it tasted : as she returned it, her eye was caught by a small oval plate, beneath the handle, which bore, in old English letters, the motto, " Little Rafe." u Now, we will go whenever you please. You see, I have not much garden, as I said ; but there are plenty of cunning little places among the trees. In summer, you must come again : I love the summer." " So do I, Mr Bernard : but I don't long for it now, because I am afraid I shall go away then." Cecilia was perfectly lost at the idea of any one ex- pressing such a fear to Bernard. She knew not that Rose, as she herself of Sarona, of Bernard had no fear. 11 Let us ride past the lighthouse," said Rose, — " I want to see it again." u "What, my Pharos ? Certainly we will ; but you do not admire it?" " I think it very beautiful. Is it not lovely by moon- light?" " It looks well, then ; the red light passes into the silver, like carbuncle — it 's the color of a carbuncle." " How good of you to build it, Mr Bernard ! " " Good ! — Pray, wouldn't you have done it ? — Why, I could n't have slept in my bed. — Ah ! there 's a reef just beyond our bay, called the Mermaid Rocks, and I can tell you I' ve been there in my boat when the tide 278 COUNTERPARTS. was out, and it 's like a very horrible woman's face : it leers through the seaweed, and the seaweed hangs over it like hair parted in the middle. And, by moonlight. I 've seen it grin, and snigger, and make horrible new faces, till my flesh crept, and I had to paddle back again, not daring to splash the water with my oar. When I was a little boy, I did n't know how dangerous it was ; but, often in the night, when it was rough and I could n't sleep, I used to fancy I heard screams against the wind, and sobs, and shrieks : and now, I believe, it was the drowning creatures, or the echoes which had passed into those rocks !" " Oh, Mr Bernard ! — how frightened you must have been, poor little fellow ! — You ought not to have slept alone." " I did not sleep alone." Here his eyelids fell, and his lip quivered, even like his voice ; for in those tones, tears seemed to mingle. " Oh ! no, I never slept alone when I was a little fellow ! And I 'm afraid I was very selfish, for I was so warm and comfortable, I never thought of the wretches tossing on the sea. It was not till I grew up and had been alone, that I set up the rushlight ; and I mean to leave it a clause in my will that it \s always to be kept so." Rose could not answer, Cecilia did not, and Bernard now fell silent : perhaps he was thinking of the heart on which his baby-heart had been cradled. Quietly, they returned beneath the trees, and through the lodge to the queen's highway. ROCKEDGE. 279 From the highway, Bernard led them to the downs. No accident chanced all the way : it was, as he had said like riding over velvet. The delectable sensation super- seded all talk : except that he took care to prevent the ladies' horses from going too fast, as they would like to have done. They did not take the directest way to X, but cantered higher and higher, till having almost lost their breath in the torrent of fresh free air, that gathered strength as they ascended, Bernard bade them both look round. They saw all X beneath them, vivid as a city in a wilderness, stretching so far beyond them, that its outskirts were lost in the grey of distance ; they saw the centering domes, and the tower of the oldest church, as clearly as the birds of the air could have caught them, pondering on the wing. And the sea beyond, like a blue mist now ; and here the spreading green, where so- litude talked to silence. It was a most glorious view ; and in nothing so glorious as its vastness, except its lu- cid calm. The sunlight sheeted everything, for the last cloud had floated off the sky ; but every now and then a lark's shadow, or the shadow of a truant sea-gull, flashed across the down. " I cannot show you Cliff Dene, for it lies in such a hollow ; but another day we '11 go there. It 's rather gloomy, but a fine old rambling place. Would you be- lieve you are two miles now from the sea?" " Quite, Mr Bernard : I could even fancy it more. Do not let us go farther from it, though." " You shall not : you are going home. Excuse me, 280 COUNTERPARTS. Miss Dudleigh, but your habit is too long : those yards upon yards of broadcloth are quite unnecessary, and only in the way." " But I cannot have it altered, because it is not my own. It is Miss Sarona's habit ; and she lent it me that I might not have to buy one." " Miss Sarona's ! — Ah! she 's taller than you. Well, it does not signify, except that if you did tumble side- ways, it would get entangled in your feet : but then, you 're not to tumble again, you know. Miss Sarona's habit ! I '11 tell you, Miss De Berri, Miss Dudleigh must be a very great favorite with Miss Salome, if she lent her that to wear." " Of course she is, Mr Bernard." " Do you like her, Miss Dudleigh?" " Like her ! — What a question ! — She is perfect." " You know all about her, don't you?" — drawing close up, and speaking below his voice. " Not yet ; but I am to know : Dr Sarona has pro- mised to tell me." Bernard smiled stealthily, then grew grave and sighed. " And, I can promise you, it 's a sad story." " What is that white building, Mr Bernard?" asked Rose, as they passed a noble portal, with courtyard and colonnade, isolated upon one of the slopes, below the line they took, but far above the city. " That 's only our hospital. How well the railway looks from this point : like an old Roman road, and I'm sure quite as picturesque." ROCKEDGE. 281 " But what a beautiful place for a hospital ! I sup- pose it was built so away from X that it might be quiet. It is as still as the l Palace of Calm Delights.' ' " The palace of calm delights, indeed! I dare say they think so inside. However, nobody can get to heaven without being sick, I suppose. It's high and dry enough. I always call it Sarona's club. There are few days lie doesn't lounge in there." They entered X from the upper end, coming down- wards to the sea. Just before they entered the crescent, Bernard said to Cecilia, — - " I shall drop you here, and take on Miss De Berri. And mind you remember to give my love to Sarona, and tell him he's a muff. I would tell him myself, but he '11 be gone out by this time. Don't forget." u Certainly not : but I do not think it is fair. I am the greater muff of the two, as I shall take care to let him know." u Then, to-morrow, at the same time — at the same time, Miss De Berri ! " Eose was gazing up at the birdcage which hung in the bow-window ; for they had stopped at Sarona's door. " Yes, Mr Bernard, if it suits Miss Dudleigh. Fortunately it did, for Cecilia gave her lessons at three o'clock all the days she was yet engaged. The groom came up now, riding hard, for he had joined in far behind. Bernard sprang out of his seat. " Change those saddles directly, Jerry. Now, Miss Dudleigh." 282 COUNTERPARTS. She had to accept his aid again, and was safelv landed. She went up to Rose, kissed her glove, stroked the pony's neck, and then went straight to the step. Bernard held out his hand, ungloved ; she was obliged to take it. He held hers while he said, " You had better not tell Sarona you tumbled, because he will be alarmed : he 's a nervous fellow, and he 'd think how- very careless I'd been, and perhaps be vexed with himself.' " On the contrary," said Cecilia, " I shall tell him everything : and, above all, how very kind you were ; and what you did." " Just as you please — I don't care. I told you for the best — and I tell you again — you had better not. — It doesn't matter to me, of course ;" — and he turned abruptly, with his least genial air, saying to Miss De Berri, to whose side he strolled, — " I am glad she's gone : she 's so nonsensical and proud, there 's no doing anything to please her." " You don't understand her, Mr Bernard : she is not nonsensical, though she is proud. And you ought to remember what it must be to a proud person to be in- debted" " Even for a horse, Miss De Berri ! " " Even for a horse, Mr Bernard ; and to a stranger, whom, however she admires and appreciates, she has no claim upon." " So I' m a stranger ! — so I am — I quite forgot that. But we are all strangers to one another, if it comes to ROCKEDGE. 