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DYNEVOR TERRACE: 
 
 OE, 
 
 THE CLUE OE LIEE. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 AUTHOR OF 'THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE.' 
 
 T^Tio wisdom's sacred prize -would win, 
 Must with the fear of God begin ; 
 Immortal praise and heavenly skill 
 HaTe they who know and do His will. 
 
 New Version. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 JOHN W. PARKER AND SON, WEST STRAND. 
 
 1857. 
 
 {The Author reterves the right of Tramlation.'] 
 

 «^ 
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 ^ CHAP. PAGB 
 
 ^ I. CHARLOTTE 1 
 
 K II. AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS 8 
 
 III. LOUIS LE BEBONNAIEE 23 
 
 IV. THISTLE-DOWN 42 
 
 V. THE TWO MINISTERS 63 
 
 ^ VI. FAREWELLS 78 
 
 ~ VII. GOSSAMER 96 
 
 «~ VIII. A TRUANT DISPOSITION 112 
 
 IP 
 
 0>^ IX. THE FAMILY COMPACT 133 
 
 »* X. THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR 151 
 
 XI. A HALTING PROPOSAL 159 
 
 ^ XII. CHILDE ROLAND 179 
 
 XIII. FROSTY, BUT KINDLY 205 
 
 ri XIV. NEW INHABITANTS 216 
 
 "* XV. MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR 234 
 
 XVI. THE FRUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE . . . 261 
 
 XVII. THE RIVALS 274 
 
 ^j-XVIII, REST FOR THE WEARY 289 
 
 rXIX. MOONSHINE 304 
 
 ~~'- XXI. THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES 340 
 
 ivS XX. THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT 320 
 
 *5*XXII. BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS . . 358 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/dynevorterraceor01yon 
 
DYNEVOR TERMCE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CHARLOTTE. 
 
 Farewell rewards and fairies, 
 
 Good housewives now may say, 
 For now foul sluts in dairies 
 
 May fare as well as they. 
 
 Bp. Corbet, 
 
 AN ancient leafless stump of a horse-chesnut stood in 
 the middle of a dusty field, bordered on the south 
 side by a row of houses of some pretension. 
 
 Against this stump, a pretty delicate fair girl of 
 seventeen, whose short lilac sleeves revealed slender 
 white arms, and her tight, plain cap tresses of flaxen 
 hair that many a beauty might have envied, was bangino- 
 a cocoa-nut mat, chanting by way of accompaniment 
 in a sort of cadence — 
 
 * I have found out a gift for my fair, 
 I have found where the wood-pigeons breed ; 
 But let me the plunder forbear, 
 She will say ' 
 
 * Hollo, I'll give you a shilling for 'em!' was the un- 
 looked-for conclusion, causing her to start aside with 
 a slight scream, as there stood beside her a stout, 
 black-eyed, round-faced lad, his ruddy cheeks and 
 loutish air showing more rusticity than agreed with 
 his keen, saucy expression, and mechanic's dress. 
 
 VOL. L JB 
 
2 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' So that's what you call beating a mat,' said he, 
 catching it from her hands, and mimicking the tender 
 clasp of her little fingers. ' D'ye think it's alive, that 
 you use it so gingerly ? Look here ! Give it him well !' 
 as he made it resound against the tree, and emit 
 a whirlwind of dust. ' Lay it into him with some 
 jolly good song fit to fetch a stroke home with ! Why, 
 I heard my young Lord say, when Shakspeare was a 
 butcher, he used to make speeches at the calves, as if 
 they was for a sacrifice, or ever he could lift a knife 
 to 'em.' 
 
 ' Shakspeare ! He as wrote Romeo and Juliet, and 
 all that ! He a butcher ! Why, he was a poet !' cried 
 the girl, indignantly. 
 
 'If you know better than Lord Fitzjocelyn, you 
 may !' said the boy. 
 
 ' I couldn't have thought it !' sighed the maiden. 
 
 ' It's the best of it !' cried the lad, eagerly. ' Why, 
 Charlotte, don't ye see, he rose hisself. Anybody may 
 rise hisself as has a mind to it !' 
 
 ' Yes, I've read that in books,' said Charlotte. ' You 
 can, men can, Tom, if you would but educate yourself 
 like Edmund in the Old English Baron. But then, 
 you know whose son you are. There can't be no cata- 
 strophe — * 
 
 ' I don't want none,' said Tom. ' We are all equal 
 by birth, so the orator proves without a doubt, and 
 we'll show it one of these days. A rare lady I'll make 
 of you yet, Charlotte Arnold.' 
 
 ' O hush, Tom, I can never be a lady — and I can't 
 stand dawdling here — nor you neither. 'Tisn't right 
 to want to be out of our station; though I do wish I 
 lived in an old castle, where the maidens worked 
 tapestry, and heard minstrels, and never had no stairs 
 to scour. Come, give me my mats, and thank you 
 kindly!' 
 
 ' I'll take 'em in,' said Tom, shouldering them. ' 'Tis 
 breakfast-hour, so I thought I'd just run up and ax 
 you when my young Lord goes up to Oxford.' 
 
CIIArtLOTTE. 3 
 
 ' He is gone,' said Charlotte ; ' he was here yesterday 
 to take leave of missus. Mr. James goes later — ' 
 
 ' Gone !' cried Tom. ' If he didn't say he'd come and 
 see me at Mr. Smith's !' 
 
 ' Did you want to speak to him V 
 
 ' I wanted to see him particular. There's a thing 
 lays hea^-y on my miud. Yon see that place dovm in 
 Ferny dell — there's a steep bank down to the water. 
 AVell, my young Lord was very keen about building a 
 kind of steps there in the summer, and he and I settled 
 the stones, and I was to cement 'em. By comes 
 jMr. Frost, and finds faults, what I thought he'd 
 no call to j so I flings do^^^l my trowel, and wouldn't 
 cro on for he ! I was so mortal anon-y, I would not ci'o 
 back to the work; and I believe my Lord forgot it — and 
 then he went back to college ; and Frampton and Gervas, 
 they put on me ; and you know how 'twas I come away 
 from Ormersfield. I was not going to say a word to one 
 of that lot ! but if I could see Lord Fitzjocelyn, I'd tell 
 him they stones arn't fixed ; and if the frost gets into 
 'em, there'll be a pretty go next time there's a tolera- 
 blish weight ! But there — it is his own look-out ! If 
 he never thought it worth his while to keep his 
 promise, and come and see me — ' 
 
 ' O Tom I that isn't right ! He only forgot — I hear 
 Mrs. Beckett telling him he'd forget his own head if it 
 wasn't fixed on, and Mr. James is always at him.' 
 
 ' Forget ! Aye, there's nothing gentlefolks forget 
 like poor folks. But I've done with he ! Let him look 
 out — I kept my promises to him long enough ; but if he 
 don't keep his'n — ' 
 
 ' For shame, for shame, Tom I You don't mean it !' 
 cried Charlotte. ' But. oh !' with a difierent tone, 
 ' give me the mat 1 There's the old Lord and Mr. 
 Povninofs ridinij down the terrace !' 
 
 'I ain't ashamed of nothing!' said the lad, proudly; 
 and as Charlotte snatched away the mats, and vanished 
 like a frightened hare, he stalked along like a villa f^e 
 Hampden, muttering, 'The old tyrant shall see 
 
 b2 
 
4 DYNEYOR TERRACE. 
 
 wliether I'm to be trampled on !' and -svith botli hands 
 in his pockets, he gazed straight up into the face of the 
 grave elderly gentleman, who never even perceived him. 
 He could merely bandy glances with Poynings, the 
 groom, and he was so far from indifferent that he 
 significantly lifted up the end of his whip. Nothing 
 could more have gratified Tom, who retorted with 
 a grimace and murmur, 'Don't you wish you may 
 catch me? You jealous syc — what is the word, sick 
 of uncles or aunts, was it, that the orator called 
 'em ? He'd say I'd a good miss of being one of that 
 sort, and that my young Lord there opened my eyes 
 in time. No better than the rest of 'em — ' 
 
 And the clock striking eight, he quickened his pace 
 to return to his work. He had for the two or three 
 previous years been nominally under the gardener 
 at Ormersfield, but really a sort of follower and 
 favourite to the young heir, Lord Fitzjocelyn — a 
 position which had brought on him dislike from the 
 superior servants, who were not propitiated by his 
 independent and insubordinate temper. Faults on 
 every side had led to his dismissal; but Lord Fitzjoce- 
 lyn had placed him at an ironmonger's shop in the 
 town of North wold, where he had been just long 
 enough to become accessible to the various temptations 
 of a lad in such a situation. 
 
 Charlotte sped hastily round the end of the block of 
 buildings, hurried down the little back garden, and 
 flew breathlessly into her own kitchen, as a haven of 
 refuge ; but she found a tall, stiff, starched, elderly 
 woman standing just within the door, and heard her 
 last words. 
 
 ' Well ! as I said, 'tis no concern of mine ; only I 
 thought it the part of a friend to give you a warning, 
 when I seen it with my ow^n eyes ! — Ah ! here she is !' 
 as Charlotte dropped into a chair. ' Yes, yes. Miss, 
 you need not think to deceive me ; I saw you from Miss 
 j\Iercy's window — ' 
 
 * Saw what V faintly exclaimed Charlotte. 
 
CHARLOTTE. 
 
 ' You know well enough/ was the return. ' You 
 may think to blind Mrs. Beckett here, but I know 
 what over good-nature to young girls comes to. Pretty 
 use to make of your fine scholarship, to be encouraging 
 followers and sweethearts, at that time in the morning 
 too !' 
 
