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 X, BROWN, GEBEl^, and L0NG:M
 
 mm^m
 
 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 VOL. L
 
 LI E) R^ARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UN IVLR5ITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 Se8c 
 
 V.I 
 
 London : 
 A. and G. A. Spottiswoodb, 
 New-stree.t-Square.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Br THK AUTHOR OF 
 
 AMY HERBERT," "THE EXPERIENCE OF LIFE," 
 
 ETC. ETC. 
 
 Tho' justice be thy plea, consider this, 
 
 That in the course of justice none of us 
 
 Should see salvation." — The Merchant of Venice. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 LONGMAN, BROWN, GREEN, AND LONGMANS. 
 
 1855. 
 
 ITIie Author of this work resencs the right of authorising a Translation of it.']

 
 85.-5 
 
 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 It was an old, gable-ended Farm-house, standing back 
 from the road, with a smooth piece of turf in front, 
 neatly kept, and divided down the centre by a broad 
 strip of pavement. 
 
 Five or six large elm trees shaded it on the left ; 
 on the right, behind some broad meadows, rose a 
 steep bank, forming the further extremity of a rocky 
 ravine, through whicli ran a by-road from the high- 
 way, probably leading to some sequestered hamlet. 
 The whole surface of the country was hilly, almost 
 claiming the appellation of mountainous. A long 
 range of steep downs stretched for a considerable dis- 
 tance beyond the ravine towards the north-east ; whilst 
 in front of the farm, at about the distance of a mile, 
 the horizon was bounded by a hill, clothed with thick 
 plantations, amongst which the sighing of the soft 
 evening wind was heard mingling Avith the heavy 
 swell of the ocean. 
 
 The view was very lovely seen in the mellow 
 evening light; the meadows rich with the golden 
 flowers of early summer, and the fresh green on the 
 trees and hedges, sparkling as their trembling leaves 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 CLEVE HALL, 
 
 caught the glancing rays of the sinking sun. Yet 
 it was solitary. No building was in sight except 
 the quaint, grey Farm-house, with its ivy-covered 
 chimneys, and broad, open porch ; and though there 
 were sounds about the farm, — the carter-boy's whistle, 
 — the clatter of the milk-pails, as the dairymaids 
 crossed the yard, — and occasionally the neighing of 
 a horse, or the lowing of a cow ; yet they were all 
 hushed, — softened by that indescribable atmosphere 
 of quietness, which prepares the gentle evening for 
 the deeper solemnity of night. 
 
 A woman^ who might have been about fifty years 
 old — the mistress of the farm apparently — was lean- 
 ing over the low garden-wall. She was rather pecu- 
 liar in appearance ; her dress scrupulously neat, but 
 decidedly old-fashioned ; the cotton gown scanty 
 and rather short ; a checked handkerchief folded over 
 her shoulders, and a cap white as snow, and quilled 
 in perfect order, fitting close around a pale, worn 
 face. Her attitude told that she was listening, and 
 the breeze brought to the ear the distant trampling 
 of a horse, departing however, not approaching. It 
 was followed with fixed attention, till the last echo 
 had died away, and tlien a sigh was heaved and 
 slowly and thoughtfully the woman walked towards 
 the house. 
 
 " Mrs. Robinson ! Nurse ! Granny, dear ! won't 
 you speak to me ? " said a quick, merry voice, and a 
 child of about thirteen years of age, though in height 
 and size very much younger, threw open the heavy 
 wicket-gate, and ran up to her. The woman turned 
 suddenly, a smile passed over her face, a mixture of
 
 CLEVE HALL. 3 
 
 pleasure and respect, jet her tone had something in 
 it of reproach. 
 
 " Out alone, Miss Rachel I what does your papa 
 say to that : " 
 
 " Oh ! papa is gone in to see John Strong, and I 
 ran on before him. I shall be at home now before 
 he is. He is coming to see you. Granny." 
 
 " He saidi he would," was the reply. 
 
 "And you think he always keeps his word, don't 
 you ? Give me a kiss and let me go ; I mast be at 
 home and have a talk with Miss Campbell and Ella 
 before papa returns ; so keep him as long as you can." 
 She threw her arm round her friend's neck. " Granny, 
 you aren't happy to-night," she vfhispered. 
 
 " Happy as I can be, Miss Eachel, when there's so 
 much in the world to make one otherwise. But you 
 don't know any thing of that, so run home and be 
 thankful." 
 
 Rachel stood for a moment in thought. The change 
 in her face was very marked. It was a countenance 
 formed for happiness, brilliant with intelligence, 
 radiant in health, and singularly lovely in its outline. 
 But the small, laughing mouth, and the merry, 
 hazel eyes, and open forehead, shaded by curls of 
 bright, chestnut hair might have been termed in- 
 fantine till thought came; — then the whole being 
 seemed to alter, and the gay child became in one 
 instant the self-collected, deeply inquiring woman. 
 
 "I don't know any thing about it, I suppose, 
 Granny," she said in reply to Mrs. Robinson's re- 
 mark, " though I think I do sometimes. Shall I ever 
 know it as you do ? " 
 
 B 2
 
 4 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " That's for days to come. Miss Racliel. Who can 
 tell?" 
 
 " You can," said Eacliel quickly ; then, correcting 
 herself she added, reverently, " I don't mean you can 
 tell what is to happen, but you can say whether I shall 
 be likely to have the same things to bear that you have." 
 
 " God forbid you should ever have to trouble for 
 the same things that trouble me. Miss Rachel. Things 
 must be bad indeed if they are not mended by that 
 time." 
 
 " And the General won't live for ever," said Rachel 
 quickly ; but a glance at her friend's face made her 
 retract her words. " I don't want him to die, you 
 know. Granny ; but it is always something about him 
 which makes papa, and you, and every one unhappy ; 
 so I can't like. him, and I couldn't be sorry if he were 
 gone away anywhere." 
 
 "There's many a worse man than General Yivian 
 goes for a saint in this Avorld, Miss Rachel," replied 
 Mrs. Robinson, " as you may some day know to your 
 cost. Poor old man ! If he makes others sad, he is 
 sad enough himself." 
 
 " He doesn't look sad," said Rachel. " He doesn't 
 seem as if he felt any thing." 
 
 "That's what folks say of me, sometimes. Miss 
 Rachel ; " and a smile, which, however, gave only a 
 wintry brightness to the grave face, accompanied 
 the words. Rachel once more caressed her fondly. 
 
 " Granny, Granny, that's naughty. Papa says if 
 you had a colder heart you would have a merrier face. 
 But it's merry enough for me. There's not a face
 
 OLEVE HALL. O 
 
 in all the village, awaj from home, that 1 love so 
 well, except " 
 
 " Except whose ? Don't be afraid, Miss Rachel ; 
 you know I am not given to being jealous ! " 
 
 " Well ! one that's more to you than I am, though 
 I love you dearly. So we can't be jealous when we 
 both love the same." 
 
 " Miss Mildred ! " exclaimed Mrs. Robinson ; " but 
 I always put her aside. I thought it might be some 
 of the newer friends that you had taken to." 
 
 "Miss Campbell, and Ella, and Clement," replied 
 Rachel, gaily. " No ; I love them all, you know I 
 must, they are so kind : but they are not like your 
 dear old face. Granny ; they are not parts of the very 
 old times." 
 
 " Thirteen years ago ! eh. Miss Rachel ? What an 
 age to be sure ! But you do grow, I will say that 
 for you ; you will be a woman after all, if you live 
 lonoj enough." 
 
 '' Thank you. Granny, dear ! I hope I shall. Now 
 please gather me a whole heap of the climbing roses 
 for Mrs. Campbell. She always likes to have flowers 
 brought her, though she doesn't keep them long." 
 
 Rachel's hands were filled with the best roses which 
 grew against the house, and the best lavender from 
 the farm garden, under the promise, however, that she 
 was not to give all away, but to retain some for herself 
 for a remembrance. Her ringing laugh, as the in- 
 junction was given, made the old walls echo again. 
 
 " Why, Granny, as if I needed it ! Don't I think 
 of you every morning, and don't I talk to papa about 
 you every night? — what should I need a remem- 
 B 3
 
 6 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 brance for ? Do you know," and her tone changed, 
 as she placed one finger against her heart, " it's writ- 
 ten in here; lean feel it, though I don't see it — 
 your name, I mean ; and there are others, too — and 
 I know I shall never want keepsakes like some people, 
 for I can't forget ; no, if I wished it, I could'nt." 
 
 A kiss was the answer, lingering and fond, like that 
 of a parent, and a murmur, "Heaven's blessing on 
 you, child ! " and Eachel tossed the wicket-gate open, 
 and ran quickly up the road which passed through 
 the ravine.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 ' CHAP. n. 
 
 It was about an hour later the same evening; lights 
 were glimmering in the cottages dotted by the side 
 of the narrow road, and perched, as it seemed, upon 
 almost inaccessible rocks, which formed the pic- 
 turesque village of Encombe ; and although, here and 
 there, might be seen a labourer returning from some 
 distant work, or a woman wearily toiling up a 
 height after an errand to the nearest town, the cot- 
 tagers vrere, for the most part, collecting around their 
 own hearths, and even the voices of the children 
 were gradually being hushed in sleep. At the lower 
 end of a steep strip of garden, reached by a flight 
 of steps from the road, two persons, a man and a boy, 
 were, however, conversing together, as they stood 
 looking up the village, nearly the whole length of 
 which was visible from the point they had chosen. 
 The occupation of the man was evident at the first 
 sight ; he was a weather-beaten, hardy fisherman — 
 probably a smuggler — for there was an expression of 
 cunning in his keen, black eyes, and a sneer upon his 
 lip, which accorded little with the free, frank tone 
 and manner natural to an ordinary seafaring life. 
 His glance, moreover, showed the quickness of one 
 accustomed to watch, and be watched ; and his tone, 
 B 4
 
 8 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 when he spoke, had in it an accent of command. 
 The boy also wore a sailor's hat, and his coat was 
 rough, and his striped, blue, linen shirt made of 
 coarse material. Yet even a cursory inspection would 
 certainly have suggested a doubt Avhether the two 
 were equals in rank. The age of the lad might have 
 been eighteen ; his face was bronzed by exposure to 
 storms, and his manner betrayed a mind impatient of 
 control, and caring little for the refinements of civil- 
 ised life ; but his features were totally free from the 
 look of cunning which was so marked in those of his 
 companion. His blue eye, indeed, was peculiarly 
 clear and open in its expression, though flashing with 
 all the keenness of a passionate spirit ; his forehead 
 was thoughtful ; his mouth told of pride and great 
 wilfulness, and yet its haughty curl seemed occa- 
 sionally about to melt into a smile of sacl, almost 
 feminine sweetness ; and his voice, even when he 
 spoke, shortly and contemptuously, had sf refined in- 
 tonation, belonging to a very different class from 
 that of his companion. He might have been formed 
 for high and noble purposes, yet he lingered now in 
 the society of his rough comrade, apparently with no 
 thought but that of idly passing away time which 
 he had neither inclination nor energy to employ. 
 
 Full twenty minutes elapsed, and still he leaned 
 upon the garden-gate, sometimes speaking to the 
 fisherman, but more often gazing with a fixed eye 
 before him. Occasionally, however, he stooped to 
 pick up a stone, and tossed it down the steep bank, 
 and watched it as it tumbled from point to point, till 
 touching a sharp point of rock, it perhaps fell with a
 
 CLEVE HALL. 9 
 
 quick impetus into the foaming brook that rushed 
 down the centre of the ravine. 
 
 He had just cast another stone; it did not follow 
 its predecessors; the twisted root of a tree stop- 
 ped it, and it sank quietly into its place upon the 
 bank. 
 
 " They don't all go," murmured the boy to him- 
 self. 
 
 " What don't go ? " asked the man, with a surly 
 smile. 
 
 " Nothing that you know of," was the reply. " Is 
 he coming yet ? " 
 
 " Can't say ; don't see him. Suppose, now, you 
 were to make the best use of your legs, and be off to 
 the flagstaff to see. It's not much of a stretch." 
 
 " More than I choose to take," answered the boy ; 
 and he flung himself upon the ground. " I am not 
 made for that at least," he muttered to himself. 
 
 The fisherman evinced no surprise at the refusal, 
 but opening the gate, descended the steps, and saun- 
 tered a few j^aces up the road. A merry shout, a few 
 moments afterwards, caught the boy's ear, and he 
 started up. 
 
 " Well ! he's come ; it can't be helped." He flung 
 the gate open, and at one spring bounded into the 
 road. 
 
 The fisherman stood on the projecting point of a 
 rock closing in the angle of the road, and beckoned 
 to him. The boy still paused. Once he even turned 
 directly away, and went a few paces in the opposite 
 direction, and waited for an instant, as if undecided 
 whether to return : but another shout of " Ronald !
 
 10 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Ronald!" startled him; and flinging his hat into 
 the air, he gave a Avild answering crj, and ran 
 forwards to the rock, where his companion awaited 
 him. 
 
 They were not alone together then ; a third indi- 
 vidual had joined them, a boy probably about two 
 years younger than Ronald, and bearing in every look 
 and feature the stamp of gentle birth and careful 
 education. He was tall and slight ; his face very in- 
 telligent ; his voice sweet and refined ; and when he 
 joined in the fisherman's coarse laugh, and addressed 
 him in terms of equality, it was evident there could 
 be no real congeniality. 
 
 "Why, Goff, you are a harder master than Mr. 
 Lester ! " he exclaimed, as the fisherman, in rather an 
 uncivil manner, held before him a huge old-fishioned 
 watch, and pointed to the hour. " 'Tis but five 
 minutes." 
 
 " May be you'll learn the value of five minutes to 
 your cost, one of these days. Master Clement!" re- 
 plied GofF. " Ronald has been here, waiting to see 
 you, the last half hour." 
 
 " Ronald is not like me," replied Clement ; " he is 
 his own master. See if I won't be mine, before long, 
 Goff, eh?" 
 
 " Them that will can always find the way," re- 
 plied the fisherman. " Are you come to tell us you'll 
 be here to-morrow for the sail. Master Clement ? " 
 
 Clement looked up hastily, and his eye encountered 
 Ronald's. The boy was standing at a little distance 
 watching him narrowly, a strange mixture of feelings 
 expressed in his handsome face. A bitter pride, per-
 
 CLEVE HALL. ll 
 
 haps, was written there most clearly ; yet a glance 
 of compassion, blended it might have been with 
 self-reproach, fell upon Clement. 
 
 " You'll be ready, Ronald, as you promised ? " said 
 Clement, appealing to him. 
 
 " I made no promise," was his reply. 
 
 " But you are going ? " 
 
 ^^Aye, going; wind and waves, and heaven and 
 earth forbidding ! " exclaimed Ronald, impetuously. 
 Spurning from him a stone against which his foot 
 had been resting, he added, " My doings are no law 
 for your's." 
 
 Clement regarded him wonderingly, whilst a sar- 
 castic smile curled the fisherman's lips. 
 
 " Don't mind him, Master Clement," he said ; " it's 
 his way. Six o'clock, to-morrow evening, at the 
 West Point. We'll have a short run, with a fair 
 wind, as it's like to be, and be back in time for the 
 old lady's tea." 
 
 " What do you say, Ronald ? It's to be done, isn't 
 it?" inquired Clement. 
 
 "Ask GoiF!" and the look of pride passed away 
 from Ronald's face, and seating himself on a stone, he 
 rested his arms upon his knees. At that moment the 
 loud barking of a dog was heard in the distance. 
 
 "Ah! the Captain!" exclaimed GoiF. "He's as 
 good as his word, at least. Come, Ronald, my lad, 
 there's work for you now ! " 
 
 Ronald did not move, even when Goff touched 
 him roughly with his foot. Clement stooped down, 
 and put his arm round him caressingly. 
 
 " Ronald, it was your notion ; why won't you go ? "
 
 12 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 "I am going ;" but Eonald's head was not raised. 
 
 " Then why shouldn't I go?" 
 
 Ronald started from his bending posture, as a 
 large Newfoundland dog rushed upon him, and tried 
 to place his two fore-paws upon his shoulders. 
 " Down, Rollo ! down ! " — he patted the dog's head, 
 and caught it between both his hands, looking at 
 it as if reading a human countenance, then seizing 
 Clement's arm, he dragged him to the edge of the 
 ravine, and pointing to a broken, tangled path, rushed 
 down it. Clement followed. The dog waited and 
 watched them, irresolute ; but the next moment he 
 was coursing at full speed along the road by which a 
 man, dressed in a shaggy greatcoat, and a low-crowned 
 glazed hat, with a heavy stick in his hand, was seen 
 approaching. 
 
 " To-morrow, at West Point, at six," called out the 
 fisherman, as the boys disappeared from sight. 
 
 " To-morrow, at six, yes ! " was heard in Clement's 
 clear, refined tones. 
 
 "To-morrow at six — no!" added another voice, 
 deep, rich, and full ; and the fisherman burst into an 
 angry laugh, and shouted after them, " that he 
 would be made a fool by no one." 
 
 " My hopeful boy you are calling after, eh ! Master 
 Goff"?" was the observation by which the attention 
 of the fisherman was drawn to the person who had 
 now joined him. 
 
 "Hopeful, indeed. Captain. Why, he's taken to 
 turn lately like a weather-cock. If it goes on, I 
 wish you joy of any thing you'll ever do with him." 
 A scowl rested on the stranger's face, which was
 
 CLEVE HALL. 13 
 
 not needed to render it unprepossessing, for it was 
 rarelj that a countenance could be seen on which so 
 many evil passions were to be traced. There was a 
 strong likeness to Ronald ; it might have been told at 
 once that they were father and son ; but whilst the 
 pride of the boy's face was softened by thought, and 
 his reckless bearing was checked by some eager, 
 though it might be transient feelings of the necessity 
 of self-command, the father's countenance showed 
 little but a dogged resolution, the result of habitual 
 selfishness and indulgence in habits which had nearly 
 obliterated every sign of higher education or feeling. 
 
 " He is coming with us to-night," he remarked ; 
 not replying directly to the fisherman's observation. 
 
 " That's as he Avill, Captain ; as you know quite 
 as well as I. He is off now with the young springald, 
 and who's to catch him ? " 
 
 The stranger uttered a profane ejaculation, and 
 walked to the edge of the ravine, looked down it, 
 and then returned again. " He'll be back ; he's not 
 a fellow to miss the fun. How go matters at the 
 Point ? " 
 
 " All ready, only waiting for Captain Vivian," said 
 Goff, with something of a contemptuous laugh. 
 
 " And Captain Vivian's son ; the boy has a mind to 
 drive me frantic. But there is no need to wait." 
 
 "No need and no power," said Goff. "Time and 
 tide wait for no man ; so by your leave. Captain, we'll 
 let the two youngsters be off." 
 
 "You would'nt have taken the other boy," ex- 
 claimed Captain Vivian, quickly. 
 
 "Kot quite such a fool as that ; no,— he's a mere
 
 14 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 land sawnej ; nothing's to be made of him — as dainty 
 as a girl. What a fine fellow will be spoilt if Ronald 
 takes after him ! " 
 
 The frown on Captain Vivian's face became ter- 
 rific ; and Goff softened his words. " No fear of that 
 though, Captain. See Ronald in a gale of wind ! 
 that's the time when he's a man. Come, are you 
 ready ? " 
 
 He received no answer. A crowd of angry feelings 
 seemed working in Captain Vivian's mind, and throw- 
 ing his stick backwards and forwards, he strode on 
 silently; Goff accompanying him, and occasionally 
 stealing aside to the edge of the ravine to discover 
 whether any glimpse could be obtained of Ronald.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 15 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 " Eight o'clock ! Where is Clement ? " The ques- 
 tion was asked, in a querulous tone, by a lady seem- 
 ingly infirm, rather from indolence and illness than 
 from age, as, ordering the door to be shut, and wrap- 
 ping a shawl around her, she drew near the tea-table, 
 spread in a small, neat, but poorly-furnished drawing 
 room. It was answered in a girlish voice, but the 
 accent was scarcely more amiable. 
 
 " Indeed, grandmamma, I can't say ; he has been 
 out ever since six." The speaker was a young girl 
 of about sixteen, tall, graceful, and rather foreign 
 looking, from the darkness of her complexion, and 
 the dreamy, yet very intellectual expression of her 
 splendid dark eyes, the only feature in the face which 
 could lay claim to real beauty. She was stationed by 
 the urn, and her attention was given more to the 
 teacups than to the person who addressed her. 
 
 " You might as well learn, Ella, to be civil when 
 you are spoken to. Why can't you look at me ? " 
 
 " I am pouring out the tea, grandmamma. Oh dear, 
 what a slop ! Louisa, do run into the pantry and 
 bring me a cloth." 
 
 "Louisa not gone to bed! how is that? Louisa, 
 why don't you go to bed ? " 
 
 " Because I am reading, grandmamma."
 
 16 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " But you ought to be in bed ; it's a great deal too 
 late. Where's your aunt ? why does'nt she make 
 you go to bed ? " 
 
 "Aunt Bertha went down the village, and isn't 
 come in," replied Louisa, without attempting to rise 
 from the low stool on which she had placed herself 
 to be out of the reach of observation, and able at her 
 leisure to study a volume of fairy tales. 
 
 " Very wrong, very forgetful," was murmured, and 
 Mrs. Campbell sank back again in her chair without 
 repeating the order for Louisa to go. 
 
 Ella just glanced at her sister, and, forgetting the 
 slop, handed a cup of tea to her grandmamma ; and 
 pouring out one for herself, and helping herself to 
 some toast, gave her whole attention to a book, which 
 she kept by her half hidden by the tea-tray. The 
 room was very silent again for some minutes. Then 
 Mrs. Campbell took up her cup and complained that 
 the tea was cold, and Ella said the water didn't boil, 
 and the bell was rung ; but it was not answered. 
 
 "Very w^rong of Bertha, indeed," repeated Mrs. 
 Campbell to herself ; " and why don't they answer 
 the bell ? but there's only Betsey and the girl. Oh, 
 dear!" 
 
 Ella sighed, oh dear! too, but she took no other 
 notice. 
 
 The door opened. Mrs. Campbell began in a fretful 
 tone : " It is too bad, the water doesn't boil in the 
 least ; " but she stopped on finding that she was not 
 addressing a servant, but a young lady. "Bertha," 
 and she leaned forward, and spoke with something 
 approaching to energy, "' why don't you tell us when
 
 CLEYE HALL. 17 
 
 you are going out ? We have been waiting this half- 
 hour, and the tea is quite cold, and no one answers 
 the bell. I can't think what possesses you all. 
 Where have you been ? " 
 
 " I was called out to see Hannah Dobbs, ma'am; 
 she is worse : and then I had to go up to the rectory, 
 and other things besides." The last words were 
 uttered in an under tone, but they were in no way 
 hasty or confused. "Louisa, you ought to be in 
 bed ; " and Louisa in an instant jumped up from her 
 seat, closed her book, said quickly, "Good night, 
 Grandmamma ; good night, Ella ; good night. Aunt 
 Bertha," and was gone. 
 
 Bertha walked up to the tea-table : " The water is 
 not cold, Ella. You must have poured out Grand- 
 mamma's tea before she was ready for it. Just put 
 away your book, and attend to what you are doing." 
 Ella's book was taken from her, and placed on a side 
 table. No remonstrance was made, but Ella leaned 
 back in her chair, and allowed her aunt to fetch Mrs. 
 Campbell's cup, pour away the cold tea, and replenish 
 it with something which, if it was not strong, at 
 least had the merit of warmth." 
 
 " Clement is not come in, is he ? " said Bertha, in a 
 low voice, to Ella, as she bent over the tea-table. 
 
 " No, I have not heard him." 
 
 Bertha's face became very grave, but it was a 
 gravity which suited her, for it softened and rendered 
 her features expressive. It was that which they 
 wanted to give them the beauty to which they ought 
 to have laid claim from regularity. Bertha Campbell 
 
 VOL. I. C
 
 18 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 was a striking-looking person, very tall, and slight, 
 and refined in figure and manner ; not exactly grace- 
 ful — she was too stiff in her movements for that, — and 
 not exactly interesting — she was too rigid and self- 
 controlled — too much like an automaton for interest; 
 but the stamp of a lady was upon her every action. 
 As she moved about the room now, putting a chair 
 in its proper place, brightening the lamp, handing 
 her mother the milk and sugar, and placing a foot- 
 stool for her, an indescribable spirit of order and 
 repose seemed to follow her. The room assumed 
 quite a different aspect under her auspices, and yet 
 what she did was almost too trifling to be noticed. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell spoke again more gently and cheer- 
 fully. "Did you see Mr. Lester at the Rectory, 
 Bertha?" 
 
 " No, ma'am. Eachel was expecting him ; she left 
 him at the farm. I gave my message to her. Can I 
 do any thing more for you, before I take off my 
 bonnet?" 
 
 " No, child, nothing ; but make haste down ; the 
 tea won't be fit to drink if you don't." 
 
 Bertha glanced again round the room, told Ella 
 she was sitting in a very awkward attitude, and dis- 
 appeared ; and she was no sooner gone than Ella, 
 having poured out a cup of tea for her aunt, stole 
 quietly to the table on wliich her book had been 
 placed and returned to her studies. 
 
 Bertha came down again, took the tea wliich Ella 
 had prepared, without making any remark upon it, 
 helped lierself to some Very cold toast, and completed 
 her repast with a piece of dry bread ; and then,
 
 CLEVE HALL. 19 
 
 placing the empty cups and plates upon the tray, 
 rang the bell. 
 
 The summons was answered by a very young girl. 
 
 "Jane, that weak arm of yours won't do to lift 
 this heavy tray ; you had better let me carry it for 
 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Bertha ! " escaped from Ella's lips. 
 
 " Why not, Ella ? what harm can it do me ? " and 
 Bertha lifted the tray and carried it out of the room, 
 whilst the little servant girl wiped away the crumbs 
 from the cloth, and placed a few books on the table. 
 
 Bertha did not immediately return; and at the 
 sound of a heavy, opening door Mrs. Campbell, who 
 had seemed inclined to sleep, roused herself and in- 
 quired whether that was Clement come in. 
 
 " I don't think so. Grandmamma ; I fancy it must 
 be Aunt Bertha gone out." 
 
 " Gone out again, it can't be ; go and see." Ella 
 obeyed reluctantly. 
 
 "It was Aunt Bertha, Grandmamma," and there 
 was a tone of triumph in Ella's voice. " She was 
 standing under the verandah ; she is there now." 
 
 " Tell her to come in instantly ; she will catch her 
 death of cold." The message was given in audible, 
 authoritative accents, such accents as might well have 
 roused a storm of angry feelings in Bertha's breast ; 
 but she came back into the room with Ella, with her 
 quiet, gliding step, and merely said, " I went out to 
 see what kind of night it was likely to be, ma'am. 
 Shall I read to you ? " She took up a book and, seat- 
 ing herself by her mother's arm-chair, began to read 
 aloud. Ella took no notice of this, but resting both 
 C 2
 
 20 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 her elbows on the table, riveted her eyes upon the page 
 before her. 
 
 Bertha's voice was rather monotonous ; her reading 
 had the same absence of expression as her face ; per- 
 haps she was not giving her full attention to the book, 
 for she paused sometimes in wrong places, as if listen- 
 ing, and looked up, — quietly and slowly though — for 
 she was never hurried — at the least sound. " There 
 is Clement," she said, at last. No one else seemed to 
 have heard any thing, but that was not strange ; 
 a very loud clock in the hall had just struck ten, and 
 the sound was likely to drow^n all others. 
 
 " It is very wrong of him," said Mrs. Campbell, 
 hastily. 
 
 " Yes, very wrong," repeated Bertha, thoughtfully. 
 
 " It is a beautiful moonlight evening ; I dare say he 
 has been wandering on the shore," said Ella, not 
 raising her eyes from her book. 
 
 Bertha went to meet him. They were heard talk- 
 ing together in the little entrance hall, but the words 
 were indistinct. 
 
 " Where have you been, Clement ?" asked Mrs. 
 Campbell, as they entered the room. The boy's eye 
 sparkled with a flash of irritation, but he answered 
 gaily,— 
 
 " Been ! Grandmamma, oh ! to a hundred places — 
 along the cliff, down on the shore, watching the stars ; 
 it's a wonderful night. Ella, I wish you had been 
 with me." 
 
 " Ella knows better than to wish any thing of the 
 kind," said Mrs. Campbell. It is a great deal too 
 late for you. Whom had you with you ?"
 
 CLEVE HALL. 21 
 
 "Part of the time I was alone," was Clement's 
 evasive reply, and Mrs. Campbell seemed satisfied ; 
 but Ella looked up at her brother and laughed. 
 
 Bertha was very cold and stiff. She asked Cle- 
 ment if he was hungry, and when he said, " yes, ra- 
 venous," told him he must wait till after prayers, and 
 then he might have some cold meat, and at the same 
 moment she rang the bell. 
 
 Bertha read prayers, — reverently and simply ; but 
 the tone might have suited a sermon ; and Ella fidgeted, 
 and Clement was once heard to yawn. 
 
 "Don't let Clement be late. Bertha," said Mrs. 
 Campbell, as she took a night candle in her hand, 
 and going up to her daughter gave her a cold kiss. 
 
 " No, ma'am, he will have his supper directly." 
 
 " And don't be late yourself. Bertha. I hear you 
 moving about in your room, and it disturbs me." 
 
 "No, ma'am!" Bertha opened the door for her 
 mother. 
 
 "Good night. Grandmamma," said Ella; and Cle- 
 ment drew near also, though his step was a little 
 doubtful. 
 
 "Good night, loves. Clement, you stamp dread- 
 fully over my head at night." 
 
 " Do I, Grandmamma ? I can't help it ; it is my 
 heavy boots." 
 
 " You may wear slippers," said Bertha, shortly ; 
 but Mrs. Campbell did not appear to need the apology. 
 She kissed him affectionately, and went up stairs, Ella 
 following her. Bertha and Clement stood lingering 
 over the fire. Clement raked up the ashes, and tried 
 to make a blaze, and Bertha remarked that it was no 
 c 3
 
 22 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 good ; he must make haste and eat his supper, and 
 go to bed. 
 
 " I wish supper would come," said Clement, pet- 
 tishly. "What is that woman, Betsey, doing with 
 herself?" 
 
 " She has more to attend to than she ought to have," 
 was the reply. " She can't be expected to have supper 
 ready at all hours of the night." 
 
 "If she is so busy, why doesn't she have more 
 help ?" asked Clement. 
 
 " Because we can't afford it, Clement." The boy 
 kicked away a stool which was in his way, and started 
 up from the chair into which he had flung himself. 
 
 '" The answer for every thing. Aunt Bertha ; are 
 we never to be able to afford it ?" 
 
 " Time will show for us," replied Bertha ; " for you, 
 Clement, it is in your own power." 
 
 " If I were rich, you would all be rich too," he ex- 
 claimed. " But, Aunt Bertha, who can soften stone 
 walls? Not I." 
 
 " It is no question of softening stone walls, Clement ; 
 that is neither your business nor mine. The work is 
 in your own power." 
 
 " Yes, plod, plod, night and day ; work one's brain 
 till it hasn't an idea left in it, and then get a crust of 
 bread to live upon ; and that is the life of a gentleman !' 
 
 " The life of a good many gentlemen," replied 
 Bertha. " But here is your supper, Clement ; make 
 haste and eat it, for we mustn't really be late." 
 
 Clement sat down to the table. Some slices of cold 
 mutton were put in a plate for him, with a piece of 
 bread. He asked for some pickle.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 23 
 
 " You can't have any to-night," said Bertha ; " it is 
 locked up." 
 
 " And no salad ? nothing ? " 
 
 " It is a veiy good supper if you are hungry ; and 
 if you are not, you don't want any thing," answered 
 Bertha. 
 
 " Who keeps the keys ? Grandmamma ? " and 
 before Bertha could stop him he was at the top of 
 the stairs, knocking loudly at Mrs. Campbell's door. 
 Pie returned holding up the keys triumphantly. 
 
 "Now, Aunt Bertha!" but Bertha took no no- 
 tice. " Which cupboard is it, Aunt Bertha ? " No 
 answer. 
 
 He only laughed, and ran away to the kitchen. 
 Betsey, the cook, followed him as he came back, and 
 put down on the table a jar of pickles and the 
 remains of a cold tart. " So, Aunt Bertha, I have 
 not been foraging for nothing ; come, you will have 
 some with me." But he failed to extract a smile 
 from Bertha, who stood looking on whilst he ate his 
 supper, with an appetite, which, as he himself had 
 described it, was ravenous. 
 
 Bertha broke the silence. " Clement, what time 
 did Ronald leave you ? " 
 
 " Oh ! about half -past nine, more or less ; I had no 
 watch." 
 
 " And you walked on the shore all that time ?" 
 
 " Yes, there and on tlie cliffs. He was in one of 
 his moods ; I couldn't leave him." 
 
 "He ought not to have been with you," said 
 Bertha. 
 
 "He said that, and told me to go ; but we had made 
 c 4
 
 24 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 the engagement to meet. And where was the 
 harm?" 
 
 " Where is at any time the harm of disobedience, 
 Clement?" 
 
 " Now, Aunt Bertha, I don't understand you," and 
 Clement hastily finished his tumbler of beer, and rose 
 and stood by the fire. " Who tells me not to be with 
 Ronald ? " 
 
 " I tell you, and that ought to be sufficient." Her 
 tone was very authoritative, and the angry flush rose 
 in Clement's cheek, and he bit his lip. 
 
 " You know, Clement, that there is disobedience to 
 the spirit of a law as well as to the letter. What 
 matters it that you have never been absolutely com- 
 manded by my mother not to be with Ronald ? You 
 are as well aware as I am that both she and ]\Ir. 
 Lester disapprove of it." 
 
 " Without a reason ! " exclaimed Clement. " I will 
 never listen to any one who doesn't give me a reason." 
 
 " Then you will be a slave to yourself, Clement, 
 and a miserable man." 
 
 " As you will," he replied, carelessly. " I will run 
 my chance of misery, but I never will leave a noble- 
 hearted fellow, like Ronald, merely because there 
 happens to be a prejudice against him. And you, 
 Aunt Bertha, to try to persuade me not ! you, who 
 are always looking after him, and turning and twist- 
 ing him at your will ! " 
 
 " Not at my will, Clement," replied Bertha. " He 
 would not be what he is if he were turned at my 
 Avill," she added in an under-tone. 
 
 " He might not be the better for being diflferent,"
 
 CLEVE HALL. 25 
 
 exclaimed Clement, " or if lie were, I shouldn't like 
 him as well." 
 
 "No, and there is the danger, Clement; but we 
 won't argue the point : Mr. Lester wishes you not to 
 be with him ; my mother wishes it also. You have 
 no right to require more." 
 
 " But I must and I do require more," exclaimed 
 Clement, impatiently, yet without any real ill-humour ; 
 " and I ask of you. Aunt Bertha, whether there isn't 
 a prejudice against Ronald which would prevent 
 Grandmamma and Mr. Lester from liking him if he 
 were an angel. And I will ask too," he continued, 
 interrupting Bertha as she was about to reply, 
 " whether the prejudice is not fostered by my grand- 
 father, and whether it is not because of him that 
 every pleasure I have in life is thwarted." 
 
 "Clement, that is speaking very disrespectfully. 
 I can't answer such questions. Your grandfather 
 has strong reasons, fearful reasons, for dreading an 
 intimacy with Eonald." 
 
 " With a cousin ! not very near perhaps, but still 
 my relation, and the only fellow in the neighbourhood 
 who suits me ! Am I then to live the life of a hermit. 
 Aunt Bertha ? " 
 
 " You are required to lead a studious, steady life, to 
 prepare yourself for the University, if you ever wish 
 to have a place in your grandfather's favour." 
 
 " Then I will go without the place ; I will give it 
 up. The favour of a rich old general ! there will be 
 many candidates for it." 
 
 " And you will break my mother's heart, grieve 
 Mr. Lester, disappoint all our hopes, merely because
 
 26 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 you won't bring yourself to relinquish a companion- 
 ship which, after all, cannot be congenial." 
 
 " I will stand by Ronald at all risks, Aunt Bertha ; 
 I will never sacrifice my friendship to the will of 
 a " 
 
 " Take care, Clement," and Bertha held up her 
 finger warningly ; " you are speaking of your grand- 
 father." 
 
 " Yet he has never shown me kindness," exclaimed 
 Clement ; " he never asks me to his house, — ■, he 
 scarcely pays me the common civilities of a stranger. 
 And, Aunt Bertha, let him be my grandfather a hun- 
 dred times over, yet he is my father's enemy." 
 
 " Your father, Clement, was his own enemy." 
 
 " And therefore every one turns against him ! " 
 
 " Yes, every one, even his only son," replied 
 Bertha. Her tone was so sad that Clement was 
 startled. 
 
 '* I don't understand you. Aunt Bertha," he said. 
 
 " And therefore you will not act upon faith," an- 
 swered Bertha. " Oh, Clement I it is a fatal prin- 
 ciple to go upon ; it will be your ruin. I have told 
 you before, and I repeat it ; disobey and thwart your 
 grandfather, and untold misery will be the conse- 
 quence." 
 
 " What misery ? What consequence ? Why will 
 you always speak so mysteriously. Aunt Bertha ? " 
 
 " Because I am not at liberty to speak in any other 
 way," said Bertha. " But, Clement, all this is but 
 idle talking. If I could convince you beyond the 
 possibility of doubt, that your intimacy with Ronald 
 would lead you into mischief, it would not in the most
 
 CLEVE HALL. 27 
 
 remote degree add to the duty of obedience to the 
 known will of all the persons whom you are most 
 bound to obey.'' 
 
 Clement was silent. Bertha took up a candlestick 
 and gave it to him. He did not wish her good night, 
 but stood thinking. 
 
 " Aunt Bertha," and he suddenly raised his eyes 
 from the floor, " you knew Ronald many years ago." 
 " Yes, many, Clement ; before you can remember." 
 " And you were always kind to him." 
 " Yes, I hope so. I wish to be kind to every one." 
 " But you were specially kind to him, and you are 
 so now ; and you have influence over him." 
 
 " I don't know as to the influence. If I have, it 
 is not from any power of my own." 
 
 " You were his mother's friend," said Clement ; 
 " he told me that to-night." 
 
 " Yes," was Bertha's cold reply ; but she sat down 
 for an instant, and her hand trembled as she laid 
 her candlestick on the table. Clement did not see 
 or comprehend the signs of inward feeling ; he went 
 on : 
 
 " Ronald says you were very fond of her." 
 " Yes, I was. Good night, Clement ; remember 
 if you sit up late you will disturb Grandmamma." 
 She took his hand, — it was as impassive as her own, 
 — and she let it fall again quietly. Clement moved 
 towards the door, but paused to say impatiently, in 
 answer to the injunction, again repeated, to go to 
 bed at once, — 
 
 " I shall go presently. I have an exercise to pre- 
 pare for Mr. Lester."
 
 28 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Bertha waited till she had heard him enter his 
 room and lock the door, and then she made a tour 
 of inspection of the rooms, saw that every shutter 
 was fastened, and every bolt drawn, and retired to 
 
 rest herself.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 29 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 Mrs. Ca3Ipbell's cottage closely adjoined the Rectory, 
 only a steep, reedy bank, and a little rivulet divided 
 them, and a rough bridge over the stream formed an 
 easy mode of communication. The Rectory stood 
 high, on a smooth, sloping lawn, a little way up the 
 ascent of the range of the Encombe hills, which en- 
 tirely sheltered it from the north. The library win- 
 dows fronting the south-east commanded a view 
 over a small bay, shut in by rugged cliffs of red 
 sandstone, rising at the western extremity into a bold 
 headland. Beyond, towards the north-west, the land- 
 scape was more bounded; the rough ground at the 
 top of the ravine, in which the village was hidden, 
 and the thick plantation of what appeared to be a 
 gentleman's park, closing in the horizon. 
 
 Rachel Lester was sitting in the library with her 
 father ; he was writing, she was busy Avith a slate 
 and a Latin exercise. Rachel was receiving rather a 
 learned education ; an only child, with no mother, and 
 a very classically-inclined father, that was natural. 
 Mr. Lester looked very old to be the father of such a 
 child as Rachel. He was nearly sixty in appearance, 
 though not quite so much in reality. His hair was 
 gray, and his countenance worn. It was a very intel- 
 lectual, studious face, softened by the expression of 
 extreme benevolence ; but there was great firmness
 
 30 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 in the lines of his mouth ; there could be no doubt 
 that he could, when he chose, be severe. His atten- 
 tion was entirely given now to his occupation. He 
 was engaged with a letter, interlined and corrected, 
 often causing him to pause and consider, and some- 
 times to throw himself back in his chair, and pass 
 his hand across his eyes, as if in painful recollection. 
 
 His feelings may be traced in the words which 
 flowed from his pen : — 
 
 " I need not say that you are continually in my 
 thoughts, and always with the longing to meet your 
 wishes. I desire heartily to find an opening, and can 
 only entreat you to trust us if we seem to delay. Re- 
 member that if we seize the wrong moment, every 
 thing will fail. Mildred lives upon the hope of suc- 
 cess, but even she does not yet perceive the way to 
 it. My dear Vivian, you must be patient ; you must 
 pray to be so ; remembering the offence, and bearing 
 the punishment. In the meantime, your children are 
 well, and doing well — in the way, at least, to do so 
 — though there are many faults to be corrected. 
 Their education is not in all ways what I like ; but 
 there is no direct evil in it, and the defect cannot be 
 remedied. Here, again, we must be patient. Cle- 
 ment may be all that we could wish to see him. He 
 is generous-hearted and refined in taste, but easily 
 led into things which at first sight one would be apt 
 to fancy foreign to his nature. I think this arises 
 from vanity. He loves admiration, and does not 
 much care from whom it comes. You will not like 
 to hear this ; but you wished to know the truth, and 
 the worst, and I give it you. He has no vicious
 
 CLEVE HALL. 31 
 
 habits, but if he were born to luxury I should feel he 
 might become a sentimentalist. His favourite virtues 
 are of the heroic cast ; so are his favourite heroes. 
 He has great notions of self-sacrifice, but very little 
 idea of self-restraint. 
 
 "There is a singular likeness between him and 
 Ella, in character as well as in countenance. They 
 are twins both in mind and body, exce|)t that Cle- 
 ment will never be what Ella is in point of talent. 
 She really has wonderful powers, but with the singu- 
 lar inconsistency of genius, she is as variable as the 
 winds, and as indolent as — I can form no comparison 
 for her indolence — there is nothing in nature like it. 
 I should very much like to remove Clement from her 
 influence. It is all-powerful with him, partly, I sup- 
 pose, from the twin-feeling which is always so strong, 
 but chiefly from his exceeding admiration of her 
 powers of mind. He will not see her defects, and it 
 is very painful to be* obliged to point them out. 
 
 " The little ones have great promise of good, if they 
 are properly managed. Louisa is quick, determined, 
 and wilful ; but capable of ripening into an extremely 
 sensible, useful woman. Fanny is too pretty for her 
 own advantage, or at least she has heard too much of 
 her beauty for simplicity ; but she is exceedingly 
 affectionate, and very true, and the truth gives me 
 great hope of her. 
 
 " If the home were but different ! You will 
 understand all I mean by that — you, who have 
 known Bertha Campbell so well, and have reaped 
 the benefit of her virtues, and felt the consequences 
 of her defects. But we must take her, my dear
 
 32 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Vivian, as she is ; and be grateful that at least the 
 children will never have a low, or insincere example 
 set before them. She is not to be altered; and 
 really I, who know her in her most pleasing form, 
 often think that there is scarcely any thing in her I 
 should wish to alter. But I can see all that you com- 
 plain of, and, what is more, all the consequences. 
 The evil, I suspect, lies very far back. When I am 
 inclined to be severe, I wish that I could open Mrs. 
 Campbell's eyes to the lasting evils of that system of 
 perpetual check which has absolutely paralysed 
 Bertha's powers. To see what she has done would 
 be a sufficient punishment. 
 
 " You would like me to tell you that your children's 
 home at the Lodge is very cheerful and good for 
 them, and that their prospects at the Park are bright- 
 ening. Now this, you see, I cannot do quite; but I 
 have given you something to comfort you, only, as I 
 said before, patience must be your motto. 
 
 " Mildred writes to you so often, that I need not 
 say any thing about her. She is looking better than 
 usual. I think that the neighbourhood of the children 
 has done much for her, and you know what she is in 
 natural cheerfulness and wonderful submission. But 
 I am afraid it may be hope deferred, for as yet the 
 General has allowed no advances. I do not mean that 
 he entirely neglects the children ; he notices them if 
 they meet, and the other day he sent Clement a fish- 
 ing-rod, which the boy, stupidly enough, was on the 
 point of returning, thinking it rather an insult than 
 a kindness, because some one — I guess who — had put 
 it into his head, that unless his grandfather would
 
 CLEVE HALL. 33 
 
 fully forgive and receive both you and them, it was 
 lowering to accept any favour from him. No one but 
 John Vivian would have suggested the idea, knowing 
 what deadly enmity it might cause. If it were not 
 for the watch we may keep over him, it would be one 
 of the greatest trials of my faith, that such a fellow 
 as your cousin should be here just at this moment. 
 The thorn he is in our path no one can tell : and there 
 is his boy — a fallen angel, if one may say so with- 
 out profaneness — coming in contact with Clement 
 continually, and exciting in him, what he does in 
 every one, an interest which at last becomes fasci- 
 nation. All actual authority over Clement must lie 
 with Mrs. Campbell, who is jealous of my inter- 
 ference ; so I cannot entirely forbid any intercourse 
 with Ronald, and I am not sure that I should do so if 
 I could. The boys must meet ; they are near neigh- 
 bours and cousins, and too strict discipline might lead 
 the way to deceit, when the temptation to be tojrether 
 occasionally is so great. One of the most unfortunate 
 points in the acquaintance is, that it serves to keep 
 up the General's suspicion. Your cousin. Captain 
 Vivian, as he is called now, owing, I suppose, to his 
 connection with a trading vessel commonly said to be 
 used for smuggling purposes, is becoming daily more 
 low in his tastes, and finds congenial society in the 
 place — poachers, smugglers, &c. My heart sickens 
 when I think of his influence for evil ; I trace it 
 continually. The people have a kind of traditional 
 respect for him : he is a Vivian, and therefore they 
 never can look upon him quite as a mere mortal. 
 They see what he is, but they regard his offences 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 very mucli as we used to regard the crimes of the 
 heathen gods, and, in consequence, are not ashamed 
 to follow him. 
 
 "I feel I am giving you a great deal of pain in 
 writing all this, raking up in a way the ashes of the 
 past. But, my dear Vivian, there must be truth 
 between us. Your cousin's name should be buried 
 from this moment, if it could promote your real wel- 
 fare ; but I should only deceive you and in the end 
 increase the bitterness of your trial, if I allowed you 
 to think that he is not now, as he has been ever, your 
 evil genius. I still hold the opinions I mentioned in 
 my last letter as to his past deeds, and am anxiously 
 seeking for an opportunity to unravel the mystery. 
 Your sister-in-law and I discuss plans continually, 
 but hitherto we have failed to arrive at a satis- 
 factory conclusion. If we could soften the Gene- 
 ral, we might reach the truth ; but how is that to be 
 done ? 
 
 " One thing you must remember for your comfort as 
 regards the children, that there are counter-influences 
 for good. John Vivian, himself, is to Clement merely 
 an object of wondering disgust. The boy's natural 
 refinement keeps him out of the reach of the chief 
 temptations which such a man could offer. And 
 Ronald is open to influences which may — God grant 
 it prove so — turn the balance in favour of all 
 we could most desire. He has his mother's face 
 and in a measure her disposition, so at least I am told 
 by your sister-in-law, who sees him often and talW" 
 to him a good deal. I was very much surprised to 
 find when Mrs. Campbell came here, that Bertha
 
 CLEVE HALL. 35 
 
 and Ronald were old acquaintances. Bertha is so 
 reserved that I can get nothing from her as to how 
 they first knew each other, except that one day she 
 told me his mother had been a friend of hers. Cer- 
 tainly since she has been at Encombe there has been 
 a marked change in him. It is strange, is it not ? 
 that she should have power over a wild, untamed 
 spirit like his, and yet do so little in her own family. 
 But it is her own family — that I suppose is the 
 secret ; and when she has to work in it, she cannot 
 be free. 
 
 " Your father, I sometimes fancy, keeps a little aloof 
 from me, and I don't wonder at it. He must know 
 the wish that is nearest to my heart. His walking 
 powers are not quite what they were, but he rides a 
 great deal and looks uncommonly well. Mildred, as 
 I said, hopes, and lives upon hope, that is her nature ; 
 and yet with such constant suffering it really is mar- 
 vellous. My little Rachel is with her often, but not 
 quite as frequently as she used to be, for she is 
 working diligently under Miss Campbell's super- 
 intendence. She began doing lessons with Ella, but 
 soon gave that up. As to keeping pace with Ella I 
 really don't know who could do so. I sometimes in- 
 dulge a dream of finding a way to the General's 
 heart by Ella's means. He could not help appre- 
 ciating her wonderful talents ; and then he might 
 become proud of her. Mildred would know how to 
 bring her out, but the children are so very little Avitli 
 her! She does not dare show herself too eager for 
 their society ; and if ever they do go to the Hall they 
 are kept out of the Generals way as much as possible. 
 J) 2
 
 36 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 You may imagine liow this chafes Clement's proud 
 temper, and he comes back to me, and raves of insult 
 and subjection, and talks about Ronald and a sea- 
 faring life which they might lead together ; but it 
 will all come to nothing. He has not enough of the 
 spirit of endurance in him to make a sailor ; and he is 
 too old for the navy, and would not choose to enter 
 the merchant service. Ronald might do for it very 
 well ; in fact, I am at this moment negotiating some- 
 thing of the kind for him at his own request. You 
 will understand that I have a double motive for his 
 good and Clement's ; the separation is so very much 
 to be desired. 
 
 " One word about myself, and then good-b'ye. You 
 ask me how I am, and what I do, and what my hopes 
 and pleasures are. I am very well, I never was 
 better, and I work contentedly in my parish, and my 
 earthly hopes and pleasures are centred in Rachel. 
 
 "That answer will not satisfy you I know. It 
 tells too little of my inner self. My dear Vivian, that 
 must be a sealed book. If I were to attempt to de- 
 scribe the struggles of a heart which has yet to learn 
 submission to the Divine Will, I should make myself 
 a woman in weakness. Suffice it that I have one 
 treasure left to render my home bright. Yet you 
 must not fancy I am miserable or even unhappy ; 
 only sobered. Mildred and I sometimes venture to 
 compare notes upon these subjects ; but I don't think 
 it is wise in us, except that to see her is the deepest 
 lesson one could receive in humility. An old woman 
 said to me the other day : ' Miss INlildred seems to be 
 always a smiling and a praying — and sure that was
 
 CLEVE HALL. 37 
 
 what the saints used to do.' Certainly the poor have 
 especial reason to think her a saint ; for, in spite of 
 her infirmities, she manages, principally through Mrs. 
 Kobinson, to make herself at home with all their 
 affairs, and is considered quite their best domestic 
 adviser." 
 
 The letter was concluded, sealed, and directed to 
 " E. B. Vivian, Esq., Kingston, Jamaica." 
 
 Then Rachel spoke : " Dear Papa, may I take your 
 letter to the post ? I am going out." 
 
 Mr. Lester did not at first appear to hear her. He 
 was gazing at the words he had just written, probably 
 following them in his mind on their distant mission. 
 He answered, however, after a short pause, " No, dear 
 child, thank you ; " but he spoke in an absent tone. 
 Presently, he said, " How old are you, Rachel ? " 
 
 " Thirteen, Papa ! I shall be fourteen, my next 
 birthday." 
 
 " A very great age for such a very little woman," 
 said Mr. Lester, smiling ; and, as Rachel seated her- 
 self on his knee, and put her arm round his neck, he 
 added : " When do you ever mean to be any thing 
 but a baby?" 
 
 " Never to you. Papa ; but Nurse Robinson told 
 me last evening that I really was grown." 
 
 " She sees what she wishes," replied Mr. Lester ; 
 " she has set her heart upon your being a fine young 
 lady." 
 
 Rachel clapped her hands together, and her merry 
 laugh made Mr. Lester's grave face also relax into 
 something more than a smile. 
 D 3
 
 38 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Well, Rachel, shouldn't you like to be a fine 
 young lady ? " 
 
 " Should you like me to be one. Papa?" said 
 Rachel archly. 
 
 " Perhaps not ; you wouldn't be so convenient to 
 nurse. You are such a doll now, that you may very 
 well pass for ten. But, Rachel," and his voice be- 
 came very serious, " I should like to think you were 
 old enough to share some of my cares." 
 
 The deep look of thought came over Rachel's face, 
 as her eye rested for a moment on a picture over the 
 mantel-piece, the likeness of her mother, and of two 
 sisters and a brother, all older than herself, and all 
 now lying side by side in the churchyard of En combe. 
 She had never known the comfort of their love, but 
 they were the dearest treasures of her young heart ; 
 and, whenever tempted to thoughtlessness by her 
 natural gaiety of heart, a glance at the picture was 
 sufficient to remind her that she was to live to be 
 her father's consolation. 
 
 Mr. Lester's eye followed hers. " You may help 
 me so much, Rachel, if you will," he continued. 
 
 " Papa," and she leaned her face on his shoulder, 
 and her voice was low and tremulous, " will you pray 
 to God to teach me how ? " 
 
 He kissed her fondly and repeatedly. " I do pray 
 for you, my child, daily and hourly, and God hears 
 my prayers. He has made you my chief solace 
 hitherto, and he will make you so still more ; I do 
 not doubt it." 
 
 " Are you unhappy, Papa, now ? " 
 
 " I can scarcely say unhappy, Rachel, but very
 
 CLEVE HALL. 39 
 
 anxious ; not for myself," he added, hastily, seeing 
 her look alarmed. 
 
 " For Clement ? " asked Rachel, doubtfully. 
 
 Mr. Lester half-smiled, whilst he hesitated to an- 
 swer. '' Yes, for Clement, partly ; Avhat made you 
 think of him?" 
 
 " Because you are often grave, Papa, after he 
 has been here ; and because he seems to make every 
 one anxious. Miss Campbell is always troubling 
 about him for one reason or another." 
 
 " Miss Campbell never talks to you about him, 
 does she ? " inquired Mr. Lester, quickly. 
 
 " Not exactly, but she lets out little things ; and 
 Ella talks a great deal, only she thinks Clement 
 perfect." 
 
 " And what do you think ? " 
 
 " Oh ! I think him dreadfully naughty," exclaimed 
 Rachel. " I like Ronald Vivian, though he is so 
 rough, twenty times as well as I do Clement." 
 
 " You don't see much of either of them to be able 
 to judge," observed Mr. Lester. 
 
 " No ; only we meet them sometimes, when we are 
 out walking, and Miss Campbell always speaks to 
 Ronald, and he attends to her, but Clement never 
 does." 
 
 " That is one of his great defects," said Mr. Lester ; 
 " you and Ella should try to cure him of it." 
 
 " Ella upholds him," replied Rachael. 
 
 " Then you must try and persuade her out of it." 
 
 " Ella is not to be persuaded," replied Rachel ; 
 " and she talks of Clement as if he were such a great 
 D 4
 
 40 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 person. I tell her sometimes that I think he must 
 be a prince in disguise." 
 
 " She thinks he will inherit his grandfather's for- 
 tune, and live at the Hall," said Mr. Lester. 
 
 " And he will, won't he, Papa ? " 
 
 " We don't know, my dear ; there is no good in 
 dwelling upon such things. Clement must learn to 
 do his duty without thinking of the consequences." 
 
 " And Ella must learn to teach him," said Rachel, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " Yes, that is the great duty for her ; and Rachel, 
 my darling, you have had more advantages than she 
 has, and I think you may help to give her strength. 
 This was what I wanted especially to say to you. 
 You have little to do with Clement ; but you have 
 a great deal to do with Ella, and you must turn your 
 opportunities to the best account." 
 
 " But, Papa, she is so clever, I can't keep up with 
 her ; and she is older." 
 
 " Yery true ; but, Rachel, it is not talent which 
 really influences the world, but high, steady principle. 
 You are not very clever, but you may be very good, 
 and if you are, you may help to make Ella good too ; 
 and if she is good she will lead Clement right ; and if 
 Clement is led right " 
 
 "What, Papa?" 
 
 Mr. Lester paused : " It would make me very 
 happy, Rachel." He seemed tempted to say more 
 to her, but after a short consideration he merely 
 added, " You don't wish for any other motive, do 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, no, Papa! only — Clement is no relation."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 41 
 
 " He is the son of one whom I once loved, and 
 whom I still love as if he were my younger brother," 
 said Mr. Lester ; " and his father is away, and there 
 is no one else to guide him. Is not that a sufficient 
 reason to be anxious for him?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Rachel, as her father stood up and 
 began to put aside his writing materials. The " yes " 
 was doubtful. 
 
 " Are you not satisfied, my child ? " 
 
 " Not quite. Papa," was Rachel's honest answer. 
 " There is always a mystery about Clement." 
 
 * And you must be contented, my darling, to bear 
 with jnystery. It is a very necessary lesson to learn ; 
 but so far I will tell you. General Vivian has had 
 cause to be displeased with his son, and therefore he 
 looks with suspicion upon Clement ; and every thing 
 which Clement does that is careless and wrong in- 
 creases his grandfather's doubts of his character. 
 Now, you can see why I, as his father's friend, am 
 especially anxious as to his conduct ; and so I hope 
 you will see also how important it is for every one 
 who has influence of any kind over either Ella or 
 Clement, to try and lead them in the right way. I 
 can't answer any more questions, Rachel ; and re- 
 member you must never talk upon the subject to any 
 one but me." 
 
 Rachel was a little awed by her father's manner. 
 Her countenance showed it. Yet the feeling vanished 
 in a moment as he stooped to kiss her, and she said, 
 *< I am going to see Aunt Mildred to-day ; you don't 
 mind?" 
 
 " No, my child ; how should I ? I shall be going
 
 42 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 to the Hall myself, probably, and if you are there vre 
 will walk home together." 
 
 " Then I may stay a long time, if she asks me ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but who is to go with you ? " 
 
 "Miss Campbell and Ella to the lodge gate, and 
 if I don't stay they will wait for me, but they are not 
 going in." Rachel could have wondered and asked 
 the reason why, but she checked herself. 
 
 " One more kiss, Papa." And she ran gaily out of 
 the room, and her joyous voice was heard as she 
 went singing up the stairs to prepare for her walk.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 43 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Cleve Hall was a long, low, irregular, red-brick 
 house, part of which dated as far back as the time of 
 Henry VII. The history of the Vivians was written 
 in its gables, and clustering chimneys, and turrets, 
 and oriel windows of all shapes and sizes, — for by 
 far the greater number of its possessors had thought 
 it necessary to add to or alter it; almost the only 
 thing which had descended unchanged being the 
 huge griffin, the family crest, standing erect above 
 the entrance porch. 
 
 A quiet, solemn-looking place it was, resting 
 under the guardianship of the Encombe Hills and 
 shut in by plantations on every side except towards 
 the sea; a place to which childish memories might 
 cling with vivid recollections of long summer days 
 spent under the shade of the old oaks whilst listening 
 to the soft murmurs of the sea, or of winter evenings 
 in the great library, or rainy days in the billiard 
 room, or long twilights passed in recounting the tales 
 belonging to the grim, old family pictures. Many 
 such places there are in England — few perhaps more 
 interesting than Cleve Hall in its stately, sobering 
 quietness. 
 
 It was in a handsome though narrow room in the 
 oldest part of the house that Rachel Lester was sitting
 
 44 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 on that evening as it drew towards sunset. She had 
 drawn a stool into the depth of the oriel "wandow, 
 and was endeavouring to read by the fading light. 
 Twilight is not, as every one knows, a cheerful hour, 
 and Miss Vivian's morning-room, as the apartment was 
 usually called, was low, and the windows were small 
 and deep. Yet it was not gloomy ; there were books, 
 pictures, flowers, cabinets of shells, a piano, and a 
 table with a work-basket and drawing materials, — 
 all giving notions of constant, cheerful employment 
 and of the comfort and elegances of life ; and though 
 the shadows were deepening, yet the rich sunset hues 
 were pouring in through the windows, and lighting 
 up the lower end of the apartment with a flood of 
 crimson. 
 
 The sun was setting over the sea, which could 
 be seen through an opening in the shrubbery, with 
 the jagged edge of the cliff forming its boundary. 
 It brought indications of a change of weather ; the 
 clouds were gathering angrily in the west, some 
 heaped together in huge masses touched at their 
 edges by streaks of gold, others rushing across the 
 sky in long, feathery flakes, becoming brilliantly red 
 when they came within reach of the departing rays, 
 and melting away in hues scarcely perceptible as they 
 stretched themselves far into the greyish blue vault 
 above them. 
 
 The wind moaned ominously amongst the Cleve 
 woods, the leaves moved restlessly to and fro, and 
 flights of birds were winging their way rapidly from 
 the clifi's, whilst even from that distance the foam of 
 the white breakers might be seen as they tossed their
 
 CLEVE HALL. 45 
 
 chafed waters upon the beach. It was clear that a 
 storm was rising, and that rapidly. 
 
 " Oh ! Aunt Mildred, can you see that boat ? how 
 it goes up and down, and all its sails up! How 
 beautiful it looks ! " Rachel had put down her book, 
 and was pointing with one hand to the window 
 whilst the other rested upon the arm of a couch on 
 which lay a lady whose age it would have been 
 difficult to tell. Seen in the twilight she looked still 
 young, but her complexion was worn and sallow, 
 probably from the illness of years. Her face was 
 painfully thin, and her fingers were very long and 
 slender ; yet the impression she gave was not that of 
 suffering, and scarcely of resignation, at least when 
 she spoke. Some persons are said to have tears in 
 their voices. Mildred Vivian certainly had a smile 
 in hers. " What boat, darling ? " she said, in answer 
 to Rachel's observation. " Oh ! I see it now. Please 
 move a very little. How fast it goes ! the wind 
 must be in its favour." 
 
 " Should you like to be in it. Aunt Mildred ? " 
 
 " Like it ? Oh ! Rachel, yes ; should I not ? It is 
 fifteen years since I was in a boat." 
 
 "Where is it going, I wonder," said Rachel. 
 " Where would you go, Aunt Mildred, if you were 
 in it?" 
 
 Mildred paused. Rachel could not see her face 
 clearly, for the shadows were deepening every 
 instant. " I should go far away from England, dear 
 child." The very lightest sound of a sigh could be 
 heard, following the words.
 
 46 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " You should take me with jou wherever you 
 went, dear Aunt Mildred." 
 
 " What, away from Papa ? " 
 
 " Oh ! no, no ; but he must go with us. We could 
 not live away from each other, could we ? " 
 
 "I can't say that, Rachel. We did live some 
 years without knowing each other," replied Mildred. 
 
 " Yes ; but I always wanted something." 
 
 "And did not know that it was a mock aunt," 
 observed Mildred in a tone of amusement. 
 
 " I don't like your saying mock, dear Aunt 
 Mildred," exclaimed Rachel. " You are more real 
 than a great many real aunts, I am sure." 
 
 " More real in love, dear child ; that I am quite 
 sure of." 
 
 "But you could do without me," said Rachel, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " I shouldn't like to do without you : I mustn't say 
 I could not." 
 
 " Aunt Mildred," and Rachel spoke anxiously, "I 
 know I couldn't do without Papa." 
 
 " Ah, Rachel ! you don't know." 
 
 " But must I try ? Am I very wicked to feel that 
 I couldn't?" 
 
 "Not at all wicked; only, Rachel, we can do 
 without whatever God may please to take from us." 
 
 " But we should die," said Rachel. 
 
 " No, dear Rachel, we should only be made more 
 fit to die." 
 
 " And He has taken so much from you ! " exclaimed 
 Rachel, flinging her arm round Mildred's neck. 
 " Was it all needed to make you fit to die ? "
 
 CLEVE HALL. 47 
 
 " All, Rachel ! every pang, every sorrow ; there 
 was not one too many. And He lias left such 
 mercies ! Perhaps some day He will add the greatest 
 of all — the thankfulness which one ought to have." 
 
 Rachel stood up again, nearer to the window. The 
 boat was fast becoming indistinct in the dull light 
 and the far distance. 
 
 " Can you see it still ? " said Mildred, sitting more 
 upright. 
 
 " Just. How the wind is rising ! I shouldn't like 
 to be in the boat ; I should be afraid." 
 
 Mildred did not reply, and Rachel, too, was silent 
 for some time. The last gleams of the sunset were 
 melting away, and the room was becoming very dark. 
 " Mr. Lester will be here soon," said Mildred ; " or 
 will he wait till the moon has risen ? " 
 
 It was strange that there was no answer. Rachel's 
 face was pressed against the window-pane. She 
 seemed straining her eyes to obtain the least glimpse 
 of the boat. A sudden gust of wind howled through 
 the trees, and, as it died away, Rachel turned from 
 the window, and kneeling by Mildred's couch, ex- 
 claimed, as she burst into tears, " Perhaps Clement 
 will be out to-night." There was no exclamation of 
 surprise or terror. Mildred's hand was placed lovingly 
 on the child's head, and she said quietly, " Ai'e you 
 sure?" 
 
 "Not sure; I think so, — and — Aunt Mildred, it 
 may be my fault." 
 
 " Your's, my love, how ? " 
 
 "Because if I would have done all they wished 
 me to do he would not have gone."
 
 48 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Whom do you mean by they, Rachel ? You must 
 be more clear." Mildred rather raised herself on her 
 couch, and a tone of anxiety might have been ob- 
 served in the first words she uttered; but even at 
 the close of the sentence it was checked. 
 
 "Ella and Clement are they," replied Rachel, 
 speaking hurriedly, and not very intelligibly. "I 
 went there before I came away, and Clement was 
 talking to Ella." 
 
 "And did they tell you what they were talking 
 about?" 
 
 " I heard a little as I went in, and then they were 
 obliged to tell me more. Clement did not say, though, 
 that he was going in the boat, only that he had an 
 engagement ; but I am sure he was, and I saw him 
 with Goff in the village afterwards ; and " 
 
 " Go on," said Mildred. 
 
 Rachel drew a long breath. " I could have stopped 
 him. Aunt Mildred, if I had chosen it. He said if 
 I would go to the shore with him and Ella, and read 
 poetry — something of Lord Byron's which he wanted 
 Ella to hear, — then he would stay at home. But 
 Papa doesn't like me to read the book, and so I said 
 no ; and now perhaps Clement is gone, and the storm 
 will come, and he will be drowned. Oh ! Aunt Mil- 
 dred, was it very wrong ? Was it very wrong ? " 
 she repeated in a trembling voice, as Mildred delayed 
 answering. 
 
 "No, dear Rachel; how could it be? but " 
 
 "Hark! there is some one," interrupted Rachel, 
 listening. " Papa will be come for me, and what will 
 he say ? "
 
 CLEVE HALL. 49 
 
 "Not that it was your fault, Rachel, whatever 
 happens. But we must trust." 
 
 " And he may not have gone," said Eachel, in a 
 calmer tone. 
 
 "No, he may not. — That must be Mr. Lester's 
 voice," 
 
 Rachel ran out to meet him. Mr. Lester entered 
 hurriedly. The storm, he said, was rising like a 
 hurricane, and he was anxious to be at home. He 
 shook hands with Mildred, and sat down by her, 
 and asked after General Vivian ; but his manner was 
 reserved and abstracted. Mildred looked at him, as 
 if she would read it ; but she was puzzled. 
 
 " Rachel, you had better go for your bonnet," she 
 said ; and Rachel drew near and whispered, " Will 
 you tell Papa when I am gone ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear love ; don't come back till I send for 
 you." Rachel ran away. "Rachel is anxious for 
 Clement," said Mildred, as soon as the door was closed. 
 
 " She need not be to-night ; he is safe ; Goff did 
 not take him : " but Mr. Lester's tone was less calm 
 than his words. 
 
 " Thank God for that," said Mildred, with a sigh 
 of gratitude. " It may be a fearful night." 
 
 Mr. Lester looked out into the dim twilight, and 
 stood as if in a reverie. Presently he said, " It is 
 not from Clement's obedience that he is safe. It was 
 Ronald who interfered. Mark Wood told me he 
 thought he was going, and I believed he was, till I 
 met Ronald. These are things which make me feel 
 that he must have a father's hand over him soon, if 
 possible."
 
 50 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Have you any plan ; anything to propose ? " in- 
 quired Mildred, anxiously. 
 
 " No ; but I have been writing. My letter ought 
 to have gone to-day, only I kept it open till I had 
 seen you. Can you give me any hope ? " 
 
 " Dear Mr. Lester ! how can you ask ? " and Mil- 
 dred's lip quivered. " Should I keep it from you a 
 moment if I had ? " 
 
 "Yet I could not be contented without asking," 
 said Mr. Lester. " He will think my letter miserably 
 cold, for I had no comfort to give him but words, 
 and I was obliged to tell him that Clement doesn't 
 satisfy me." 
 
 " I have not yet sounded the matter," said Mildred, 
 speaking in a tone which indicated great self-restraint. 
 " Incautiousness would do immense mischief. If I 
 take my father at the wrong moment, he may forbid 
 the subject ever being mentioned again ; and I feel 
 as if we should be more certain of our end if we could 
 gain admittance to his heart first in some other way. 
 I have thought of asking him to let Ella stay with 
 me." 
 
 "It is a strong measure," said Mr. Lester. "I 
 should be afraid Ella would not win him. He will 
 see her faults, and exaggerate them." 
 
 " Perhaps so." Mildred considered for a moment, 
 and then said, as if speaking to herself, "Is it not 
 unaccountable; so good, and honourable, and kind- 
 hearted as my dear father is to all others, — so clear- 
 sighted too, especially in discovering injustice or 
 prejudice ? " 
 
 " Not unaccountable ; it is human nature. * A
 
 CLEVE HALL. 51 
 
 brother offended is harder to be won than a strong 
 city.'" 
 
 " And the Campbells to have settled in the neigh- 
 bourhood ! " said Mildred ; " it widens the breach 
 infinitely. He cannot endure even their names." 
 