283 that : but you wouldn't mind — you don't mind riding my Minnie." u But I am not so proud as Miss Dudleigh." " Yes, you are, every bit as proud. But I under- stand your pride, and I don't understand hers. It 's very unkind of people not to let one do anything for them. And I 'm sure she and Sarona will suit, for he has the pride of the devil." Rose opened her eyes upon Bernard, but did not speak. He was leaning upon her pommel, and comb- ing Minnie's mane through and through with his fin- gers. He could not have been more physically at ease if he had been alone. Miss Dudleigh had long since vanished into the hall ; and Fridolin stood waiting, in obvious satisfaction, to watch the manoeuvres of the groom. " All right now, sir." " And time, too. What 's to be done with that brute? u I can lead it down to Linton's, sir, as the man isn't in the way. But Frid darted down the steps. " Master said, /might take it back, sir." 11 Very well, Pacolet, begone ! and I wish you joy of your bargain." That very morning between twelve o'clock and one, a gentleman, with a youth at his elbow, stayed on foot at Mrs Delapole's door. She was in the drawing-room, doing as much as usual, for she never did anything in par- ticular ; and she expected no callers yet, even of the few 284 COUNTERPARTS. who socialised with her during her X migration. The low treble knock aroused her, and Tina too, who had been lying in the window upon a mat as white as her- self. Tina barked and cried, and Mrs Delapole ordered her to be quiet ; for she felt certain it was somebody, and not an anybody, announced by that knock. So she was not surprised when her man entered, and handed her on a salver, Federne's card — the Earl Federne, with Lord Mossmoor in pencil, scribbled underneath. She was far too gratified to acknowledge, even to her- self; and had seen far too much society to exhibit either her satisfaction or her wonder. They came in, Federne of course first, and head foremost too — yet, for all his peculiar manner, his tossed off hat, his clothes just thrown on — there was that in his entree, that in his hands, transparent as porcelain, which announced more clearly than words could do, a nobleman of the first order. Mrs Delapole felt it : she even felt she had never met with so decided an aristocrat before ; and she was more charmed than before she so realised. Nor the less so because she could tell in an instant that he had not come on business, but for the pleasure of coming. She bowed him to a seat, and sank upon the sofa, while Moss disposed of his person in a chaise longue at the window, and took up his eye-glass to examine Tina. Federne did not introduce him yet, but began, — " I ought to give an account of myself for taking the liberty to call upon a lady without an introduction. KOCKEDGE. 285 But I consider, madam, that I have met you by cour- tesy, in the person of your charming niece. I dare say she said we saw each other at the house of our mutual friend, Dr Sarona?" u Rose told me she had that honor. I was unable to be out that night, on account of our physician's decree." a And as I am quite at home in X, I thought 1 would inquire whether I could be of any service to you during your temporary abode, and in Mr Delapole's absence. I hope he is well, and that we shall see him over here before long." " Your lordship does him honor. He was well when I heard, and in full employ." " I thought, perhaps, if your little niece rode, she might like Mossmoor for a companion. Girls and boys are generally very gay together." As Fedeme said the name of his son, he glanced especially at Moss, who, without rising, made Mrs Delapole an elegant bow. Thus was an introduc- tion effected, with an ease of which Fedeme being -, he had bestowed the successful imitation upon Moss. There was nothing of the overgrown boy or undergrown man in Moss : if he was not mature, he was at least a perfect youth : the hot-house bloom lay fresh upon his nature yet. Lnd shall we not see Miss De Berri? We shall be very disappointed if we do not, Moss and I." " I am expecting her in every moment, now. She 286 COUNTERPARTS. has been riding with Mr Bernard, who has kindly un- dertaken to escort her : she lias never learned how to ride, and he took a fancy to teach her. I am equally indebted to your Lordship, and to you Lord Mossmoor," bowing, " and I am certain Rose would have been very happy, as I should have been to allow her, but for this arrangement." " Oh, Moss must be content to be allowed to join them now and then. I know Bernard will consent. Our poet had a great deal to say to your little niece — he likes her well." " Rose has a naturalness and unsophistication about her at present, that pleases literary men. And a taste for art : she will paint by and by." " From her observations, madam, to Mr Bernard, in my hearing, she paints already. It is very extraor- dinary to see one so young so gifted : she is quite a child, no doubt." u She is nineteen." " Ah, well, that is a mere child. No woman can be a woman in every respect under five and twenty. And hear me, Moss, no man a man under five and thirty." Moss bowed to his parent, as if to say, " I don't care whether I be a man or not in anybody's esteem, while I am actually one." But he did not say so. The lady and the earl had no time to talk over Rose, for just as Federne was beginning to revert to her, Moss started up and placed his glass at his eye at the window. ROCKEDGE. 287 "Moss, Moss! what's the matter, laddie?" Now, Moss's mamma had been a Scottish peeress : and Federne had been very fond of her. " Miss De Berri, father, and Mr Bernard." " Run down and assist them, boy, — with your permis- sion, madam ?" " But no, papa, Mr Bernard has lifted her off : and they are both coming in." The footman threw open the drawing-room door. They heard Rate's voice half lost in laughter, for in his most hilarious mood he ascended and entered. " Ah, Federne, well met ! You here, Lord Moss ! Come in, Miss De Berri; here are only friends." For Rose, on hearing a talk within, had remained without the door. " Come in, my love, and speak to Lord Federne." Rose hated the sounds of her aunt's voice ; and, at that moment, Federne also ; but Bernard smiled at her coaxingly, and his expression was like the endearing entreaty of a brother. She had been quite correct when she told Cecilia she could refuse him nothing. She came in, not blushing, yet with a lovely flush upon her face, that made her for the most ordinary observer beautiful. The air which had sent the bright blood to her delicate face had also gathered it to her lips ; they curled like the petals of the carnation, with scarcely less brilliant red. Saiona would have shuddered to behold her, for he would have prophesied that excitement sped, and the after languors of its reaction. But Sarona, for 288 COUNTERPARTS. his own comfort, was not there. Moss stood in the window gazing, forgetting to drop his eye-glass, for- getting to advance ; but Bernard, who had been himself a boy, was so edified by that spectacle that he laughed aloud. Federne had shaken hands with Rose, and as he turned to look for Moss, she managed to reach a chair. With her native grace she remembered she was not alone ; and said, looking all the while at Bernard, half disconsolately, " I really am ashamed to be so helpless ; but the air has made me giddy, and I was so dazzled with the light that I can only just see." u A pretty story to tell Mrs Delapole," said Bernard, who had taken the end of the sofa next to Rose. " She '11 think I 've been giving you champagne, or something of the sort!" with a wink of sweet malice at the maternal protectress. " Oh, no, Mr Bernard ! I can trust you, or I should not have trusted you with Rose." " Take off that hat, Miss De Berri ; you '11 make your head in a flame, and then your hair will fall off." Rose looked askance with an air of deprecation ; but Mrs Delapole, seeing her hesitation, untied the strings. " That will do ; don't take it off, auntie : my hair is not tidy." Bernard gave her a look of affectionate pride : he could take in her modesty to the uttermost. Mrs Delapole saw the look, but she was one of those persons who, ROCKEDGE. 289 however rational, have not learned to distinguish between things that differ. Federne had been making a screen for Moss ; because Moss had, when detected by his progenitor in his amazing stare, blushed so awfully that that nobleman was ashamed of him. Poor Moss ! he became not moderately pale for the whole long minute in which had passed the little difference above alluded to. Then he advanced to Rose, looking so handsome that Federne nearly chuckled over him, and made a bow fit for a ballroom. Rose gave him her hand quite simply ; and, seeing Moss vibrate towards the window, went thither after him : for she thought of him as a boy, and imagined that as a boy he might be hankering after a peep at her pony. As soon as they had retired there, Federne placed himself before Bernard, and said, mean- time glancing upon Mrs Delapole, as if to include her in his observation : " Bernard, I hope, as I have given you a character, you 11 give me one, to this lady. I am very anxious to show her what hospitality is in my power ; and if you will second me, I hope I shall persuade her to dine witli me one of these days." " There is no occasion for any seconding on the part of Mi Bernard. It will give me great pleasure under any circumstances." We do not know whether the espoused saintship of the absent Delapole was in any danger of becoming un- enshrined at this moment, but we do know that the god of this world is an iconoclast in Cupid's temple. VOL. i. U 290 COUNTERPARTS. " Indeed ! I am very glad to hear it. I owe a great deal to your little niece. And as for Moss, he will be six inches taller when I tell him you make no objection. We will be as quiet as you please, and you shall choose your own day. Bernard will tell you, I never stand on ceremony." " I shouldn't think Mrs Delapole would be very likely to think you do, when you tell her to fix a day!" Bernard's smile at this moment was as sarcastic as though all sweetness withered beneath his lips : it had assumed that expression first when Federne had spoken of Moss's pleasure. And now the expression gloomed down into a melancholy almost saturnine : Solomon might have so appeared when his fingers moved the pen to " Vanity of vanities ; all is vanity/' " Mrs Delapole knows why I ask her : at least I beg her to know it is because I have no lady in the house ; and ladies always understand each other's liabilities bet- ter than any gentleman may presume to do." " I quite understand your lordship. But any day will suit me ; and I must request you to make your own arrangements." " The day after to-morrow, then ? I shall only ask to meet you our friend Sarona with his sister ; not be- cause he is our physician, but because he is the most entertaining person in society you may have ever hap- pened to meet." " If you can make him come, Fedeme : it will be the first time, to my certain knowledge." ROCKEDGE. 