 * Speak up, Charlotte,' said the other occupant of the 
 room, a pleasant little bri^sk woman, with soft brown 
 eyes, a clear pale skin, and a face smooth, in spite of 
 nearly sixty years ; ' speak np, and tell Mrs. Martha 
 the truth, that you never encouraged no one.' 
 
 The girl's face was all one flame ; but she rose up, and 
 clasping her hands together, exclaimed — ' Me encou- 
 rage ! I never thought of what Mrs. Martha says ! I 
 dont know what it is all about !' 
 
 ' Here, Jane Beckett,' cried Mrs. Martha ; ' d'ye see 
 what 'tis to vindicate her ! Will you take her word 
 against mine, that she's been gossiping this half- 
 hour with that young rogue as was turned off at 
 Ormersfield V 
 
 ' Tom Madison !' cried the girl, in utter amaze. 
 ' Oh ! Mrs. Martha !' 
 
 ' Well ! I can't stop !' said Martha. ' I must get 
 Miss Faithfull's breakfast ! but if you was under me, 
 Miss Charlotte, I can tell you it would be better for 
 you ! You'll sup sorrow yet, and you'll both recollect 
 my advice, both of you.' 
 
 Wherewith the Cassandra departed, and Charlotte, 
 throwing her apron over her face, began to cry and 
 sob piteously. 
 
 ' My dear ! what is it now ?' exclaimed her kind 
 companion, pulling down her apron, and trying to 
 draw down first one, then the other of the arms 
 which persisted in veiling the crimson face. ' Surely 
 you don't think missus or I would mistrust you, or 
 think you'd take up with the likes of him !' 
 
 ' How could she be so cruel — so spiteful,' sobbed 
 Charlotte, ' when he only came to ask one que.stion, 
 and did a good turn for me with the mats. I never 
 
6 DYNEVOR TERHACE. 
 
 thought of such a thing. Sweetheart, indcod ! So cruel 
 of her!' 
 
 ' Bless me !' said Jane, * girls used to think it only 
 civility to say they had a sweetheart !' 
 
 ' Don't, Mrs. Beckett ! I hate the word ! I don't 
 ■want no such thing! I won't never speak to Tom 
 Madison again, if such constructions is to be put on 
 it!' 
 
 'Well, after all, Charlotte dear, that will be the 
 safest way. You are young yet, and best not to think 
 of settling, special if you aren't sure of one that is 
 steady and religious ; and you'd better keep yourself up, 
 and not get a name for gossiping — though there's no 
 harm done yet, so don't make such a work. Bless me, 
 if I don't hear his lordship's voice ! He ain't never come 
 so early!' 
 
 * Yes, he is,' said Charlotte, recovering from her sobs ; 
 * he rode up as I came in.' 
 
 ' Well, to be sure, he is come to breakfast ! I hope 
 nothin's amiss with my young Lord ! I must run up 
 with a cup and plate; and you, make the place tidy, in 
 case Mr. Poynings comes in. You'd better run into 
 the scullery and wash your face ; 'tis all tears ! You're 
 a terrible one to cry, Charlotte !' with a kind, cheering 
 smile and caress. 
 
 Mrs, Beckett bustled off, lea\dng Charlotte to restore 
 herself to the little handy piece of household mecha- 
 nism which kind, patient, motherly training had ren- 
 dered her. 
 
 Charlotte Arnold had been foirly educated at a 
 village school, and tenderly brought up at home till 
 left an orphan, when she had been taken into her 
 present place. She had much native refinement and 
 imagination, \vhich, half cultivated, produced a curious 
 mixture of romance and simplicity. Her insatiable 
 taste for reading was meritorious in the eyes of Mrs. 
 Beckett, who, unlearned herself, thought any book 
 better than ' gadding about,' and, after hearing her 
 daily portion of the Bible, listened to the most adven- 
 
CHARLOTTE. 7 
 
 turous romances, with a sense of pleasure and duty in 
 keeping the girl to her book. She loved the little 
 fragile orphan, taught her, and had patience with her, 
 and trusted the true high sound principle which she 
 recognised in Charlotte, amid much that she could not 
 fathom, and set down alternately to the score of scho- 
 larship and youth. 
 
 Taste, modesty, and timidity were guards to Char- 
 lotte. A broad stare was terror to her, and she had 
 many a fictitious horror, as well as better-founded 
 ones. Truly she said, she hated the broad words 
 Mai-tha had used. One who craved a true knight to 
 be twitted with, a sweetheart ! Martha and Tom Madi- 
 son were almosi equally distasteful, as connected with 
 such a reproach; and the little maiden drew into herself, 
 promenaded her fancy in castles and tournaments, kept 
 under Jane's wing, and was upheld by her as a sensible, 
 prudent girl. 
 
DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS. 
 
 I praise thee, matron, and thy due 
 Is praise, heroic praise and true ; 
 With admiration I behold 
 Thy gladness unsubdued and bold. 
 Thy looks and gestures all present 
 The picture of a life well spent ; 
 Our hvunan nature throws away 
 Its second twilight and looks gay. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 UNCONSCIOUS of Charlotte's flight and Tom's 
 affront, the Earl of Ormersfield rode along 
 Dynevor Terrace — a row of houses with handsome 
 cemented fronts, tragic and comic masks alternating 
 over the downstairs windows, and the centre of the 
 block adorned with a pediment and colonnade ; but 
 there was an air as if something ailed the place : the 
 gardens were weedy, the glass doors hazy, the cement 
 stained and scarred, and many of the windows closed 
 and dark, like eyes wanting speculation, or with 
 merely the dreary words ' To be let' enlivening their 
 blank gloom. At the house where Charlotte had 
 vanished, he drew his rein, and opened the gate — not 
 one of the rusty ones — he entered the garden, -svhere 
 all was trim and fresh, the shadow of the house lyirg 
 across the sward, and preserving the hoar-frost, which, 
 in the sunshine, was melting into diamond drops on 
 the lingering China roses. 
 
 Without ring or knock, he passed into a narrow, 
 carpetless vestibule, unadorned except by a beautiful 
 blue Wedge wood vase, and laying down hat and 
 
AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS. » 
 
 whip, mounted tlie bare staircase, loDg since divested 
 of all paint or polish. Avoiding the door of the prin- 
 cipal room, he opened another at the side, and stood in 
 a flood of sunshine, pouring in from the window, which 
 looked over all the roofs of the town, to the coppices 
 and moorlands of Ormersfield. On the bright fire 
 sung a kettle, a white cat purred on the hearth, a 
 canary twittered menily in the window, and the light 
 smiled on a languishing Dresden shepherdess and her 
 lover on the mantelpiece, and danced on the ceiling, 
 reflected from a beautifully chased silver cream-jug — 
 an inconsistent companion for the homely black teapot 
 and willow-patterned plates, thougli the two cups of 
 rare Indian porcelain were not unworthy of it. The 
 furniture was the same mixture of the ordinary and 
 the choice, either worn and shabby, or such as would 
 suit a virtuoso, but the whole aiTanged with taste 
 and care that made the effect bright, pleasant, and 
 comfortable. Lord Ormersfield stood on the hearth- 
 rusj waitinfc. His face was that of one who had learnt 
 to wait, more considerate than acute, and bearing the 
 stamp both of toil and sufiering, as if grief had taken, 
 away all mobility of expression, and left a stern, 
 thoughtful steadfastness. 
 
 Presently a lady entered the room. Her hair was 
 white as snow, and she could not have seen less than 
 seventy-seven years ; but beauty was not gone from her 
 features — smiles were still on her lips, brightness in her 
 clear hazel eyes, buoyancy in her tread, and alertness 
 and dignity in her tall, slender, unVjent figure. There 
 was nothing so remarkable about her as the elasticity 
 as well as sweetness of her whole look and bearing, 
 as if, while she had something to love, nothing could 
 be capable of crushing her. 
 
 'You here !' she exclaimed, holding out her hand to 
 her guest. ' You are come to breakfast.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; I wished to see you without inter- 
 rupting your day's work. Have you many scholars 
 at present f 
 
10 DYNEVOU TEHUACE. 
 
 ' Only seven, and three go into school at Easter. 
 Jem and Clara wish me to undertake no more, but I 
 should sorely miss the little fellows. I wish they may 
 do me as much credit as Sydney Calcott. He wrote 
 himself to tell me of his success.' 
 
 ' I am glad to hear it. He is a very promising 
 young man.' 
 
 ' I tell him I shall come to honour, as the old dame 
 who taught him to spell. My scholars may make a 
 Dr. Busby of me in history.' 
 
 ' I am afraid your preferment will depend chiefly on 
 James and young Calcott.' 
 
 ' Nay, Louis tells me that he is going to read won- 
 derfully hard; and if he chooses, he can do more than 
 even Sydney Calcott.' 
 
 ' If !' said the Earl. 
 
 Jane here entered with another cup and plate, 
 and Lord Ormersfield sat down to the breakfast-table. 
 After some minutes' pause he said, ' Have you heard 
 from PeiTi V 
 
 ' Not by this mail. Have you V 
 
 * Yes, I have. Mary is coming home.' 
 
 * INIary !' she cried, almost springing up — 'INfary Pon- 
 sonby 1 This is good news — unless,' as she watched 
 his grave face, ' it is her health that brings her.' 
 
 * It is. She has consulted the surgeon of the Libra, 
 a very able man, who tells her that there is absolute 
 need of good advice and a colder climate ; and Ponsonby 
 has consented to let her and her daughter come home 
 in the Libra. I expect them in February.' 
 
 'My poor Mary! But she will get better away 
 from him. I trust he is not coming !' 
 