 " No," replied Mr. Lester ; " and the very fact of 
 seeing the children I often think reminds him of the 
 connection." 
 
 " And Edward then must linger in a distant land, 
 away from his children, working without hope." 
 
 "Better that than to return and be rejected. If 
 the experiment were to fail, we should have nothing 
 else to fall back upon. We must wait for time and 
 softening influences. Through God's mercy they may 
 open a way. Oh ! if any words could but teach those 
 children what may depend on their present conduct I" 
 The exclamation came from the very bottom of his 
 heart. 
 
 " Does Miss Campbell complain as she did ? " in- 
 quired Mildred. 
 
 "Yes, and for the most part justly." 
 
 " But she is not merciful," said Mildred. 
 
 " That is not to be expected from her education. 
 She is antagonistic to them always." 
 
 " She is the person to be reached," continued 
 Mildred. 
 
 " She is reached continually in a way. I tell her 
 her faults, and she hears them all patiently, for she 
 is very humble-minded ; but I see no results." 
 
 " Yet, so good as you say she is, her character must 
 
 tell." 
 
 " One would think so ; yet one infirmity will neu- 
 
 E 2 
 
 UNIVFRQITY OP
 
 52 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 tralise a dozen virtues. How one trembles to hear 
 people talk so lightly as they do of what they call 
 failings ! " 
 
 Mildred sighed. " Yes," she said, after a moment's 
 silence, " it would be a curious and fearful history to 
 write, — the history of failings." 
 
 " It will be written one day," said Mr. Lester, so- 
 lemnly ; " and then may God have mercy upon us ! " 
 
 A pause followed. It was interrupted by a heavy, 
 booming sound, heard distinctly amidst the roar of 
 the rising storm. Mildred started up. 
 
 " A ship in distress ! " said Mr. Lester. 
 
 Mildred sank back, and covered her eyes. Mr. 
 Lester took up his hat. 
 
 " You will leave Rachel with me," said Mildred, 
 quietly. 
 
 " Yes, indeed, if you will keep her. I wish she 
 could always be as safe. God bless you." He 
 pressed her hand affectionately. 
 
 " And you will take every one with you whom you 
 think may be useful," said Mildred ; " and remem- 
 ber," — her voice changed, — " there is room at the 
 Hall for all who may need shelter." 
 
 " Yes, I am sure of that always. Good b'ye." 
 
 Mildred's face was perfectly colourless ; and when 
 another boom of the signal gun was heard, she clasped 
 her hands together, and prayed fervently to Him 
 ^at " Whose command the winds blow and lift up the 
 Waves of the sea, and Who stilleth the rage thereof."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 53 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 People were hurrying to the shore, making their 
 way thither by the nearest paths, and guided by the 
 uncertain light of the moon, as it escaped from be- 
 hind the racking clouds which were rushing over the 
 heavens. Mr. Lester's road was narrow, and tangled 
 by brushwood and briars. It led directly through 
 the woods to an open heath terminated by the cliffs. 
 A rough road, sometimes traversed by carts, crossed 
 the heath, and when Mr. Lester emerged from the 
 copse, he found the road already reached by stragglers 
 from the lone cottages between Encombe and the 
 neighbouring town of Cleve. Women and children, 
 as well as men, were amongst them. There was a 
 strange, fascinating horror in the thought of a scene 
 of danger ; and some, it was to be feared, had in view 
 a prospect of personal advantage, to be gained at the 
 expense of the unfortunate owners of the distressed 
 vessel. Mr. Lester mingled amongst them at first 
 unperceived. The greater number were unknown to 
 him, as not belonging to his own parish, and the light 
 was too indistinct to allow of his being recognised 
 by them. 
 
 " D'ye see her ? " asked a rough farmer-looking 
 man, of a boy who had been to the edge of the cliff. 
 
 £ 3
 
 54 .CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " See her? yes, as well as a body can in sucli 
 a blinking light. She's off Dark Head Point, on the 
 rocks, I'm thinking ; and sore work 'twill be to get 
 safe in." 
 
 " Many folks down on the beach ? " inquired the 
 farmer. 
 
 " Aye, a crowd. I heard the Captain's voice 
 amongst the loudest." 
 
 " No doubt of that," was the reply. " Where's 
 there ever a skirl without him ? " 
 
 " Aye, where ? He was in Cleve this afternoon, 
 blustering ; and I heard it said, if he went on so he'd 
 some day be taken up to the old General. That is a 
 sight I'd give one of my eyes to see. But he's a 
 brave fellow after all, is the Captain." 
 
 " Brave, is he ? That's as folks think. Stay ! " 
 
 There was a momentary pause, as if with one con- 
 sent, as a shrill cry of horror was brought to the ear 
 in a sudden lull of the tempest, and then, with an 
 instantaneous impulse, a rush was made to the beach. 
 Mr. Lester was amongst the first to reach it. It was 
 a scene of darkness and confusion. The moonbeams 
 touched the white foam of the curling waves, whilst 
 they rose majestically in the form of lowering arches, 
 and broke against the rocks with a crashing sound, 
 which seemed as if it must shake the firm cliffs to 
 their centre. Beyond, the spray of the troubled 
 sea, and the misty clouds, caused an obscurity every 
 moment increasing, as the last faint light of sunset 
 faded in the far west. The crowds on the shore were, 
 for the most part, crossing and rccrossing each other, 
 bringing contradictory reports, arguing, exclaiming,
 
 CLEVE HALL. 55 
 
 asseverating ; but in one spot a few men had col- 
 lected, and were discussing in loud and angry tones 
 the possibility of rendering assistance to the distressed 
 vessel, which could be seen lying directly in a line 
 with the angle of the steep clifl usually known by 
 the name of Dark Head Point. 
 
 " We must throw a rope from the cliff; no boat 
 will live in such a sea," said a coarse voice, which 
 would have been known at once as Captain Vivian's, 
 even without the profaneness that was the constant 
 accompaniment of his words. 
 
 " Too far," replied Goff, who was standing by 
 his side, examining the scene with a cool, practised 
 eye, and not even shrinking when a second cry of 
 agonising distress fell upon the ear. "They must 
 even go, if 'tis Heaven's will they should." 
 
 Captain Vivian moved away to obtain a view from 
 a higher position, and at the same moment Mr. Lester 
 drew near. 
 
 " Too far, Goff? and will no one try the boat?" 
 
 Goff touched his hat, but his manner was surly : 
 " Your reverence may try. It's just tossing away 
 your life, but you can try." 
 
 Mr. Lester considered. It was madness, utter mad- 
 ness, for him at least. He looked round for another 
 opinion. 
 
 " A quarter of an hour hence the tide will have 
 turned," said a fisherman who was standing near. 
 
 " And a quarter of an hour hence," exclaimed Goff, 
 " they will be in " 
 
 Mr. Lester stopped him. " On earth, we trust, 
 Goff. Fifty pounds reward," lie shouted loudly, " to 
 
 £ 4
 
 56 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 any one who will undertake to man the boat and be 
 off to the ship ! " but his voice was lost in the roar 
 of the elements, and the deep call of another gun of 
 distress. Once more he looked round, hopeless and 
 despairing. Ronald Vivian was close to him. 
 
 " Mr. Lester, one word with you." He drew him 
 aside : " If I never return, say to Miss Campbell that 
 I obeyed her." He caught hold of the boat to push 
 it from the beach. 
 
 Mr. Lester held him back. " Ronald ! this is 
 actual frenzy ! Your father and Goff are the only 
 persons fit to go." 
 
 " Their lives are precious," said the boy, scornfully. 
 "Mine!" — he seized Mr. Lester's hand, — "I am 
 but a stumbling-block in the path. Clement will be 
 safe when I am gone." Again he laid hold of the boat. 
 
 At that moment a shout arose from the cliff, " They 
 are off! brave fellows! they are off!" followed by a 
 deep muttered prayer, " God help them ! " and like 
 one body, the crowd hurried to the spot from whence 
 they could best watch the fate of the little boat, which 
 in desperation had at length been committed to the 
 waves. It was manned by three experienced sailors, 
 and bravely and resolutely it made its way, followed 
 by a breathless silence, as one moment it was borne 
 upon the crest of the waves, and the next sank into 
 the deep abyss of the angry water as if never to rise 
 again. 
 
 Ronald had thrown himself upon the beach, and 
 his head was buried in his hands. Mr. Lester spoke 
 to him gently : " It is best Ronald, as it is ; we must 
 pray for them."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 57 
 
 Ronald made no answer. " They are gone ! they 
 are gone ! " was the cry heard amidst the tempest, and 
 he started to his feet. But the black speck, though 
 scarcely discernible, was still to be seen breasting the 
 waves ; it was nearing the ship. Ronald rushed to 
 the edge of the water, and stood there with his arms 
 folded moodily upon his breast. Mr. Lester followed 
 him near, yet not so near as to be observed. The 
 moonlight fell upon the boy's tall firmly -built figure 
 and noble features. The expression of his counte- 
 nance was very painful ; — cold and proud, and when 
 he heard his father's coarse voice shouting from the 
 cliffs, recklessly desperate. " Ronald," said Mr. 
 Lester, approaching to him, "you would have done 
 ' a brave deed, and God accepts the will." 
 
 " Perhaps so," was the answer ; " it is all- that is 
 allowed to me ;" and he moved away. 
 
 The boat was not to be seen ; whether sunk, or 
 passed beyond the power of sight, none could say. 
 The moon was hidden by a thick cloud. The howl- 
 ing of the wind, the rush of the waters, silenced every 
 other sound ; and only a light raised in the unfor- 
 tunate vessel showed that human life was at stake. 
 The darkness continued for several minutes, — minutes 
 which seemed hours. A voice from the crowd uttered 
 a loud, shrill call. Some said it was answered, but 
 it might have been only the scream of the stormy 
 blast. " Try again ! " and a second time the sharp yell 
 seemed to rush over the wide waste of waters, seeking 
 for a response. It came ; yes, it was a human voice ; 
 a cheer, a cry of exultation, and the moon for a 
 moment appearing showed the little boat crowded
 
 58 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 witli people, tossed upon the crest of a mountainous 
 wave. It will be swamped ; it must be, a huge mass 
 of waters is about to fall upon it ; but no, it has risen 
 again, the awful power conquered by human skill: 
 still it seems to make no progress, and now it is lost 
 to sight ; the moon has sunk back again into dark- 
 ness. Oh ! for one minute of peace on the restless 
 ocean to make certain the door of escape. 
 
 Ronald never moved nor spoke. His eyes were 
 riveted, as by a basilisk fascination, on the spot where 
 the boat was likely to appear. And it did appear, 
 nearing the shore, guided by a hand which knew well 
 how to break the force of every wave, and direct it 
 amidst the rough breakers. It was all but in ; all 
 but within safe reach of the shore. A cheer rose, 
 loud, prolonged; ending — surely it was a scream of 
 terror ! A wave had passed over the boat, and it was 
 upset. 
 
 Fearful, awful, was the scene that followed ; strug- 
 gles for life, — ineffectual attempts at assistance, — 
 the engulphing of last hopes in the foaming ocean. 
 A man's head was seen rising above the waters, his 
 hand was clasping the shaggy weeds depending from 
 a rock ; they seemed firm, but the power of death was 
 in the grasp, and they were giving way ; in another 
 moment he would be gone. Ronald flung aside his 
 coat, and cast himself into the sea ; few saw him, 
 none cheered him, he was doomed. 
 
 They had sunk both together ; but they rose again, 
 the stranger clinging to Ronald as he struggled 
 with the water. A mighty wave is near, it must 
 cover them ; but no, they have risen upon its crest ;
 
 ,CLEVE HALL. 59 
 
 and now, as if in angry disappointment, it has cast 
 them from it ; — tliey are safe ! 
 
 Mr. Lester was at some distance. Seven men had 
 with great difficulty been rescued, and he was giving 
 directions for their restoration. Another boat was 
 being manned for the purpose of going back again to 
 the ship ; all was excitement and confusion. None 
 noticed Ronald, or thought of him. He knelt by the 
 side of the man whom he had saved, chafing his 
 hands, covering him with the coat which he had him- 
 self thrown aside, and at length with the assistance 
 of another boy of about his own age, though much 
 inferior to himself in power, carried him to the shelter 
 of a boat-house. 
 
 The senses, which had been paralysed as much by 
 horror as by the actual risk that had been run, soon 
 returned, and by that time other assistance was at 
 hand, and arrangements were made for conveying the 
 man to the farm. Konald's manner was indifferent 
 and cold ; he answered the few questions put to him 
 shortly and uncourteously ; and, when he found his 
 charge in safe hands, took advantage of the sugges- 
 tions made that he should look after himself, to walk 
 away alone towards his own home.
 
 60 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAP. VIL 
 
 The morning after the storm rose bright, clear, and 
 comparatively calm, though deep shadows from flying 
 clouds were still crossing the sea, and the white 
 breakers tossed their diminished heads with an anger 
 not yet exhausted. 
 
 Bertha Campbell, Ella, and Clement were together 
 on a little hillock from which a wide view of the sea 
 was to be obtained. Dark Head Point was visible, 
 and the wreck of the shattered vessel, stranded 
 amongst the rocks upon which it had drifted during 
 the night. 
 
 " Three lives lost ! " said Ella ; " how terrible ! " and 
 she shuddered. 
 
 " And seven saved ! " said Bertha ; "that one ought 
 to be thankful for." 
 
 "Eight," observed Clement quickly; "Eonald 
 saved one." 
 
 " Yes, I heard it," said Bertha. There was a 
 glistening in her eye, but it was a strangely im- 
 perturbable manner. 
 
 " Clement would have done the same if he had been 
 there," said Ella. 
 
 " Yes, he might." 
 
 " Might ! oh Aunt Bertha ! it is certain."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 61 
 
 " He has not been tried, Ella." 
 
 " And therefore you doubt me, Aunt Bertha," said 
 Clement haughtily. " Thank you for your opinion 
 of me." 
 
 "I only judge from what I see, Clement. If you 
 are not equal to ordinary duties, I don't know why I 
 am to expect you to perform extraordinary ones." 
 
 " Ronald does not do ordinary duties that I can 
 ever see," continued Clement. 
 
 "Ronald is no guide for you," replied Bertha. "At 
 this moment you are neglecting your work." 
 
 " Who can be expected to work such a morning 
 as this ? " exclaimed Clement. " Mr. Lester himself 
 is gone down to the village and to the shore." 
 
 " It is his business, Clement ; it is not yours." 
 
 "And it is his pleasure," exclaimed Clement. "He 
 is gone to the farm to see Ronald's friend." 
 
 Bertha merely repeated her observation, that Mr. 
 Lester attended to his business, and therefore Clement 
 ought to attend to his, and then suggested to Ella 
 that it was time for the children's lessons to begin. 
 Ella said, " Is it ? " but she did not move from the 
 grass upon which she was seated, leaning • against 
 the stone that supported the flag-staff, and gazing 
 dreamily upon the sea. 
 
 " You will take cold, Ella," said Bertha ; " it is a 
 great deal too damp to sit upon the grass." 
 
 " Oh no, I shan't. Aunt Bertha. The grass is quite 
 dry." 
 
 Bertha stooped down to feel it, and showed the 
 drops glistening on her hand.
 
 62 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " I never take cold by sitting on the grass," said 
 Ella ; " I never take cold at all, indeed, except when I 
 sit in a draught." 
 
 "Every one takes cold, Ella, who sits upon wet 
 grass." 
 
 " Every one except me," repeated Ella. " Aunt 
 Bertha, if you are going in, will you just tell the little 
 ones to get their lessons ready. I suppose one must 
 move," she added, rising lazily. 
 
 Bertha went into the house, and Ella turned to her 
 brother, and said, " She is put out." 
 
 " Of course she is," replied Clement ; " she is always 
 put out. And isn't it aggravating, Ella, the way in 
 which she never will give me credit for a single thing 
 that is brave or noble ? One would think I was a 
 mere automaton." 
 
 " I don't mind her," said Ella ; " she hasn't a spark 
 of poetry or enthusiasm in her composition. If she 
 had been on the shore, I venture to say she would 
 have stayed to calculate exactly the claims of her own 
 life, before she would have ventured to risk it for 
 another." 
 
 " It won't do for me, that sort of thing," said Cle- 
 ment, pursuing the bent of his own thoughts. " If 
 they want me to listen to them they mustn't try to 
 keep me in leading-strings in that fashion. Why 
 there are many boys who have been half over the 
 world and are their own masters at my age." 
 
 " It will come to an end," said Ella, reseating her- 
 self on a stone ; " all things come to an end if one 
 waits long enough." 
 
 "Very well for a girl," he exclaimed impetuously ;
 
 CLEVE HALL. 63 
 
 " but what is to be done with the years that go by 
 whilst one is waiting ? " 
 
 " Make them a preparation for those which are to 
 come, Clement," said a grave voice. 
 
 Clement started, for it was Mr. Lester's. He was 
 looking very pale, very haggard, — a year might have 
 passed over him since the last evening. His manner 
 too was different from its usual quiet, almost stern 
 rigidity ; its restlessness showed how much he must 
 have gone through. Ella was very fond of him, and 
 all her better feelings were called forth when she saw 
 him suffering. She begged him nov/ to go into the 
 house, and let her fetch him a glass of wine. She 
 was sure he was over-tired, and if he didn't take 
 care he would be ill. But he would not go in ; " He 
 would rather," he said, "remain with them where 
 they were ; the fresh air would do him good ; " and he 
 sat down by Ella at the foot of the flag -staff. 
 
 " Those tiresome lessons ! " murmured Ella to her 
 brother. 
 
 " Oh nonsense, you can't go now," was his reply, 
 in an under tone. 
 
 " A few minutes can't signify," added Ella, rather 
 speaking to herself than to Clement. "Dear Mr. 
 Lester, do let me go in and bring you something out 
 here." She spoke now with animation and eagerness : 
 her heart was in her words. 
 
 " Thank you, dear child, no. One can't forget last 
 night, Ella." 
 
 " No," replied Ella, awed by his manner. 
 
 " And Clement might have been exposed to danger 
 too," he continued.
 
 64 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Goff would never take me, Sir, if there was 
 danger," said Clement, a little moodily. 
 
 " He ought not to take you at all, Clement." ]Mr. 
 Lester's voice trembled. 
 
 " You are too tired to talk. Sir," said Ella, looking 
 at him anxiously. " Shall we leave you ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and yet," — he placed his hand on her head, 
 — " Ella, one thought was in my mind, haunting it all 
 last night, — that Clement might have been where 
 others then were. I wonder whether either of you 
 thought of it too." 
 
 " I believe it was wrong in me to propose going 
 out on the water, Sir, said Clement, candidly ; " but 
 when I had made an engagement, I didn't like to 
 break it." 
 
 " An after engagement cannot cancel a former one," 
 said Mr. Lester. " Our first engagement in all cases 
 is to God." 
 
 " He was never absolutely told not to go," said Ella. 
 
 Clement refused to accept the excuse : " He knew," 
 he said, " that it was not quite right, but it seemed 
 such a little thing, he couldn't really believe it sig- 
 nified ; certainly he should have gone but for some 
 blunder of Ronald's which made them all late." And 
 then he muttered something about sea-faring life, and 
 that he must prepare if he ever intended to go to sea. 
 
 Mr. Lester was silent. Clement knew that he had 
 said what was very painful ; and, anxious to turn the 
 conversation, he asked whether Ronald's friend was 
 recovered. 
 
 " Yes, tolerably ; he has gone to Cleve : his name is 
 Bruce ; the vessel was an American."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 65 
 
 The answers were given shortly, and Clement was 
 afraid to pursue the subject. 
 
 " I had better go in to the lessons now," said Ella. 
 She did not know what else to say or do, and the 
 claim of the forgotten duty reasserted itself. 
 
 " I am going home," said Mr. Lester ; " tell your 
 aunt I shall not see her probably to-day ; I must bo 
 alone as much as possible." The last words were 
 spoken in an under tone. He stood up to go. " Cle- 
 ment, are you ready for me ? " 
 
 " Yes, Sir ; that is, I shall be. I will follow you." 
 
 " I would rather you should go with me ; " and Mr 
 Lester paused, and his eyes wandered over the sea. 
 
 " Here is Rachel ! " said Ella, as she turned towards 
 the Parsonage garden. Mr. Lester's face brightened 
 in an instant. 
 
 " How she runs ! " continued Ella : " I never could 
 move so fast." 
 
 It seemed but one bound and Rachel was at her 
 father's side. " Nurse Robinson is waiting for you, 
 Papa. She says you expected her. And, Ella dear," 
 and Rachel produced a folded paper, " I have copied 
 the lines, and thank you so much ; they are beautiful." 
 
 " May I see them ? " said Mr. Lester, taking them 
 from her hand. 
 
 "Longfellow's Excelsior," said Ella, looking over 
 his shoulder. " Rachel, and Clement, and I mean to 
 make a Latin translation of them." 
 
 " Papa, you admire them, don't you ? " asked Rachel, 
 noticing the peculiar expression of his face. 
 
 " Of course I do, my love ; who could help it ? " 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " And you think them very true and right in their 
 meaning ? " 
 
 " Yes, entirely so." 
 
 " And you like us to like them ? " 
 
 Mr. Lester paused. Ella looked up at him quickly. 
 Her dark, expressive eyes seemed in a moment to 
 read the meaning of his silence, and as the colour 
 rushed to her cheeks, she said, " Mr. Lester wishes 
 us to follow them, not merely to like them." She did 
 not wait to hear his answer, but walked slowly into 
 the house without wishing any one good-b'ye. 
 
 Bertha was in the little room which opened from 
 the drawing-room, and was used as a school-room. 
 It had no carpet, and its chief furniture consisted of 
 tables, stools, and book-cases. There was only one 
 piano in the house, and that was in the drawing- 
 room. Every thing in the apartment was neat, it 
 could not be otherwise when Bertha Campbell super- 
 intended, but the room had the same air of poverty 
 as the rest of the house ; a poverty contrasting re- 
 markably with the appearance of the persons who 
 inhabited it. 
 
 Bertha was energetic and simple in all she did, 
 and would have dusted a room as willingly as she 
 would have studied a foreign language ; but no one, 
 on looking at her, would have supposed that she was 
 born to such work ; whilst Ella with her indolent, 
 graceful movements, and little Fanny with her slight 
 figure and delicate features, seemed only fitted for 
 the luxury of an eastern climate. Louisa, indeed, was 
 different, but even she moved and spoke with an air 
 of command which would have needed a dozen ser-
 
 CLEVE HALL. 67 
 
 vants to be in attendance instead of the tidy little 
 girl who did duty as both housemaid and parlour- 
 maid. 
 
 When Ella returned from the garden, she found 
 Bertha engaged in hearing Louisa's lessons, and su- 
 perintending Fanny's copy. She did not appear to 
 perceive that her aunt had been taking her duties 
 for her. It was so common a circumstance, as not, 
 in Ella's eyes, to need " thank you," and Bertha on 
 her part made no remark upon Ella's absence ; but 
 Louisa was reproved rather sharply for a blunder 
 she had just made, and Fanny was told that if she 
 did not hold her pen better she would be sent up 
 stairs. Ella threw herself into a low seat, and lean- 
 ing back exclaimed that it was tremendously hot, 
 and she was dying with sleep : she wished it was the 
 fashion in England to take siestas. 
 
 " You can have one, if you like it," said Bertha, a 
 little satirically. 
 
 " Very well for you to say, Aunt Bertha, who can 
 manage your time as you like. Oh dear ! these tire- 
 some lessons ! Fanny, are you ready with your 
 French translation ? " 
 
 " Not quite," said Fanny. 
 
 " Then why aren't you ? " 
 
 *' I hadn't time to do it last evening." 
 
 " You know you would insist upon going such a 
 distance in your walk, Ella," observed Bertha. " The 
 children came in a great deal too late to finish what 
 they had to do." 
 
 "I can't hear it, if it is not ready," said Ella. 
 " What can you do, Fanny ? " 
 
 F 2
 
 68 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 "I can say my dates, and vocabulary, and dia- 
 logue, I think." 
 
 " Well, come then." 
 
 " Had you not better go up stairs, and put your 
 shawl away, Ella ? " said Bertha, " and then you will 
 come down quite fresh again." 
 
 "No, thank you. It is a great deal too hot to 
 move," and Ella tossed her shawl into the farthest 
 corner of the room. Bertha put down the lesson 
 book, took up the shawl, and sent Louisa up stairs 
 with it. 
 
 " Now, Fanny," said Ella. 
 
 Fanny began, and repeated a tolerably correct 
 lesson, or, at least, such as seemed to be so ; for it 
 "was one of Ella's theories that it was useless to make 
 children say things exactly as they were in the book. 
 
 " It can't have taken Fanny much time to leai*n 
 that, Ella," observed Bertha ; " she can't have read it 
 over more than tAvice or three times." 
 
 " She knows the sense very well," said Ella ; " and 
 that is all one wants." 
 
 "All one wants for to-day, but not for to-morrow. 
 The sense is the spirit, the words are the body ; 
 how can you retain the spirit if you give up the 
 body ? " 
 
 " It is too hot to argue," said Ella. " But if spirit 
 has to act upon spirit what need is there of a body?" 
 
 " Spirit alone never does act upon spirit in this 
 world," said Bertha. 
 
 Ella yawned, and closed her eyes. A tingling, 
 irritable bell was just then rung. Bertha gave 
 Louisa her book, told her she had made three mis-
 
 CLEVE HALL. 69 
 
 takes, and hurried out of the room, almost before 
 Ella had time to unclose her eyes, and ask what 
 was the matter. 
 
 Ella certainly exerted herself more when left to 
 herself. It seemed as if a perverse feeling made her 
 determined upon showing herself more indolent in 
 proportion as Bertha was energetic. She drew her 
 chair closer to the table, finished hearing Fanny's 
 lesson, then made her go back to her copy, and bade 
 Louisa bring her French History. That lesson was 
 pleasant enough. Ella liked being read to, and she 
 was very fond of history, and had a marvellous me- 
 mory for dates. 
 
 "I have finished the ten pages," said Louisa, as 
 she came to the conclusion of a chapter. 
 
 " Never mind, go on ; you must hear about Henri 
 Quatre." 
 
 Louisa glanced at the clock. " It is a quarter to 
 one, Ella, and it is my music lesson day." 
 
 Ella's sigh might have been that of a martyr. 
 
 " I shall give you your lesson in the evening, go on 
 now." 
 
 " And shall I say the questions in the evening ? " 
 
 " We will see : go on." 
 
 Louisa was not fond of history, and cared but little 
 for Henri Quatre ; and she was provoked at having 
 all her time occupied and so much added to her lesson 
 hours. She read very badly, and Ella was impatient, 
 and, striking the table in irritation, shook Fanny's hand, 
 and made her blot an exercise which she had begun ; 
 the copy having long since been brought to an end, 
 and put aside with scarcely a glance or an observa- 
 
 ¥ 3
 
 70 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 tion. Fanny burst into tears. She was a very un- 
 tidy writer, and her exercise books were proverbially 
 slovenly, and Bertha had lately endeavoured to stimu- 
 late her to carefulness by the promise of a reward 
 whenever six exercises should be written without a 
 blot. 
 
 " You shouldn't cry, Fanny," said Louisa ; " you 
 will make your eyes red, and then you won't be fit to 
 be seen." 
 
 " And it is so silly, too," said Ella ; " crying about 
 nothing ! what does it signify ? Take it up with your 
 blotting paper, and it will all be right." 
 
 She returned again to Henri Quatre, and left 
 Fanny to mourn in lonely sorrow over the loss of her 
 anticipated present ; for Aunt Bertha had no mercy 
 upon excuses. The blot was there, that was enough. 
 There would be no question of how it came. 
 
 The clock struck one. " I should have just time 
 for my music lesson," said Louisa, imploringly. 
 
 "What? yes!" Ella was still dreaming over the 
 history. 
 
 "Louisa, hasn't Aunt Bertha got the Henriade? 
 Just go and fetch it, there's a good child." 
 
 "The what, Ella?" 
 
 "The Henriade, Voltaire's Henriade; don't you 
 know?" 
 
 Louisa walked slowly out of the room, and came 
 back with a message that Aunt Bertha was en^aired, 
 and couldn't attend to any thing of the kind at 
 present. Ella did not seem quite to hear. Louisa 
 went to the piano, opened it, and put up her music 
 book.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 71 
 
 " Louisa, it won't take you a minute ; just run 
 across the garden up to the Rectory. Mr. Lester has 
 the Henriacle. I am nearly sure I saw it in his study 
 the other day. He will let me have it." 
 
 Louisa looked excessively discomposed, and did not 
 move. 
 
 " Go, child, go, " said Ella. 
 
 " Shall I go ? " asked Fanny. She was very tired 
 of lessons, and much enjoyed the thought of a run 
 across the turf. 
 
 " Yes ; only you don't understand. There, give me 
 a piece of paper and a pencil ; not that one, that is 
 slate pencil. Where is the one you were drawing 
 with last night ?" 
 
 " I don't know ; I left it on the table. Louisa, it 
 was your turn to put away the things." 
 
 " Oh, Fanny, indeed, if you remember, I took two 
 days together, because you had a headache." 
 
 " That was a week ago," said Fanny, fretfully ; 
 " it was your turn I am sure." 
 
 " Never mind whose turn it was," exclaimed Ella : 
 " only fetch me a pencil." 
 
 " I don't know where to find one," said Fanny. 
 
 " Not know where to find a pencil ? Why there 
 are hundreds in the house. Louisa, give me one of 
 your drawing pencils.'* 
 
 " Aunt Bertha said I was not to lend them," said 
 Louisa. ' 
 
 Ella's colour rose. " I can't trouble myself about 
 that. I must have one." 
 
 Louisa had evidently no intention of obeying. She 
 sat playing with the leaves of the music-book, her 
 F 4
 
 72 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 face resolutely directed away. Ella took up a pen, 
 and began to write with it instead. 
 
 " There, Fanny," and she tossed the note to the 
 child, who ran off with it. Ella was too much an- 
 noyed with Louisa to take any notice of her ; and the 
 practising was begun and continued, whilst Ella sat 
 at the table drawing mathematical figures on a sheet 
 of note paper. 
 
 "That is the first dinner-bell," said Louisa, and 
 she jumped. down from her seat, and shut up the 
 piano. 
 
 No answer. 
 
 " Fanny will be late," she continued ; " she won't 
 hear the bell." 
 
 " She has plenty of time," replied Ella, coldly. 
 
 " Grandmamma will be angry," persisted Louisa. 
 
 " You had better go and get ready yourself, 
 Louisa," said Ella. 
 
 " I must put the room tidy first," was the answer ; 
 and Louisa, with the most determined spirit of neat- 
 ness and provoldngness, not only moved away every 
 thing which belonged to herself and to Fanny, but 
 also divers little articles of property appertaining to 
 Ella. "Fanny will be late," she repeated, as she 
 hastened out of the room, leaving Ella nothing to 
 distract her eye from the contemplation of the tables 
 and chairs, except the sheet of note paper on which 
 she was scribbling. 
 
 The second dinner-bell rang, and Ella was not 
 ready, and Fanny was still at the Rectory. Mrs. 
 Campbell was exceedingly annoyed, for punctuality 
 was her darling virtue, and Louisa triumphantly told
 
 CLEVE HALL. 73 
 
 the history of how and why it all happened, and was 
 informed by her grandmamma that she was the only 
 person in the house to be depended upon ; whilst 
 Bertha reminded Ella that if she had come in in 
 proper time, the lessons would have been all finished 
 by one o'clock. 
 
 Fanny appeared when dinner was half over ; and 
 being received by harsh words and severe glances, 
 burst into another fit of crying, and was again 
 warned by Mrs. Campbell, as the most conclusive and 
 natural argument for self-restraint, that she Avould 
 quite spoil her face, and make herself such a figure 
 she would not be fit to be seen. 
 
 That had been a very instructive morning to the 
 children. They had had lessons in unpunctuality, 
 ingratitude, self-indulgence, procrastination, absence 
 of sympathy, impatience, disobedience to orders, ill- 
 nature, self-conceit, and vanity, and all through the 
 medium of French exercises and the life of Henri 
 Quatre.
 
 74 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAP. yiii. 
 
 Ella, had a fit of the Henriade that afternoon, and 
 could not go out ; so she said. She wanted to com- 
 pare the great epic poems of diflferent countries, and 
 she had a notion of writing an essay upon them. She 
 had read Dante often, and kncAV Milton by heart, 
 Homer was familiar to her, and she had a vague 
 idea of the merits of the Lusiad, which, no doubt, 
 was more than half the world could boast of Not 
 that Ella thought much about the world. With all 
 her wonderful talent, she was free from conceit, and 
 had scarcely any wish for admiration. When she 
 talked of writing an essay upon epic poets, it was 
 solely for her own amusement. She had no grand 
 visions of fame and flattery ; and if, now and then, a 
 stray word of astonishment as to her mental powers 
 reached her ears, it was always received with sur- 
 prise. That which was so easy to her, could not, she 
 supposed, be difficult to other people. 
 
 And then Ella never, or very rarely, finished any 
 thing. She always worked from impulse, and her 
 natural temperament was extremely indolent. Cle- 
 ment could sometimes persuade her to conclude what 
 she had begun, but no one else. And he was very 
 like herself, and seldom fancied to-day what he had 
 delighted in yesterday. They were two very inte- 
 resting, clever, agreeable companions, when they
 
 CLEYE HALL. /D 
 
 chose to be ; but the clouds on a windy day were 
 not more changeable, and they always required the 
 stimulus of success to make them pursue any subject. 
 Ella's portfolio was filled with notes from history, 
 unfinished poems, imitations of various authors, pro- 
 blems from Euclid, observations on botany, hints upon 
 geology, copies of Hebrew and Arabic letters, inter- 
 spersed with grotesque caricatures, clever pencil 
 sketches, or grand designs in some new style of 
 water-colours. The marvel was, that in attempting 
 to know so much, she should succeed in knowing 
 any thing. A person with less natural powers would 
 have been utterly crushed by the mountain of mental 
 dust accumulated by these broken ideas ; but Ella's 
 memory was so retentive, and her powers of percep- 
 tion were so keen, that, give her any fragments of 
 knowledge, however broken, and she could put them 
 together, when occasion required, so as to present a 
 very fair semblance of real information. 
 
 "Ella knows every thing," was Mrs. Campbell's 
 proud remark, when some chance observation brought 
 out from the stores of her granddaughter's memory 
 a forgotten or obsolete fact., 
 
 " Ella does nothing," was Bertha's mournful ob- 
 servation to Mr. Lester, when conversing upon the 
 children's future prospects. 
 
 There are diff'erent powers cf mind required for 
 knowing and doing. People often cultivate the 
 former whilst they neglect the latter. They do not 
 see that we may know without doing, but we can 
 scarcely continue long in doing without knowing. 
 
 But to give Ella all the excuse possible, she had had
 
 76 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 very little teaching or training in either the one or 
 the other. After an infancy passed in the enervating 
 climate of the West Indies, she had been sent to 
 England and placed under the care of persons who 
 did not understand her, and who, if they had under- 
 stood her, would not have known how to guide her. 
 Mrs. Campbell was, in her younger days, the most 
 rigid of disciplinarians. She had tutored, and 
 checked, and warned, and fretted her own daughters, 
 until one in despair rushed into a hasty and unfor- 
 tunate marriage, and the other became a pattern of 
 obedience and self-denial, but with all her warm, 
 natural impulses chilled, her powers of enjoyment 
 deadened, and her notions of goodness, either moral 
 or religious, absorbed in the one stern idea of duty, 
 duty both for herself and others, but without mercy 
 and without love. 
 
 And Ella had no natural love of duty. Perhaps it 
 may be said that we none of us have. Yet, surely, 
 this is not so. There is an innate taste for duty, 
 which goes with the love of order and regularity, 
 and the spirit of perseverance. Some persons like to 
 continue any habits they have commenced ; they 
 like to keep to rules ; they are very particular about 
 punctuality and neatness ; all these things are the 
 germs of duty. When softened by unselfishness and 
 warm feelings they will form a very superior cha- 
 racter. But Ella's mind and Ella's theories — and she 
 very early began to form theories — were all based 
 upon two principles, inclination, and affection. If 
 they happened to correspond with duty, it was so 
 much the better ; if they did not — she really could
 
 CLEVE HALL. 77 
 
 not do what she felt no interest in doing, she could 
 not work for people who were indifferent to her. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell, with the singular weakness which 
 makes the most rigid of parents spoil their grand- 
 children, had early given way to this argument. Ella 
 did so much when work was her choice, that she 
 was allowed to do little or nothing when it was not ; 
 whilst Bertha, following the severe reasoning in 
 which she had herself been trained, looked with 
 nearly equal regret upon Ella's doings or not doings, 
 because she said that work performed merely from 
 choice was as little valuable in a moral point of view 
 as idleness. 
 
 Ella's had been a trying, fretting, uncongenial life, 
 and she thought herself a martyr. She was by 
 nature intensely proud, and the moment any accusa- 
 tion was brought against herself, she tried that ready 
 weapon of self-defence retaliation. If Bertha com- 
 plained of Ella's being indolent and unpractical, Ella 
 complained of Bertha's being cold and harsh. If the 
 one forgot from indolence, the other forgot from over 
 occupation. If the one was unpunctual because she 
 would not make an effort to be the reverse, the other 
 was so because she was at every one's call for some 
 act of self-denying kindness, and therefore could not 
 reckon her time her own. 
 
 There is nothing so blinding as this spirit of retalia- 
 tion, this pride which makes us always take the of- 
 fensive when called to stand upon the defensive. It 
 was the greatest possible effort for Ella to confess 
 herself in the wrong. If she ever did, it was not at 
 the moment of accusation, when acknowledgment
 
 78 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 would have been gracious and Immble ; but on some 
 after occasion, when other circumstances had softened 
 her feelings, and made it a matter of certainty that 
 the affair would be passed over lightly. 
 
 And so Ella Vivian knew nothing of herself, and 
 very little of others, and lived in a world of self-in- 
 dulgence and self-reliance, all the more dangerous, 
 because her talents made it easy to her to be agree- 
 able, and her freedom from many of the more open 
 and grave faults of her age made it almost impossi- 
 ble to convince her that she was not as good or even 
 better than others. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell had been at Encombe three months : 
 before that time they had lived at a small country 
 town in the north. No exact reason was given for the 
 change, except that the country was beautiful, and 
 the sea air invigorating, and the village in the neigh- 
 bourhood of Cleve Hall. To be near their grand- 
 father seemed to Ella quite a sufficient cause for the 
 migration, and she had conjured up many visions of 
 grandeur and enjoyment both for herself and Clement, 
 which were all, however, dispersed on their arrival. 
 Cleve Hall was less open to them than any other 
 house in the village. General Vivian was less known to 
 them than any other person. Even Aunt Mildred, the 
 gentle, cheerful, loving Aunt Mildred, whose smile was 
 fascination, and her voice like the echo of the softest 
 music, was as a person tabooed. They rarely saw 
 her ; when they did, their visits were short and un- 
 satisfactory. She evidently wished to keep them 
 with her, but she never did. She wished to make 
 them at home with her, but the mystery which en- 
 veloped every thing at Cleve mutually repelled
 
 CLEVE HALL. 79 
 
 them. They spoke of their father, and the subject 
 was diverted. They expressed a desire to see some- 
 thing in a distant part of the house, and an excuse 
 was at hand. They asked to run in the garden, and 
 the timepiece was consulted to know whether it would 
 be the hour for Grandpapa to be there also. And if, 
 by any chance, they met the General, the first im- 
 pulse of every grown-up person who accompanied 
 them seemed to be to avoid him. 
 
 Of course Ella asked the meaning of all this. At 
 sixteen, with a most determined will, and a keen 
 curiosity, who would not have done so ? And very 
 unsatisfactory were the answers which she received. 
 Mrs. Campbell generally began at once to remark 
 upon General Vivian's unbending character ; whilst 
 Bertha, dreading to give confidence where she felt 
 none, used generally to stop her by the observation, 
 "You will know all about it, my dear, in time." 
 
 But Ella felt that she did not know all about it, 
 and that she was not likely to do so. Her father 
 ought to be the heir of Cleve ; and Clement was his 
 only son. She had heard of some disagreement with her 
 grandfather, and she knew that her father had lived 
 for many years in the West Indies in consequence ; 
 but it seemed very hard that the punishment should 
 also fall upon the children. Bertha told her that her 
 father was a poor man, and certainly, from some cause 
 or other, Ella saw they were all poor. But General 
 Vivian had houses, and lands, and carriages, and ser- 
 vants, and all the luxuries of life at command. A 
 very small sacrifice on his part would have made them 
 comparatively afiiuent. Why was it not asked for ?
 
 80 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Ella chafed under her privations. She felt there 
 must be injustice some where, and she could not re- 
 sign herself to it, and when tormented by her own 
 ill-regulated mind, she shared her anger with her 
 twin brother Clement. 
 
 And Clement was a willing recipient of all her 
 complaints. Proud and self-indulgent, like Ella, he 
 could not endure to remain in a position which he 
 believed beneath him. But for the influence of his 
 cousin, Ronald Vivian, he might, like her, have spent 
 his time in day-dreams of grandeur ; but Ronald was 
 fiery and impetuous, and full of the spirit of ad- 
 venture ; and Clement, feeling the power of his strong 
 will, and admiring the noble points of his character, 
 followed him whenever and wherever he was able, 
 and fancied that in partaking his pursuits he was 
 escaping from boyhood to manhood, and therefore at 
 liberty to be his own master. 
 
 Such was the state of affairs at En combe Lodge ; 
 most unfortunate for all, most especially trying to 
 Bertha Campbell. 
 
 Ella was only sixteen, whilst Bertha was two and 
 thirty. Respect, therefore, was due from the one to 
 the other, if it were only from difference of age. Yet 
 Bertha had great difficulty in exacting it; partly 
 owing to the foct that when the children first came 
 to live with them, Mrs. Campbell took the sole charge 
 upon herself, and spoilt them by over indulgence, 
 whilst she was always blaming Bertha ; and partly 
 owing to Bertha's own defect of manner and Ella's 
 superiority of intellect, which made her at sixteen 
 almost a woman. Now, whenever there was a differ-
 
 CLEVE HALL. 81 
 
 ence between tliem, Mrs. Campbell was appealed to, 
 and invariably took Ella's part ; and thus the breach 
 was widened. The ill feeling extended itself to Cle- 
 ment, who always approved Ella's decisions, and 
 never could bear Aunt Bertha's cold way of remind- 
 ing him of what he had to do. It was better with 
 the little ones. Louisa liked Aunt Bertha because 
 she was always the same. She suffered so much 
 from Ella's moods, that it was a perfect luxury to 
 turn to some one who was certain to give her a 
 patient hearing, and never found fault unless there 
 was really a cause. She did not love her. Aunt 
 Bertha was not attractive to children ; she was so 
 slow and methodical, and so little understood how to 
 enter into their amusements ; but Louisa respected 
 and obeyed her, and made Fanny do the same. It 
 v/ould have been a great comfort to the children if 
 they had been allowed always to do their lessons with 
 Bertha ; but it was one of Ella's few dreams of use- 
 fulness, consequent upon rather a long fit of illness, 
 that she would educate her younger sisters ; and in 
 the days of convalescence she wrote two chapters of 
 a work on education, and formed a plan for a new 
 grammar, which was to make German as easy to 
 learn as French or Italian ; and when pronounced to 
 be quite well, how could she think herself otherwise 
 than competent to undertake any educational task, 
 however important ! 
 
 Ella had imbibed too many high principles not to 
 have great notions of goodness, and she was too 
 clever not to put them into some tangible form ; but 
 she never liked trying virtues upon herself; she pre- 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 ferred rather seeing how thej suited others. Her 
 theories for Louisa and Fanny were perfectly admi- 
 rable ; she talked of nothing but education for a 
 whole month, especially to her grandmamma, who 
 was entirely convinced by her, and believed that she 
 was fully as competent to the work as Bertha, if not 
 more so. The plan had been tried now for three 
 months, — ever since they came to Encombe. Bertha 
 resigned herself to it, for the simple reason that 
 there was nothing else to be done ; and when she 
 found that Ella's want of steadiness and perseverance 
 was a stumbling-block in the way of the children's 
 improvement, she quietly undertook all that was left 
 undone, and so, without intending it, increased Ella's 
 self-deception. 
 
 Certainly, if there was a martyr in the family it 
 was Bertha. The trials which she had endured in 
 her comparatively short life might have crushed a 
 less brave and enduring spirit to the dust. Little, 
 indeed, did Ella think when she laughed at, and 
 teased, and disobeyed her quiet, cold-mannered, im- 
 passive aunt, that thought for her, care for her 
 interests, anxiety for her future prospects, had robbed 
 Bertha's cheek of its bloom, and caused the dark lines 
 of anxiety to shade her forehead. Perhaps it might 
 have been better for her if she had known it ; better 
 if the veil which was cast over the history of her 
 family had been thrown aside, and she had seen her- 
 self the helpless, poverty-stricken child of a disin- 
 herited man, indebted for every comfort which she 
 enjoyed to the self-denying exertions of one whose 
 daily life was rendered miserable by her thoughtless 
 negligence.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 83 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 " Aunt Bertha, we may put on our old things and go 
 to the shore, mayn't we ? " Louisa's voice was heard 
 from the top of the stairs. She had been trying to 
 persuade Fanny that it would be better to wear an 
 old bonnet ; and Fanny was not inclined to agree 
 because she looked much prettier in a new one. 
 
 " Yes, to the shore ; I shall be ready in five 
 minutes : " and Louisa retired triumphant. Louisa 
 was in time herself, and contrived that Fanny should 
 be the same ; a circumstance to which she did not fail 
 to draw Bertha's attention, and received as an answer, 
 that punctuality was a good thing, but humility was a 
 better. They set off across the garden to the Rectory, 
 as they were to call for Rachel on their way. 
 
 " I dare say Clement will be on the shore," said 
 Fanny ; " he said he should go there after he had done 
 with Mr. Lester." 
 
 Bertha looked grave. 
 
 "Is there any reason why Clement should not go ? " 
 asked the quick-eyed Louisa. 
 
 " None, if he does what he ought to do," was the 
 cautious reply. 
 
 "Old Mrs. Clarke, the sexton's mother, says he 
 gets about amongst all kinds of people," said Fanny, 
 " when he goes to the shore." 
 
 O 2
 
 84 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " When did old Mrs. Clarke talk to jou upon such 
 subjects ? " inquired Bertha. 
 
 " Oh ! the other day," replied Louisa, " when we 
 went to see her with Ella. She says," she added, 
 drawing up her head, " that it is not fit for the heir 
 of such a place as Cleve Hall to be spending his time 
 amongst smugglers and low people." 
 
 "It is not fit for any one who wishes to be a 
 gentleman," said Bertha, rather sternly ; "but re- 
 member, children, you are not to talk to Mrs. Clarke 
 or to any one in that way." 
 
 " We can't help it," said Fanny ; " she talks to us." 
 
 Bertha's conscience a little reproached her. Per- 
 haps, after all, she was wrong in not giving Ella 
 more confidence. She might learn to be discreet if 
 she were trusted. But Bertha had never received 
 confidence, and it was not easy to learn to give it. 
 She walked on very silently and thoughtfully ; and 
 the children, finding she did not enter into what they 
 said, ran along the path together. 
 
 They came in front of the Rectory, and passed the 
 library window. Louisa, of course, looked in ; her 
 curiosity was insatiable. " Aunt Bertha," — and she 
 drew near her aunt, — " there was a stranger with 
 Mr. Lester, I am sure." 
 
 " Perhaps so, my dear ;" and Bertha only moved on 
 the faster. 
 
 " But who could it be ? " continued Louisa. 
 
 " It must be one of the shipwrecked people," said 
 Fanny ; " perhaps it was the captain of the vessel." 
 
 " He looked rather like a sailor," observed Louisa ; 
 " do you think it was the captain. Aunt Bertha ? "
 
 CLEVE HALL. 85 
 
 " My love, how can I tell ? and what does it sig- 
 nify?" 
 
 "But if it was the captain, I should like to hear all 
 he has to say, and how it all happened," said Fanny ; 
 " I dare say he would tell us ; and we might make a 
 story out of it. Do you know, Aunt Bertha, we began 
 making out a story yesterday, only Ella said it was 
 nonsense." 
 
 " I'll tell you who it was," said Louisa, with the 
 air of one who has deeply considered a subject ; "it's 
 that Mr. Bruce whom Ronald saved." 
 
 " What do you know about Mr. Bruce ? " inquired 
 Bertha. 
 
 " Oh ! the dairy -woman from the Farm told Betsey 
 about him, and she told me. He is not very well, 
 and perhaps he may stay at the Farm, and perhaps 
 he may be at the Inn at Cleve." 
 
 " Then it is not likely he should be here," said 
 Bertha. 
 
 "He may be going to Cleve by-and-by," said 
 Louisa ; " I am sure it is Mr. Bruce." She nodded 
 her head with an air which admitted no open dissent 
 from her opinion. 
 
 " Well ; we need not trouble ourselves about it ; we 
 are not likely to see him," said Bertha ; " and here is 
 Eachel." 
 
 " And Mrs. Robinson with her," whispered Fanny ; 
 whilst Louisa pronounced decidedly, "I don't like 
 Mrs. Robinson." 
 
 Rachel ran up to them. Mrs. Robinson came 
 slowly behind. She was a very different person 
 under different circumstances and to different people* 
 
 Q 3
 
 86 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Now she was not so much reserved as very stiff. 
 She made a respectful curtsey to Bertha, and would 
 have passed on, but Rachel would not let her go. 
 " Granny, dear, you must wait, and tell IMiss Camp- 
 bell and the others all about it; they will like to 
 hear so much. Wouldn't you like to hear all about 
 the shipwrecked people who were taken in at the 
 Farm ? " she added, addressing Bertha. 
 
 " We won't trouble Mrs. Robinson if she is in a 
 hurry," replied Bertha civilly, but rather formally : 
 " you must tell us yourself, Rachel." 
 
 " But I can't. Granny tells stories so much better 
 than I do, and I can't remember it all. There were 
 five Americans, and a Frenchman, and a German, 
 weren't there? And they slept — where did they 
 sleep ? Oh ! Granny, you must tell all about it." 
 
 " Not now, Miss Rachel ; another time, my dear." 
 
 " But tell her just about Ronald. Miss Campbell 
 likes to hear about him always." 
 
 " The young gentleman was off to the ship by day- 
 light," said Mrs. Robinson, speaking very slowly, 
 " helping to get the goods on shore ; for there are some 
 left on board, though the ship is likely, they say, to 
 go to pieces. But that's like him, Ma'am, as you 
 know." 
 
 "And Mr. Bruce wanted to see him and thank 
 him," added Rachel ; " but Ronald is so strange he 
 won't go near him." 
 
 " And it's Mr. Bruce who is in the library with 
 your Papa, Rachel ; isn't it ? " inquired Louisa. 
 
 Mrs. Robinson answered, for her rather quickly, 
 " Yes, Miss Louisa, it is Mr. Bruce. He is going into
 
 CLEVE HALL. 87 
 
 Cleve this afternoon, to look about him. I think, 
 Ma'am, if you are thinking of the shore you had best 
 make haste, if you will excuse my saying so ; the tide 
 will be on the turn soon." She moved away. 
 
 " There now," and Louisa clapped her hands ; 
 *•' didn't I say it was Mr. Bruce ? I am always right. 
 What is he like, Rachel?" 
 
 " Oh ! I don't know. I only saw him for a moment. 
 He came into the room with Papa, and said how d'ye 
 do ; but of course I didn't stare at him." 
 
 " I should have stared, though," whispered Louisa. 
 " I think he looks very like a sailor." 
 
 " I wish I could have asked him how he felt when 
 he believed he was going to be drowned," said Rachel, 
 very thoughtfully. " Papa told me once, that some 
 people, when they have been nearly drowned, have 
 had all their lives come back to them, — all they have 
 done." 
 
 She stopped suddenly, as if trying to realise the 
 idea. Bertha lingered also. 
 
 " Do you think it is so ? Do you think it is pos- 
 sible ? " said Rachel. 
 
 " Quite possible, dear Rachel.'* 
 
 " But do you think it is so ?" 
 
 " Yes, if people say it." 
 
 " And do they look like other people, and come 
 back and live amongst them, as they did before ? " 
 
 " They look like others, — one may hope they don't 
 live quite like them." 
 
 " Then, Miss Campbell," and Rachel clung closely 
 to Bertha's side, and her voice was full of awe, " I 
 wish that God would let me be nearly drowned." 
 04
 
 88 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Bertha half started. 
 
 " It isn't wicked, is it ? " continued Rachel, anx- 
 iously, as she watched the expression of Bertha's 
 countenance. " But I would bear any thing, yes, 
 any thing in all the world, to be very, wonderfully 
 good. Wouldn't you?" In her enthusiasm she 
 caught Bertha's hand, and held it as they walked on 
 together. 
 
 " Yes indeed, Rachel ; " and Bertha's cold, calm 
 eyes sparkled with a lightning flash of animation. 
 
 " Wonderfully good," continued Rachel ; " not a 
 little good, but, oh!" and she drew a long breath, 
 "so very, very, — beyond all thought. Will God 
 make us so, if we wish it ? " 
 
 Bertha hesitated. " We may hope He will, if we 
 can bear the means." 
 
 There was a pause ; and then Bertha heard, almost 
 in a whisper, the words, " I would try." 
 
 Rachel seemed considering something deeply ; and 
 after a few seconds, resuming her natural tone, said : 
 " Is there any harm in thinking about it a great deal, 
 and liking it, in a way ? " 
 
 " What do you mean, Rachel?" 
 
 " I can't exactly explain ; but don't you know how 
 Ella likes to read about knights, and tournaments, 
 and persons being brave and generous, — what one 
 reads in Froissart, and those books ? " 
 
 " Yes ; well : " and Bertha turned to her with an 
 air of mingled wonder and interest. 
 
 " Then, when Ella reads about such things, and 
 gets into a way about them, I never feel as she does ; 
 but I do feel it when I read about martyrs, and people
 
 CLEVE IIALL. 89 
 
 who have been so good ; and it makes my heart beat 
 fast, and my head seems almost dizzy, as if I could do 
 any thing to be like them. Is it wrong ? " 
 
 " Of course not, dear Rachel ; you can't help it." 
 
 " But do you ever feel it ?" 
 
 The answer was low and doubtful : " I hope I do." 
 
 " I don't think all people do," continued Rachel ; 
 " and it puzzles me, and sometimes I think that, 
 perhaps, it is being proud and presumptuous to long 
 to be first in any thing." 
 
 " We can only be first by being last in those 
 things," said Bertha. 
 
 " No ; and perhaps I am not willing to be last : and 
 
 yet it seems " she hesitated, and added : " Aunt 
 
 Mildred says she should not wish for the glory, if she 
 might only have the love." 
 
 Bertha's eyes glistened. 
 
 " Aunt Mildred would be so glad if she could have 
 you to talk to as I have," continued Rachel, eagerly. 
 
 " Aunt Mildred doesn't know any thing about 
 me," replied Bertha ; whilst her manner became in a 
 moment constrained. 
 
 " I talk to her about you," said Rachel, " and she 
 very often says she should like to see you. Will you 
 go with me to the Hall, some day ? " 
 
 " Aunt Mildred is very kind, and talks about 
 things which interest you, Rachel," replied Bertha ; 
 " but I don't believe she would really like to see me." 
 
 " Not if she says it ? " exclaimed Rachel. " Oh, 
 Miss Campbell! then she would say what was not 
 true." 
 
 " She would like to see me for your sake," replied
 
 90 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Bertha, in the same tone of cold reserve ; " she 
 would not wish it for her own." 
 
 The conversation dropped. When Bertha assumed 
 this peculiar manner she was impenetrable. 
 
 Rachel was chilled, yet she was very fond of Bertha 
 Campbell; she had an intuitive appreciation of her 
 excellence, — a conviction that upon the points 
 nearest her own heart she might obtain sympathy 
 from her. Might ! for it was never certain. Bertha 
 was unable to bring out her own feelings ; perhaps 
 even she was uncertain that she had them, and often 
 she expressed wonder when Kachel expected sym- 
 pathy. Yet Rachel's simple, true devotion, and her 
 open-hearted warmth of affection, often touched a 
 chord in Bertha's heart which seemed to unlock a 
 new source of untold pleasure. Love in religion was 
 very new to her. "She had been educated with a 
 dread of expressing strong feeling of any kind ; and 
 had known fatal results from the indulgence of what 
 she had been taught to call enthusiasm ; and so she 
 always suspected that evil must lurk under it. 
 
 Yet she could not warn Rachel, still less in any 
 way reprove her. Even when unable to comprehend 
 her, she could see that Rachel possessed something 
 which was wanting in herself, and which would make 
 her life much happier. Perhaps the charm was all 
 the greater because it seemed beyond her reach. She 
 felt as though Rachel belonged to a different race, 
 and as if by being with her a vent was opened for the 
 latent poetry of feeling which, unknown to herself, 
 was unquestionably a part of her own character. 
 
 They reached the shore: the wind had gone
 
 CLEVE HALL. 91 
 
 down rapidly since the morning, and now the sea 
 was as calm as if the wrathful tempest had never 
 passed over it. The hulk of the dismantled vessel, 
 however, bore witness to its fatal work, and the 
 shore was covered with persons groping about in 
 the hope of picking up something that might be 
 worth carrying away. Bertha had forgotten this 
 possibility, and when she saw the numbers assembled 
 her first impulse was to go back. Louisa strongly 
 opposed the idea, and Fanny nearly cried with dis- 
 appointment. 
 
 " You know, Aunt Bertha," said Louisa, " that if 
 we go back we shall have had no walk at all to 
 speak of, and Grandmamma wishes " 
 
 "I am the best judge of Grandmamma's wishes, 
 Louisa: there are too many people here, a great 
 deal. I can't possibly let you go amongst them." 
 
 Rachel gazed wistfully on the vessel. " The tide 
 is so far out that we could have gone quite close to 
 it," she said. " How unfortunate ! " 
 
 "And it will be all to pieces in a day or two," 
 observed Louisa. " Goff says there isn't a chance 
 for it." 
 
 "Goff, my dear Louisa! hov/ do you know any 
 thing of what he thinks ?" 
 
 " Oh ! because a man came to the back door when 
 Fanny and I were in the garden this morning, and 
 we heard him talking to Betsey, and telling what the 
 people in the village said." 
 
 "Always listening," was Bertha's comment: to 
 which Louisa replied, with a blush, that she could 
 not help hearing what was said quite close to hci- ;
 
 92 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 adding, however, directly afterwards, "That is, I 
 think I might have got out of the way if I had 
 wished it." 
 
 " I should like Ronald to be here to tell us where 
 the rock was that Mr. Bruce was clinging to," said 
 Rachel, as they stood upon the sununit of the cliff 
 and looked down. 
 
 Bertha had appeared uninterested before, but she 
 woke up at the observation. " It was the farthest 
 of those great rocks you see out towards the point," 
 she said. 
 
 " Oh ! the Lion, and the Bear, and the Fox, we 
 always call them," exclaimed Fanny. " It must 
 have been the Lion, for that has the most sea-weed 
 growing upon it." 
 
 " Yes, the Lion's Mane, as Ella calls it," observed 
 Louisa. " She said one day she meant to write some 
 verses about it. I dare say she will, now there has 
 been such an adventure." 
 
 " And Ronald will be the hero ! " exclaimed Fanny, 
 clapping her hands. " Won't it be fan, Rachel ? " 
 
 Rachel did not answer directly. 
 
 " Shouldn't you like Ella to write something about 
 it ? " again inquired Fanny. 
 
 " I don't quite know ; I don't think I should like 
 Ronald to be written about, at least not in that way." 
 
 " Rachel, how absurd ! " exclaimed Louisa. " Why 
 not?" 
 
 Bertha listened attentively to the reply. 
 
 " I can't exactly say ; it is something I feel, but 
 Miss Campbell will know;" and Rachel turned to 
 Bertha, feeling at once that the was speaking to some
 
 CLEVE HALL. 93 
 
 one who would understand without words. "If 
 Ella could write just what Ronald felt, I shouldn't 
 care," she continued. " But then how could she ? " 
 
 " She might imagine it," said Louisa. 
 
 " But if it were imagination, it wouldn't be true." 
 
 "And it must be some one different from Ella to 
 understand Ronald truly," said Bertha, in a low 
 voice. 
 
 " Thank you, thank you ; that was just what I 
 meant, only I couldn't explain." 
 
 Louisa and Fanny moved away, not caring for the 
 explanation. Rachel held Bertha's hand, and drew 
 her nearer to the edge of the cliff. Her eyes were 
 riveted on the rock, and a long time elapsed before 
 she spoke. At last, without any preface, she said, 
 " Miss Campbell, is Ronald good ? " 
 
 Silence was her answer ; and wdien she looked 
 round, a tear was rolling down Bertha's cheek. Ra- 
 chel asked no more questions, but followed Louisa 
 and Fanny ; and Bertha was left alone. 
 
 The children seated themselves on a bench placed 
 on the top of the cliff. Louisa and Fanny were suf- 
 ficiently amused by watching what was going on 
 below; and even Rachel, though she occasionally 
 glanced at the spot where Bertha was standing, soon 
 entered into their interest, and laughed more merrily 
 than either. 
 
 " A beautiful evening, young ladies," said a voice 
 behind them. Rachel started, and involuntarily stood 
 up to move away, when she saw Captain Vivian. 
 
 "Come down to see the fan, I suppose? " he con- 
 tinued.
 
 94 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 "Yes, thank you, I think, — Louisa, had we not 
 better go to your Aunt ? " 
 
 " Oh ! never mind me ; don't let me interrupt you. 
 How d'ye do, Miss Campbell ? " and Captain Vivian 
 held out his hand to Bertha, who at that moment 
 came up. Bertha greeted him formally and a sign 
 to the children told them they were to go on ; and 
 with an instinctive terror of Captain Vivian, they 
 ran till they were quite beyond the reach of his 
 voice. 
 
 " It's a long time since we met to talk, Miss Camp- 
 bell. I've been away a good deal till lately. But 
 you are looking as if the sea air agreed with you." 
 
 He evidently meant to be courteous ; and though 
 Bertha was so pale as to belie the compliment which 
 had been paid her, she showed no wish to shun the 
 interview. 
 
 " I scarcely expected to find you at Encombe, when 
 we came here. Captain Vivian," she said. 
 
 "You thought I should keep farther from the 
 General's quarters. Well, perhaps it might be just 
 as well if I did ; but there's something in the sight of 
 old ocean after all which tempts a man, when he's 
 been used to it; and the Grange was empty, and 
 so Ronald and I have e'en taken up our quarters 
 there." 
 
 'Ronald is as fond of the sea as yourself," re- 
 marked Bertha. 
 
 " Perhaps he may be, but he's a strange fellow is 
 Ronald ; one never knows what he will be at." 
 
 " His taste for the sea was a taste from infancy," 
 said Bertha. " I remember "
 
 CLEVE HALL. 95 
 
 He interrupted her quickly : " Yes, yes. You are 
 right; he always had a taste for it; but he's too 
 old." 
 
 " For the naval service ? yes," replied Bertha, ti- 
 midly. 
 
 " For any service, unless I choose it ; " and in an 
 instant an angry flush overspread Captain Vivian's 
 face, whilst he muttered to himself, " Am I never to 
 be left alone ? " 
 
 Bertha stood her ground. " We have not met for 
 so long, Captain Vivian," she. said, "that you must 
 forgive me if I touch upon unwelcome subjects." 
 
 " I don't know what long acquaintance it requires 
 to learn that interference must always be unwelcome," 
 he replied. "But you are one of Mr. Lester's apt 
 scholars. Miss Bertha." 
 
 "My interference, if you call it such," replied 
 Bertha, "dates long before my acquaintance with 
 Mr. Lester." 
 
 " Then it is the old story," he exclaimed. " I should 
 have thought that years might have taught you 
 wisdom." 
 
 " I trust they have in some measure," replied Ber- 
 tha; "but they have not taught me that there is 
 either wisdom or goodness in looking with indiffer- 
 ence upon the child of " 
 
 He interrupted her, and his manner changed into 
 patronising indifference. 
 
 " We won't quarrel. Miss Bertha ; we have had 
 enough of that in our day. Since we are neighbours, 
 we may as well be friendly when we meet."
 
 96 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Quite as well," said Bertha ; " if we are to meet 
 at all." 
 
 He seemed a little piqued, and answered hastily, 
 " Oh ! then you had thought of cutting me, had 
 you ? The way of the world ; off with old friends, 
 and on with new." 
 
 "I could not have supposed that you would look 
 upon me as a friend," replied Bertha. "It was 
 scarcely the light in which I was regarded in former 
 times." 
 
 He bit his lip. " I didn't mean, — of course, I 
 never supposed you would bear malice." 
 
 " I have nothing to bear malice for, Captain Vi- 
 vian," replied Bertha; "I was not the person to 
 suffer." And there was a stress upon the pronoun 
 which made the coarse, rough man, whom she ad- 
 dressed, shrink as Avith the touch of some sudden 
 pain. 
 
 " I don't know why you are so fond of going back 
 to those old times," he said. " Why can't we meet, 
 and forget them ? " 
 
 " Because," replied Bertha, boldly, " they are the 
 only grounds upon which our acquaintance can pos- 
 sibly rest. You must be fully aware, Captain Vi- 
 vian, that if we were now, for the first time, living 
 in the same village, we could never be any thing to 
 each other but strangers." 
 
 " Too proud ! " he exclaimed, in a tone which yet 
 had very little pride in it. " Aiming at the Hall, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 "Aiming at nothing, I hope," replied Bertha, as 
 she fixed her eyes upon him, till his sank beneath
 
 CLEVE HALL. 97 
 
 their gaze ; " but the man who has brought exile, and 
 disgrace, and poverty into a family, can little expect 
 to be received as a friend." 
 
 His face became deadly pale : twice he tried to 
 speak, and twice the words seemed kept back by some 
 violent inward agitation. 
 
 " I know more than I once did, you see," continued 
 Bertha. 
 
 " Ay ! from that meddling, false-hearted " he 
 
 was going to add a string of violent epithets to Mr. 
 Lester's name, but Bertha prevented him. Her cold, 
 quiet, womanly dignity seemed to have a strange 
 power over him. 
 
 " Mr. Lester is my friend," she said. " If he can 
 be mentioned in terms of respect, well ; if not, this 
 is the first and last time. Captain Vivian, that I will 
 hear his name from your lips." 
 
 " And what has he been telling you, then ? " 
 
 The question was put anxiously, and with a certain 
 tone of deference. 
 
 " It must be only painful, and quite unnecessary, for 
 me to repeat what you already know so well," replied 
 Bertha. " It is sufficient, that after having assisted 
 to ruin the prospects of the father, you yet have it 
 in your power to show repentance by your conduct 
 to the son. Edward Vivian's fate would have been 
 very different from what it is but for your influence. 
 Clement may be restored to all that his father has 
 lost, if only you will not stand in his way." 
 
 " I stand in his way ! " and the laugh which ac- 
 companied the words made Bertha shrink. " Why, 
 one would think I was the old General's ally, likely to 
 
 YOL. I. H
 
 98 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 come over him "with smooth words. How can I stand 
 in the boy's way ? " 
 
 " You are the General's enemy," replied Bertha. 
 
 " And if I am, what's that to any one but myself." 
 
 " It may be very much to Clement, if his grand- 
 father thinks that he is your friend," replied Bertha. 
 
 " Tut, tut ! " he exclaimed, impatiently ; " this is 
 all idle talking, Miss Bertha. The boy's a fine fellow 
 enough, and likes free air and sea breezes; and Ronald 
 has taken to him — and where's the harm?" 
 
 "Merely," replied Bertha, coldly, "that Eonald's 
 friendship is a sin in General Vivian's eyes." 
 
 " But if it is no sin in reality, since you will harp 
 upon the old question of conscience." 
 
 " It must be sin to Clement," replied Bertha, 
 " when it is against the wishes of all his friends." 
 
 "What is that to me? let his friends take care of 
 him." 
 
 " His friends have very little power, as I suspect you 
 know full well by this time, Captain Vivian," replied 
 Bertha. " My mother is too infirm, and has indulged 
 him too much for years. Mr. Lester is most kind, 
 but he has only authority over his lessons. Clement 
 is left, most unhappily, to himself; and his whole suc- 
 cess iiji life depends upon the favour of his grand- 
 father. Is it a very hard thing to ask that you 
 should not interfere to mar his prospects ? " 
 
 " I have told you before," he exclaimed " that 
 there is no interference on my part. It is Eonald's 
 doing, if there is any thing of the kind ; but I don't 
 see it : they are together every now and then." 
 
 "' And not alone," continued Bertha ; "' Ronald's
 
 CLEVE HALL. 99 
 
 companions become Clement's also — Goff, for in- 
 stance." 
 
 " Pshaw ! if you are as squeamish as that, you 
 must needs shut your boy up in a glass case. But I'll 
 say one thing to you, Miss Bertha ; you have shown 
 me a bit of your mind, you must needs let me show 
 you a bit of mine. Fair play's a jewel. Don't you in- 
 terfere with my game, if you want me not to interfere 
 with yours. Remember my boy is not to be preached 
 over into a milksop, and his head filled with fancies 
 of merchant service, and all that nonsense. Ronald 
 will be what I choose to make him ; and I give you 
 warning, that if there's any attempt to turn him 
 another way, I'll be your match." 
 
 Bertha changed colour, but the determined lines of 
 her mouth became more marked as she said, " Cap- 
 tain Vivian, you may threaten, but you will not 
 frighten me ; the promise which I made to Marian 
 on her death-bed will be kept, God helping me, 
 before all others." 
 
 A storm of fearful passion was visible in Captain 
 Vivian's dark countenance, but Bertha regarded him 
 with perfect calmness ; and as again her searching 
 gaze rested on him, the exclamation which was about 
 to escape his lips was checked, and muttering be- 
 tween his teeth, " Do your will, and take the conse- 
 quences," he turned from her without another word. 
 