291 u I intend to succeed by cunning, not by force." " But is Dr Sarona so secluded in his habits?" " Secluded, my dear madam ? Open to all the world are the doors of his heart. If that man had forty-eight hours to his day, he would never have time to make night. He is the first man of his day, anyhow ; and such is his charity, that everybody becomes his friend who suffers. Look at that poor thing — that interesting creature he picked up out of the streets, as one may say — that singer he has taken into his house. Who else would have done it? And although it happens that she has turned out well, yet it might have been very different." Here Bernard raised himself from the sofa end, and strolled after Bose and Moss to the window. The first thing he did was to make Rose sit down in the chair Moss had taken when he first came in. " Yes, it was a strange thing to do, Lord Federne : 1 suppose Miss Dudleigh is very respectable. She has all the manner of a lady." " Out of precedent, of course, or it would n't be like Sarona. He is so good, though, — so very good : a most religious man, too : quite the man to depend upon when death stares <>ne in the face. And honorable : — I could tell you many things. And for blood, — as well descend- ed as our friend young Bernard there, or as your lovely niece. Now, madam, shall we welcome you the day after to-morrow ? We must get off, Moss and I, or Miss De Berri will be tired out and out." 292 COUNTERPARTS. " Certainly; but your lordship's residence is unknown to me." " Georgian Terrace, No. 10. It is not a stone's throw past the Georgian Baths." " I thank your lordship. Rose, my love, Lord Fe- derne is about to leave us." " We shall see you too, Miss De Berri ? I must give you an invitation on your own account, as I find you are nineteen : I thought you were only nine ; and so did Moss." " I did not," said Moss, indignantly. Hose looked from one to the other : she was in a dream about the invitation. Bernard was laughing in the window, and had not yet come forward. " I will tell you, child, when Lord Federne is gone." Rose bade them both adieu; shook Moss's hand, thinking it was Federne's, and vice versa Federne's own. And as soon as they had departed, Bernard strolled back to the sofa. "Now, ma'am, I'm off; and you '11 be glad to get a little rest. Be pleased to send my charge to her dressing-room ; or else she : 11 be fit for nothing to-mor- row, and still less fit for Federne's cabinet-dinner. Good morning." ODYLE. 293 CHAPTER XVI. ODYLE. Mow it happened that the next day was Ernestine Emery's lesson. Mrs Emery was, according to ar- rangement, present this day. She was a woman of many notions, if not ideas, and they helped her to de- tect ideas in others ; therefore she could realise the superior general and musical influence of her child's instructress. When Ernestine had ended her lesson, her mamma smiled all graces upon Cecilia, and begged her to stay and dine with them. " Mr Emery is not strong, and never dines late ; the children are our party. Go now, Ernest, and let nurse dress you, — you quite forget that you have to spend the afternoon with Mrs Cavendish." " No, mamma, I did not forget ; but I was not dressed before, because that other frock is stiff in the sleeves, and I cannot play in it." 294 COUNTERPARTS. She ran off now, and Cecilia, tying the strings of her bonnet as she spoke, refused, very easily but most decidedly, the invitation to dine. " I wish I might go with Miss Dudleigh," cried Ernestine running back into the room : " I know she would take me, — would you not ? it is only one street after Dr Sarona's, and I could run that little way by myself." " I wonder you should think of such a thing, Ernest : Miss Dudleigh has had quite enough of you, I am very sure/' " I shall be very happy to take Miss Emery any- where," said Cecilia, " if you will allow me to wait for her." " TTe are going out, Miss Dudleigh, but not the same way. I confess I shall be very much obliged to you, for she gets so wild with the nurses." " Oh ! thank you, thank you, Miss Dudleigh : do come with me into my room." And Ernestine pulled her hand and drew her by it up the stairs. " Don't you hate drawing-looms, Miss Dudleigh ? I do." " I like drawing-rooms very much, but I like your little room better : it is a dear little room." " Is not it ? I like it best of all. Miss Dudleigh, will you dress me ? I do hate Ellis, mamma's maid : I '11 never have a maid of my own." Now Cecilia understood this child, — she saw that ODYLE. 295 she was all nature, breaking into blossom from a buoy- ant healthful childhood : a nature impulsive yet not tyrannical, demanding freedom and perhaps delight. Neither saw she any reason to destroy the pleasurable effect of her own nature upon a fresher nature here. So she changed the frock for another of costlier fabric, though still plain, which Ernestine brought out of her press in the corner. She tied the wide sash, she smoothed the ringlets ; and very soon had arranged the bonnet, and pulled out the narrow satin bows of the cap all round the beaming face. " Oh ! thank you, Miss Dudleigh : how quick you have been. May I kiss your forehead ?" Cecilia, softly affected, bowed her head. Ernestine talked in a very charming, wayward fashion to Cecilia all down the cliff: still in a fashion that made Cecilia uneasy. Among other things she said : — II Miss Dudleigh, are you going to be married?" " No, my dear child." II I wish you would tell me one thing : why may not ladies ask gentlemen to marry them ? " " Because it is considered a favor on the part of a lady, and a condescension, to marry any gentleman ; even though she respects him." " But, Miss Dudleigh, is it more strange for a lady to tell a gentleman she likes him than for a gentleman to tell a lady '? Because a lady can refuse, and so could a gentleman." " It would be very unusual, and therefore I think strange. I should not like to ask a gentleman for 296 COUNTERPARTS. anything, Ernestine ; much less to many me. And you will feel so too, I hope, when you grow up and are a woman." "Why hope?" " Because it would be a very sad thing for you to do a thing you would repent of all your life afterwards. And of no use either, that I can see ; because if the gentleman did not like you he would say l no.' And if he liked you really he would ask you to say 'yes.' Would you not rather he were the first to ask ?" " Yes, I think so. But, Miss Dudleigh, they cannot always ask." " Who cannot always ask, — ladies or gentlemen?" " Oh, gentlemen." " Why cannot they ? What are you thinking about, Ernestine?" " I like you to call me Ernestine, Miss Dudleigh. Will you always?" " Certainly I will while I teach you, and while you are i Earnest.' " But Ernestine did not answer that last question : she began to be silent, and to look rather strange. Cecilia, who had walked very little in the streets of X, was quite innocent that she was being led the longest way, and indeed rather out of the way, in entering and be- ginning to pass down that Old World Street in whicli the premises of Jett and Saphir were a feature. Just before they reached them, Ernestine stopped suddenly and said : — " Oh ! Miss Dudleigh, I have left my pocket-hand- ODYLE. 