 ' Not he,' said Lord Ormersfield. 
 
 ' Dear, dear Mary ! I had scarcely dared to hope 
 to see her again,' cried the old lady, with tears in her 
 eyes. ' 1 hope she will be allowed to be with us, not kept 
 in London wdth his sister. London does her no good.' 
 
 ' The very purport of my visit,' said Lord Ormers- 
 field, ' was to ask whether you could do me the favour 
 
AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS. 11 
 
 to set aside your scholars, and enable me to receive 
 jNIrs. Ponsonby at home.' 
 
 ^ Tliank you — oh, thank you. There is nothing I 
 should like better, but I must consider — ' 
 
 ' Clara would find a companion in the younger Mary 
 in the holidays ; and if James would make Fitzjocelyn 
 his charge, it would complete the obligation. It 
 would be by far the best arrangement for Mary's com- 
 fort, and it would be the greatest satisfaction to me to 
 see her with you at Ormei^field.' 
 
 ^ I believe it would indeed,' said the old lady, more 
 touched than the outward manner of the Earl seemed 
 to warrant. ' I would — you know I would do my 
 very best that you and Mary should be comfortable 
 together' — and her voice trembled — ' but you see I can- 
 not promise all at once. I must see about these little 
 boys. I must talk to Jem. In short, you must not 
 be disappointed' — and she put her hands before her 
 face, trying to laugh, but almost overcome. 
 
 ' Nay, I did not mean to press you,' said Lord 
 Ormersfield, gently ; ' but I thought, since James has 
 had the fellowship and Clara has been at school, that 
 you wished to give up your pupils.' 
 
 ' So I do,' said the lady, but still not yielding ab- 
 solutely. 
 
 ' For the rest, I am very anxious that James should 
 accept Fitzjocelyn as his pupil. I have always con- 
 sidered their friendship as the best hope j and other 
 plans have had so little success, that — ' 
 
 ' I'm not going to hear Louis abused !' she exclaimed, 
 
 gaily. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Lord Ormersfield, with a look nearly ap- 
 proaching a smile, ' you are the last person I ought 
 to invite, if I wish to keep your nephew unspoiled.' 
 
 ' I wish there were any one else to spoil him !' 
 
 ^ For his sake, then, come and make Ormersfield 
 cheerful. It will be far better for him.' 
 
 * And for you, to see more of Jem,' she added. ' If 
 he were yours, what v/ould you say to such hours V 
 
12 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 The last words were aimed at a young man who 
 came briskly into the room, and as he kissed her, and 
 shook hands with the Earl, answered in a quick, bright 
 tone, ' Shocking, aye. All owing to sitting up till one !' 
 
 ' Heading V said the Earl. 
 
 * Reading,' he answered, with a sort of laughing 
 satisfaction in dashing aside the approval expressed in 
 the cpiery, 'but not quite as you suppose. See here,' 
 as he held up maliciously a railway novel. 
 
 ' I am afraid I know where it came from,' said Lord 
 Ormersfield. 
 
 ' Exactly so,' said James. 'It was Fitzjocelyn's 
 desertion of it that excited my curiosity.' 
 
 ' Indeed. I should have thought his desertions far 
 too common to excite any curiosity.' 
 
 ' By no means. He always has a reason.' 
 
 ' A plausible one.' 
 
 ' More than plausible,' cried James, excitement 
 sparkling in his vivid black eyes. ' It haj^j^ens that 
 this is the very book that you would most rejoice to 
 see distasteful to him — low morality, false principles, 
 morbid excitement, not a line that ought to please a 
 healthy mind.' — 
 
 ' Yet it has interest enough for you.' 
 
 ' I am not Fitzjocelyn.' 
 
 ' You know how to plead for him.' 
 
 ' I speak simple truth,' bluntly answered James, 
 running his hand through his black hair, to the ruin of 
 the morning smoothness, so tliat it, as well as the 
 whole of his quick, dark countenance seemed to have 
 undergone a change from sunny south to stormy north 
 in the few moments since his lirst appearance. 
 
 Ajfter a short silence. Lord Ormersfield turned to 
 liim, saying 'I have been begging a favour of my aunt, 
 and I have another to ask of you,' and repeating his 
 explanation, begged him to undei-take the tutorship of 
 his son. 
 
 ' I shall not be at liberty at Easter,' said James ; ' I 
 have all but undertaken some men at Oxford.' 
 
AX OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS. 13 
 
 ' Oh, my clear Jem 1' exc-laimed the old lady, 4s that 
 settled beyond alteration V 
 
 ' I'm not goincj to throw them over.' 
 ' Then I shall hope for you at Midsummer,' said the 
 Earl. 
 
 ' We shall see how things stand,' he returned, un- 
 graciously. 
 
 ' I shall ^sT-ite to you,' said Lord Ormersfield, still 
 undaunted, and soon after taking his leave. 
 
 ' Cool r cried James, as soon as he was gone. ' To ex- 
 pect you to give up your school at his beck, to come 
 and keep house for him as long as it may suit him !' 
 
 ' Nay, Jem, he knew how few boys I have, and that 
 I intended to give them up. You don't mean to refuse 
 Louis V she said, imploringly. 
 
 ' I shall certainly not take him at Easter. It would 
 be a mere farce intended to compensate to us for o-ivino- 
 up the school, and I'll not lend myself to it while I 
 can have real work.' 
 
 ' At Midsummer, then. You know he will never 
 let Louis spend a long vacation without a tutor.' 
 
 ' I hate to be at Ormersfield,' proceeded James, 
 vehemently, 'to see Fitzjocelyn browbeaten and con- 
 tradicted every moment, and myself set up for a model. 
 I may steal a horse, while he may not look over the 
 wall ! Did you obsei've the inconsistency i — ani:rrv with 
 the poor fellow first for having the book, and then for 
 not reading the whole, while it became amiable and 
 praisewoilhy in me to burn out a candle over it !' 
 
 ' Ah I that was my concern. I tell him he would 
 sing another note if you were his son.' 
 
 ' I'd soon make him ! I would not stand what Louis 
 does. The more he is set down and sneered at, the 
 more debonnaire he looks, till I could rave at him for 
 taking it so easily.' 
 
 ' I hoped you might have hindered them from 
 fretting each other, as they do so often.' 
 
 'I should only he a fresh element of discord, while 
 his lordship will persist in making me his pattern 
 
14; DYXEYOU TERRACE. 
 
 young man. It makes me hate myself, especially as 
 Louis is such an unaccountable felloNv that he won't.' 
 
 ' I am sorry you dislike the plan so much.' 
 
 ' Do you mean that you wish for it, grandmamma V 
 cried he, turning full round on her with an aii' of 
 extreme amazement. ' If you do, there's an end of it ; 
 but I thought you valued nothing more than an inde- 
 pendent home.' 
 
 ' Nor would I give it up on any account,' said she. 
 ' I do not imagine this could possibly last for more 
 than a few months, or a year at the utmost. Bat you 
 know, dear Jem, I would do nothing you did not 
 like.' 
 
 ' That's nothing to the purpose,' replied James. 
 ' Thouo:h it is to be considered whether Ormersfield is 
 likely to be the best preparation for Clara's future life. 
 However, I see you wish it — ' 
 
 ' I confess that I do, for a few months at least, which 
 need interfere neither with Clara nor with you. I have 
 not seen Lord Ormersfield so eager for many years, and 
 I should be very sorry to prevent those two from 
 being comfortably together in the old home — ' 
 
 ' And can't that be without a chaperon V exclaimed 
 James, laughing. ' Why, lus lordship is fifty-five j and 
 she can't be much less. That is a good joke.' 
 
 ' It is not ])unctilio,' said his grandmother, looking 
 distressed. ' It is needful to be on the safe side with 
 such a man as Mr. Ponsonby. My fear is that he may 
 send her home with orders not to come near us.' 
 
 ' She used to be always at Ormersfield in the old 
 times.' 
 
 ' Yes, when my sister was alive. Ah ! you were too 
 voung to know about those matters then. The fact was, 
 that things had come to such a pass from Mr. Pon- 
 sonby's neglect and unkindness, that Lord Ormersfield, 
 standing in the place of her brother, thought it right to 
 interfere. His mother went to London with him, to 
 Ijring poor Mary and her little girl back to Ormersfield, 
 and there they were till my sister s death, when of coui-se 
 
AX OLD SCHOOLMISTHESS. 15 
 
 tliey could not remain. Mr. Ponsonby had j ust got his 
 appointment as British envoy in Peru, and wished her 
 to go with him. It was much against Lord Ormers- 
 field's advice; but she thought it her duty, poor dear. 
 I believe he positively hates Lord Ormersfield ; and as 
 if for a parting unkindness, he left his little girl at 
 school with orders to spend her holidays with his 
 sister, and never to be with us.' 
 
 ' That accounts for it !' said James. ' I never knew 
 all this ! nor why we were so entirely cut off from Mary 
 Ponsonby. I wonder what she is now ! She was a 
 droll sturdy child in those days ! We used to call her 
 Downright Dunstable ! She was almost of the same 
 age a.s Louis, and a great deal stouter, and used to 
 fight for him and herself too. Has not she been out 
 in Peru V 
 
 ' Yes, she went out at seventeen. I believe she is 
 an infinite comfort to her mother.' 
 