 H 2
 
 100 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 Three days had passed since the storm. The 
 weather had become very warm ; it would have been 
 i:ppressive but for the soft air, just sufficient to stir 
 the foliage of the trees before the windows of 
 Mildred Vivian's apartment. The flower-beds, dis- 
 ordered by the rush of the tempest, were again re- 
 stored to their usual appearance of trim neatness; 
 the lawn was newly mown, and Mildred, lying on her 
 sofa by the open window, appeared to be thoroughly 
 enjoying the luxurious repose of the morning. 
 
 Yes, thoroughly enjoying it ; no one could have 
 doubted that, notwithstanding the thin, drawn look of 
 her features, their habitual expression of bodily pain. 
 She was reading, or perhaps, more strictly speaking, 
 intending to read ; for although a book lay open before 
 her, her eyes wandered chiefly amongst the flowers, 
 or pursued the course of the buzzing insects and 
 fluttering birds, following them as they rose in the 
 air, and resting with an expression of longing thank- 
 fulness upon the depth of the blue heavens. Such 
 extreme quietness as there was in that secluded 
 garden at Cleve Hall might have been very trying 
 to many, even on a brilliant summer's day ; but it was 
 part of Mildred's home, associated with all that she 
 had ever loved : and where others Avould have dwelt
 
 CLEVE HALL. 101 
 
 mournfully on past joys, she had taught herself to be 
 happy, and to seize on present blessings. 
 
 A little door, leading into the more public part of 
 the grounds, opened, and a tall, grey -haired man, who 
 had certainly reached, and probably passed, the age of 
 seventy, entered the garden. He walked proudly, 
 and with tolerable firmness, and the stick which he 
 carried was no support to him ; his head was raised, 
 his chin slightly elevated — perhaps that added to 
 the self-possessed, self-dependent look, which was the 
 first impression conveyed by his handsome features. 
 For he was strikingly handsome — the forehead high, 
 the nose just sufficiently aquiline for dignity, the 
 dark blue eyes quick and piercing, the mouth — the 
 real character was inscribed there ; but we will leave 
 it for words to tell. 
 
 He sat down by Mildred's sofa, slowly — he had 
 been sufiering from rheumatism — and he bit his lips 
 as if in pain ; but Mildred did not ask him how he 
 was, but waited for him to break the silence. 
 
 " I have been round the park, Mildred ; the storm 
 has done a good deal of mischief" 
 
 " Has it indeed, Sir ? I thought there were no trees 
 blown down." 
 
 " Who told you that ? " he asked quickly. 
 
 " I forget. Sir, who ; but I understood it." 
 
 " Then they deceived you, Mildred ; purposely per- 
 haps," he added in an under-tone. " The Great Black 
 Oak, of five hundred years' standing, is down, child. 
 But what does it matter?" He tried to laugh. "It 
 only follows the family fortunes." 
 
 " I hoped it was to be the type of their remaining 
 
 H 3
 
 102 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 firm," said Mildred, assuming a lighter tone ; " but it 
 is best not to think about such things." 
 
 " Do you never think about them, then ? " he con- 
 tinued, regarding her with an expression of tenderness 
 which was at variance with the accent of his voice. 
 
 " Sometimes I do, dear Sir ; but I don't think it is 
 wise." 
 
 " No, child ; no, it is not at all wise : but I thought 
 I would tell you myself, lest you should fret." 
 
 " It was very kind," replied Mildred, in an absent 
 tone; then breaking suddenly into another subject, 
 she asked, " Did you go beyond the park. Sir ? " 
 
 " No, I meant to go ; but my back was stiff, so I 
 turned back; — Prince was troublesome too." 
 
 " Prince has not exercise enough. Sir ; I wish you 
 would let Groves take him out regularly." 
 
 " And throw him down ; that won't do, Mildred, 
 No, if Prince grows too strong for his master, he 
 must seek another." 
 
 " I hope not. Sir ; you wouldn't bear to part with 
 him." 
 
 " Would I not ? " A smile of resolution almost for- 
 bidding crossed his face ; " then, Mildred, you know 
 nothing about me." 
 
 " I don't mean that you would not do anything, or 
 part with anything, that you considered right. Sir,'' 
 began Mildred. 
 
 He caught up her words — " Considered right, that 
 is what you always say ; is right — it ought to be." 
 
 Mildred was silent. 
 
 " Is right," he continued, speaking his own thoughts 
 rather than addressing her ; " I set off in life with
 
 CLEVE HALL. 103 
 
 that motto, and I have followed it. Who can have done 
 so more ? who can have sacrificed more ? — eh ! Mil- 
 dred?" 
 
 " Certainly, Sir ; no one can doubt your principle," 
 replied Mildred, keeping her eyes upon the work 
 which she had taken up since her father entered. 
 
 " Only it is a principle you don't agree with. What 
 woman ever did ? " 
 
 " Women's feelings carry them away, so it is said," 
 replied Mildred with a smile. " But, my dear father, 
 why should we go over the old ground ? " 
 
 " Well ! as you say, why should we ? " and he sighed 
 deeply. 
 
 Mildred laid her thin, white hand upon the scanty 
 grey hairs which covered his head, and as she fondly 
 smoothed them, said, " If I could make you listen to 
 my principle instead of to your own, I should ask 
 such a great favour." He would not turn to look at 
 her, hut he suffered her to kiss his forehead ; and she 
 added, in a tone so low that it was almost a whisper, 
 " Would it vex you very much if Ella were to come 
 and see me ? " 
 
 Very striking it was, the change which passed over 
 his face. Its expression had been gentle and sad the 
 moment before, gentle notwithstanding the unyielding 
 determination which was described by the lines of his 
 mouth, and which broke forth in the tones of his 
 voice ; but even as Mildred spoke, it was gone, con- 
 quered, as it would have seemed, by some sudden men- 
 tal suifering which he could not control, yet against 
 which he struggled with all the intensity of an un- 
 governable will. 
 
 H 4
 
 104 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Mildred must have known the effect her words 
 would have, yet she seemed neither to watch nor wait, 
 nor be anxious for his reply. She took up her work, 
 and tried to thread her needle, but her hand was un- 
 steady; the cotton rolled upon the floor, and she 
 bent over the side of the sofa to pick it up. He saw 
 her movement, and stooped too, but it was an effort; 
 and as he raised himself again, he said bitterly, 
 
 "Your father is an old man, Mildred. Wait but 
 a little while, and you may do as you wish without 
 asking." 
 
 " It will be too late to have any wish then. Sir," 
 said Mildred quietly. 
 
 He leaned back in the arm-chair, resting his hand 
 upon the stick which he laid across it. His tone was 
 still constrained as he said, " How long have you had 
 this new fancy ? " 
 
 " It is a very old one, dear Sir," replied Mildred : 
 " I can never see the children by going to them." 
 
 " And their grandmother knew that ; crafty old 
 woman that she is ! " 
 
 "But the children. Sir," said Mildred, humbly; 
 " must they suffer ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you what, Mildred " — General Vivian rose 
 from his chair with an energy which for the moment 
 conquered the infirmities of age — " there is no more 
 cunning, designing old fox in England than that 
 woman ; but I'll outwit her." 
 
 "We don't like her, certainly. Sir, either of us," 
 said Mildred ; " but then so much the more reason, 
 perhaps, for taking the children from her ; don't you 
 think so ? "
 
 CLEVE HALL. 105 
 
 " And so give lier cause to triumph over us ! 
 What made her bring them here but the determina- 
 tion to thrust them upon me ? No, Mildred, let them 
 alone — Campbells and Vivians — Campbells and 
 Vivians," he repeated, muttering the words ; "it 
 can't be ; it vi^asn't meant to be." 
 
 " But the children are Vivians, dear Sir," said Mil- 
 dred. She was afraid then, for she looked up at 
 him stealthily. "Yes," he said, pondering upon 
 the words ; and Mildred heard him add, as he turned 
 away from her, " and so are others." 
 
 " Clement is very young," observed Mildred, re- 
 plying to his thoughts, rather than his words. 
 
 " And therefore the more sure a victim," he ex- 
 claimed, impetuously ; the volcano, which had been 
 working secretly, bursting forth. " Am I blind, Mil- 
 dred ? Can I not see the boy's course as plainly as 
 if it were written in letters of fire before me ? And 
 is all to be sacrificed ; all for which I have striven 
 in life — the inheritance of my ancestors ; the good 
 of my people ; the honourable name, to attain which 
 I have practised the self-denial of years ? But let it 
 go," he continued, moodily ; " since even you, Mildred, 
 cannot value it." He moved to the window, and 
 stood there, listening, it might have seemed, to the 
 note of the wood-pigeon, and the plashing of the 
 fountain in the garden. 
 
 Mildred's hands were clasped together, possibly 
 in suffering, but more probably in prayer. Hers 
 was not a face to betray much internal agitation — 
 perhaps she had been too much accustomed to these 
 scenes to be startled or deeply pained by them — but
 
 106 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 something of the hopeful expression passed from her 
 face as, after the lapse of a few seconds, she said, 
 verj slowly, " I can see the risk, dear Sir ; but I can 
 see the duty to the children also." 
 
 " I will do my duty by them," he replied, quickly. 
 " I will help the boy. Let him go to college : I will 
 support him there. Let him show that there is yet 
 something left in the Vivian blood which I need not 
 blush to own, and I may even do more. And the 
 girls shall not want, Campbells though they are — 
 Campbells in every look and motion — they shall 
 have aid too, as and when I see fit. But it shall not 
 be extorted from me, Mildred : it shall be at my own 
 time. They shall see that nothing has been gained, 
 rather that every thing has been lost, by thrusting 
 them upon me." 
 
 " It was a great mistake of Mrs. Campbell, almost 
 wrong indeed," said Mildred ; " but we only give her 
 a just cause for complaint, so at least it seems to 
 me, by neglecting our own share of duty to the 
 children." 
 
 "I don't acknowledge the duty," he replied, 
 sternly. 
 
 Mildred hesitated. " Then, dear Sir, if not from 
 duty to them, at least from kindness to me. It would 
 be such a great" — satisfaction she was going to say, 
 but the word was changed into "pleasure." She 
 looked at him pleadingly, but his head was turned 
 away ; he did not or would not hear. 
 
 " There is too much draught for you here," he 
 said, abruptly ; " they must move your sofi back." 
 He put his hand out to touch the bell. Mildred
 
 CLEVE HALL. 107 
 
 stopped liim : " Only one moment, dear Sir ; indeed it 
 won't hurt me." 
 
 He looked impatient, and his eye wandered to the 
 door, which was open. A light breeze rushed 
 through the room, and partially blew aside a green 
 silk curtain which hung at the lower end. The 
 edge of the curtain was caught by the point of an 
 old oak chair, and the picture which it covered was 
 displayed to view. It represented three figures : 
 one was Mildred, kneeling against a garden seat, 
 her arm thrown around the neck of a young girl, 
 who was seated with a book in her lap, which both 
 seemed to be studying. They were very unlike — 
 Mildred's face so thoughtful even in its youthful 
 happiness ; her sister's — for it was evident they 
 were sisters, — so brilliant, intelligent, inquisitive, 
 joyous, and with something in it of her father's 
 commanding spirit, to which Mildred, as she clung 
 to her, seemed only too willing to submit. Behind 
 them stood a boy, apparently some years older, tall, 
 erect, noble-looking; with the open forehead, the 
 slightly aquiline nose, and piercing eye which marked 
 him for the son of General Vivian ; but also with 
 the full lip and self-indulgent yielding outline of the 
 small mouth, which showed that in some points, and 
 those perhaps the most essential for success and 
 honour in life, the father and the child could never 
 be one. 
 
 It was scarcely a glance which General Vivian 
 cast at the picture ; but it made Mildred's cheek 
 almost livid, whilst she watched him, as he walked to 
 the end of the room, and deliberately replaced the
 
 108 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 curtain, and removed the oak chair, so that the same 
 thing might not happen a second time, and then 
 returned to seat himself once more by her side, his 
 countenance perhaps a shade more stern than it was 
 before. Mildred did not wait for an observation 
 from him. She spoke hurriedly, apparently saying 
 what she scarcely intended or wished to say. 
 
 " Ella should be very little in your way, dear Sir." 
 
 A pause, and silence — this time not wilful : the 
 old man's eyes were bent upon the ground, his 
 thoughts perhaps wandering back into far distant 
 years. He did not catch her words. A dog's bark 
 was heard. 
 
 "It must be Clement," said Mildred, in a timid 
 voice. 
 
 General Vivian started. 
 
 " Do as you will, child ; " and he stood up to leave 
 her, just as Clement, rushing through the garden, 
 entered by the window. 
 
 " Clement, don't you see your grandfather ? " Mil- 
 dred spoke reprovingly, for the boy's first impulse 
 was to rush up to her sofa ; and a smile of displeasure 
 curled General Vivian's lips as he observed the hasty 
 self-recollection, mingled with fear, which made the 
 blood rise in Clement's cheek, whilst, shyly ap- 
 proaching, he muttered an apology. The excuse was 
 received coldly, and Clement's colour deepened, and 
 he looked at the window, wishing evidently to make 
 his escape. 
 
 "Eeverence to elders is not one of the lessons 
 taught in modern education," said General Vivian, 
 addressing Mildred, " so we must not, I suppose, ex- 
 pect too much."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 109 
 
 Mildred smiled. " Clement is not generally so 
 forgetful, my dear father ; but you did not think 
 of finding any one here except me, Clement, did 
 you?" 
 
 "I thought Mr. Lester might be here," replied 
 Clement, a little sulkily ; "and I was going to ask him 
 to order me some fishing-flies in Cleve." 
 
 " He is going over there, is he ? " asked Mildred 
 in a tone of interest. 
 
 " Yes, so he said, to see Mr. Bruce." 
 
 "Is that the gentleman who was saved in the 
 storm ? " 
 
 " Yes, the man whom Eonald saved," said Clement. 
 
 There was a quick flash in General Vivian's eye, 
 and he sat down. Mildred went on : — 
 
 "And so you want some fishing-flies, do you, 
 Clement ? " 
 
 "Yes, like some that Goff got for Ronald: he 
 means to show me how to use them." 
 
 " Who ! Goff ? " inquired Mildred, quickly. 
 
 " Oh ! no, not he ; Ronald. There used to be fa- 
 mous sport at the last place he was at, so he's quite 
 up in it. Goif laughs at that sober kind of work, 
 and says there's no fun like that of catching fish at 
 night, with lights on a river, which is never done 
 here." 
 
 " That is poacher's work very often," said Mildred. 
 
 " I don't know where the right is of preserving 
 fish for one man more than another," replied Clement. 
 " Goff says " 
 
 Mildred interrupted him. "Why, Clement, one 
 •would think that Gofi* was your tutor." 
 
 Clement laughed. " Well, he is a kind of tutor in
 
 110 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 some things ; he and Captain Vivian are such know- 
 ing fellows ; up to so many things." 
 
 " They are up to teaching you slang," said Mildred. 
 " I wish they may do nothing worse. What does 
 Mr. Lester say to their instruction ? " 
 
 " Oh ! he hasn't much to do with it so long as I am 
 in for hours." 
 
 Mildred looked at her father, who was leaning back 
 in the arm chair, with his eye fixed upon the carpet. 
 
 " Hardman, the gamekeeper, fishes too," she said, 
 timidly, addressing General Vivian ; " he might be a 
 better master than Ronald. Don't you think so, Sir ? " 
 
 " Clement chooses his own friends," was the reply. 
 
 "Not quite, I think," replied Mildred ; "he would 
 not wish to have any friends whom you might dis- 
 approve." 
 
 " I don't want to make friends," said Clement ; " I 
 only want some one to go fishing with, and put me 
 in the way of it." 
 
 "And if Hardman could teach you as well as 
 Konald, you would be as well contented to have him," 
 observed Mildred. 
 
 Clement looked annoyed, and muttered something 
 about Hardman being a bore. 
 
 " Of course," observed General Vivian, coldly, " it 
 is Ronald's society which is the point. I have told 
 you so before," he added, speaking to Mildred. 
 
 "Grandpapa doesn't wish you to make friends 
 with Ronald," said Mildred. 
 
 " I have no one else to be friends with," replied 
 Clement quickly. He did not intend to be imper- 
 tinent, but he was irritated, and his tone was cer- 
 tainly wanting in respect.
 
 CLEVE HALL. Ill 
 
 Mildred looked very pained. " Oh, Clement ! " and 
 Clement in a moment recovered himself. 
 
 " I beg your pardon, Sir, I didn't mean any harm ; 
 only it's dull going out alone, and not much better 
 with Hardman." 
 
 "And so you choose Mr. Ronald Vivian for a 
 companion. I warn you once for all, my boy" — and 
 General Vivian leaned forward, and fixed his eager 
 eye upon his grandson with an expression of au- 
 thority beneath which Clement actually quailed: 
 " There are two roads before you, — one leads to 
 Heaven, the other ' — I leave you to guess where ; — if 
 you want to travel that way, follow Ronald Vivian." 
 
 " It's not true," exclaimed Clement, impetuously ; 
 but he was stopped by Mildred. 
 
 " Clement, Clement, remember he is your grand- 
 father ; remember. Dear Sir ! he doesn't mean it." 
 
 "Don't be afraid, Mildred, I understand him quite. 
 He has had my warning, let him attend to it." 
 
 General Vivian left the room ; Clement knelt on 
 one knee by Mildred's sofa. 
 
 " Aunt Mildred, why does he speak so ? Why does 
 he hurt me so ? What makes him say such cruel things 
 of Ronald?" 
 
 Mildred put her hand before his mouth : " Clement, 
 you are talking of your grandfather." 
 
 He drew back and stood up proudly : " If he were 
 twenty times my grandfiither, what he says of Ronald 
 is false." 
 
 Mildred did not speak ; a pink spot, the flush of 
 mental agitation, burned upon her cheeks. 
 
 Clement's tone softened : " Aunt Mildred, you know 
 that it is false."
 
 112 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 "No, Clement " — Mildred's voice was low, and her 
 breath came with difficulty; "it is true, — for you 
 wilfully to follow Ronald Vivian would lead you to 
 destruction, for it would be disobedience." 
 
 "But when grandpapa is unjust, unfair — when he 
 doesn't know Ronald — when he doesn't even speak 
 to him! Why Mr. Lester allows that there is the 
 spirit of a hero in Ronald, if it could but be brought 
 out." 
 
 " But you cannot be the person to do it, Clement," 
 said Mildred, gently. 
 
 " I don't see that ; I am more of a gentleman. I 
 can tell him a good many things which he never knew 
 of, and he often asks my opinion ; " a gleam of self- 
 gratulation passed over Clement's face as he spoke. 
 
 Mildred laid her hand upon his : " Dear Clement, at 
 your age, you have enough to do to keep yourself 
 straight ; it is bettec not to think of others." 
 
 "But Ronald is not what they say," exclaimed 
 Clement, shrinking from the implied censure ; " if he 
 were " 
 
 " That is nothing to the point ; at your age there 
 is only one course open to you — to obey:" and as 
 Clement's expressive mouth showed how his spirit 
 rebelled against the word, Mildred added, " I know 
 it seems very hard to do so without comprehending 
 why." 
 
 " Yes, it is very hard, Aunt Mildred ; and no one 
 will talk to me about things plainly, and I hate mys- 
 teries. Won't you tell me what it all means?" 
 
 Mildred hesitated for a moment, and then said : " I 
 think you must know it all. Captain Vivian and your
 
 CLEVE HALL. 113 
 
 father were friends once ; but it would have been 
 better for them if they had not been. Captain Vivian 
 led your father to do things which your grandfather 
 disapproved, and he was very angry, and " 
 
 " Disinherited him," said Clement. 
 
 " Yes." The word was uttered very abruptly, and 
 Mildred continued : " Your Grandfather is afraid now 
 that Ronald may have the same influence over you." 
 
 "And so he is unjust to him !" exclaimed Clement. 
 
 Mildred smiled, and pointed to a seat. " Clement, 
 may I give you a lecture ? " 
 
 Clement sat do\YB. half moodily. 
 
 " That was just as your father used to look in the 
 old days," she continued, with a mixture of sadness 
 and playfulness. " I used to lecture him sometimes, 
 Clement, though he was much older than I was." 
 
 There was something indescribably winning in her 
 tone, and Clement's face relaxed. " I hate lectures. 
 Aunt Mildred," he said, " and I have such a number." 
 
 "From Mr. Lester?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't mind his ; but Aunt Bertha is at me 
 from morning till night, and I can't stand it. It 
 makes me say sharp things when I don't wish it." 
 
 " And then she is vexed, and lectures a little more .'"' 
 asked Mildred. 
 
 " Yes, and then I reply, and then she won't speak, 
 and so we are at daggers drawn. Oh, Aunt Mildred, 
 I wish I had men to deal with. I can't abide 
 women." 
 
 Mildred laughed. 
 
 " I can't bear them in that way, — that lecturing 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 CLEYE HALL. 
 
 way," continued Clement ; " they do say such a great 
 deal." 
 
 " And the young gentlemen do so many things to 
 deserve the great deal," replied Mildred. "But I 
 can really understand, Clement, that it is trying to 
 be kept under a woman's control ; only — you see I 
 am not going to acquit you quite — I think it is the 
 old question of obedience, any how." 
 
 " I could obey as well as any one, if they would 
 only be rational," observed Clement. 
 
 " That is to say, rational according to your notions," 
 replied Mildred. " I don't exactly see how you would 
 be obeying any one but yourself then." 
 
 Clement coloured a little, and said quickly, " Well, 
 but that's what every one must do ; you wouldn't 
 have one a slave, without any judgment of one's 
 own." 
 
 " Sixteen is rather young to have a judgment," said 
 Mildred, quietly. " But," she added, observing that 
 Clement looked blank, " at any rate, having a judg- 
 ment, and acting upon it, are different things." 
 
 " That is slavery completely," exclaimed Clement ; 
 " to give up when one knows people are wrong." 
 
 " What would the world be like, if it were not 
 done ?" inquired Mildred. " How would there be any 
 law or order ? " 
 
 " Perhaps in public matters it may be necessary," 
 said Clement. 
 
 " What is good in public matters, must be good in 
 private," continued Mildred. " If what is ordered is 
 not contrary to the law of God, we are bound to 
 submit to lawful authority."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 115 
 
 " And so I am to be kept under grandmamma's 
 thumb all my life ! " exclaimed Clement, impatiently. 
 
 " I don't see why we are to trouble about all your 
 life," replied Mildred. " It is easy enough, I think, 
 to see what your duty is for the present." 
 
 " And what is it ? " he asked, rather sulkily. 
 
 " Come when you are called ; do as you are bid ; 
 Shut the door after you, and you'll never be chid," 
 
 said Mildred, lightly. 
 
 "And be a baby in leading-strings!" exclaimed 
 Clement. 
 
 " And be what God wishes and intends you to be," 
 said Mildred, very gravely ; " that is the real point. 
 If God puts persons in authority over us, He expects 
 us to obey them." 
 
 " But, according to that, no one would be at liberty 
 to go against the wishes of parents, and such kind 
 of people," said Clement ; " not if they were ever so 
 old." 
 
 " There may be different claims for grown-up 
 people," replied Mildred ; " and they are competent 
 to judge about them. No law of a parent can take 
 the place of God's law, in the Bible, or even of the 
 laws of your country." 
 
 " Then if people abuse Ronald, and say false things 
 of him, and tell me to cut him, I may refuse to do it," 
 exclaimed Clement ; " because they are untrue and 
 unjust, and are going against the Bible." 
 
 Mildred smiled rather sadly. " Oh ! Clement, what 
 a quibble ! " 
 
 I 2
 
 116 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 '• It's no quibble ; it is truth ;" lie replied, triumph- 
 antly, looking up with a most self-satisfied air. 
 
 " I can't argue with you, Clement, in that mood," 
 said Mildred ; and she took up her work. 
 
 "What mood, Aunt Mildred?" 
 
 "A mood in which you are trusting to yourself, 
 and thinking how clever you are." 
 
 The colour rushed to his face, angrily, and he 
 muttered, " But you can't refute what I said." 
 
 " You are not required to cut Ronald, only not to 
 be much with him," said Mildred. " If you were, 
 there is no moral law against it." 
 
 " Charity, I should have thought," observed 
 Clement quickly. 
 
 " Charity against the fifth commandment," replied 
 Mildred ; and changing her manner she added, more 
 lightly, "but you are only arguing for the sake of 
 argument, — you agree with me, I know, really." 
 
 Clement's anger was as quickly gone really, as 
 Mildred's vexation was apparently; he laughed in 
 reply to her words, and owned that he did dearly 
 love an argument. 
 
 Mildred shook her head. " \Ye shall never agree, 
 there, Clement ; I can't endure arguing." 
 
 " Then you are just exactly unlike Aunt Bertha. 
 She would argue from morning till night." 
 
 " And you try to provoke her into it ?" 
 
 " There's no occasion to provoke her ; she comes 
 into it of her own accord, and Ella stands by and 
 listens." 
 
 " And takes your part ? " 
 
 " Of course, she is bound to do that. In fact, Aunt
 
 CLEVE HALL. 117 
 
 Mildred, it is the only thing to be done at the Lodge, 
 to make any fun. It is awfully dull work there 
 sometimes." 
 
 Clement yawned audibly. 
 
 '•' You should find your way to the Hall oftener," 
 said Mildred ; " only I am afraid it would not be much 
 better than ^ awfully dull ' here, unless you were to 
 take it into your head to read to me." 
 
 His face brightened. " Read to you ? Should you 
 like it ? I read to Ella a great deal, when we can get 
 alone, but when Aunt Bertha is there I don't, be- 
 cause she lectures so about the books." 
 
 " Byron and Moore, I suppose ? " said Mildred. 
 
 " How do you know that ? " he exclaimed. 
 
 " Merely because they are just what all boys of 
 your age like. But, Clement, Aunt Bertha is quite 
 right about Ella." 
 
 " Perhaps so," he answered, carelessly ; " but Aunt 
 Bertha preaches up Hallam's Middle Ages, and that 
 I vow I won't read." 
 
 " You might find something between, perhaps," 
 said Mildred, laughing. " Walter Scott, for instance." 
 
 " Oh ! Ella knows Walter Scott by heart, and 
 Byron, too, for that matter. In fact, she knows every 
 thing, it's my belief. I never saw such a girl. I 
 can't say what she has not learnt by heart ; all 
 Childe Harold, and the Corsair, and the Giaour, and 
 Darkness " 
 
 " She should come and say them to me," said 
 Mildred. 
 
 " She would be afraid ; she would think you 
 thought them wicked." 
 
 I 3
 
 118 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Perhaps I don't think them very good," said 
 Mildred; "but still I should like to hear her say 
 them." 
 
 " That is another thing just precisely different 
 from Aunt Bertha," said Clement. " She purses up 
 her mouth just so " — and he made an absurd face — 
 " if Ella only quotes a few lines." 
 
 " I shall purse up my mouth," said Mildred, " if 
 Ella won't make me a few promises about her read- 
 ing. You know, Clement, you wouldn't bear to see 
 her grow up any thing but a nice, refined person, and 
 she won't be refined, if she is not particular about 
 her reading ; that is really what makes Aunt Bertha 
 afraid, and what I should be afraid of, too." 
 
 " Ella is so clever," said Clement. " Clever 
 people don't want to be preached to like dunces." 
 
 " Perhaps I think they want to be preached to 
 more; but, any how, Clement, you wouldn't like 
 Ella not to be quite a lady." 
 
 " Oh, no, of course not; but she can't help herself; 
 she is born one." 
 
 " Yes, she would look like a lady always ; but she 
 need not be so in mind. And one especial mode in 
 which people grow to be unladylike and unrefined is 
 by reading every thing which happens to come be- 
 fore them. Young men, and boys, even, may do a 
 good deal for their sisters in that way, by keeping 
 things from them ; there is a little sermon for you, 
 Clement." 
 
 " Ella never attends to me," said Clement ; " she 
 looks down upon me. She is quite beyond me in 
 Latin and Greek, too, for that matter."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 119 
 
 " I don't think Latin and Greek have much to do 
 with persons looking down upon one," said Mildred, 
 " Ella doesn't look down upon Rachel Lester." 
 
 " Aunt Mildred ! how can you tell that ? " 
 
 " Merely from little things she has said. It is 
 inconsistency which makes people look down upon 
 one." 
 
 " And I am very inconsistent," said Clement. He 
 sighed ; yet at the very moment he was glancing at 
 Mildred, to see if she would not contradict his words. 
 "You think me so. Aunt Mildred?" he continued. 
 
 She looked up playfully. " I don't see that I am 
 called upon to answer. I have only known you a 
 short time." 
 
 " I am not so changeable as Ella," said Clement ; 
 " she is never alike for two hours together." 
 
 " You are twins," replied Mildred. 
 
 " I always keep to the same likings," continued 
 Clement ; — "in books, that is ; and I have been try- 
 ing to fish every day for a fortnight ; and I have 
 dinned into Mr. Lester's ears ever since we came 
 here that I hate College, and want to go to sea, and a 
 heap more things besides. I am sure I don't change 
 half as much as Ella. Now, do I, Aunt Mildred ?" 
 
 " I can't say." 
 
 " But am I inconsistent ? Do you think I am ? " 
 
 " You told me just now that you were, very," sai^ 
 Mildred, quietly. 
 
 He blushed a little, and laughed awkwardly. 
 " Well, yes ; but do you think me so ? " 
 
 There was a little satire in Mildred's tone, as she 
 said, " Do you really wish to know ? " 
 I 4
 
 120 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 The hesitation in his manner was scarcelj per- 
 ceptible, yet he did hesitate, and the " Yes," when it 
 passed his lips, was by no means hearty. 
 
 " We will wait till another day," said Mildred. 
 
 He was piqued. " I would rather hear now, if 
 you please ; I don't at all care about knowing what 
 any one thinks of me." 
 
 " Because you have such a good opinion of your- 
 self," replied Mildred, in a tone between jest and 
 earnest. 
 
 " I don't know that, Aunt Mildred. I don't quite 
 see why you should say it. Mr. Lester never told me 
 I had a good opinion of myself." 
 
 His tone was pettish, and Mildred became grave. 
 
 " We will talk about the inconsistency and conceit 
 another time, dear Clement. By-and-by, perhaps, 
 you will find out more of yourself than I can tell 
 you ; only just now I am afraid I must send you 
 away, because I am a little tired ; but you must come 
 again soon and bring Ella, and tell me what success 
 you have had in your fishing." 
 
 Still he stood thinking, rather moodily. 
 
 " Aunt Mildred, what must I do to give you a good 
 opinion of me ? " 
 
 " I have a good opinion of you, my dear boy, in 
 many ways." 
 
 " Yes, but in all ways. How can I make you 
 respect me ? " 
 
 '• A question requiring a long answer, Clement ; 
 but one thing I should respect you for at once, if you 
 would put aside your own will, and follow your 
 Grandpapa's, about Ronald."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 121 
 
 " Oil, that ! but respect lias nothing to do with that." 
 
 " More, perhaps, than you think." 
 
 " But I can't be kept under, like a baby in long 
 clothes." 
 
 " Good b'ye, dear Clement, you must go ; " and 
 Mildred held out her hand to him. 
 
 He saw she looked pained. " Well, Aunt Mildred, 
 perhaps, to oblige you, I might." 
 
 " Thank you, dear boy, give me a kiss before you 
 go." The bright expression was gone from her face, 
 but that was unnoticed by him ; his thoughts were 
 given to his fishing-rod. 
 
 " You would find Hardman, the keeper, at home, 
 if you were to call for him now, I suspect," said 
 Mildred. 
 
 " Yes, thank you ; good b'ye !" and he rushed across 
 the garden, as hastily as he had entered it. 
 
 Alas ! for Mildred. Was it not the same character 
 again which she had in by-gone years so anxiously 
 watched? — the spirit of self-conceit, self-justification, 
 rebellion against the least shadow of censure, the 
 weak pride which could not obey ? And all with so 
 fair an exterior ! The look, and tone, and manner of 
 a gentleman ; the refined taste, the appreciation of 
 excellence, the poetical heroism of day-dreams ! 
 
 She unfastened a hair bracelet, and looked at a 
 miniature in the clasp, covered by a gold lid, and 
 tears dimmed her eyes, and fell down her cheeks as 
 she murmured, " Father, teach me how to aid him ! "
 
 122 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 Clement pursued his way to the keeper's lodge, 
 humming snatches of songs, as he hurried on swing- 
 ing a stick in his hand, and knocking down nettles 
 and brambles. He was not disconcerted by any thing 
 which Mildred had said ; perhaps, it would have been 
 well for him if he had been. Vanity, mingled with 
 self-conceit and self-will, was his strongest character- 
 istic ; and now, even when putting aside his own 
 wishes, he soothed himself with the thought that he 
 was yielding rather as a condescension than on a 
 principle of obedience. His grandfather was old and 
 fidgety ; and Mildred was a woman, and had a 
 woman's weakness ; and so, if they really did fuss 
 about his going out fishing with Ronald, it might be 
 as well to give in. And Clement went on whistling 
 merrily, and looking forward as was his wont to 
 pleasure in one way, if he could not have it in ano- 
 ther. There was no strength of resolution, no inward 
 principle in this ; it was simply giving in for the 
 moment, because he did not like to be openly re- 
 bellious. 
 
 Hardman was not at home ; he was gone to Cleve, 
 so his wife said : and to Cleve Clement determined 
 to follow him, — or if not able to go quite so far, 
 as he was to return for an evening lesson with
 
 CLEYE HALL. 123 
 
 Mr. Lester at a certain hour, he would go part of the 
 way. His mind was bent upon this new fancy of 
 fishing, and he could not bear any obstacle or delay, 
 and fancied he was doing something to attain his 
 object when he was walking in the same direction as 
 Hardman. 
 
 " Good day to you, Master Clement ! " called out a 
 rough voice from behind a hedge, as Clement strolled 
 on leisurely through the fields. 
 
 ^' Good day to you, old fellow ! What are you doing 
 up here?" 
 
 " What are you doing. Master Clement ? is the 
 question." And GoiF, slowly unfastening a gate 
 which separated them, joined Clement on the other 
 side of the hedge. 
 
 "I thought you were never ofi* your post out 
 there," said Clement, pointing in the direction of the 
 headland near which the shipwreck had happened. 
 
 " That's according to circumstances, young gentle- 
 man. I may have my business inland as well as 
 other folks. I say, you can tell where your master 's 
 gone, can't you ? " 
 
 "I have not got a master that I know of," said 
 Clement, haughtily. 
 
 "You needn't flush up like that, young gentle- 
 man. Master or no master, he keeps you pretty 
 strict." 
 
 " He keeps me as I choose to be kept ; " said 
 Clement. " He hasn't a grain of power over me." 
 
 "Well! did I ever know such a milksop, then?" 
 And Gofi" laughed contemptuously. 
 
 Clement's eyes flashed with anger, but Goff" only
 
 124 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 laughed the more. "Why, what a pity to throw 
 away such a spirit ! The boy's got something in him, 
 after all. I say, my young sir, what made you fail 
 me the other night in that fashion ? I've had it on 
 my mind ever since to call you to account." 
 
 " What other night ? I don't know what you are 
 talking about," replied Clement hastily. " You failed 
 me, if that's what you mean, the night of the storm ; 
 and a good thing, too, as it turned out. ' 
 
 " Good or not, that's nothing to do with the matter. 
 If a youngster makes a promise to me I expect it's to 
 be kept ; and if it isn't, why I know how to trust 
 him another time." 
 
 "You told me to be down at the boat-house by 
 six," said Clement, his tone rising with irritation, 
 " and I was there strict to a moment ; and there were 
 you, off." 
 
 " And you only too glad to find me so," exclaimed 
 Goff. " What a white face we should have seen if 
 you'd been nearing the point, as Ronald and I were, 
 when the squall came on. That young fellow is 
 desperate in a storm: he'd have had us stand out 
 and brave it, if I had'nt been fixed against it. And 
 well enough I was ! We shouldn't have been left with 
 two shreds together ten minutes after we got back." 
 
 " It's time enough to talk of white faces when you 
 have seen them," exclaimed Clement, proudly. "But 
 that is not what I was thinking of. You were off, 
 you say, yourself; so where's the fault to find with 
 
 mer 
 
 ?» 
 
 " That 'twas your message which sent me off," said 
 Goff, coolly.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 125 
 
 " Mine ! — my message ?" 
 
 " Whose else could it be ? Eonald brought it." 
 
 " Ronald ? It was false — it was a lie ! " and 
 Clement's face became crimson, whilst, pacing up and 
 down the rough road before the gate, he went on 
 muttering to himself, " False fellow ! A lie ! Won't 
 I make him eat his words ? False fellow ! " 
 
 " Not so false, neither. Master Clement. He only 
 said what he knew was true ; that 'twas likely to be 
 a rough evening, and so we'd best be off without 
 
 you." 
 
 " And he said that I said it ! " exclaimed Clement, 
 stopping suddenly. 
 
 " Well ! there's no need to take it so much to heart," 
 replied Goff, evading a direct answer. " 'Tis but to 
 show that you've got more pluck in you than he gives 
 you credit for ; and that's soon done. There's more 
 to be done in that way, in this part of the world, than 
 idle folks wot of." 
 
 His familiar wink accompanying the words was 
 very repulsive to Clement's fastidiousness ; and as 
 Goff drew nearer, and even touched him on the 
 shoulder, patronisingly, he drew back. 
 
 " Oh ! if that's your line, keep to it," said Goff ; 
 and he took up the small telescope, his constant com- 
 panion, which he had laid upon the ground during 
 his conversation with Clement. " Of course, I'm not 
 going to thrust fun on them that haven't spirit for it. 
 There's enough work for me without that; and for 
 Ronald, too." 
 
 The mention of Ronald's name again touched Cle- 
 ment's angry feeling.
 
 126 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " I'll trouble you not to speak of that youngster 
 again," he exclaimed, haughtily. " I have an account 
 to settle with him ; and I mean to see to it." 
 
 Goff eyed him with a glance of sarcastic supe- 
 riority. " I wish you joy of getting your match I 
 Why, Ronald — Eonald Vivian ! — he'd make three 
 such as you, my boy ! " 
 
 " If he could make fifty such, he should answer for 
 his words ! " exclaimed Clement, in a tone which showed 
 that his vanity was stung to the quick. " So mean ! 
 
 — so cowardly ! — to make it appear thatlwas afraid ! 
 
 — that I would'nt risk what he did ! " And again he 
 began to pace up and down the road. 
 
 Goff made no comment upon his words, but resting 
 his glass upon the gatepost, looked long and atten- 
 tively in the direction where the headland, suddenly 
 terminating, gave a long line of the sea to view. A 
 little vessel was making its way rapidly from the 
 shore, the wind being favourable. 
 
 '^ She's a jolly little craft," muttered Goff to him- 
 self; " how she does cut along !" 
 
 The observation attracted Clement, but he tried 
 not to show it. 
 
 Goff continued :— " A jolly little craft, if there ever 
 was one ! If it had been her, now, the other night, 
 and Ronald in her — instead of that old hulk, with the 
 Frenchman at the helm — she'd have ridden out the 
 gale like a queen ! " 
 
 " Ronald couldn't manage a vessel," exclaimed 
 Clement, quickly. 
 
 "Couldn't he, now? Why just you try — that's 
 all!"
 
 CLEVE HALL. 127 
 
 " I would'nt trust myself with him," said Clement. 
 " Why no, to be sure ; you wouldn't trust yourself 
 in any thing but a Lord Mayor's barge, in a river 
 three feet deep ! " 
 
 " I'd trust myself in any thing that Ronald trusts 
 himself in," exclaimed Clement, not seeing his own 
 inconsistency. " Let it be a cockle-shell, or a man-of- 
 war." 
 
 " Or a neat little trimmer, like her yonder ? " said 
 Goff. 
 
 " That, or any thing," replied Clement. 
 " Take you at your word, then," said Goff, quickly. 
 " Will you go, now, for a lark, some day, and try 
 her?" 
 
 Clement hesitated ; he felt that he should be wrono- 
 in agreeing to the proposal; but his vanity — his 
 mortified vanity — how could he resist it?" 
 
 "Good b'ye ! and joy be with you, for a land-lubber! " 
 exclaimed Goff. " You'll never learn to manage a 
 craft!" 
 
 Clement caught at the word. "Manage? — Yes, I 
 would go directly, if I might be taught to manage it. 
 It would help me, if I go to sea," he continued, in an 
 under tone, to his conscience. 
 
 " Folks can't manage all at once ; they must learn 
 their trade first," was Goff 's discouraging reply. " So 
 good b'ye to ye!" He walked away a few paces, but 
 very slowly ; and then he turned round, and looked 
 again at Clement, and nodded. 
 
 Clement was intensely irritated. " I say, old fel- 
 low ! I'll be with you, some night, down at the Point, 
 when you don't expect me ; and see if I don't find
 
 128 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 out as much of your affairs as Ronald knows. He 
 manage a vessel, indeed ! " and Clement laughed loudly 
 and contemptuously. 
 
 " You'll please to wait to be asked before you give 
 your company where you aren't needed, Master Cle- 
 ment," said Goff, stopping, and looking at him surlily. 
 " Meddle with what doesn't concern you, and I'd as 
 soon cudgel your head as I would — this thistle," and 
 he knocked off the top of one which stood in his way. 
 
 Clement's laugh was neither as loud nor as con- 
 temptuous as before. He muttered something about 
 finding Ronald, and making him answer for his 
 words; and, looking at his watch, turned sharply 
 round, and walked back to Encombe.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 129 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 Mr. Lester was not returned when Clement reached 
 home ; that was an excuse for idleness, though there 
 was sufficient work prepared for him to attend to by 
 himself. Ella persuaded him that there were diffi- 
 culties not to be mastered alone, and accordingly he 
 lounged away his time in an arm-chair, threatening- 
 Ronald, and making the excuse that his walk had 
 tired him. So the whole afternoon was wasted ; for, 
 as it happened, Mr. Lester did not come back from 
 Cleve till very late. He had been detained, he sent 
 word, by business ; and Louisa contrived to discover, 
 before the evening was over, that he had been seen 
 in Cleve walking with Mr. Bruce, and had after- 
 wards returned with him to the Farm. This latter 
 piece of information she extracted from Rachel, 
 who appeared at the Lodge in the evening with some 
 flowers for Mrs. Campbell, which had been sent her 
 by Mrs. Robinson. Why Mr. Bruce should have 
 gone to the Farm Rachel did not profess to know, 
 but Louisa settled the question without any difficulty. 
 Cleve was an odious place, and the Farm was very 
 quiet and comfortable, and much nearer the shore ; 
 and Louisa had some indistinct idea that Mr. Bruce 
 was detained at Encombc by some secret business 
 connected with the wreck. What — she liad not 
 
 VOL. L K
 
 130 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 fully decided ; having failed, as yet, in determining 
 to her own satisfaction, whether he was partly the 
 owner of the vessel, and so interested in its fate 
 merely as a matter of business, or some hero of 
 romance, whose story by-and-by was to astonish them 
 all. The former idea suited the report brought by 
 Rachel, who had just left him at the Parsonage, 
 where he was to drink tea. " There was nothing in 
 him very wonderful to look at," she said ; " he was 
 as yellow as a bit of parchment ; and somebody had 
 said he had come to England for his health. He 
 spoke like a gentleman, — that was one thing ; but he 
 seemed to dislike talking, and she had not once seen 
 him smile;" an observation which drew from Ella 
 the remark that, for that reason, he would be so much 
 the better fitted to live with Mrs. Robinson, who was 
 known to have cried so much the day she was born, 
 that she had never got over it. 
 
 This information of Rachel's was but the beginning 
 of speculation and curiosity for Louisa ; though there 
 was in reality but little to give rise to either. Mr. 
 Bruce certainly settled himself at the Farm, but he 
 was a quiet individual, very much out of health, and 
 suifering especially from the cold and shock he had 
 endured the night of the wreck. Moreover, he was 
 always upon the point of departure for London ; so 
 that he could not be looked upon as a resident subject 
 for gossip, and no one probably but Louisa would 
 have thought it worth while to make any remarks 
 upon his comings and goings. She, however, always 
 knew when he drank tea at the Rectory, and when 
 Mr. Lester went to visit him at the Farm ; and she
 
 CLEVE HALL. 131 
 
 learnt from Eachel a good many details as to the 
 furniture of his apartment, and the curious things 
 he had " put about the room," as she expressed it, in 
 order to make it look comfortable, — strange, foreign, 
 Lidian-looking things, — boxes, and figures, and a few 
 books, — not a great many, — for Rachel doubted if 
 he were fond of reading. 
 
 Once, however, Louisa came home herself in great 
 triumph, having seen Mr. Bruce at the door of the 
 Farm garden, and even spoken to him, — that is, as she 
 acknowledged afterwards, he only said, " How d'ye 
 do ? " and she said, " Very well, I thank you ; " but 
 then he looked at her very earnestly, and that was 
 particularly flattering from a person whom no one 
 knew any thing about. 
 
 Had Louisa been in Rachel's place, Mr. Bruce's 
 affairs would have had no chance of remaining private, 
 for Rachel was at the Farm constantly. Perhaps 
 Mrs. Robinson urged her coming to cheer her lonely 
 guest, — perhaps Mr. Bruce himself liked the society 
 of the simple, earnest-minded, affectionate child. 
 Rachel seldom told who asked her ; and in reply to 
 the questions as to how she amused herself when 
 there, replied, that she read, and talked, and looked 
 at curiosities ; a very natural and rational answer, 
 but not particularly informing to Louisa's inquisitive- 
 ness. A few attempts were made to induce Aunt 
 Bertha to intrude upon Mrs. Robinson's privacy, but 
 there was an antipathy felt, though not expressed, 
 which kept Bertha and Mrs. Robinson apart. Mrs. 
 Robinson evidently did not " take kindly " to the 
 Lodge. Even though the children were Rachel's 
 K 2
 
 132 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 friends, she could not bring herself to ask them to 
 come within the gate ; at least, when Bertha was with 
 them. If she met them alone it was different; yet 
 even then there was a restraint: it was as if she 
 always had a double feeling about them, and was 
 inclined to give them a kiss on one cheek, and a slap 
 on the other; and Bertha's chilling manner never 
 helped to surmount the difficulty. 
 
 Since Mr. Bruce had been at the Farm the cool- 
 ness was still more evident. Mrs. Robinson could not 
 well be rude, but she was as nearly so as it was in 
 her nature to be, and almost told them sometimes 
 that she had rather they would walk in any other 
 direction. She said so one evening especially, when 
 Rachel, Fanny, and Louisa, were walking together, 
 and Louisa was rather eager to be allowed to see the 
 garden. Bertha was some little way behind ; if she 
 had been near, Louisa would scarcely have ventured 
 to insist as she did upon being allowed to come in 
 just for five minutes. 
 
 " It's too late. Miss Louisa ; another time, if you 
 please," was Mrs. Robinson's discouraging reply to 
 the proposal. 
 
 " But we won't be five minutes ; no, not three," per- 
 sisted Louisa ; " we will just run round once, and then 
 be back ; we shall have done it before Aunt Bertha 
 comes up." 
 
 " May be, your aunt wouldn't like it. Miss Louisa," 
 replied IVIi-s. Robinson, decidedly. 
 
 " May be she would," retorted Louisa, perversely, 
 and rather rudely. 
 
 Mrs. Robinson froze into a statue. " Young ladies
 
 CLEVE HALL. 133 
 
 should learn to behave themselves, and not take 
 liberties," she answered. " Good evening, Miss Rachel, 
 my dear. It's my advice to you all to get home." 
 
 She walked away without any softening word ; but 
 Rachel followed her. " Granny, dear, you shouldn't 
 mind Louisa ; it's her nature." 
 
 " So much the worse, my dear ; it's hard to put off 
 nature. But I'm not troubling about that." 
 
 " Well, what are you troubling yourself about ; it's 
 always something. Isn't Mr. Bruce's room large 
 enough for him ? " 
 
 Mrs. Robinson smiled. "Why you know. Miss 
 Rachel, he's got the old back room looking out upon 
 the elms, and it would hold a regiment." 
 
 " Then, he is fidgety about his tea and bread and 
 butter." 
 
 "He doesn't take tea; he always drinks coffee." 
 Mrs. Robinson's face relaxed a little more, as it always 
 did when she was talking to Rachel. 
 
 " Then it's something I am not to know, so I won't 
 teaze you. Granny ; only I wish you would tell me." 
 
 They were standing by a low door which opened 
 into the garden. Mrs. Robinson pushed it open. 
 
 " He's in there, you may go and speak a word to 
 him if you will." 
 
 Rachel seemed doubtful. "Louisa won't like it; 
 and Miss Campbell too ; — no, perhaps I had better 
 not ;" yet she evidently wished to go. 
 
 " He has been teaching the parrot to say your 
 name," said Mrs. Robinson. 
 
 That was a very great temptation, and Rachel ran 
 back to lier companions. Bertha had joined them 
 iv 3
 
 134 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 noTv, and was hurrying them away. She did not like 
 them, she said, to be staring over the wall in that 
 way ; it looked so curious. 
 
 "Mrs. Robinson wants me to go in one minute. 
 Mr. Bruce has a parrot for me ; might I go, do you 
 think?" 
 
 " Oh yes, to be sure," exclaimed Louisa ; " and we 
 will walk up and down the road till you come out." 
 
 "Louisa, you forget yourself. Does Mr. Bruce 
 want to see you, Rachel ?" inquired Bertha. 
 
 " I don't know that he wants to see me, exactly ; 
 but he has a parrot for me." 
 
 " Mr. Lester will be coming by-and-by, Ma'am," 
 ^observed Mrs. Robinson, drawing near the gate. 
 " Miss Rachel may go back with him, if you please 
 to leave her." 
 
 Bertha's sense of duty was touched : Rachel was 
 under her especial charge. " I don't know," she re- 
 plied ; "I can't say that I have permission to leave 
 her." 
 
 " I see Mr. Bruce very often, Papa lets me," whis- 
 pered Rachel, pleadingly. 
 
 Bertha still hesitated ; her back was to the garden 
 gate ; she could not see Louisa's glance at Fanny, and 
 the finger which was pointed in that direction. 
 
 " I see him, don't you ? " whispered Fanny. 
 
 Louisa moved a few steps aside. "Yes, close to 
 the door ; I do believe he's coming." 
 
 Mr. Bruce appeared in the doorway. Mrs. Robin- 
 son saw his shadow, she could not have seen himself. 
 
 " Never mind. Miss Rachel, then, to-night," she said. 
 " Good evening, ma'am," and she dropped a re-
 
 CLE YE HALL. 135 
 
 spectful curtsey to Bertha, which yet plainly said, 
 " the sooner you go the better." 
 
 Rachel acquiesced, but with an air of disappoint- 
 ment which brightened into sunshine as she glanced 
 at the garden doorway; and, hastily appealing to 
 Beriha for permission, she threw open the wicket 
 gate of the entrance court, and rushing up to her 
 new friend exclaimed, "I mustn't stay, but I may 
 just thank you ; it was so kind. I am so very much 
 obliged about the parrot." 
 
 "And I am very glad you are glad, my child." 
 Only the tone reached the place where the rest were 
 standing ; the words were unintelligible. 
 
 " You don't look at all well, ma'am," said Mrs. Ro- 
 binson to Bertha ; " hadn't you better come in and 
 rest." 
 
 Bertha was very pale ; her eye had a wandering, 
 almost vacant, look. " Thank you, no. I had better 
 go home. Rachel ! I wish she would come." She 
 moved, apparently intending to enter within the 
 wicket, but Mrs. Robinson placed herself so as to 
 prevent her. " I will call her, ma'am ; " and Bertha 
 drew back. 
 
 " Mr. Bruce has taken Rachel to see the parrot," 
 said Fanny. " I wish he would let me go too." 
 
 " I can see him, and I can see Rachel, too," said 
 Louisa, stretching her neck, "just round the walk; 
 there they are. Now I think they are going in -doors. 
 Mr. Bruce's room opens into the garden; that is — 
 it doesn't open exactly, it is up-stairs, — the largo 
 room. Aunt Bertha, you have been in Mr. Bruce's 
 room, havn't you ? " 
 
 K 4
 
 136 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Bertha did not hear ; she was resting against the 
 low wall, not seemingly impatient, only very worn 
 and wearied. They were kept but a few moments ; 
 Rachel came running back, Mrs. Robinson slowly 
 following, with the parrot in his cage. 
 
 " Miss Rachel would have you see it, ma'am," she 
 said, apologetically, to Bertha. 
 
 "It will talk, it will say my name!" exclaimed 
 Rachel, in delight. « Pretty Poll ! do speak, Polly !" 
 
 Of course the parrot did not speak: what bird 
 ever did when it was told to do so ? 
 
 "He will if Mr. Bruce tells him," said Rachel. 
 She glanced wistfully at the doorway. 
 
 " Miss Campbell wants to go home. You mustn't 
 keep her any more to-night with the bird," observed 
 Mrs. Robinson, hurriedly. 
 
 The parrot uttered a loud scream, and a short 
 sharp v»^ord ; it was not Rachel, though Fanny per- 
 sisted it was. 
 
 " He said it quite plainly just now," said Rachel, 
 in a vexed tone ; " but never mind. There, Granny 
 dear, take it away ; never mind. I didn't mean to 
 be troublesome and keep you, dear Miss Campbell," 
 she added in her most winning manner. 
 
 " I should like to hear it speak again," said Bertha, 
 and she withdrew her hand, Avhich Rachel had taken 
 hold of. She had no intention of being ungracious, 
 but she was not thinking of Rachel at the moment. 
 
 Rachel thought she was angry, and went up to 
 Mrs. Robinson, who was standing apart. " I am so 
 sorry. Granny ; I know it was naughty of me." 
 
 " Never mind, my darling ; it is her way." But
 
 CLEVE HALL. 13? 
 
 even Mrs. Robinson was a little quick in her manner, 
 and poor Rachel's sensitive feelings were touched, 
 and tears stood in her eyes. She did not go near the 
 parrot. 
 
 " It said, ' How d'ye do,' Aunt Bertha, that was 
 all," exclaimed Louisa, impatiently. " Parrots always 
 say, * How d'ye do,' " 
 
 "And a good deal besides, sometimes Louisa," 
 replied Bertha, gravely and stiffly. 
 
 Fanny tapped the cage, — the scream followed 
 again, and the word, which Louisa now asserted to 
 be a name — Flora, she thought it was like — at 
 which Fanny laughed heartily, declaring, with ve- 
 hemence, that it was much more like Charlie, or 
 hungry, or fetch me. Bertha said nothing ; and as 
 Louisa's proposition of summoning Mr. Bruce to be 
 the interpreter was unseconded, the bird was con- 
 signed to Mrs. Robinson's care, and the little party 
 moved homewards.
 
 138 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 They were at home early ; Bertha had insisted upon 
 it ; she had business in the village she said ; and 
 so, when the children had set themselves to their 
 evening lessons and Ella was reading to her grand- 
 mamma, Bertha stole quietly out at the back gate, 
 and walked leisurely down the lane. She still looked 
 pale, but it was not so much from the wear of bodily 
 as of mental fatigue. That indeed was the expression 
 of her features generally ; probably from the con- 
 sciousness of having the comfort of others depending 
 upon her, and having so many causes for anxiety ; 
 but this evening there was not only gravity in her 
 face, but doubt and perplexity. 
 
 She walked with her eyes bent on the ground, 
 thinking, and then occasionally looked up as though 
 expecting to see something which might startle her, 
 but the village was very quiet ; the men were still at 
 their work in the fields, the women preparing for 
 their return, and the children, just let out of school, 
 were busy in the play -ground, and only interrupted 
 the quietness of the hour by distant shouts of laughter. 
 
 Bertha pursued her way by the lane which led 
 from the Parsonage to the village, and after passing 
 a few of the principal cottages, ascended a steep path, 
 terminating in a long flight of steps, which was the
 
 CLEVE HALL. 139 
 
 short way from the village to the church. Encombe 
 church was at some little distance from the village ; 
 it stood by itself, on the summit of a square hill, 
 which on three sides rose abruptly from the plahi, 
 and on the other leaned as it were against the range of 
 lofty downs encircling the village. The ground must 
 once have formed part of an open heath, for gorse, 
 and heather, and fern still covered it in luxuriance, 
 and the wild downs rose immediately above it, and 
 rough land, only in part enclosed, stretched away to 
 the east and west. It was a marvel what the little 
 church should do there alone, looking over the wooded 
 plain to the blue horizon of the ocean. Except at 
 the times of service, it seemed to have no lesson to 
 preach to the poor, nor any word of warning to offer 
 to the rich ; for the busy stir of life had deserted it, 
 and the white grave-stones told their tales to the 
 happy birds and the glad insects, but had no daily 
 and hourly voice for the reckless or the thoughtless 
 of mankind. 
 
 Yet it was very solemn to worship there : hopeful 
 with the hope of Heaven in the brilliant summer morn- 
 ings, when dew drops, sparkling with living light, 
 hung upon the grass, and sunshine, flickering and 
 quivering, lay in broad masses of burnished silver upon 
 the sea ; and calming as with the repose of the last, 
 long sleep, in the still evenings, when the rush of the 
 waves came like a requiem for the dead, moaning over 
 the sandy beach ; and awful, subduing, crushing to 
 all human vanity and folly, when the harsh roar of 
 the wintry elements thundered around the strong old 
 walls and told of that Almighty Power which shall
 
 140 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 one day " break in pieces the foundations of the 
 earth," and summon the world to judgment. 
 
 Bertha reached the summit of the hill, and then 
 paused to rest. A stone bench in the porch was her 
 seat, and for a few moments she remained gazing, ap- 
 parently without interest, upon the lovely view, set 
 as in a picture frame, in the rough Norman archway. 
 But a shadow, the long shadow of a human figure, 
 fell upon the graves, and she rose up suddenly, and 
 stepped forth into the open air. Ronald Vivian was 
 there to meet her. 
 
 " I hoped you would be punctual," she said, and 
 her voice was slightly tremulous. 
 
 " It was hard work to be so," said the boy, abruptly. 
 But he held out his hand as he spoke, and grasped 
 Bertha's with a heartiness which seemed as if it must 
 at once break doAvn her chilling shyness. "My father 
 was oif with Goff early, and I am to meet him two 
 hours hence," he continued ; " if it was not for that, 
 I couldn't have come. But you have been walking, 
 you must be tired." He brushed away the sand and 
 dust which had collected on the bench, and took 
 off a light upper coat, and laid it for Bertha to sit 
 upon. 
 
 " Thank you, Ronald ; I am glad you came," but 
 Bertha's manner was so nervous as to be almost cold. 
 
 He waited, however, for her to begin the conver- 
 sation, standing at a little distance, and leaning 
 against the archway in an attitude of attention and 
 deference. He looked upon her evidently as a su- 
 perior being. 
 
 " You did what I wished the other night," began
 
 CLEVE HALL. 141 
 
 Bertha, "in keeping Clement from going with Goff, 
 and I wanted to thank you." 
 
 " I did what I could ; but I got into disgrace : 
 never mind that, though." 
 
 " Disgrace with your father ? " 
 
 " No, not with him ; he knew nothing about it ; 
 but GofF abused Clement, and Clement abuses me. 
 Yet I said nothing but the truth. It was Gofi''s mis- 
 representation : I couldn't tell a falsehood." 
 
 " Clement does not think you did." 
 
 Ronald laughed shortly. " He says he does ; and 
 he threatens a good deal ; but that won't matter. I 
 shan't notice it." 
 
 " No, indeed, I trust not," exclaimed Bertha ; " it 
 would be worse than any thing if you were to quarrel." 
 
 " He would keep aloof from me in that case," said 
 Ronald, rather proudly ; " and so you would be satis- 
 fied." 
 
 " The old feeling, Ronald," observed Bertha, quietly, 
 but very gravely. 
 
 " It would be what you wish, and what Mr. Lester 
 wishes," replied Ronald. 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but we w^ould have you keep apart, 
 from the knowledge that it is best, — not because you 
 are too proud to be with him." 
 
 " I know I am not fit company for him," he replied, 
 moodily ; "nor for any one," was added in an under 
 tone. 
 
 " We will not talk of that, Ronald ; my wishes and 
 Mr. Lester's have nothing to do with the question of 
 fitness." 
 
 " But you have said as much," he continued.
 
 142 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " I said it when I thought it, — ^but opinions change ; 
 you have set him a noble example lately." 
 
 The boy bit his lip, — and turned away abruptly. 
 
 " When Clement shall risk his life to save that of 
 another, it will be time enough to consider whether 
 you are a fit companion," continued Bertha. " Mr. 
 Lester thanks you Ronald ; so do I." 
 
 " There was no danger ; we could both swim," he 
 said, gruffly, and still without looking at her. 
 
 " Perhaps so," was Bertha's only answer. She un- 
 derstood him thoroughly, and changed the subject. 
 
 " And you will still keep your promise, Ronald ?" 
 
 " As long as it is required ; but Mr. Lester says, I 
 may be gone shortly." 
 
 " Two months, it may be, or three, — and we have 
 to gain your Father's consent." 
 
 "Yet he will never ask mine for any thing, — he 
 will force me, drag me with him at his will, down, 
 down, down," and Ronald's voice sank till it was lost 
 in a whisper of awe. 
 
 "Not against your own will," dear Ronald, replied 
 Bertha, her tone changing from its usual chilling mo- 
 notony into the tender interest of an elder sister. " No 
 one, not even the Spirit of Evil himself, can harm us 
 against our will. " 
 
 " It is easy for those to talk," he replied, " who 
 are never tempted." 
 
 " I am not tempted, as you are, it is true. Yet I 
 am in a different way, and when I fall, Ronald, it is 
 my own will which makes me do so." 
 
 " You ! " he exclaimed, impetuously. " Miss Camp- 
 bell, you can never will to do wrong."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 143 
 
 " Perhaps not often, — I hope not ; but I may not 
 will strongly to do right, and the end is the same." 
 
 Eonald was thoughtful ; he repeated the word 
 " strongly," to himself. 
 
 " Yes," continued Bertha, answering what she be- 
 lieved to be in his mind. " A weak will must, unless 
 strengthened, end like a sinful will. But you have 
 not naturally a weak will, Ronald. You have great 
 faults, but they are strong faults, — and the same 
 strength which has hitherto, so frequently, carried you 
 away into sin, may, through God's mercy, lead you 
 far on the road to goodness." 
 
 He looked up suddenly, and the gleaming of the 
 sinking sun flashed across his face, and brightened 
 into intensity the glance of his eye. But it was for a 
 moment only, and again his eyes were cast down, and 
 the cloud gathered upon his brow. 
 
 " And you may have much to keep you upright, 
 a noble object for which to live," continued Bertha. 
 
 " When I am pointed at as the son of a drunkard, 
 the comrade of smugglers !" he muttered, scornfully. 
 
 "Rather," replied Bertha, "when you shall be 
 known as the child of one who lived the life of a 
 saint upon earth, and left to you the task to retrieve 
 the name she bore from dishonour. Ronald, have you 
 forgotten your mother?" 
 
 He made no reply — but throwing himself upon the 
 rough bench, hid his face against the worn stones 
 of the porch ; and a sound, as of a sob, escaped him, 
 but it was stifled, and Bertha, without noticing it, 
 continued : — 
 
 " It is the anniversary of your mother's death, 
 Ronald ; eight years ago, on this night, she died."
 
 144 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 A shudder passed over his frame, as he murmured, 
 " And left me to ruin." 
 
 " And left you a work which, in her woman's 
 weakness, she could probably never have performed. 
 She did not then know its full extent, — but now, if it 
 be permitted to the dead to watch what passes upon 
 earth, she would surely long that you may be able 
 to accomplish it. Ronald, your father did a grievous 
 injury ; you may retrieve it." 
 
 " It would take the labour of twenty lives to re- 
 trieve his injuries," said Ronald, in the moody tone 
 which was natural to him whenever his father was 
 mentioned. 
 
 Bertha was silenced for a moment ; she seemed 
 pained, disheartened. " And you do not wish to know 
 what you may have it in your power to do," she 
 asked, somewhat reproachfully. 
 
 He rose up, and there Avas an accent of haughtiness 
 in his reply. " I do know it ; to keep away from 
 Clement, that his grandfather may not think him 
 disgraced by having me for a companion." 
 
 " Something more than that, Ronald," said Bertha, 
 sadly. " Would you listen if I were to tell it you ? " 
 
 The intonation of her voice strangely touched him. 
 Perhaps it bore him back to other and innocent days, - 
 when, seated by his little bed, in the home wliere 
 his best and happiest hours had been silent. Bertha 
 Campbell had soothed him to sleep with the soft 
 monotony of her voice, whilst repeating the hymns 
 which suited his tender age. He placed himself op- 
 posite to her ; but his head was still turned aside. It 
 might have been thought that he was watching the
 
 CLEVE HALL. 145 
 
 course of a vessel dimly seen in the far horizon, — 
 but that it passed on, and still his eye remained fixed 
 upon the same point, where the golden clouds were 
 gathering into fantastic masses around the sinking 
 sun. 
 
 There was a silence of some seconds. Much that 
 was to be told would be painful both to relate and to 
 hear, and past events seemed crowded together in- 
 extricably in Bertha's mind. " I must go back," she 
 said, at length, " to my early days, — the days when 
 I first lived at Encombe. Perhaps you do not know 
 that it is my native place, the home of my family for 
 many generations. We lived in the old farm ; it was 
 a Manor House then ; but we were poor, my father was 
 extravagant, and we could not keep it up in any thing 
 like a fitting style. General Vivian was our nearest 
 neighbour, but we were not friends: family feuds, 
 dating almost a century back, had been handed down 
 to us, and General Vivian was not a person to let 
 them sleep ; neither, perhaps, was my father. Gene- 
 ral Vivian was a careful, cautious, strict man ; he 
 had but one grand object in life, — to redeem the 
 family property, which his father's extravagance had 
 vrcll nigh wasted : he devoted all his energies, — 
 and he has great energies, marvellous ones, — to 
 this purpose. It would be wrong to judge, but it 
 seems that he made it his idol, and, because it was 
 a noble object, could not see that there might be 
 danger in it. But let that be as it may, General 
 Vivian saved his inhei'itance, — my father forfeited 
 his. You may imagine from this how unlike they 
 were, and how little they could understand each 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 other. So, too, Mrs. Vivian and my mother, the 
 Miss Vivians and my sister and I, had no mutual 
 interests ; and distaste became dislike, and we grew 
 up — I don't know how — it was very wrong — but 
 the feeling became at last utter aversion in all, except 
 " Bertha's voice trembled, and the concluding 
 
 words of the sentence were inaudible. 
 
 She went on nervously, — " My sister Flora was 
 very pretty and attractive. She was older than myself, 
 and every one was accustomed to defer to her ; perhaps 
 that made her wilful; my father especially would 
 not check her in any thing. General Vivian, as you 
 must know, had one son, a very engaging person, 
 generous and open-hearted, but utterly thoughtless. 
 Notwithstanding the family differences, we met him 
 occasionally in walks and rides ; he was in fact almost 
 the only gentleman we ever saw, and perhaps it was 
 natural enough that he and Flora should become at- 
 tached to each other. But there was nothing under- 
 stood or acknowledged, except between themselves : 
 the General would have been fearfully angry if the 
 notion had been suggested to him ; his wife, the only 
 person who might have influenced him, was just dead ; 
 and my father and mother were too much occupied 
 with the pecuniary difficulties, which were daily 
 increasing, to take heed to any lesser matter. I saw 
 what was going on, but I was too young to interfere. 
 Flora was full of hope, and her affections were very 
 strong, whilst Mr. Vivian never allowed his thoughts 
 to dwell upon any thing but the gratification of tlie 
 moment ; and, at length, totally putting aside the 
 possibility of his father's disapprobation, he persuaded
 
 CLEVE HALL. 147 
 
 Flora to engage herself to him without asking the 
 consent of her own parents or of his. They kept 
 the fact entirely to themselves, and all that I saw 
 was that they took every opportunity of being to- 
 gether, and that when separated Flora's spirits entirely 
 sank. This made me very anxious, and I was secretly 
 glad, for her sake, when at length it was determined 
 that she should leave the Manor House for a time, 
 and go abroad, in the hope of enabling my father to 
 retrieve his affairs. We left Encombe. I thought 
 I was only going for a time ; I fancied that the 
 Manor House was still to be my home. It was a 
 great mercy that I was not able to see the future. 
 Yet I had some presentiment of evil ; I could scarcely 
 help it ; Flora was so dreadfully miserable at the 
 thought of the long absence. Mr. Vivian saw her 
 the last evening, and I believe the promise between 
 them was renewed ; Flora was then, in a degree, 
 comforted, and we set out on our journey in tolerable 
 spirits. Our first rest, for any length of time, was 
 at a German watering-place, small, but just growing 
 into fashion, and filled, most unhappily, not only with 
 hotels and boarding-houses, but gambling-houses. 
 My father's early habits had accustomed him to think 
 lightly of gambling, and it soon became his chief 
 amusement. He would never play high, and so 
 managed to go on without bringing himself into any 
 great difficulties ; but our home became the resort 
 of his associates at the gaming-table, and amongst 
 others, of — Captain Vivian." 
 
 Ronald started. 
 
 " Yes," continued Bertha, " it was there, Ronald,
 
 148 CLEYE HALL. 
 
 that my first acquaintance with your father may be 
 said to have begun. He was not then what he is 
 now;" — her voice sank as she said this, and Ronahl 
 turned away his face ; he could not bear its change to 
 
 beseen. " He Avas young, handsome, agreeable, " 
 
 she hesitated, and repeated, " in a certain way he 
 was agreeable ; he had seen a great deal of the world, 
 and was very clever; he could tell amusing anec- 
 dotes ; gentlemen especially liked him ; they did 
 not care for things which distressed Flora and me. 
 Dear Ronald! you must forgive me if I speak too 
 freely." 
 
 " Say what you will," he replied, with a bitter 
 laugh, " you cannot tell what I can." 
 
 " And yet in some way, Ronald, I may be a better, 
 a more charitable judge. I have never suffered as 
 you have; at least in daily life. In other ways; — but 
 you must let me go on regularly. I had seen Cap- 
 tain Vivian before, but never to know him ; in fact, I 
 was too much of a child to be brought in contact 
 with him. He claimed acquaintance with us as 
 having a connection with our old home ; his father 
 and General Vivian were first cousins. I did not 
 know then that all social intercourse between the 
 two branches of the family had ceased for some 
 years." 
 