297 kerchief at home, and mamma's note to Mrs Cavendish about our party next week. What shall I do?" " We must go back, I suppose, Miss Ernest. I saw your handkerchief on your toilet-table, but I saw no note." 11 It was in the parlour. I laid it on the first book- shelf, on the top of ' the Seven Temptations.' But I cannot go back, because you will be tired. I know what, Miss Dudleigh ; they will send their boy for me at Jett and Saphir's. We go there so often, they know me." Ernestine went straightway into the shop. Cecilia, over whom it just came that she wanted to see Jett and Saphir, followed her, but by no means intended what Ernestine had said to be done. She entered the un- usual gloom of the daylight shop, and saw a dark- haired person behind the counter. Another was glimpsed in the distance amidst the paraphernalia of the laboratory, but he raised his head upon that en- trance and came a few feet forwards, gazing undisguis- edly at what was going on. Ernestine began forthwith in her gay but singularly polished tones. u Is your boy in, and is he disengaged ? " u I am sorry to say he is out. Can I do anything for you myself? " u My dear Ernestine," said Cecilia with her superior air, drawing the child from the counter upon which she had leaned her arms, u take care, you will break that glass." 298 COUNTERPARTS. " Not at all/' said the dark-haired gentleman. Ce- cilia took no notice. " You should not have asked such a thing : errand-boys have quite enough to do in a place like this. You had better sit doAvn here until I come back, and I will go and fetch your things. You will allow Miss Emery to sit down and wait ? " " Oh, certainly, with the greatest pleasure. But will you not allow me to go ? I can leave the shop in my friend's charge, — we have very few customers at this time of day." " Certainly not." Cecilia spoke with that hauteur it was natural to her to adopt towards all strangers, women or men. The dark-haired gentleman looked surprised, but spoke no word in answer, — and Ce- cilia fled. She walked so fast that she had found the handkerchief and the three-cornered note in less than ten minutes, and in less than ten minutes returned. Still Ernestine was sitting, but not as Cecilia had left her ; for she had turned the other way, and was talking as quickly and vivaciously to both the partners as though she were as much at home with them as she already had made herself with Cecilia. Miss Dudleigh now saw both their faces, and admired them both : — most the face with the fairer hair, that had been exhaling its bloom amidst the vapours of the la- boratory. She, however, did not choose to wait that she might examine them, for she thought Ernestine had been quite long enough in the shop at present, seeing she had drawn off all attention from business : so she took her ODYLE. 299 away. As they re-entered the fuller daylight, she could not but observe that Ernestine looked excited and elated . She was in no mood to discover why, being weary with the weight of her own thoughts : a weight to which the child's foolish words had added, though she was not aware of it. So she merely bade Ernestine farewell kindly, as she left her at a door very near Sarona's crescent ; not having heard the babble with which she had been entertained since they left Jett and Saphir's behind them. " Lord Federne has been here," said Salome, as Cecilia went up stairs. " He came to ask us to dinner to-morrow, to meet Mrs Delapole and Miss De Berri ; and, I believe, Mr Bernard. We are not to tell Herz that he is invited, only that we are. I am sure I cannot tell why : — some freak of Lord Federne's." " I am to go to Lord Federne's ! Did he really ask me?" " He pressed it very much, and I believe will be really hurt if you do not." " Oh, I will go, — I should like to go. Then is not Dr Sarona going ? " 11 You know Herz never goes out to dinner : — he can- not spare the time ; and Lord Federne knows he re- fuses always. Still I cannot understand how he is to go if he is not asked ; and I have a feeling he would not refuse this time." " So have I," thought Cecilia in her heart. Salome thought she looked as though she was think- 300 COUNTERPARTS. ing what she could not say ; and was a little surprised, though very much pleased, that Cecilia made no demur about going. So would Cecilia have been surprised at herself, the day before yesterday : but that yesterday, and that very day, had erased, by their one absorbing reminiscence, all other memories. She had been obliged to be grateful to Bernard, and gratitude to eA^erybody else now became a conventional necessity. Besides, she had felt Federne entirely liked her, and that she did not offend his taste, such as that was : rather minis- tered to it. At six o'clock, next day, Sarona entered his dining- room. He could not be said to look his best, yet no other person at the worst of weariness ever looked so well. The keenness of his countenance was sheathed ; the brightness clouded : it seemed as though, finding himself alone, he chose, for a little, to give way. Therefore, before he sat down at the table, garnished only for him- self, he assumed his favourite position, and leaned against the mantelshelf. One could not see his forehead, nor his eyes, only the still relaxation of the exquisitely curved lips and chiselled chin : the firelight played upon his polished boot, which he beat restlessly against the fender. For Sarona, however worried and hurried, was, like Mr Pitt, never known to omit dressing for dinner. The extreme perfection and quickness of his movements rendered it no greater stress to do so, than to meander- ing persons it is to appear in slouch. And Sarona had too much chivalry to sit down to dinner, with his sister, ODYLE. 301 in absolute undress. We have merely touched upon this fact, because such habitude was to stand him in good stead to-night. He had leaned for full five minutes, and was be- ginning to feast on reverie — ambrosia he had merely tasted, until very latterly, instead of any sublunary fare — when there was an agitation at the street-door : a knock and no mistake, for it even aroused Sarona. He stroked his forehead with his hand, as though to sweep away some shadow that he vaguely dreamed was there ; though the darkness lay inly upon his breast. He looked almost bewildered, and for once almost in a rage ; but he had wandered too far out of himself to reach that crisis readily. Frid entered; he had also been roused from his lucubrations in his attic, where he had a fire to study by, and studied from Sarona's books. He had come down stairs in a succession of leaps, di- rectly he heard the knock. Frid stared with his wild dark eyes to see that his master was not at dinner ; but brought him a note, nevertheless. The note was from Lord Mossmoor : it was very urgent. Sarona frowned over it for a moment, as though he suspected treachery, but ended by tossing the noticle into the fire, and or- dering the carriage, then counter-ordering it instantly • much to Frid's amazement, who had never known his master contradict himself before. So Sarona took his hat, drew on some sort of light large coat, that made him look more foreign than ever, and slammed the street-door after him. 302 COUNTERPARTS. Out of curiosity, we will pick the note out of the fire, charm the ashes into paper again, and read Lord Moss's riddle. It was rather scrawled, than written, as if in agitation : — " My dear Dr Sarona, — For mercy's sake come quick- ly — come directly. I do not know what to do with my father ; and all our friends are here. It is a matter of life or death. I rely on you to come. Yours ever, M. M." It was a fact, that if Sarona suspected treachery, he was glad enough of the opportunity for escaping from his house to Federne's that night. And also, that he made up his mind momently to behave as though he suspected none. Therefore, arrived at Georgian Ter- race — whither he ran, not walked — he knocked at the door as though he desired of all things to get up stairs "before it was open. And, it being open, he almost shouted at the servant, " Whera is Lord Federne — and how?'' " I will take you, sir," answered the man ; who had his cue, and who had never lived except with aristo- crat employers. He made a great show of mounting the stairs, as one who is wrought up by circumstances, and with Sarona directly upon his heels, turned the ivory lock of the drawing-room's noiseless door, flung it wide open, and relapsing into a hushed behaviour, let Sarona in, without announcing his name. Now, Federne's drawing-room had folding-doors. The further retreat was a miniature boudoir, scarcely larger than a closet : one large soft sofa facing the fire, and ODYLE. 