 ' Poor Mary ! Well, we children lived in the middle 
 of a tragedy, and little suspected it 1 By the bye, what 
 relation are the Ponsonbys to us V 
 
 'Mrs. Ponsonby is my niece. My dear sister, 
 Mary — ' 
 
 'IVIarried Mr. Raymond — yes, I know ! I'll make 
 the whole lucid; I'U draw up a pedigree, and Louis 
 shall learn it.' And ^v-ith elaborate neatness he wrote 
 as follows, filling in the dates from the first leaf of an 
 old Bible, after his grandmother had left the room. 
 The task, lightly undertaken, became a mournful one ; 
 and as he read over his performance, his countenance 
 varied from the gentleness of regret to a look of sar- 
 castic pride, as though he felt that the world had dealt 
 hardly by him, and yet disdained to complain. 
 
16 
 
 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
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AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS. 17 
 
 ' Since 1816/ muttered James, as he finished. 'Thirty- 
 years of drudgery ! When shall I be able to relieve 
 her ? Ha ! O. J. F. Dynevor, Esquire; if it were you 
 who were coming from Peru, you would find a score 
 to settle !' 
 
 He ran down stairs to assist his grandmother in the 
 Latin lessons of her little school, the usual employ- 
 ment of his vacations. 
 
 Catharine Dynevor had begun life with little pro- 
 spect of spending nearly half of it as mistress of a 
 school. 
 
 Her father was the last male of the Dynevors of 
 Cheveleigh — a family mounting up to the days of the 
 Pendragons — and she had been made to take the place 
 of an eldest son, iuheriting the extensive landed pro- 
 perty on condition that her name and arms should be 
 assumed in case of her marriage. Her choice was 
 one of the instances in which her afiections had the 
 mastery over her next strongest characteristic, family 
 pride. She married a highly-educated and wealthy 
 gentleman, of good family, but of mercantile con- 
 nexions, such as her father, if living, would have dis- 
 dained. Her married life was, however, perfectly un- 
 clouded ; her ample means gave her the power of dis- 
 pensing joy, and her temperament was so blithe and 
 unselfish that no pleasure ever palled upon her. 
 Cheveleigh was a proverb for hospitality, afibrding 
 unfailing fetes for all ages, full of a graceful ease and 
 freedom that inspired enjoyment. 
 
 Mr. Frost Dynevor was a man of refined taste, open- 
 handed even to extravagance, liberal in all liis appoint- 
 ments, and gratifying to the utmost his love of art and 
 decoration ; while his charities and generous actions 
 were hearty and lavish enough to satisfy even his 
 warm-hearted wife. 
 
 Joined with all this was a strong turn for specula- 
 tions. When the mind has once become absorbed in 
 earthly visions of wealth and prosperity, the excitement 
 exercises such a fascination over the senses that the 
 
 VOL. I. c 
 
IS DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 judgment loses balance. Bold assumptions are taken 
 as certainties, and made the foundation of fresh fabrics 
 — the very power of discerning between fact and pos- 
 sibility departs, ^nd, in mere good-will, men, honest and 
 honourable at heart, risk their own and their neigh- 
 bours' property, and ruin their character and good name, 
 by the very actions most foreign to to their nature, ere 
 it had fallen under the strong delusion. 
 
 Mr. Frost Dynevor had the misfortune to live in a 
 country rich in mineral wealth, and to have a brother- 
 in-law easily guided, and with more love of figures than 
 power of investigating estimates on a large scale. Mines 
 were set on foot, companies established, and buildings 
 commenced, and the results were only to be paral- 
 leled by those of the chalybeate springs discovered by 
 Mr, Dynevor at the little town of Northwold, which 
 were pronounced by his favourite hanger-on to be 
 destined ' literally to cut the throat of Bath and Chel- 
 tenham.' 
 
 Some towns are said to have required the life of a 
 child ere their foundations could be laid. Many a 
 speculation has swallowed a life and fortune before 
 its time for thriving has come. Mr. Frost Dynevor 
 and Lord Ormersfield were the foremost victims to 
 the Cheveleigh iron foundries and the North wold 
 baths. The close of the war brought a commercial 
 crisis that their companies could not stand ; and Mr. 
 Dynevor' s death spared him from the sight of the 
 crash, which his talent and sagacity might possibly 
 have averted. He had shown no misgivings ; but, no 
 sooner was he removed from the helm, than the vessel 
 was found on the brink of destruction. Enormous 
 sums had been sunk without tangible return, and the 
 liabilities of the companies far surpassed anything that 
 they had realized. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield was stunned and helpless. Mrs. 
 Dynevor had but one idea — namely, to sacrifice every- 
 thing to clear her husband's name. Her sons were 
 mere boys, and the only person who proved himself 
 
AN OLD SCHOOLMISTRESS. 19 
 
 able to act or judge was the heir of Ormersfield, then 
 about four-and-twenty, who came forward with sound 
 judgment and upright dispassionate sense of justice to 
 cope with the difficulties and clear away the involve- 
 ments. 
 
 He joined his father in mortgaging land, sacri- 
 ficing timber, and reducing the establishment ; so 
 as to set the estate in the way of finally becoming 
 free, though at the expense of rigid economy and self- 
 denial. 
 
 Cheveleigh could not have been saved, even had 
 the heiress not been willing to yield ever^'thiug to 
 satisfy the just claims of the creditors. She was 
 happy when she heard that it would suffice, and that 
 no one would be able to accuse her husband of havingf 
 -wronged him. But for this, she would hardly have 
 submitted to retain what her nephew succeeded in 
 securing for her — namely, an income of about 1501. 
 per annum, and the row of houses called Dynevor 
 Terrace, one of the building ventures at North wold. 
 This was the sole dependence 'sWth which she and her 
 sons quitted the home of their forefathers. ' Never 
 mind, mother,' said Henry, kissing her, to prevent the 
 tears from springing, ' home is wherever we are to- 
 gether !' ' Never fear, mother,' echoed Oliver, with 
 knitted brow and clenched hands, 'I will win it 
 back.' 
 
 Oliver was a quiet lad, of diligent, methodical habits, 
 and willingly accepted a clerkship in a mercantile 
 house, which owed some obligations to his father. At 
 the end of a couple of years he was sent to reside in 
 South America ; and his parting words to his mother 
 were — 'When you see me again, Cheveleigh shall be 
 yours.' 
 
 ' Oh, my boy, take care. Remember, * They that 
 haste to be rich shall not be innocent.' ' 
 
 That was the last time she had seen Oliver. 
 
 Her great object was to maintain herself indepen- 
 dently and to complete Henry's education as a gentle- 
 
 c 2 
 
20 DYNEVOR TEERACE. 
 
 man. "With this view she took up her abode in the 
 least eligible of her houses at Northwold, and, dropping 
 the aristocratic name which alone remained of her 
 heiress-ship, opened a school for little boys, declaring 
 that she was rejoiced to recal the days when Henry 
 and Oliver wore frocks and learnt to spell. If any 
 human being could sweeten the Latin Grammar, it was 
 Mrs. Frost; with the motherliness of a dame, and the 
 refinement of a lady, unfailing sympathy and buoyant 
 spirits ; she loved each urchin, and each urchin loved 
 her, till she had become a sort of adopted grandmamma 
 to all Northwold and the neighbourhood. 
 
 Henry went to Oxford. He gained no scholarship, 
 took no honours, but he fell neither into debt nor dis- 
 grace ; he led a good-natured easy life, and made a 
 vast number of friends ; and when he was not 
 staying with them, he and his mother were supremely 
 happy together. He walked with her, read to her, 
 sang to her, and played with her pupils. He had 
 always been brought up as the heir — petted, humoured, 
 and waited on — a post which he filled with good- 
 humoured easy grace, and which he continued to fill 
 in the same manner, though he had no one to wait on 
 him but his mother, and her faithful servant Jane 
 Beckett. Years passed on, and they seemed perfectly 
 satisfied with their division of labour, — Mrs. Frost 
 kept school, and Henry played the flute, or shot over 
 the Ormersfield property. 
 
 If any one remonstrated, Henry was always said to 
 be waiting for a government appointment, which was 
 to be procured by the Ormersfield interest. More for 
 the sake of his mother than of himself, the Ormersfield 
 interest was at length exerted, and the appointment 
 was conferred on him. The immediate consequence 
 was his marriage with the first pretty girl he met, 
 poorer than himself, and all the Ormersfield interest 
 failed to make his mother angry with him. 
 
 The cholera of 1832 put an end to poor Henry's 
 
AN OLD SCHOOLMISTKESS. 21 
 
 desultory life. His house, in a crowded part of 
 London, was especially doomed by the deadly sick- 
 ness ; and out of the whole family the sole survivors 
 were a little girl of ten months old, and a boy of seven 
 years, the latter of whom was with his grandmother at 
 Northwold. 
 
 Mrs. Frost was one of the women of whom affection 
 makes unconscious heroines. She could never sink, as 
 long as there was aught to need her love and care ; and 
 though Henry had been her darling, the very know- 
 ledge that his orphans had no one but herself to depend 
 on, seemed to brace her energies with fresh life. They 
 were left entirely on her hands, her son Oliver made 
 no offers of assistance. He had risen, so as to be a pros- 
 perous merchant at Lima, and he wrote with regularity 
 and dutifulness, but he had never jjroposed coming to 
 England, and did not proffer any aid in the charge of 
 his brother's children. If she had expected anything 
 from him, she did not say so ; she seldom spoke of him, 
 but never without tenderness, and usually as her ' poor 
 Oliver,' and she abstained from teaching her grand- 
 children either to look to their rich uncle or to mourn 
 over their lost inheritance. Cheveleigh was a winter 
 evening's romance with no one but Jane Beckett : 
 and the grandmother always answered the children's 
 inquii'ies by bidding them prove their ancient blood 
 by resolute independence, and by that true dignity 
 which wealth could neither give nor take away. 
 