 " For thirty years the General has been too proud 
 to acknowledge us," exclaimed Ronald indignantly. 
 
 " Think of him gently and justly, Ronald, if you 
 can. He may have feared the acquaintance for his 
 son. If he did, events have proved that he had 
 cause to do so." 
 
 J
 
 CLEVE HALL. 149 
 
 " My father might not have been what he is, if his 
 relations had not cast him off," replied Ronald. 
 
 " Perhaps not ; one cannot say ; " and Bertha's 
 thoughts reverted to Clement, and her anxiety lest 
 he should in like manner be discarded. " At that 
 time, when we met in Germany, I fear his habits 
 were too deeply rooted to be altered. We saw a 
 great deal of him. Like every one else, he admired 
 Flora, and, to my dismay, I perceived that my father 
 was inclined to encourage him. Captain Vivian had 
 the reputation then of being rich, and probably my 
 father thought that, considering the state of our 
 fjimily affairs, it would be a desirable marriage. At 
 all events, he threw them constantly together, and 
 when, on one occasion, I expressed my dislike to the 
 society which the acquaintance involved, I was re- 
 proved, and told that I should bring myself into 
 mischief if I interfered with matters which did not 
 concern me. Things went on in this way for some 
 time. Flora said very little. I was sure she disliked 
 Captain Vivian, but she had not courage openly to 
 thwart my father's wishes. When alone she was 
 very miserable ; when in company she exerted her- 
 self so as to be the life of the party. No one really 
 knew any thing about her feelings. I was too young 
 to have her confidence, and she was afraid of my 
 mother. Your father was very fond of her ; and 
 when I saw that, I pitied him, for I felt that his affec- 
 tion could never be returned. But I did not know 
 then with how fixed and stern a resolution he can 
 pursue an object when once his will is given to it. 
 He was resolved to marry Flora, and if, instead of 
 L 3
 
 150 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 common coldness, he had been met with open detes- 
 tation, I believe it would not have made him swerve 
 a hair's breadth from his determination. It was just 
 at this time, after the separation of a year, that Mr. 
 Vivian arrived in Germany, on his way to Italy, for 
 a summer tour. What communication had been kept 
 up between him and Flora in that interval I do not 
 know. Some there certainly must have been, for he 
 was the last person in the world to bear silence and 
 suspense. I suspect he came prepared for the state 
 of affairs which I have described, and determined to 
 put an end to it. But it was by no means an easy 
 task. My father's feeling against General Vivian 
 was as inveterate as the General's against him, and 
 Mr. Vivian could with difficulty gain admittance to 
 the house. When there, he could in no way compete 
 with his cousin. There were strong prejudices 
 against him, and although he was the heir of Cleve, 
 the property was entirely at the General's disposal ; 
 and he could not offer any thing like the fortune 
 at that time possessed by Captain Vivian. Yet I 
 imagine that even from the first moment of their meet- 
 ing, your father felt that Flora's choice was made. 
 She was, indeed, too much afraid of her parents 
 openly to express her preference; but even when she 
 strove to conceal it, it showed itself in innumerable 
 every-day trifles. A man of less resolute purpose 
 might have drawn back, but Captain Vivian per- 
 sisted in his attentions, and — " Bertha hesitated, and 
 her words came with difficulty. 
 
 Ronald spoke impatiently, — '*Go on, lean bear 
 all."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 151 
 
 " I don't wish to give you pain unnecessarily," she 
 replied. 
 
 " No pain is like concealment, Miss Campbell." 
 " And perhaps, in some ways, what I have said may 
 be an excuse for Captain Vivian," continued Bertha. 
 " He had great provocation, — some, at least ; but it was 
 hard to take advantage of a character so open and 
 trusting as that of Edward Vivian. Your father gam- 
 bled, Ronald ; he made Edward do the same ; he led 
 him on step by step, till his debts became very heavy. 
 I don't like to think it was done purposely, but it 
 appeared like it. Certainly he made use of Mr. 
 Vivian's weakness. They were friends all this time 
 outwardly. I think Mr. Vivian was sorry for the 
 disappointment of your father's affections ; and having 
 no fear of him as a rival, he gave him his con- 
 fidence, and consulted him in his difficulties. Im- 
 mediately afterwards, by some means, no one knew 
 how, tidings of Mr. Vivian's gambling debts reached 
 the General. He was fearfully angry. I saw some 
 of the letters which passed ; Mr. Vivian showed 
 them to Flora. He was full of repentance ; but 
 habit and evil companionship were too strong for 
 him, and after a short interval he returned to his 
 former practices. Every thing was made known to 
 the General through some secret channel, and when 
 still more indignant reproaches and threats of disin- 
 heritance reached Mr. Vivian, they were in the same 
 way communicated to my father. Poor Edward 
 found himself without friends, without support; it 
 was very much his own doing ; he was sadly, sadly 
 weak, but all turned against him: — even the persons 
 L 4
 
 152 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 who had first led him into evil, — who were still en- 
 couraging him in it ; — for I know that at this very 
 time it was Captain Vivian who enticed him again 
 and again to the gaming table, and laughed at him 
 when he would have drawn back." 
 
 A suppressed groan escaped from Ronald. Bertha 
 went on rapidly : — 
 
 " Perhaps you can guess the end of all this. Mr. 
 Vivian did not venture to propose openly for my 
 sister, knowing the feeling that was excited against 
 him, and fearing that if he said any thing, my father 
 would forbid him the house. Flora, too, was very 
 unhappy, from various causes. She had to bear with 
 great absence of sympathy in her own family, and 
 constant fits of temper. All her aifectionate feelings 
 were crushed and repelled ; and at length, in a mo- 
 ment of desperation, she was persuaded to marry 
 Edward Vivian, without the knowledge or consent of 
 her parents. It was a fatal step, Ronald, and most 
 bitterly punished. I need not repeat all that took 
 place in consequence ; it would not be important to 
 you, and it is only miserable for me. My father, in 
 his anger, refused to hold any communication with 
 them, and would not advance them a penny. They 
 were exiled from our house, and left to depend upon 
 such resources as might be obtained from General 
 Vivian. What his feelings would be, it remained to 
 be shown. Mr. Vivian wrote himself, acknowledging 
 his offence, entreating to be forgiven, but he received 
 no answer : he wrote again, and still there was delay. 
 At length, after the lapse of several weeks, the stern 
 decision came, in a few short, cutting sentences
 
 CLEVE HALL. 153 
 
 from the General, without even a softening word from 
 Edward's sisters, and only one heart-broken, re- 
 proachful line from his old nurse, Mrs. Robinson ; — 
 he was disinherited." 
 
 " But my father ? " exclaimed Ronald ; " he had 
 nothing to do with it ? " 
 
 " He left Germany instantly," replied Bertha, 
 " when the fact of my sister's marriage was known. 
 He travelled night and day ; and it was by him that 
 the intelligence was made known to General Vivian. 
 Goff, who had been in Edward's service, but had 
 been dismissed for dishonesty, and had afterwards 
 been engaged by Captain Vivian, accompanied him, 
 and was called to be a witness to the truth of some of 
 his statements. All this I first knew a few weeks since, 
 in conversation with Mr. Lester. At the time every 
 thing was a mystery, and there was no one to clear 
 it up. My own family were too proud and too angry 
 to make any effort for reconciliation ; and Edward 
 Vivian had no friend in whom he could confide, ex- 
 cept Mr. Lester, who had formerly been his tutor, 
 but who, unfortunately, was at that time travelling in 
 the East. No one was surprised at the General's 
 conduct ; it was only in keeping with the severity, 
 and what he called strict justice, which had marked 
 him through life. But what did in a measure asto- 
 nish both Edward and our own family, when the 
 letters were sent to us, was the style of the accusations 
 brought forward. The General spoke of deadly in- 
 gratitude, dishonour, disgrace in the eyes of the 
 world, and a false use of that to which Edward had 
 no claim, except at his father's pleasure. Some one
 
 154 CLEYE HALL. 
 
 particular oiFence seemed alluded to, but what we 
 could in no way discover. Certainly Edward had 
 acted very wrongly, and had shown himself most 
 lamentably weak ; but there had been nothing in the 
 least approaching to baseness. Even as regarded his 
 unhappy gambling debts, they were doubtless large 
 for his income, but not large for the General's fortune ; 
 and Edward could not be said to be a practised 
 gambler ; he had been led into the sin by the insti- 
 gation of others ; but he had no real taste for it, and 
 always refused when he could meet with any one to 
 support him; — a weak will was his stumbling block. 
 But the General admitted no extenuation. He 
 seemed to me, then, to have a false and most exagge- 
 rated view of the circumstances of the case, ai*i 
 wrote with a bitterness which "was absolutely un- 
 christian. Mr. Lester has talked to me, Eonald ; 
 he has told me some things which took place then ; 
 I fear there was great wrong done by misrepresenta- 
 tion, if not by any thing worse." 
 
 " And by my father ? " murmured Ronald. 
 
 " Mr. Lester says so. It is certain that all General 
 Vivian's information came through him; and — oh! 
 Ronald, forgive me for saying it — but I know that 
 a large sum of money, very much larger than the 
 amount of the gambling debts, was paid at that time 
 to your father by General Vivian, under the belief 
 that he was for the last time satisfying the claims of 
 his son's creditors. When Mr. Lester told me what 
 the amount was, expressing himself shocked at Ed- 
 ward's recklessness, I knew at once that there must 
 have been some wrong dealing in the matter. The
 
 CLEVE HALL. 155 
 
 debts were not a fourth part of the sum, and th© 
 money never readied Edward, or at least only a very 
 small portion did. So, again, Mr. Lester believed that 
 Edward had behaved undutifully, — that he refused 
 to offer an apology, or make the least submission to 
 his father ; — all utterly false. He wrote again and 
 again, and received no answer, except that which I 
 have mentioned ; till latterly, since Mr. Lester came 
 to Encombe, Miss Vivian has been allowed to write 
 to him. Ronald, your father was Edward Vivian's 
 deadly enemy. Can you forgive me for suspecting 
 him?" 
 
 The poor boy writhed as if under a serpent's sting. 
 Bertha laid her hand aifectionately on his shoulder, 
 but he pushed it aside roughly, and, in a hoarse voice, 
 muttered " go on." 
 
 " It is such pain, Ronald, to give you pain," said 
 Bertha. 
 
 He did not answer ; his forehead was pressed 
 against the wall with a force which must have been 
 almost torture. 
 
 Bertha seemed doubtful whether she might venture 
 to proceed, but, after a moment's consideration, slightly 
 changing the subject, she continued; — "You may 
 wonder why, if there was a misunderstanding of the 
 truth, so many years should have passed, and no ex- 
 planation be offered ; but at the time neither Mr. 
 Vivian nor Flora had any one to help or advise them. 
 They were left to poverty, and what would have been 
 utter ruin, but for the interposition of an ordinary 
 acquaintance, who became by accident acquainted 
 with their case, and interested himself to obtain for
 
 156 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Edward a situation in the West Indies. They sailed 
 without a parting word of kindness from us ; indeed 
 we did not know of their intentions till they were 
 gone. My sister and I never met again ; she lies in 
 a foreign grave ; " — Bertha's voice faltered, and Ronald 
 stealthily and shyly laid his rough hand upon hers, but 
 without speaking. 
 
 " We had some comfort before that sorrow came," 
 continued Bertha. " Years had softened the feelings 
 of my father and mother, and when a change of 
 climate became necessary for the children, they con- 
 sented to take the charge of them. Clement and 
 Ella came to us first; then the little ones. There 
 were two others, who died. But much of that you 
 know, for your father and mother settled in our village 
 about that time. Your father I hoped had recovered 
 his disappointment. We met as friends ; for I did not 
 then understand all the evil he had occasioned ; and 
 his habits of life were not such as to cause an entire 
 separation between the families. Your mother, too, 
 had been my friend in inftmcy, and clung to me more 
 and more closely as care and sorrow gathered around 
 her. They were trying days, Ronald, but they 
 brought their blessing with them, — at least to me. It 
 was my joy to comfort her, and I learnt, for her sake, 
 to bear with much which I could not have borne from 
 any man except your father. My father died about that 
 time, and my mother left me much to myself, so that 
 I was able to be with Marian a great deal ; and though 
 your father openly sll0^Yed his dislike to me, he never 
 actually forbade our intimacy. This went on for 
 about eight years, till your mother died, and your
 
 CLEVE IT ALL. lo7 
 
 father left the village. Family circumstances have 
 not changed much with us since. My sister's death was 
 a great trial, but we could scarcely grieve for her ; 
 her lot was a very hard one. They were miserably 
 poor, and I am afraid — marriage beginning wrongly 
 can never end well — I fear she was not happy. Ed- 
 ward Vivian has always been restless ; longing to 
 return to England ; yet feeling that the little prospect 
 he has of providing for his children would be gone 
 if he were to do so. And they have grown up with- 
 out knowing him ; I don't think even Ella and Clement 
 can recollect him ; and so there is the want of a father's 
 authority. It is all very sad. But it might be altered ; 
 — I think so, at least. Ronald," — and Bertha spoke 
 hurriedly yet earnestly, — "you might do much." 
 
 He stood up proudly ; the marks of a stern self- 
 control were visible, in the slight frown upon his 
 forehead, and the compression of his lips, which 
 scarcely parted as he said coldly, " What duty does 
 Miss Campbell require of a son against his father ? " 
 
 " Not against your father ! God forbid ! " exclaimed 
 Bertha. "But oh! Ronald! if injustice has been 
 done " 
 
 " It shall be undone," he replied, firmly, " at any 
 sacrifice." 
 
 Bertha continued: — "My words must seem harsh, 
 Ronald ; yet I would serve your father rather than 
 injure him. The time indeed is so long past that it 
 might be very difficult to prove what we suspect ; but 
 if the attempt were made, it must be followed up, and 
 that publicly — in a court of justice. It might be 
 madness in us, but it would be eternal disgrace for
 
 158 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 him. Mr. Lester and I have talked over the matter 
 repeatedly. For the General's sake, we dread to 
 bring forward a case which we could not prove. It 
 would recall past griefs, and probably cause some 
 fatal catastrophe. Yet we cannot let the matter rest ; 
 for not to speak is Edward Vivian's ruin. One idea 
 we have had has been that he should himself return 
 to England to sift the matter ; but there are many 
 objections to this. His presence might irritate the 
 General, and I should dread a meeting between him 
 and Captain Vivian ; whilst even to enter upon the 
 subject with the General, in order to obtain informa- 
 tion, seems next to impossible, though we have thought 
 of it. The past is a sealed book : not even to liis 
 own daughters would he relate the particulars of all 
 that transpired in that one unhappy interview with 
 your father ; although something there was which 
 weighed so heavily upon him that it did the work of 
 years upon his frame. Ronald, your father's own 
 words can alone throw light upon the mystery." 
 
 Bertha paused, but Ronald stood silent as though 
 some secret power had paralysed him. 
 
 " I do not see the way to obtain them," she added ; 
 " yet the time may come, conscience may one day 
 waken ; and, Ronald, if you should be near him in 
 that hour, I conjure you, by all that you hold most 
 sacred, remember your promise." 
 
 He sank upon the bench, and sobbed like a child. 
 
 Bertha drew near and spoke anxiously : — " It is not 
 against your father that I would for worlds wish you 
 to act ; but you may lead him, urge him, to acknow- 
 ledge if he has in any way done Edward Vivian wrong
 
 CLEVE HALL. 159 
 
 hj false' words. His own confession would never be 
 turned against him, except so far as it might restore 
 Edward to General Vivian's favour. And you may 
 stand in the way between your father and Clement. 
 He hates Clement. He is the child of the woman 
 who rejected him. Save the poor boy from his temp- 
 tations, and God may in mercy bless your work, and 
 withdraw the curse which must now rest upon the 
 man who laboured for another's ruin." 
 
 A convulsive shudder passed over Ronald's frame, 
 and then he became motionless. 
 
 " Ronald," said Bertha, as she bent over him, " it 
 is all but your Mother's voice which bids you take 
 courage and be comforted." 
 
 The words were powerless. She heard him mur- 
 mur to himself, — " The curse ; the curse." And again 
 he groaned in anguish. 
 
 " To be redeemed by you, as it would have been by 
 her," continued Bertha. 
 
 " She was an angel," he exclaimed, starting up, 
 with a vehemence which might have caused a less 
 firm heart than Bertha's to tremble at the storm of 
 feeling she was awakening ; " and I " 
 
 " You may be one, Ronald, — even more 
 
 His bitter laugh rang sharply, hopelessly, on the 
 ear. 
 
 "Go," he exclaimed; '-'talk to others, preach, 
 labour ; there are hundreds to listen ; your words are 
 wasted on me, — the outcast!" 
 
 " An outcast ? so young, so misled ! oh, Ronald ! 
 never, never ! " 
 
 " You know not to whom you speak," he continued,
 
 160 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 his voice assuming a tone of fierce sarcasm, more 
 terrible than the outburst of passion. " Have you 
 lived the life which I have lived ? seen what I have 
 seen ? known what I have known ? Go ! Let me be 
 what I am doomed to be." 
 
 " Ronald, I do not know, God forbid that I ever 
 should know, the secrets of such scenes as you have 
 been accustomed to ; but this I know, that were they 
 the blackest and deadliest which the human heart could 
 conceive, there must be hope and the certain pro- 
 spect of escape, whilst the feeling of horror at them 
 remains." 
 
 He covered his face with his hands. 
 
 " It is from God," continued Bertha soothingly, 
 " from His Spirit ; it is the call to repentance. — the 
 answer to your mother's prayers." 
 
 " And to my father's deeds, in which I have joined," 
 he said, in a tone like the underswell of the sea. Then, 
 uncovering his face, he gazed upon her, calmly and 
 steadily, and added : — " Miss Campbell, you need not 
 fear. Whatever maybe my own course, justice shall 
 one day be done." He stood, intending to leave her. 
 Bertha detained him. 
 
 " Ronald, you must not and shall not go. I have 
 a claim that you should listen to me, for I was your 
 mother's friend, her only one. It was to me she 
 made her last request, — that, as God should grant me 
 the power, I would watch over her boy. In her 
 name I require you now to hearken to me." 
 
 He sat down, not sullenly, but as if in a stupor. 
 
 " I know your purpose," continued Bertha, her 
 tone becoming severe in its deep earnestness ; " you
 
 CLEVE HALL. 161 
 
 will from this night bend all the energies of your 
 mind to discover and counteract the evil which your 
 father has caused ; most earnestly, most entirely, I 
 thank and trust you. But there are two ways open 
 before you : — in the one you may accomplish your 
 work and be yourself saved ; in the other you may 
 perform it and be lost. And Ronald, intensely though I 
 long for the reconciliation and restoration of Edward 
 Vivian and his family, — though it is the one object 
 for which it seems now that I have to live, — I would 
 rather see them struggle on in poverty and sorrow 
 for years, and suffer myself with them, than I would 
 know that any word of mine, or any efforts for them, 
 had led you even one step on the way which must 
 tend to destruction. Ronald, you may labour in proud 
 despair, or in humble hope. If you are proud, you 
 are lost." 
 
 " Proud ! " he repeated, bitterly and doubtfully. 
 
 "Yes, little though you may think it, pride is 
 your snare. You will work for others ; you will not 
 work for yourself." 
 
 " I may save others, I cannot save myself," he re- 
 plied in a softened tone. 
 
 " You cannot save others except by saving yourself. 
 You wish to aid Clement : you can have no right in- 
 fluence, you can give nothing but an inconsistent 
 example, unless your actions are grounded upon right 
 motives; the most deceitful of all motives is pride, 
 and its end is despair." 
 
 " Then I have reached the end," he said, sternly. 
 
 "No, Ronald, impossible. Let the past be what it 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 may, even in old age it is retrievable, — how much 
 more so in youth ! " 
 
 " I have known no youth," he replied ; " the sins of 
 my childhood have been the sins of a man, and my 
 punishment must be the punishment of a man." 
 
 "And your strength will be the strength of a man," 
 answered Bertha ; " the firm resolution, the unshaken 
 will " 
 
 " Which is pride," he said quickly. 
 
 "Pride, when we rest upon it as our own ; faith, 
 when we seek it from God. Konald, do you ever 
 pray ? " 
 
 He answered abruptly, and yet not angrily, — "In 
 storms, on the ocean, in the face of death, yes, I have 
 prayed then." 
 
 " But in quietness and solitude ? In your own 
 chamber? calmly, thoughtfully, regularly ? " 
 
 He smiled as in scorn at the question. 
 
 " Your mother prayed, Ronald ; will not you ?" 
 
 " She prayed because she was fit to pray." 
 
 "And you will pray because you would become 
 fit, — because there are dangers surrounding you, only 
 to be conquered by self-restraint, watchfulness, 
 earnestness, purity, faith ; and you are reckless, 
 proud, full of sinful memories, bowed down by a 
 burden of past offences. You will pray because you 
 long for pardon, for the knowledge that the love of 
 a Heavenly Father will be with you, to guard you 
 from the influence of an earthly one. You will pray, 
 because without prayer life must be misery, and 
 death despair. Oh, Ronald ! will you not do as your 
 mother did?"
 
 CLEVE HALL. 163 
 
 He made no reply ; he even moved away, and 
 Bertha was left for a few moments alone. She knelt 
 in the old church porch, and a prayer rose up to 
 Heaven in the stillness of that summer evening — a 
 prayer for one amongst the lost sheep, the erring and 
 the straying, who had left undone those things which 
 they ought to have done, and had done those things 
 which they ought not to have done, and in whom 
 there was no health ; and even as it was uttered, 
 Ronald stood at a distance, too self- distrustful to own 
 his feelings, too shy to express them in action, yet 
 praying also with uncovered head and closed eyes, 
 humbly and earnestly, for grace that might enable 
 him hereafter to live a godly, righteous, and sober life, 
 to the glory of God's holy Name. 
 
 They stood together again in the entrance of the 
 porch. Twilight was gathering around, though the 
 light yet glowed brilliantly in the far west. 
 
 Ronald broke the silence : — " Miss Campbell, 
 you must pray for me, and your prayers will be 
 heard." 
 
 " All earnest prayers are heard, Ronald ; especially 
 those of the sorrowful and penitent. But you will 
 act too ? " 
 
 " I don't know how ; it is all chaos." 
 
 " But the first steps are plain : no sinful words, re- 
 straint over your temper, a refusal to join in intem- 
 perance " 
 
 " Yes, plain ; " — he seemed pondering the word 
 doubtfully. 
 
 " And practicable. What ought to be can be, — only 
 
 M 2
 
 164 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 pray." She smiled, and held out her hand, and he 
 raised it respectfully to his lips. 
 
 ^e did not see the tear which glistened in her eye, 
 as she left him under the old church porch, the faint 
 gleams of the setting sun gilding his tall figure.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 165 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 " A NOTE for you, Ella ; " and Eachel Lester ran into 
 the school-room at the Lodge, holding a little twisted 
 paper between her fingers. " But I beg pardon ; I 
 forgot, I mustn't interrupt. How busy you all are 
 this morning ! " 
 
 " Ella has been strict all the week," said Fanny, 
 looking up from her writing ; " and it's dreadful work, 
 Eachel." 
 
 " Oh, no, Fanny," exclaimed Rachel ; and she went 
 round and stood behind the child's chair, and ofiered 
 to mend her pen. " I know you don't like lessons 
 half as well when they are not regular ; I am sure I 
 don't." 
 
 '• But it won't last," said Louisa, with a knowing 
 nod, which almost upset the gravity of Rachel's face. 
 
 " I don't know why you are to say that, Louisa," 
 said Ella ; " you know we are always regular when 
 there are no interruptions." 
 
 " Somehow interruptions come every day," per- 
 sisted Louisa. 
 
 " I have brought them to-day, I am afraid," said 
 Rachel. "This note is from your Aunt Mildred, I 
 think, Ella." 
 
 Ella read her note with an air of irajDOrtance, and 
 
 BI 3
 
 166 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 stood gazing upon it afterwards, as if there was some 
 weighty matter to be determined. 
 
 Louisa held up her exercise book, and said, — " Just 
 look it over, please, Rachel. Ella won't now, she's 
 busy;" and Rachel went to the other side of the 
 table. 
 
 " I will attend to the exercise, thank you, Rachel," 
 said Ella, looking round quickly. She was very 
 jealous of her own authority, probably because she 
 felt that it rested on an insecure foundation. 
 
 Rachel sat down, and began to read ; and Louisa 
 and Fanny glanced at each other, and made a sign 
 intended to show that a storm wa.s impending. 
 
 " I must go to grandmamma," said Ella, in a tone 
 of dignified self-conciousness. She moved to the 
 door with her usual languid pace. 
 
 " When am I to see you again, Ella ? " asked 
 Rachel. 
 
 " And what are we to do about our lessons ? we have 
 just finished our exercises," inquired Fanny, fretfully. 
 
 " My deiir, I can't attend to you ; " and Ella 
 walked out of the room, without answering Rachel's 
 question. 
 
 Rachel could not help feeling annoyed. She had 
 some special messages to give from her papa, and she 
 was not to go back without having them answered ; 
 and this delay would be very inconvenient, for she 
 had several things to prepare for Bertha, who gave 
 her German lessons three times a week. 
 
 The children were provoked, too. They liked re- 
 gularity, even when they complained of it ; and 
 although they seized upon the excuse to go on with
 
 CLEVE HALL. 167 
 
 some new story books, ihej were by no means com- 
 fortable. 
 
 Ella went to her grandmamma's room. Bertlia 
 was there, and she drew back. 
 
 "Come in, Ella; what do you want?" How 
 chilling the tone of voice was ! How utterly unlike 
 the sympathising tenderness which had touched 
 Ronald's better feelings ! 
 
 " I want to speak to grandmamma," said Ella. 
 
 "Do you, my darling? Oh, then, Bertha, these 
 things can wait;" and Mrs. Campbell pointed to a 
 pile of account books. 
 
 " Betsey is going to Cleve, and she ought to pay 
 the books," replied Bertha. 
 
 " Not to-day ; she must wait; There will be another 
 opportunity, I dare say, to-morrow." 
 
 "Couldn't you leave what you have to say, Ella, 
 till the children's lessons are finished ? " asked Bertha. 
 
 " It won't take two minutes," said Ella. " Grand- 
 mamma, I have had a note from Aunt Mildred." 
 
 " We know all about that, Ella," observed Bertha ; 
 " grandmamma heard from your aunt yesterday her- 
 self" 
 
 " Then, grandmamma, when am I to go ? " 
 
 " There is no hurry about settling the time now, 
 Ella. The accounts must be finished first." 
 
 "But I must know, because of getting my things 
 ready ; and Aunt Mildred begs me to write and tell 
 her." 
 
 " We will talk about it, Ella, my dear ; we will 
 see about it," said Mrs. Campbell, nervously. 
 
 "But by-and-by will do just as well," remarked 
 
 M 4
 
 168 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Bertha. " It is not a matter of consequence whether 
 you go one day or another, Ella." 
 
 "If I don't go this week the fine weather may be 
 gone ; and Aunt Mildred wouldn't like me to be 
 there when it is wet," said Ella. 
 
 "But an hour can't make any difference," con- 
 tinued Bertha; "and Betsey must go to Cleve this 
 morning." 
 
 " ]\Ir. Lester's cook will be going to-morrow, Louisa 
 says," replied Ella ; " she would pay the books." 
 
 Bertha's temper was irritated to the utmost extent 
 of forbearance. She gathered the account books 
 together, without trusting herself with another word. 
 
 " You can tell Betsey to wait, and come back to 
 me yourself, presently. Bertha," said Mrs. Campbell, 
 making a compromise with her conscience, as Bertha 
 was going away. 
 
 The door closed, not quite gently, and Ella sat 
 down by her grandmamma, and muttered, " Aunt 
 Bertha is so dreadfully soon put out." 
 
 Perhaps it was not quite wise in Bertha to do as 
 she did, — go to the school-room — it might have been 
 better for Ella's misdeeds to bear their own fruit, — 
 but regularity was her mania, and she felt that the 
 children were becoming irregular. Eachel ran up to 
 her as she entered the room : " Dear Miss Campbell ! 
 I wanted to see you so much ; I have a message from 
 papa." 
 
 Bertha had felt lonely and dispirited just before, 
 but that bright face, and the musical voice, and 
 loving accent, had an influence which she could not 
 withstand. Yet she was cold still ; she would have
 
 CLEVE HALL. 169 
 
 appeared so at least to those who did not comprehend 
 her. "Wait one moment, dear Rachel. Children, 
 what are you about ? " 
 
 " Reading till Ella comes back," said Louisa. 
 
 " Put away your books, and tell me what you have 
 to do." 
 
 " I have an hour's music to practise," said Fanny, 
 mournfully. 
 
 " Well, then, set about it at once. And Louisa ?" 
 
 " Oh ! a great many things," said Louisa, care- 
 lessly. " French dictation, and geography, and les- 
 sons for to-morrow, and reading history, and sums. 
 I shan't have done till I don't know what o'clock." 
 
 " Then begin something directly. Where is your 
 slate ? Show me what sum you are doing." 
 
 " Ella was explaining to me about decimal fractions, 
 last time," said Louisa. 
 
 " Decimal fractions ! nonsense ! where did you 
 leave off with me ? The rule of three ; — there, 
 take that sum. No. 19., and work it while I am here. 
 Not a word to be spoken, remember. Now, Rachel ;" 
 and Bertha opened the window, and stepped out 
 upon the little lawn, followed by Rachel. 
 
 "I won't keep you a minute, at least not many, 
 dear Miss Campbell," began Rachel. 
 
 " Never mind, I have time to spare ; Ella won't be 
 back again for the next half-hour ; " and Bertha 
 sighed. 
 
 " I wish I could help you, and I wish — " Rachel 
 hesitated — " I wish Ella didn't trouble you." 
 
 " We won't talk about her," said Bertha, shortly. 
 
 Rachel was thrown back, and ventured upon no
 
 170 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 more expressions of sympathy. "Papa says, dear 
 Miss Campbell, that he wants you to come up and 
 see him this evening ; he wanted to know if perhaps 
 you would come and drink tea with me ; but he 
 mayn't be at home till late himself. He has several 
 poor people to see, and he may be kept." 
 
 "Yes, I will come, certainly." Quite different 
 Bertha's accent was then ; there was even a tone of 
 excitement in it. 
 
 Eachel's quick ear caught the change. 
 
 " Dear Miss Campbell, may I say one thing more to 
 you ? Perhaps it is not exactly the right time, but if 
 you could spare me a few moments." 
 
 " As many as you like." 
 
 " And you won't be offended ?" 
 
 " I don't think I could be offended at any thing 
 you would say, Rachel." 
 
 " Because you are so kind, and make allowances 
 for me ; but I am half afraid of this." Her colour 
 went and came very quickly, and she stopped for 
 some seconds, and at last said, — " Oh, Miss Campbell, 
 I do so wish every one was comfortable." 
 
 " A universal wish, at least, Rachel." 
 
 " Oh, no ! " exclaimed Rachel ; " it can't be ; at 
 least — I don't mean to be rude — but if every one 
 wished it, every one would be." 
 
 " Not quite," replied Bertha ; " God sends afflic- 
 tions." 
 
 "But those would not make one uncomfortable, 
 would they ? but unhappy. And, do you know, I 
 think it is much worse to be uncomfortable than un- 
 happy."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 171 
 
 Bertha could not help laughing. " Well, perhaps 
 it may be, — though it is not the general view of the 
 case. But you have nothing to make you uncomfort- 
 able, Rachel?" 
 
 "Not at home, and I never used to have any 
 where." 
 
 " Till we came here," said Bertha. 
 
 Rachel hesitated a little. " I suppose, where there 
 are so many people, things must be more uncomfort- 
 able ; but I am very sorry about it, and I should like 
 so — it came into my head that perhaps you could 
 tell me something to do to help make them less so. 
 You know I am going to be confirmed in October." 
 
 " Are you ? I didn't know it ; but what has that 
 to do with your being confirmed ? " 
 
 " Nothing exactly ; only thinking about that put 
 the other into my head. Papa says it is a great 
 starting point in life, and that I am to think over all 
 my duties, and see how I can perform them better 
 than I have done. And he told me to think about 
 what I did and said with my companions, and to con- 
 sider whether I could make things better in any way. 
 That was what reminded me of being uncomfortable, 
 — for I don't think Ella is comfortable, and I don't 
 think I am when I am with her." 
 
 " Ella is a very difiicult person to live with," said 
 Bertha. 
 
 " She is never two days alike," continued Rachel. 
 " That puzzles me ; because when I think I know 
 how to get on vv^ith her, she turns round and is quite 
 different."
 
 172 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Slie is a genius," said Bertha, rather bitterly ; 
 " and so she has been spoilt." 
 
 Eachel was thoughtful. " I used to think," she said, 
 " that it would be very delightful to be exceedingly 
 clever, but I don't think I do now." 
 
 " Cleverness is all very well," said Bertha ; " but it 
 is good for nothing if people can't govern themselves." 
 
 "But clever people always do so much in the 
 world," said Eachel. 
 
 " I am not so sure of that, Eachel. The hard work 
 of the world is done by straightforward goodness, not 
 by talent. Ella will never do any thing." 
 
 "You always say that," said Eachel; "and it 
 makes me unhappy." 
 
 "I say it, because I think it," replied Bertha. 
 " Louisa is twice as useful as Ella now." 
 
 " And you don't know any way in which I could 
 help Ella to be more useful ?" asked Eachel, the 
 colour rushing to her temples, as she added, — "It 
 sounds conceited, but papa told me I was to try." 
 
 " You will be cleverer than I am, if you can find 
 out," replied Bertha. 
 
 " Aunt Mildred says," continued Eachel, " that if 
 we want to lead people any particular way, we must 
 begin by going two steps with them, and then we may 
 be able to persuade them to go one step with us." 
 
 Bertha shook her head ; it sounded like a dangerous 
 maxim ; at any rate she was not accustomed to it. 
 
 " I don't mean two Avrong steps, of course," pursued 
 Eachel, reading the doubtful expression of Bertha's 
 countenance ; " and Aunt Mildred, when she said it, 
 told me I was not to trouble my head about it now,
 
 CLEVE HALL. 173 
 
 because I have enough to do to lead myself ; but that 
 it might be useful to remember when I grew up. I 
 could not help thinking about it, though, a little, when 
 papa talked to me about being useful, and setting a 
 good example ; and at last I made up my mind that I 
 would ask you if you could tell me any thing in which 
 I went against Ella. I am very nearly sure I do some- 
 times, without meaning it." 
 
 " She goes against herself," replied Bertha. " There 
 is nothing to be done with persons who do that." 
 
 " And you don't think it is my fault ?" 
 
 " No, dear Eachel, what could make you think it 
 was ?' 
 
 " Because, do you know, Miss Campbell, I can't 
 help looking up to Ella ; and so, when things go 
 wrong, I can't help fancying the fault must be mine." 
 
 " As to cleverness," said Bertha, " every one must 
 look up to her." 
 
 " And she has such grand notions," continued Ra- 
 chel. " I think sometimes she would have been such 
 a great person if she had been a man ; and that 
 perhaps the misfortune is her being a woman. 
 Would she have been better as a man, do you think ? " 
 
 " Eeally, dear Rachel, I never troubled myself to 
 think. I believe we are all best as God has made 
 us." 
 
 " But such a great mind seems shut up in a woman's 
 body," said Rachel, laughing. 
 
 " It is not a great mind, Rachel. Great minds do 
 great things." 
 
 " Ella begins a great many," said Rachel. 
 
 " But she does not finish them. A thinfj; is not
 
 174 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 done till it is finished." A smile crossed Bertha's face 
 as she said this, and she added : — " That is a truism, 
 at least it sounds like one ; but I am sure half the 
 world forget it. And then people go shares with 
 others in their duties, and so deceive themselves. 
 Ella goes shares with you, Rachel." 
 
 " How ? I don't understand ? " 
 
 " She has grand notions of what is right, and, when 
 the fit is upon her, she forms beautiful plans of duty, 
 and begins them ; but she grows tired of them and 
 leaves you or the children to finish them. Then she 
 has a vague idea that because they are done by some 
 one, it is the same as if they were done by her. All 
 this is terrible self-deception. It will be her ruin if 
 it is allowed to go on." 
 
 " And I can't do any thing, then ? " said Eachel, 
 sadly. 
 
 " I suppose we all do something when we attend to 
 our own duties," replied Bertha. " Ella would be 
 much worse if it were not for you." 
 
 " But, about going two steps with her ? " said Ea- 
 chel, thoughtfally. " Can't you tell me what Aunt 
 Mildred means by that ? " 
 
 " I don't understand how we are to go two steps 
 with any one who is going the wrong way," said 
 Bertha, rather shortly. " I think, Eachel, you had 
 better leave Ella to herself." 
 
 Eachel's was a very warm heart, and there was an 
 innate truthfulness in her character, which was her 
 bond of sympathy with Bertha. It kept her now from 
 being utterly repelled ; but it was very trying to give 
 confidence, and seek it, and find nothing in return.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 175 
 
 She walked on, silent and disappointed. Bertha's 
 heart smote her ; and something whispered to her 
 that she did not care to talk about Ella, or try to im- 
 prove her, and that she ought to do so. 
 
 "Don't go, Rachel dear," she said, as Rachel turned 
 into the path to the rectory. " Have you nothing 
 more to say ? " 
 
 " Nothing, thank you. But you will come and 
 drink tea this evening ?" 
 
 " Yes, and shall Ella come too ? " It was a great 
 effort for Bertha to propose tliis. She did not wish 
 it at all, but it was an amends to her conscience. A 
 few moments before Rachel would have said that 
 it would be pleasanter to have a quiet hour alone with 
 Miss Campbell, but she did not feel that now. She 
 only thought herself very stupid in having mentioned 
 Ella's name. 
 
 " Yes, if you please," she replied ; "you know we 
 drink tea at half-past six, so you will be back in time 
 to read to Mrs. Campbell. Papa has altered the hour, 
 because of having to go across the hills, nearly every 
 day, to see poor little Barney Wood. Do you know, 
 Miss Campbell," — and Rachel became animated in 
 the consciousness that she was going to say something 
 agreeable, — " Ronald Vivian has been so kind to 
 Barney ; he has cut him out a little ship, and he goes 
 to read to him sometimes. Isn't it good of him ? " 
 
 Bertha kissed Rachel ; — that was her answer ; 
 and Rachel ran away, feeling that she had in some 
 unknown way made her peace.
 
 176 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 Ella deceived herself ; but so also did Bertha Camp- 
 bell. Was that possible ? — so strict as Bertha was 
 in her self-examination, so very rigid both in the 
 theory and the practice of duty, and above all so 
 very true both by nature and long habit ? 
 " The heart is deceitful above all things." 
 This is, of course, peculiarly true of the affections, 
 especially when the feeling nursed is the one gentle 
 point in a character otherwise unyielding. But the 
 expression must include also the whole bent and 
 disposition of the mind. The one object which we 
 love, or for the success of which we labour, be it ever 
 so pure, ever so disinterested, — human friendship, — 
 a work of benevolence, — the carrying out of some 
 noble principle, — that is our temptation. If we do 
 not watch, and strive, and continually balance it by 
 other claims, it will one day be the cause of our fall. 
 
 This seems to be the secret of much of that incon- 
 sistency which is a stumbling-block to the young in 
 the characters of those whom they are taught to re- 
 verence. Good men devote themselves to the support 
 of a theory, or to the advancement of some definite 
 object, and, unconsciously to themselves, it too often 
 takes the place of God. The range of their sym- 
 pathies, and consequently of the virtues they practice,
 
 CLEVE HALL. 177 
 
 is narrowed, and others see with surprise, and often 
 consternation, that whilst professing the very highest 
 principles, and devoting themselves to the very 
 noblest purposes, they can yet utterly overlook the 
 simplest and most obvious duties. 
 
 Thus it was, at least in a degree, with Bertha 
 Campbell. Naturally warm-hearted, yet painfully 
 reserved, she had early in life been brought in contact 
 with a person who had excited her keenest interest, 
 and, by giving confidence, had in time been able to 
 exact it. This was the beginning of her affection for 
 Ronald Vivian's mother. Reserved people are grate- 
 ful to those who teach them unreserve. Bertha 
 was grateful to Mrs. Vivian. Gratitude, deepened 
 by compassion, became love, — that romantic feeling 
 which is so continually the day-dream of a young 
 girl's life, and which may not be the less dangerous 
 because the world sees in it nothing to condemn. 
 
 And so Bertha's dormant sympathies flowed into 
 this one channel which she had dug for herself, and 
 found no vent in those which had been formed for her 
 by God. Mrs. Campbell doubtless had much cause to 
 blame herself for this, but Bertha could not be said 
 to be innocent. Because she liked to be with Mrs. 
 Vivian, and knew that her society was appreciated, 
 and her presence felt as a comfort by one otherwise 
 lonely and desolate, she made excuses to her con- 
 science for the neglect of little home duties, and 
 attributed her mother's reproaches to harshness of 
 temper and want of sympathy with her pleasures. 
 Mrs. Campbell was in consequence estranged from her, 
 and bestowed her affections upon the children. Bertha 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 was hurt at this. She was not exactly jealous ; it was 
 not in her disposition ; but her pride was wounded, 
 and Ella's talents causing her to be brought forward 
 far beyond her years, they were continually jarring. 
 So the coldness spread. Bertha knew her faults, 
 and kept a strict watch over them ; but she knew 
 them by their effects, not their cause. She was 
 always doctoring herself for symptoms, whilst she 
 had never reached the root of the disease. And 
 now, unknown to herself, under the guise of the 
 most sacred of all feelings, — a desire to save from 
 ruin the child of the friend whom she had dearly loved, 
 — the same seed of evil was again being nurtured 
 in her heart. To Ronald she could give sympathy, 
 tenderness, and the most untiring interest ; he was, 
 in another form, the romance of her early life ; to 
 Ella and Clement she could offer nothing but rules of 
 duty and cold advice. Was this selfishness ? 
 
 By the strictest enquiry as to her faults, Bertha 
 could not have discovered it. The friends who knew 
 her most intimately, and watched her most narrowly, 
 could not have accused hsr of it. 
 
 Only in one way could she have perceived it : by 
 examining whether the scales of duty were equally 
 balanced ; — whether in throwing the weight of her 
 energy into one, she had not, from a secret bias, 
 lightened the other. 
 
 And this kind of self-examination Bertha had not 
 learnt to practise. She enquired rather into the 
 quality than the extent of her duties, and as long 
 as those which she had set herself were attended to 
 thoroughly and honestly, she saw no need to ask 
 whether there might not be others neglected.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 179 
 
 Yet Rachel's conversation left an unpleasant im- 
 pression on her mind ; it touched her conscience, 
 though she was not quite aware of the fact, and, in 
 consequence, made her feel more irritated with Ella 
 than before. And, certainly, there was much to 
 complain of that morning : Ella staid nearly half an 
 hour with her grandmamma, persuading her that it 
 was quite necessary she should go to the Hall the 
 next day ; and when, at length, she had obtained the 
 desired consent, ran up stairs to consult Betsey about 
 a box for packing her things, taking up the servant's 
 time, so that the bed-rooms were not finished till 
 twelve o'clock. The children's lessons might have 
 been scattered to the winds, but for Bertha. As it 
 was, they went on most energetically and satisfac- 
 torily; but it was at the expense of poor Bertha's 
 time, and, in a certain way, of her health, for she was 
 obliged in consequence to give up a walk before 
 dinner, which had been specially recommended her, 
 in order to write the letters that ought properly to 
 have been finished whilst Ella was with the children. 
 
 Very little trouble and labour this would have 
 been to Bertha, if Ella had been at all considerate 
 or grateful ; but she v/as so in the habit of letting 
 her duties fall quietly upon Bertha's shoulders, that 
 she really was not aware at last who was bearing 
 the burden, and therefore scarcely ever thought of 
 saying, " Thank you." What was still more pro- 
 voking, it never seemed to cross her mind that it 
 was her duty to provide, in some way, for the chil- 
 dren's instruction during her absence. She was one 
 of those easy-tempered persons, who never seem to
 
 180 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 imagine that they give trouble, because they have 
 never been in the habit of taking it. " Things will 
 go on somehow," was a very favourite saying of 
 hers ; the somehow, meaning anyhoiv, so long as her 
 own plans were not interfered with. 
 
 It is a grievous pity that we do not all learn to 
 call our faults by their right names. Ella acknow- 
 ledged herself to be indolent, — that she did not 
 object to ; it was rather a refined fault. She would 
 have been deeply mortified if it had been suggested 
 to her that she was selfish, for she was always dream- 
 ing of heroism, and heroines are never selfish. 
 
 And on that day particularly Ella was a heroine 
 in her own eyes, for she was indulging a long- 
 cherished romance. She thought it was about her 
 Aunt Mildred, but it was really, as is the case with 
 most persons who give themselves to romance, about 
 herself. Ella believed herself to be, as she expressed 
 it, " bewitched with Aunt Mildred." They had not 
 met above five or six times ; but Mildred's sweet 
 face, her quiet grace, and earnest thoughtfulness, 
 were most attractive to Ella's excitable imagination. 
 And then the solemn grandeur of the old Hall, the 
 seclusion of Mildred's room, opening into the private 
 garden, her grandfather's dignity, the deference of 
 the servants, and, above all, the mystery which had 
 so long been connected with the home of her fother's 
 childhood ; — it was not wonderful that these things 
 should Avork upon Ella with an influence amounting 
 to fascination. It had been her dream for the last 
 two months that she should go and stay at Cleve, 
 and a very innocent dream it seemed ; but, unfortu-
 
 CLEVE HALL. ]81 
 
 natelj, tliongh Aunt Mildred appeared in the fore- 
 ground in Ella's imaginary pictures, she herself was 
 always peeping over her shoulder : and if the dream 
 had been examined when carried on to its termina- 
 tion, it would have been found that, at last, Ella 
 was to reign triumphant at Cleve, her grandfather's 
 idol, Aunt Mildred's pet, — safe from grandmamma's 
 nervous anxieties and Aunt Bertha's lectures, — 
 the centre of interest to the whole family. 
 
 With what an instinctive stateliness of manner 
 did Ella leave the house that afternoon, arm-in- 
 arm with Clement, to ramble over the hills ! Bertha 
 had taken the children ; Mrs. Campbell was in- 
 clined to be left alone, probably to sleep. Clement 
 was yawning, and complaining of dulness ; and what 
 better could be devised under such trying circum- 
 stances than a long walk? Ella was not fond of 
 mounting the hills : she liked much better to go to 
 the sea-shore, and reaU poetry; but she had been 
 taking a mental stimulant, and for once said " Yes," 
 when Clement proposed that they should try and 
 reach the Beacon, a pile of stones, raised as a kind 
 of landmark, on the top of the highest hill, which 
 rose a little to the north-west of Encombe. 
 
 They set off vigorously over the rough stones of a 
 long lane ; mounted a high gate, made their way 
 across a field of stubble, and emerged upon the fine 
 turf of the hills. Clement stopped to take breath 
 and rest, for the ascent, even as far as they had gone, 
 was tiring. Ella dragged him on : " For shame ! false- 
 hearted ! to want rest just at the beginning ; how will 
 you hold out to the end ? " 
 
 N 3
 
 1S2 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " As well as you do, I will answer for that. The 
 hare and the tortoise, remember." 
 
 " I always admired the hare the most, though I 
 respected the tortoise," exclaimed Ella, hastening on ; 
 and then stopping for a moment, quite breathless, and 
 laughing at Clement's plodding steps : " You see, 
 Clement," she said, as he drew near, " the good of 
 doing things at a start is, that you gain time by it, 
 to find a little amusement with your neighbours. The 
 world would be a very dull world if every one went 
 through it only minding his own concerns, as you do 
 now." 
 
 " There is something in that," said Clement, throw- 
 ing himself upon the grass ; " but what are you to do, 
 Ella, when there is no amusement to find?" 
 
 " Oh, make it. I should always make it," replied 
 Ella. " If it was not in life, I would get it from 
 books ; and if it was not to be had in books, I would 
 invent it." 
 
 " Very well for you, who have brains ; but for a 
 poor fellow who has none ! " 
 
 " Nonsense, Clement ! I won't have you say that. 
 Now for another start ! " And almost before the words 
 were spoken, Ella had made a rush, and was several 
 yards in advance. 
 
 Clement followed at a distance. A call from Ella 
 hastened his steps. 
 
 " Mr. Lester and Rachel going towards the foot of 
 the Beacon ; shall we catch up with them ? " She did 
 not wait for an answer, but hurried forward. 
 
 Clement stood still for an instant, and perceiving a 
 short cut up a steep bank, w^hich Ella could scarcely
 
 CLEVE HALL. 183 
 
 have ascended, was about to hasten after her, when, 
 happening to look round, he perceived Ronald 
 Vivian coming up the hill, with the firm tread and 
 athletic gait of a mountaineer ; not hurrying like 
 Ella, not leisurely and indolently moving on with un- 
 steady pace like himself, but at every stride making 
 a marked progress, which promised in a few seconds 
 to bring them to the same level. 
 
 The two boys caught sight of each other at the 
 same moment. Clement stopped. 
 
 They were only half friends, for Clement had not 
 forgiven Ronald for his interference on the night of 
 the storm, and was all the more irritable because he 
 had found that there was really no ground for offence. 
 Ronald had indeed urged Goff to go without him, 
 but he had never pretended to give a message which 
 he had not received. The attraction Avhich drew 
 them together was like that of the rattlesnake ; and 
 it was with an assumption of superiority that Cle- 
 ment exclaimed, " Holloa ! what errand are you upon 
 now, Ronald?" 
 
 " Nothing of consequence," was the reply, shouted 
 forth in Ronald's loudest tones ; and, without pausing, 
 he went on in an opposite direction from that which 
 Clement was taking. 
 
 His indifference piqued Clement, and he called 
 again, " I say, Ronald, stop, can't you ? What on 
 earth does he go on at that pace for ? " he muttered 
 to himself, as Ronald, either naturally or wilfully deaf, 
 strode forward. 
 
 Another loud, shrill call, so loud that Ronald could 
 not but hear, and stop in answer to it ; and Clement, 
 N 4
 
 184 CLEYE HALL. 
 
 irritated and proud, walked up to him leisurely, taking 
 rather a delight in observing one or two impatient 
 gestures. 
 
 A scowl was on Ronald's face. His temper was by 
 nature very quickly aroused, and had been, till lately, 
 at times, quite ungovernable. 
 
 " I'll tell you what, young sir," he began, as Cle- 
 ment came up to him, " you must learn that I have 
 something else to do than to stand kicking my heels 
 together for you. Why don't you make haste?" 
 
 " Why did'nt you stop?" inquired Clement. 
 
 " Why should I ? We have nothing to say to each 
 other." 
 
 " We shall have a great deal, if you can't be civil, 
 Master Ronald," said Clement. "But there is no 
 need to fret yourself. I only want a plain answer to a 
 plain question. Where are you going ? " 
 
 " Where you are not required to follow," replied 
 Ronald. " Your course is up the hills, I take it." 
 
 " And yours along them. I am not so ignorant, 
 you see, as you may fancy." 
 
 Ronald's colour rose ; but some inward thought 
 checked his anger. '-I was impatient just now," he 
 said, " and I am sorry." He held out his hand. 
 
 The words came out so naturally, that Clement 
 scarcely understood that an apology had been offered. 
 Yet he took the hand extended to him, saying, " You 
 needn't be so close ; I don't want to tell upon you." 
 
 " There is nothing to be told," replied Ronald ; 
 " but our ways don't go together." 
 
 "Why not? Ella and I are only taking an after- 
 noon's walk. Why shouldn't wc go with you?"
 
 CLEVE HALL. 185 
 
 " Because I sliall be better without you," said Ro- 
 nald, bluntly ; " tlie road is a rough one." 
 
 " Oh, nonsense for that ! Ella does'nt care for 
 rough roads ; and as for me," and Clement laughed 
 satirically, "as if I couldn't do what you do !" 
 
 " That may be. But, Clement, you are not coming 
 with me," and tossing his stick into the air, Ronald 
 strode onward. 
 
 " I am not, eh ? " exclaimed Clement ; " we'll see 
 that, young gentleman ! " He flung down a few wild- 
 flowers which he had been carrying for Ella, and 
 pressed forward, keeping Ronald in sight, yet not 
 attempting to join him. 
 
 He had forgotten Ella; he generally did forget 
 everything but the impulse of the moment ; and he 
 had an impression that Ella was going along the 
 foot of the hills in a direction parallel with his own, 
 and would be sure to join Mr. Lester. He did not 
 exactly say it to himself, but it was a kind of vague 
 conviction, enough to satisfy him ; so he went on. 
 
 The path was winding, occasionally almost dan- 
 gerous, for it was nothing more than a sheep-track, 
 and the hills were in some parts very nearly preci- 
 pitous. But Clement had a firm tread, and a steady 
 eye ; he kept Ronald in view, except when at in- 
 tervals a projecting point hid him for a moment 
 from sight, and felt something of the eagerness of a 
 chase, as from time to time he ascended a high mound 
 or a steep bank, to obtain a more general view of the 
 course he was taking. 
 
 Then he did once or twice look for Ella, and at 
 first he saw her hurrying on after two figures, whom
 
 186 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 he supposed to be Mr. Lester and Racliel, and after- 
 wards he observed her stop to rest, and shouted after 
 her to show her where he was, but he did not wait to 
 listen whether she answered him. When he looked 
 the third time, she was not in sight, but, of course, he 
 supposed, she had heard him, and, seeing him at a 
 distance, had joined Mr. Lester.
 
 CLEVE nALL. 187 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 The direction which Ronald took, and which Clement 
 followed, led at length into another of those deep 
 gorges with which the Encombe Hills abounded, 
 formed, in all probability, by the constant fretting of 
 some mountain stream, wearing away the rocks. 
 
 Greystone Gorge, as it was called, was much nar- 
 rower than the ravine in which the village of En- 
 combe had been built. The stream, to which it must 
 have owed its origin, had long been dried up, and 
 it was now, for the most part, quite barren and stony, 
 except where some few patches of rank grass had 
 sprung up among the rocks. At the upper extremity, 
 however, a solitary ash-tree, the relic probably of the 
 woods which had formerly clothed the hills, had taken 
 root, and, with the cliff behind, formed a shelter 
 for a good-sized cottage, a small cow-shed, and a 
 pig-stye. Under the shade of the tree, a party of 
 children were at play, collected around a little hand- 
 carriage, in which a sickly boy, of about five years 
 of age, was lying ; but Ronald's figure was no sooner 
 seen descending the height, than a scream of min- 
 gled fear and delight burst forth, and in a moment 
 they were scattered in all directions, hiding them- 
 selves in the house, or behind the cow-shed, and one 
 of the more adventurous climbing up the face of the 
 almost perpendicular cliff.
 
 188 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Ronald called to them with a rough but good- 
 natured reproof: "Why, you silly imps! what are 
 you after ? Here, Johnnie, — Martha ; here, I say. One 
 would think I was the Black Rider." They came up 
 to him, and he unslung a basket which he had been 
 carrying on a pole over his shoulder, and, placing it 
 on the ground, told them to take it between them into 
 the cottage. 
 
 " I thought 'twere n't no one but you. Master Ro- 
 nald," exclaimed Johnnie, seizing the basket by one 
 handle, and nearly upsetting it ; " but Martha declared 
 as how there was two of you, and then I said you 
 always come alone, so it couldn't be you." 
 
 " What has Martha been doing to see double ? " ex- 
 claimed Ronald. " I shan't trust her if she does that." 
 
 " There was another, and that's he," exclaimed 
 Martha ; and, pointing to the top of the rocks, she 
 added : " He's a skulking down, but I can see him." 
 
 " He shall skulk to some purpose," exclaimed Ro- 
 nald, springing up the rocks again with the agility of 
 a wild goat, and in his eagerness not hearing the cries 
 of the sickly boy under the ash-tree, who called after 
 him in a voice of agony, " that he would break his 
 neck, and then he shouldn't see him any more." From 
 point to point he swung himself with a rapidity which 
 it was pain to follow; his feet seeming scarcely to 
 touch the rock, his eye giving quick glances around. 
 
 " He's got him ; there they be ! " exclaimed Johnnie ; 
 and drawing his little sister toAvards him, he showed 
 her where, on an overhanging platform, Ronald and 
 Clement stood confronting each other. 
 
 " Spy ! " burst from Ronald's lips.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 189 
 
 Clement laughed. " I was not to come, wasn't I ? I 
 have shown you now that I will come, when and 
 where I choose." 
 
 "Not without ni}'- consent," replied Ronald, coolly ; 
 " You will go back." 
 
 " Not at your order, Master Ronald ; or we will 
 try which is the strongest." 
 
 " Aye, try ! " and Ronald shrugged his shoulders 
 contemptuously. " I should be sorry, young sir, to have 
 to pitch you over the rocks." He folded his arms, and 
 nodding his head as he looked up at the cliffs, added : 
 " If you take my advice, you'll be off." 
 
 " I take no advice, except from my superiors," ex- 
 claimed Clement. 
 
 Ronald's eyes flashed, he lifted up his hand, and 
 touched Clement's shoulder. 
 
 His grasp was shaken off indignantly, and Clement 
 clenched his fist, and drew nearer to the edge of the 
 rock. 
 
 " Ronald ! Ronald ! " screamed a voice from below. 
 The sick boy was raising himself in his little carriage, 
 and stretching out his hands. 
 
 Ronald's hand, which had been raised to ward off 
 the anticipated blow, fell by his side. " As you will," 
 he said, quite calmly ; " we are fools to quarrel ; " and 
 he turned suddenly round, and sprang down the cliffs. 
 The next moment he was at the side of the child's 
 carriage. 
 
 "Barney, what made you call? What frightens 
 you?" 
 
 " I don't know. You'd have tumbled over," said 
 the child, " and I wanted you."
 
 190 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " I was coming to you ; you mustn't be im- 
 patient." 
 
 " He looked as if he would have thrown you down," 
 continued the boy. 
 
 "Perhaps he would, but I should have picked 
 myself up." 
 
 " But you couldn't ; God wouldn't have let you ; 
 you'd have been killed ; " and tears of nervous 
 fright chased themselves down the little fellow's 
 cheeks. 
 
 " No matter perhaps for that, if I had been," mut- 
 tered Ronald. 
 
 Barney caught the words. "It must matter," he 
 said. " Father says it don't, but the clergyman says 
 it does ; he taught me a hymn about it. I can say 
 it ;" and without waiting for f)ermission, he began, and 
 went through the first verse till just at the end of the 
 last line, when he stopped, and, looking up at Ronald, 
 said with a keenly intelligent smile, " He's a listen- 
 ing ; he's no business to listen." 
 
 Clement was close at hand. 
 
 " Go on," said Ronald ; and the second verse 
 of the hymn was begun and finished, and then 
 Barney stretched out his wasted hands to Ronald, and 
 said, " Won't you carry me ?" And Ronald lifted him 
 in his strong arms, and bore him a few paces up the 
 rock to a stone seat, and, resting the child in his lap, 
 he bade him look down the gorge, and see if any one 
 was coming up. 
 
 " Father's coming, I think ; no, 'tisn't he, 'tis the 
 black cow. Father won't be home yet. Shan't you 
 have time to stay?"
 
 CLEVE HALL. 191 
 
 " I don't know ; if I can't, I will come again. But 
 you must wait here a minute, whilst I go and talk 
 with the young gentleman. You'll be comfortable if 
 I put my coat down for you." 
 
 He took off his coat, and, folding it together, 
 stretched it over the stone, and laid the child upon it. 
 " There, Barney, just for two minutes. You can look 
 at me all the time ; you won't care, will you ? " 
 
 Barney's face betokened tears ; but Ronald stopped 
 them. " You told me yesterday you meant to try and 
 be good, and not cry any more." 
 
 " I wouldn't if you didn't go away." 
 
 " But if I do you mustn't ; that's what would be 
 right; and when I come back we will open the 
 basket." 
 
 " Have you brought them ? " exclaimed the child, 
 his eyes sparkling, and the colour rising to his pale 
 cheeks. 
 
 " Yes, two flags, beautiful flags, for the little ship, 
 and some tiny men, and a cake besides, and a picture 
 book. You shall see them presently, but you must 
 let me go now," and he gently loosened the tiglit 
 hold with which Barney grasped his sleeve, and, nod- 
 ding to him, hurried down the bank. 
 
 Clement had not moved from the ash-tree ; he was 
 standing there, moodily, watching Ronald and the 
 child. When Ronald drew near he glanced around, 
 as though he would fain have made his escape. 
 
 Ronald went up to him at once. " You have seen 
 all there is to see ; now, Clement, will you go ? " 
 
 " I don't see why you should make such secrets
 
 192 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 about nothing^" replied Clement, taking up the offen- 
 sive. " Why couldn't you tell me at once you were 
 coming to see the child ? I shouldn't have troubled 
 myself then." 
 
 "Because I didn't choose to answer impertinent 
 questions ; " and, seeing Clement's colour rise, Ro- 
 nald added, "I am not going to be angry, Clement, 
 but once for all I tell you that now you must go." 
 
 "I don't see that," was Clement's reply. 
 
 " Then you must learn to see it. Mr. Lester and 
 Miss Campbell would wish it ; you know that as well 
 as I do." 
 
 " I am not going to submit to a woman," exclaimed 
 Clement, " and Mr. Lester has no authority." 
 
 " Perhaps not. It makes no difference to me." 
 
 " And you will be a turn-coat, after all," exclaimed 
 Clement ; " tied to a woman's apron-string ! Well, 
 then ! " and his lips curled into a sneer ; " perhaps 
 you are right ; we had better part." 
 
 Ronald's hand grasped the knotted head of the 
 stick which he held in his hand, till every muscle 
 seemed strained to suffering. 
 
 " And when I thought we were to be friends ! " 
 pursued Clement, his tone softening. " You told me 
 we should be." 
 
 " Yes, when I thought there was no obstacle." 
 
 " Obstacle ! When persons choose to be friends, 
 what is to prevent it ? " 
 
 " It can't be," was Ronald's reply. 
 
 " But it can, and shall be, if I wish it. We are 
 not always to be kept under lock and key ; the world 
 will one day be free to us."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 193 
 
 Ronald laid his rough hand upon Clement's arm : 
 " Good-b'je, old fellow ! It won't do." The faltering 
 of his voice belied the indifference of his words. 
 " You'll thank me for it, some day," he added. 
 
 " Thank you for making me know how to trust in 
 a friend," exclaimed Clement, the scornful accent 
 a^ain markino; his words. 
 
 "Our paths lie apart, " continued Ronald. "You 
 don't see it now, Clement, but you will." 
 
 " And time enough then to change," replied Cle- 
 ment. 
 
 " Too late then," replied Ronald. He moved a 
 few steps aside, perhaps not to betray his inward 
 feelings, and mounting upon a pile of stones, looked 
 down the gorge. In another minute he returned 
 to Clement, and his voice was altered from stern 
 earnestness to eagerness which bordered upon ex- 
 citement: "I can't have you stay. There is a 
 short way up the cliif, by the brushwood. Come, we 
 must go — both." He sprang forward, and Clement, 
 almost frightened by his wild manner, followed him. 
 
 They reached the top of the gorge, and paused. 
 
 " There is my father," said Ronald, coldly. 
 
 A man was seen coming up the gorge. 
 
 " I must go to him ; " yet he lingered. 
 
 " Ronald," said Clement, " you are so strange ! " 
 
 " Am I ? Yes, I know I am. Oh Clement ! " and he 
 sank upon the ground, and buried his f^xce in his 
 hands. 
 
 " Ronald, you won't let me help you, or I would." 
 
 "Help me by leaving me. Go, go — it is sin to 
 be together. Sin," he repeated in an under tone, and 
 
 VOL. T. O
 
 194 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 then a faint, mocking laugh followed tlie words : " why 
 should I care for sin ? " 
 
 "We must all care," said Clement, timidly. 
 
 "Ay! all — while there is time — while there is 
 hope." He started up suddenly, and grasped Cle- 
 ment's arm : " There is time and hope for you : keep 
 from me, or there will be none, — none." 
 
 A child's cry fell faintly but clearly on the ear. 
 
 Ronald leaned back against the rock, and his lip 
 quivered : " Clement, I have been passionate, wicked : 
 forgive me." He hurried down the cliff, Clement not 
 daring to follow him.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 195 
 
 CHAP. xvn. 
 
 Ronald stood again bj tlie side of the sick boy, and 
 spoke soothingly, and caressed him as before ; but the 
 child noticed the change. 
 
 " You went away and left me," he said, fretfully ; 
 " you told me you wouldn't, and you did." 
 
 " I couldn't help it, Barney ; I didn't mean to go. 
 Shall I carry you in-doors now ? and we will unpack 
 the basket." His heart was not in his words, for his 
 eye was at every instant glancing down the ravine. 
 
 " I don't want to see the basket ; I want you to stay, 
 and you are going away." 
 
 "By-and-by, not yet. You will like to see the 
 new flags." 
 
 " Yes, out here ; if you'd sit down and take me up. 
 It's so hard !" and the poor child twisted himself un- 
 easily on his stony couch. 
 
 " In-doors, on the cushion," said Ronald, " it might 
 be better than my knee. Won't you go and try ? " 
 
 " No, I don't like the cushion ; I want to be taken 
 up. Oh, it hurts ! " and the poor little fellow tried to 
 move so as to ease his back, and finding it useless, 
 began to cry. 
 
 Ronald put his arm round him and gently raised 
 him : " Now, Barney ; there's a good boy, don't cry. 
 You must learn to be a man. You won't be, if you 
 cry. Now, isn't that better ? " 
 o 2
 
 196 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " But you won't take me ; if you'd let me sit up. I 
 don't want to go in-doors ; I want to sit up." 
 
 " Oh, Barney, Barney ! you've been spoilt ; you 
 have had your own way till you are naughty." 
 
 The fretful, wizen face was calmed directly. " I 
 don't want to be naughty. Mr. Lester says I shan't 
 go to Heaven if I am." 
 
 Ronald lifted him up fondly, and set him on his 
 knee ; but Barney was not satisfied. 
 
 " No, I'll go in, and I'll see the flags. That's not 
 spoilt, is it ? " he added, gazing wistfully into Ronald's 
 face. 
 
 Ronald only replied by kissing the little thin cheek ; 
 and lifting the child in his arms, held him with the 
 firmness of a man, whilst his touch was gentle as a 
 woman's, and carried him towards the cottage. 
 
 The building hid from them the length of the 
 ravine, but a sudden angle in the path brought them 
 in front of it. Barney's head was resting upon 
 Ronald's arm^ and he feebly turned it, for his ear had 
 caught another footstep : " It's Captain John ; ain't 
 it Captain John ? He won't be coming to take me : 
 you won't let him ? " and he clung closely and 
 tremblingly to Ronald. 
 
 "Foolish child! what's there to be afraid of?" but 
 Ronald's own voice was not as indifferent as his 
 words. 
 
 " He said he'd carry me off one day," whispered 
 Barney ; " and grandfather said, if he were father, 
 he'd give me up." 
 
 " Because you were good for nothing, I suppose," 
 said Ronald, good-naturedly. " But, never mind ; he
 
 CLEVE HALL. 197 
 
 won't want to do it now ; and grandfather's not with 
 him." 
 
 " Are you sure ? But Captain John will want to 
 have me." 
 
 " He wants me, if lie wants any one," said Roland, 
 gravely. 
 
 " Tell him he mustn't ; I can't bear you to go." 
 
 Ronald smiled grimly. " There's no must for him," 
 he muttered to himself. 
 
 " I thought every one must sometimes," persisted 
 the child. 
 
 " Sometimes, perhaps." Ronald hurried forward 
 so as to reach the door of the cottage before his 
 father, who was walking leisurely up the gorge, could 
 see and stop him. 
 
 The little room which he entered was neater than 
 the external appearance of the house would have 
 indicated. Fishing tackle, indeed, hung on the white- 
 washed walls, and the floor was only of stone sanded 
 over, and the ceiling was formed of rafters blackened 
 by smoke from the large open hearth, in which wood 
 was the accustomed fuel; but there was an evident 
 attempt at something even of refinement in the ar- 
 rangement of a few cottage prints, and the flowers 
 placed in the Avindow- seat ; and Barney's little couch 
 was covered with a bright chintz, whilst a curtain of 
 the same material had been put up to shut out the 
 draught from the windoAV. Evidently a woman's 
 hand had been at work ; but there was no woman to 
 be seen, and Ronald himself laid his little charge 
 gently on the couch and placed the pillows com- 
 3
 
 198 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 fortablj for him, and said, "Noav, Barney, t'nat'will 
 do, won't it ? and I will take out the flags and the 
 picture-book, and you can show them to Martha and 
 Johnie. 
 
 " There's Captain John coming, and he wants 
 you," said the child, in a changed voice. His gaze, 
 as he caught hold of Ronald, was anxious, almost 
 terrified. 
 
 Captain Vivian stood in the doorway: "Absent 
 without leave, Eonald ! You'll please to answer for 
 yourself." 
 
 There was a momentary pause, as it seemed of 
 self-distrust, for Ronald's words came slowly : " No 
 need for that. Father ; you see where I have been 
 without asking." 
 
 " Fooling away your time ; but we must teach you 
 better than that. I say, child, where's your father ? " 
 
 " Gone out with grandfather," replied the boy, 
 quietly and timidly. " Grandfather came and fetched 
 him." 
 
 " Umph ! How long ago ? " 
 
 " A good bit, I think it was ; " and the child 
 looked up at Ronald for protection from the rough 
 voice. 
 
 " And you. Sir ! " Captain Vivian turned to 
 Ronald — " Let me hear what you are after here." 
 
 "Keeping my word," replied Ronald. "I pro- 
 mised to come and see the child, and I came." 
 
 "Promises! Perchance, since you are in the 
 humour for them, I may remind you of others. 
 "Where's the boy Clement Vivian ? " 
 
 " He is not in my charge," replied Ronald.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 199 
 
 " And he has not been here ? You have not seen 
 him?" 
 