303 a small settee on each side of the folding-doors, were the only provision for seats. The carpet, besides, was cov- ered, as close as possible, with little tables, flowerstands raised on feet, and narrow cabinets, filled full with in- sects, minerals, vertu. In the large drawing-room was the pianoforte, old but still good, for it had been of the best at first ; — was a large round table, covered with a plain dark -blue cloth ; — were plain rosewood chairs, with dark blue velvet seats, — and two dark blue velvet sofas. A French clock that played half-hour chimes, and two terra cotta vases, stood upon the mantelshelf ; a large mirror spread above them, with merely a gold beading, by way of frame. The dark blue damask curtains were drawn across the win- dows; their white fringe glittered in the light of the single chandelier. On one of the velvet sofas, full in the firelight, lay Federne a-sprawl. His hands were by his side ex- tended, attenuated ; his white wristbands showed not whiter. Moss bent over him, trying to purse his mouth ; which was a most unusual effort. The folding-doors were closed : there was, apparently, no one else in the room. Sarona, who was a consummate actor, outdid Fedeme. He walked up to him very softly, laid his finger, with a leaf-light touch, upon his wrist, and looked anxiously at Moss, saying in a tone of indifferentism, yet author- ity, — " How long has it been, and what is it ? You must tell me, if you please, my dear boy?" 304 COUNTERPARTS. Then Moss burst out laughing ; laughed a thousand dimples into his face. Federne started up and roared ; caught Sarona by both his hands, and nearly shook his arms off; gave him no time to speak or escape (though Sarona still main- tained his cue, and stared roundly upon his pseudo- patient), but bade Moss open the folding-doors, and led him in in triumph. Light was the choral laughter there. All laughed : even Rose, who stood nearly behind Bernard, having escaped there as Sarona entered : even Cecilia, who began last to laugh ; and into whose laughter, directly she began, Sarona joined. There was Mrs Delapole by the fire, upon the single sofa, dressed in rich brown silk, with rich black lace, and a cap all Paris flowers ; Salome sat beside Cecilia, on a settee ; Bernard stood opposite the folding-doors ; Rose a little behind him, half-hidden, half-revealed. Sarona did not see what she wore ; though all the other dresses fell upon his perception at once, like the colors of a worsted mat, or the squares of a chess-board. " Now, Sarona, we have you ; and we mean to keep you — a prisoner of war ! " " Of peace, if you please. You are a very skilful strategist, Lord Mossmoor, and counterfeit fact most pa- thetically." " But I did not say my father was ill : I only said it was a matter of life or death. And so it was : for if it is a matter of life, it is not of death ; and we are all ODYLE. 305 alive. And I begged you to come to him directly ; for lie wanted you to come." Sarona was still standing, framed, as it were, in the folding-doorway. He did not look at anybody, but everybody felt as if he were looking exactly at and into him or her. u He is very good. I was just going to have my dinner." " I suppose you can eat it here, as well as at your own house. It is well for you, Sarona, that you had not already eaten, for you would have had to do it over again." " I am quite ready and happy to eat : I am really very hungry." A servant entered, and approached Fedeme. " And we all are, I hope. Bernard, will you take Miss Dudleigli : Sarona, Miss De Berri : and, Moss, take care of Miss Sarona to the dining-room." Federne paired people according to etiquette ; for which he was a stickler in matters of form, however un- ceremonious in fashion, or else he would not so have paired his guests : and he took Mrs Delapole. Sarona had shaken hands with no one, for his en- trance had scarcely called for specific greeting. He therefore approached Hose for the first time, to take her down. Federne was at the top — Moss at the bottom of the table. On one side sat Bernard, between Salome and Cecilia ; on the other, Sarona, between Mrs Delapole VOL. I. X 306 COUNTERPARTS. and Rose. It was a dinner unusual enough to allure the appetite. Perhaps Eose had none, but she cer- tainly ate less than anybody, yet took more time. Sarona, who was mostly seen by her in profile, and ap- peared perfectly ravished with his dinner, began, as though in fulfilment of Federne's representation, to en- tertain Mrs Delapole the whole while he ate. In a low tone, yet perfectly clear to Rose, who heard all he said, he touched upon every topic either agitating society at that date, or that was a watchword of literary clique : only touched, and left it ; yet, in that touch, enunciating whatever point the subject might possess indisputably, or else supplying some point of his own. Eminently critical, he eschewed the critic slang to the utter- most ; philosophically discriminating, the schoolman's cant was avoided. He used old sterling words rather than neologisms, yet never hesitated for a word, and whatever word he made use of impressed one anew : one felt as though it had never been so pertinently used before. But he was in a mixed mood to-night, and that phase which was on the surface materially assisted to conceal the variations from scrutiny. After a trifle of discussion upon the rumor of Reichenbach's book, not then translated, Mrs Delapole asked Sarona whether it was true he had seen him ? " Years ago, in Germany : I may say, I knew him very well." " And do you believe that all he says is true?" ODYLE. 307 " Why should I not ? Certainly I believe he has seen and done all he says." " Are you a mesmerist, Dr Sarona? " " I do not practise it : I have no time to test it ; and I think it too high a subject to trifle with for the bare sake of experiment. It requires the most subtle of all educations to prepare for its genuine exercise. But Reichenbachhas the most refined and regulated organism, full of physical and intellectual experiences, a sound head and a simple heart. Still his book ought not to be translated : those who would master the original are those alone who ought to benefit by it. It is beyond us at present in England ; and, though it will be read, it will not be relished : except by a party of those who admire without understanding what is absolutely only in the power of the few." " Is that the l Researches/ Sarona ?" asked Bernard over the table. " I have been reading it in German as you say, and I know it 's all nonsense." " Odyle, nonsense ? — the magnet a mere horse-shoe ?" " A horse-shoe for your hobby ! No, no ! not the principle ; but nonsense to reduce it to system. If you had heard the lecture at the Bellevue reading-rooms on Monday week, you 'd say you did not know which were the greater fools, those who preached about it or those who came to hear. A goodly squeeze ! I wonder how much of the ' aura ' was permeating those blockheads — however, quite as much as there is in this room at present." 308 COUNTERPARTS. " I should have been more than ever convinced of its actuality as a fact rather than a principle. The way in which all subjects requiring delicate spiritual analysis are dealt with by the mob, assures me, in the absurd failure that is the sure result, how evidently such sub- jects are of entire comprehension by the few alone." " But it all goes down, even among those few : it all ends in talk • and, for its practicalness, one might as well print newspapers in Hebrew." " Just now, you were objecting to make it a system — to take it out of talk and establish it as a theory. When you speak of its i going down,' you forget that excitement is sensuous : enthusiasm of the spirit. All excitement declares itself outwardly, and subsides ; enthusiasm de- clares itself inwardly, and endures. The enthusiasts maintain their faith to the end of the chapter : they die in it, and are declared fanatics : but can aught be fanati- cism that will sustain in the dav of death ? The excited j droop and flag, expunge all traces of their allegiance to the enthusiasm which sometime they counterfeited and which they really served : though they never served it so signally as when they renounced their claims upon it." " Well, I was trying to feel entranced all the while I was in the room the other night, just for fun, and I never felt so wide awake in my life. And none of the people who were experimented upon had anything happen to them, though the fellow stroked them about and mowed. I wish you 'd give us a lecture, Sarona : I 'd come and ODYLE. 