 Of that dignity, Mrs. Frost was a perfect model. A 
 singular compound of the gentle and the lofty, of ten- 
 derness and independence, she had never ceased to be 
 the Northwold standard of the 'real lady;' too mild 
 and gracious to be regarded as proud and poor, and yet 
 too dignified for any liberty to be attempted, her only 
 fault, that touch of pride, so ladylike and refined that 
 it was kept out of sight, and never offended ; and 
 everything else so sweet and winning that there was 
 scarcely a being who did not love, as well as honour 
 
22 
 
 DYNEVOR TEUEACE. 
 
 her, for the cheerfulness and resignation that had borne 
 her through lier many trials. Her trustful spirit and 
 warm heart had been an elixir of youth, and had pre- 
 served her freshness and elasticity long after her sister 
 and brother-in-law at Ormersfield had grown aged and 
 sunk into the grave, and even her nephew was fast 
 verging upon more than middle age. 
 
LOriS LE DEBOXXAIEE. 23 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 LOUIS LE DEBONXAIRE. 
 
 I walked by his garden and saw the wild brier, 
 The thorn and the thistle grow broader and higher. 
 
 Isaac Watts. 
 
 ORMEPvSFIELD PARK was extensive, ranging 
 into fine broken ground, rocky and overgro\\Ti with 
 brushwood ; but it bore the marks of retrenchment ; 
 there was hardly a large timber tree on the estate, 
 enclosures had been begun and deserted, and the deer 
 had been sold ofi" to make room for farmers' cattle, 
 which grazed up to the very front door. 
 
 The house was of the stately era of Ajine, with a 
 heavy portico and clumsy pediment on the garden 
 side, all the windows of the suite of rooms opening on 
 a broad stone terrace, whence steps descended to the 
 lawn, neatly kept, but sombre, for want of openings in 
 the surrounding evergreens. 
 
 It was early March, and a lady wrapped in a shawl 
 was seated on the terrace, enjoying the mild gleam of 
 spring, and the freshness of the sun- warmed air, which 
 awoke a smile of welcome as it breathed on her faded 
 cheek, and her eyes gazed on the scene, in fond recog- 
 nition. 
 
 It had been the home of Mi-s. Ponsonby's childhood; 
 and the slopes of turf and belts of dark ilex were fraught 
 with many a recollection of girlish musings, youthful 
 visions, and later, intervals of tranquillity and repose. 
 After fourteen years spent in South America, how 
 many threads she had to take up again ! 
 
 She had been as a sister to her cousin, Lord Ormers- 
 
24 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 field, and had shared more of his confidence than any 
 other person during their earlier years, but afterwards 
 their intercourse had necessarily been confined to brief 
 and guarded letters. She had found him unchanged 
 in his kindness to herself, and she was the more led to 
 ponder on the grave, stern impassiveness of his 
 manner to others, and to try to understand the tone 
 of mind that it indicated. 
 
 She recalled him as he had been in his first youth — 
 reserved, sensible, thoughtful, but with the fire of 
 ambition burning strongly within, and ever and anon 
 flashing forth vividly, repressed at once as too demon- 
 strative, but filling her with enthusiastic admiration. 
 She remembered him calmly and manfully meeting 
 the shock of the failure, that would, he knew, fetter and 
 encumber him through life — how resolutely he had 
 faced the difficulties, how unselfishly he had put him- 
 self out of the question, how uprightly he had dealt 
 by the creditors, how considerately by his father and 
 aunt, how wise and moderate his proceedings had been 
 throughout. She recollected how she had shared his 
 aspirations, and gloried in his consistent and prudent 
 course, without perceiving what sorrow had since 
 taught her — that ambition was to him what pleasure 
 was to other young men. What had it not been to 
 her when that ambition began to be gratified ! when 
 he had become a leading man in Parliament, and by- 
 and-by held office. 
 
 There, a change came over the spirit of her dream ; 
 and though she sighed, she could not but smile at the 
 fair picture that rose before her, of a young girl of 
 radiant loveliness, her golden curls drooping over her 
 neck, and her eyes blue as the starry veronica by the 
 hedge side, smiling in tlie sunshine. She thought of 
 the glances of proud delight that her cousin had stolen 
 at her, to read in her face, that his Louisa was more 
 than all he had told her. Little was needed to make 
 her love the sweet, caressing young creature who had 
 thrown her arms round her, and told her that she saw 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONNAIEE. 25 
 
 it was all nonsense to tell her she was such a good, 
 grave, dreadful cousin Mary ! Yet there had been 
 some few misgivings ! So short an acquaintance ! Her 
 cousin too busy for more than being bewitched by the 
 lovely face ! The Yilliers family, so gay and fashion- 
 able ! Might not all have been foreseen ? And yet, 
 of what use would foresight have been 1 The gentle- 
 man was deeply attached, and the lady's family courted 
 the match, the distinction he had won, atoning for his 
 encumbered fortune. 
 
 Other scenes arose on her memory — Louisa, a 
 triumphant beauty, living on the homage she received, 
 all brilliance, grace, and enjoyment. But there was a 
 darkening background which grew more prominent. 
 Poor Louisa had little wisdom by nature, and her 
 education had been solely directed to enable her to shine 
 in the world, not to render her fit for the companion- 
 ship of a man of domestic tastes, accustomed to the 
 society of superior women. There was nothing to fall 
 back upon, nothing to make a home ; she was listless 
 and weary whenever gaiety failed her — and he, dis- 
 appointed and baffled, too unbending to draw her out, 
 too much occupied to watch over her, yielded to her 
 tastes, and let her pursue her favouiite enjoyments 
 unchecked. 
 
 A time had come when childish vanity and frivolity 
 were verging on levity and imprudence. Expostula- 
 tions fell powerless on her shallowness. Painful was 
 the remembrance of the deprecating roguish glance of 
 the beautiful eyes, and the coaxing caresses with which 
 she kissed away the lecture, and made promises, only to 
 forget them. She was like the soulless Undine, with 
 her reckless gaiety and svv eetness, so loving and childish 
 that there was no being displeased with her, so 
 innocent and devoid of all art or guile in her wilful- 
 ness, that her faults could hardly bear a harsher name 
 than follies. 
 
 Again, Mrs. Ponsonby thought of the days when she 
 herself had been left to stay with her old uncle and 
 
26 DYNEVOR TEERACE. 
 
 aunt in this very lionse while her husband was absent 
 abroad, when she had assisted them to receive the poor 
 young wife, sent home in failing health. She thought 
 of the sad weeks; so melancholy in the impossibility of 
 making an impression, or of leading poor Louisa from 
 her frivolities; she recalled the sorrow of hearing 
 her build on future schemes of pleasure, the dead blank 
 when her prattle on them failed, the tedium of deeper 
 subjects, and yet the bewitching sweetness overpower- 
 ing all vexation at her exceeding silliness. Though full 
 one-and-twenty years had passed, still the tears thrilled 
 warm into Mrs. Ponsonby's eyes at the thought 
 of Louisa's fond clinging to her, in spite of many 
 an admonition and even exertion of authority, for she 
 alone dared to control the spoilt child's self-will ; and 
 had far more power than the husband, who seemed to 
 act as a check and restraint, and whose presence 
 rendered her no longer easy and naturaL One confi- 
 dence had explained the whole. 
 
 'You know, Mary dear, I always was so much 
 afraid of him ! If I had had my own way, I know 
 who it would have been ; but there were mamma and 
 Anna Maria always saying how fortunate I was, and 
 that he would be Prime Minister, and all the rest. Oh ! 
 I was far too young and foolish for him. He should 
 have married a sober body, such as you, Mary ! Why 
 did he not V She wished she had never teased him by 
 going out so much, and letting people talk nonsense ; 
 he had been very kind, and she was not half good 
 enough for him. That confession, made to him, would 
 have been balm for ever ; but she had not resolution 
 for the effort, and the days slid away till the worst 
 fears were fulfilled. Nay, were they the worst fears 1 
 Was there not an unavowed sense that it was safer 
 that she should die, while innocent of all but wayward 
 folly, than be left to perils which she was so little able 
 to resist? 
 
 The iron expression of grief on her husband's face 
 had forbidden all sympathy, all attempt at consolation. 
 
LOUIS IE DEBONNAIKE. 27 
 
 He hacl returned at once to his business in London, 
 there to find that poor Louisa's extravagance had 
 equalled her folly, and that he, whose pricle it had been 
 to redeem his paternal property, was thrown back by 
 heavy debts on his own account. This had been known 
 to Mrs. Ponsonby, but by no word from him; he had 
 never permitted the most distant reference to his wife, 
 and yet, with inconsistency betraying his passionate 
 love, he had ordered one of the most beautiful and costly 
 monuments that art could execute, for her grave at 
 Ormei'sfield, and had sent brief but explicit orders that, 
 contrary to all family precedent, his infant should bear 
 no name but Louis. 
 
 On this boy Mrs. Ponsonby had founded all her 
 hopes of a renewal of happmess for her cousin ; but 
 w^hen she had left England there had been little amal- 
 cramation between the volatile animated bov, and his 
 grave unbending father. She could not conjure up 
 any more comfortable picture of them than the child 
 uneasily perched on his papa's knee, looking wistfully 
 for a way of escape, and his father with an air of having 
 Kfted him up as a duty, without knowing what to do 
 with him or to say to him. 
 