 " He has been here, and I have seen him," replied 
 Ronald ; but he is gone." 
 
 " And you let him go. You dared to disobey my 
 orders." Captain Vivian's voice was fiercely threat- 
 ening. 
 
 " You gave me none," was the reply. 
 
 " A quibble ! I pointed him out upon the hill, 
 and told you that to meet him and keep him would 
 be doing good service ? " 
 
 " You said it," replied Ronald ; " but I judged that 
 he would not be profited by the meeting." 
 
 A torrent of fearful words burst from the lips of 
 the enraged father. 
 
 " Don't be afraid, Barney — don't cry ;" and Ronald 
 stooped down and stroked the child's head, and 
 pressed his little hand, which was trembling with 
 nervousness. " Father," he continued, hurriedly, " I 
 have not disobeyed you in the letter — in the spirit 
 I have and will. Nay, hear me to the end," as 
 Captain Vivian would have interrupted him ; " I will, 
 because I must. It shall never be said that by my 
 aid Clement A'^ivian has become what I am." 
 
 "Foolish boy!" Captain Vivian's tone changed 
 into a soft sneer, more painful even than his violence. 
 " Who says that Clement Vivian is to become what 
 you are ? and if he Avere, what need to be ashamed 
 of being like a brave boy, who can lord it over the 
 boldest at his pleasure." 
 
 "But cannot lord it over himself," murmured 
 Ronald ; and then in a louder tone he continuetl, 
 o 4
 
 200 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Father, I will speak to you plainly. Whilst 
 Clement was my friend only, like any other friend, 
 and you encouraged our being together for that 
 purpose only, it was well : when you urge me to seek 
 his society for a different reason, you enter upon a 
 course where I will not follow you." 
 
 " Well learnt from the lips of Miss Campbell and 
 Mr. Lester, — perfectly learnt ; but it shan't last. 
 Listen, Ronald, my boy ; it's time we should begin 
 to understand each other. Obedience ! — that's the 
 word. Mr. Lester himself can't preach it better 
 than I can. What's more," and Captain Vivian 
 struck his stick upon the ground, " he can't enforce 
 it better. Talk to me of shame and sorrow, and all 
 they call religion ! There'll be more shame and more 
 sorrow for you in one hour of your father's anger 
 than in all the threats they hold out from yonder 
 pulpit at En combe. 
 
 " I am ready to endure it," was the calm reply. 
 
 " Then try it ; take your own will, and " 
 
 Ronald's countenance changed to an expression of 
 agony : " Stop ! father, in mercy ; require of me 
 what you will, do with me as you will, only do not 
 ask me to lead Clement to ruin." 
 
 " Him ? and why not him ? Why is he to be cared 
 for more than others ? I warn you, boy, that he is a 
 serpent in your path, and one day you will wish that 
 you had crushed him." 
 
 Instead of replying, Ronald moved again towards 
 the door. 
 
 " Ay, go," exclaimed Captain Vivian, whilst at 
 the same time he stretched out his arm to stop him ;
 
 CLEVE HALL. 201 
 
 *' wander where you will ; seek your own friends, you 
 will soon have need of them ; for remember, Ronald," 
 and his voice became sullenly fierce, " refuse to do 
 my bidding, and your father's doors will be closed 
 against you for ever." 
 
 As he spoke, Ronald pushed aside his arm, hurried 
 from the cottage, and mounted the gorge by the same 
 path which he had ascended with Clement. 
 
 He hurried on wildly over rocks and bushes, clam- 
 bering up heights which, in calmer moments, even he 
 might have thought inaccessible. The self-control 
 he had exerted had strained his mind almost to 
 frenzy, and even his better feelings seemed urging 
 him on to despair. His father ! was such a man 
 worthy of the name of parent ? could he claim his 
 obedience ? Was it really the act of a merciful Pro- 
 vidence which could subject him to such a fiend-like 
 
 power ? and if it were not a hurricane of thoughts 
 
 rushed over his mind. Why should he struggle? — 
 evil was powerful, not good. Evil had been present 
 to him from his childhood, it was his portion, his 
 doom; and scenes of riot and guilt rose up before 
 him, with their horrible excitement; and it seemed 
 as if a strong hand were forcing him back, to forget 
 his misery in recklessness ; and yield himself, body 
 and soul, to the tempter whom he had been striving 
 to resist. 
 
 Weak Ronald was at the very moment of victory — 
 for he did not know that he had conquered. So 
 fierce had been the struggle of that inward self- 
 restraint to a spirit long unaccustomed to the slightest 
 check, that it seemed as if the cfibrt had only sue-
 
 202 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 ceeded in breaking up the strong powers of his mind, 
 and rendering it a chaos of bewildering wretchedness. 
 He sat himself down upon the grass, and hid his face 
 between his knees, feeling, though unconsciously, 
 that the clearness of the unclouded sky, and the 
 brilliancy of the glorious sun, added tenfold to his 
 sense of misery ; and faintly from afar came the tink- 
 ling of the sheep-bell, and the lowing of the cattle in 
 the valley, mingling with the chirping of the grass- 
 hopper, and the whirring of the insects floating in 
 the air ; but all hushed to Ronald's ear, which caught 
 nothing but the booming of the ocean, murmuring, in 
 its ceaseless tones : " The wicked are like the troubled 
 sea when it cannot rest, whose waters cast up mire 
 and dirt. There is no peace saith my God to the 
 wicked." 
 
 So he sat for minutes, and thought them hours ; and 
 so he might have sat even till night, conscious of 
 nothing but the sense of hopeless weakness and de- 
 solation, when a gentle hand touched him, and a 
 childish but most musical voice said in a low and 
 frightened tone, " Ronald, is it you ? Are you ill ? " 
 
 It was Rachel Lester. He started up, and his 
 haggard face confirmed the suspicion she had ex- 
 pressed. 
 
 " I thought it was you, but I was afraid. You are 
 ill ; I will run and fetch papa : he is just coming." 
 
 " No, no ;" Ronald stopped her, as she would have 
 hastened away ; " not Mr. Lester ; I can't see him ; 
 and I am not ill, not at all, only tired ; I must go." 
 
 Rachel looked doubtful : " You are very pale, 
 Ronald ; papa would rather see you, I am sure."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 203 
 
 "He can do me no good— good b'ye." 
 
 She looked wistfully in his face, and tears gathered 
 in her eyes : " Ronald, you are so very unhappy ; I 
 wish I could do any thing for you." 
 
 Most touching and earnest was the tone; and 
 Ronald paused as he was about to leave her, and 
 said : " Thank you, Rachel ; that is more than many 
 would say." 
 
 "Papa would do a great deal for you," she replied, 
 " if you would tell him what is the matter. May I 
 say it to him ? " 
 
 " Say what ?— that I am ill ?" 
 
 " Yes, if you are ill ; but if it is only that things 
 vex you, he would like to help you if you would let 
 him." 
 
 " And if he could," said Ronald, bitterly. 
 
 "But he can help every one; at least, he can't, but 
 God can through him." 
 
 " Mr. Lester can do a great deal, I know that, 
 Rachel," said Ronald, his moody tone changing into 
 the gentle accent in which he had spoken to the child 
 at the cottage ; but there may be some things beyond 
 his cure. Don't fret though," he added, seeing that 
 Rachel's face expressed her commiseration for feelings 
 which yet she was unable to understand ; " my 
 troubles won't come in your way." 
 
 " They will though," said Rachel ; " I can't bear 
 to see you so, Ronald." 
 
 " Ronald's smile passed over his face, as a gleam of 
 sad sunshine at the close of a day of storms." 
 
 " God made us all to be happy," continued Rachel ; 
 " so papa says."
 
 204 CLEVE HALL 
 
 " He made you to be happy, Rachel," exclaimed 
 Ronald, earnestly. 
 
 "And you too, Ronald." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " But we must be happy if we make others happy," 
 continued Rachel. 
 
 " Perhaps so, if we do." 
 
 "But you do. You make little Barney happy." 
 She paused, expecting his assent; but he did not 
 give it, and she went on. " He was crying for you the 
 other day when papa and I went to see him." 
 
 " He cries for a great many things," said Ronald, 
 with some impatience of tone. 
 
 " Please don't say so ; he loves you very much, and 
 he would not at all know what to do without you." 
 
 " He will be taken soon," replied Ronald, mourn- 
 fully, yet not despondingly. 
 
 " And then he will be like an angel, and God will 
 give you some one else to take care of. Oh! Ronald, 
 can any one be unhappy who can work for God ? " 
 
 Silence followed for a few seconds, whilst Ronald 
 gazed intently upon the expanse of the sea, with its 
 high horizon blending with the sky; then a sigh 
 escaped him as if some load had passed from his heart. 
 He turned round abruptly : " Good-b'ye, Rachel ; you 
 are good, if no one else is. 
 
 " Good-b'ye, Ronald ; we are going to see Barney." 
 
 Ronald walked a few steps slowly away, and then 
 returned to say : " Barney wants another little 
 cushion for his head, Rachel, if you could let him 
 have it." 
 
 " Yes, I will be sure and remember."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 205 
 
 He walked on again, his step blither and firmer ; 
 and again he came back : " I left him in a hurry just 
 now, and could not show him the picture-book I 
 brought. Perhaps you will for me, — and will you 
 say I will try and see him again to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Thank you ; he will be so glad. Are you going 
 up the hills?" 
 
 " I don't know, perhaps so ; " but the tone, sad and 
 indifferent though it was, had lost its accent of de- 
 spair. Something had changed the current of Ronald's 
 moody thoughts, and led him out of himself. Perhaps 
 he was treasuring in his heart the words, comforting 
 and hopeful as the sweet little face which had just 
 been gazing upon him — " Can any one be unhappy 
 who can work for God?" 
 
 Rachel watched him as he walked away, with that 
 sense of interest and surprise, mingled with awe, 
 which children always feel when brought in contact 
 with the suffering of persons older than themselves ; 
 and at length waking up suddenly to the conscious- 
 ness that she was alone upon the hills, and that her 
 father ought by this time to have joined her, she was 
 about to run back to the place where she had left 
 him, when a faint yet sharp cry of distress broke 
 upon the stillness, followed by another, and another ; 
 and the next instant Ronald repassed her, though at 
 some little distance, making his way in the direction 
 of the rugged cliff of rock and shingle, which 
 formed the highest point of the Beacon.
 
 206 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAP. xvin. 
 
 ''"Are you going far, Sir, this afternoon ? " Mrs. 
 Robinson stopped Mr. Bruce, as his hand was upon 
 the fastening of the little gate in the court yard. 
 
 " To the church ; I may go farther, but I have not 
 much heart to go any where." 
 
 Perhaps it was illness which made Mr. Bruce 
 speak so despondingly. He did appear very much 
 out of health ; his complexion had the yellow parch- 
 ment look common to persons who have lived long 
 in a hot climate. 
 
 " You haven't been into the church yet, Sir." 
 
 " Not yet. Mr. Lester forbids the week days, and 
 sent me last Sunday to Cleve." 
 
 " Yes, Sir, yes ; I remember. Perhaps it might be 
 as well if I went, too, for the keys. Jacob Clarke is 
 an odd man." 
 
 " There is no reason. I have met Jacob at the 
 Parsonage." 
 
 " He's very blind," said Mrs. Eobinson, in a medi- 
 tative tone ; " and deaf, too, sometimes." 
 
 " I shall do very well ; don't trouble yourself. I 
 shall go to the Parsonage to drink tea." 
 
 His manner was that of a man whose mind is quite 
 preoccupied ; and it might have appeared unkind to 
 persons who only knew him slightly. But Mrs. Ro-
 
 CLEVE HALL. 207 
 
 binson did not take it to heart much, certainly not as 
 much as Mr. Bruce himself, when a momentary self- 
 recollection reminded him of his tone, which had been 
 sharper than his words. He looked back at her, 
 and nodded : " Good-b'ye, Granny !" — he must have 
 learnt to call her that from Rachel Lester — "don't 
 expect me till you see me ; but don't worry about me." 
 
 The sober, melancholy-visaged woman shook her 
 head: "Thoughtless — always the same! But 'tis to 
 be expected ! " and with a resigned air she repaired 
 to the farm-kitchen, to superintend some arrange- 
 ments for her guest's comfort. 
 
 Half an hour afterwards she was at the gate again, 
 for she had heard it open, and thought he must be 
 returned. It had been opened, but by Goff, the fisher- 
 man, not by Mr. Bruce. He came up to her with a 
 swaggering air. 
 
 " Your friend at home, eh ? " 
 
 " Not at home," was the short answer. 
 
 " Gone up the hills, I suppose?" 
 
 " Perhaps so." 
 
 "But you can't say for certain, if your life de- 
 pended on it ! " 
 
 " Mr. Bruce doesn't trouble himself to tell me for 
 certain where he's going." 
 
 " And you don't trouble yourself to ask, of course ! 
 And you don't know, either, I suppose, how long he 
 means to be staying in these parts?" 
 
 " He does'nt tell me." 
 
 " Nor where he comes from, nor where he's going 
 to ! nor nothing about him ! Before I'd trust such a 
 man! "
 
 208 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " You are'nt asked to trust liim," was the quiet 
 reply. 
 
 " He'd find it mighty difFerent if I was ! I suppose, 
 now, he gives a load of trouble ? " 
 
 " As much and as little as most people." 
 
 " A sort of chap who's made to melt in your fingers, 
 I should say ! " continued Goff". 
 
 " He's a gentleman who does not trouble himself 
 about other people, at all events ! " said Mrs. Robin- 
 son, indignantly. 
 
 " Ay ! a gentleman ! I should have said, now, he 
 was that ; though 'tisn't all gentlefolks that's to be 
 trusted. But he's true blood, is he? I learnt to 
 know the difierence, in the old days, when you and I 
 lived up at the Hall together." 
 
 " I don't remember when you and I ever lived at 
 any place together, Mr. GofF," said Mrs. Robinson, 
 haughtily. " I recollect when you were a farm- 
 youth upon the estate ; and perhaps it might have 
 been as well for you if you had kept to your call- 
 ing." 
 
 "That's as folks think. Every one to his liking. 
 Your friend, now, I should say, would never have 
 had a sea fancy, like mine?" 
 
 " I never asked him." 
 
 " Oh ! but you can find out fast enough, from what 
 a man talks of and goes after. Why, there's the 
 Captain ! you couldn't be with him five minutes, be- 
 fore you'd know he was a sailor." 
 
 "If all sailors are like Captain Vivian," replied 
 Mrs. Robinson, " the fewer the better ! " 
 
 "Then your friend's not a sailor. I thought as
 
 CLEVE HALL. 209 
 
 much as tliat the night of the wreck. He'd never 
 have let himself be capsized, if he'd had an ounce 
 of old ocean in him. He's from foreign parts, 
 though ? " 
 
 " The vessel came from America, as you know." 
 
 " Yes, sure I do know. Who should better ? for 
 I've had more to do with her than most folks. But I 
 should say it might have touched at other places — 
 Jamaica, now ; I'm downright certain somebody said 
 it had touched at Jamaica." 
 
 " Perhaps it might. Have you anything more to 
 say, particular, Mr. Goff? I must go in-doors." 
 
 " Only that I've got a nephew living in Jamaica ; 
 and I should just like to know whether this gentle- 
 man knows anything about him." 
 
 " Not likely, I should think." 
 
 " I don't know. 'Tisn't such a large place. I've 
 had a good many thoughts about my nephew lately. 
 Possibly you'd do a good deed, and ask about him?" 
 
 " I can't trouble Mi\ Bruce about any body's 
 nephew," exclaimed Mrs. Robinson. " He has enough 
 to do to take care of himself." 
 
 " Umph ! — and his children, I suppose. You 
 wouldn't have him not take a care for them ? " 
 
 " Not if he has any. But I can't stand here any 
 longer. If you want to see Mr. Bruce, you'll please 
 to leave a message." 
 
 " No, I can't say I wished particularly to see him ; 
 only I thought that, being, as I supposed, fresh from 
 Jamaica, he might be able to give me a word or two 
 about my nephew. Or perchance, when he writes, 
 he'd make an inquiry for me. When will he be in ?" 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 210 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " I can't say." 
 
 " Somewhere before eight, I suppose?" 
 
 " I don't know ; he is likely to be out all the 
 evening." 
 
 " Ay ! gone up to Parson Lester's ; I could have 
 guessed so much." 
 
 " I did't say he was gone there." 
 
 " Only if he's to be out all the evening, he's not 
 likely to be gone any where else. There's a way, 
 you see, of putting two and two together. But never 
 mind, I'm not going to trouble him nor you neither ; 
 so good afternoon to you." 
 
 He went out at the wicket-gate. Mrs. Robinson's 
 countenance was wonderfully imperturbable ; but 
 certainly, after that interview, a shade of restless 
 anxiety might have been traced in it. 
 
 And Mr. Bruce pursued his way to the cottage of 
 Jacob Clarke, the sexton. It stood alone, at the end 
 of the lane leading to the church hill ; and some 
 might have thought it a desolate home for the sickly 
 man who inhabited it; but Jacob would not have 
 exchanged it for the most spacious dwelling-house in 
 the village. It was a palace to him, for it was in 
 full view of the church ; and in the church, since its 
 restoration by General Vivian and Mr. Lester, all 
 the pride of the sexton's heart seemed to have con- 
 centrated itself. 
 
 He was working in his garden when Mr. Bruce 
 came up ; but the moment he saw him, the spade 
 was laid aside, and he was feeling in his pocket for 
 the heavy keys, which were his inseparable compa- 
 nions.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 211 
 
 " You'll be for going up, I suppose,. Sir," he said, 
 almost before Mr. Bruce came within hearins;. 
 
 " I was thinking of it, Jacob ; but I wont trouble 
 you, if you'll just let me take the keys. You are 
 busy I see. How are your eyes this afternoon ? " 
 
 " Baddish ; this left one, special. They say I shan't 
 get any better till I get worse, and then I can have 
 something done to them ; but I rub on with hoping." 
 
 " Happy for you that you can. Just let me have 
 the keys, and I will bring them back quite safely. 
 You can trust me." 
 
 "' I trust your voice more than your look," replied 
 Jacob, with a grim smile. " I've learnt a good deal 
 to know people of late by their voices ; and there's a 
 sound in yours that somehow comes home to me 
 natural." 
 
 Mr. Bruce stretched out his hand for the keys. 
 
 Jacob hesitated. " I'm thinking, — I'll tell ye 
 what, I'll e'en go up with ye ; the digging will do 
 weU enough to-morrow, and I should just like to 
 know what you'll say to the old place. 'Tis a beau- 
 tiful one outside now, ain't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, very beautiful. The old walls, I see ? " 
 
 " Ay ! sure ; we should all have broke our hearts 
 if the old walls had been down. It's the windows 
 that's new chiefly — outside, that is ; inside you'll see 
 it's wonderful." 
 
 " And all done by Mr. Lester ? " 
 
 " No, no ; Mr. Lester helped, as a good man would ; 
 but t'was the General, chief He'd been thinking of 
 it, they say, for a long time, and 'twas the first thing 
 that seemed to cheer him up after all his troubles." 
 
 P 2
 
 212 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 They were ascending the steps together as Jacob 
 said this. Mr. Bruce stopped. 
 
 " You're out of breath, Sir." 
 
 " No, scarcely ; but I am not very strong. How 
 long ago did you say it was since the restoration of 
 the church ? " 
 
 " Some twelve years now, Sir, since it was finished ; 
 but it took a long time about. I declare now I 
 was sorry, in a way, when it came to an end ; and so, 
 I suspect, was the General: he was up here most 
 every day, watching how it went on." 
 
 " He began it after his troubles : he has had a 
 good many, I suppose ? " 
 
 " You may say that ; a hard life, poor old gentle- 
 man! And now between seventy and eighty, and 
 no one near him but Miss Mildred ; and all the old 
 feuds as bitter as ever ! Somehow it's strange when 
 a man's travelling to his grave. But there ! it's the 
 way of the world." 
 
 " There have been family disputes, then ? " 
 
 " Not so much disputes ; but the General's uppish, 
 — bent on his own ways. It's been the fashion of the 
 Vivians from father to son." 
 
 " And the General is very determined ? " 
 
 " Firm as an old oak. He'd break, but he'd never 
 bend. I can't help thinking sometimes, on looking 
 back, that 'twould have been better for him if he 
 could. But noAV, Sir, just take your seat here, and 
 look round. You won't get a finer sight than that all 
 over the country." Jacob pointed to a wooden bench 
 placed at the top of the steps for the accommodation 
 of the old people. " You'll not be sorry to rest, I
 
 CLEYE HALL. 213 
 
 dare saj, after this pull up the steps ; and you'll get a 
 notion of the country which may help you. There's 
 not a bit of the village, as you see, to be seen ; only 
 the hills. But on to the right, there are the woods — 
 the Cleve woods. That is the beginning of General 
 Vivian's property." 
 
 " How far does it extend ? " inquired Mr. Bruce. 
 
 " Extend ! Why, he's got the whole of Encombe, 
 not a cottage in the place but belongs to him. Only 
 one farm — The Grange they call it — which is not his ; 
 and sorrow's the day that Captain John ever went 
 to live in it." 
 
 " Captain Vivian, I suppose you mean. I have heard 
 some of the poor people speak of him as Captain 
 John." 
 
 " They call him that, I can't say exactly why. He's 
 not a regular captain, though he's had a good deal 
 to do with the sea, they say, of late years. He likes 
 sailor fashions, and so he goes by the name ; but he's 
 not fit to be a Vivian." Jacob lowered his voice, as 
 if communicating this fact confidentially, 
 
 Mr. Bruce turned away his head — the sexton's face 
 seemed peering into his. Jacob continued, in the same 
 under tone : "The long and the short of the matter is, 
 he's a disgrace to the family, and the ruin and the curse 
 of every one that joins with him. And he's been so for 
 years, and his fathers before him ; and no wonder the 
 General can't abide him, when he's been working 
 against him and his set from a boy." 
 
 " From a boy ? I thought the great quarrel had been 
 of late years, about — about — General Vivian's 
 son." 
 
 P 3
 
 214 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 "Oh! you've heard of all that, have you?" said 
 Jacob with some disaiDpointment in his tone. " Sure 
 enough, there was a great quarrel about Master 
 Edward ; but 'twasn't that was the beginning, as who 
 should know better than I." 
 
 " Because you lived in the family, I suppose," said 
 Mr. Bruce, rising from his seat. 
 
 "You'd best rest a minute or two longer. Sir; 
 your voice is quite shaky now ; and there's no hurry. 
 What were you saying ? Oh ! about my having lived 
 in the family. Well ! I did live there, or, at least, my 
 father did, which was much the same thing. He 
 was the butler, and I work'd in the garden, and about 
 in different ways, making myself useful ; and so of 
 course I came to know a good deal of the goings on ; 
 and sad enough they were at times." 
 
 " But General Vivian always lived a very steady 
 life," said Mr. Bruce, quietly. 
 
 " Oh ! steady as old time, for that ; too steady per- 
 haps ; at least, somehow it didn't seem to turn out 
 well. But, you see, his father, and his grandfather 
 before him, had been just acting different; — spending 
 here, and throwing away there, till at last, when the 
 General came into his property, I've been told, there 
 wasn't fifty acres of it strictly his own, 'twas all so 
 hampered with debts ; and Captain John's friends 
 having a pretty large share of the claims. Their's 
 was the younger branch of the family ; and they 
 lived in the neighbourhood, and were always quar- 
 relling, and bringing lawsuits, and these and the 
 extravagance had just ruined the property. 
 
 " Well ! the General, as I said, was a firm man, not
 
 CLEVE HALL. 215 
 
 a bit like those that had gone before him. Where he 
 got his character nobody could think ; but 'tis said 
 that his mother was something of the same kind. If 
 she was, she hadn't power to keep her husband from 
 ruin or next to it. Perhaps she maj have tried most 
 with the children ; for certain it is, that when the 
 General came into his property — and that was when 
 he was very young, only twenty-five, after his elder 
 brother's death — he set his mind to one thought, and 
 only one, how to get matters straight. My father was 
 in his service then, and for old love's sake — for he'd 
 known him from a boy — helped him right and left. 
 But 'twas hard work ; and there isn't many that would 
 have borne to live as they did in those days — the 
 General still keeping to be a soldier, and scrimping 
 and pinching ; and no servants scarce at the Hall ; no 
 company when he was at home ; no carriages — scarce, 
 indeed, butter to your bread. But it answered : what, 
 indeed, wouldn't answer which the General set his 
 mind to ? First one thing was paid off, and then 
 another ; and the rumour got abroad that Cleve Hall 
 was looking up in the world again ; and sure enough, 
 'twas true. No thanks, though, to any of the other 
 Vivians, who did all they could to stop matters, and 
 nearly sent the General frantic ; for with all his close 
 ways for himself, he wasn't a bit so with others ; and 
 when claims were made, if there was but a shadow 
 of honesty in them, he was ever for paying them ; 
 being honourable, he called it. As my father used to 
 say, he was always riding his virtues to death ; and 
 'tis my belief, the other Vivians would have been 
 P 4
 
 216 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 much more honourable if they hadn't known that 
 what they set up for they were sure to have." 
 
 " And they were living in Encombe then ? " in- 
 quired Mr. Bruce. 
 
 " Near it, Sir. I hope I ayn't tiring you. I thought 
 you seemed to have a care to know about them. 
 They had a house the other side of Cleve, and a 
 good bit of property in the neighbourhood. The 
 General would have given any thing they asked for 
 the land, but they never would part with it. 'Twas 
 their pleasure to be close to him, to spite him. I 
 don't think, thougli, he took it much to heart then ; 
 he didn't see the trouble it was like to bring upon 
 him. 
 
 " But he married at last, — 'twas after a good many 
 years. His lady was very young, and wonderfully 
 pretty ; not a bit like what you'd have thought he'd 
 choose. I don't mean as to being pretty, but as to 
 lightheartedness, and not thinking. As for him, he'd 
 never been young ; care had come u^Don him so early, 
 and his stiff ways and set notions weren't to be 
 broken. And so when they came to live at the Hall 
 — that was directly he married — for 'twas one of his 
 notions never to marry till he could bring his wife to 
 her settled home — things were not so very much 
 changed from what they had been before ; I mean as 
 to servants and housekeeping. I know even in my 
 own father 'twas to be seen. He'd been so taught to 
 be particular, that he could'nt for the life of him abide 
 a penny's being spent where there wasn't strict occa- 
 sion. And very good, of course, it was, only now and 
 then it struck me that he didn't see where there was
 
 CLEVE HALL. 217 
 
 occasion. The ladj, as I said, was different. She 
 liked to have things handsome about her, and to see 
 her friends, and to be gay ; and the General was 
 desperately fond of her, and indulged her in her 
 fancies as much as 'twas in his nature. But 'twasn't 
 done with a hearty goodwill ; and specially it used 
 to fret him, so I've heard, to see Master Edward 
 turning after his mother's fashions rather than after 
 his own. Are you in a hurry. Sir ? " for Mr. Bruce 
 moved impatiently. 
 
 " No, no ; go on. Master Edward, you say, turned 
 after his mother ? " 
 
 " Yes, Sir, in a way ; but I don't think he ever 
 had her thought — for Mrs. Vivian, with all her 
 merry ways, had a care for every one about her. 
 But perhaps it wasn't to be expected of Master 
 Edward. He was young, and an only son, and the 
 property was all to be his ; and so he looked upon it 
 as his own too early, it's my belief. Any how, from 
 time to time there was black looks at the Hall, and 
 'twas well seen things weren't going on smoothly. 
 Captain John was at the bottom of a good deal then, 
 as he has been since. He was much about Master 
 Edward's age, and spite of all the General could say, 
 they made friends together. Not so strange that, as 
 you may think," continued Jacob, observing that Mr. 
 Bruce gave a start, as he supposed, of surprise. " I 
 remember Captain John myself in those days ; and 
 there was a good deal that a man might like, parti- 
 cularly a young man, not very knowing of the world, 
 like Master Edward. He was very freespoken and 
 hearty ; and that took with Master Edward all the
 
 218 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 more because his father thwarted him, and his life up 
 at the Hall was too set up and stiff for a young man's 
 mind." 
 
 " Mr. Vivian had sisters, though," observed IMr. 
 Bruce, with something of reproach in his tone. 
 
 " Well I he had, and a prettier, nicer pair of young 
 ladies there wasn't to be found in all the country 
 round. But, you know. Sir, we see it every day ; 
 women can't make up all to men, any more than 
 men can make up all to women. There's a need 
 of their own kind ; and so, when Master Edward 
 came from school and from college, he must needs 
 take to Captain John, just because he hadn't any one 
 else to go to. And this made the General desperate. 
 His mother and the young ladies, I believe, tried a 
 good deal to stop it. I know my father said, that 
 many's the time he has come into the room and heard 
 them begging Master Edward, for dear life, just to 
 keep away from what the General didn't approve. 
 But he was strange, Master Edward was ; — somehow 
 strong and not strong — strong for his own will, and not 
 strong for any thing else ; and so he'd promise for 
 a time, and then, when Captain John came in his 
 way, it was all the same as before. And you see 
 Sir," and Jacob lowered his tone as if knowing that 
 he was approaching a dangerous topic, "he was 
 afraid of his father ; so, in fact, they all were. It 
 was at the bottom of a deal of mischief. If a thing 
 was wrong, 'twas always to be kept from the General, 
 because he'd no mercy." 
 
 " But I thought the General was gentle to women,'' 
 said Mr. Bruce ; " you said he was so to his wife."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 219 
 
 " Gentle in his own way, but 'twas a lion's gentle- 
 ness. Cross him in his fancies once, and you'd never 
 do it a second time. Not that he went off in a pas- 
 sion — 'twas all cold and stony ; but knocking at his 
 heart, when he was offended, was like knocking at 
 a wall. He was wonderfully proud though of his 
 daughters, specially of Miss Edith, the eldest. Folks 
 said that 'twas because she was so like her mother. 
 And certain she was very like her ; not quite so pretty 
 perhaps, and yet with a face that did one's heart good 
 to look upon ; and always a pleasant smile, and a 
 merry word — and such a laugh! Ah, Sir, the Hall's 
 a different place now from what it was when she was 
 living ! She lies now " 
 
 Mr. Bruce rose suddenly. " We will go into the 
 church ; give me the keys." He held out his hand for 
 them, but without staying to receive them, hurried 
 along the little paved path leading to the porch. 
 
 Jacob followed him with a wondering gaze. " Poor 
 gentleman ! then what they say of him is true, and 
 he's daft, sure ! " With a slow step, he plodded along 
 the strip of worn pavement, murmuring as he went, 
 " He'd have heard to the end, for certain, if he wasn't 
 daft." 
 
 But ]VIr. Bruce was standing composedly in the 
 porch now ; and conscious probably of his own im- 
 patience, he addressed the sexton with something of 
 an apology for his abruptness : " I was feeling the 
 cold ; it is cold in the wind. Let me have the keys, 
 and, thank you, I won't keep you." 
 
 "By your leave. Sir" — Jacob's self-love was a little 
 wounded, for he had been wasting his words — " the
 
 220 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 keys are mj chief charge, as you may say, and Pd 
 best look after them ; so I'll just open the door and 
 wait, for it seems you'll not be wanting to have much 
 told you." 
 
 His tone of annoyance was evident, and Mr. Bruce's 
 manner softened into consideration. 
 
 "You shall tellme more, Jacob, only not now — 
 not now," he repeated to himself, and he took the 
 man's hand and wrung it heartily. " Thank you, 
 you loved them all ; yes, I know you did." 
 
 "Daft!" was again Jacob's comment to himself; 
 but he changed his intention, and instead of resting 
 himself in the porch, followed Mr. Bruce into the 
 church. 
 
 It was of moderate size, and consisted of two aisles. 
 The east end of the south aisle was a kind of chapel 
 for the Vivian family, divided from the chancel by 
 an oak screen, but open to the rest of the church. 
 Three large, exquisitely -worked monuments, of the 
 date of the fourteenth century, the carving of which 
 had been cleaned, and in part coloured and gilded 
 according to the original design, filled up the centre. 
 The deeply-cut letters engraven upon them, told that 
 the recumbent figures, so meekly lifting up their 
 hands to heaven, were the efligies of William and 
 Everard Vivian, and of Walter and Eleanor his wife, 
 the first of the name who were the possessors of the 
 manor of Cleve. 
 
 The stranger did not pause to examine any part 
 of the church in detail. He stayed not to mark the 
 beauty of the decorated chancel-screen, nor to marvel 
 at the exceeding richness of the stone reredos, nor
 
 CLEVE HALL. 221 
 
 the gorgeousness of the east window. He passed 
 without notice the long flickering lines of fairy light 
 streaming across the marble tombs; but his eye 
 wandered over the walls, and the pavement, marked 
 with quaint figures of the honoured of olden time, 
 and more modern yet already half-defaced inscrip- 
 tions, till it rested upon a small plate, let into the 
 floor of the Vivian chapel, and inscribed with the 
 name of Edith Vivian. 
 
 " Yes, that's where she lies, Sir." 
 
 It was a ghastly face which met the sexton's gaze, 
 but he could not see its change ; and the voice which 
 answered him was unaltered, save perhaps that the 
 tone was lowered, to suit the sacredness of the 
 building. 
 
 " I see — I know it is the Vivian chapel." 
 
 " The place where they all rest. Sir, from father to 
 son, from generation to generation. But there'll be 
 none to follow now." 
 
 The stranger gazed upon that small brass plate 
 with a fixedness which seemed fascination. " Seven- 
 teen years ago," he murmured to himself. 
 
 "Just seventeen, come Michaelmas — the year after 
 the troubles : they broke her heart." 
 
 The words were heard, for a tremulous shudder 
 passed over the stranger's frame ; and seizing Jacob's 
 arm, and holding it by a grasp which it was im- 
 possible to resist, he led him again into the porch. 
 There, standing before him, quietly, yet with a stern- 
 ness, the result of strong self-control rather than of 
 anger, he repeated : " They broke her heart, did you 
 say ? "
 
 222 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Why, yes, yes, Sir," Jacob looked around liini in 
 alarm. 
 
 " You were telling me about it before, — let me 
 hear." 
 
 The tone was too decided to be disobeyed; yet 
 Jacob's voice shook as he began, and his words were 
 uttered unequally, whilst stealthily he raised his dim 
 eyes to catch, if possible, the impression which he 
 was making upon the moody, sullen, withered-looking 
 man, whose excitable feelings he had evidently, but 
 unexpectedly, from some unknown cause, aroused. 
 
 " They said it was caused by the troubles," he 
 began, " and I never heard there was reason to doubt 
 it. Sure enough, before they came, she was blithe 
 as a bird ; and the day she heard of them she fell sick, 
 — and the same day twelvemonth they laid her in 
 her grave. Would you wish to hear more. Sir." 
 
 There was neither assent nor dissent. It seemed 
 that the stranger could not trust himself with words. 
 
 Jacob went on : " You know about Master Edward, 
 Sir : perhaps there's no need to go over the story ; 
 and who can tell the rights of it ? " 
 
 " Ay ! who ? " exclaimed the stranger, impe- 
 tuously. 
 
 " It's my belief there's more to be known about 
 that matter than people think for," continued the 
 sexton, more heartily, feeling encouraged by even a 
 word of sympathy ; " my father always said so, and 
 he was like to know the truth, seeing he lived so long 
 in the family ; but the General was never one to be 
 dealt with like other folks. You know. Sir, Master 
 Edward went abroad." 
 
 " I have heard so."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 223 
 
 " That was after he left college, and after his 
 mother's death. Poor lady! if she had lived, no doubt 
 things would have been different. As it was, he only 
 got into mischief when he was at home; and the 
 General, 'twas said, thought that a new country 
 migtit give him new notions. To say the truth of 
 him, he had not got any that were what you may 
 say bad, only quite different from his father's : the 
 General being set upon keeping up dignity, as he 
 called it, and getting back more and more of the 
 estate, and setting off his family upon a new footing ; 
 and Master Edward not thinking a whit about it, 
 but only mindful to take things easy himself, and let 
 every one else do the same. I've heard tell too, that 
 one of the causes why the General was so bent upon 
 getting his son out of the country just then, was be- 
 cause of the young lady, one of the Campbells, — 
 they lived at the Manor Farm; — you'll know Mrs. 
 Campbell of the Lodge now. Sir ? She's the mother." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; " the quick tone was not impatience, 
 but agony. 
 
 " The truth of that. Sir, is what I can't vouch for. 
 If there was any thing going on, they managed to 
 keep it wonderfully close ; but the General might 
 have found it out ; and if he did, he was sure to make 
 the most of it, I'll warrant you. He hated the Camp- 
 bells like mad. They had always sided with the other 
 Vivians; and there was some old family difference 
 from I can't tell how many years back ; and of late 
 the Campbells had gone down in the world, and there 
 had been some bad marriages, which had brought 
 them still lower. Old Mrs. Campbell — she that's at
 
 224 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 the Lodge now — was the daughter of some man quite 
 nothing compared with the General, and so there 
 were relations and connections whom he didn't 
 choose to have any thing to do with ; in fact, I've 
 heard my father say that it was quite a cat-and-dog 
 life the two families lived ; and you may well think, 
 Sir, how troubled the General would be when he 
 thought his only son was likely to mix himself up 
 with them. Any how. Master Edward went abroad. 
 And glad enough he was to go, 'tis my belief, except 
 for the thought of parting with his sisters, 'specially 
 Miss Edith. She was, in a way, his favourite. I 
 saw them as they stood together before the door, just 
 as the carriage was coming up to take Master Edward 
 away. She was like an angel, so loving and pretty, 
 and putting her arm round his neck, and kissing him, 
 and telling him that 'twouldn't be home till he came 
 back ; and he smiling, and trying to comfort her, and 
 saying how he was going to enjoy himself; and then 
 looking up at Miss Mildred, who was lying on her 
 sofa by the window — for 'twas just then she began to 
 get ill — and nodding to her, and promising to bring 
 her all kinds of fine things from abroad. Ay ! they 
 were mainly set upon one another, those two sisters 
 and Master Edward." 
 
 "And the General?" 
 
 " He looked on upon them, stern-like, with his arms 
 crossed in his fashion, saying the young ladies were 
 silly, and would make any one a fool, with their care ; 
 yet pleased too, for he patted Miss Edith on the cheek, 
 and called her Sunbeam, which was the name some 
 of the villagers gave her ; and then he shook Master
 
 CLEVE HALL. 225 
 
 Edward's hand heartily, and said, * God bless yon, 
 my boy;' and it's my belief there was a tear in his 
 eye. If there was, it's the first tear that ever mortal 
 saw there. Miss Edith had the last word. Master 
 Edward put his head out of the carriage-window and 
 said, — the words stayed in my mind for days after, — 
 * Edith, darling ! keep up ; you'll soon learn to live 
 without me.' 'Twas a man's mistake, sir. She tried 
 to live without him, and she died." 
 
 The sexton paused, for his voice had grown tremu- 
 lous and husky ; and Mr. Bruce, too, passed his hand 
 over his eyes, and sat down, his hands firmly clench- 
 ing the stick on which he rested. 
 
 Jacob continued : — " Soon after Master Edward's 
 departure, the Campbells went, and then Encombe 
 and Cleve were quiet enough, with no gentry about, 
 but the General and the two young ladies. That is 
 the time I can remember best myself. I had work 
 in the garden ; and my father having, as I told you, 
 been butler for so many years, I was pretty often in 
 the house, and got a tolerable glimmering of how 
 things Avent on." 
 
 " And Edith?" — the words escaped hurriedly, and 
 were immediately corrected, — " Miss Vivian ? was she 
 well then and happy ? " 
 
 " She took on sadly at first," replied the sexton ; 
 *-'but 'twasn't a heart to live upon trouble ; and when 
 news came that Master Edward was well and happy, 
 and likely to return before long, she cheered up 
 mainly, and for the first part of that year she was the 
 life of the house. 'T would have been rather a dull 
 one but for her. Miss Mildred was very cheerful, 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 but quiet-like ; and the General never seemed so proud 
 of her as he was of Miss Edith. He would go to her 
 when there was business to be done, for she was more 
 clear headed, and ready to do everything for every- 
 body, and a kind word for all ; but she wasn't 
 blithe, like Miss Edith, who was always singing and 
 dancing about the house. And then Miss Mildred 
 was sickly ; and somehow the General was one who 
 didn't take to sickly folks ; he didn't understand them, 
 and was always thinking they could get up and do 
 just the same as others. The two young ladies, though, 
 were marvellous fond of each other ; 'twas quite a sight 
 to see them together, they were so one-like ; and so, 
 upon the whole, it was a very happy home." 
 
 " Till the storm came." — It was a voice like the 
 rising of a storm which spoke. Jacob stopped for an 
 instant, startled by it. 
 
 " Aye, sir, as you say, till the storm came ; and that 
 was soon enough. Master Edward had been away 
 some months when it began to brew ; how, I don't 
 quite know, but when the letters came of a morning, 
 I used to hear my father say, he'd rather face a cannon- 
 ball than carry them up to the General ; he was so 
 put out by the news he had. Some rumour was afloat 
 that Master Edward had been spending a deal of 
 money ; and that seemed likely enough, seeing that 
 'twas always his way ; but no one knew for certain. 
 At last, one morning, Td been in the garden, weeding 
 the flower beds, and then I was sent into the park to 
 give some help about a fence that was to be moved ; 
 and as I was hard at work, not thinking of any thing, 
 one of the boys working with me looked up, and says
 
 CLEVE HALL. 227 
 
 he, ' Jacob, who's that coming across here ? ' 'Twas 
 a tall, swaggering -looking fellow, walking quite as 
 if he was somebody, and was to be obeyed ; and be- 
 hind, a short, bluff man, a kind of servant. The 
 first I knew directly, for I'd seen Captain Vivian 
 often enough, and had a full remembrance of him, 
 and his doings. The other I've learnt to know better 
 since ; you may have seen him yourself, sir, whilst 
 you've been here, — a rough -looking fellow, a fisher- 
 man he is now, or a smuggler, as most people say ; 
 he's always out upon the Point." 
 
 " Goff ! yes, I know him well, very well ; " and 
 there was a marked emphasis upon the words. 
 
 " He had work about the place out of doors, as a 
 boy ; and then he was taken into the house, and made 
 a servant for Master Edward, and he had carried him 
 abroad ; but it seems somehow they hadn't suited, 
 and he had been turned over to the Captain. So it 
 was they were together that day. I learnt all that, 
 though, afterwards." 
 
 "Yes, well! But that day?" 
 
 " Aye, that day, sir ; you needn't think I'm likely 
 to forget it. I saw the Captain and the other fellow 
 go straight up to the house, and, said I to myself, 
 there's mischief coming with that man, as sure as 
 summer comes with swallows. I didn't exactly think 
 what kind of mischief, for I hadn't heard much about 
 where he'd been lately ; else my thoughts would 
 surely have turned to Master Edward. But some- 
 thing led me to go into the house, and wait to hear 
 what was going on. I followed them up to the door, 
 q2
 
 228 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 and the Captain, he gave a tremendous pull at the 
 bell, and such a peal there was sounding through the 
 house! And when the door was opened, it was a 
 kind of king's voice that said he must see General 
 Vivian directly. My father happened to be in the 
 library at the time, where the young ladies were 
 sitting. It was close to the front steps, and you 
 could hear quite plainly what any one said. He 
 told me afterwards that Miss Mildred turned very 
 pale when she heard the Captain's voice, and said 
 she, ' Edith, you go to my father, and tell him who's 
 here.' She couldn't go herself, and she wouldn't 
 trust anybody else with the message, knowing how 
 the General would hate it. Miss Edith went up to 
 her chair and kissed her, and said, 'Never mind, 
 Mildred, well hope on,' or some words of that kind ; 
 but she was cast down herself, seemingly, for she 
 walked quite slowly out of the room. 
 
 " Captain John was shown into the little drawing- 
 room, and a good long time he was kept waiting ; 
 and my father heard him storming away because of 
 it with Goff ; — for he would make him go with him ; 
 he wouldn't have him sent into the servant's hall, as 
 was the custom. At last the General rang his study 
 bell, and my father answered it, as he always did. 
 Miss Edith was behind the General's chair, smoothing 
 his hair and fondling him ; and, to look at them, I 
 dare say you might have called them brother and 
 sister instead of father and child; for he was a 
 wonderfully fine-looking man in those days, was the 
 General, and bore his years bravely. ' Captain 
 Vivian's waiting to see me, Clarke, I hear,' said the
 
 CLEVE HALL. 229 
 
 General; ^he may come up. Edith, you must go.' 
 His voice was as firm as mine is now, and you 
 wouldn't have known that he thought or cared for 
 the man a straw ; only that he had a trick of crossing 
 his legs and moving his left foot up and down when 
 he was sorely pressed, and the less he said the faster 
 his foot went ; 'twas his way of venting his passion. 
 The foot went like a see-saw that morning; and 
 Miss Edith said to my father, when she left the room, 
 * Clarke, don't you let the General be tired out.' 
 That was as much as to say, you be on your watch 
 for what's going on ; for my father was a trusty and 
 knowing man, and many a time when the young 
 ladies had been troubled with persons coming to 
 worry the General, they had got him to go in and 
 interrupt them. So my father showed Captain 
 Vivian into the study, and he saw the General stand 
 up and bow, which was all the greeting he gave ; and 
 any one but Captain John might have been cowed 
 by his manner. But not a bit he; before my father 
 was out of the room he began, saying that he had 
 come from a long distance, and he thought it hard 
 he should be kept waiting, and all in such a rough 
 way that the General was put askew almost before a 
 word had been spoken. 
 
 " My father went back to his work. Not a word 
 did he tell me or any one, then ; such a cautious 
 man he was about every thing which concerned the 
 General's interest. But I was mainly curious ; and, 
 as I could get nothing out of him, I made friends 
 with the housekeeper, as was my custom sometimes, 
 and got a permission from her that I might come into 
 
 Q 3
 
 230 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 the house and dine. I was standing in the servants' 
 hall, waiting about a little, and doing just what few 
 things there was to be done, when my father came 
 in, and says he to the footman, " Here's a stranger 
 come to dine with you, Charles ; ' and with that he 
 brought in Goff. 'Twasn't a pleasant hearing, ex- 
 actly, for in former days no one had ever taken much 
 to the man ; but he had come from foreign parts, 
 and he'd seen Master Edward lately; and so there 
 was a good deal to say and to hear, and we all got 
 round him and began asking him questions. I've 
 often thought since how queer he was on that day, — 
 not a bit like what he's turned out since, — no blus- 
 tering and storming, but a sort of creep-mouse look, 
 which somehow turned quite against me ; and every 
 now and then stopping to hear if there was a bell, 
 or a sound. But he wasn't likely to hear that with 
 the clatter which was going on in the hall, and 
 after a while he seemed to give up listening, and 
 began to talk very fast, telling heaps of odd stories, 
 and hinting things noAv and then about Master 
 Edward which nearly made my hair stand on end. 
 Yet he never spoke out ; and when my father taxed 
 him once with what he had been saying, and asked 
 him to explain, he caught himself up quite short, and 
 looked for all the world as if he knew he was telling 
 what wasn't true. Certainly, I fancied him less than 
 ever, specially when I saw what a friend he was to 
 the ale flagon. Why he drank it as if 'twas water ! 
 
 " There was dinner in the housekeeper's room for 
 my father, but not a bit did he seem to trouble 
 himself to eat. I had a notion that he couldn't
 
 CLEVE HALL. 231 
 
 make up his mind to let Goff out of his sight, for he 
 was in and out of the hall continually ; and, said he 
 once to GofF, 'Your Master's holding a long story 
 up stairs.' ' There's plenty to say, when folks have 
 been so long parted,' said Goff; and with that he 
 gave a kind of inside chuckle, and laid down his 
 knife just as he was cutting a bit of cheese, and set 
 himself again to listen. Sure enough at that moment 
 there was a bell, a quick ringing one from the 
 General's room. I chanced to be looking at the man 
 at the moment. His face — you wouldn't scarce 
 believe it, for he's all over hard and brown now, as 
 if he was made of mahogany — but he hadn't seen 
 such rough times in those days, and, as I sat opposite 
 to him, I noticed that it turned of a sudden, not 
 white, but a sort of greyish colour, just for all the 
 world as if he was going off into a fit. 'Twas only 
 for a moment, though. He seized hold of the ale 
 jug, and such a drink as he took! — it seemed all to 
 go at a gulp ; and then down went the cup on the 
 table, and he stood up, and it crossed my mind that 
 he'd had enough to make him unsteady. But not a 
 whit that ! It had only brought back the right colour 
 to his cheek ; and says he, quickly, ' That's for me.' 
 My father caught him up with, ' How do you know 
 it's for you ? ' He was taken aback, and his eyes quite 
 flashed out, but he only laughed and said, ' Oh ! he 
 supposed it was, and he must be ready ;' and, strange 
 enough, when my father went up stairs he brought 
 down word that Goff was to go up directly. I didn't 
 dare ask if any thing was the matter, so many being 
 about ; but I was certain that something was wrong, 
 Q 4
 
 232 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 for my father had a look on liim which I'd seen often 
 enough to understand. But dinner went on, and was 
 finished, and every one went to his work ; and I was 
 to have gone to mine, only my father had something 
 for me to do in his pantry. It wasn't so far from 
 the hall but that I could hear people go in and out, 
 and up and down stairs ; and, after a while — two 
 hours I am sure it was from the time I first saw the 
 Captain come — he and Goff took their departure, — 
 not blustering and noisy, as they had come, but 
 stealing out and walking off to the village, without 
 a word of good b'ye to any one. 
 
 " There was no sound in the house for near half an 
 hour afterwards. The young ladies had had their 
 lunch ; and where they were, or what they were doing, 
 I couldn't say, only I missed Miss Edith's voice, for 
 she used to go singing about like a bird. It came 
 over me, I remember, as something awful that, with 
 so many near, there shouldn't be one to be heard ; 
 but before long a heavy door slammed too, and then 
 came the General's step along the open gallery over 
 the hall. He was going the way to the young ladies' 
 sitting room. 
 
 " My father called me then, and I stood talking 
 with him in the hall, about some errand he wished 
 me to do for him in Cleve. It might have been 
 three minutes, or not so much, we were there. I was 
 just asking him where I should find the man he 
 wanted to see ; and I remember he bade me attend, 
 and laid his hand on my shoulder, in his kind 
 way, when a scream — sharp and piteous, scarce 
 like a human scream — rang through the old house.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 233 
 
 'Twas Miss Edith's voice ; and mj father and 1 glanced 
 at each other in horror, and rushed up stairs." 
 
 *' She was dead ! " escaped from Mr. Bruce's lips ; 
 and he covered his face with his hands, and sank, 
 shuddering, upon the bench. 
 
 " No, sir. She had had her death-stroke ; but she was 
 not to die then. She was lying on tlie floor insensible, 
 Miss Mildred kneeling by her ; quiet — you wouldn't 
 have known there was aught strange, save that her 
 face seemed all of a sudden changed into stone. And 
 the General was there too ; standing up before them, 
 stern as on a battle-field, but his eyes fixed with a 
 horrible stare straight before him. They did not 
 let me stay more than a moment. Mrs. Robinson 
 was called, and I was sent off to Cleve for a doctor. 
 I came back in less than an hour. The General had 
 shut himself up in his room ; Miss Mildred was with 
 her sister. No one could tell any thing that had 
 happened for certain ; only that Captain John and 
 Goff had gone off from Encombe like a shot, and 
 somehow — the news was about, that Master Edward 
 and Miss Campbell were married." 
 
 " And that was all ? " exclaimed Mr. Bruce, stand- 
 ing up, and grasping the sexton's arm. 
 
 " Bad enough 'twould have been, sir, if it had been 
 all," replied the sexton, hastily; "but worse there 
 must have been, far worse than that. 'Tisn't for me to 
 say, when no one knows for sure ; but a part of the 
 truth was abroad quick enough. Master Edward had 
 done something very dreadful, and was disinherited. 
 What his sins were, it had been left for Captain 
 Vivian and that fellow Goff to tell."
 
 234 CLEVE halL. 
 
 A groan was the only reply. 
 
 " Mj story will soon enough be ended now, sir," 
 continued the sexton. " The beginning of troubles 
 was the end of the family history. They laid Miss 
 Edith on her bed, and for weeks she never rose up 
 from it. And day after day the word came that she 
 was growing weaker and weaker, and that her brain 
 was wandering ; and doctors came from London, and 
 nurses ; and they talked, and ordered, and watched, 
 and at last they got her round in a way ; and she 
 came down stairs, and moved about, and went into 
 the garden. But it was her ghost only, not herself. 
 She could never be kept still, but was always drag- 
 ging herself up and down the shrubbery walk by the 
 great road, listening for a carriage, if it might draw 
 up ; or, when she was in-doors, standing before a pic- 
 ture of Master Edward, that's now in Miss Mildred's 
 room, or pacing the gallery over the hall. But she 
 never mentioned his name ; no, not even to Miss 
 Mildred. And at last, all of a sudden, the cloud 
 came over her again, and she gave way, as it were, 
 in a moment ; and once more they took her to her 
 bed, and never moved her from it till they carried 
 her to her grave." 
 
 The sexton paused, to dash away a tear. " There 
 was peace for her," he added, in a tone of deep re- 
 verence. " She had lived an angel's life, and she was 
 ready for death. The sorrow was for him that had 
 killed her." 
 
 He was silent for a moment, and then continued : — 
 
 " 'Tis a heavy word to say of a father against his 
 child, and he lovins; her as he did. But 'twas the
 
 CLEVE HALL. 235 
 
 General's way; there was no mercy. Ple'd have 
 given his son to be shot, if it had come in the way of 
 duty, and been the first to pull the trigger ; and so, 
 when he thought himself called on to give him 
 up, he cast him off in a moment, and fancied that 
 others could do the same. But they who said the 
 General was a hard man, spoke of things they didn't 
 understand. The day that Captain John brought the 
 ill news, the General was hale and strong as the 
 strongest man of his age in England. When he 
 came out of his room three days afterwards, to go to 
 church, his hair was silvery grey, and he had the 
 look and gait of a man of seventy. There, sir, I've 
 done now ; and I've tired you, no doubt ; and my 
 digging will be waiting for me. Will it please you 
 to go into the church again ? " 
 
 No answer came. The question was repeated, and 
 Mr. Bruce spoke as in a dream. 
 
 "The church, did you say? But the mystery — 
 has it never been cleared up ? " 
 
 " The mystery, sir ? Oh ! Master Edward's ; yes, I 
 understand. Cleared up I can't say it has been, for 
 no one can say for certain what passed between the 
 General and Captain Vivian ; but, of course, the 
 marriage and the notion of Master Edward's gambling 
 was at the bottom of it ; and cause enough for his 
 being disinherited, according to the General's prin- 
 ciples. He who'd been all his life striving to redeem 
 the property, and making it the one thing he worked 
 for — it was natural enough, perhaps, that he should 
 take fright at the notion of its falling into hands 
 which would scatter it. But what he really thought
 
 236 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 and felt, it isn't for such as I to guess at ; and indeed 
 I don't fancy there's any one that can tell, except, 
 may be, Mr. Lester. He came to live at En combe 
 just afterwards; and he'd been Master Edward's 
 tutor, and often staying at the Hall, and had worked 
 hard, I've heard, to make the General and his son 
 understand each other. I believe the General did 
 open his mind to him at first, but when ]\Ii\ Lester 
 didn't quite agree, he closed up again, and lived for 
 all the world as if shut up in a shell. That is to 
 say, on that subject he's shut up, not on others. He 
 gave himself much more to the poor people about that 
 time, and set to work at the Church, and grew more 
 thoughtful for Miss Mildred, and took to petting and 
 making much of her. Somehow, it seems to me, when 
 I'm thinking over it all awhiles, that he's been for 
 years like a man who knows he's very wrong in one 
 way, but won't for the life of him give wp, and so 
 tries to keep his conscience clear by being good in all 
 others. Mayn't it be so, sir ? " 
 
 The sexton looked up at his companion inquiringly. 
 
 His answer was a half-crown, thrust into his hand ; 
 and, without a word, Mr. Bruce turned away, and in 
 a few seconds was seen striding up the pathway to 
 the hills, with the speed of a maniac.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 237 
 
 CHAP. XIX. 
 
 Ella had left Clement behind, without a thought. 
 Mr. Lester and Rachel she imagined were before her, 
 and her inclination was to hasten after them. They 
 were, however, at a considerable distance ; and she 
 went on, with her usual impetuosity, when interested, 
 gaining ground upon them, but heeding little the 
 direction she was taking, and without considering 
 how she was to return. Once she heard Clement's 
 call, and answered it ; but her voice was weak, and 
 the sound did not reach him. So she must have 
 proceeded half walking, and half running, for more 
 than a mile ; but she was drawing nearer and nearer 
 her object, and her efforts would soon end. The two 
 figures sat down for a moment to rest, and a most un- 
 comfortable misgiving crossed Ella's mind. The man 
 was taller than Mr. Lester, he looked unlike a gentle- 
 man, now that she could see him more distinctly, and 
 the girl was dressed differently from Rachel. Ella 
 could not recognise them at all : they were not even 
 Encombe people : probably they belonged to Cleve, 
 and were going thither by the short way, over the 
 hills. That was quite out of the direction of the 
 Beacon, and Clement would miss her. She looked 
 round for him, and called. There was no answer ; 
 but the man who was sitting down heard her, and 
 approached.
 
 238 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Ella was not frightened, but perplexed. The hills 
 were very lonely, the paths in some parts confusing. 
 One thing, however, was clear, — at least she thought 
 it so, — that Clement would follow her in the direction 
 of the Beacon ; and when the stranger came up, Ella 
 answered his question as to what she wanted, by 
 begging to be told the nearest road to it. 
 
 " A good way off from the Beacon it is," replied 
 the man ; " a mile at the least. You aren't thinking 
 of going up there by yourself. Miss ? " 
 
 " I was going : I want to meet my brother," was 
 Ella's reply. 
 
 " Oh, your brother ! that's different. Well, you must 
 keep along under the hollow now, till you get to the 
 pile of stones yonder, and then take the path to the 
 right, and that will bring you into Crossdell ; and 
 from thence you may scramble up till you get to the 
 foot of the Beacon. But, dear me !" — and he looked 
 at Ella's slight figure with a kind of patronising com- 
 passion ; " you'll never get up, any how ; and if you 
 do, you'll never find your way down again ; or you'll 
 get upon the Croome ; and there'll be a business ! " 
 
 " The Croome ! " repeated Ella ; " that is where the 
 cliff falls away so, isn't it ? " 
 
 " Yes, the steep side of the Beacon, away to the 
 east," was the answer. "Folks that don't know 
 much about it are apt to set foot upon the Croome, 
 taking it all for firm ground ; and then, ten to one, 
 if they don't go down and down, till they'd give half 
 they're worth to stop. However, I dare say your 
 brother knows all about that, and he won't take you 
 the dangerous side."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 239 
 
 A little fear there was in Ella's mind, but with it 
 a good deal of excitement, Yet she could not at once 
 decide whether to advance or go back. She asked 
 how far it was from the point she had now reached 
 to Encombe : about a mile and a half. That really 
 seemed nothing ; and to have had a tiresome walk all 
 by herself, for nothing — it would be too absurd ! And 
 then she should certainly miss Clement, and he would 
 find his way to the Beacon, and she should be out- 
 done. In Ella's chivalrous moments, when she was 
 mistress over her natural indolence, there was nothing 
 she disliked more than being beaten in any thing, even 
 in a walk ; and moreover she had an innate love of 
 adventure, nearly allied to her poetical tastes, all of 
 which urged her to the side of boldness. Without 
 acknowledging to her new acquaintance the fact of 
 having lost Clement, lest he should dissuade her from 
 her intention, she thanked him, wished him good-b'ye, 
 and proceeded on her upward way, with a springing 
 step and an eager spirit, and had reached the other 
 extremity of the hollow, before he had disappeared 
 along the downward path which led to the town of 
 Cleve. 
 
 Her heart did sink a little when she looked up and 
 saw the height still above her, the summit of the 
 Beacon being even then not visible. But it required 
 only an effort ; she was strong, and there was quite 
 sufficient time, and Clement might miss her if she 
 turned back ; and Ella, wlio would have lounged for 
 hours in an easy chair, dreaming over poetry, and 
 thinking the smallest exertion too great, now, once
 
 240 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 roused, was willing to risk any amount of fatigue, or 
 even danger, rather than fail in her purpose. 
 
 She began the ascent ; at first an easy one, for 
 the sheep-track was her guide, and offered a sure 
 footing ; but after some distance it ceased, and she 
 was obliged to make her way as she could over the 
 slippery turf. The Beacon point was before her, 
 however, then, and this gave her confidence and 
 energy. Yet she did not trust herself to look round, 
 lest she should turn giddy ; for the hill was becoming 
 more and more precipitous, and from not knowing the 
 right direction to take, Ella had chosen the steepest 
 site that was accessible. At last, however, having 
 reached a little hollow, where she could find a firm 
 footing, she turned, and sat down to rest. The view 
 beneath her was most lovely, commanding the slope 
 of the hills, and the Encombe ravine, with the Cleve 
 woods and the town of Cleve in the distance ; and 
 beyond a wide expanse of the sea, changing at every 
 instant, now glittering with islands of light, now dark 
 with deep purple shadows, as the sun escaped from, 
 or was hidden beneath, the heavy clouds which were 
 crossing the sky. Perfectly enjoyable it would have 
 been, if only she had been sitting on the summit of 
 the Beacon, with Clement by her side. As it was, 
 the exquisite beauty, added to the comfort of rest, 
 induced her to linger minute after minute ; and it was 
 not till a sensation of cold and dampness stole over 
 her, that she thought of proceeding. 
 
 A slight mist rested on the summit ; that was pro- 
 voking, it would prevent her seeing the view to per- 
 fection. But it might pass away ; at any rate, she
 
 CLEVE HALL. 241 
 
 felt it would be wise to hasten, lest it should increase. 
 Once more she was ascending, rather more cautiously ; 
 for she w^as no longer stepping upon turf, but upon 
 loose shingles and rough stones, which hurt her feet. 
 It crossed her mind whether she should go back, for 
 the mist was thickening very rapidly. But to be so 
 near the top, and not to reach it ! It was out of the 
 question ; it would be ignoble ; and, after all, what 
 harm could happen to her ? She had but to step 
 carefully ; and once at the top, her descent would be 
 rapid and easy, and she should soon escape from the 
 mist, Avhich was always thicker on the hills than in 
 the valleys. Enterprising, Ella was, certainly; hers 
 might have been the spirit of a crusader, could it 
 always have felt the same stimulus. A steep, high 
 bank, almost a cliff, was before her ; the damp, heavy 
 mist was gathering around her ; she was weary and 
 breathless ; sharp flints had torn her boots, and one 
 had wounded her foot so as to make it painful for her 
 to walk ; but she would not yield. One more 
 great effort: scrambling, slipping back, clinging to 
 a stone which gave way, seizing upon the stem of a 
 juniper-bush, and finding a footing for a moment, 
 and then grasping the edge of the bank, and dragging 
 herself up almost in despair, and Ella had achieved 
 her object, and stood upon the narrow platform of the 
 highest hill, and touched the pile of stones which 
 formed the Beacon. 
 
 She was very triumphant — very excited. The toil 
 was a hundred-fold repaid by success ; so she felt, for 
 the first minute. The second, a chill came over her, 
 mental as well as physical ; but the latter was pre- 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 dominant. A cold blast was sweeping over the hills ; 
 and sadly and ominously it moaned through the hol- 
 lows below her. View there was none; the mist 
 covered the country like a garment, and, gathering 
 around Ella, crept, as it seemed, into her frame, 
 numbing her fingers, and bringing that indescribable 
 sense of blind dreariness which makes one fancy, for 
 the moment, that warmth and light have disappeared 
 from the earth for ever. 
 
 Of course there was but one thought in Ella's 
 mind — descent as quick as possible. She again 
 called Clement, though with little expectation of 
 being heard ; and, receiving no answer, set herself to 
 her task. The cliff was her first difficulty ; she could 
 not trust it in going down, as she had in ascending, 
 so she felt her way cautiously along the edge of the 
 platform, till she reached a less precipitous bank, and, 
 sliding down without difficulty, found herself stand- 
 ing on what seemed a beaten track. This must, of 
 course, she thought, be the right path, which she had 
 missed through ignorance ; and she went on boldly 
 and cheerfully, congratulating herself on her success. 
 Yet it was rather bcAvildering, to be wandering on in 
 this way, without being able to see more than a few 
 yards before her ; and once, it crossed Ella's mind, 
 that the track was leading her rather away from the 
 direction she had taken in ascending. Very far away, 
 however, it could not be, for she was quite sure that 
 she was going towards Encombe ; and every now and 
 then she stopped and called Clement, again hoping 
 that he might be near, and join her. 
 
 The path which Ella had entered upon was broad
 
 CLEVE HALL. 243 
 
 at first, sloping along the side of tlie hill; then 
 it grew narrower and steeper, and occasionally it 
 ceased altogether for a few paces ; but a path there 
 certainly was, so that she did not feel any misgivings. 
 At length, however, it became very perplexing ; 
 there seemed to be two tracks, one to the right, 
 broad, but exceedingly precipitous, almost indeed per- 
 pendicular, leading, as she supposed, towards Cleve ; 
 the other very narrow, but more easy, carried round 
 the hill, and therefore leading away from Encombe. 
 Either seemed an evil, and Ella paused to consider, 
 and for the first time felt sufiiciently uncomfortable 
 heartily to repent her expedition. To descend by 
 any means was still the only thing to be done, for 
 there was no time to be lost. It was growing late, 
 and the mist was thickening into rain ; and after a 
 moment's consideration she chose the narrow path, as 
 leading, she believed, more directly to Encombe. 
 
 It was tolerably level, and therefore easy at first ; 
 and Ella congratulated herself upon this, and went on 
 hopefully, yet not very quickly. It was not quite as 
 firm as that which she had left ; the soil was loose, 
 and the stones rolled away under her feet. This did 
 not signify, as long as the slope was gradual; but it 
 became steeper, — the path was scarcely to be called 
 one. Ella was obliged to throw herself, in a manner, 
 from one projection to another: yet it was still de- 
 scent, and descent was her object. She was forced to 
 move on ; the stones gave way as she touched them ; 
 and there were no large ones to grasp. It became 
 not walking, or jumping from point to point, but one 
 perpetual slide, slide ; above, below, around her — 
 R 2
 
 244 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 all was sliding ; and when she tried to stop, the very 
 effort to sustain herself gave an impetus to the stones 
 on which she rested ; and down they went, rolling on 
 and on, and making all they touched roll with them, 
 till the rush was as the crash of pebbles on a beach ; 
 and at length — was it the splash of water which 
 reached Ella's ear ? 
 
 The black tarn was beneath her. She was clinging 
 to the side of the Croome. 
 
 The cry which echoed through the hills reached 
 the ears of Mr. Bruce as he wandered beneath the 
 Beacon, and was heard by Rachel Lester as she stood 
 at the head of Greystone Gorge, and startled Ronald 
 in his lonely wretchedness ; — it was the cry of ex- 
 tremity of peril. To go back was impossible ; the 
 very effort to grasp the cliff would but precipitate 
 Ella into the lake. To go forward was equally im- 
 possible ; the end might approach more slowly, but it 
 would not be the less certain. To stand motionless 
 upon the spot where for the moment she had found 
 her footing, was the only safety ; and this security 
 was but the verge of despair ; for even the sound 
 of Ella's voice, as in her agony she called Clement, 
 Clement, seemed to precipitate the rush of the rest- 
 less, shivering cliff, and increase the perpetual quick 
 plash, the knell of the dark waters, as they closed 
 over the stones which sank into their depth. 
 
 Years were gathered into those moments, — the 
 years of Ella's life ; the tale of her wilfulness, her folly, 
 her pride, her indolence — not passing before her in 
 detail, but all concentrated into one feeling of despair. 
 
 Again, one last effort ! But Ella's voice was feeble 
 with horror, and it was but the wailing wind which
 
 CLEVE HALL. 245 
 
 took up the lingering notes, and prolonged the in- 
 effectual cry. Yet a change came. A gleam of sun- 
 shine was struggling amidst the vapour that floated 
 over the tarn. A few moments more, and the mist 
 rolled away ; whilst heavy wreaths gathered together 
 upon the summit of the hill, leaving clear below a 
 narrow sheet of water, unruffled save by the falling 
 stones, dark with almost unfathomable depth, and 
 coldly throwing back the lines of light which crossed 
 its bosom, as if too conscious of the dread secrets 
 v*"hich it hid to permit them to penetrate its surface. 
 
 It was but a little distance across from the spot 
 where Ella stood. She could see a small hovel on 
 the opposite bank, sometimes used for shelter by 
 shepherds, and distinguish the rocks scattered along 
 the margin of the tarn, and the sheep grazing upon 
 the scanty foliage. She could even look beyond, and 
 trace the path which would lead her to the village ; 
 and very far away she fancied that she could perceive 
 the tower of Encombe church, though it was very 
 indistinct. Life, safety, happiness, were within her 
 sight, almost within her grasp ; but so also were the 
 crumbling rocks, and the waters of the dark tarn, and 
 the valley of the shadow of death. 
 
 There was a sound on the lake ; not the falling of 
 stones ; it was a steadier, softer, more even plash. 
 It was behind her, and she dared not look round ; the 
 pressure of her foot might be death. She called again, 
 and a voice sounded from below, and a little boat 
 with a man in it glided into sight. Ella stretched 
 out one hand ; her impulse was to throw herself into 
 the water. A hasty gesture warned her to pause. 
 K 3
 
 246 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Be still : if you value your life, neither move nor 
 speak. There is a rope in the boat ; I will throw it 
 to you," shouted Mr. Bruce from below ; and the boat 
 glided away again out of sight, and she was left to 
 loneliness, and the ceaseless plash of the falling stones. 
 
 Minutes passed away ; her strength was failing ; 
 the position in which she stood was becoming un- 
 bearable ; and there were no signs of the promised 
 help. She could not have been left ; it was madness 
 to think so ; yet Ella's mind was in that state in 
 which reason has lost its power ; and the dreams of a 
 maniac are not more wild than the suggestions and 
 misgivings which flashed across her, checked only 
 by the strong instinct of self-preservation. 
 