309 hear you ; and I believe, for once in your time, you'd be floored and have nothing to say, unless you picked Keichenbach to pieces and put him together in a dif- ferent shape, like a Chinese puzzle. Sarona, is there any Odyle in Shakspeare ? By the way, what an abra- cadabra he has contrived to make it sound — Odyle ! " u There is temperament in Shakspeare : I know not such a master of all temperaments." " I know that with you the chapter and the verse is 1 temperament ' for every sermon. But I don't see, allow- ing temperament to be in Shakspeare (which I don't see, either), how temperament can be odyle." " As much as electric matter is steel — no more : or as the brain is animus." " And what is the atmosphere which is said to sur- round the magnet ?" asked MrsDelapole, who had read about it in the periodicals. He proceeded to enlighten her as he would have explained a kaleidoscope to a child. But only Rose heard him, for Federne was laughing with Cecilia at Bernard's mock simplicity, which they both misunderstood. Moss turned to Rose, too, and committed himself in some trivial manner on the subject which was going the round, and Bernard said to Salome : " What does he mean about temperament in Shaks- peare?" " You must ask Miss Dudleigh : she knows all about those things." •• Miss Dudleigh, tell me if you please. Is tempera- 310 COUNTERPARTS. ment, Portia having golden hair and Bassanio dark ? Or Juliet being a child and Romeo a jilt ? Or is it Lady Macbeth being like a gentleman and the Thane like a lady ? Or Benedick being a dog and Beatrice a cat ? Or — stay, I Ve got a hundred. I suppose it 's temperament for Hubert to melt over Arthur, and the brutes who were going to make away with the princes to bully one another ; or for Othello to smother his wife one minute and repent of it the next. And for Hamlet to love his father better than Miss Ophelia ! " " Mr Bernard, you are a poet, and ought to know better than we." " Miss Sarona, I did not ask you ; I asked Miss Dudleigh." " Yes, I think you have expressed it exactly, and that you mean it in sober sadness." " But I really don't think Shakspeare thought about temperament when he wrote. Do you ? Did he say, ' I must make this fellow do this, and that come in so ; and such and such a lady tickle Oberon ' — because it 's all temperament ?" " Of course not, because his genius, itself supreme, had mastered all mechanism : rather, all mechanism was subservient to his purposes : he had not needed to master them. As a wizard, and possessing by his craft a charm beyond all odyle, he had but to command and it was done. But if he were not a physiologist, how could he have so paired his temperaments in counter- part, identified them by contrast?" ODYLE. 311 " I don't know. I don't know that he does. Cer- tainly, I agree that he did what he pleased with his powers." " But why are his dramatic proprieties unerring ? Why are they a standard?" " I don't know : because they are. I cannot argue upon Shakspeare." u Nor I : nor would I if I could. But we may surely discuss, out of Shakspeare, what is in Shakspeare." " I cannot. I know him, and that 's enough. But do you believe in Odyle, as you call it a charm?" " I never heard the word till to-night. If Dr Sarona believes it, I may say that I do." " Blind obedience ! So you believe everything he does?" " Everything ideal — everything we cannot see ; if that is blind obedience. I believe in electro-magnetism. I am sure I could put some people to sleep." " Why not all, if some?" " Of course not all, because some. That depends too on temperament. And I think that is why there are so many failures. Persons of all temperaments, and of very indistinct temperaments, suppose they can affect all temperaments indiscriminately ; while, of course, it must be time that the specific temperaments only can affect at all : and then only temperaments which are counterpart." u Well, I '11 say one thing before my head quite swims : you 've profited by Sarona's cabinet lectures." 312 COUNTERPARTS. Sarona, who liad not seemed to hear before, now lighted up brightly, almost fiercely, and flung a glance of expressive lightning at Bernard : snatched up his very sentence, and said with keen intention, — " You are entirely mistaken. What Miss Dudleigh has just said is as new to me as to you. And at all times when we have ventured upon that field, she has taken the flights herself. I do not agree with her there ; for I do not understand what she means : and I do not believe she does herself." " I do, perfectly : but I believe it is better not to trouble people with one's ideas, unless they are ready to present one with theirs ; for ideas need counter- parts in conversation, as much as temperaments in existence." " But, Miss Dudleigh," said Sarona, more quietly, politely, suavely, but as cold as snow, " I have heard you speak of these counterparts ; and perhaps their effects are more obvious on account of their being contrasted : we all can realise contrast. Do you mean at once to say that only these counterparts affect each other, and that the endless modifications of temperament do not affect each other, merely because, perhaps, their influence is more covert, more subtle, more graduated?" u But may not the modifications of these same tem- peraments be counterpart to each other s modifications, just as the chief temperaments are counterpart ? And even the rudiments of a temperament may find their counterpart in other semi-developments of another ; so that nobody is left alone." ODYLE. 313 " I think ? Miss Dudleigh, that tliere are cases in which the same temperaments, where one is less perfect than another and deficient in the higher affinities of that other, vet may cling to each other all the closer on account of being the same." She looked down and was silent. u Come, what have you to say'?" asked Bernard, half curiously, half puzzled. " I have said too much ; for I am very ignorant, and have no right to speak." " Every right, Miss Dudleigh," said Federne, in an ecstasy of amusement. u I should say, Dr Sarona, that of course you are right ; and that the weaker nature and more formless would seek in the strong and perfect the completer of its form : — requiring no counterpart, because it is not perfect of itself. I suppose it is only the perfect natures that require counterparts, because they realise in them- selves that they are complete, and cannot rest so : must aspire, and to what is most uidike them, or they would not need it." " And, Sarona," observed Federne, " I do believe she is quite right. For just see the effect of people marrying from other motives than because they affect each other. They never think about it, and it is just as it happens : sometimes they are well assorted, sometimes they appear to have no reference to each other at all." " But marriage is not every thing ; and though mar- 314 COUNTERPARTS. riage may demand a certain portion of respect, it is not the only consideration in life. Suppose, Sarona, you only chose to doctor your i counterparts,' what would happen of the people who came to you to be cured?" " Happily our i odyle,' or our i temperament,' or whatever it is by which we affect others and are our- selves affected, is not the only bond of universal union between man and man. And happily also, as you say, my good Bernard, it does, at least in reference to our daily duties, all end in talk." Not ten minutes after the ladies had retired, Mrs Delapole leading the way, the gentlemen came up. Then Lord Federne, observing that the lady in question had taken the sofa in the boudoir, followed her, and entreated her to rest herself as she was accustomed to do at home. You know, madam, that Sarona is here, and I shall appeal to him, unless you do exactly as you ought. You shall have the room entirely to yourself if vou choose, and we will close the doors." Now, Federne had been entreated by his friends down stairs so to dispose of Mrs Delapole, that she might not be too omnipresent during their intended proceedings. It was Bernard who had said to Sarona, indeed, not con- tradicted by him either, " We'll try some of these ex- periments when we go up stairs ; and, Federne, you must keep Mrs Delapole out of the way, for she would be so shocked we should never see Miss De Bern again." Federne, along with his contemporaries, always hu- moured Bernard. Bernard, and Sarona, and Moss- ODYLE. 315 moor, had remained behind together. Federne, who had coaxed Mrs Delapole into a position of somewhat more oriental repose than sitting, was in great hopes she would ere long recline completely ; her feet being almost on a level with her knees, by reason of their arrangement on a faldstool, which his father had bade Moss to bring. And Federne, knowing Moss was where he wished to be, made himself comfortable where he Avas ; though he would have liked to be in the other room. Bernard stood upon the hearthrug and warmed his hands ; Sarona was standing also at the table, with his arms behind him ; Moss alone of the gentlemen was seated, next to Rose ; and Salome and Cecilia had one of the sofas to themselves. " Well, have you all done thinking about the tem- peraments ? because I propose a renewal of hostilities. Sarona and I are agreed that we won't have any music or any singing, or any chess or picture-books : but we want some l odyle,' some ' aura,' some mesmeric phe- nomena. Are such bagatelles compatible with after dinner, Miss Dudleigh ? Won't the process of digestion interfere with the l delicate spiritual analysis' which Sarona has informed us is necessary ? And, above all, will you tell us our respective l counterparts,' that we may try and practise upon each other?" "I bar that!" exclaimed Sarona, speaking for the first time since he had come up stairs, and advancing by three or four long, swift steps, close behind the chair on which Rose was sitting. " I bar that ! She cannot 316 COUNTERPARTS. tell us our temperaments : we alone know our own. And who knows whether we have all of us counterparts in each other ? It is absurd. Let us all try, every one of us upon us each : that alone will be fair. And to begin, let us each try upon those we know the best. I will try my sister first." " Try what, Herz ?" said Salome, laughing with all her heart ; for it was the first time she had ever actually seen him lend himself to any phantastic ceremony. And Cecilia, who saw through his meaning at a glance, was lost within herself to think how perfectly she un- derstood him. " Try to put each other to sleep!" cried Bernard, almost in a scream of laughter. " Well, I '11 confess if they manage me, that odyle is the devil's own opium ; for I never felt so unsleepy in mv life : I'm in rare condition. Now, Miss De Berri, I shall try with you, and then you with me. And you, Lord Moss, try and come over Miss Sarona : you shall have a turn with Miss De Berri by-and- by." " B-eally, Mr Bernard, you talk as if we were all go- ing to play at that game of the children's — which can look the longest without laughing." " And so we are. I know if I don't laugh it will be because I go to sleep : and if I don't go to sleep I shall laugh!" " Now, Bernard, we shall have no time : don't be absurd." ODYLE. 