 At her earnest advice, the little fellow had been placed 
 as a boarder with his great-aunt, Mrs. Frost, when his 
 grandmother s death had deprived him of all that was 
 homelike at Ormersfield. He had been with her till 
 he was old enough for a public school, and she spoke 
 of him as if he were no less dear to her than her own 
 grandchildren ; but she was one who saw no fault in 
 those whom she loved, and Mrs. Ponsonby had been 
 rendered a little anxious by a certain tone of dissatis- 
 faction in Lord Ormersfield's ciui; mention of his son, 
 and above all by his cold manner of announcing that 
 this was the day when he would return from Oxlbrd for 
 the Easter vacation. 
 
 Could it be that the son was unworthy, or had the 
 father's feelings been too much chilled ever to warm 
 a^ain, and all home affections lost in the strife of 
 
28 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 politics? These had ever since engaged him, whether 
 in or out of office, leaving little time for society or for 
 any domestic pursuit. 
 
 Her reflections were interrupted by a call of 
 ' Mamma!' and her daughter came running up the 
 steps. Mary Ponsonby had too wide a face for 
 beauty, and not slightness enough for symmetry, but 
 nothing could be more pleasing and trustworthy than 
 the open countenance, the steady, clear, greenish-brown 
 eyes, the kind, sensible mouth, the firm chin, broad 
 though rather short forehead, and healthy though not 
 highly-coloured cheek ; and the voice — full, soft, and 
 cheerful — well agreed with the expression, and always 
 brought gladness and promise of sympathy. 
 
 ' See, mamma, what we have found for you.' 
 
 ' Violets ! The very purple ones that used to grow 
 on the orchard bank !' 
 
 ' So they did. Mary knew exactly where to look 
 for them/ said Mrs. Frost, who had followed her up the 
 steps. 
 
 * And there is Gervas,' contiued Mary; ' so charmed to 
 hear of you, that we had almost brought him to see you.* 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby declared herself so much invigorated 
 by Ormersfield air, that she would go to see her old 
 friend the gardener. Mary hurried to fetch her bonnet, 
 and returned while a panegyric was going on upon her 
 abilities as maid-of-all-work, in her mother's difficulties 
 with male housemaids — black and brown — and washer- 
 women who rode on horseback in white satin shoes. She 
 looked as if it were hardly natural that any one but her- 
 self should support her mother, when Mrs. Frost tenderly 
 drew Mrs. Ponsonby 's arm into her own; and it was 
 indeed strange to see the younger lady so frail and 
 broken, and the elder so strong, vigorous, and active; as 
 they moved along in the sunshine, pausing to note each 
 spring blossom that bordered the gravel, and entered 
 the walled kitchen-garden, where espaliers ran parallel 
 with the walks, dividing the vegetables from the 
 narrow flower-beds, illuminated by crocuses opening 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONNAIRE. 29 
 
 the depths of their golden hearts to the sunbeams and 
 the revelling bees. Old Gervas, in a patriarchal red 
 waistcoat, welcomed Mrs. Ponsonby with more warmth 
 than flattery. ' Bless me, ma'am, I'm right glad to see 
 you ; but how old you be !' 
 
 ' I must come home to learn how to grow young, 
 Gervas,' said she, smiling; ' I hear Betty is as youthful 
 as my aunt here.' 
 
 ' Ay, ma'am, Betty do tight it out tolerablish,' was 
 the reply to this compliment. 
 
 * Why, Gervas, what's all that wilderness ? Surely 
 those used to be strawberry beds.' 
 
 ^ Yes, ma'am, the earliest hautboys ; don't ye mind ? 
 My young Lord came and begged it of me, and, bless 
 the lad, I can't refuse him nothing.' 
 
 * He seems to be no gardener !' 
 
 ' He said he wanted to make a Botany Bay sort of 
 garden,' said the old man ; ' and sure enough 'tis a 
 garden of weeds he's made of it, and mine into the 
 bargain ! He has a great big thistle here, and the 
 down blows right over my beds, thick as snow, so that 
 it is three women's work to be a match for the weeds; 
 but speak to him of pulling it up, ye'd think 'twas 
 the heart out of him.' 
 
 * Does he ever work here V 
 
 *At first it was nought else; he and that young 
 chap, Madison, always bringing docks and darnel out 
 of the hedges, and plants from the nursery gardens, 
 and bringing rockwork, and letting water in to make 
 a swamp. There's no saying what's in the lad's head ! 
 But, of late, he's not done much but by times lying on 
 the bank, reading or speaking verses out loud to him- 
 self, or getting young Madison off his work to listen 
 to him. Once he got me to hear ; but, ma'am, 'twas all 
 about fairies and such like, putting an ass's head on an 
 honest body as had lost his way. I told him 'twas 
 no good for him or the boy to read scuh stuff, and 
 I'd ha' none of it ; but, if he chose to read me some 
 good book, he'd be welcome — for the candles baint so 
 
30 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 good as they used, and I can't get no spectacles to 
 suit me.' 
 
 * And did he read to you V 
 
 ' A bit or two, ma'am, if the humour took him. But 
 he's young, you see, ma'am. I'm right glad he'll find 
 you here. My old woman says he do want a lady 
 about the place to make him comfortable like.' 
 
 'And who is this young Madison f asked Mrs. 
 Ponsonby, when they had turned from the old 
 gardener. 
 
 ' To hear Jem, you would believe that he is the 
 m^ost promising plant rearing for Botany Bay!' said 
 Mrs. Frost. ' He is a boy from that wild place Marks- 
 edge, whom Louis took interest in, and made more 
 familiar than Jem liked, or than, j^erhaps, was good 
 for him. It did not answer; the servants did not like 
 it, and it ended in his being sent to work with Smith, 
 the ironmonger. Poor Louis ! he took it sadly to heart, 
 for he had taken great pains with the boy.' 
 
 ' I like to hear the old name, Louis !' 
 
 ' I can't help it,' said JMrs. Frost. ' He must be his 
 old aunt Kitty's Louis le Debonnaire ! Don't you 
 remember your calling him so when he was a baby?' 
 
 ' Oh yes, it has exactly recalled to me the sort of 
 gracious look that he used to have — half sly, half 
 sweet — and so very pretty!' 
 
 ' It suits him as well now. He is the kind of being 
 who must have a pet name;' and Mrs. Frost, hoping he 
 might be already arrived, could hardly slacken her eager 
 step so as to keep pace with her niece's feeble move- 
 ments. She was disappointed ; the carriage had returned 
 without Lord Fitzjocelyn. His hat and luggage were 
 come, but he himself was missing. Mrs. Frost was very 
 uneasy, but his father silenced conjectures by saying, 
 that it was his usual way, and he would make his 
 appearance before the evening. He would not send to 
 meet another train, saying, that the penalty of irregu- 
 larity must be borne, and the horses should not suffer 
 for such freaks; and he would fain have been utterly 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONIS'AIRE. 31 
 
 indifferent, but he was evidently listening to every 
 sound, and betrayed his anxiety by the decision with 
 which he checked all expression of his aunt's feai*s. 
 
 There was no arrival all that evening, no explana- 
 tion in the morning; and Betty Gervas, whom Maiy 
 went to visit in the course of the day, began to wonder 
 whether the young Lord could be gone for a soldier — 
 the usual fate of all missinc^ villao-e lads. 
 
 Mary was on her way home, through the park, along 
 a path skirting the top of a wooded ravine, a dashing 
 rivulet making a pleasant murmur among the rocks 
 below, and glancing here and there through the brush- 
 wood that clothed the precipitous banks, when, with 
 a sudden rustling and crackling, a man leaped upon 
 the path with a stone in each hand. 
 
 Mary started, but she did not lose her presence of 
 mind, and her next glance showed her that the appari- 
 tion was not alarming, and was nearly as much amazed 
 as herself It was a tall sHght young man, in a suit of 
 shepherd's plaid, with a fair face and graceful agile 
 form, recalling the word dehonnaire as she had yesterday 
 heard it applied. In instant conviction that this was 
 the truant, she put out her hand by the same impulse 
 that lighted his features with a smile of welcome, and 
 the years of separation seemed annihilated as he ex- 
 claimed, ' My cousin Mary !' and grasped her hand, 
 adding, ' I hope I did not frighten you — ' 
 ' Oh no; but where did you come from V 
 ' Up a hill perpendicular, like Hotspur,' he replied, in 
 soft low quiet tones, which were a strange contrast to 
 the words. ' No, see here,' and parting the bushes he 
 showed some rude steps, half nature, half art, leading 
 between the ferns and mountain-ash, and lookinor 
 very inviting. 
 
 ' How delightful 1' 'cried Mary. 
 
 ' I am glad you appreciate it,' he exclaimed ; ' I will 
 finish it off now, and put a rail. I did not care to go 
 on when I had lost the poor fellow who helped me, but 
 it saves a world of distance.' 
 
32 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 'It must be very pretty amongst those beautiful 
 ferns !' 
 
 ' You can't conceive anything more charming,' he 
 continued, with the same low distinct utterance, but 
 an earnestness that almost took away her breath. 
 * There are nine ferns on this bank — that is, if we have 
 the Scolopendrium Icevigatum, as I am persuaded. Do 
 you know anything of ferns ? Ah ! you come from the 
 land of tree ferns.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I am so glad to exchange them for our home 
 flowers. Primroses look so friendly and natural.' 
 
 ' These rocks are perfect nests for them, and they 
 even overhang the river. This is the best bit of the 
 stream, so rapid and foaming that I must throw a 
 bridge across for Aunt Catharine. Which would be 
 most appropriate ? I was weighing it as I came up — a 
 simple stone, or a rustic performance in wood V 
 
 * I should like stone,' said Mary, amused by his 
 eagerness. 
 