 But a voice came at last from above, a man's voice. 
 " Are you there ? " was shouted ; and Ella's answering 
 scream was sharper than the cry of a dying animal. 
 A pause followed ; two persons seemed to be holding 
 a consultation. Ella could hear their murmurs. 
 The delay was agony ; in another minute her power 
 of endurance would be gone. They called again, 
 for they could not see her, and could only be directed 
 by the voice to the spot which she had reached. 
 Then she heard, in louder tones, a debate which 
 seemed almost angry in its eagerness. " Throw the 
 rope." " No ; it will not reach her, and she will go 
 down." " If we could but see her ! " Another shout 
 and another answer. " Fasten the rope round me 
 first." It was Mr. Bruce who spoke. The suggestion 
 seemed to be approved, for there was a momentary 
 silence. Then came the noise of the stones disturbed 
 from their resting-place, and rushing faster, faster, 
 falling behind and around Ella. But Mr. Bruce was
 
 CLEVE HALL. 247 
 
 drawing near; she could see him; he was moving 
 very cautiously, and, as it appeared, with some in- 
 stinct or foreknowledge, which taught him where to 
 place his foot on the firmest spot. The rope also 
 held by his companion secured him ; but even with 
 that aid he dared not approach very close. The 
 movement of the stones might loosen those on which 
 Ella was standing. " Now, catch it." He flung the 
 end of the rope towards her. She moved, — caught 
 it for an instant, — lost it again, — felt herself sliding, 
 — once more caught it, and clung to it, and was 
 dragged upwards. 
 
 " Fasten it round your waist," shouted Ronald from 
 above. 
 
 Impossible ! Ella's strength was giving way. The 
 rope was large ; she could not twist it. She felt her 
 hold lessening, yet despair was life. One instant 
 more, and she was within reach of Mr. Bruce's arm, 
 supported by him with one hand, whilst he threw 
 the rope around her with the other; and at that 
 moment she fainted away. 
 
 It must have been almost a superhuman strength 
 which upheld her; but Ronald Vivian stood above, 
 with his giant power, his indomitable resolution ; 
 and another — weak indeed, comparatively, in body, 
 but urged by the overwhelming impulse of a father's 
 love — was straining every nerve for her preserva- 
 tion ; and when at length she was laid on the firm 
 ground, Edward Vivian bent over his daughter, and 
 forgetting every necessity for concealment, exclaimed, 
 "My Ella, my precious child! Thank God she is 
 safe!" 
 
 B 4
 
 248 CLEVE HALL, 
 
 CHAP. XX. 
 
 That night Mr. Vivian sat in a large, low, old- 
 fashioned room at the Manor Farm, his chair drawn 
 in front of the fire, which Mrs. Robinson had insisted 
 upon lighting when he returned, cold, damp, and far 
 from well, after an expedition over the hills, which 
 had been longer, he said, than he had intended. With 
 him sat Mr. Lester, his grave countenance wearing 
 a look of disquieting thought, as, leaning his elbow 
 upon the table, he gazed fixedly before him. Tea 
 was just over ; it had been but a scanty meal ; though 
 Mrs. Robinson, in her hospitality and affection, had 
 provided largely for the weary wanderer, and urged 
 upon Mr. Lester the duty of making him take care 
 of himself Mr. Vivian was not to be persuaded; 
 his cup of tea had been swallowed hastily, and 
 scarcely any thing else on the table was touched: 
 a question was pending, which was food sufficient 
 for the mind, and, for the moment, for the body also 
 — What is to be done next ? 
 
 " I can trust Ronald implicitly," was ISIr. Lester's 
 observation. 
 
 " Yet you were vexed when I told you I had be- 
 trayed myself" 
 
 " Vexed for your own want of caution. Are you 
 never to learn prudence, Vivian ? "
 
 CLEVE HALL, 249 
 
 " When my child had just been saved from death! " 
 he exclaimed. " Lester, you will one day drive me 
 to hate you." 
 
 " A man who puts himself in a position where 
 self-restraint is necessary, ought first to be certain 
 that he can practise it," replied Mr. Lester. " But 
 it is useless to waste time in lectures which will not 
 be listened to." 
 
 " Spare me at least till you have had experience," 
 was the answer. " Live for eighteen years in a 
 foreign land, separated from your children, bound 
 to work which you hate, your constitution worn by 
 a horrible climate, and then talk to me of prudence, 
 if you can." 
 
 '• Most true, my dear Vivian ; none can feel it 
 more strongly than myself But a few months more 
 delay ; — and the claims of the children, your sister's 
 influence, my own inquiries as to the past, might 
 have opened a door for your return, honourably and 
 openly." 
 
 " Never, never ; in that opinion at least we cannot 
 be agreed ; and remember that my knowledge of my 
 father is more intimate than yours." 
 
 " I am not saying there would be hope if you took 
 him by surprise. All I contend for is, that, with pa- 
 tience and prudence, we might at least have worked 
 upon him." 
 
 Mr. Vivian shook his head doubtfully, and his 
 tone was irritable, as he said : — " It is no good to dis- 
 cuss what might have been. I am here ; — I am 
 known to be here. Now for the next step." 
 
 " To leave the neighbourhood before your secret
 
 250 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 lias spread further, would be my advice," replied Mr. 
 Lester. 
 
 " And live the same life that I have been living 
 for so many years, — lonely, hopeless, and -with the 
 aggravation of being within reach of my children, 
 and yet unable to approach them." 
 
 " So it must be till we have discovered the full 
 extent of your cousin's villainy." 
 
 " Pshaw ! Forgive me, Lester ; you rest upon that 
 point as if it would at once change the whole tone 
 of my father's mind. Let John Vivian be what he 
 may, let him have injured and calumniated me as he 
 may, I tell you there are sins enough at my own 
 door, for which I alone am answerable, which, in my 
 reasonable moments, must, I feel, shut up every avenue 
 to reconciliation." 
 
 Mr. Lester looked very pained. 
 
 " I know what you would say," continued Mr. 
 Vivian. " Why, if I had no hope, should I have re- 
 turned to England? That is the question of a man 
 reasoning upon feelings which he is too fortunate to 
 understand. Say, I had no hope, — it is true; yet 
 can you not imagine it possible to act without it, 
 when the object is restoration to a father's affection ? 
 Let him do with my inheritance as he will ; if he 
 will see and bless me, I shall die happy." Mr. Vivian's 
 voice faltered, but he recovered himself, and added : 
 — " Besides, if I have no hope for myself, I have for 
 my children." 
 
 " And so had I," replied Mr. Lester. 
 
 " Yes ; and your hope was fed by every-day events, 
 by intercourse with Mildred ; and it was not the hope
 
 CLEVE HALL. 251 
 
 of one whose all lay trembling in the balance ; whilst 
 mine — Lester, death would have been preferable to 
 the life I was leading ; and if the step I have taken 
 should bring me to it, I could scarcely repent that I 
 had yielded." 
 
 " Who is to say that it will not bring you to it?" 
 replied Mr. Lester, earnestly. " You have to deal 
 with a desperate man." 
 
 " We have been pitted against each other before 
 this," was the reply. " Let him do his worst ; I don't 
 fear him." 
 
 " There would be comparatively little cause to fear, 
 if every thing were open," replied Mr. Lester. " If 
 you had appeared at Encombe in your own character, 
 John Vivian would have been powerless, for all eyes 
 would have been upon him. Now, on the contrary, 
 no one notices either him or you, and he can carry on 
 his machinations unperceived," 
 
 " You speak as if it was my own choice which 
 brought me to Encombe," replied Mr. Vivian. " But 
 for the wreck, I should never have ventured to visit 
 the place without your sanction." 
 
 " We will waive the point of your returning to 
 England at all," replied Mr. Lester; "it is only a 
 vexatious one. But when you were here, you must 
 acknowledge that you insisted upon remaining. You 
 disbelieved me when I said that it was impossible to 
 keep your secret." 
 
 " Yet you declare I am safe, and that Ronald 
 Vivian is to be trusted." 
 
 "As surely as I am to be trusted myself; but 
 you forget, my dear Vivian, the possibility of excit-
 
 252 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 ing suspicion in your cousin or his wretched ally, 
 Goff." 
 
 " I trust to Mrs. Robinson for that; she knows every 
 thing that goes on, and has ears and eyes in all parts 
 of the village. And as to being known, remember 
 that even she did not recognise me. Eighteen years 
 in a West Indian climate, with two attacks of yellow 
 fever to boot — there can be no safer disguise than 
 such a change ; even if I had not been most careful 
 as to concealment in other ways." 
 
 " Still, look at the possibility ; it must always be 
 wise to fear the worst." 
 
 "Well, then; my hopeful cousin knows me, and 
 publishes the news, and what is to follow ? " 
 
 " That is the point ; he will not publish it." 
 
 " But, for the sake of argument, suppose he does ? 
 My father will hear of it; and how will he take 
 it?" 
 
 " So as to ruin every prospect, both for you and for 
 the children," exclaimed Mr. Lester. "Eighteen 
 years have done their work upon him, as they must 
 upon all, in sharpening and hardening the edges of 
 character. The principle upon which he first acted 
 was what he believed to be a right one ; but he carried 
 it out without check or balance from other principles, 
 and now it has become prejudice. If at this moment 
 you were to appear before him, he would turn from 
 you as from a stranger." 
 
 Mr. Vivian shuddered, and his voice sounded faint 
 and hollow, as he said : " My father ! is it possible ?" 
 
 " Quite possible. There is nothing in this world so 
 stern as a petrified affection."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 253 
 
 " Yet you would have given me hope if I had re- 
 mained in Jamaica ? " 
 
 " Yes, hope in your father's justice; he is still open 
 to that, and if we weaken him upon one point, we 
 weaken him upon all. If we could place before him 
 the proofs of your cousin's treachery, for treacherous 
 I have not the smallest doubt he was ; if we could 
 show him that you were not guilty to the extent 
 which he believes, his strong sense of honour would 
 be touched, and he would feel himself bound to 
 redeem the injury he has done you. But there has, as 
 yet, been no time for this. The letter which you 
 wrote in answer to my first communication of our 
 suspicions, has .only just reached us; and we must 
 deal with your father cautiously, even for the sake of 
 his age. Once, however, as I said, touch his sense of 
 justice, and I should have hope. Mildred and I would 
 place your character in its true light. We would 
 make him feel how nobly you have borne your exile ; 
 how devotedly you have laboured for your children." 
 
 Mr. Vivian interrupted him impatiently : — "I tell 
 you, Lester, as I have told you before, you are mis- 
 taken. The amount of my offence is not the question. 
 When I lost five pounds at the gaming table, I sinned 
 in my father's eyes as if I had lost five thousand. 
 When I married without his consent, I grieved him 
 as if I had chosen my wife from the very dregs of the 
 people." 
 
 " True, in a certain sense ; but there is one thing 
 which you forget. When a man sins against the 
 virtue which he holds most dear, his repentance is 
 keen in proportion to the estimation with which he
 
 254 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 regards it. Justice has been your father's idol. If 
 we can show him that he has been unjust, I can 
 scarcely doubt that, in his eagerness to atone for the 
 wrong he has done, he may be induced to overlook 
 what, under other circumstances, he would have consi- 
 dered unpardonable." 
 
 Mr. Vivian considered for a few moment — then he 
 said : — " Perhaps you are right. I have known him 
 so influenced in former days. But how to obtain the 
 proofs of injustice?" 
 
 " There, of course, lies the difficulty. The lapse of 
 time is one very great obstacle. If I had known, 
 years ago, what I know now, I should have had every 
 hope of bringing the matter to a speedy conclusion ; 
 but, as you are aware, it was not till I became 
 acquainted with your sister-in-law, and learnt from 
 her the particulars of what took place at the time of 
 your marriage, that I had any idea of the falsity 
 of your cousin's statements. Unquestionably he 
 swindled your father out of a large sum on that 
 occasion. General Vivian once told me that he paid 
 him more than five thousand pounds, on a solemn 
 condition that he was never to be applied to for a 
 similar sacrifice again. That was the result of his 
 feelings of honour, added to his hasty pride. If he 
 had but condescended to make inquiry of you, instead 
 of receiving John Vivian's statements, he would have 
 known that the utmost extent of your debts was 
 not " 
 
 "One thousand; — a much larger sum, I confess, 
 than I had any right to risk ; or, as you will say, and 
 as I say now, I had no right to risk a penny. But on
 
 CLEVE HALL. 255 
 
 what pretence Jolm Vivian could have extracted five 
 thousand from mj father, is utterly beyond my com- 
 prehension." 
 
 " Then, as to the letters," continued Mr. Lester, " none 
 reached Cleve, though you say you wrote constantly. 
 He must have stopped them for his own foul pur- 
 poses. There is no want of charity, I trust, in think- 
 ing so." 
 
 " Whatever may have been my offence against him, 
 he has had his revenge," said Mr. Vivian ; and a heavy 
 sigh escaped him. 
 
 " No, Vivian, he has not had his revenge, whilst a 
 chance remains of seeing either you or your boy re- 
 stored to the inheritance you have lost. The injury 
 he has already done has quickened and goaded his 
 revenge, because it has placed himself in danger. 
 The man is twice your enemy whose hatred has led 
 him to degradation." 
 
 " Twice my enemy, indeed ! " repeated Mr. Vivian ; 
 " first to myself ; but, oh ! Lester, far more terribly, 
 it may be, to my boy." 
 
 Mr. Lester's face showed some painful thought ; 
 perhaps it crossed his mind that the sins of parents 
 are punished in the faults of their children. But he 
 shook off the feeling, whatever it was, and answered, 
 " Our trust for Clement must be in a Higher Power 
 than our own." 
 
 " And you don't think it would influence him for 
 good to know that I was at hand ? " 
 
 " It might do so, if the secret could be made known 
 without risk. But we come back always to the same 
 point; not so much what we are to do, as when. It
 
 256 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 is tlie Gordian knot of many difficulties in life besides 
 ours." 
 
 " Then cut it ! " exclaimed Mr. Vivian, impetuously. 
 
 " That is the principle upon which you have acted 
 through life, my dear Vivian ; and what has been the 
 result ? " 
 
 The look of self-reproaching anguish which fol- 
 lowed the question, almost made Mr. Lester repent 
 that he had put it. Yet it had done its work. 
 
 " Yes, you are right ; impatience has been my 
 ruin ! " and Edward Vivian's head was bowed upon 
 his hands, as if even, to his truest friend, ho dared not 
 show the extent of his remorse. 
 
 Mr. Lester spoke more gently. " There is no ruin, 
 Vivian, while there is hope ; and no one but yourself 
 need destroy your hope. You have made, I fear, a 
 false step ; but it is not irretrievable. Leave this 
 place ; hide yourself in London, and suffer your sister, 
 Bertha Campbell, and myself, to work out our own 
 plans. You may safely trust us to use our utmost 
 efforts ; and from time to time you will hear of our 
 proceedings, whilst you will have the comfort of feel- 
 ing yourself within reach of your children. Content 
 yourself with this life for a while. You say that you 
 can remain in England for a year. We will not look 
 forward beyond ; before it is over, I trust — nay more, 
 I sincerely believe — that we shall once more see you 
 restored to Cleve." 
 
 " And go from Encombe without seeing Mildred ? " 
 exclaimed Mr. Vivian. 
 
 " It may be necessary. . I will not, at this moment, 
 absolutely say that it is. But if John Vivian's sus-
 
 CLEVE HALL. 257 
 
 picions are aroused, you have not a day to lose : 
 either he will quit the place himself, and so we shall 
 lose all chance of substantiating our charges against 
 him ; or you will laugh at my fears ; but a des- 
 perate man will do desperate deeds." 
 
 Mr. Vivian considered for a few seconds : " I cannot 
 see the necessity. Let me be brave, Lester ; let me 
 go at once to my father : severe, prejudiced though 
 he is, I am still his son. Let me say to him that 
 John Vivian deceived him : you yourself own that 
 there would be hope then in his justice." 
 
 "But the proofs of the deceit, where are they?" 
 
 " My own word ! " exclaimed Mr. Vivian, 
 haughtily. 
 
 " The word of one man against another," was Mr. 
 Lester's quiet reply. 
 
 " John Vivian's word against mine ! — Lester, you 
 dare not say that my father would take it." 
 
 " I say that he would pride himself upon weighing 
 both equally in the balance ; and the stronger was 
 the leaning towards you, the more hope there would 
 be for your enemy. Yet I own it may come to this — 
 it may be our last and only resource ; and if it were 
 so, I would run the risk, and trust to God for the 
 issue. But before I attempted it, I would use every 
 effort to put the matter in so clear a light that the 
 strongest prejudice- — even General Vivian's — must 
 own itself conquered. Remember, you will come 
 before your father, not as the son whom he has always 
 loved, but as the spendthrift gambler — I am using 
 harsh words, but I know full well your father's feel- 
 
 VOL. I. S
 
 258 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 ing — who wounded him in the tenderest point, and 
 brought sorrow, and what he considers disgrace, 
 upon his house." 
 
 A silence of some moments followed. The words 
 had indeed been severe, and Mr. Vivian's proud spirit 
 could little brook them. 
 
 Mr. Lester spoke again : " My dear Vivian, if I 
 did not know the exaggeration of your father's 
 mind, and if I were not certain that years of true 
 repentance had followed upon the offences of youth, 
 I could not speak as I do ; but it is the very con- 
 sciousness of the prejudice against which you have 
 to struggle which makes me fearful lest you should 
 begin the combat at a disadvantage. If you were 
 what your father thinks you, I could not raise a finger 
 to help you. Being what I know you are, I would 
 sacrifice fortune and happiness, and even life, for 
 your sake." 
 
 " Yes, I know it, my truest, kindest friend. I was 
 wrong ; " and Mr. Vivian stretched out one hand in 
 reconciliation, while the other vainly strove to hide 
 the tears which gathered in his eyes. 
 
 "But," continued Mr. Lester, more lightly, "I 
 must not have to deal with wilfulness and impatience. 
 So far, Vivian, you are unaltered : endurance is the 
 lesson which you have yet to learn." 
 
 " Eighteen years ! — latterly years of utter loneliness. 
 It was not possible to endure longer." 
 
 " All things which God gives us to endure are 
 possible," replied Mr. Lester ; " that is, of course, if 
 we look at them in the right way." 
 
 " And to bear the same life still," continued Mr.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 259 
 
 Vivian, "witli no fixed hope or limit. Can it be 
 necessary ? " 
 
 " I think it so ; but the decision must be left te 
 yourself." 
 
 " And if it should be right ! if it should be neces- 
 sary ! Oh, Lester, my heart grows sick with the pros- 
 pect." 
 
 " My principle of endurance might sound too stern 
 for you," said Mr. Lester. " You would rather hear 
 me speak of hope." 
 
 " I would hear you speak of that which would be 
 your own comfort." 
 
 " My comfort would be in punishment," replied 
 Mr. Lester, " with love and hope to soften it, yet still 
 unmistakeably and undeniably punishment. I have 
 found it so myself," he continued, earnestly. " There 
 are sufferings which come upon us immediately from 
 the Hand of God, without, as far as we can discover, 
 any fault of our own. Such, we may believe, are 
 trials of our faith, sent in mercy, to give us the 
 opportunity of victory. But there are others, the 
 consequences of our sins, and which we cannot fail 
 to trace directly to that source. These we too often 
 look upon as the natural effects of our own folly, and 
 so weary ourselves with fruitless regrets, vain long- 
 ings to undo the past ; till at length we grow despair- 
 ing, and the feelings of God's love, which can alone 
 uphold us in our suffering, is lost in the consciousness 
 of our own wretchedness. From your letters, Vivian, 
 I am sure you understand that state of mind too well." 
 
 " Understand it, yes j it was the spirit of my exis- 
 tence for years." 
 
 S 2
 
 260 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " So once for a time was it mine, and I thought it 
 was repentance, and dreaded to discourage it ; but 
 repentance is love, and in this feeling there is no 
 love." 
 
 " Not when we think of the love which has borne 
 with us through all our wanderings?" 
 
 " That thought will not come when we are writhing 
 under the consequences of our transgressions. We 
 are then thinking only of ourselves. In such a state 
 of mind there is but one thing which I find will calm 
 me — to accept the suffering, whatever it may be, as 
 coming at once from God as a punishment, or per- 
 haps, more truly speaking, a correction ; not to try 
 to escape from it, nor even to allow myself to wish 
 that I had not incurred it, but humbly and thankfully 
 to submit to it. There is a sense of dignity and 
 energy in this willing acceptance of our lot, which I 
 believe to be absolutely essential to save us from the 
 loss of self-respect, that must otherwise accompany 
 sufferings resulting from past sin. Our will becomes 
 one with God's Will, and love must follow necessarily. 
 My dear Vivian, am I wrong in speaking to you as I 
 have often written ? " 
 
 " Right, and most kind ; but I must think of what 
 you say another time. If I follow your advice, I shall 
 have full leisure." 
 
 " I trust not for long. Miss Campbell has already 
 enlisted a champion in your cause." 
 
 Mr. Vivian heaved a deep sigh : " Poor Bertha, I 
 longed to see and talk to her also. There are some 
 things in which she alone can sympathise. Yet she 
 Was little more than a child Avhen we parted."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 261 
 
 " She Is a woman now, and a noble one ; with faults 
 indeed — ^who is without them ? — but with a spirit of 
 devoted unselfishness, which fits her for any work 
 that may be given her. If it had not been for this 
 afternoon's adventure, I was going to suggest, what 
 perhaps would have startled you, that you should 
 meet her at the Rectory, and make yourself known 
 to her." 
 
 " Before I see Mildred : is that fair ? " 
 
 "We must take circumstances as they come be- 
 fore us. You could not possibly go to the Hall with- 
 out the greatest risk, and Mildred cannot come to 
 you. Besides, I have an idea that Miss Campbell 
 already suspects the truth. It is one thing which has 
 made me especially uneasy." 
 
 " How ? I have most carefully avoided her." 
 
 " Rachel gave me the hint, though unintentionally. 
 Your present to her excited Miss Campbell's interest 
 and curiosity strangely." 
 
 " My poor bird ! It belonged to the child of a friend 
 in Jamaica, who was named after my dear wife. I 
 thought no one but myself would recognise the name 
 in its uncouth notes." 
 
 " Bertha did ; and she has asked many questions 
 about you which Rachel repeated to me. We should 
 do wisely to trust her." 
 
 Mr. Vivian's countenance changed: "You will 
 think me a coward, Lester. One moment I long for 
 the meeting — the *next I dread it. The remembrances 
 which the expression of her face, the sound of her 
 voice, will recall, are so intensely painful, I should 
 but make a fool of myself." 
 s 3
 
 262 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Nevertheless it is due to her, when she is working 
 for you in every way, with all her heart." 
 
 " And my precious Mildred to be left," continued 
 Mr. Vivian, musingly. 
 
 '' We will not say that absolutely. I desire almost 
 more than you do to put Mildred in possession of the 
 truth ; but it would be agony to know you were here, 
 and not to see you. And indeed, Vivian, you must 
 not remain even for another day, if you wish to make 
 your secret safe." 
 
 " My oAVTi folly again ! " exclaimed Mr. Vivian. 
 " Yet how, at such a moment, could I remember the 
 boy was near ? " 
 
 " That is your least danger. Honourable as he is, 
 he would die rather than betray you. But Mrs. 
 Eobinson tells me that Goff has been here asking 
 curious and impertinent questions. If his suspicions 
 are in the most remote degree excited, it would be 
 madness to delay your departure." 
 
 " To-morrow, then, — must it be ? " 
 
 " To-morrow I would advise ; but I would not go 
 too suddenly or secretly. Come to me early at the 
 Rectory. Let Mrs. Robinson give out publicly that 
 you have business in London for a few days. In the 
 middle of the day you can set off, and all will seem to 
 follow in the natural course. It will be supposed you 
 are to return, and we may hope to escape observa- 
 tion." 
 
 Mr. Vivian was thoughtful. " That boy Ronald," 
 he said, " to have saved my own life, and the life of 
 my child, and yet to be my deadly foe ! " 
 
 " Ronald is no one's foe," replied Mr. Lester. " He
 
 CLEVE HALL. 263 
 
 has that in him which would make him every one's 
 friend, could the check once be securely placed upon 
 his ungoverned feelings. Throw yourself upon his 
 honour, and you are safe." 
 
 " I was afraid to do so at the time. The words es- 
 caped me at a moment when he was not, I hoped, 
 near enough to catch them. Nothing in his manner 
 showed that he had done so ; and when my presence 
 of mind returned, I felt it might be better to leave 
 them without comment." 
 
 Mr. Lester looked a little anxious. 
 
 " You don't thoroughly trust him," continued Mr. 
 Vivian. 
 
 I could do so entirely if I cared less. He already 
 knows, I believe, something of the position of affairs, 
 so far as his father is concerned. Miss Camp- 
 bell is his friend — she was his mother's friend — 
 and she has great influence with him. Last evening 
 she had a long interview with him, and to-night she 
 was to tell me what had passed. It might be wise to 
 return with me to the Rectory. We shall find her 
 there probably; and we could see our way more 
 clearly, if we knew exactly how far Ronald would go 
 with us or against us." 
 
 Mr. Vivian hesitated 
 
 " Have you any other plan ? " 
 
 " A mad one ! To go to Mildred, and then throw 
 myself upon my father's mercy. The impulse is 
 almost uncontrollable." 
 
 " So have been all your impulses through life. A 
 false step at this moment, and farewell to hope for 
 ever." 
 
 s 4
 
 264 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Mr. Vivian paced the room in extreme agitation. 
 
 " Your hat ! Vivian. You will come ? " That firm 
 yet gentle voice had controlled him before, in his 
 most excited moments, and now he obeyed it as by 
 an instinct. They went downstairs together. Mrs. 
 Robinson met them. 
 
 " Only to the Rectory," said Mr. Lester, smiling 
 as he saw her disturbed face. 
 
 "And you won't return home late by yourself. 
 Oh ! Master Edward, you will be careful. Sir, you 
 won't let him." 
 
 Mr. Vivian took her hand affectionately : " Dear 
 Granny, you mustn't be afraid for me. These are 
 not days for robbery and murder in the highways." 
 
 "But that fellow Goff, Master Edward,— I beg 
 your pardon, — Mr. Bruce," and she drew back re- 
 spectfully, as one of the farm servants crossed the 
 passage. 
 
 " Don't fear, I won't keep you up late ; " and Mr. 
 Vivian nodded a kindly good-b'ye. But Mr. Lester 
 lingered behind. 
 
 " I have hope," he whispered. " He will consent to 
 go for the present ; and for the future we must trust 
 all to God." 
 
 " Thank you, Sir. Yes, we must all do that, indeed," 
 and Mrs. Robinson dropped a formal yet reverent 
 curtsey, and retired.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 265 
 
 CHAP. XXI. 
 
 It was about nine o'clock, and Bertha and Racliel 
 were together in Mr. Lester's study. Bertha was 
 only just come, and she still wore the shawl which 
 she had thrown over her shoulders as she crossed the 
 garden : she looked fagged but excited. 
 
 " And you are quite sure Ella will be pretty well 
 to-morrow ? " said Rachel. 
 
 " Yes, I hope, — I think so. But, oh ! Rachel, such a 
 fearful situation ! If Mr. Bruce had not tried to cross 
 the tarn in the tiny boat, when he heard her scream, 
 he would never have discovered her as quickly as 
 he did." 
 
 Bertha sank down trembling in the arm chair. 
 
 Rachel drew a footstool towards her, and sat down 
 at her feet. " I was afraid to ask to see her," she said. 
 
 " She was better alone," replied Bertha ; Mr. Har- 
 grave told me that perfect quietness was indispensable. 
 I think the fainting was good for her in some ways. 
 I dread what it will be when she can recall it all 
 more distinctly. Yet one ought to be so thankful ! " 
 and Bertha heaved a sigh, which ended in a shudder. 
 
 " I don't think Ella can forget it," said Rachel, 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " It is not meant she should ; but she is very slow 
 in learning her lessons."
 
 266 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Eachel's face expressed a little wonder. 
 
 " Every thing that happens gives us some lesson, 
 if we choose," said Bertha ; " but you don't un- 
 derstand that yet, Rachel." 
 
 " Don't I ? dear Miss Campbell. Isn't it like what 
 papa says, ' That crosses cease to be crosses when we 
 take them up instead of looking at them.' " 
 
 " Yes, something like it ; but, Eachel, it is so 
 odd, I can't think to-night." Bertha put her hand to 
 her head, and rising walked up and down the room, 
 and then sat down again. " Would you fetch me a little 
 sal volatile, Eachel ? " and Eachel, rather frightened, 
 left the room. Bertha leant her head back in the chair. 
 That swimming, faint, weak feeling which made 
 her so ashamed of herself must surely be hysterical, 
 and she must struggle against it. She seized a book, 
 — the page was all in motion before her. She saw no 
 letters, — only a phantom scene of a steep cliff, and 
 rolling, shivering pebbles ; and Ella sliding — sliding, 
 — and the dark gulf below. She was upon the verge 
 of giving way, when Eachel held out to her the glass 
 of sal volatile. Bertha drank it off : " Thank you, 
 dear : now I am better. Oh, that horrible cliff I " and 
 she shook again from head to foot. 
 
 Eachel held her hand, " Dear Miss Campbell ! she 
 is safe." 
 
 " Yes, I know it ; it might not have been : we must 
 
 thank God. Eachel dear, would jou mind I 
 
 think, if you would read to me, I could try and listen." 
 
 " The Bible ? " said Eachel, timidly. 
 
 " Yes — St. John ; the seventeenth chapter, if you 
 don't mind."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 267 
 
 Rachel brought a Bible ; but she felt shy. She had 
 never had to comfort or help any one older than her- 
 self before, at least in that way. And Bertha was so 
 above her — so shut up from her ! She turned over 
 the leaves slowly. 
 
 Bertha's eyes were shut: she looked quite ill. 
 Rachel felt as if she could not begin. If it had been 
 little Barney Wood who had asked her, she would 
 have had no hesitation. Her voice was quite low from 
 nervousness when she spoke the first sentence ; but as 
 she went on, her own feelings were carried away by 
 the words, and the rich, musical tones grew deeply 
 earnest, and acting with a soothing charm upon 
 Bertha's over-worked temperament, gradually lulled 
 her into tranquillity. 
 
 Rachel's hand was resting on Bertha's lap : Bertha 
 stroked it fondly as the chapter was ended, and the 
 book closed. 
 
 " Thank you, dear Rachel, you have done me good : 
 you do me good always." 
 
 " Because you are so kind, you say that, dear 
 Miss Campbell. It is very easy to read." 
 
 " Yes, only I could not bear some people's reading. 
 Oh ! Rachel, I wonder who made you what you are ? " 
 
 " God made me," said Rachel, quietly. 
 
 Bertha smiled. " God makes us, and we unmake 
 ourselves," she said. " But you have had a safe 
 childhood, Rachel." 
 
 " I know persons think so," said Rachel, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " And don't you ? " 
 
 " I can't tell ; if I was good, I dare say I should
 
 26S CLEVE HALL. 
 
 feel it SO. But sometimes — is it very wrong, Miss 
 Campbell?— I think it is like Paradise with the 
 serpent in it." 
 
 " Yes, the safest home on earth must be that," said 
 Bertha. " But, Rachel, you must be thankful still 
 that yours is not what other homes are." She spoke 
 with an earnestness which showed that the difference 
 had lately been peculiarly brought before her. 
 
 " I try to be thankful," replied Rachel ; " but you 
 know" — and she smiled shyly — "when the serpent 
 comes I am not ; and that makes me unhappy — very 
 unhappy sometimes." 
 
 " Ah, Rachel ! so you fancy ; but you can't really 
 know what unhappiness, or, at least, sorrow, means." 
 
 " I did know it once" — Rachel's colour went and 
 came quickly — " when dear mamma died, and my 
 little sister : I thought then I was never to be happy 
 again." 
 
 " Only papa taught you how," said Bertha, kindly. 
 
 " Yes, he teaches me always ; and he lets me tell 
 him my difficulties. Do you know. Miss Campbell " 
 — and she moved her stool so as to look up in 
 Bertha's face — "I have some great ones." 
 
 Bertha's hand rested affectionately upon Rachel's 
 head, as she replied : " Yes, dear child, great ones to 
 you, no doubt." 
 
 " Such wonderful, puzzling questions come into my 
 head," continued Rachel ; '•' and it seems as if I could 
 do nothing till they were settled. But I must not 
 stop for them, must I ? Papa tells me," she added, 
 her voice sinking, " that they are the serpent's 
 questions, and if I stay to answer them, they will
 
 CLEVE HALL. 269 
 
 keep me back ; and what I want is to go on and on, 
 
 never to grow tired, or to fall back ; because " 
 
 she hid her face in Bertha's lap. " Oh ! Miss Camp- 
 bell, Papa says, those who strive the most, will stand 
 near, and have a bright, bright crown ; and I could 
 not bear to be far off." 
 
 Bertha's eyes were full of tears; she could but 
 kiss Rachel and say : " Ah ! Rachel, if it were 
 possible to make Ella think as you do !" 
 
 " Ella will be sure to try more after to-day," said 
 Rachel. 
 
 Bertha was very grave : " I hope so. She ought 
 to remember the Avarning. But she has had many. 
 One moment more, and it would have been all over." 
 The shuddering feeling seemed about to return. 
 
 " Don't talk about it, dear Miss Campbell," said 
 Rachel anxiously. " It makes you ill again." 
 
 " I try not, but I feel as if I must. It haunts me 
 so; and when I close my eyes, it all comes before 
 me again." 
 
 " It was very dreadful," said Rachel, " when papa 
 came and told me of it ; and it must have been much 
 worse for you." 
 
 " I longed so very much for your papa," continued 
 Bertha. " I thought at first, when I saw Ronald and 
 Mr. Bruce at a distance with Ella, that Mr. Bruce 
 was Mr. Lester, and my heart sank terribly when I 
 found he was not." 
 
 " Papa says, Mr. Bruce did more for her than even 
 Ronald," observed Rachel : did Ella thank him very 
 much?" 
 
 " He would not stay to be thanked," replied Bertha.
 
 270 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " You know they brought her home in Farmer Cor- 
 bin's little chaise, and Mrs. Corbin came with her. 
 She was so dizzy, she scarcely knew what was going 
 on ; and when they came to the shrubbery gate, 
 Mr. Bruce said, that now she would be in such good 
 hands, he would leave her. He was gone before Ella 
 could know it, and without even waiting to see me. 
 Very strange ! " Bertha fell into a reverie. 
 
 Rachel also was thoughtful, and once she seemed 
 about to make an observation, but she checked her- 
 self. There was a silence of some moments. When 
 they spoke again, the subject was changed. 
 
 " How little papa and I thought what was going 
 to happen when we set off for our walk this after- 
 noon ! " said Rachel. " I was so happy. It was such 
 a delicious afternoon ; and we went above the hollow, 
 instead of under it, which is just what I like. And 
 then I had to look forward to coming back and 
 drinking tea with Ella and you. And now it is all 
 so different! It seems as if I never could trust to 
 any thing again." 
 
 Bertha smiled : " You will though, Rachel ; in a 
 day or two, — a week at the utmost — you will feel 
 just as you did before, or, at least, very nearly so." 
 
 " But that will be wicked," said Rachel. 
 
 " Not exactly. We are so formed by God that 
 we can't help it ; and the world would stand still if 
 it were not so." 
 
 " I don't understand that ; it does seem wrong." 
 
 " Just think," replied Bertha, " what the state of 
 the world would be if we did not believe that things 
 were to be to-morrow as they are to-day. No one
 
 CLEVE HALL. ' 271 
 
 would form plans, or make engagements, or provide 
 in any way for the future ; all business would be at 
 an end, and universal confusion would follow. It 
 always seems to me one of the most astonishing things 
 in human nature that, with our great experience of 
 change, we yet should have such untiring faith in 
 continuance. Sometimes," — Bertha paused, and 
 glanced at Rachel, doubting whether she might ven- 
 ture to carry out her own thought ; then, as the 
 eager, inquiring eye was bent upon her with evident 
 interest, she added — " sometimes I think that it must 
 be a relic of the higher nature in which we were 
 first created, and in which there would have been, 
 we may believe, no sudden change, but only a gradual 
 transition from one state of existence to another. If 
 one may say it without irreverence, it seems like all 
 our deep instincts — such as the craving for perfection, 
 and the inextinguishable love of life — to belong pro- 
 perly to Him, who, as the Bible says, ' is the same 
 yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow.' But, Rachel, I 
 don't know why I should talk in that way to you." 
 
 " I like it," said Rachel, quickly — "it is the way 
 papa talks — and it makes me feel as I do sometimes 
 when I am left all alone, and I stand still and think 
 how wonderful it is to live." 
 
 " Yes," replied Bertha, " so wonderful, that if wo 
 believe in our own existence, there is nothing else 
 which need surprise us." 
 
 Rachel put her hand to her forcliead. " It makes 
 one dizzy," she said ; " and, do you know. Miss Camp- 
 bell, all the thoughts and the feelings come upon me, 
 now and then, in such a strange way, just as if they
 
 272 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 were tlie only things worth caring for, and as if I 
 could do nothing but sit in the middle of the world 
 and think." 
 
 " The feeling must be good and useful occa- 
 sionally," said Bertha ; " but, dear Rachel, you must 
 not let yourself become a dreamer." 
 
 " No " — Rachel's face grew sad. " Papa says it is 
 my temptation, and that I shall never conquer it, 
 except by learning to live out of myself, — living, as 
 he calls it, in the life of others." 
 
 " Being unselfish. I am sure I think you are 
 that ; " and Bertha bent down and kissed the lovely 
 little face, which was gazing up at her with its mar- 
 vellous expression of inward thought. 
 
 Rachel blushed deeply, whilst a watery mist for 
 the moment dimmed the brightness of her deep blue 
 eyes : " Dear Miss Campbell, I like you to say that ; 
 but I ought not to like it, because I am not unselfish ; 
 but I do long to be so, more than I can tell. Some- 
 thing which papa said, has helped me though when 
 I have been inclined to despair because the dreamy 
 fits have come upon me, and I have felt as if I must 
 give way to them." 
 
 " Papa has helped you then, as he has me," observed 
 Bertha ; "he has given me a number of useful hints." 
 
 " He seems to understand so well," replied Rachel. 
 " One day when I was talking about persons' natural 
 dispositions, and how strange it was they were so 
 different, he said to me, that if we look into our own 
 characters, we shall find that God has given us all 
 some quality to counterbalance our natural faults. 
 A passionate person generally has energy, and an
 
 CLEVE HALL. 273 
 
 indolent person kind-heartedness, and a selfisli person 
 perseverance. There is always something, which, if 
 we use it properly, will be a great assistance to us. 
 Of course he meant with God's help. And then he 
 said to me that my disposition led me to dream away 
 my time, and to think of puzzling questions, instead 
 of being really good ; and that if I gave way to it too 
 much I should grow up to be selfish ; but he said 
 that I had something in me which would counteract 
 it, if I tried very hard and prayed very earnestly ; he 
 called it benevolence." Rachel stopped, and a smile 
 passed over her face as she added — " That seems a 
 grown up virtue. I never can fancy a benevolent 
 child ; it seems so very droll." 
 
 Bertha smiled too, as she exclaimed, " Go on ; tell 
 me what else papa said." 
 
 " He explained what he meant afterwards," con- 
 tinued Rachel. " He said that when people are bene- 
 volent they dislike to see others suffer, and can't bear 
 to give pain. It is not any good in them exactly, 
 they can't help it. And, Miss Campbell" — Rachel's 
 colour rose, and she rather hesitated — "I think per- 
 haps he may be right ; for it does make me so exceed- 
 ingly uncomfortable to see other persons so. He told 
 me then that I was to act upon the feeling whenever 
 I possibly could, and that it would help me to keep 
 myself what he called practical. And so I have tried 
 to do it ; but sometimes it is very difficult ; only I 
 think it is easier than it was. You know it is a good 
 thing to be told what one ought to encourage most 
 in oneself" 
 
 " And did not papa tell you that benevolent people 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 are very often in danger of becoming weak?" said 
 Bertha, following out her own ideas, without con- 
 sidering what effect they might have upon her little 
 companion. 
 
 Rachel looked distressed. " He did not tell me so ; 
 but is it true ? must I be weak ?" 
 
 *•' I don't say you must, but I know that a great 
 many persons who set up for being benevolent are 
 very weak." 
 
 " Perhaps they are nothing else except benevolent," 
 observed Rachel, after a moment's thought. "Papa 
 declares that virtues, when they stand alone, become 
 vices." 
 
 " Yes." Bertha considered a little. " That may be." 
 
 " It was rather difficult to understand it all, that 
 day he talked," continued Rachel ; " but I think he 
 said, that perfection — God's perfection" — and her 
 voice changed into awe — " is because all His great 
 attributes (that is what I ought to say, isn't it ? ) are 
 equal, — equally balanced, papa called it ; that He is 
 not more just than He is merciful, and not more mer- 
 ciful than He is just ; and therefore we ought to try 
 to be the same : and when we pride ourselves upon 
 any one virtue above others we may be quite sure we 
 are likely to go wrong. It made me rather unhappy 
 to hear him say so, because he spoke as if the very 
 best people must be so imperfect." 
 
 " Yes, indeed, they are," said Bertha. 
 
 " I suppose they must be. But, dear Miss Campbell, 
 it does not seem so to me." 
 
 "You are so young, Rachel. But certainly you 
 must take care not to pride yourself upon bene- 
 volence."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 275 
 
 " Else I shall become weak ; but you know there is 
 my love of standing still and thinking to check it. 
 Oh ! Miss Campbell, doesn't it seem very hard some- 
 times, to think that we must go on always in that 
 way, first at one thing and then at the other ? " 
 
 " Trying to make the scale equal," said Bertha. 
 
 "Yes. Do you know, papa says that when we have 
 learnt to keep our faults under, our next work is to 
 keep our virtues even. And he told me that he had 
 known some good persons do such wrong things 
 because they did not attend to this. One very 
 generous person would give away sums of money, and 
 never cared in the least for his own comfort ; but he 
 did not check himself properly, and at last he had 
 nothing left to pay his debts, and so was dreadfully 
 unjust : and another very just, particular person, was 
 so careful not to owe any thing, and so determined to 
 provide for every thing which might be a claim upon 
 him, that at last he would not give away at all. That 
 was the difference, papa told me, also, between large 
 and narrow minds. I didn't know what was meant 
 by them before. He said that if persons try to keep 
 their virtues evenly balanced, they have large minds ; 
 but if they allow one to weigh dovv^a the rest, then 
 they have narrow minds." 
 
 A large subject, and one which opened a wide field 
 of thought to Bertha Campbell. Rachel was unable 
 to read her friend's countenance ; she even doubted 
 whether she had listened ; she could not feel that she 
 was interested. Reserve was creeping over them. 
 But the hall bell rang, and Mr. Lester and Edward 
 Vivian entered the room. 
 
 X 2
 
 276 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Rachel's greeting liid Bertha's start of surprise. 
 She ran up to Mr. Vivian with the simple affection 
 natural to her, and exclaimed : " Oh ! is it you, Sir ? 
 and are you hurt ? " 
 
 " Not hurt, my child ; how should I be ? I was in 
 no danger ; but — " and he turned to Bertha, and 
 his manner became very stiff and awkward — "I 
 hope Ella — Miss Vivian" — he did not seem to know 
 what inquiry to make, and sat down in the nearest 
 chair, turning his head away from Bertha. 
 
 " Rachel, my love, your bed is waiting for you," 
 said Mr. Lester. 
 
 Rachel knew quite well what that meant. Business 
 was going on which she was not to hear. But 
 curiosity had been checked in her from infancy ; and 
 the instinct of refined feelings made her at once 
 ready to go without asking, as she might have done 
 at another time, to be allowed to learn more of the 
 accident. 
 
 " Good night, dear Miss Campbell." 
 
 Bertha's kiss was icy, so also was the touch of her 
 fingers ; it did not appear that she was quite con- 
 scious of Rachel's presence. 
 
 " Good night, little one," said Mr. Vivian. He laid 
 his hands upon her shoulders, and gazed at her in- 
 tently. 
 
 "I am so glad you were not hurt," whispered 
 Rachel ; and she went up to her fiither, always under 
 all circumstances the claimant of her last words and 
 thoughts. 
 
 " God bless you, my precious child ! '* 
 
 " Good night, darling papa I You will come and
 
 CLEVE HALL. 277 
 
 see me the last thing ; " and Rachel ran away, happy 
 in the consciousness that even if she should be asleep, 
 a fond kiss and an earnest prayer were in store for 
 her again before the night should pass. 
 
 The door closed. Mr. Lester placed himself between 
 Bertha and Mr. Vivian. There was a painful, awk- 
 ward .silence. Then Mr. Lester asked a few questions 
 about Ella. Bertha answered in a tone of nervous 
 confusion. After a few moments she said that she 
 must go. 
 
 " Not just yet." Mr. Lester touched the arm of the 
 chair to prevent her from rising. '' Mrs. Campbell 
 will spare you a little longer. There is, — we 
 
 have " he broke off suddenly, and glanced ap- 
 
 pealingly at Mr. Vivian. 
 
 Bertha turned very pale ; her eyes moved uneasily 
 from one to the other. Mr. Lester seemed about to 
 speak again ; his lips even framed the words ; yet he 
 hesitated. 
 
 Bertha broke the spell ; and, gently pushing aside 
 Mr. Lester's hand, rose, and approaching Mr. Vivian, 
 said, in a firm, calm voice, "Edward, you cannot 
 deceive me." The struggle was over, and she sat 
 down and burst into tears. 
 
 " Leave her to me, Lester." Mr. Vivian knelt on 
 one knee by Bertha's chair, and holding her hand in 
 his, said, " Bertha, you are not grieved to see me ? 
 My Flora's sister ; the adopted mother of my children ! 
 you don't think it wrong in me to be here ? " 
 
 Bertha's voice was choked, but slie returned the 
 kindly pressure of his hand. He went on : — " You 
 must not say I have deceived you, Bertha. I have 
 T 3
 
 278 CLEVK HAIL. 
 
 deceived no one. I acted upon an impulse : the 
 opportunity offered, — I was unable to resist it. I 
 will be true ; I did not try to do so ; I was so 
 wretched. Lester did not know it ; no one knew it. 
 I meant to have gone to London. I could have hid 
 myself there; but it was accident — Providence — 
 which brought me here; and I am going; — don't 
 be frightened at what may seem my recklessness ; I 
 am not reckless now, I have learnt prudence ; and I 
 am going ; — but I could not leave you in igno- 
 rance." 
 
 " Going, again ! " repeated Bertha, in a tone of 
 bewilderment, whilst her eyes were still fixed upon 
 him, as if she scarcely believed in the reality of his 
 appearance. 
 
 " He is going, because it is best and wisest that he 
 should, for a time at least," observed Mr. Lester. 
 "But, dear Miss Campbell, you must hear him tell 
 his own tale. I will leave you, unless you think it 
 might be better to delay what must be said until 
 to-morrow." 
 
 "K you would tell me what it all means," said 
 Bertha, her manner recovering itself and returning 
 to something of its former composed self-restraint. 
 " Edward, have you really done wisely ? " Her tone 
 was a little severe. 
 
 He answered quickly, — " Not wisely in Lester's 
 eyes, nor perhaps in yours ; but wisely in my own. 
 Bertha, you were a child when we • parted, yet I 
 should have thought that events had taught you to 
 feel for me." 
 
 Her lip quivered. " Our love lies buried in the
 
 CLEVE HALL. 279 
 
 same grave. Your children are as my cliildren ; your 
 interests as my interests." 
 
 " Then your feelings must be my feelings," he 
 exclaimed with impetuosity ; " and from you at least 
 I shall meet with sympathy. Ten mournful years of 
 solitude, Bertha, may and must be my excuse." 
 
 " Yes ; but if all is marred in consequence ? " 
 
 " It shall not be. I put myself into your hands. 
 I trust you as — " his voice faltered — "as my Flora's 
 sister deserves to be trusted. You and Lester shall 
 decide for me. To-morrow I leave this place ; I will 
 hide myself in London, and appear again only when 
 I am summoned. Let me but have the blessing of 
 feeling that I am within reach of my children ; that 
 I may, though at a distance, watch over my boy. 
 Oh, Bertha ! is he also to bring care upon us ? " 
 
 Bertha hesitated. 
 
 " Tell me truly. I would know the worst. Are 
 my children to bear the curse of their father's sins ? " 
 
 "It is early to judge," replied Bertha. "Clement 
 requires a father's authority." 
 
 " And he cannot have it ; he might have had it if 
 his father had not been the fool — the madman — he 
 was. To be deceived, entrapped, by that man ! " He 
 paced the room angrily. 
 
 " You could not have been prepared for treachery,'* 
 replied Bertha. 
 
 " I ought never to have given him poAver over 
 
 me," was the reply. " Yes ; I can trace it all now ; 
 
 I have gone over the steps again and again. It has 
 
 been the occupation of my leisure for years," he 
 
 T 4
 
 .280 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 added, with a bitter smile. "When first I went 
 abroad, Bertha, I was innocent, innocent as the 
 child who has just left us — at least of every grave 
 offence ; mj heart, my thoughts, were all given to one 
 object, — an earthly object, — and God took it from 
 me;" and his voice trembled: "but I shrank from 
 gambling ; I abhorred low company ; my impulses 
 were noble. I might have been — oh, weakness! 
 weakness ! surely it is more fatal than sin." 
 
 " The weakness which is conquered may become 
 doubly strength," observed Mr. Lester, gently. 
 
 " Yes, when it is ; but is it ever conquered ? I 
 feel it still in myself. I struggle with it ; but too 
 often I yield. I tremble to think that it may be so 
 with my boy." 
 
 "Vivian, you must deal with yourself justly," re- 
 plied Mr. Lester. " You have laboured and suffered 
 patiently ; you have risen from ruin which might 
 have been the death of every better feeling. Eighteen 
 years of probation have made you, if not a good 
 and wise man, in your own eyes, at least one whom 
 the world may respect, and friends love, and whom 
 — from my heart I believe it — God will approve. It 
 is vain therefore to look back upon the past with 
 self-reproach, which is unavailing. Eather, rouse 
 your spirit for the future ; hope, and if you cannot 
 hope, trust. The God who has not deserted you will 
 not forsake your children." 
 
 " But to have brought evil upon them ! to have 
 injured them! Oh, Lester! the long, lingering train 
 of sorrow which the fiery comet of sin drags 
 after it ! "
 
 CLEVE HALL. 28 1 
 
 " Even so, for us all," replied Mr. Lester. " Yet 
 there can be no cause for despair, especially as re- 
 gards Clement." 
 
 " But is there the power in him to improve ? that 
 is what I doubt, and dread." 
 
 " Power lies with God, not with us," replied Mr. 
 Lester. 
 
 " Clement has great faults," began Bertha. 
 
 " But he has very noble qualities," interrupted Mr. 
 Lester. 
 
 Bertha looked annoyed. "It is quite true," she 
 said, " that Clement has many points which would, 
 in themselves, form a fine character ; but he has one 
 great foible, — I think his father was always free from 
 it, — he is vain." 
 
 Mr. Vivian showed by his face that he shrank from 
 the suggestion. " Vanity ! " he muttered, " in a 
 man ! — it must lower him." 
 
 " It must, and does lower every one ; does it not ? " 
 inquired Bertha. 
 
 "But Clement has sense and conscientiousness," 
 observed Mr. Lester. " He is a gentleman, too, with 
 the refined feelings of a gentleman, and a keen sense 
 of the ridiculous. All these things will be, humanly 
 speaking, aids." 
 
 " And I suppose we may believe," continued Bertha, 
 " that his position, as comparatively poor and un- 
 known, may have been better for him than if he had 
 been brought up as the heir of Cleve. He at least 
 has not been petted and spoilt by the flattery of ser- 
 vants." 
 
 " Thank you ; you are very good, very kind. And
 
 282 CLEYE HALL, 
 
 Ella, too, is she vain ? " The question was asked 
 with some bitterness. 
 
 "Not exactly. Not at all, I think ; at least " 
 
 Bertha looked at Mr. Lester for assistance. 
 
 "We will talk over the children's faults to-morrow," 
 he said. " Miss Campbell will come to us in the morn- 
 ing." 
 
 Bertha rose ; she seemed conscious that something 
 of uncomfortable restraint had crept over them ; and 
 remarked that it was growing late, and they had 
 talked of nothing definite. 
 
 " Because there is little to be said as yet," replied 
 Mr. Lester. " Vivian leaves us to-morrow for London. 
 That, at least, you will consider a safe step." 
 
 " Safe, if it is always so to act against inclination, 
 as moralists contend," observed Mr. Vivian, with an 
 attempt at ease. " Lester has fears for me. Bertha, 
 which I can't share." 
 
 " Miss Campbell Avill understand them, I am sure," 
 observed Mr. Lester. " She has as little faith in John 
 Vivian as I have." 
 
 " Less," replied Bertha ; " for I have known him 
 longer and better; but, Edward, you won't content 
 yourself with remaining in London." 
 
 " He will content himself with doing whatever we 
 think best for him, at the present," said Mr. Lester. 
 " In the meantime. Miss Campbell, we must trust 
 to you to find out, as soon as possible, whether Ronald 
 suspects our secret ; and if he does, to caution him as 
 to keeping it." 
 
 " Ronald ! impossible ! " 
 
 " Scarcely impossible, when a man betrays his own
 
 CLEVE HALL. 283 
 
 counsel. Perhaps it was not to be expected that 
 Vivian should be master of himself at the moment he 
 saved Ella." 
 
 Bertha looked at her brother-in-law for explanation. 
 
 " It is very true," he said ; " I was thrown off my 
 guard, and forgot the young fellow was near. Whether 
 he heard or not, I can't say. He looked unconscious ; 
 but I would not trust him." 
 
 " Not trust Ronald ! " exclaimed Bertha, quickly. 
 " Noble, true-hearted, unselfish, he would sacrifice 
 his life before he would betray you." 
 
 Mr. Vivian glanced at her in astonishment. Her 
 manner was singularly unlike what it had been when 
 she spoke of his own children. 
 
 Mr. Lester read what was passing in his mind. 
 " Miss Campbell has reason to trust Ronald," he said ; 
 " she has known him from infancy." 
 
 "Oh!" But the explanation did not seem tho- 
 roughly satisfactory ; and Mr. Vivian's manner was 
 cold, as he added, — " Bertha must forgive me for dis- 
 trusting the son of my greatest enemy." 
 
 " I know that every one must distrust him," said 
 Bertha. 
 
 " Every one but myself," observed Mr. Lester. 
 " I had used almost the same words as yourself, when 
 speaking of him to Vivian, a short time since. All 
 that we have to fear is, that he may incautiously 
 reveal the truth before he knows that it may do mis- 
 chief. That is, always supposing he heard Vivian's 
 exclamation. You, perhaps, will find that out more 
 easily than any one." 
 
 " We are safe either way," replied Bertha, still
 
 284 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 with tlie same cold reserve of manner. " Ronald 
 knows enough of his father's proceedings to be on 
 his guard. If you have nothing else to fear, Edward, 
 I congratulate you." 
 
 Mr. Vivian's countenance was moody, and he made 
 no reply. 
 
 Bertha gathered her shawl around her. " My 
 mother will be surprised at my being out so late. 
 What time shall I see you, to-morrow, Edward ? " 
 
 Mr. Lester answered, — " He will be here to break- 
 fast. My study will be at his service, and at yours, 
 all the morning. In the afternoon I will myself drive 
 him into Cleve, and see him fairly on his journey. 
 Starting so late, he will not reach London till the 
 next day; but that will be better than any very 
 rapid movement, which might excite observation." 
 
 "Thank you. Then to-morrow, Edward" — she 
 offered him her hand, and he took it mechanically, 
 but turned to Mr. Lester : — 
 
 " Must I be denied the sight of my children ? May 
 I not say one word to Clement ? " 
 
 " You can answer your own question, my dear 
 Vivian. Do you think it safe ? " 
 
 " Clement could not possibly be trusted to keep 
 your counsel," observed Bertha. 
 
 Mr. Vivian dropped her hand coldly, but something 
 seemed to reproach him for it, and he spoke kindly : 
 " Good night. Bertha, and a father's blessing for your 
 care of his children." 
 
 Bertha was touched and softened. " Good night, 
 Edward. If I don't think your children perfect, it is 
 not from any want of love for them."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 285 
 
 She hurried from the room. Mr. Lester folloAved 
 her. " I must walk with you across the garden, Miss 
 Campbell ; " and he offered his arm, which she took 
 silently. Mr. Lester felt that she trembled. " This 
 has been a most trying, exciting day," he said. " I 
 would, if I could, have spared you the discovery of 
 to-night ; but I doubted what to-morrow might bring, 
 and feared that Vivian might be obliged to go with- 
 out seeing you." 
 
 " It was no discovery," replied Bertha. " I was 
 certain before, — that is, nearly. Oh ! Mr. Lester, it 
 seems such a dream!" 
 
 " Yes." He seemed considering what to add. 
 
 " He is not altered," continued Bertha ; then, in a 
 lower tone, she added : '' I had hoped he might be." 
 
 " He is altered, I trust," observed Mr. Lester. 
 " He looks at things very differently from what he 
 did." 
 
 " He cannot bear truth," said Bertha. 
 
 " Not under some forms." 
 
 " Not under any form, I fear," continued Bertha ; 
 " at least when it is unpleasant. In that, Clement is 
 so like him." 
 
 They had reached the gate between the two gar- 
 dens ; Bertha was going to cross the little bridge, 
 but Mr. Lester stopped her. " May I give you one 
 warning?" 
 
 " As many as you will ; I am always grateful for 
 them from you." 
 
 " It can never be right to say what we don't think ; 
 but is it always necessary to say what we do ? " 
 
 " You mean about the children ? "
 
 286 CLEYE HALL. 
 
 " Yes, I fear you have pained him, and he is already- 
 suffering greatly." 
 
 '^ I am very sorry ; I meant no harm. But he must 
 know it in time." 
 
 " In time, yes ; but not at this time ; or at least 
 not without some softening words." 
 
 The change in Bertha's voice showed her vexation. 
 " I am always doing wrong," she said ; " how can I 
 help it?" 
 
 " Perhaps, if you had put yourself in his place, you 
 might have understood." 
 
 Silence followed till they reached the door of the 
 Lodge. Then as Bertha rang the bell, and wished 
 Mr. Lester good night, she said : " You may be 
 right, but I cannot speak in a way which I don't 
 feel."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 287 
 
 CHAP. xxn. 
 
 Mr. Lester returned to find his study empty. Mr. 
 Vivian was gone. That impulsive, irritable nature 
 which had led him into so much evil in earlier years, 
 was, as Bertha had said, in some measure, unchanged. 
 Still, if thwarted, he was, for a season, moody ; if forced 
 to listen to unpleasing truths, he was disheartened. 
 The child was father of the man and the faults which 
 had grown up unchecked till he was four-and-twenty, 
 would yet too often be his tyrant at two-and-forty. 
 He wandered forth now, desolate and dispirited to a 
 degree greater than even his situation might occasion. 
 He had gone to the Parsonage, excited, sanguine, 
 longing and hoping for sympathy ; but he had been 
 disappointed. He felt as if he had been repelled, and 
 by one to whom he ought to have been especially 
 dear. The sister of her for whose sake he had sacri- 
 ficed home, fortune, all that could render life precious. 
 If Bertha had educated his children to be what she 
 was herself, there could be but little union between 
 them ; and he might now be Vv^earing away his life 
 in a distant land with as much prospect of happiness 
 as he could hope for in a restoration to his own 
 country. 
 
 Very unreasonable, perhaps, such thoughts might 
 seem at such a time ; but whatever may be the ro-
 
 288 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 mance, or poetry, or even danger of our position, vre 
 are still, except at the very moment of excitement, 
 subject to the every day impressions, which, for the 
 most part, make up our existence. 
 
 The prejudiced, unbalanced tone of Bertha's mind, 
 which stopped the current of her natural sympathies, 
 had thrown her brother-in-law from her at the very 
 moment when it was most necessary that he should 
 be drawn towards her. 
 
 And Edward Vivian could not be what Mr. Lester 
 was — impartial. He knew little of Bertha's charac- 
 ter, except from letters ; and those had been generally 
 kind, but formal. He did not doubt her right prin- 
 ciple, but he did her spirit of self-devotion ; and witli 
 the impatience natural to him, which made him chafe 
 against every impediment to his wishes, he fancied 
 that he was about to place himself in the power of 
 one who looked coldly upon his interests, cared little 
 for his children, and would allow him to linger week 
 after week in exile, whilst waiting for the oppor- 
 tunities which a hearty determination would at once 
 have found. 
 
 It was a grievous injustice to Bertha, whose chief 
 thought was to see him restored to his inheritance, 
 and her one object that his children should be edu- 
 cated to be an honour and comfort to him. But the 
 thought and the object were the results of duty rather 
 than affection, and with this Mr. Vivian's susceptible 
 feelings could not be satisfied. 
 
 He lingered on his way, for motion was soothing to 
 his chafed spirit ; and a thousand busy thoughts were 
 passing through his brain. Why should he have re-
 
 CLEVE HALL. 2S9 
 
 turned to England? Why strive for that which, 
 ever as he drew near, receded from his grasp ? The 
 hope of restoration, how bright and dazzling had it 
 seemed when viewed across the distance of the far 
 ocean ! Now, in his native village, within sight of 
 his father's Hall, within reach of his sister's voice, 
 and the influence of his friend's counsel, it was dwin- 
 dling, fading, till nothing seemed left but solitude, 
 comfortless and dreary ; with coldness where he had 
 expected warmth, prudence where he had looked 
 for energy. 
 
 It might have been an unreasonable, an unthankful 
 feeling, that rose up in the heart of the weary exile, 
 for, alas ! sorrow tends to exaggerate our faults, as 
 well as to strengthen our virtues ; but it was Bertha's 
 work — Bertha, the unselfish, the pure-minded, the 
 devoted — her work, because she had never yet 
 learnt to heal the wounds of truth by the oil of 
 sympathy. 
 
 It was a beautiful starlight evening, and the moon, 
 though not full, gleamed clear in the cloudless hea- 
 vens, and brought out every near object distinctly. 
 The path through the village was the nearest to the 
 Farm, and Mr. Vivian pursued it without thought, or 
 rather with that engrossing thought which blinds us 
 to the external world. He did not see the figure of 
 a man standing below the porch of the first cottage 
 which he passed ; neither did he hear the footsteps 
 which slowly and cautiously followed his. He went 
 on, with his usual rapid, irregular pace, every now 
 and then pausing, as some fresh idea struck him, and 
 occasionally raising his arm high in the air, following 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 out in action the feelings either of hope or despair 
 which were at the moment paramount in his breast. 
 The figure which followed him kept at a certain 
 distance, stopped when he stopped, advanced when 
 he advanced, still keeping in the shade, or. when 
 obliged to emerge into the light, hurrying on, and 
 then delaying, evidently with the wish not to ap- 
 proach too near. 
 
 The upper and open part of the village was passed, 
 and they entered the ravine. The shadows there 
 were deeper, the light glanced through the foliage of 
 the trees more stealthily. Occasionally the barking 
 of a dog broke the stillness, but, for the most part, 
 all was silent save the quick, dashing murmur of the 
 brook, tossing its way, over rocks and pebbles, to the 
 ocean. 
 
 Mr. Vivian quickened his pace ; he seemed to feel 
 the chilliness of the evening air, and presently he 
 stopped to button his coat more closely round him. 
 He was opposite to a cottage, standing high upon the 
 bank, the only one in which a light still gleamed 
 below. The door was open, and a man was standing 
 on the threshold, his form clearly defined by the 
 brightness of the light behind him. As Mr. Vivian 
 passed, a sharp, shrill, and very peculiar whistle was 
 heard. It must have been an instinct, certainly it 
 was not fear, which induced Mr. Vivian to quicken 
 his step, keeping close against the garden-wall, so 
 that he might not be perceived. The figure behind 
 also crept back further into the shade. Mr. Vivian 
 was out of sight ; the whistle was heard again, and 
 answered, and Goft', the fisherman, stealing out of his
 
 CLEVE HALL. 291 
 
 cottage, met Eonald Vivian at the foot of the rough 
 flight of steps which gave admittance to the garden 
 from the road. 
 
 " I saw you, youngster. Why didn't you answer ? 
 I thought you had given me the slip ! " was the inso- 
 lent greeting ; to which Ronald replied by striding 
 over the little stile, and leading the way up to the 
 cottage door, where he placed himself so as to inter- 
 cept the view of the road. 
 
 Goff followed impatiently. " Twenty steps, where 
 one would do!" he muttered to himself, and then 
 added aloud, " You've no need to go so far to learn 
 your duty." 
 
 "My father bade me come to hear the result of 
 your inquiry," said Ronald haughtily. " He spoke 
 mysteries, so do you, but I am used to them. Only 
 let me hear what you would say quickly." 
 
 " The Captain's been out all day, I suppose ? " 
 
 "Yes, at Cleve. He has only just returned. If 
 the inquiry was not satisfactory, I was to say that 
 he expected you to-night at the Grange." 
 
 " High and mighty ! but he'll learn differently some 
 day. You passed no one on the road, eh, Ronald ? " 
 
 " I came by the back lane till I was in the village, 
 and there 1 saw a pedlar man at the door of a public 
 house. Is that part of your mystery ? " 
 
 " The parson went home an hour since," said Goff, 
 carelessly, " and the man at the Farm, Bruce they call 
 him, with him. He'd be back about this time. I've 
 a notion he's friends with the Preventives ; so we'd 
 best not meet him." 
 
 u a
 
 292 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Perhaps so ; what message am I to take to my 
 father?" 
 
 Instead of answering, Goff went again down the 
 flight of steps, and looked up and down the road. " I 
 thought I heard a tramp ; and it's time to be on our 
 watch for those Preventive fellows." 
 
 " My father is gone to the Point, and he bade me 
 follow him ; what message am I to take him ? " re- 
 peated Ronald. 
 
 " Tell him Pve an inkling I was right as to the 
 cargo, but the craft was too far off to be searched. I 
 may know more before to-morrow. Your father is at 
 the Point, you say ? " 
 
 " He expects his vessel in," replied Ronald. 
 
 " I doubt whether they'll try the landing to-night ; 
 the tide doesn't serve." 
 
 " He will be back at the Grange soon, then," said 
 Ronald, " and is he to see you there ?" 
 
 " Umph ! that's as may be. Say I've business at 
 home, both for him and for me. If he doesn't hear 
 to-night, he will in the morning. And now my 
 young scamp, you may depart." 
 
 He went down some of the steps, beckoning to 
 Ronald to follow. But one bound, as it seemed, had 
 brought Ronald to the stile. He vaulted across it, 
 halloed a hasty " Good night" to Goif, and ran with 
 his full speed, taking short cuts and by-paths, in the 
 direction which Mr. Vivian had pursued, whilst Goff 
 seated himself on the garden-wall, and occupied him- 
 self with a pipe. 
 
 The end of the ravine was reached; Mr. Vivian 
 was about to emerge from it into the open space in
 
 CLEVE HALL. 293 
 
 front of the Farm. The night was so calm, the eifect 
 of his walk so soothing, that he was doubtful whether 
 to stop or proceed further, and his step lingered as 
 he gazed upon the old building, standing grey and 
 ghost-like in the moonshine, and revolved in his 
 mind the changes and sorrows associated with it. 
 
 " If Mr. Vivian is wise, he will rest when others 
 rest," was uttered in a low, deep voice, by some one 
 at his side. He started, scarcely conscious at the first 
 moment that he had been addressed by his true 
 name ; yet his hand grasped his stick with the quick 
 perception of possible danger, and he turned sharply 
 round with an indignant ejaculation. 
 
 " Those who betray their own secrets have no right 
 to be angry when they are reminded of it," continued 
 Ronald. 
 
 " Ronald Vivian ! Speak plainly, young fellow. 
 Let me hear your object." 
 
 " That you should know I know you," said Ronald, 
 boldly. " We meet then upon equal ground." 
 
 " John Vivian's son can never stand upon equal 
 ground with me," was the reply. " You have aided 
 me in danger, and I thank you for it, heartily. 
 Name your recompense ; you shall have it. For my 
 secret — do with it as you will ; I am indifferent to it." 
 Yet as he spoke, Mr. Vivian's eye glanced quickly 
 round, fearing, apparently, that the boy's approach 
 was to be followed by that of others, whom he might 
 have more cause to dread. 
 
 " Thanks ! Recompense ! Mr. Vivian, let me tell 
 
 you " and Ronald drew nearer, and his voice was 
 
 harsh and hesitating. But suddenly it changed, as 
 u 3
 
 294 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 he muttered, "Fool that I am ! to think he would 
 understand ! " 
 
 " Say to your father, if he has sent you," began 
 Mr. Vivian 
 
 Ronald interrupted him. " I do not come from my 
 father. I have that to say which may be for your 
 good ; but first, we must understand each other. Your 
 thanks, I do not desire them ; your reward, I would 
 not accept it, if it were the wealth of the Indies you 
 could offer me. Now, then, will you hear me ? " 
 
 " Yes, say what you will, but shortly." 
 
 " And not here," said Ronald. He threw back 
 the wicket-gate, entered the Farm Court, and tried 
 the door into the garden, which was bolted. 
 
 Mr. Vivian touched his arm. " If we are to speak 
 upon private matters, there is no place so secure as 
 my own apartment." 
 
 " I am used to the free air," replied Ronald. " I 
 can speak better in it." He drew back the bolt. 
 "Now, then, we are safe," and carefully refastening 
 the door again, on the inside, he turned into the broad 
 turf walk which divided the garden into two equal 
 parts. 
 
 "Your father has doubtless learnt that I am 
 here," said Mr. Vivian. 
 
 "I came on my own account; my father " 
 
 Ronald paused, and then went on impetuously. 
 " You don't trust me. I am used to that. God help 
 me to bear it. Mr. Vivian, you are my father's 
 enemy." 
 
 " Rather, your father is mine," was the answer, 
 uttered more gently. 
 