317 " Absurd, indeed, Monseignenr ! and what are you to propose it ? As though, if there were such a tiling, one carried it about in one's watchpocket ! Or, like Dumas' poisons, which his infernal heroines cany about in a ring. I say, Sarona, how do you do the passes ? " Sarona laughed this time. u Really, Bernard, you are a perfect mar-plot. You know as well as I do." " I tried on Cock one day, but he licked my hands all over instead of going to sleep !" In a few minutes all was quiet. Perhaps a very imaginative person, entering unawares, might have ex- perienced in the silence something rather awful : it was assuredly a suspension, whether electrical or not. Presently Federne peeped in through the crack of the folding doors. Everybody was awake, and all laughed : even Rose ; for Bernard had in vain done his utmost with the oglings of his expressive eye^, with the wav- ings of his almost as expressive hands, to send her off. She had found no difficulty, in spite of his grimacing, to keep her countenance ; for she was arresting her own thoughts upon one peculiar impression, — that Sarona would exhibit before her, by-and-by. Sarona and Salome were looking steadfastly at each other ; and Sarona, in obedience to a different prescribed form from Bernard's, had folded both her hands in his. To look at them, to see them look, was exactly like look- ing at a star and its reflection in a wavelcss water. They gazed alike, — they saw alike, — they affected each otiier 318 COUNTERPARTS. alike : that is no more than they would have done had they been at home, and doing as they always did in reference to each other, — helping, loving, living, side by side, yet not together. There was no ideal connexion : it was actual and material identity, so far as it went; and could not by spiritual agency be displaced, or made to give place to another frame. Lord Mossmoor, who had no fancy for trying upon Cecilia, and Cecilia, who had no fancy for trying upon him, had separated them- selves as far as possible : she stood nearest Sarona, and watched him ; he watched Bernard and Rose, evidently very desirous for his turn to come. As Federne gave his rallying reconnoitre and all laughed, it seemed by common consent as though the counterfeit spell were broken : all started up, and Bernard, laughing so that he could scarcely stand, exclaimed : — " Will you give up the game ?" " By no means," said Sarona, with strange authority for so slight a countermand : " not so, until we have really begun. I do not consider that we have so done, for I rely chiefly upon Miss Dudleigh. And, as I be- lieve there is something disturbing to the current in so many subjects at once being bent under it, suppose we try one at a time ; and the rest keep vigil, lest there should be any foul play." " We shall all keep vigil during this sitting, I expect. But are you really, Sarona, in such a state of fatuity to-night, that you believe the current is going on in this room at this present?" ODYLE. 319 u Of course ; if it be anywhere, it is in this room, Ber- nard. Sit down, Miss Dudleigh." Cecilia obeyed, though she very well knew what would be the consequence. So probably did Sarona also, for he exchanged with her a singular, deep, sudden look ; and a significant half-smile settled upon his face as he took the opposite chair. His look said, " we understand each other, but they do not understand us." He began. In a few moments all were gathered round the chairs. Bernard, with Rose beside him, was looking curiously, amusedly, at Cecilia ; so was also Hose ; who did not once glance over at Sarona. At last Bernard whispered to Rose : — " Just look at her eyes ; one might think she was trying to mesmerise Mm ! 1 tell you what, Miss De Berri, if there is anything in it at all, it 's done with the eyes." " But, Mr Bernard, the touch is in some cases as subtile as the look." " Not in her case : I know everything comes out of her eyes. And it 's very queer, because his eyes are dark, and hers light ; and one always fancies there must be more intensity in the gaze of a dark eye, more soft- ness in the fair. She hasn't got soft eyes : they're as sharp as his." " But they arc not fair eyes, Mr Bernard ; they are very dark for grey." " And they are something like steel : that 's the rea- son, of course, they 're so electrical-looking ! Sarona's 320 COUNTERPARTS. are electrical too, but his show sparks behind the eye- ball ; hers are blue all over, like a blue flame. Two such nervous creatures as they ought to send each other to sleep, ought n't they ? Suppose they both tumble off, MissDeBerri!" " Mr Bernard, is going to sleep the only condition of mesmerism ? Could there not be excitement as well as repose ? I mean, is it certain that no magnetic influence is at work because people do not become entranced ? May not one be wide awake, and feel it?" " Ah, Miss De Berri, you Ve put into words what 's often puzzled me ! I am pretty sure it 's at the bottom of all our excitabilities and fusses, whether sympathetic or antipathetic. But I believe generally the virtue is supposed to reside in one temperament rather than another ; and it stands to reason, doesn't it, that those whose nerves lie nearest the surface must have it more at command, and be more certain about it, than those who never take fright at anything, and who feel every- thing in their blood before they feel it in their nerves ? And two such nervous creatures as Sarona and his ward are just like a couple of electrical machines both charged at once, playing against each other : they can't give each other the fluid, because they 're both brimful." " I wish Miss Dudleigh could hear what you say, Mr Bernard, for then she would be satisfied that you did not treat her observations with disrespect." For Bernard had spoken in his stealthy semi- voice, a little withdrawn from the experimentalists. ODYLE. 321 u I am not thinking of her observations ; and about Shakspeare I still think her notions are mere moonshine. But of course it isn't because one can't understand the stars, or heaven, or the wind, or about one's own private feelings, that one doesn't believe in them : the same with magnetism and all its ramifications." " But I did not feel anything at all when you looked at me, Mr Bernard. Perhaps you did not concentrate your will sufficiently." " O yes, I did : what will I had at command ; but it all went wandering away, and I could not keep my thoughts together. I suppose I'm a non-conductor !" "It is of no use!" cried Sarona, starting up; and everybody started, — his air was of such rare excitement. " It is of no use : we are far too much alike, and feel too much the same. But whatever is not true, this is, — that I feel as if a flame, — a cold wavering flame, — were creeping up my arms and down the back of my head : I can feel it like the light that laps up alcohol in a spirit-lamp ; and yet, instead of burning me, it makes me shiver. I believe, too, that if I had a magnet here I could charge it ; and charge something I must !" Everybody who had started, now shrank back. The riveting, spiritual ecstasy that glittered in Sarona's eye was just as confounding as his manner. All were astonished ; those who had known him longest, most so. Bernard laughed, but laughed as though he were enter- ing into a madman's glee expediently. Salome got up and came to him. VOL. I. y 322 COUNTERPARTS. " Dearest Herz ! you really have done something to yourself : you have been fixing your eyes too long, and it has driven the blood into your forehead. Come and sit down by me." " Do you not remember," said Sarona with vivid enunciation, " how the wretches in the plague longed for nothing so much as to infect another ? I am sure I know how they felt, for I feel as if I must bestow upon some one a portion of this strange elixir. No one need be afraid ; it will not bum them." " You can 't answer for that, old fellow, because it doesn't happen to bum you ! Go, and jump over the pier, and you'll set the sea on fire : we shall see those blue and green lights that you 've got in your spirit- lamp, and nobody on dry land will be the worse." " No, Mr Bernard, I can feel for him, because I am sure he has made his head very miserable. Look at his eyes. Herz dear, kiss me ; and then perhaps you will part with some of the fluid, and feel all the lighter !" Salome was laughing, but Sarona took her at her word : he folded his arms around her, and gave her a long embrace ; then looked up, brightly, with the brilliance quivering from his eyes to the smile that shook his lips. " Yes, Loma, you were quite right : you are always my good angel. I am very much < lighter :' still I am not satisfied. Miss De Berri, where are you '?" looking, peering, all round the room. " Here she is : she always gets behind me, because ODYLE. 