 ' A rough Druidical stone ! That's it ! The idea of 
 rude negligent strength accords with such places, and 
 this is a stone country. I know the very stone ! Do 
 come down and see !' 
 
 ' To-morrow, if you please,' said Mary. ' Mamma 
 must want me, and — but I suppose they know of your 
 return at home.' 
 
 * No, they don't. They have learnt by experience 
 that the right time is the one never to expect me.' 
 
 Mary's eyes were all astonishment, as she said, 
 between wonder and reproof, 'Is that on purpose V 
 
 ' Adventures are thrust on some people,' was the 
 nonchalant reply, with shoulders depressed, and a 
 twinkle of the eye, as if he purposed amazing his 
 auditor.' 
 
 * I hope you have had an adventure, for nothing else 
 could justify you,' said Mary, with some humour, but 
 more gravity. 
 
 ' Only a stray infant-errant, cast on my mercy at 
 the junction station. Nurse, between eating and gossip- 
 
LOUIS LE DEBOXNAIllE. 33 
 
 ing left behind — bell rings — engine squeaks — train 
 starts — Fitzjoceljn and infant vis-a-vis.^ 
 
 ' You don't mean a baby V 
 
 ' A child of five years old, who soon ceased howl* 
 ing, and confided his history to me. He had been 
 visiting grandmamma in London, and was going home 
 to Illei-shall ; so I found the best plan would be to leave 
 the train at the next station, and take him home.' 
 
 * Oh, that was quite another thing !' exclaimed Mary, 
 gratified at being able to like him. ' Could you find 
 his home V 
 
 ^ Yes ; he knew his name and address too well to be 
 lost or mislaid. I would have come home as soon as I 
 had seen him in at the door; but the whole family rushed 
 out on me, and conjured me first to dine and then to 
 sleep. They are capital people. Dobbs is super- 
 intendent of the copper and tin works — a thoroughly 
 right-minded man, with a nice, ladylike wife, the ric^ht 
 sort of sound stufi" that old England's heart is made of. 
 It was worth anything to have seen it ! They do in- 
 calculable good with their work-people. I saw the 
 whole concern.' 
 
 He launched into an explanation of the process, 
 producing from his pocket, papers of the ore, in every 
 stage of manufacture, and twisting them up so carelessly, 
 that they would have become a mass of confusion, had 
 not Mary undertaken the repacking. 
 
 As they approached the house, the library window 
 was thrown up, and Mrs. Frost came hurrying down 
 without stretched arms. She was met by her young 
 nephew with an overflow of fond affection, before he 
 looked up and beheld his father standing upright and 
 motionless on the highest step. His excuses were 
 made more lightly and easily than seemed to suit such 
 rigid looks ; but Lord Ormersfield bent his head as if 
 resigning himself perforce to the explanation, and, with 
 the softened voice in which he always spoke to Mrs. 
 Ponsonby, said, ' Here he is — Louis, you remember 
 your cousin.' 
 
 VOL. I. D 
 
34 DYXEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 She was positively startled ; for it was as if his 
 mother's deep blue eyes were raised to hers, and there 
 were the same regular delicate features, fair, transparent 
 complexion, and glossy light-brown hair tinted with 
 gold — the same careless yet deprecating glance, the 
 same engaging smile that warmed her heart to him at 
 once, in spite of an air which was not that of wisdom. 
 
 ' How little altered you are !' she exclaimed. ' If 
 you were not taller than your father, I should say you 
 were the same Louis that I left fourteen years ago.' 
 
 ' I fear that is the chief change,' said Lord Ormers- 
 field. 
 
 ' A boy that would be a boy all his life, like Sir 
 Thomas More's son !' said Louis, coolly and simply, but 
 with a twinkle in the corner of his eye, as if he said it 
 on purpose to be provoking ; and Mrs. Frost interposed 
 by asking where the cousins had met, and whether they 
 had known each other. 
 
 ' I knew him by what you said yesterday,' said 
 Mary. 
 
 ^ Louis le Debonnaire V asked Mrs. Frost, smiling. 
 
 ' No, Mary ; not that name !' he exclaimed. ' It 
 is what Jem calls me, when he has nothing more 
 cutting to say — ' 
 
 ' Aye, because it is exactly what you look when you 
 know you deserve a scolding — mth your shoulders 
 pulled down, and your face made up !' said his aunt, 
 patting him. 
 
 When Mrs. Ponsonby and Mary had left the room 
 to dress, Louis exclaimed, ' And that is Mrs. Ponsonby ! 
 How ill she does look ! Her very voice has broken 
 down, though it still has the sweet sound that I could 
 never forget ! Has she had advice V 
 
 ' Dr. Hastings saw her in London,' said his father. 
 ' He sent her into the countiy at once, and thinks that 
 there is fair hope that complete rest of spirits may 
 check the disease.' 
 
 ' Will she stay here V said Louis, eagerly. ' That 
 would be like old times, and we could make her very 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONXAIRE. 35 
 
 comfortable. I would train those t^YO ponies for her 
 drives — ' 
 
 ' I wish she would remain here,' said his father ; 
 ' but she is bent on becoming my aunt's tenant.' 
 
 ' Ha ! That is next best ! They could do nothing 
 more commendable. Will they be a windfall for the 
 House Beautiful ]' 
 
 ' No,' said Mrs. Frost. ' They wish to have a 
 house of their own, in case Mr. Ponsonby should come 
 home, or Miss Ponsonby to stay with them.' 
 
 • The respected aunt who brought Mary up ? How 
 long has she been at Lima V 
 
 ' Four years.' 
 
 ' Four years ! She has not made use of her oppor- 
 tunities ! Alas for the illusion dispelled ! The 
 Spanish walk and mantilla melt away; and behold ! the 
 primitive wide-mouthed body of fourteen years since 1' 
 
 Mrs. Frost laughed, but it seemed to be a serious 
 matter with Lord Ormersfield. ' If you could appre- 
 ciate sterling worth,' he said, ' you would be ashamed 
 to speak of your cousin with such conceited disrespect.' 
 
 All the effect was to make Louis walk quietly out of 
 the room ; but his shoulder and eyebrow made a secret 
 telegraph of amazement to Mrs. Frost. 
 
 The new arrival seemed to have put the Earl into a 
 state of constant restless anxiety, subdued and con- 
 cealed with a high hand, but still visible to one who 
 knew him so intimately as did Mrs. Ponsonby. She 
 saw that he watched each word and gesture, and studied 
 her looks to judge of the opinion they might create in 
 her. Now the process was much like weighing and 
 balancing the down of Fitzj ocehm's own favourite 
 thistle ; the profusion, the unsubstantiality, and the 
 volatility being far too similar; and there was something 
 positively sad in the solicitous heed taken of such utter 
 heedlessness. 
 
 The reigning idea was the expedition to lUershall, 
 and the excellent condition of the work-people under 
 his new friend, the superintendent. Forgetful that 
 
 d2 
 
3G DYNEVOR TERllACE. 
 
 mines were a tender subject, the eager speaker became 
 certain that cop})er must exist in the neighbourhood, 
 and what an employment it would afford to all the 
 country round. ' Marksedge must be the very place ; 
 the soil promises metallic veins, the discovery would be 
 the utmost boon to the people. It would lead to in- 
 dustry and civilization, and counteract all the evils we 
 have brought on them. Mary, do you remember 
 Marksedge, the place of exile T 
 ' Not that I know of.' 
 
 ^ No ; we were too young to understand the iniquity. 
 In the last generation, it was not the plan to stone 
 Naboth, but to remove him. Great people could not 
 endure little people ; so, by way of kindness, our whole 
 population of Ormersfield, excejit a few necessary re- 
 tainers, were transported bodily from betwixt the wind 
 and our nobility, located on a moor beyond our con- 
 fines, a generous gift to the poor-rates of Bletchynden, 
 away from church, away from work, away from super- 
 intendence, away from all amenities of the poor man's 
 life !' 
 
 This was one of the improvements to which Mr. 
 Dynevor had prompted the last Earl ; but Louis did not 
 know whom he was cutting, as he uttered this tirade, 
 with a glow on his cheek and eye, but with his usual 
 soft, modulated intonation and polished language, the 
 distinctness and deliberation taking oif all air of rattle, 
 and rendering his words more impressive. 
 
 ' Indeed ! is there much distress at Marksedc^e V said 
 Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 
 ' They have gifts with our own poor at Christmas,' 
 said Lord Ormersfield; 'but they area defiant, un- 
 grateful set, always in distress by their own fault.' 
 
 ' What cause have they for gratitude V exclaimed 
 his son. ' For being turned out of house and home 1 for 
 the three miles' walk to tlieir daily work ? Yes, it is 
 the fact. The dozen families left here, with edicts 
 against lodgers, cannot suffice for the farmer's work ; 
 and all Norris's and Beccher's men have to walk six 
 
LOUIS LE DEBOyXAlEE. 37 
 
 miles every day of their lives, besides the hard day's 
 Avork. They are still farther from their parish, they are 
 no one's charge, they have neither church nor school, 
 and whom should we blame for their being lawless V 
 
 ' It used to be thought a very good thing for the 
 parish,' said Mrs. Frost, looking at her niece. ' I re- 
 member being sorry for the poor peopjle, but we did 
 not see things in the light in which Louis puts it.' 
 
 ' Young men like to find fault with the doings of 
 their elders,' said Lord Ormersfield. 
 
 'Nothing can make me regard it otherwise than as 
 a wicked sin !' said Louis. 
 
 ' Nay, my dear,' mildly said Aunt Catharine, ' if it 
 were mistaken, I am sure it was not intentionally 
 cruel.' 
 