 " An enemy makes an enemy. You hate him ;
 
 CLEVE HALL. 295 
 
 justly, perhaps ; yes, justly it must be. You think, 
 too, that you have cause to hate me also." 
 
 " Hate you, Ronald ! I owe my own life to you, 
 and to-day you have aided in saving my child." 
 
 " The new favour will not wipe out the old 
 grudge," replied Ronald. "Young though I am, I 
 have seen too much of the world to believe that. 
 Safety, both for yourself and your daughter, would 
 have been more precious if purchased by any other 
 means. Nay, let me speak," he added, seeing that 
 Mr. Vivian was about to interrupt him. " I have 
 nothing to say upon that subject. It is gone — 
 forgotten. It is of yourself, Mr. Vivian, that I would 
 have you think. You are my father's enemy, and 
 your secret is in my hands. Upon what terms think 
 you it is to be kept ? " 
 
 " Upstart ! insolent ! " exclaimed Mr. Vivian. " Do 
 you think I fear your father ? " 
 
 " You have cause to do so," was Ronald's calm 
 reply. 
 
 " Cause ! Yes, cause indeed ! " And the tone was 
 bitter in its remorse. " I do fear him, but not as 
 you think ; not for the injury he may have done me 
 in former years, not for the evil he may yet bring 
 upon me in this world. I fear him as I fear the spirit 
 of evil ; the demon that tempts man to his eternal de- 
 struction. There is no bargain to be made with such 
 fear." 
 
 A look of agony passed over Ronald's face at the 
 
 last words. He pressed his hands tightly together. 
 
 and when he spoke, his tone was hollow, in the effort 
 
 to repress his feelings : " Yet the question is un- 
 
 u 4
 
 293 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 answered. Upon what terms is tlie secret to be 
 kept?" 
 
 " Upon no terms, Sir ; let the whole world know it, 
 and, come what may, I will abide it." 
 
 " That may be a hasty word long to be repented," 
 replied Ronald. 
 
 " Never to be repented. There must be war ; aye, 
 for ever, between John Vivian and myself ; between 
 his children and my children. Young fellow, you 
 have your answer." 
 
 " I have not my answer," replied Ronald. " Mr. 
 Vivian, you think you are speaking to a boy, and you 
 are right. A boy I am in years, but they have been 
 years in which a man's experience has been con- 
 densed. You cannot and shall not turn from me in 
 this way. You shall listen as to a man, your equal, 
 and you shall grant me my demands as to one who 
 holds your fate in his hands, and will never be 
 tempted to swerve from his resolve either by threat 
 of punishment or hope of reward. Once more, upon 
 what terms shall your secret be kept ? " 
 
 He folded his arms, and leant his back against a 
 tree, and the pale gleaming of the moon showed a 
 face, anxious, haggard, yet immovable. Mr. Vivian 
 was touched by its expression, whilst his spirit revolted 
 from the proud words which he had just heard. " You 
 are a strange fellow, Ronald," he said more lightly. 
 " Do you think that a man who has reached my age, 
 and has the happiness of so many depending upon 
 him, would have placed himself in a situation which 
 a hasty word of his own, and the wilfulness of a boy 
 like yourself, might render really perilous ? You
 
 CLEVE HALL. *2d1 
 
 delude yourself. It has been my will for purposes of 
 my own to remain for a time concealed ; but the truth 
 must, before long, come forth. Your betrayal of it, 
 or that of your father, can have but little eiFect upon 
 my fortunes." 
 
 " Trust to that hope if you will," replied Eonald : 
 " believe that the man whom you injured in the point 
 nearest to his heart will sufler his revenge to die ; 
 trust that he will allow you to return, and rake up 
 the ashes of past deeds, and search out the offences 
 which, it may be, are hidden amongst them ; but, 
 remember, it is at your own peril, against the warn- 
 ing of one who knows that life and death are at this 
 moment trembling in the balance of your decision." 
 
 Mr. Vivian started. " Ha ! Are you come to 
 threaten me ? I might have known the spirit of John 
 Vivian hidden under the form of his son." And he 
 laughed scornfully. 
 
 " I bear with your injustice — with your suspicions, 
 Mr. Vivian. God knows, I feel too truly how they 
 have been deserved. Doubt me if you will, yet still 
 listen to me. One word from me, and the thought 
 which is now but a slumbering ember, will be kindled 
 into a flame, and the most hidden recesses of English 
 ground will not ensure your safety." 
 
 " You want money, young man ; you shall have it, 
 so far as my poverty will admit ; but not to purchase 
 secrecy and safety. There is a God above, and He 
 will protect me." 
 
 " Money ! " Ronald's deep voice sounded as the 
 burst of thunder on the clear air. But the check 
 followed in a moment, and the tones of a child could
 
 298 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 not have been more gentle than his as he added : " Mr. 
 Vivian, I want not money, but pardon." He covered 
 his face with his hands, and a bitter groan burst from 
 him. Then resuming, his former attitude, and speak- 
 ing almost coldly, he continued : " But for my aid 
 you might have perished in the storm, your child 
 might have been dashed from the heights of the 
 Croome. But for my secrecy now, danger, near and 
 pressing, little though you may believe it, must haunt 
 your steps. Is it too much to ask forgiveness in re- 
 turn for life ? " 
 
 " Forgiveness, Ronald ! you speak riddles ; you 
 have never offended me." 
 
 " My father has. He has injured you. His injuries 
 may, they must, some day come to light : yes, and by 
 my instrumentality ; " and again he hid his face and 
 shuddered. " Mr. Vivian, when that day shall come, 
 will you not remember that Ronald was your friend in 
 the hour of peril ? — that for your sake he risked the 
 hastening of that fearful account which we are told 
 we are all to give before God ? " 
 
 " Remember ! " Mr. Vivian grasped his hand. 
 " Ronald, so surely will I remember your good deeds, 
 as I pray that God in His mercy may forget my evil 
 ones. But even yet I cannot see your purpose." 
 
 " It may be a sad history, yet I will beg you to 
 listen to it," replied Ronald. '' Mr. Vivian, I have 
 not now for the first time learnt that I was the son 
 of a man whom the world terms reprobate. I 
 discovered it in my childhood, when I said my 
 prayers at my mother's knee, stealthily, because my 
 father would interrupt them ; I saw it in my mo-
 
 CLEVE HALL. 299 
 
 ther's tears, when he left her to join in riot and 
 intemperance. I heard it from her own lips as she 
 lay on her death bed, and charged me never to 
 follow his evil courses, and yet, if possible, never 
 to forsake him. It was the one burning thought 
 which made me what I have been, — reckless and des- 
 perate. I was too young then to profit by counsel ; 
 perhaps even if I had been older, I should have been 
 too weak, and I did follow my father into scenes and 
 society which I have since learnt to shrink from with 
 horror. There I might have been at this moment ; — 
 God only knows why I am not there : but through it 
 all, even in my worst moments, the warnings of one 
 friend have recalled me to better things, reminding me 
 of days of innocence, carrying me back to my mother's 
 death bed. K the past can ever be redeemed, it will 
 be through the teaching of my mother's only friend. 
 Miss Campbell. I owe everything to her, and I will 
 repay the debt, cost what it may." 
 
 " And Miss Campbell, then, has told you our family 
 history?" 
 
 " In part. She has put the possibility of benefiting 
 you within my reach, at the expense of my father's 
 honour, and perhaps safety." He spoke with an 
 accent of bitterness, and Mr. Vivian said, hastily, 
 " Bertha Campbell has been inconsiderate ; she never 
 could expect such a sacrifice." 
 
 " Miss Campbell did not know what she exacted," 
 replied Ronald. " I did not know what I promised, 
 until I thought over my promise ; but if I had known, 
 I could not have draAvn back. Gratitude and honour 
 must make me labour to discover the truth ; justice
 
 300 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 would require me to make it known. I do not, for a 
 moment, blame Miss Campbell ; neither do I repent 
 for myself. I ask only that the good deed which I 
 may be enabled to do for you, may not be turned into 
 the agony of remorse, by bringing destruction upon 
 my father." 
 
 " It could never be," exclaimed Mr. Vivian. " I 
 would rather die myself, and see my children beggars, 
 than I would urge you to act against your father." 
 
 " When I was told the history, the deed was done," 
 replied Ronald, mournfully. " I needed no urging 
 then. I can never rest till restitution has been 
 made." 
 
 " Leave it, leave it," replied Mr. Vivian, hastily ; 
 " forget that you have been asked. A son to turn 
 against his father ! — impossible ! " 
 
 " And a family to be sacrificed, when one word 
 might restore to them a lost inheritance! — equally 
 impossible ! " replied Ronald. 
 
 " Bertha Campbell has unintentionally deceived 
 you, Ronald," said Mr. Vivian. " She has an idea 
 that something which your father said or did was the 
 cause of my exile ; but she is mistaken. The offences 
 were my own ; they may have been exaggerated ; my 
 father's anger may have been increased by misrepre- 
 sentation ; but the main facts must have been true, 
 and for them I only am answerable. Are you not 
 satisfied by my assurance ? " he added, as Ronald con- 
 tinued silent. 
 
 Still tliere was a pause. Mr. Vivian repeated the 
 question. 
 
 Ronald seized his hand. " Mr. Vivian, you are a
 
 CLEYE HALL. 301 
 
 man of honour ; ask me no more questions. Only, if 
 you value tlie life which through my means was re- 
 stored to you, promise me here, as in the presence of 
 God, that whatever may hereafter be discovered and 
 revealed by me, shall only so far be used as I shall 
 permit, and never be made known by you to any 
 other person, except by my permission." 
 
 " I promise ; solemnly, faithfully." 
 
 Ronald shook his hand eagerly. "Honour for life ! 
 Mr. Vivian, there is now no obligation ; I thank you 
 from my heart." His tone was quite changed, it was 
 almost hopeful. 
 
 Mr. Vivian turned to go into the house. " K you 
 are satisfied, we must part now," he said. 
 
 " I am satisfied about myself, not about you. Mr. 
 Vivian, this jDlace is not safe for you ? " 
 
 " I am going to leave it." 
 
 " When ? Another day's delay may be of infinite 
 importance." 
 
 " I go to-morrow to " 
 
 " Do not tell me where. Let me know nothing of 
 you that I can avoid. Whatever must be known. 
 Miss Campbell will tell me." 
 
 " I do not see the need of so much mystery," ex- 
 claimed Mr. Vivian, rather haughtily. "I fear no 
 man." 
 
 " Yet there may not be, therefore, the less cause 
 for fear. You would be safe from my father ; you 
 are not safe from the fellow, GofT." 
 
 " Rascal ! — he is too contemptible to dread." 
 
 " Mr. Lester will give you his opinion upon that 
 point," replied Ronald. " I cannot expect you to 
 take mine. But you arc going, and that is all I ask."
 
 302 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 They walked a few paces together, without speak- 
 ing ; but when they reached the garden-door, Mr. 
 Vivian grasped Ronald's hand, and said, in a voice 
 hoarse with suppressed feeling, " Ronald, you are a 
 noble fellow. Let my own boy be but like you, and 
 I shall be contented." 
 
 He was detained. 
 
 " Never ! never ! Oh God ! save him from it ! 
 Innocence! Mr. Vivian, the riches of the universe 
 would I give for innocence ! "
 
 CLEVE HALL. 303 
 
 CHAP. XXIIL 
 
 A BRIGHT fire was blazing on the hearth in Mildred 
 Vivian's apartment, an old-fashioned Christmas fire, 
 though it was only the beginning of December, — 
 logs of wood kindling and inspiriting the coals ; and 
 Mildred's sofa was drawn near it, and her little work- 
 table was placed by her side; and, reclining in a 
 low and very luxurious chair on the other side, Ella 
 was reading to her aloud. They looked very com- 
 fortable, all the more so because snow was falling, 
 and the sky heavy with grey masses of clouds, which 
 threatened to prevent any thing like going out all 
 day. 
 
 " Grandpapa has not been in this morning," said 
 Elh% as she laid down the first volume of the book, 
 and looked round the room for the second. 
 
 " He is busy with the bailifi; I think," said Mil- 
 dred. " There are parish matters and magistrate's 
 business to attend to. He never leads an idle life." 
 
 " No," replied Ella ; " it is strange. Aunt Mildred, 
 isn't it, what people find to interest them in life ? " 
 
 " Parish matters and magistrate's business being 
 very uninteresting to you, I suppose," said Mildred, 
 laughing. 
 
 " They are so low," replied Ella. 
 
 " I don't know what the world would do without
 
 304 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 them, though," said Mildred. " And I really don't 
 see why they are to be called low." 
 
 " Oh, because they don't serve any purpose ; they 
 don't exalt one's mind. You know, Aunt Mildred, 
 parish matters are always about gruel and blankets ; 
 and magistrate's matters about poaching." 
 
 " All very necessary, Ella." 
 
 " Oh, yes, necessary, but I hate necessities ; now 
 don't you?" 
 
 " I can't say exactly that I do. I am afraid such 
 a good-for-nothing person as I am in the way of 
 health, must always think a good deal of them. But 
 I do know what you mean, Ella, and I feel with you 
 in a certain way. One wouldn't like to live upon 
 necessaries." 
 
 " No ;" Ella's face brightened at being understood, 
 — " and that is what some people do ; and what I 
 dread doing, and, Aunt Mildred, it is Avhat I am 
 sure I shall do, if I live at Encombe much longer." 
 
 " Six months' trial is a very short one." 
 
 " Enough for me," said Ella, yawning. " If it 
 weren't for coming here sometimes, I shouldn't have 
 an idea left. But you do let one rhapsodise a little." 
 
 Mildred's face was rather grave. 
 
 " Now, Aunt Mildred, that is an expression I don't 
 like," continued Ella ; " it always seems as if there 
 was something hidden behind it, and I choose to know 
 all. Now, confess what were you thinking of?" she 
 added, playfully. 
 
 " Merely whether rhapsodising, as you call it, was 
 a good or a bad thing." 
 
 " Oh, good ; infinitely good ! It encourages en-
 
 CLEVE HALL. 305 
 
 thusiasm, and enthusiasm leads to heroism, and 
 heroism to — why, all the noble things which have 
 been done in the world are owing to heroism." 
 
 " Most true ; you had better write a book upon it 
 some day." 
 
 " You are laughing at me ; but I don't see why 
 you should," and Ella, rather petulantly, took up some 
 work. 
 
 " Not at all laughing, dear Ella ; quite the re- 
 verse." 
 
 " Then crying ; I would rather you should do that 
 than laugh. I hate ridicule ; it chills me." 
 
 " Dear Ella, you know I never ridicule any one — 
 intentionally, that is. My words may certainly be 
 twisted to a wroni^ meanino^." 
 
 " Then why did you say I had better write a book 
 upon heroism ? Of course that means, I had better 
 not." 
 
 " Of course it does. Perhaps I said it because I 
 thought persons never write well upon subjects which 
 they don't understand, and that no one can under- 
 stand heroism who doesn't practise it." 
 
 " There is little enough opportunity for practising 
 it at Encombe," observed Ella. 
 
 " One might think so at first sight, but you have 
 had occasions more frequently than most people." 
 
 " I don't quite see when. There have been no 
 adventures, only the wreck, which I had nothing to 
 do with, and the Croome; yes, that was terrible!" 
 and Ella became much graver in manner ; " but the 
 heroism belonged to Ronald and Mr. Bruce." 
 
 " I think you were something of a heroine, Ella, 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 If you had lost your presence of mind there would 
 have been no hope." 
 
 " One is inspired, I suppose, at such times," said 
 Ella. " I could never have supposed it possible to 
 bear up as I did. But to be a heroine for one day 
 is nothing. What I wish is to be one all my life, and 
 in these times there is nothing to give one the oppor- 
 tunity. Oh for the days of chivalry and the Cru- 
 saders ! " 
 
 " When ladies lived shut up within walls, and 
 occupied themselves in working tapestry with their 
 maids, every now and then relieving their tediousness 
 by taking a stroll upon the battlements, to see if their 
 lords were coming." 
 
 " You are so absurd. Aunt Mildred. Who ever 
 thinks of beautiful ladies in the olden times taking a 
 stroll?" 
 
 "But they did stroll, Ella, unless, as I suppose 
 sometimes happened, they felt it good for their health 
 to have a good, quick, constitutional walk." 
 
 " I can't talk to you," said Ella ; " you always 
 laugh about knights and chivalry." 
 
 " Quite the reverse, dear Ella ; I have the greatest 
 possible admiration for them. All I ever regret is 
 that people should spend their time in grasping at 
 the shadow, and so lose the substance." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean by that," said Ella. 
 " I never could discover any knightly substance, a? 
 you call it, in these days." 
 
 "I should scarcely imagine you could," replied 
 Mildred quietly. 
 
 Ella looked up, a little piqued, and answered,
 
 CLEVE HALL. 307 
 
 " But if there is any, I don't see why I am to be more 
 blind than the rest of the world." 
 
 " You are not more blind than most people," 
 replied Mildred. " Half the persons you meet would 
 tell you that they can discover nothing but matter- 
 of-factness in the nineteenth century." 
 
 " Please, Aunt Mildred, don't talk mysteries ; you 
 can't think how they tease me." 
 
 " The meaning of my mysteries may not suit you, 
 Ella," said Mildred gravely. 
 
 " Perhaps so, but I should like to know it." 
 
 "I think that what we are accustomed to call 
 chivalry was an earthly adaptation of the Christian 
 spirit, suited to rude times and men of half-culti- 
 vation," said Mildred ; " that, in fact, it was a type 
 of real chivalry." 
 
 " Then, what do you call real chivalry ? " asked Ella. 
 
 " The spirit of self-devotion, self-denial, courage, 
 endurance, perseverance, not for the praise of men 
 but the praise of God." 
 
 Ella was silent. 
 
 " That does not quite approve itself to your ideas, 
 does it ? " said Mildred. 
 
 "It is all very good," replied Ella, "but I don't 
 see any chivalry in it." 
 
 " No ; and you never will in your present state of 
 mind. You are a knight going unwillingly to the 
 wars, and always sighing for the repose of his own 
 halls and the gentle glance of his ladye love." 
 
 " That would never have been my case," exclaimed 
 Ella. " I could have fought, I know I could, like a 
 lion." 
 
 X 2
 
 308 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Oh, Ella ! I wish you could do so now." Mildred's 
 voice was sad. 
 
 "Dear Aunt Mildred, don't speak so; I would 
 think as you do if I could." 
 
 " You can, Ella, if you will ; all of us can. The 
 thoughts would come if you would only act." 
 
 " Action ; that is the difficulty ; " and Ella sighed. 
 
 " A knight to sigh and say action is the difficulty ! " 
 
 Ella blushed. " Aunt Mildred, I am not a knight." 
 
 " No, Ella I A Christian knight you can't be, be- 
 cause — is it very hard to say it? — you live only for 
 yourself." 
 
 Ella's countenance betrayed a momentary annoy- 
 ance, but she recovered herself quickly, though her 
 tone was still a little constrained, as she replied, 
 " You are rather severe in your condemnation. Aunt 
 Mildred." 
 
 " More severe than is merited, am I ? But will 
 you set me right then, and tell me whom you do live 
 for, — Grandmamma ? Aunt Bertha ? Clement ? " 
 
 " Oh ! for no one in particular ; who does ? I am 
 very fond of every body, but I don't know what you 
 mean by living for them." 
 
 "But Ella, that will not do for chivalry. The 
 knights of old could never have fought as they did 
 if they had not had some special object." 
 
 " But you say I am not a knight." 
 
 " We come round to the point from which we sat 
 off. I don't think you have the spirit of a knight in 
 you. I am sure, indeed, you have not. No one who 
 is self-indulgent can have."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 309 
 
 '' You don't like my sitting in easy chairs," said 
 Ella, half-raising herself. 
 
 " I don't like it, because it puts your mind into an 
 easy chair too," replied Mildred. 
 
 " No ; indeed I assure you I can think twenty 
 times as well when I am comfortable." 
 
 " There is a difference between being comfortable 
 and not being uncomfortable," said Mildred. " People 
 can't think when they have the toothache, but there 
 is a wide neutral ground between that and positive 
 luxury." 
 
 " One's imagination works so much better in the 
 pleasant, dreamy state, which sofas and arm-chairs 
 put one into," said Ella, throwing herself back and 
 laughing. " I do so wonder. Aunt Mildred, that you 
 who are so fond of poetry can't understand that." 
 
 "Perhaps I can and do understand it too well," 
 answered Mildred thoughtfully. "But one thing, 
 Ella, I am quite certain of, that imagination and 
 every other faculty will infallibly degenerate if it is 
 not kept alive by practice. If you can write good 
 poetry when you sit and dream all day in your 
 arm-chair, you will write much better if you rouse 
 yourself and do a kind act for a person in need. I 
 believe, myself, that one chief reason why we so 
 often see persons of great powers of imagination, 
 degenerating and writing things quite unworthy 
 of their first efforts, is that they think mental 
 work every thing, and so neglect to recruit their 
 poor minds by bracing practical duties. Even in an 
 intellectual point of view, Ella, you see, I object to 
 the arm-chair." 
 
 X 3
 
 310 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Oh, dear ! so comfortable ; " and Ella sighed, and 
 drew her chair nearer to the fire. 
 
 "It seems very unfitting for me to say it, I am 
 afraid," continued Mildred, " when I lie on a sofa 
 all day. But then, Ella, against that perhaps I may 
 put the pain which God has sent me. I am never 
 quite free from it. And in other ways I do try to 
 practise what I preach ; at least I hope so." 
 
 " Yes, Aunt Mildred, who could think you self- 
 indulgent ? " 
 
 " I was inclined to be so once," she replied. " ^Yhen 
 my dear sister was living, she took so much from me 
 in the way of duty, that I often felt there was no 
 occasion for exertion, and then I gave way. But it 
 has been different of late years, and I have taught 
 myself to open the windows of my mind, and let in 
 the fresh breezes from without, even though now and 
 then they are a little chilling." 
 
 Ella considered a little, still reclining at her ease. 
 " Then, Aunt Mildred, what would you have me do ? " 
 
 " What would I not have you do ? You like plain 
 speaking, you say. Nothing that you have done 
 since you came here, at least not in the same spirit." 
 
 " I can't alter the spirit, — it is that which I am in 
 always," said Ella, rather moodily. 
 
 " Yet it was to have been different after your fright 
 upon the Croome." 
 
 " I thought so, for a time, but it went off; that 
 is always the case with me, — I can't help changing." 
 
 " Simply because you think and don't act," replied 
 IMildred. " The notes which you sent me the week 
 after your adventure were full of good resolutions."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 311 
 
 " Oh, yes ; good resolutions : but what are they 
 worth ? I am tired of them." 
 
 " So am I," was Mildred's grave remark. 
 
 Ella rose from her seat, and as she knelt by Mil- 
 dred's side, said : " Please not, Aunt Mildred ; any 
 tone but that." 
 
 "Do you deserve any other, Ella?" 
 
 "No. I deserve nothing, I am very unhappy," 
 and Ella burst into tears. 
 
 " You were to have taught the children regularly," 
 continued Mildred, " and you have neglected them 
 just as you did before. You were to have been 
 thoughtful for your grandmamma, and obedient to 
 your Aunt Bertha, and there have been nothing but 
 complaints. I asked you to come here, and told you 
 what I wished you to do, and you promised what you 
 have not in the smallest degree attempted properly to 
 perform. You are late at breakfast always, though 
 your grandpapa particularly wishes you to be in time ; 
 when he asks you to walk with him, you move re- 
 luctantly ; when he desires you to play, you make 
 excuses ; when he recommends you books to read, 
 you waste your time over poetry and novels. And 
 all the while sighing for heroism, and the days of 
 chivalry. Oh, Ella, you would have made but a poor 
 knight." 
 
 " Aunt Mildred, yes ; if those days had been like 
 these. But they were different." 
 
 "No, Ella, they were the same, — formed for and 
 by human beings like ourselves, with the same foibles, 
 the same passions and temptations ; and what we arc 
 now, that we should have been then." 
 X 4
 
 312 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 "Then I am a poor knight," said Ella, faintly 
 attempting to smile, " doomed to be always defeated." 
 
 " And yet entrusted with the highest possible gifts ; 
 talents far above the average, a quiet home, leisure, 
 friends " 
 
 " No, Aunt Mildred ; begging your pardon, that is 
 just what I have not ; a quiet home, and leisure, and 
 friends. I am continually interrupted, and there is 
 no one that I can talk to as I like." 
 
 " Ella, Ella ; if you have the smallest value for 
 goodness or happiness, be honest with yourself. You 
 allow the interruptions, and shut yourself up from 
 your friends, and then turn your own faults into 
 excuses." 
 
 "Indeed; it is true. I never can talk to Aunt 
 Bertha. She is very good, I know ; but — I must 
 say it, if it is ever so wa-ong, — she is intensely dis- 
 agreeable." 
 
 " So I suppose am I," observed Mildred gently. 
 
 "Oh, no ; you know I love you dearly, and I would 
 do any thing in the world for you." 
 
 " Except the trifles I ask. You disobey me just as 
 you do Aunt Bertha." 
 
 " If you w^ould ask me great things, I could do 
 them. I w^ould cut off my hand to serve you." 
 
 "But you would not use it to copy a piece of music 
 yesterday." 
 
 " Oh, Aunt Mildred, I forgot." 
 
 " Dear Ella, if I could only once hear you say, — 
 not I forgot, — but I was wa'ong." 
 
 " I do say it very often," replied Ella. 
 
 " Yes, when the accusations are general, but never
 
 CLEVE HALL. 313 
 
 when tliey are particular. That is the test of humi- 
 lity and sincerity, not to say merely I have a bad 
 temper, or I am indolent ; but I was very passionate 
 on such an occasion, and sat still when I ought to 
 have exerted myself on another. I fear, Ella, your 
 repentance is as vague as your resolution ; and 
 we can only cure our faults by knowing their details 
 and having rules by which to correct them." 
 
 " Then mine will never be cured," replied Ella ; 
 " for I hate rules, they are so narrow-minded. Aunt 
 Mildred, you must allow that." 
 
 " They may be narrow-minded. I don't see that 
 they are so necessarily," replied Mildred. 
 
 " Well ! but — don't be angry with me, — Aunt 
 Bertha is full of rules. I am sure she never allows 
 herself to eat, or drink, or sleep, except by rule." 
 
 " Dearest Ella ; always alluding to Aunt Bertha, 
 never thinking of yourself I " 
 
 " I am a heathen compared with her, I know that, 
 but I can't help believing, — I really don't mean 
 to be conceited, and I would not say it to any one 
 but you, — I can't help fancying that I am more agree- 
 able." 
 
 " And you think the rules ar* the cause." 
 
 " I am sure of it. If one tries to throw oneself into 
 her ways, it is like being in a prison and one is always 
 running up against the bars. You know you have 
 scarcely seen her, so you can't at all tell what she is 
 like." 
 
 " She is coming to see me soon," replied Mildred 
 thoughtfully. 
 
 " I hope you will understand her better than I
 
 314 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 do ; but I don't think you will ; you are so unlike 
 her. How she makes me hate duty ! " 
 
 "Well, then," — Mildred's voice became graver, — 
 " what do you say to love ? " 
 
 " Love of you ? It would make me work for ever." 
 
 " Only you can't copy music for me. Ah, Ella, 
 you see you have been tried and failed. No, it is not 
 my love which will help you." 
 
 "I am not fit for any higher love," said Ella 
 gravely. 
 
 " Only that you cannot escape it," said Mildred 
 earnestly ; " the love which upheld you when you 
 stood on the brink of death, which inspired you with 
 presence of mind, which sent you succour at the very 
 moment of need. Oh, Ella ! for the sake of that dear 
 love, will you not try to be really good ? " 
 
 " Aunt Mildred, it is so terrible to say it ; but I 
 don't feel it." 
 
 " But, Ella, dearest, it is not a question of feeling ; 
 you are the child of God's love even when you turn 
 away and forget Him. And now He has recalled 
 you to Himself ; and has bestowed upon you a great 
 mercy, and only requires you to show your thankful- 
 ness by attention to tittle duties. Can you have the 
 spirit of a Christian knight if you refuse ? " 
 
 Ella looked distressed. 
 
 " Please don't remind me of that," she said. " I 
 know I never could be a knight or any thing else 
 that is good for much." 
 
 " But indeed, I must remind you of it, because, 
 though you think I laugh at you, I do really and 
 truly feel that the longings which you have so often,
 
 CLEVE HALL. 315 
 
 those poetical dreams of bygone days, are really the 
 indications of what you ought to be, and may be if 
 you will." 
 
 " Not if I will." 
 
 " Yes, most certainly if you will. It is only the 
 will which you want." 
 
 " But I can't make myself will." 
 
 " But you can pray ; that is the beginning of will- 
 ing, and without it will is nothing." 
 
 " I have no perseverance ; I do every thing by fits 
 and starts," said Ella ; " and when the mood is upon 
 me I can't resist." 
 
 " All which shows that you have certainly, as 
 regards goodness, a weak will. But against this 
 you must put enthusiasm, taste, quick perception of 
 all that is beautiful and noble ; the advantages ought 
 to balance the defects." 
 
 " I must be what I was made," replied Ella. 
 
 " No, dear Ella, never, never ! " exclaimed Mildred 
 eagerly. "God gives us all the materials for the 
 formation of character. He leaves it to ourselves to 
 decide into what form it shall be moulded ; only He 
 tells us that if we come to Ilim and ask His aid, He 
 will teach us how to form it to the greatest per- 
 fection." 
 
 " I am sure I don't know what my materials are," 
 said Ella. 
 
 " Then, my dear child, it is high time you should 
 know. It is the root of all education, whether of 
 ourselves or others. Look at yourself closely ; it will 
 do you no harm. Search out all your good points ; 
 bring out all your natural advantages ; inquire at the
 
 316 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 same time into your faults. When you have done 
 this, you will be able to understand what ought to be 
 your course of self-education." 
 
 " It is a fearful task," said Ella wearily. " Aunt 
 Mildred, I think you had much better do it for 
 me." 
 
 "No one can do it thoroughly but yourself, Ella. 
 It is very well to be educated by others when we are 
 children ; and it is very necessary for those who wish 
 to educate properly, to study the characters which 
 they have to form ; but when we have passed the age 
 of early childhood, no persons but ourselves can really 
 do much for us." 
 
 " I am sure no one ever studied me or understood 
 me," said Ella. 
 
 " So much the more reason that you should under- 
 stand yourself Only one caution I would give you. 
 It is not wise to attempt or wish to be any thing but 
 what God has marked out for us. It is useless for 
 a very imaginative person to endeavour to become 
 matter-of-fact; and useless in the same way for a 
 very matter-of-fact person to try and be imaginative." 
 
 " Then you will leave me my imagination, and not 
 call it a sin, like Aunt Bertha ? " said Ella. 
 
 " Leave it, and encourage it to the very utmost," 
 replied Mildred ; " only I would make it what it was 
 intended to be, — a help and not a hindrance. Our 
 strongest characteristic, whatever it may bo, (I am 
 speaking of course only of that which is good,) is the 
 grappling-iron by which we are first to seize on 
 Heaven. Oh, Ella, if you long for beauty and per- 
 fection, and sigh because there is no one to love with
 
 CLEVE HALL. 317 
 
 all jour heart, wlij do you not turn to the Source of 
 all beauty, — the love which can never change ? " 
 
 " Because I can't," replied Ella candidly. " Aunt 
 Mildred, I have had the same thing said to me again 
 and again. Mr. Lester has talked to me. I have 
 read it in sermons. I know it is all true and good, 
 but I can't feel it. I can't make myself love." 
 
 " Dearest Ella, no. Love is a gift, — the highest gift 
 of all. But action will, through God's mercy, bring 
 you to it." 
 
 " And tiresome, troublesome rules, make me feel as 
 if I never could love," said Ella. " They make me 
 dread religion." 
 
 " I should be sorry to deceive you, Ella. Religion, 
 to a person of your self-indulgent, imaginative tem- 
 perament, must always, at the beginning, be irksome. 
 But the very excitability of your disposition may be 
 your help. You say you cannot feel love, but that is 
 not true, at all times. You did feel it the other day 
 when you were saved from that horrible danger." 
 
 " Yes, I couldn't help it ; " and Ella's face showed a 
 quick, inward, self-recollection, and self-reproach. 
 
 " And you feel it when you read beautiful poetry, 
 or hear of noble deeds, — of heroism, chivalry, for 
 instance." 
 
 " Yes, but that is only feeling." 
 
 "Yet clench the feeling at once, whenever it 
 comes, by some action, however slight, and you will, 
 unknown to yourself, have made a step in advance 
 towards rendering love permanent." 
 
 " Rules," murmured Ella, " I hate rules." 
 
 "And don't fetter yourself with rules," rei^lied 
 Mildred. " They are not religion, only aids to it.
 
 318 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 They clog some minds, whilst they strengthen 
 others." 
 
 " But Aunt Bertha says people are worth nothing 
 unless they live according to rule," said Ella. 
 
 " She is right, no doubt, to a certain extent. You 
 know I did not say, don't attend to rules, but only 
 don't fetter yourself with them. A few rules, simple, 
 easy, and capable of being stretched if necessary, are 
 quite sufficient, especially for you. For, Ella, you 
 will never be happy yourself, or assist in making 
 others so, until your rules are the result of your feel- 
 ing of love, and not merely of your sense of duty." 
 
 "But, Aunt Mildred," — and Ella started up in 
 astonishment, — " at home they are always preaching 
 to me about duty." 
 
 " So would I preach too, Ella, if I thought it would 
 make you do your duty. But, as I said before, we 
 have certain materials given us by God out of which 
 our religious character is to be formed. With many 
 minds, when the temperament is calm, and there is an 
 instinctive love of order and method, the idea of duty 
 is infinitely powerful. It will never, indeed, by 
 itself, produce a very earnest religious feeling ; but it 
 will put us in the way which leads to it. But it is 
 not so with all. There are those to whom the very 
 name of duty sounds cold and repulsive. Tliose are 
 the minds which take the highest flight and sink to 
 the lowest depth. Ella, will yours be amongst 
 them ? " 
 
 Tears glistened in ElhVs eyes. " Aunt Mildred, if 
 you would only tell me what to do ? Even now I 
 don't see."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 319 
 
 " Praj, dear Ella, first ; without that, nothing can 
 succeed." 
 
 " Yes, I know ; but in other ways." 
 
 " You would not be obliged to inquire, if you could 
 remember that your life has a second time been given 
 you ; and that He who restored it, asks for your love 
 in return." 
 
 " Aunt Mildred, I do wish to please Him." Ella's 
 tone was humble, and more gentle. 
 . " And the wish is not lost, dear Ella. Every wish, 
 the very least, is remembered by Him. If it is fol- 
 lowed by an action, it is accepted." 
 
 Ella stood up, and pushed the easy chair aside. 
 " Aunt Mildred, I will copy the music for you at 
 once." 
 
 Mildred smiled. " And, Ella, may I suggest one 
 little rule? — that the easy chair should never be 
 used till evening, and not then unless you are really 
 tired." 
 
 It was a very trifling ending to a long conversa- 
 tion ; yet Ella was neither, moody nor indolent for the 
 remainder of that day.
 
 320 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. 
 
 Mr. Vivian had taken up his abode in an obscure 
 lodging, in one of the tall, decayed, mournful streets 
 of departed grandeur, to be found in the north-west 
 region of London. His shabbily furnished apart- 
 ment was large, and had once been handsome, and 
 still retained indications of ornament in the outline 
 of a heavy cornice, and the stuccoed richness of an 
 old-fashioned ceiling. A few books were on the table, 
 with a writing-desk and papers ; and a fire blazed in 
 the huge grate, shadowed by a high mantel-piece, 
 which was supported by Medusa heads. There was 
 an attempt at comfort in the room — but only an 
 attempt; it wanted a lady's hand to arrange the 
 furniture, and the niceties of a lady's taste to give it 
 in the least an air of home ; and Mr. Vivian, used 
 though he had been to years of solitude, sighed, per- 
 haps, with the recollection of the days when even a 
 humble dwelling had been rendered cheerful and in- 
 viting, by the affectionate care which had adorned it. 
 Neither was the scene without more cheering ; 
 a yellow London fog, streets covered with mud, black 
 chimneys, smoke-stained brick walls ; no wonder that 
 Mr. Vivian turned with disgust from the window, and 
 sitting down to his desk, endeavoured to while away 
 the weary hours by writing.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 321 
 
 His letter was the outpouring of a burdened and 
 not entirely chastened mind. He was an altered man, 
 humble-minded, heartily religious, but he was himself 
 still ; and often, as his pen was moving rapidly, he 
 paused to consider, whether the impulse which urged 
 him was one to which it was safe to yield, or whether 
 it was but the indulgence of that craving for sym- 
 pathy which had often in other days led to weak- 
 ness. 
 
 " My dear Lester, 
 
 "I wrote to you three days ago, and why, you will 
 say, should I write again ? Because I am lonely and 
 dispirited, and have nothing else to do. A sufficient 
 answer for my conscience, though not perhaps for 
 your patience. London is very dreary, my life here 
 most wearisome. I try to bear it, as you say I ought, 
 and I fail. Moreover, I cannot see the reason for 
 delay. Hope grows less. The children, you tell me, 
 are scarcely ever with their grandfather ; nothing, 
 then, can be done through their means. You and 
 Bertha may want to open my way more clearly, but 
 you have undertaken a task beyond your powers. 
 John Vivian is far too experienced a rogue to betray 
 himself. Let me go to my father, cast all upon the 
 die, and, if rejection is my answer, I will submit ; 
 leave England, take my children with me, if not to 
 Jamaica, to some other home, and forget that I ever 
 indulged the vain hope which has already brought 
 me so much sorrow. 
 
 "Any certainty is better than this killing suspense. 
 lam not strong enough to bear it — morally strong 
 — I feel it does me injury. I am becoming captious 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 322 CLEVE HALIi. 
 
 and impatient. Your letters are the only things I 
 can bear. Bertha's try me beyond endurance. She is 
 always telling me of my children's faults, — that Ella 
 is wilful, and Clement desultory, — and dinning it into 
 my ears, that it is the uncertainty of their present 
 life which is so bad for them. 
 
 " I know it as she knows it ; and better, ten thou- 
 sand times better. It has been the remorseful lesson 
 of my life, that I have injured them. Why does she 
 add bitterness to a saddened spirit ? 
 
 "But I am unjust to her, I feel. She has done for 
 my children more than I could have asked ; she loves 
 them, I fully believe, sincerely, if not tenderly. I 
 have no right to require more ; and yet Avhen her 
 letters come they dishearten me, to such a degree, 
 that again the impulse seizes me, to throw off disgrace, 
 once more appear at Encombe, and take the decision 
 of my cause into my own hands. 
 
 " Preach to me, my dear Lester, I need it sadly ; 
 my mind is terribly undisciplined, and I can so little 
 bear with myself. You told me to accept my life as 
 my punishment. It is the only way in which I could 
 endure it. But there are times — they come more fre- 
 quently now in solitude and leisure — when the spirit 
 of submission seems to forsake me, and when the 
 thought of having brought the suffering upon myself, 
 by my own wilfulness, my own folly — worse than 
 folly — my sin, is almost maddening. 
 
 " Men talk of repentance as if the past might be 
 wiped out by tears, and no scar left to mark where 
 the evil has been. Lester, I have shed tears of 
 agony. My first thought in the morning has been
 
 CLEVE HALL. 323 
 
 sorrow, my last consciousness at niglit has been of 
 penitence, and in the silence of midnight I have risen 
 to pray that God would think upon me in His Mercy, 
 and " remember not the sins and offences of my youth." 
 And I believe that I am forgiven. I can look forward 
 to death with a humble hope of acceptance, through 
 undeserved Goodness, and the Atonement once made 
 for all; and yet the stain is there — indelible to my 
 own eyes — though it may be unseen by man, aud in 
 mercy forgotten by God. 
 
 " Repentance does not place us, in this world, in 
 the position in which we should have been if we had 
 never sinned. The mark once set upon us, it is in- 
 effaceable. The wound once given, and it must and 
 will at times re-open. Oh ! if I could make Clement 
 feel it! — now, whilst he is comparatively innocent, 
 whilst his offences are the opening faults of a boy, 
 not the full-grown wickedness of a man. And yet 
 many would scoff at me for saying this ; they would 
 tell me that my mind is morbid ; that whatever my 
 youth may have been, I have redeemed it by the 
 years which followed. Alas ! my early life lingered 
 far longer under the dominion of evil than those who 
 have only watched its outward course would imagine. 
 When I left England to work in a foreign land, I was 
 not penitent, but exasperated. Irritation and re- 
 pining darkened not only my own existence, but that 
 of her who had sacrificed all for me. The thought 
 is as a dagger to me. Not till she was taken from 
 me, and the past, as regarded her, had become irre- 
 mediable, did I fully see what my course had been. 
 And then — I have heard it said that the knowledge 
 
 Y 2
 
 324 CLEYE HALL. 
 
 of evil is necessary, that it is experience, and con- 
 sequently power — Oh! Lester, how little can such 
 persons imagine the agony of those moments when 
 first the heart is awakened to the knowledge of its 
 guilt ; the sickening glance cast upon the past, the 
 despairing darkness of the future, and the longing, 
 the intense longing, to hide oneself deep from all 
 eyes, even, were it possible, from the Eye of God. 
 Those feelings are not strength, but weakness ; they 
 make the eye dim, and the hand weak. Even when 
 the offer of mercy comes to soothe us, their remem- 
 brance still haunts us ; and when we should be press- 
 ing forward to the brightness of Heaven, they bid us 
 turn back to gaze again upon the blackness of our 
 own hearts, and once more seek to wipe out our 
 offences with our tears. 
 
 " I need not say this to you. You know it all ; not 
 by your own experience. God be thanked, your 
 career has been very different from mine ; but by 
 the griefs of others. Yet it is a relief to me. There 
 is comfort in working out in my own mind why, though 
 I have attained to peace, I have never yet reached 
 forward to joy. It may come — you will perhaps tell 
 me that it must come — with the increasing sense of 
 God's infinite love ; but I doubt it. The more 
 deeply we love, the more keen must be the grief for 
 having offended. Joy is for those who have from 
 the beginning held on their course unwaveringly. 
 Peace and hope are, I believe, the highest boon 
 granted in this world to those who have sinned 
 grievously and repented truly. But no more of this — 
 it is but another form of self-indulgence. I must
 
 CLEVE HALL. 325 
 
 learn to live to myself and by myself, not disturbing 
 the happiness of those who have never wandered by 
 the cloud which it seems, now, must for ever rest upon 
 my own spirit. For my children's sake I would 
 especially strive to do so ; — the open brow, and the 
 glad smile, must be for them and for the world ; the 
 sackcloth, and ashes, and the tears of humiliation 
 for the Eye of God. Yet to you I would say that 
 even when I am most apparently repining at the 
 punishment which I have brought upon myself, — I 
 could accept my grief, aye, were it a hundred times 
 greater, and from the bottom of my heart thank God 
 for it, if by it I were enabled successfully to warn 
 Clement againt the fatal yielding to small temptations, 
 which ruined my own character as a boy, and then 
 sent me, stamped with the disheartening brand of 
 weakness, to encounter the temptation of a man. 
 Victory at fourteen would have been victory at four 
 and twenty. Victory at four and twenty would, 
 through God's Mercy, have been safety for life and 
 for eternity. Tell it him, Lester, as you love me, as 
 you would save yourself, in the Great Day of account, 
 from the reproach of having failed to warn when 
 the opportunity was placed within your reach. 
 
 " And now, farewell ! I began my letter with 
 impatient complaints, I end it with the confessions of 
 repentance. A true epitome of my whole life ; yet 
 so far what I said at first was not mere impatience, 
 that I do not see we are progressing, and time is 
 passing on, and if I cannot remain in England, I 
 must prepare for establishing a home elsewhere. 
 Eertha's complaints of Ella make me uneasy, and 
 
 Y 3
 
 326 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Clement too cannot be left to his present course of 
 life. Something must be done for both. I feel re- 
 pugnant to allowing Clement to accept as a favour 
 from my father, what even now I cannot help feeling 
 ought to be his as a right. Even if I am cut off 
 for my offences, there would seem to be but little 
 justice in punishing my child. 
 
 " I sometimes think that a situation in a merchant's 
 office — and I have interest enough to procure him 
 that — might be more honourable for him, and, in a 
 worldly point of view, more advantageous than the 
 University. At any rate I must have him under my 
 own eye. The little I saw and heard at Encombe 
 made me feel that direct authority is imperatively 
 necessary for him. 
 
 " Some things about him I can so well understand ; 
 they are so sadly like what I was at his age ! Write 
 to me soon, and give me some definite views, or I 
 shall relapse into despair. 
 
 " Always most affectionately 
 
 " and gratefully yours, 
 
 " G. B. Y. 
 
 " Don't think I am expecting to hear of success as 
 regards John Vivian and his plots. I scarcely think 
 about them. They are so vague, and so far in the 
 past. I feel that whatever they were they have 
 done me all the harm they could, and that the dis- 
 covery of them could not profit me." 
 
 Mr. Lester's answer was received in the course of 
 the same week.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 327 
 
 " Mj dear Vivian, 
 
 " You write me volumes. I hope you don't expect 
 volumes in answer. Yet I shall have a good deal to 
 say before I have done. First to business. You can 
 do nothing better than preach patience to yourself, 
 and by the time the lesson is learnt we may look 
 forward to a little hope. I think I see some already. 
 Ella is at the Hall, — the first opening that is for 
 awakening interest ; and whatever may be the end 
 of our researches into John Vivian's doings, we shall 
 have good cause for bright anticipations if we can 
 once induce the General to look favourably upon the 
 children. Mrs. Campbell's step in bringing them to 
 Encombe was dangerous, but she has plenty of 
 worldly wisdom* I don't think Clement as yet likely 
 to win his way to his grandfather's heart. With a 
 great deal of good about him, he is too careless and 
 self-sufficient, but I have some hope of Ella under 
 Mildred's influence. So still patience, my dear Vi- 
 vian, — patience with me if you can, and patience 
 with your sister-in-law, even if you cannot. I as- 
 sure you she deserves it much more than you would 
 think. A peep into the home at the Lodge would 
 convince you of this ; and you must remember that 
 she has been trained up in a school which gives her 
 a quick eye for defects, and a slow one for virtues. 
 
 " There are two theories of education, one which 
 checks faults, the other which encourages virtues. 1 
 lean to the latter ; but then I am a man, and don't 
 pretend to know much about the education of any of 
 woman-kind, except my little Rachel. 
 
 " All my hopes rest upon Mildred. When I speak 
 
 Y 4
 
 328 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 of her I am raising up the old question, why may 
 you not tell her where you are ? The answer is soon 
 given — she knows it. Don't quarrel with me for 
 acting upon my own responsibility. Your last letter 
 made me unhappy. I felt that she could comfort 
 you much better than I could, and, moreover, I was 
 certain that you would not bear the concealment 
 much longer. Miss Campbell and I took counsel 
 together, and yesterday evening I told her. 
 
 " Perhaps I ought to say, too, that I found myself 
 getting into a difficulty. Mildred had been com- 
 plaining of your only writing short notes through me. 
 As a proof that I am not given to plots and deceptions, 
 it never struck me till the other day that we could 
 not go on very long keeping up this kind of mock 
 correspondence. 
 
 " Of course she was considerably startled, and for a 
 few moments I was rather frightened at the effect 
 the news had upon her, but she soon recovered 
 herself. I think too that, at first, she was much 
 annoyed at not having been told before. But she is 
 always most good and reasonable, and I made her 
 see how impossible it was for you to meet, and, 
 therefore, that it was much better she should know 
 nothing about it. She feels with me that we must 
 not hurry matters ; but she will write and give you 
 her own ideas. The fact of your being in England 
 is an immense relief to her in one way, — it makes 
 it possible to see you ; but, as is natural enough, she 
 is full of anxieties. The necessity of keeping up 
 before the General will be very trying to her ; but 
 Ella may be a great help by diverting her attention.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 329 
 
 " I am inclined to be vexed that we did not tell her 
 before, now I see how well she bears it ; but I was 
 afraid of the surprise for her, and certainly we have 
 spared her a good deal in that way. 
 
 " This, I trust, will be one great load off your mind. 
 For the rest I would say — remember that you came 
 unsummoned, and have, therefore, no right to com- 
 plain that we are not ready for you. By your own 
 acknowledgment you have still, humanly speaking, 
 some months before you. Give us time, and if at 
 last we can do nothing for you, you can but come 
 forward yourself, and, whatever may be the result, at 
 least you will not have to say that you have again 
 marred your own fortunes by impatience. 
 
 " John Vivian is going on much as usual. He looks 
 askance at me, knowing I am your friend and have 
 an interest in Ronald ; so we seldom exchange more 
 than a few words. It makes me often unhappy ; but 
 I feel that a day must, in all probability, come when 
 he will be forced to hear me. Ronald is at home 
 still. Miss Campbell and I had planned getting him 
 into the merchant service, but it made the father so 
 outrageous that we did not dare press the point. All 
 I can do now is to urge him to educate himself as 
 well as he can, in preparation for whatever may 
 open. He has taken my suggestion, and works at 
 Latin and mathematics as heartily, though perhaps 
 not as willingly, as he shoots, fishes, climbs the hills, 
 or manages a boat in a storm. A most noble fellow 
 he is ! but there is a cloud over him, and sometimes 
 I am afraid of its effect. I can't help feeling sorry 
 that Bertha ever told him his father's history : he
 
 330 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 feels now, I can see, that he is the born enemy of all 
 your family, and shrinks from receiving kindness. 
 That is part of his mother's sensitive nature, which 
 he inherits strongly. He is scarcely at all with 
 Clement now. When he once knew that we dis- 
 approved of the intimacy, he was the first to break it 
 off. I suspect he has suffered a good deal in con- 
 sequence : Miss Campbell, who manages to know 
 more of him than any one else, tells me that he often 
 hints at a state of affairs with his father which 
 must be terrific. John Vivian is a madman when 
 aroused. 
 
 " As regards Clement (I believe I am a moral 
 coward, for I have kept the most difficult subject to 
 the last), I confess I am not thoroughly comfortable. 
 Encombe is not the right place for him, but where 
 else to send him is a problem I can't quite solve. I 
 don't at all like the notion of a merchant's ofiice ; his 
 fastidious pride would revolt from it, and I suspect 
 it would render him very bitter. The University 
 would do well, if we could make him work, and turn 
 him into a barrister ; but I don't see, at present, any 
 inclination for exertion of that kind. He makes me 
 at times very anxious. I hoped, when withdrawn 
 from the temptation of Ronald's companionship, that 
 he would make himself happy at home ; but this is 
 not the case. In some way or other, there has sprung 
 up a kind of rivalry with Eonald, whose energy and 
 independence, and even recklessness, are just now 
 the objects of Clement's envy and imitation. He 
 hears them exaggerated and admired by the villagers 
 and fishermen, and so he must needs endeavour to
 
 CLEVE HALL. 331 
 
 copy them ; not seeing that his advantages are of a 
 totally different character. I keep as strict a watch 
 over him as possible, but I can't neglect my parish, 
 and I must leave him some degree of freedom, or I 
 should drive him into deceit. In a certain wmj he 
 gives me his confidence, but it is principally confined 
 to generalities, and I see vanity creeping out even 
 in his fits of good intention. Then his disobediences, 
 which are the chief topics of complaint on my side, 
 are but small ; and to be always harping upon what 
 seems to him trifling faults frets his temper, and 
 sometimes, I fancy, make him worse, instead of better. 
 I should care less, but that I feel there may be some 
 hidden mischief at work. John Vivian and Goff are 
 continually putting themselves in his way, and 
 tempting him to be with them. I have, of course, 
 strictly forbidden the intercourse ; but the law I 
 have laid down is perpetually broken upon slight 
 pretences, and, in some instances, the fault can 
 scarcely be said to lie with Clement. They haunt 
 and persecute him till it would require a firmness 
 much beyond what we can expect in him to resist ; 
 and then, as I said before, comes the spirit of rivalry 
 and envy of Ronald, to aid the temptation, — and so 
 he falls. 
 
 " This must not continue, or it will be his ruin, 
 and the destruction of all our hopes. The General 
 already believes that Clement has a taste for low 
 company, because he has seen him talking to Captain 
 Vivian and Goff, and heard him use slang expressions. 
 Nothing can be more fiilse than such an impression. 
 Place Clement in his right position at Cleve, and
 
 332 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 give him companions of his own age who would raise 
 his tone, instead of lowering it, and his natural cul- 
 tivation of mind and honourable feeling would, at 
 least, prevent him from sinking, till he had attained 
 that higher principle Tvhich alone will give him 
 stability. 
 
 " Certainly, the analogy of life teaches one more 
 and more the infinite wisdom of God's Providence in 
 giving us our position as Christians, and bidding us 
 keep it, instead of leaving us in our natural state of 
 degradation, and then telling us to work, even with 
 His aid, to raise ourselves. Clement's mind is just 
 one of those which can retain, but cannot reach for- 
 ward ; and the uncertainty of his position is his 
 stumbling-block. An additional reason, my dear 
 Vivian, for hastening the moment of decision. Trust 
 me, it shall not be delayed a moment longer than is 
 absolutely necessary. I have dark suspicions some- 
 times of John Vivian's falsity ; but the more dark 
 the less to be brought forward without substantial 
 proof. 
 
 " I have talked to your friend the sexton lately, 
 and led him to repeat to me again all which passed 
 on that eventful day of your cousin's visit to the 
 Hall. He dwelt more than ever upon the strange- 
 ness of Gofi*'s manner, and his certainty that some 
 villany was pending. Could it have been forgery ? 
 I believe either, or both of them, capable of any 
 amount of iniquity. John Vivian left England im- 
 mediately afterwards. He has only returned to 
 Encombe within the last five years, and that not 
 till Goff had pioneered the way for him. I could
 
 CLEVE HALL. 333 
 
 never understand what became of tliem both in the 
 interim. 
 
 "I have pondered much, lately, upon the conse- 
 quences of opening the inquiry with the General. 
 A year ago I should have hesitated less, but he has 
 broken very much latterly, and I tremble to think 
 what excitement would do. Then there must be a 
 trial, — public exposure, — all the old griefs brought 
 up. No one can say how I dread it. 
 
 " If you can think of any thing which will remove 
 Clement from En combe, please let me know. A 
 private tutor at a distance might be the right thing, 
 but then — the money! You must not let your pride 
 stand in the way of your boy's good. I should not 
 myself at all mind sounding the General on the sub- 
 ject. 
 
 " Good b'ye, my dear Vivian ! from my heart I feel 
 for you. You must require this assurance when I 
 write so calmly upon questions in which all the happi- 
 ness of your life is at stake ; still more when I take 
 so little notice of the burden of your letter. But I 
 have said before all that can be said, at least by me, 
 on that point. Repentance, as you say, cannot place 
 a man in this world in the position in which he would 
 have been, if he had never erred ; but it may deepen 
 his love, and quicken his gratitude ; and I don't think 
 that feeling can ever be sound which would make us 
 so mourn over the past, as to render us insensible to 
 the blessings of the present and the hopes of the 
 future. 
 
 " This, I think, is the tendency of your mind. May 
 there not also be something of repining in the spirit
 
 334 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 which, instead of being thankful for peace, is inclined 
 to despair because it cannot attain to joy? I am 
 lecturing myself at the same time that I seem to be 
 warning you. He is indeed happy, who has not 
 some sin upon his conscience, which, though it may 
 not have brought disgrace upon him in the sight of 
 men, has lowered him in his own eyes, and still 
 haunts his memory, — as the one black spot which, in 
 moments of weak faith, it would seem could never be 
 effaced. 
 
 " God give us strength to bear the sight of our own 
 hearts, and still to trust in His mercy. 
 
 " You shall hear from me again soon. 
 
 " Always most affectionately yours, 
 
 "Robert Lester."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 335 
 
 CHAP. XXV. 
 
 Mr. Lester was at tlie Hall the day after the pre- 
 ceding letter had been sent. The day was bright, 
 for snow had fallen in the night, and Clement, taking 
 advantage of an exhilarating frost, had called to 
 take Ella for a long walk. Mr. Lester, therefore, 
 found Mildred alone, busy as usual, and very cheer- 
 ful ; yet with the worn lines of thought particularly 
 marked. She received him nervously, as if expecting 
 he must bring fresh tidings to startle her, but she 
 tried to be calm, and her first remark was a slio-ht 
 reproach that he had not seen her father the pre- 
 vious day. " He heard you were here the evening 
 before," she said, " and he declares that you will 
 never come to him, but that all your visits are to me." 
 
 *' I hoped General Vivian was getting better," was 
 Mr. Lester's reply ; " they told me he was down stairs 
 again, and had been out in the garden." 
 
 " He is better ; yes, I think so," said Mildred, with 
 an air of consideration, " but he is more feeble than 
 he was, and his spirits are not good." 
 
 " Is it illness, only, do you think ?" 
 
 " I don't know ; it is very difficult to tell any thing 
 about him. Oh, Mr. Lester, why are some natures 
 so unapproachable ? " 
 
 " To teach others patience and submission, we
 
 336 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 may suppose. But, Mildred, this state of things can't 
 go on much longer." 
 
 " No," exclaimed Mildred, " for every one's sake. 
 I have written as you said I might. I have told Ed- 
 ward he must be patient, but my heart grows sick 
 with fear. The intense, at times agonising, longing 
 to see him, seems even worse, now he is so near. 
 And my father, too, makes me unhappy. He will 
 never confess it, but his spirit is broken. I am sure 
 he feels very desolate. 
 
 " His own act, an act which one word might re- 
 voke." 
 
 " Yes, if he could think it right to revoke it ; but 
 the weaker his physical powers, the stronger be- 
 comes his will. Yet I try not to despair." 
 
 " Despair is for those who have said in their hearts 
 * there is no God,' " replied Mr. Lester. 
 
 " Thank you ; I remind myself of that very 
 often ; and I feel that things are better now, and 
 have more hope for the future, than at one time I 
 could have expected. I am thankful to have Ella 
 here." 
 
 "Does the General take much notice of her?" 
 
 " A good deal, in a curious way ; never by praise, 
 but as though he were always weighing what she said 
 or did." 
 
 " That must be anxious work with such a person 
 as Ella." 
 
 " Yes, and she is so incautious, so entirely wanting 
 in self-restraint. There must have been something 
 sadly wanting in her education." 
 
 " Not something, but many things. Chiefly though
 
 CLEVE HALL. 337 
 
 the spirit of love. But I trust to you to do wonders 
 for her." 
 
 " Please not to do that," said Mildred, eagerly. " I 
 have seen so little of girls of her age, I don't feel as 
 if I at all knew what to do with her." 
 
 " You have educated yourself, which is the chief 
 and best guide in our education of others." 
 
 " God has educated me," said Mildred, reverently. 
 " Many times when I have been inclined to murmur 
 at the trials of my life, I have subdued and comforted 
 myself by the thought. But what I feel about Ella 
 is that she has not an eye to see the meaning of her 
 troubles. Self-indulgence blinds her. Oh! Mr. 
 Lester, there are times when she is so sadly like 
 my poor brother." 
 
 " You must not call him poor now. He at least has 
 learnt the meaning of his trials." 
 
 " They have come to him in the form of punish- 
 ment," said Mildred. " I would strive to save Ella 
 from that. Punishment and discipline are very dif- 
 ferent." 
 
 " I trust that Vivian's future life may be only dis- 
 cipline," replied Mr. Lester. "I shall have great 
 hope if we can once open the way with the General. 
 Does he never allude to the past ? " 
 
 " Never, except in that stern fashion of self-con- 
 gratulation, which is so terrible to me." 
 
 " He wraps his heart in his principle of justice, as 
 a man does his body in a water-proof cloak," said Mr. 
 Lester, " and it shuts out all other claims, and makes 
 him feel so warm and comfortable, that he does not 
 know they exist." 
 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 338 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " Yet it is dreadfully oppressive to him," said Mil- 
 dred. " He feels he has had such a disappointed 
 life." 
 
 "Perhaps, because he has been trying to fit the 
 world to himself, instead of fitting himself to the 
 world. But a man with only one moral principle 
 of action must be disappointed. It absorbs all others 
 into itself, and becomes darkness. Whereas the love 
 of God. the only perfect motive, is formed of the many 
 rainbow hues of heavenly perfection, melting into 
 one, and producing light." 
 
 Mildred smiled, rather sadly. " We must not hope 
 to make him understand that," she said. 
 
 " No. I have learnt at last, to think that, after a 
 certain period of life, true, and I hope not wrong, 
 worldly wisdom, consists less in trying perpetually to 
 alter the persons we have to deal with, than in taking 
 their characters as they are, and framing our own 
 actions accordingly. When the outline of the cha- 
 racter has once become rigid, nothing but the special 
 interposition of God's grace can soften it. But we 
 will hope for that, Mildred, and pray for it." 
 
 " That is my father's footstep," said IMildred, lis- 
 tening. She turned very pale. 
 
 " He walks firmly," observed Mr. Lester. 
 
 The door opened, and General Vivian entered the 
 apartment. 
 
 It was strange the power which his presence exer- 
 cised. Mildred's cheek was still colourless, but in 
 one instant she was composed and seemingly indiffer- 
 ent in manner; and Mr. Lester, too, turned to address 
 the stern old man in the quiet tone of affectionate
 
 CLEVE HALL. 339 
 
 respect, whicli seemed to have no thought except for 
 the usual civilities of life. 
 
 "You are a stranger, Mr. Lester," and General 
 Vivian held out his hand with an air of stately cor- 
 diality. 
 
 " Not willingly, Sir. I have had more to do than 
 usual in the parish. There is a good deal of sickness 
 about. I heard better reports of you though, and 
 I hope they are true ; you are looking tolerably 
 well." 
 
 " As well as an old man of seventy -five can expect 
 to look. Mildred, Hardman says that the poachers 
 were about in the woods again last night." 
 
 General Vivian sat down, and clenched his stick 
 with both hands in thoughtful deliberation. " I 
 wish, Mr. Lester, you could preach a better spirit into 
 your people." 
 
 " I wish I could, Sir, most heartily. But Hardman 
 doesn't suspect any in particular, does he ? " 
 
 " He tells me the leaders are from Cleve. It seems 
 that Encombe and Cleve divide the honours of villany 
 between them. Encombe patronises smuggling, and 
 Cleve poaching." 
 
 " An evil choice," observed Mr. Lester. 
 
 " Evil, indeed ; but at any rate we can claim pre- 
 eminence in example. The Cleve poachers are not 
 likely to have so distinguished a leader as the En- 
 combe smugglers. We may expect the name of Cap- 
 tain Vivian to head the list of indictments at the next 
 sessions." 
 
 " He has not been taken ? There is nothing found 
 against him, is there ? " inquired Mr. Lester, hastily, 
 z 2
 
 340 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 and Mildred also raised her pale face to her father's, 
 with a look of quick interest. 
 
 " If he has not been taken, the more shame to the 
 coast-guard," exclaimed the General. " It is the talk 
 of the neighbourhood that the trader lying off the 
 shore belongs to John Vivian, and is a smuggler, 
 and yet they are for ever laying hands upon some 
 poor wretch, whose only fault is that he is too 
 weak to stand out against those whom he knows he 
 ought to respect. But it will come at last. The 
 name will figure bravely in the annals of the county 
 gaol. Aye, and I would be the first to put it there." 
 
 " Are they on the look-out for him, then ? " inquired 
 Mildred. 
 
 " Why child ! " he turned to her suddenly, with 
 a scrutinising gaze : " You are ill this morning, 
 Mildred." 
 
 " Only a little tired, dear Sir. Did you say they 
 were on the look-out for Captain Vivian ? " 
 
 " Pshaw ! wretch ! leave him. Mildred, my dar- 
 ling, you musn't look so." He went up to her couch 
 and stood beside it, and his manner became as tender 
 as before it had been severe. 
 
 " My dearest father," and she took his hand affec- 
 tionately, " there is nothing really the matter." 
 
 " You talk too much : " he looked at Mr. Lester 
 distrustfully. 
 
 "Mr. Lester has only been here a few minutes," 
 said Mildred, smiling. 
 
 " One minute is quite enough for mischief," Mil- 
 dred. I give Mr. Lester credit though for not doing 
 intentional harm."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 341 
 
 " Not any harm at all, I hope," said Mildred ; " his 
 visits ahvays do me good." 
 
 " Yet I must take him from you, my child. Mr. 
 Lester, have you a few minutes to spare for my study ? " 
 
 " As many. Sir, as you may desire ;" and the Gene- 
 ral's impatient glance caused Mr. Lester to rise at the 
 same instant. 
 
 They passed through the hall, and went up stairs. 
 General Vivian's private room was on the same floor 
 as his bed-room. Mr. Lester remarked that the steps 
 were a difficulty to him, otherwise he might have 
 been a man of fifty-five rather than seventy-five. 
 Some ordinary parish business, no doubt, was to be 
 discussed, yet the General's manner when he closed 
 the door, and sat down in his great arm-chair, mo- 
 tioning to Mr. Lester to place himself opposite, be- 
 tokened something more than ordinary. For a few 
 seconds he said nothing, but, opening the drawer of 
 his library table, searched in it for some paper which 
 it seemed he wanted. It was soon found. General 
 Vivian's papers were in such order that he used often 
 to boast that he could place his hand upon any one 
 in the dark. His old military precision, indeed, was 
 to be seen in all his arrangements, and joined with it 
 there might possibly have been discovered traces of 
 the carefulness which some had even ventured to term, 
 though most unjustly, penuriousness. The furniture 
 of this, his private room, was homely. A dark, 
 common carpet, in parts completely fjided, covered 
 the floor ; a large square, library table, old-fashioned, 
 with innumerable drawers and long projecting legs, 
 filled the centre of the apartment; around it were 
 z 3
 
 342 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 shelves, not filled merely with books, but with small 
 boxes, packets of parchments, and papers ; whilst a 
 few good prints hung on the wall, and near the man- 
 tle-piece, close to the chair which the General usually 
 occupied, was a small, graceful miniature of a very 
 lovely woman. 
 
 Mr. Lester took up a book to while away the spare 
 minutes. The General glanced at him keenly. " In 
 a hurry I am afraid, Mr. Lester ? Pardon me, I won't 
 keep you long." 
 
 " No hurry. Sir, for myself; only for others." 
 
 " Still I may ask for a few minutes. An old man's 
 claims will not be many or long." 
 
 " Yours will be first always with me. Sir, if pos- 
 sible. Pray don't hurry yourself." 
 
 " I could not if I would, Mr. Lester ; the time for 
 haste is past." He placed a packet of papers before 
 him, and slowly drew the arm-chair nearer to the 
 table. Mr. Lester saw that the exertion was too much 
 for him, and yet he could not help him. The offer 
 would have been considered an insult. 
 
 " I have been looking over my papers, Mr. Lester ; 
 a work for all to do at stated times, especially a man 
 of my age." 
 
 " Certainly, Sir. I wish your example were more 
 generally followed. It would save a great deal of 
 trouble." 
 
 " And worse than trouble ; evil of all kinds. If my 
 father and my grandfather — but never mind that, — 
 you are in a hurry — only I will take the opportunity 
 of saying one thing. You are likely to be on the 
 spot when I die, and Mildred will look to you. Poor
 
 CLEVE HALL. 343 
 
 child ! she has no one else." A pause, and a clearing 
 of the throat, but the voice which continued was 
 unchanged. "I should be sorry to have any con- 
 fusion. I have tried to prevent it. All that will be 
 necessary for — whoever comes after me, will find all 
 papers relating to the estate in the escritoire," and he 
 pointed to an ebony cabinet which stood by the side 
 of the fire-place ; " all personal papers in the desk 
 above it; all parish and public papers in the large 
 drawers of this table. I did not mean to take up 
 your time with these details, only lest I should forget, 
 I mention them. Now to business. Time goes on, 
 Mr. Lester ; what do you intend to do with Clement ? " 
 
 Mr. Lester might have been startled by the abrupt- 
 ness of the question, but he did not show it. " Mrs. 
 Campbell wishes him to go to College, Sir." 
 
 " And she has the means of providing for him there. 
 That settles the point. I trust the boy will do well." 
 
 "I trust so too," replied Mr. Lester, "but Mrs. 
 Campbell has not the means of fully providing for 
 him ; and that is our difficulty." 
 
 " Then what do you intend to do with him ? I 
 understood from what you said that it was settled." 
 
 " Settled, if wishes could se^itle any thing," replied 
 Mr. Lester. " But we thought that you would not 
 be angry. Sir, if we were to ask you for assistance ; 
 and I meant, when the fitting time arrived, to make 
 application to you." 
 
 The General bit his lip. " Mrs. Campbell has 
 
 taken every step hitherto without consulting me, and 
 
 I don't see why she should look for help now. But 
 
 I am not going to dispute the matter, Mr. Lester; 
 
 z 4
 
 344 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 the boy shall go to college. It shall never be said 
 that I neglected mj grandson. He shall have an 
 allowance from me. His debts I leave to others." 
 
 " We may hope, Sir, that they may not be in- 
 curred." 
 
 No reply for some seconds. The General looked 
 carefully over the paper of memoranda which he held 
 in his hand. Then he continued : — " He will have 
 a hundred and fifty pounds a-year paid to him by me, 
 from the time he enters College, till he is one-and- 
 twenty. If I die before, he will receive it — out of 
 the estate." His keen eye glanced at Mr. Lester ; 
 apparently what he read there was not perfectly satis- 
 factory. " I wish to put him in the way of providing 
 for himself, Mr. Lester ; I wish to give him a chance. 
 Am I not right ? " 
 
 " He deserves more than a chance, Sir," was the 
 bold reply. 
 
 The General's eyes flashed. " His deserts must bo 
 left to my judgment. It is my intention, besides, to 
 leave in your hands, as trustee, the sum of five thou- 
 sand pounds, to be applied by you as shall seem 
 most likely to further his prospects." 
 
 Mr. Lester sat immovable ; it might almost have 
 seemed that he had not heard. 
 
 " I look to you as Clement's guardian," continued 
 the General. " I believe that you have done, and 
 will do, all that can be done to serve him. His ruin 
 will never be attributed by me to you." 
 