323 I 'm a non-conductor, and she 's afraid of your stares. There ! you do look a little more human now, Sarona : I thought you were possessed just now, — I did, in- deed." He drew Rose forward ; her eyes were dilated and dauntless : just as an infant surveys a grown person, so steadfastly, solemnly, she looked upon Sarona. " Miss De Berri, have you any objection to my mak- ing an experiment upon you ? If you prefer not, be pleased to say so. It is mere curiosity on my part. I believe you are susceptible." u No," said Rose, " I have no objection : but I do not think you will succeed in sending me to sleep." u May I try ? You shall be released the moment you wish. And, Bernard, do you try upon Miss Dud- leigh : I am rather curious, too, about you and her." " Nonsense ! I've had quite enough of trying : it isn't in me. But I wish, just for fun, that she'd try on me." Cecilia, almost radiant with sudden exultation, turned sharply from the fire. She had never in her whole life had anything placed so opportunely before her that she desired to grasp. She had a strange, stir- ring assurance that she had it in her to affect Bernard ; but she would have died before she would have asked to try. Her brain seemed to light up as with a thou- sand eyes ; a thousand choral echoes brimmed her ears ; her pulses, full, rushing, impetuous, seeming to flash their life-blood in streams of fire ; yet, through all her 324 COUNTERPARTS. enthusiasm, she was not the least excited. Sarona, through all his enthusiasm, was excited too : none could mistake the difference, who sat face to face with him, as did Rose ; for he had placed her in a chair, and himself before her, and laid the finely fibred finger of his hand upon her thread-like pulse ; looking at her straightway. Then Bernard threw himself upon one of the dark- blue velvet sofas which Salome and Mossmoor had for- saken. " If I am to be hypnotized, Miss Dudleigh, we '11 do it all in style ; and if I am to go to sleep, if you please I '11 have this pillow under my head : and look, Miss Sarona, if I talk in my sleep, being lucid, mind you put it all down in your pocket-book ; and we'll send it to the Royal Society as an advertisement of Phreno-mes- merism. Now, Miss Dudleigh, you may begin." Bernard had really made himself very comfortable under the circumstances : and Cecilia sat down as soon as he was settled ; his laughing face framed by the dark- blue fringe. She sat upon the scroll of the sofa, and fixed her eyes. " But I thought you were to hold my hand, and to move your arms. Tush ! Miss Dudleigh, you don't half do it." She took not the least notice, nor moved her lips. Her countenance grew fixed and breathless, more color- less than ever ; her lips seemed turned to stone ; her eyeballs frozen. Even Salome, who was over at the ODTLE. 325 fire, could hardly believe what she saw ; for the coun- tenance became a mere cast, and the whole intelligence, intellect, and intention grew into, grew out of, the gaz- ing eyes. And Sarona as he sat looking intensely into the eyes of Rose, was silent too. Not like a cast : neither marble, nor stone, nor steel. The mask of ice, behind whose cold transparence his loveliest smile was wont to play, his warmest glance to intercept itself, had melted. The fires of the brain that made his eyes coruscant, that had turned their very darkness into light, dwelt only there and upon the mysterious forehead, whose whiteness was as the impenetrable ivory veined and polished. But around the mouth, — that feature whose poetry Bernard refused to interpret, — lay sweetness full expanded: as an open flower it breathed; but its fragrance was as faint as sweet. Just as the blossom, however fresh, waves wearily in the sun, or scatters its sighs without a stir, did that very sweetness strike uncon- sciously ; and the smile seem to droop the parted lips ; in languor, but not repose ; all purity, but passion. Sa- rona, as it were, fed upon her countenance : — forgot his mission. Xot she hers. Rose never changed nor paled : her lips were fixed ; her luminous eyes watched his as the moon looks down at us from its heaven ; no tendril of her hair trembled ; she gave no smile. But beneath Sarona's finger her pulse grew restless and un- equal : never strong, it now quivered as the strong- vibration of a smitten harp-string : it throbbed to pain. 326 COUNTERPARTS. and then its throb became a thrill. She no longer felt her heart beat : the pulsation seemed to have gone down into her wrist, and up into her dazzled brain. She knew exactly how long to bear it, and that she could not bear it long : she suddenly drew back her hand very quietly and softly, and said, in a hushed voice : — " That is quite enough, I think. I am to be of no more use than the rest." Sarona gave a sharp start, as from a celestial incubus, — rose, — turned quickly, and was about to speak. Then, as sharply, he turned back upon Kose, and stared. " Just look at Bernard ! " Everybody was looking. Even Lord Federne, who had taken a fresh observation, was transfixed in the opening of the door. Mossmoor, in boy-wonder, kept smiling up at Salome. She could not smile : she was too absorbed ; for Bernard, outstretched upon the sofa, had sunk lower and lower, until he lay as if in bed. One arm was thrown over his forehead, and the rosy palm of that hand lay open like a shell ; the fingers were relaxed as an infant's. His face was suffused with the blush of slumber : the warm blood, so seldom gathered to the cheek except in childhood, tinted, far more than usual, his somewhat pallid lips. Its frequent frown had melted from the forehead ; the mouth was just open enough to show the glimmer of the teeth. Above all, most strange to say, the eyes were closed, — closed with no flutter of the lids, — no quiver of the eyelash. From the feet, crossed carelessly, to the calm ODYLE. 327 of the soft dark hair, all was at rest with Bernard. Miss Dudleigh had never moved since she first assumed her seat ; she still looked at him, but not so rigidly ; and now, in place of her stone-like paleness, her cheeks were slightly flushed. She felt Sarona behind her, for he advanced on tiptoe ; and, without moving her head, she whispered : — " Is it not strange ? I cannot understand it my- self;' " It is most wonderful, and yet does not surprise me. You succeeded better than I did."' u Oh, that is only because I did not try to do so much. I only wanted to make him sleep ; and I knew I could. I resolved : I thought of nothing else." " And yet you could do more, I am persuaded. Try now, — pray do. You ought, with such a power." " Not for the world. Indeed I do not know that I could ; and I would not, on any account : Mr Bernard would not like it. I hope I shall be able to wake him." " Do not yet," said Rose, softly, coming up close to Cecilia ; " he looks so happy." Sarona gave her a quick look, which he snatched away again before she received it. u He shall not be disturbed : that state will not do him any harm, as it would if he became comatose." And then Moss fetched his father, andFedeme brought Mrs Delapole. Nothing could convince this lady that it was any but an every-night sleep. Sarona did not try 328 COUNTERPARTS. to convince her, neither did anybody else ; and yet, through all the talking and laughing that followed, Bernard did not wake. He slept for quite an hour in that entranced position, never moving his lips, nor clos- ing his open hand. Not till Sarona declared he must be gone, did Cecilia set herself to wake him ; and, strange to say, it was not so easy. She looked at him a long time before he even stirred, and then it was impatiently, pettishly : he rubbed his fingers into his eyes, and opened them ; — stared, — rubbed them again, — frowned darkly, — the Spanish gloom passing as a cloud upon the rose of slumber, — sat up, and looked, half-curious- ly, half-cross, at Sarona, and called at him : — " What the devil have you been doing to me ?" u I been doing to you ? You have been chained as fast as before you were born, — asleep, as the i Sleeping Beauty ! ' And what do you think of it all now, Bafe?" " I think," with the wayward softness returning to the lip, — the shimmering mischief to the eye, — " I think the etymology of l odyle ' is ' chouse ! ' ' END OF VOL. I. ERRATUM. Page 28. line 28. for Mucose read Almond. Printed by Oliver & Boyd, Tweeddale Court, High Street, Edinburgh.