 " I suppose I ought to thank you, General Vivian," 
 replied Mr. Lester, somewhat proudly. " You have 
 shown a confidence in me which I hope I sufficiently
 
 CLEVE HALL. 345 
 
 value. I should be glad to be able to carry out your 
 wishes ; but I can scarcely think they will long con- 
 tinue to be yours." 
 
 "And why not?" 
 
 " Because I trust, — forgive me for the liberty I am 
 taking, — that consideration may show you sufficient 
 cause to alter them," replied Mr. Lester. 
 
 The General bent forward in his chair and frowned. 
 " Mr. Lester, I asked assistance in furthering my 
 views ; not advice as to how they should be formed." 
 
 " I am aware of it, Sir. I have no right to intrude 
 advice ; but when I am called upon to be a party in any 
 act, I am bound to consider whether it be equitable." 
 
 " Equitable ! Mr. Lester " — and the General's foot 
 moved up and down rapidly — " You are a clergy- 
 man, and the friend of years. You had not dared else 
 to insinuate such a reproof." 
 
 " I would not insinuate. Sir. I hate insinuations. 
 I would say openly, — your grandson deserves more 
 at your hands." The words were free, yet Mr. 
 Lester's manner betokened deep respect ; and the 
 self-controlled spirit of General Vivian received the 
 check which was intended. 
 
 " We won't discuss that point. I ask again, are 
 you willing to accept the office of trustee for Clement, 
 and for his sisters? I propose to leave them that 
 which will secure for each a hundred a-year." 
 
 Mr. Lester was silent. 
 
 " Then I will turn to some other friend. Good 
 morning, Mr. Lester ; I regret that I have intruded 
 upon your time ;" and the General rose, though with 
 difficulty, and stood with his tall figure drawn up
 
 346 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 haughtily, though, at the same moment, he supported 
 himself by resting one hand upon the table. 
 
 Mr. Lester rose also, but not proudly. His eyes 
 were bent upon the ground in deep thought. When 
 he spoke, his words came with some degree of hesi- 
 tation : — " General Vivian," he said, " you have 
 always been a most kind friend to me, — more than a 
 friend. In hours of sorrow I have looked to you as 
 to an elder brother, and I could, yes, from my heart, 
 I could, obey you reverently; but I have another 
 office, which compels me to speak freely ; in consi- 
 deration of it I am sure you will hear me. May 1 
 entreat you not to decide on this matter hastily ? It 
 involves many interests, and great principles of right 
 and justice." 
 
 " It does ; right and justice to my people ; my 
 tenants, and the poor." 
 
 " Can an unjust act at the beginning, work justice 
 in the end ? " inquired Mr. Lester. 
 
 The General's eye sparkled with indignation. 
 "Who ventures to say that it is unjust?" he ex- 
 claimed ; his tone deepening with the effort at self- 
 restraint. " My property is my own ; I may do with 
 it as I will." 
 
 " We are stewards," replied Mr. Lester ; " not 
 owners." 
 
 " Let it be so ; as steward, I do that which is for 
 the good of those intrusted to me." 
 
 " When we devise means and instruments of our 
 own, and put aside those which God has marked out 
 for us, we cannot be sure that we are workinsr for 
 good," was the reply;
 
 CLEVE HALL. 347 
 
 " I don't understand your philosophy, Mr. Lester ; 
 neither do I wish to hear more of it. Justice, not 
 philosophy, is my object." 
 
 " Justice without mercy will cease to be justice," 
 replied Mr. Lester ; " for it is not the justice of God." 
 
 " Again I say. Sir, I don't understand you. I seek 
 the good of my people. I will not undo the work of 
 a life at its last moment." 
 
 " I should be the last person to wish you to do so," 
 replied Mr. Lester ; " but I fear we err when we take 
 the ordering of the future into our own hands. You 
 are afraid to trust your grandson, — you think it right 
 to choose another heir. Who is to guarantee that 
 he shall be irreproachable? Or, if he should be, 
 who can answer for his children ? " 
 
 The General took out his watch. " Excuse me, 
 Mr. Lester, I have gone over the ground often ; my 
 resolution is unalterable. Time presses. I have an 
 engagement at three o'clock. If you decline accept- 
 ing the office I propose, I will make other arrange- 
 ments." 
 
 Again Mr. Lester deliberated. " I hope," lie said, 
 at length, " to send a written answer, if not to-mor- 
 row, yet in the course of a few days. I trust that 
 may satisfy you." 
 
 The General bent his head coldly. Mr. Lester 
 continued : " And I will ask now to be allowed a few 
 more words upon another point. Clement would be 
 safer removed from Encombe." 
 
 " Unquestionably : " there was an accent of scorn in 
 the word. 
 
 " If he is to go to the University he should first 
 have a private tutor."
 
 348 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " I should suppose so." 
 
 " Then may we look to you for assistance in that 
 case, as well as for supporting him at College ? " 
 
 The General's countenance changed. He slowly 
 walked up to the ebony cabinet, removed the desk 
 which stood upon it, and placed it upon the table. 
 "Mr. Lester, pray sit down for a few moments 
 longer ; I won't detain you more." He unlocked the 
 desk. "My private accounts," he murmured in a 
 tone of apology. 
 
 " I am sorry to give you so much trouble. Sir. I 
 did not in the least mean to press the question as to 
 details — merely to know generally whether we might 
 look to you for help." 
 
 " A certain sum has been set aside. I don't know 
 how much of it remains." The General took out 
 several packets of paper and laid them on the table. 
 
 " I am giving you a great deal of trouble. Sir, and 
 there is really no hurry." 
 
 " No time like the present." The desk was drawn 
 nearer the edge of the table, and the General sat 
 down. 
 
 Some one knocked at the door ; he turned round 
 quickly, accidentally pushed the desk, and it fell : the 
 papers were scattered on the ground. 
 
 Mr. Lester stooped to pick them up. " Come in," 
 said the General, and a servant entered. "Farmer 
 Brown wishes to speak to you, Sir." 
 
 " Let him wait." 
 
 "I told him you were engaged, Sir, and he has 
 waited a quarter of an hour. He says he must go 
 now."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 349 
 
 General Vivian never sent business away ; it was 
 one of his most rigid principles. 
 
 " Well ! show him into the ante-room. Mr. Lester, 
 I will return immediately. I am afraid you have a 
 tiresome task." 
 
 " The papers are all disarranged, Sir. Can't I 
 help you in replacing them ?" 
 
 " No, thank you, no ; " and the General's manner 
 was almost nervous. " Pray, only lay them on the 
 table ; nothing more." He stopped as he was leav- 
 ing the room, and looked back, apparently about to 
 give some other direction ; but he altered his mind, 
 and left the room, saying that he should return 
 directly. 
 
 Mr. Lester gathered up the papers. They were for 
 the most part letters, all carefully placed together in 
 separate packets and endorsed. Mr. Lester's eye un- 
 intentionally caught the superscription of two. One 
 was Edith Vivian, with the date of her birth and 
 death. The other only bore the initials E. B. V., 
 and consisted apparently not of letters only, but of 
 loose papers and bills. It was larger than any of 
 the rest and arranged with less attention to order. It 
 seemed as if it had been put together in some moment 
 of confusion, and fastened hastily, for the string round 
 it was loose, and when Mr. Lester put it down a few 
 of the papers slipped out. He had only just gathered 
 them together, and taken up the string to secure it 
 more firmly, when the General returned. Mr. Lester 
 laid the letters down again. The General cast a 
 hasty glance upon the table. "Never mind, Mr. 
 Lester, that will do, thank you," and he laid his hand
 
 350 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 nervously upon the packet. " Old letters, as you see. 
 It mayn't be worth while to keep them, but one 
 never knows of what use such things may be." There 
 was an att^npt at unconcern in his tone and manner, 
 but it did not deceive Mr. Lester ; and his hand trem- 
 bled so much that he was unable to collect the papers, 
 and instead of placing them in order, scattered them 
 again. He tried to stoop. Mr. Lester picked them 
 up for him, and as he restored them the General 
 seized and looked at them carefully. 
 
 "That will do, Mr. Lester, thank you. There 
 are no more ; only your handkerchief which you 
 have just dropped." 
 
 Mr. Lester took up his handkerchief, and with 
 it, unknown to himself, a paper which was lying 
 under it. Both were put into his pocket. 
 
 The General allowed the rest of the papers to 
 remain on the table. His manner was confused* 
 " I don't know what we were talking of," he began. 
 " Oh, yes ! I remember, my private accounts." He 
 opened a book which had been taken from the desk. 
 " I look upon Clement, Mr. Lester, as the son," — he 
 hesitated : — " the inheritance of the child of a 
 younger son is all he has any right — absurd ! there 
 is no right — it is all that, on any principle, could be 
 demanded of me. Let me see," and he unclasped the 
 book. " A private tutor you say. He will not have 
 that under two hundred a year." 
 
 " No, Sir, certainly not. Travelling, dress, pocket- 
 money, we may reckon as fifty more." 
 
 " And well if he keep within it ! " The General 
 sat down, and began to calculate with a pencil and
 
 CLEVE HALL. 351 
 
 paper, " Seventy pounds per annum, Mr. Lester, is 
 the sum I can afford." 
 
 Mr. Lester tried not to look disappointed. 
 
 " You expected more ? " 
 
 " I had hoped that half the expense of the tutor 
 might have been taken by you. Sir. The additional 
 
 thirty pounds is a large item " He did not seem 
 
 to know how to finish the sentence. 
 
 "It is a large item in the affairs of any person 
 who wishes to be exact. My income is appropriated ; 
 I can't alter it." 
 
 The tone admitted of no further reply. Mr. Lester 
 only said, " I must thank you, Sir, in Clement's name." 
 
 " No thanks are required. I desire to do justice — 
 justice," — the word was repeated emphatically — "by 
 every one." 
 
 Silence followed. The General occupied himself 
 in restoring the papers to their place in the desk. 
 Mr. Lester looked round for his hat, yet in a way 
 which showed that he was unwilling to go. The 
 General closed the desk and took out his watch. 
 
 " May I put the desk back for you. Sir ? " asked 
 Mr. Lester. 
 
 "Thank you, no." General Vivian carried it 
 himself, and then returned to the fire-place. 
 
 "If I have said any thing to offend you, Sir," 
 said Mr. Lester, " I trust you will forgive me ; it was 
 very far from my intention." 
 
 " There is no offence, Mr. Lester. You act upon 
 a principle of duty : I try to do the same myself." 
 
 "And I should have hoped, therefore, Sir, we 
 might have been likely to agree."
 
 352 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " I have not found that a natural consequence in 
 life. Few persons have agreed with me in my 
 notions of duty." The shadow of a smile crossed 
 Mr. Lester's face, but General Vivian, without per- 
 ceiving it, went on, rather in an exculpatory tone. 
 " I find the moral code of many men lax, Mr. Lester. 
 They, on the contrary, think mine strict. I have no 
 wish to quarrel with them; but when a principle 
 has been adopted from conviction of its truth I can 
 never think it right to sacrifice it to expediency." 
 
 " To expediency ! No, Sir, never ! " exclaimed 
 Mr. Lester. 
 
 " The reasons which I have heard brought forward 
 in opposition to my own views have always been 
 those of expediency," continued the General. 
 
 " Expediency is a word bearing many interpre- 
 tations," observed Mr. Lester. 
 
 " Only one in my ideas. It is the sacrifice of duty 
 to individual feelings or individual interests." 
 
 " It would be my own definition," continued j\Ir. 
 Lester ; " but duty must always be compounded of 
 two virtues balancing each other. It can scarcely 
 be considered expediency to endeavour to keep the 
 balance equal." 
 
 " You are metaphysical, Mr. Lester. My idea of 
 duty is of a law. I don't understand the principle of 
 two laws." 
 
 "Yet both the moral and the natural world are 
 governed by opposing laws," said Mr. Lester. " Love 
 and fear, justice and mercy, cause the beings of the 
 spiritual creation to move harmoniously round the
 
 CLEVE HALL. 353 
 
 one Centre of their worship, as the two counter- 
 acting forces cause the planets to move round the 
 sun." He was almost sorry when he had said it, 
 the General looked so impatient. They parted rather 
 coldly, but when Mr. Lester was gone General Vivian 
 leaned back in his chair, and thought. 
 
 VOL. I. A A
 
 354 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAP. XXVL 
 
 Encombe Grange was a large, lonely, white house, 
 standing beyond the village, and fronting the open 
 common terminated by the cliffs. It was a very 
 dreary -looking place. Originally it might have been 
 picturesque, for the building was low and irregular, 
 with a singular high turret at one corner, which had 
 been added as a kind of observatory by one of its 
 former possessors ; but now all beauty was lost in 
 the appearance of decay. Nearly all the trees which 
 once surrounded it had been cut down. Two or three 
 indeed remained near the turret, but these shut out 
 the view over the sea which at one time had been an 
 attraction, whilst others more exposed to the south- 
 west winds were not only stunted in their growth, 
 but had that feeble, oppressed look which always 
 belongs to trees bent in one direction. There was 
 some attempt at a flower-garden and plantation near 
 the house, but all was in a neglected state ; the 
 branches of the shrubs spreading at their will, and 
 covering the narrow gravel walks, which were dark 
 and green with grass and weeds; the flower-beds 
 completely overrun, and poultry, dogs, cats, and 
 occasionally a horse or a cow, straying at their 
 pleasure over the unmown lawn. Within, the scene 
 was equally desolate. A great portion of the house
 
 CLEVE HALL. 355 
 
 was slmt up, and in the rooms which were used the 
 walls were hidden by the scraps of papers of different 
 generations ; the paint was worn from the wains- 
 coting ; and near the kitchen and the servants' 
 apartments even the floors were unsafe. One parlour 
 there was comparatively comfortable, with, a carpet, 
 and a horsehair sofa, and a great arm-chair, and 
 some convenient corner cupboards; and this was 
 Captain Vivian's dwelling room, and here he lived 
 contentedly ; for as long as he could sit by a blazing fire 
 if he was cold, and eat when he was hungry, and rest 
 when he was weary, and form his plans of adventure 
 or speculation without interruption, he cared nothing 
 for the elegancies of life, and little for what many 
 would have considered ordinary comfort. He was a 
 man sunk below any thing approaching to refinement 
 of taste ; and amongst the many secondary supports 
 which keep us from utter ruin in this world, perhaps 
 none are more powerful, or more deeply to be la- 
 mented when lost, than taste. Yet it was not because 
 he cared for money in itself, that he strove to gain it 
 by evil means, and lived without the advantages which 
 he had the means of obtaining. He had run through 
 a large fortune, and still was carelessly extravagant as 
 regarded personal self-indulgence ; but a consciousness 
 of degradation from guilt had led him to seek for- 
 getfulness in low company and low habits, till the 
 claims of his position as a gentleman by birth, and in 
 some degree by education, had been totally put aside. 
 It would be long, and perhaps tedious, to tell how 
 it was that he reached this point. There was the 
 traditional tone of his branch of the family to begin
 
 356 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 with ; and reputation has more to do with the first 
 formation of character than we may be inclined at 
 the first glance to imagine. Then there was evil 
 example, bringing opportunity for evil, and followed 
 by the loss of personal self-respect ; and when this is 
 gone, moral descent is very rapid. Yet there had 
 been occasions when the past might have been re- 
 deemed. Even the most hardened villain can pro- 
 bably look back to some period of his life when, like 
 the angel arresting the steps of the prophet, repent- 
 ance has met him in the way ; and perhaps had the 
 secrets of Captain Vivian's heart been made known, 
 it would have been found that, even with him, there 
 was one period from the recollection of which he 
 turned in hasty anguish, with the feeling that the 
 example of his wife had opened to him the gates of 
 Heaven, but that he had wilfully refused to enter in. 
 
 Possibly the influence of a different mind might 
 have had more power over him. Mrs. Vivian was 
 extremely gentle, implicitly obedient, except where 
 religious duty was concerned ; but she had been 
 made religious by the means of sorrow, — disappoint- 
 ment in him ; and this had given a mournful tone to 
 her character, and at times irritated him. It was the 
 excuse which he made to himself, when at the time 
 of her death remorse had for a few weeks been busy 
 with him. Now he made no excuses ; he showed his 
 feelings about her only by refusing to hear her name 
 mentioned. It was the one especially painful bar- 
 rier, amongst the many which existed, between him 
 and Ronald. 
 
 For Ronald lived upon his mother's memory ; not
 
 CLEVE HALL. 357 
 
 to tlie knowledge of the world, scarcely even to that 
 of Mr. Lester and Bertha Campbell ; the rare occa- 
 sions when he did give a momentary vent to his feel- 
 ings were as the sudden rush of the tempest, which 
 passes, and all is calm as before. But in a remote part 
 of the dreary old house there was a small chamber 
 which he had fitted up with the few articles belonging 
 to his mother that had escaped the Avreck caused by 
 his father's extravagance ; and there, with her pic- 
 ture before him, her few books arranged in a small 
 Indian cabinet, her work-box, and writing-case, and 
 a few special ornaments placed on the little table 
 which had stood beside her dying bed, Ronald had 
 formed for himself a sanctuary which her spirit 
 seemed still to inhabit, and from which a softening, 
 chastening influence had been permitted to reach 
 him, even in his most reckless moments. 
 
 It might have been sentimentalism with man}'- ; but 
 Ronald, in his loneliness, and the heaviness of his 
 self-reproach, had no room for sentimentality, even if 
 the feeling had not been totally foreign to his nature. 
 He never showed his little room to any one ; he 
 never even spoke of it ; he scarcely ever realised to 
 himself why he reverenced it. The feeling had 
 grown up unconsciously from the time when, on their 
 first arrival at the Grange, and when the grief for her 
 loss was still fresh, the few things which belonged to 
 her had been placed in it. Captain Vivian avoided 
 it ; the servants did not trouble themselves to enter 
 it ; and Ronald himself never thought of inhabiting 
 it. Only at times, when his heart was most oppressed, 
 he would pause before the door, and it would seem as 
 
 AA 3
 
 358 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 if he still could hear her voice within ; and occa- 
 sionally, — very rarely, for Eonald's fits of devotion 
 had, till lately, been as uncertain and varying as the 
 winds, — he would venture in gently, reverently, as if 
 intruding upon the presence of the dead, and kneel- 
 ing down, confess, in the simple words which she her- 
 self had taught him, the guilt which burdened his 
 conscience, and the fears which lay heavy upon his 
 heart. 
 
 These were his calmest and best moments. In his 
 hours of desperate remorse — and they were far more 
 frequent — he would no more have intruded himself 
 into that quiet chamber than he would have thrust 
 himself unbidden and unprepared as a partaker in the 
 holiest rites of the Church. But even then, the 
 remembrance was not without its influence. It was 
 as if there was still a resting place within his reach — 
 a haven which he might hope to attain when the 
 storm was past ; and when Ronald spoke of, or thought 
 of home, in the sense which renders it so dear to all, 
 his imagination recurred not to the empty chambers 
 of the almost deserted house, nor to the parlour 
 where his father was wearing away life in coarse 
 self-indulgence, — not even to the little room in the 
 turret, with its rude uncurtained bed and rough 
 furniture, where he had piled in heaps the hetero- 
 geneous articles which served him for use or for 
 amusement, — but to the small closet, it could 
 scarcely be called more, in which his mother's spirit 
 seemed yet lingering. 
 
 Yes, that thought had saved him in many an hour 
 of temptation. For Eonald's life had been fiir less
 
 CLEVE HALL. 359 
 
 guilty than in his despairing self-accusation he re- 
 presented it. 
 
 He had seen evil often, in its worst and most 
 debasing forms, and to a certain extent he had him- 
 self mingled with it ; but Captain Vivian, hardened 
 though he might be, would not force his son to 
 become what he himself was ; and Ronald had many 
 times escaped the actual contamination of wicked- 
 ness, which yet had been so present with him that he 
 could not realise to himself that he had been saved 
 from it. To separate himself from his father seemed 
 impossible ; and when Captain Vivian sank, Ronald 
 felt that he himself had sunk likewise. Perhaps, but 
 for the recollection of his mother he would have 
 done so. 
 
 His life had in a degree been happier during the 
 last few weeks. Before that time his refusal to tempt 
 Clement to disobedience had caused bursts of passion 
 which were often terrific ; but now he was left more 
 to himself and his own pursuits. A change had taken 
 place apparently in Captain Vivian's schemes. He 
 confided them more to Goif ; perhaps he felt that he had 
 to deal with a will as unbending as his own, and there- 
 fore did not endeavour to alter it ; perhaps — there is 
 some redeeming point even in the very worst — 
 the one humanising feeling yet left, his affection 
 for his boy, made him shrink from implicating him 
 in the guilty plans which yet he would not relinquish. 
 Be that as it may, since the abandonment of the 
 idea of the merchant service Ronald had been 
 suffered to carry out his own wishes for the employ- 
 ment of his time for the most part undisturbed. IIo 
 
 AA 4
 
 360 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 was studying now not for pleasure ; it was a great 
 effort to him, and the escape from his books into the 
 free air, with a gun or a fishing-rod in his hand, was 
 eager delight. But the energetic spirit, once turned in 
 the direction of self-discipline, could not be checked. 
 Bertha had given him the impulse for good, Mr. Lester 
 had suggested a few rules for its direction, and with 
 the same intensity of purpose with which, if com- 
 manded, he would have endeavoured to expiate his 
 faults by bodily penances, did he now attempt to follow 
 up that far more difiicult penance, the subjugation 
 of the mind. 
 
 He was happier, — yet not for that reason at rest. 
 Mr. Lester had said truly that there was a cloud over 
 him. How indeed should it be otherwise ? the farther 
 he advanced on the right path himself, the more 
 sensible he must necessarily become that his father 
 was moving on the wrong one. This alone would 
 have been enough to sadden him, but Ronald could 
 never forget that worse might be behind ; — that 
 fallen as his father was now, there might be darker 
 evil hidden in the past, and that to him the task of 
 discovering and revealing it had in a certain way 
 been entrusted. Therefore it was that he would sit 
 alone in his own chamber, or pursue his solitary 
 wanderings over the wild hills and by the lonely 
 shore, — shrinking from companionship, dreading 
 conversation, — and though forced to live with his 
 father, and at times to mingle with his associates, 
 yet keeping watch over his hidden grief, whilst 
 anxiously guarding every avenue to the temptations 
 which might lead him back into the vices of which 
 he had repented.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 361 
 
 The idea which thus oppressed him had first been 
 suggested by Bertha, but it was in no way followed up 
 by her. After that one conversation which had made 
 him acquainted with his father's history, the subject 
 had never again been mentioned between them. 
 Probably Bertha repented what in her eagerness she 
 had done, perceiving the eiFect of the disclosure upon 
 a spirit sensitive as a woman's, and impetuous as a 
 man's. At any rate whenever they met, which was 
 but seldom, it was only to exchange the confessions 
 of sorrow and penitence on the one side^ and of 
 affectionate interest on the other ; whilst Mr. Lester 
 never by word or look allowed it to be supposed that 
 he considered Ronald in the slightest degree involved 
 in the cause which he had so much at heart. 
 
 It was late in the same day on which Mr. Lester 
 had been with General Vivian. Ronald had been 
 out upon the hills shooting ; Captain Vivian on 
 the shore and at the Point, for purposes best known 
 to himself. They had returned about the same time, 
 and Ronald, wearied and yet excited by his day's 
 sport, was dreading less than usual the dinner with 
 his father ; for on such occasions they had com- 
 mon subjects of interest without touching upon those 
 on which they would have been likely to jar. 
 
 Captain Vivian's countenance also wore a satisfied 
 expression, and he greeted his son without the uncom- 
 fortable reproaches which were generally his vent for 
 any disappointment. Ronald asked no questions. The 
 success or defeat of his father's projects brought him 
 almost equal pain. He was only thankful to be 
 allowed to eat his dinner in peace, and to narrate the
 
 362 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 progress of the day's sport without interruption. 
 When dinner was over, he was preparing, as usual, 
 to go to his own room, when Captain Vivian stopped 
 him. « Off ! my boy ? Where to ? " 
 
 " To read or to rest," replied Eonald ; " I've had 
 desperately hard work." 
 
 " Read ? Pshaw ! What are you talking of ? I 
 thought you never troubled yourself about reading. 
 Why can't you stay here ? " 
 
 " I can if you wish it," was Ronald's cold reply. 
 
 " Oh ! if you're tired, it's another matter. Be off." 
 
 " I am not so tired, — at least I shouldn't be going to 
 bed for the next three hours," said Ronald. 
 
 " Only brooding over books. Why, Ronald, you're 
 worth something more than that." 
 
 " I don't know what I am worth. Father," replied 
 Ronald ; " I have never been tried yet." 
 
 " At the old story ? Wanting to do something ? 
 Perchance I may put you in the way of it before 
 long." 
 
 "Thank you," replied Ronald, in the same un- 
 moved tone ; and he walked a few paces towards the 
 door. 
 
 "A game at backgammon would be better for 
 you than books after a day's work," said Captain 
 Vivian. 
 
 " I had rather read, thank you. Father, unless we 
 play without betting." 
 
 A cloud of displeasure crossed Captain Vivian's 
 face ; but he only said, " Well, bring out the board. 
 If Goff comes in we may have a turn." 
 
 Ronald placed the backgammon-board by his fa-
 
 CLEVE HALL. 363 
 
 tiler's side, and went to fetch his books. He brought 
 them back with his writing desk, but he looked very- 
 little inclined for study. His father laughed at him 
 as he threw the books upon the table, whilst a tired 
 sigh escaped him. 
 
 " Why, you foolish fellow, one would think you 
 were going to turn clergyman. What d'ye think 
 now is the good of all that rubbish ? " 
 
 " I suppose it may turn to good some day," replied 
 Ronald. " At any rate it's better to do that than 
 nothing." 
 
 " Books don't make a man's fortune, trust me for 
 that, Ronald. Why, there are secrets — and to be had 
 for the purchase too — which give a man, in one hour, 
 what books wouldn't give him in a whole life." 
 
 " And to be lost as quickly as gained," replied 
 Ronald ; " that's not in my way. Father." 
 
 " But it used to be. Time was when you were 
 as daring a fellow as any in Christendom, and would 
 have got at any thing that could be had at a leap. 
 That's the good of consorting with women and clergy- 
 men, — they would eat the spirit out of a lion." 
 Captain Vivian's colour rose, and he muttered to 
 himself, " But it won't last though." Then, speak- 
 ing aloud, he added : " I say, Ronald, it's time you 
 should be off." 
 
 " Wliere, Father?" 
 
 " Any where ; if you mean to seek your fortune 
 for yourself" 
 
 " It is what I wish," was the answer. 
 
 " Ay ! wish in your own way, but never in mine." 
 
 " I wish to obey you, Father, in all things in which
 
 364 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 I may," replied Ronald, speaking very quietly, though 
 his clenched hands showed the effort which it cost 
 him. 
 
 " Well, then ; I take you at your word. Our little 
 vessel at the Point goes off again next week ; try 
 your hand at command. The fellows will be glad 
 enough to have you on board." 
 
 Ronald's flashing eye showed how much his own 
 inclination accorded with the suggestion, yet he 
 hesitated. 
 
 " It's an offer that I should have jumped to clutch 
 at your age," continued Captain Vivian. " But boys 
 now aren't what boys were, nor men neither." 
 
 " Regular service is more to my taste." — Ronald 
 began the sentence boldly, but the change in his 
 father's countenance made even his spirit quail. 
 
 Captain Vivian burst forth in a storm of passion. 
 " It was his will," he said. " He had waited long 
 enough, keeping Ronald tied at home to be a burden 
 to him ; and now the time was come for action, and 
 act he must and should." And Ronald acquiesced 
 in the determination ; but again, and with less hesi- 
 tation, insisted upon the desirableness of the merchant 
 service. 
 
 Just then there was a loud knock at the outer 
 door ; but the fierce words still raged, whilst Ronald, 
 bending down, with his head averted, looked stead- 
 fastly into the fire. As the knock was repeated the 
 second time, however, he rose, and was about to close 
 the parlour door, when he was stopped by the entrance 
 of Goff, and, to his consternation, Clement Vivian. 
 
 Captain Vivian's w^rath subsided in a moment;
 
 CLEVE HALL. 365 
 
 perhaps that was the reason why Ronald felt his to 
 be rising. He advanced before his father to meet 
 Clement, and they shook hands ; but Clement's man- 
 ner was coldly nervous, and he glanced reproachfully 
 at Goff, as if he had been betrayed into society which 
 he had not expected. 
 
 Goff came into the room with the manner of a 
 person quite at his ease, and sat himself down by the 
 fire, motioning to Clement to seat himself also. " You 
 didn't expect company to-night, eh Captain ? " 
 
 " Not quite so many. But, Clement, my boy," — 
 and Captain Vivian put his hand across the table, 
 and shook Clement's heartily, — " you're welcome 
 anyhow. What's the business, Goff?" 
 
 " No hurry ; it's a cold night, and the fire's com- 
 fortable ; " and he drew his chair in. 
 
 " What brings you out to-night, Clement ? " asked 
 Ronald, in a careless tone. 
 
 Goff answered for him, — " A bold spirit, to be sure, 
 Ronald, that's ashamed to sit over the fire like a girl." 
 
 Ronald turned round upon him rather roughly, — 
 " You'll be careful what you say, if you please ; let 
 us hear your own tale, Clement?" 
 
 " Ask him how he escaped from his master ? " said 
 Goff, sneeringly. 
 
 " I will ask him if Mr. Lester knows he is here?" 
 replied Ronald. 
 
 Captain Vivian broke in upon the conversation, — 
 " What signifies ? Pie's here, and he's going to stay. 
 Here's a health to you, my lad! and we won't ask 
 what brings you here, only we are glad to see you." 
 
 All this time Clement had been sitting, shyly, at
 
 366 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 a little distance from the table, casting furtive glances 
 round the room. Now, as Ronald fixed his keen eye 
 upon him, he ansAvered with apparent indifference, — 
 " I was at the Hall with a message, and Goff and I 
 met coming back, so we bore each other company." 
 
 " It's not the nearest way from the Hall to the 
 village," said Ronald, quickly. 
 
 The colour rose in Clement's cheek, but Goff helped 
 him. " If it isn't quite as near it's twice as good ; 
 and it's better going two than one on a winter's even- 
 ing, and so Master Clement and I must needs trudge 
 it together." 
 
 " And take a resting place on your way," observed 
 Captain Vivian ; " and a very good notion too. It's 
 the first time, but we hope it won't be the last." 
 
 Ronald stood moodily by the fire, and there was a 
 momentary silence. Goff took up the dice from the 
 backgammon table, and tossed them. Captain Vivian 
 called out the numbers, and laughed as they came 
 down right. " Now, Clement, try your luck ; " and 
 Clement did the same, watching with some eagerness 
 to see the result. 
 
 " Bravo ! you'll do, I see. Now, once more ; ten to 
 one you are right." 
 
 Clement was again partly successful. 
 
 "Luck's with him," said Goff. "It's born with 
 some people." 
 
 " Just opposite to what it is with him," said Cap- 
 tain Vivian, pointing to Ronald ; " he never made 
 more than one good hit in his life." 
 
 " Try, Ronald," said Clement, rather eagerly. 
 
 « Thank you, no."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 367 
 
 "He's afraid," said Goff: "he liates losing." 
 
 " Oh ! nonsense, Ronald," exclaimed Clement. 
 " There's no betting ; what does it signify ? " 
 
 " Some folks are too proud to be beaten in any- 
 thing, betting or no betting," said Goff. 
 
 " I see no fun in it," said Ronald ; " and if I did, I 
 wouldn't do it now." 
 
 " Wouldn't ! why not ? " Captain Vivian turned to 
 him angrily. 
 
 Ronald hesitated for a second, then he said, "Be- 
 cause I wouldn't be the one to lead Clement to that 
 which may be his ruin. There's a warning for you 
 Clement ; " and he walked out of the room. 
 
 Captain Vivian's anger evaporated, so at least it 
 might have seemed, in a laugh, whilst Goff threw up 
 the dice again, and made Captain Vivian guess, with- 
 out any reference to Clement, who sat by uneasily. 
 
 The clock struck eight, and he started up. " I 
 ought to be at home ; they expected me back at seven." 
 
 " And you keep your word, do you ? " said Goff. 
 " That's more than you do with me." 
 
 " Clement will be out of leading-strings before long, 
 I'll venture to say," observed Captain Vivian, lightly. 
 " I wish I could hope as much of my boy. He's 
 turned quite tame, and won't even take a cruise for a 
 few days." 
 
 "Won't Ronald take a cruise?" inquired Clement, 
 with some eagerness. 
 
 " Not he ; though I offered to put him in command 
 of a vessel. But the very life's gone out of him ; 
 he'll do nothing but sit at home over his books. Old 
 ocean was but a fancy with him after all."
 
 368 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 " As it is with a good many youngsters," continued 
 GofF. " Well enough on a fine day, with a sea which 
 a baby might sleep on ; but come a storm, and they're 
 nothing but pale-faced cowards. I'll bet you any 
 thing you like, though, that I bring Ronald round." 
 
 " Volunteers, not pressed men, for my money," was 
 the reply. 
 
 " Aye ; volunteers if they are to be had." Goff 
 glanced at Clement. "I say, Master Clement, if I 
 don't go with you, can you find your way home ? " 
 
 "I should hope so. I have been over the fields 
 often enough," said Clement, proudly. 
 
 " And been in time for roll call," said Captain 
 Vivian, laughing. "Why, Clement, what will you 
 say for yourself?" 
 
 " The truth, if I am asked," replied Clement. 
 
 "The truth, to be sure. Who ever heard of a 
 Vivian not speaking the truth ? " 
 
 " Only it's a bit awkward, sometimes," muttered 
 Goff. " We shan't see you here again, I suppose. 
 Master Clement, when the truth's out ? " 
 
 " I don't see that. I go where I choose, and re- 
 turn when I please." 
 
 " They'd think you had been at some dire mis- 
 chief, here," said Captain Vivian, carelessly, as he 
 threw the dice into the air. 
 
 " That was a curious calculation you were making 
 with those things the other night, Captain," said Goff. 
 " I'm not up to figures. What did Ronald say to it ? " 
 
 " Ronald has no head for figures neither ; he 
 always hated them." 
 
 "Very curious, it was," repeated Goff, in a musing 
 tone.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 369 
 
 ^' Wliat was curious ? A calculation ? I can cal- 
 culate pretty well," said Clement, eagerly. 
 
 Golf looked at liim with pretended amusement. 
 " Of course, you can do every thing." 
 
 " I have calculated very difficult questions," con- 
 tinued Clement. " I believe " — and he touched his 
 forehead — " I have a mathematical head." 
 
 " Possibly ! But you mightn't be able to do this. 
 Besides, there isn't time, and you are wanted at 
 home." 
 
 " Nonsense, to send him away ! " observed Captain 
 Vivian. " Why should'nt he stay, if he likes it ? " 
 
 " I'll try the calculation for you at home, if you 
 choose to give it me," said Clement. He spoke 
 eagerly, longing to show his superiority to Ronald. 
 
 " Thank you ; but I can't give it you just in a 
 minute. You will be coming by this way another 
 time, I dare say, and then I'll show it you. But your 
 master would be after you, if you were to take it 
 home." 
 
 The word master always touched Clement on a 
 tender point. He instantly began a lengthened ex- 
 planation of his true position with Mr. Lester ; that 
 he was his father's friend, and was kind enough to 
 teach him some things ; but that he had no authority 
 over him beyond the hours of study ; whilst Captain 
 Vivian and GofF listened with an incredulous air, 
 which only irritated him the more to assert his inde- 
 pendence. When he had ended, Goff's exclamation 
 was, " Deeds, not words. Master Clement. ShoAv us 
 you are your own master, and we'll believe you ; but 
 don't waste such a quantity of breath about it. Why, 
 
 VOL. I. B B
 
 370 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 you are afraid now to go home for fear of the rod ! " 
 And he laughed heartily. 
 
 Captain Vivian took Clement's part, and found 
 fault with Goif for ridiculing him, saying, " that it 
 was very natural that such a young fellow should be 
 kept under. It Avasn't every boy that could be what 
 Eonald was at sixteen — though he had gone back 
 sadly of late." 
 
 This told more keenly upon Clement than all Goff 's 
 coarser ridicule, especially when it was followed by 
 some characteristic anecdotes of Ronald's dauntless 
 bravery, which goaded his envy, whilst they excited 
 to the utmost his admiration. A pause came at last, 
 and Clement summoned resolution to go, without any 
 more last words of boasting. Captain Vivian went 
 with him to the door. His tone was much softened, 
 and there even appeared to be some interest in it. 
 " We shall see you again," he said ; " and if you could 
 look in and help Ronald and me about that calcula- 
 tion, we should both thank you. I've no head for it ; 
 neither has he. But don't come, if you think you will 
 get into disgrace. Good night ! " They shook hands 
 cordially, and Clement, though shrinking from the 
 word disgrace, walked away, saying to himself, that 
 Captain Vivian had certainly been condemned un- 
 fairly. He had still the spirit of a gentleman in 
 him, when he chose to exert it.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 371 
 
 CHAP, xxvir. 
 
 Captain Vivian returned to the parlour, carefully 
 locked the door, tried another which led through 
 some passages to a distant wing of the house, and 
 then going up to Goff, who was bending down over 
 the fire, with his hands spread out to warm them, 
 exclaimed, " He's caught ! " 
 
 " Aye ! thanks to me ! " was Goff 's rather surly 
 reply ; and, without looking up, he added, abruptly, 
 " and high time ; the game will be up soon ! " 
 
 Captain Vivian moved so as to confront him. 
 " Up ? What d'ye mean ? " His tone was hollow, 
 though the words were uttered calmly. 
 
 " We were fools," continued Goff, " mad fools ! He 
 has escaped us ! " 
 
 "Edward Vivian! Ha!" And a . strong hand 
 clutched the shoulder of the rough fisherman, till it 
 must have been actual pain. " No need for fierceness, 
 Captain," continued Goff, disengaging himself. " It 
 was luck that might have befallen any one. When 
 you put me upon the track, I followed it ; and if I'd 
 met him that night, we should soon enough have 
 come to an issue. But who was to make me guess 
 his sneaking ways? You, yourself, said that we 
 might rest content, for that if it was he, he would be 
 back again at Encombe before a week had passed 
 
 BB 2
 
 372 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 over our heads. He's in London now: never mind 
 how I found it out, but 'tis true." 
 
 A long pause followed. Captain Vivian's face was 
 pale with fear and anger. 
 
 " It may go hard with us, if the old General and he 
 make one again," he said at length in a low, deep 
 voice. 
 
 Goff took up his words. " Hard with us ? Put 
 them once together, and the sooner old ocean roars 
 between us and this part of the world the better." 
 
 " He must be kept at bay." 
 
 " Easier said than done. It's one thing keeping a 
 man at bay, when of his own accord he takes to the 
 Indies ; and another, when he thinks fit to show his 
 face in England. I warn you, Captain, the time's at 
 hand when Encombe Grange may be too hot to hold 
 you." 
 
 " You are in for it yourself, too," was the shai'p re- 
 joinder. 
 
 " Not as principal ; that makes all the difference." 
 
 " You swore to the handwriting," said Captain 
 Vivian. 
 
 " And got five hundred pounds for my pains, and 
 little enough for the jeopardy. But it's you, Captain, 
 that's to be troubled for. There's none of them will 
 have an eye to me. 
 
 Captain Vivian leant his head upon his hand in 
 deep thought, whilst Goff threw himself back in the 
 arm-chair, with the attitude of a man who feels that 
 he has the upper hand in the affair under discussion. 
 
 " It's best always to look matters full in the face," 
 he continued composedly. " The game is one of
 
 CLEVE HALL. 373 
 
 chances. First of all, the paper may have been 
 destroyed." 
 
 Captain Vivian started up. " May ? A hundred 
 to one that it is. The old General was too mad with 
 anger to keep it. It told against his honour." 
 
 " Then the forgery's safe." 
 
 " If I hadn't thought so, do you think I would have 
 set foot in Encombe again ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Goff. " When more than a dozen 
 years had gone by, and Edward Vivian was in 
 Jamaica, and at daggers draAvn with his father ; why 
 shouldn't you ? If there was danger, why there was 
 safety too. You were at hand to watch, and might 
 start at a moment's notice. You'd have lost a capital 
 opening for trade, if you had let fear come in the way 
 of settling here. No, no ; all that's been done is well 
 enough ; but things are altered now ; and since we are 
 reckoning chances, we must'n't forget there's a risk 
 on the other side. The paper may be forthcoming." 
 
 Captain Vivian's knees trembled, and he sat down. 
 
 "Let Edward Vivian and his father meet," con- 
 tinued Goff, " and it's an even chance that you are 
 done for." 
 
 " If the paper's gone, there's no legal proof," said 
 Captain Vivian. 
 
 "And so no mischief!" exclaimed Goff. "Why, 
 man, you're an idiot. Think of Edward Vivian 
 at the Hall, lord and master, with the grudge 
 rankling in his breast. If he can't have revenge 
 in one way, trust him to have it in another. The 
 story will be blazoned over the country ; even your 
 own people will take it up ; there'll be a hun- 
 
 BB 3
 
 374 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 dred eyes spying at you, and Edward Vivian himself 
 set to ruin you, to say nothing of the General. 
 How's the trade to go on then ? and what kind of life, 
 think you, we shall lead ? Do as you will, Captain, 
 yourself, you'll not find me sitting down quietly with 
 a foe at my very door. Let him set one foot in the 
 Hall, and I'm off." 
 
 "It might be the best plan, anyhow," said Captain 
 Vivian, thoughtfully. His assent was evidently un- 
 acceptable to Goff, who answered with a look of cool 
 contempt. " And will you please to tell me, then, 
 why you ever came here, since you're to be off at the 
 first fright?" 
 
 " I came because it would be a good speculation, 
 and we might make the thing answer. I didn't 
 reckon that Edward Vivian would be back like a 
 ghost from the grave." 
 
 "Well! and hasn't it answered? Aren't we carry- 
 ing on as pretty a business as a man might wish for ; 
 plenty of hands to help us ; and the place just fitted 
 for it ? I tell you, Captain, if you cut the cable you'll 
 be swamped." 
 
 "Possibly." 
 
 " Certainly ; as sure as I stand here. There's no 
 hope but to stick by Encombe to the last." 
 
 " With a view of Botany Bay beyond." 
 
 " Shame on you. Captain. There isn't a fello-w 
 belonging to us who wouldn't cry craven if he heard 
 you." 
 
 " I am only doing what you yourself advised," 
 was the reply, " looking the matter fully in the face." 
 
 " And what's the end of that ? You look your
 
 CLE YE HALL. 375 
 
 enemy in the face one minute, to knock him down the 
 next." 
 
 Captain Vivian started. " I've enough on my 
 hands already," he said, quickly. " I'll have no more." 
 1 GofF's laugh was one of cold, fierce, sarcasm. 
 " Chicken-hearted ! are ye, Captain ? Yet, I've 
 known you calculate even to a penny the chance of a 
 man's ruin. But don't be afraid. I'll keep your neck 
 safe enough from a halter, though may be it will be 
 a more diificult matter to keep your hands from 
 fetters. Then, as he saw Captain Vivian wince at 
 the suggestion, he added in an under tone, " A pistol 
 shot would settle it quick enough between me and 
 my enemy any day; but if you aren't up to that, 
 you'll surely be thinking of something else. — The 
 boy might help us, but for your marplot Ronald." 
 
 " We must be rid of him." Captain Vivian spoke 
 coldly and sternly. 
 
 " I told you that long ago. When the Lodge folks 
 came to Encombe, said I, it isn't a fit place for 
 Ronald. Have you warned him, that if you fall he 
 falls too?" 
 
 "Warned him! Ronald?" Captain Vivian's eyes 
 flashed with indignation, and then a sudden paleness 
 overspread his face, and rising, he j^aced the room in 
 great agitation. 
 
 GofF went on without noticing him. " It's not so 
 much the ill will against the son as against the grand- 
 son, which will work our way. There's prejudice 
 enough against Edward Vivian already, and if Cle- 
 ment is thought to be running tlie same course, why, 
 the thing's done ; and the Hall door shut against 
 B u 4
 
 376 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 them both, let who will saj, open. It's what you and 
 I have said hundreds of times, and acted upon too. 
 
 "And what's to be done now, then?" inquired 
 Captain Vivian moodily ; " we can't do more than 
 we have to keep up the old prejudice." 
 
 " It must be more than a prejudice for our purpose," 
 replied Goff. 
 
 • " You are too deep for me, man ; " but Captain 
 Vivian sat down again as if prepared to listen. 
 
 " Why, look ye. Suppose we get Clement into the 
 net," and Goff laughed mockingly ; — " not a difficult 
 task Avith the boasting young sparrow, he's close 
 upon it now ; — suppose, I say, we make him one of us, 
 set him on a sail to the coast yonder, and to return 
 with our men. A hint to the preventives will put 
 them on the look-out, and not much harm done to us 
 — only the loss of a keg or two if we manage properly. 
 But the skirmish will do our w^ork Avith the General. 
 He'll take a vow as deep as when he thought that his 
 son had paid away his money before ever he got into 
 possession of it, and never a step will Clement Vivian, 
 or his father, set in Cleve Hall from that hour." 
 
 Captain Vivian was thoughtful. " The plan may 
 do," he said, "to cut short Clement's prospects, but 
 not to stop Edward Vivian's return, and the possibi- 
 lity of our discovery." 
 
 " Why, the one goes with the other," exclaimed 
 Goff ; or if it doesn't, still we have the game in our 
 own hands. Trust me, and I'll bring the youngster 
 into such a plight, that his father would buy his safety 
 with five times the sum you took from him ; and he 
 should too, if I had to deal with him."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 377 
 
 " You mean the boy no harm ? " 
 
 " Harm ! I'll make him worth twenty-fold what he 
 is now ! I'll show him what work is ; put a little 
 spirit into him ! Why, his father might thank me, if 
 t'were only for making a man of him. But let there 
 be harm ; you might just think to yourself that you're 
 only squaring matters. If you get Clement on your 
 side, its clear as a pike-staff to me, that they are 
 getting Ronald on theirs." 
 
 The insinuation stung Captain Vivian to the quick, 
 and he burst out in a torrent of vehement indigna- 
 tion. Goff allowed his anger to have free scope, 
 every now and then adding fuel to the flame, by re- 
 calling circumstances connected with the old enmity 
 between him and Mr. Vivian. 
 
 He had his own purposes to gain in stirring up 
 the rankling spirit of revenge. Years before, he had 
 left Mr. Vivian's service on a charge of dishonesty, 
 which, being proved, though not brought forward in 
 a court of justice, had entirely destroyed his charac- 
 ter. The feeling of enmity was the first tie between 
 him and Captain Vivian. They had carried out their 
 schemes together, and hitherto successfully. For some 
 years GofF had remained with Captain Vivian as his 
 confidential servant, or rather adviser ; afterwards, 
 circumstances had led him again to Encombe, where 
 he entered upon his smuggling life, and at last per- 
 suaded Captain Vivian to join him. The speculation 
 was more profitable to him than to Captain Vivian ; 
 it suited his daring temperament ; and putting aside 
 any personal feeling of ill will, he would have 
 hazarded very much rather than relinquish it. As
 
 378 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 it was, with the possibility of being discoverecl as an 
 accomplice in an act of forgery, and the certainty 
 that, if Mr. Vivian were once restored to his father's 
 favour, there would be an enemy at his door, keeping 
 a constant spy upon his proceedings, it was no wonder 
 that GofF's fierce nature should be roused to projects 
 from which the more calculating spirit of Captain 
 Vivian would have naturally turned,, as involving 
 risk that might only end in greater ruin. Yet the 
 feeling of revenge for the wrongs of former years 
 was excited without difficulty ; and though Goff, if 
 left to himself, would doubtless have provided, if 
 necessary, for his own safety by shorter and more 
 desperate means ; he was apparently contented now, 
 when he found Captain Vivian willing to take part in 
 the project he had proposed, and to discuss the steps 
 by which it was to be accomplished. 
 
 On one point, however, there was no discussion. 
 Eon aid was, as soon as possible, to be removed from 
 the scene of action ; and it was determined again to 
 tempt him by the expedition in which he had already 
 refused to join, and which might be so arranged as 
 to give him occupation for some time on the opposite 
 coast. In his absence, Clement would, as it was sup- 
 posed, be led without difficulty into the snares laid 
 for him. By careful arrangement, the means of 
 making terms with Mr. Vivian, if he should reappear 
 at Encombe, would then be in their own power ; and, 
 at the worst, if every plan should fail, and a recon- 
 ciliation with the General lead to an inquiry into the 
 past, the possibility of escape was always within 
 their reach.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 379 
 
 CHAP, xxvni. 
 
 Clement Vivian did not hurr j on his way home, 
 although quite conscious that he was late, and that if 
 questions were asked, the answers required might be 
 awkward. He delayed for that very reason ; once 
 in a difficulty, and he seldom had moral courage suffi- 
 cient to meet it face to face. He had been sent to 
 the Hall, as he had stated, on a message to Ella, and 
 had been met by Goff on his return, and induced, 
 partly by ridicule, partly by the love of adventure, 
 which the smuggler's conversation always aroused, to 
 go considerably out of his way, through by-paths and 
 copses, till coming suddenly upon the Grange, he was 
 taken unawares, and lured into the house, under pre- 
 tence of waiting only for a moment with Ronald, 
 whilst Goff said a few words in private to Captain 
 Vivian. 
 
 There was not very much to shock a conscience 
 like Clement's in all this. He had done nothing — 
 so he said to himself — which could lead him into mis- 
 chief; and he had accustomed himself too much, of 
 late, to slight disobediences of a similar kind to be 
 very scrupulous on that point. And yet he was un- 
 easy. There was no exact claim upon him to confess, 
 for no strict law had been laid down, only general 
 advice given ; and if there was harm in Goff's com-
 
 380 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 panionship, he could say, honestly, that he had not 
 sought it. Yet something within whispered, that Mr. 
 Lester's displeasure would be greater than it had 
 ever been before, if it was known that he had actually 
 gone into the Grange. Hitherto the intercourse be- 
 tween him and Captain Vivian had been confined to 
 occasional chance meetings, for it had been a matter 
 of policy not to tempt him to any glaring act of dis- 
 obedience. Even at the time when he had been most 
 friendly with Romald, they had always parted com- 
 pany at the shrubbery- gate. Now, tlie deed was 
 done. He had entered within the charmed walls, and 
 what had he seen ? Nothing, indeed, to tempt him 
 to repeat his visit ; yet nothing which, to his ideas, 
 would be a reason for not doing so. 
 
 Captain Vivian amused himself with dice ; but he 
 did not bet, or ask Clement to bet ; on the contrary, 
 from the little that had passed, it seemed as if he 
 rather occupied himself in questions of calculation 
 than of profit : certainly he had upheld Clement in 
 obedience, instead of tempting him to the contrary. 
 A reaction began to spring up in Clement's mind ; 
 a sense of injustice, such as before had made him 
 cling to Ronald. Captain Vivian, he fancied, had 
 been unfairly dealt with; Mr. Lester knew little 
 about him ; his Aunt Bertha was prejudiced. They 
 could not see, as he saw, that Captain Vivian, being 
 Ronald's father, was certain to have some of Ronald's 
 redeeming qualities. All this, and much more, 
 passed through Clement's mind, with some show of 
 reason. Only one thing might have suggested itself 
 as a reason for doubtina: the correctness of his con-
 
 CLEVE HALL. 381 
 
 elusions, lie could not resolve to mention liis visit 
 at home, still less to Mr. Lester. Many were the 
 excuses he made ; that it would be causing a fuss 
 about nothing ; exciting groundless suspicion ; that 
 it was no fault, being only the result of accidental 
 circumstances; these, and other equally sophistical 
 arguments, such as are always at hand to tempt us to 
 follow the course we like : yet, ever as Clement re- 
 peated them to himself, his own natural honesty of 
 heart reproached him for untruth, and caused him to 
 linger on his way, repeating again the reasoning 
 which the moment before he had imagined was quite 
 conclusive. 
 
 His thoughts were engaged in this manner as he 
 slowly wended his way over the fields, which lay 
 between the Grange and the village, when he per- 
 ceived in the twilight a figure which he had little 
 difficulty in recognising as that of Ronald Vivian, 
 advancing to meet him from a cross path. He 
 stopped, and Ronald came up with him quite out of 
 breath. 
 
 " Well, Ronald, what's the matter now ? what do 
 you want?" was Clement's first inquiry, spoken 
 rather impatiently, for his spirit was still rebelling 
 against the warning which had, unasked, been given 
 him. 
 
 " You are going home, aren't you ? " replied Ronald, 
 recovering himself. " I suppose if I am travelling the 
 same road, we may as well go together." 
 
 " To night ? What is your business ? Is there any 
 thing going on ? " 
 
 " Nothing that you'd care to hear about. I'm not
 
 382 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 going far. But you had the start of me, Clement ; 
 I had no notion you were off." 
 
 " I stayed longer than I intended as it was," replied 
 Clement, "but you are wonderfully anxious for my 
 company to take the trouble to lose your breath at 
 such a rate. Just now I thought you had made up 
 your mind not to remain in the same room with me ; 
 you were out of it as soon as I came in." 
 
 '1 should have made mischief if I had stayed," 
 replied Ronald. 
 
 "Mischief? how? what?" 
 
 " I've a tongue in my head, and nine times out of 
 ten it runs away with me ; so I decamped." 
 
 " I don't see what there was to make it run away 
 then," replied Clement. "No one was going to 
 quarrel that I saw ; I am sure I wasn't." 
 
 " I wish you had been. Clement, you'd best stand 
 at arm's length with my father. There, — I say it, 
 that would sooner die than have cause to say it, but 
 I must." 
 
 " There is never any other way of standing with 
 him," replied Clement. " It's little enough that I see 
 of him, and as you know, this is the first time I ever 
 set my foot within the Grange." 
 
 " Then let it be the last time." 
 
 " It may be and it may not be ; I dont choose to 
 tie myself down : but I am obliged to you, Ronald, for 
 your hospitality, at least." 
 
 " I care nothing for your obligation, one way or 
 the other," exclaimed Ronald, impetuously ; " but once 
 for all, Clement, if you would'nt rue the day that ever 
 you came to Encombe, you'll keep as far from the
 
 CLEVE HALL. 383 
 
 Grange as you would from — and liis voice sank — 
 the pit of destruction." 
 
 The eager tone of his deep voice struck forcibly, 
 and even awfully, upon Clement's ear, and grasping 
 Eonald by the arm, he said, earnestly : " Ronald, you 
 didn't talk in that way when first I came here." 
 
 " I did not know then that there was any cause. 
 But don't trouble me, Clement ; don't ask questions. 
 You are to be off soon, aren't you ? " 
 
 He tried to speak lightly, but the effort was un- 
 successful, and Clement passing by the question, 
 returned to the former topic. 
 
 " It is the way they all talk to me," he said. " They 
 are full of mysteries, and I don't choose to put up 
 with them. I am old enough surely to have some 
 judgment of my own. I can tell right from wrong, 
 as well as they can ; and if I don't see that things 
 are wrong, why am I to be forced to give them up ? 
 As for your father, he might as well be at Nova 
 Scotia for any thing I get from him, whether good 
 or bad ; and if a man doesn't do me any harm, I 
 don't think I have any reason to think he means to 
 do it." 
 
 " You'll argue differently one of these days," was 
 the reply. 
 
 " Preaching are you ? " and Clement laughed. " I 
 didn't know that was one of your gifts. I suppose 
 Aunt Bertha has put you up to it ; come, tell me 
 now," and he laid his hand playfully on Ronald's 
 shoulder, "hasn't she been setting you to jaw me in 
 this fashion ? " 
 
 Ronald drew back. " When you want to know
 
 384 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 wliat Miss Campbell says to me, you had better go 
 and ask her. I have said my say." 
 . Clement stopped him as he was turning away. 
 " Answer me one question, Ronald. If you were in 
 my place shouldn't you do as I do ? " 
 
 Ronald considered for a moment, and answered 
 firmly, " No." 
 
 " Then what should you do ? " Clement's tone 
 betrayed considerable pique. 
 
 " I hope I should act the part of a brave man, not 
 of a coward." 
 
 "Coward!" 
 
 " Coward," repeated Ronald, quietly. " I would 
 have my head cut off before I would be trusted and 
 betray my trust." 
 
 " I am not trusted. It is the very thing I complain 
 of; they do not trust me." , 
 
 " If you weren't trusted you would be locked up." 
 
 " You are mocking. Lock me up ? As if any one 
 had power to do that !" 
 
 " Mr. Lester has power at any time." 
 
 " Physical power. Folly ! who thinks of that in 
 these days?" 
 
 * Honour is instead of power, then," said Ronald ; 
 " and honour would keep me from deceiving him." 
 
 " Ronald, you would madden a saint," exclaimed 
 Clement. " I tell you I don't deceive him." 
 
 " Then he knows every thing you do. He will 
 hear of your having been at the Grange to-night ? " 
 
 " Hear ! if he asks. I wouldn't tell a lie." 
 
 " And I wouldn't act one." 
 
 " I don't understand ; you make me angry ; I
 
 CLEVE HALL. 385 
 
 won't stand it ! " exclaimed Clement, in a fretful tone 
 of wounded pride and irritation. "I vow, if it 
 weren't for old days, I should think you had come 
 just to insult me and give me the opportunity of 
 knocking you down." 
 
 " Try, if you will," replied Ronald, quietly, and 
 perhaps a little contemptuously ; " I shall not return 
 it." But he added more quietly, " Don't let us make 
 fools of ourselves, Clement, by sparring for nothing. 
 You know I don't mean to insult you, as you call it." 
 
 " Then what do you mean ? " 
 
 " Simply to make you get up pluck enough to be 
 honest ; and when you are out upon parole, not to 
 break it ; and when you do break it, to own it." 
 
 The question seemed to strike Clement in a new 
 light. " I never thought about that sort of thing," 
 he said. " I was at school before I came here, and 
 the boys there thought that pluck was to risk getting 
 your own way without being caught." 
 
 " I suppose they did : I don't know about school- 
 boys ; I never was at school." 
 
 " Then who told you what pluck, and honour, and 
 such things meant ? " 
 
 "My own heart, and — " Ronald added, in an 
 under tone — " things I was taught when I was a 
 child." 
 
 "It's all very fine, Ronald," exclaimed Clement, 
 after a moment's thought ; but twenty to one you've 
 done more wild things in one day than I have done 
 in all my life." 
 
 Perhaps it was well for Clement that the dim 
 light hid from him the change which passed over 
 
 VOL. I. C C
 
 386 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Ronald's countenance as the words were said : he 
 might have reproached himself too bitterly. Yet 
 even without seeing, there was something deeply 
 touching in the changed, humbled, faltering tone of 
 the reply. " Yes ; oh, yes. Clement, you must never 
 be like me." 
 
 Clement seized his hand kindly. " Cheer up, old 
 fellow ! I'm sure I didn't mean reproach. If you 
 did twenty bad things, I dare say I should have done 
 a hundred. I wasn't thinking a bit of boasting ; I'm 
 far enough off from that really." 
 
 " And I was not told ; I never betrayed trust," 
 continued Ronald, with something of his former 
 energy. 
 
 " No, of course you didn't. You are true to the 
 backbone. But I shouldn't like you to think I could 
 do so either." 
 
 " You mightn't mean it, but you might do it ; and 
 you will if " 
 
 " If w^iat ? out with it." 
 
 " K you don't tell Mr. Lester that you have been 
 at the Grange to-night." 
 
 " I don't see that. I shall tell if I'm asked." 
 
 " Honour is in telling without being asked." 
 
 "Going to confession," said Clement, with some- 
 thing of a sarcastic laugh. 
 
 "If it's necessary." 
 
 "Yes, if it is; that's the point; but I'U think 
 about it." 
 
 They stopped, as if by mutual consent. Ronald 
 made one more effort. " Clement, you told me once
 
 CLEVE HALL. 387 
 
 that you wished we had been brothers ; is the feeling- 
 all gone ? " 
 
 " Gone ! no ; " and Clement shook his hand aiFec- 
 tionatelj. "I would wish nothing better than to 
 have you for my brother ; if only you wouldn't be on 
 one day and off another in the way you are. I can't 
 understand that." 
 
 " Then if we are as brothers, give me a brother's 
 confidence, and promise, even if you don't see the 
 necessity, that you will tell Mr. Lester where you 
 have been to-night." 
 
 Clement hesitated, — began to speak, — was silent 
 again, — and at length, after grasping Ronald's hand 
 violently, ran off, exclaiming, " I hate promises ; but 
 I'll see about it." 
 
 cc 2
 
 388 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 CHAP. XXIX. 
 
 Clement reached home just as tea was being made, 
 after a delay of three quarters of an hour, which had 
 been very trying to the whole party ; and particu- 
 larly so, as the two children had, for once, been 
 allowed to sit up for the late tea. His excuse was 
 hasty and incoherent, — that he was kept longer than 
 he had expected at the Hall, and had walked back 
 rather slowly ; both statements being true in the 
 letter, though false in the spirit. Fanny, who was 
 the make-peace of the party, found a place for him 
 at the table, and provided him with a plate, but every 
 one else treated him as if he was in disgrace ; and 
 Bertha, especially, not quite understanding how to 
 show her annoyance with one individual, except by 
 making all suffer, sat perfectly silent, except when 
 every now and then she asked, in a tone which had 
 a peculiarly melancholy intonation, whether any one 
 wished for more tea. 
 
 Louisa occasionally attempted a little conversation. 
 Quick observation was teaching her tact ; and, be- 
 sides, there was a love of power innate in her, which 
 made her feel pleasure in the consciousness of taking 
 the lead in any matter however small. 
 
 " How was Ella, Clement ? " 
 
 " Oh ! pretty well ; " and Clement cut for himself 
 a large slice of bread.
 
 CLEVE HALL. 389 
 
 " Had she been out to-day ? " 
 
 " I don't know ; I didn't ask her." 
 
 " When is she coming home ? " asked Mrs. Camp- 
 bell. " I can't let her stay away much longer." 
 
 " She doesn't want to come home yet, she says, 
 Grandmamma." 
 
 " It must be very pleasant to sit by the fire all day, 
 and read," observed Fanny, who partook largely of 
 her sister's indolence. 
 
 " Aunt Mildred won't let her do that, I'm sure," 
 said Louisa. " It's very bad for Ella not to go out ; 
 she always gets ill if she doesn't take exercise." 
 
 " Louisa, my dear, you had better not trouble your- 
 self about what is good, or bad, for Ella," said Bertha. 
 " Give me Grandmamma's cup for some more tea ? " 
 
 " Just half a cup, my dear ; not so much sugar, 
 and a little more milk," said Mrs. Campbell. 
 
 That was the first attempt at conversation. Bertha 
 poured out the tea ; then put too much sugar, and too 
 little milk ; then too much milk, and too little water ; 
 then too much water, and too little tea ; and was re- 
 warded by hearing the beverage she had provided 
 pronounced totally undrinkable. A martyr could 
 not have been more touching in her resignation. 
 Louisa was aware of the fact; and, when Aunt 
 Bertha began the concoction a second time, she at- 
 tempted once more to arouse the dormant energies 
 of the party by a fresh observation. 
 
 " What a heap of letters went to the post to-day ! 
 Do you know, Betsy said there were as many as 
 Anne, at the Rectory, could carry." 
 
 " I don't know who could have written them," 
 cc 3
 
 390 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 observed Mrs. Campbell, with rather a sharp glance 
 at Bertha. " Writing letters is a great waste of 
 time, unless people have real business to write about." 
 
 " There were three of Aunt Bertha's," said Fanny, 
 who had a remarkable talent for mal-a-propos 
 observations. 
 
 Bertha coloured, and looked annoyed. Louisa 
 came to her rescue : — " They weren't all ours, though. 
 You know there were Mr. Lester's letters, too. I 
 don't know how many there weren't of his; and 
 Rachel had been writing besides." 
 
 " Rachel is a great deal too young to write so 
 many letters," said Mrs. Campbell. " It is a very 
 bad thing for children ; it teaches them to scribble. 
 I wonder Mr. Lester allows it." 
 
 " My hand is not spoilt, at any rate, by the number 
 of letters I write," observed Clement. " I'm sure I 
 don't get through half-a-dozen in a twelvemonth." 
 
 " And when you do write, you don't waste many 
 words, or much paper," said Louisa. 
 
 " No ; why should I ? It's an awful bore, any- 
 how." 
 
 " Mr. Lester's hand must quite ache," said Louisa. 
 ." He writes so small, and crowds in such a quantity. 
 I am sure one of the letters to-day looked quite like 
 a book." 
 
 " Louisa, how could you know ? " and Bertha 
 turned to her hurriedly ; whilst even Mrs. Campbell 
 gave a glance of surprise. 
 
 But Louisa was unabashed. " I couldn't help 
 knowing," she said ; " Anne came with us down the 
 lane, when we were running after you, Aunt Bertha,
 
 CLEVE HALL. 391 
 
 and she let them fall, and Fanny and I helped to pick 
 them up." 
 
 " I think it was seein^^ Goff cominoj round the 
 corner suddenly, that frightened her," said Fanny. 
 " She can't bear him." 
 
 " He was very civil, though," observed Louisa. 
 " He made us such a funny bow, and asked if he 
 should carry the letters for us, because he was going 
 into En combe, and he thought we wanted to go to 
 the shore." 
 
 " And Anne was very glad he should," continued 
 Fanny ; " because she had so much to do, and it 
 saved her the walk." 
 
 " But it wasn't quite right. Aunt Bertha, was it ? " 
 inquired Louisa. " When she was told to go, she 
 ought to have gone. I said so, and I made her quite 
 angry." 
 
 " And we said that we would ask you to let us 
 go through the village, and put the letters in the 
 post," continued Fanny, perceiving by the change 
 in her aunt's countenance, that some one had done 
 wrong. 
 
 " It was very wrong. Anne ought to have known 
 better," began Bertha ; when Mrs. Campbell inter- 
 rupted her in a fretful tone : 
 
 " What is it all about ? I don't understand. What 
 did you do about the letters, my dears ?" 
 
 " Nothing at all. Grandmamma." 
 
 " Then, Bertha, why do you find fault with them ? 
 You arc always hard upon them. You ought to in- 
 quire before you blame." 
 
 " I am not aware that I did blame them," replied
 
 392 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 Bertha. "Louisa, did Goff take tlie letters?" She 
 spoke rather anxiously. 
 
 " I think he did, Aunt Bertha, but I am not sure. 
 Fanny and I ran on before it was settled." 
 
 " 'No great harm if he did, that I can see," ob- 
 served Clement, moodily : " Goff's not likely to lose 
 the letters." 
 
 " And I shouldn't think he could read them," said 
 Fanny. " Such a rough, odd man he is." 
 
 " For that matter, Fanny," answered Clement, " he 
 can read as well as you or T. He told me all about 
 the loss of that ship, off the Irish coast, word for 
 word, nearly as it was in the newspaper. He had 
 read it all." 
 
 " That was in to-day's paper," said Louisa : " Aunt 
 Bertha read it to us. How did he hear about it 
 before?" 
 
 A curious look of confused discomfiture crossed 
 Clement's face ; he answered abruptly : " I didn't say 
 that he had read it before to-day." 
 
 Bertha appeared to be engaged in putting away 
 the sugar, and locking up the tea-caddy; but she 
 heard all that passed. 
 
 " You have seen Goff to-day, then, Clement ? " her 
 sharp, inquiring look abashed, whilst it made him 
 angry. 
 
 " Yes ; I have seen him." And he played with his 
 tea-spoon, whilst his features assumed an air of im- 
 penetrable determination, which Bertha had no diffi- 
 culty in interpreting. 
 
 " You saw him this evening, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Yes."
 
 CLEVE HALL. 393 
 
 " And I imagine that was tlie reason you were at 
 home so late." 
 
 Whatever might have been Bertha's object in her 
 questions, it was manifestly unwise to put them be- 
 fore Mrs. Campbell and the children. Clement's 
 countenance became only the more dark, whilst Mrs. 
 Campbell, as usual, taking her grandson's part, and 
 forgetting that she had been kept waiting, insisted 
 that it was folly to teaze him about where he had 
 been, when he came in in time ; and breaking in upon 
 the subject, told Fanny to ring the bell and have the 
 tea-things taken away. 
 
 Bertha went out of the room, and Clement took a 
 book, and sat by the fire ; bat his reading was merely a 
 pretence. He was in reality thinking of the difficulty 
 into which he had been brought, and wondering how 
 much of his proceedings he should be obliged to tell. 
 Not more than he could avoid, that was undoubtedly 
 his conclusion, in spite of Ronald's warning. Some- 
 thing he supposed he must say, but he would be 
 guided by circumstances; a most convenient salve to 
 the conscience, when there is not sufficient moral 
 strength in the character to act upon principle. 
 What he really intended to do might have been clear 
 to him by the manner in which he reverted, in his 
 own mind, to the folly of having mentioned Goff. 
 
 "Louisa, where is your aunt?" inquired Mrs^ 
 Campbell, as Bertha failed to return at the usual 
 reading time. 
 
 " I don't know, Grandmamma ; I will go and see." 
 
 Louisa left the room, not so much from obedience 
 as to satisfy her curiosity. She came back almost
 
 394 CLEVE HALL. 
 
 iminediatelj. " Betsy says^ Grandmamma, that Aunt 
 Bertha put on her bonnet and cloth cloak, and she 
 thinks she has gone up to the Rectory." 
 
 " Very strange ! " was Mrs Campbell's observation. 
 " I suppose, then, there will be no reading to night I " 
 
 "I will read, Grandmamma," said Clement. He 
 was too uncomfortable to do anything else ; and even 
 when he began to read, betrayed the wandering of 
 his mind by the mistakes which he made. 
 
 Mrs. Campbell was accustomed to Bertha's inde- 
 pendent modes of action, and was not likely to disturb 
 herself as to her absence, so long, at least, as she was 
 amused ; and Clement's voice, after a short time, lulled 
 her into her usual quiet evening doze ; and then Louisa 
 and Fanny went to bed, and Clement prepared some 
 lessons for Mr. Lester. • 
 
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