 ' What I call wicked, is to sacrifice the welfare of 
 dependents to our own selfish convenience ! And you 
 would call it cruel too, Aunt Catharine, if you could 
 hear the poor creatures beg as a favour of Mr. Holds- 
 worth to be buried among their kin, and know how it 
 has preyed on the minds of the dying that they might 
 not lie here among their own people.' 
 
 ' Change the subject, Fitzjocelyn,' said his father : 
 'the thing is done, and cannot be imdone.' 
 
 ' The undoing is my daily thought,' said Louis. ' If 
 I could have tried my plan of weaving cordage out of 
 cotton-grass and thistle-down, I think I could have 
 contrived for them.' 
 
 IMary looked up, and met his merry blue eye. Was 
 he saving it so gravel v to trv whether he could take 
 her in ? ' I/jou. could — ' she said, and he went oflT into, 
 a hearty laugh, and finished by saying, so that no one 
 could guess whether it was sport or earnest, ' Even 
 taking into account the depredations of the goldfinches, 
 it would be an admirable speculation, and would confer 
 immeasurable benefits on the owners of waste lands. 
 I mean to take out a patent when I have succeeded 
 in the spinning.' 
 
 ' A patent for a donkey,' whispered Aunt Catha- 
 
38 DTNTEVOU TEHrvACE. 
 
 rine. He responded with a deferential bow, and 
 the conversation was changed by the Earl ; but copper 
 was still the subject uppermost with Louis, and no 
 sooner was dinner over than he followed the ladies to 
 the library, and began searching every book on metals 
 and minerals, till he had heaped up a pile of volumes, 
 whence he rang the changes on oxide, pyrites, and 
 carbonate, and octohedron crystals — names which poor 
 Mrs. Frost had heard but too often. At last it came 
 to certainty that he had seen the very masses containing 
 ore ; he would send one to-morrow to Illershall to be 
 analysed, and bring his friend Dobbs down to view 
 the spot. 
 
 'Not in my time,' interposed Lord Ormersfield. 
 ' I would not wish for a greater misfortune than the 
 discovery of a mine on my property.' 
 
 ' No wonder,' thought Mrs. Ponsonby, as she recol- 
 lected Wheal Salamanca and Wheal Catharine, and 
 Wheal Dynevor, and all the other wheals that had 
 wheeled away all Cheveleigh and half Ormersfield, till 
 the last unfortunate wheal failed when the rope broke, 
 and there were no funds to buy a new one. No 
 wonder Lord Ormersfield trembled when he heard his 
 son launch out into those easily-ascending conjectural 
 calculations, freely working sums in his head, so exactly 
 like the old Earl, his grandfather, that she could have 
 laughed, but for sympathy with the father, and anxiety 
 to see how the son would take the damp so vexatiously 
 cast on his projects. 
 
 He made the gesture that Mrs. Frost called dehon- 
 ,naire — read on for five minutes in silence, insisted on 
 teaching his aunt the cause of the coloui's in peacock 
 ores, compared them to a pigeon's neck, and talked of 
 old Betty Gervas's tame pigeons ; whence he proceeded 
 to memories of the days that he and Mary had spent 
 together, and asked which of their old haunts she had 
 revisited. Had she been into the nursery ? 
 
 * Oh yes ! but I wondered you had sent the old walnut 
 press into that lumber-room.' 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONNAIRE. 39 
 
 * Is that satire V said Louis, starting and looking in 
 her face. 
 
 ' I don't know what you mean.' 
 
 ' I have a better right to ask what you mean by 
 stigmatizing my apartment as a lumber-room V 
 
 ' It was only what I saw from the door/ said Mary, 
 a little confused, but rallying and answering with 
 spirit; 'and I must maintain that, if you mean the 
 room over the garden entrance, it is very like a lumber- 
 room.' 
 
 'Ah, Mary! you have not outgrown the delusions 
 of your sex. Is an Englishman's house his castle 
 while housemaids maraud over it, ransacking his pos- 
 sessions, iiTitating poor peaceful dust that only wants 
 to be let alone, sweeping away cherished cobwebs V 
 
 'Oh, if you cherish cobwebs!' said Mary. 
 
 'Did not the fortunes of Scotland hang on a spider's 
 thread ? Did not a cobweb save the life of Mahomet, 
 or Ali, or a mediaeval saint — no matter which ? Was 
 not a spider the solace of the Bastille ? Have not 
 I lain for hours on a summer morning watching the 
 tremulous lines of the beautiful geometrical compo- 
 sition V 
 
 ' More shame for you !' said Mary, with a sort of dry 
 humorous bluntness. 
 
 ' The very answer you would have made in old 
 times,' cried Louis, delighted. ' O Mary, you bring 
 me back the days of my youth ! You never would see 
 the giant who used to live in that press !' 
 
 * I remember our great fall from the top of it.' 
 
 ' Oh yes !' cried Louis ; ' Jem Frost had set us up 
 there bolt upright for sentries, and I saw the enemies 
 too soon, when you would not allow that they were 
 there. I was going to fire my musket at them ; but 
 you used violence to keep me steady to my duty — 
 pulled my hair, did not you V 
 
 ' I know you scratched me, and we both rolled off 
 together ! T wonder we were not both killed !' 
 
 ' That did not trouble Jem ! He picked us up, and 
 
40 DYNEVOE TERRACE. 
 
 ordered us into arrest under the bed for breach of 
 discipline.' 
 
 * I fear Jem was a martinet/ said Mrs. Frost. 
 
 * That he was ! A general formed on the model of 
 him who, not contented with assaulting a demi-luney 
 had taken une lune toute tntiere. We had a siege of 
 the Fort Bombadero, inaccessible, and with mortars 
 firing double-hand grenades. They were dandelion 
 clocks, and there were nettles to act the part of poisoned 
 spikes on the breach.' 
 
 'I remember the nettles,' said Mary, 'and Jem's 
 driving you to gather them ; you standing with your 
 bare legs in the nettle-bed, when he would make me 
 dig, and I could not come to help you 1' 
 
 ' On duty in the trenches. Your sense of duty was 
 exemplary. I remember your digging on, like a very 
 Casabianca, all alone, in the midst of a thunder-storm, 
 because Jem had forgotten to call you in, crying all 
 the time with fear of the lightning !' 
 
 ' You came to help me,' said Mary. ' You came 
 rushing out from the nursery to my rescue !' 
 
 ' 1 could not make you stir. We were taken pri- 
 sonei^ by a sally from the nursery. For once in your 
 life, you were in disgrace !' 
 
 ' I quite thought I ought to mind Jem,' said Mary, 
 ' and never knew whether it was play or earnest.' 
 
 ' Only so could you transgress,' said Louis, — 'you who 
 never cried, except as my amateur Mungo Malagrow- 
 ther. Poor Mary ! what an amazement it was to me to 
 find you breaking your heart over the utmost penalties 
 of the nursery law, when to me they only afforded 
 agreeable occasions of showing that I did not care ! I 
 must have been intolerable till you and Mrs. Ponsonby 
 took me in hand !' 
 
 ' I am glad you own your obligations,' said Lord 
 Ormersfield. 
 
 * I own myself as much obliged to Mary for making 
 me wise, as to Jem for making me foolish.' 
 
LOUIS LE DEBONNAIRE. 41 
 
 ' It is not the cause of gratitude I should have 
 expected,' said his father. 
 
 ' Alas ! if he and Clara were but here !' sighed 
 Louis. ' I entreated him in terms that might have 
 moved a pyramid from its base, but the Frost was 
 arctic. An iceberg will move, but he is past all 
 melting !' 
 
 ' I respect his steadiness of purpose,' said the Earl; 
 ' I know no young man whom I honour more than 
 James.' 
 
 His aunt and his son were looking towards each 
 other with glistening eyes of triumph and congra- 
 tulation, and Mrs. Frost cleared her voice to say that 
 he was making far too much of her Jemmy; a very good 
 boy, to be sure, but if he said so much of him, the 
 Marys would be disappointed to see nothing but a 
 little fiery Welshman. 
 
42 DYNEVOU TERRACE. 
 
 CHAPTER lY. 
 
 THISTLE-DOWN. 
 
 Lightly soars the thistle-down, 
 
 Lightly does it float — j 
 Lightly seeds of care are sown, 
 
 Little do we note. 
 Watch life's thistles bud and blow, 
 
 Oh, 'tis pleasant folly ; 
 But when all life's paths they strew, 
 
 Then comes melancholy. 
 
 Poetry Past and Present. 
 
 MARY PONSONBY had led a life of change and 
 wandering that had given her few strong local 
 attachments. The period she had spent at Ormers- 
 field, when she was from five to seven years old, had 
 been the most joyous jmrt of her life, and had given her 
 a strong feeling for the place where she had lived with 
 her mother, and in an atmosphere of afiection, free 
 from the shadow of that skeleton in the house, which 
 had darkened her childhood more than she understood. 
 The great weakness of Mrs. Ponsonby's life had 
 been her over-hasty acceptance of a man, whom she 
 did not thoroughly know, because her delicacy had 
 taken alarm at foolish gossij) about herself and her 
 cousin. It was a folly that had been severely visited. 
 Irreligious himself, Mr. Ponsonby disliked his wife's 
 strictness ; he resented her affection for her own family, 
 gave way to dissipated habits, and made her miserable 
 both by violence and neglect. Born late of this un- 
 happy marriage, little ISIary was his only substantial 
 link to his wife, and he had never been wanting in 
 tenderness to her : but many a storm had raged over 
 the poor child's head; and, though she did not know 
 
THISTLE-DOWN. 43 
 
 why the kind old Countess had come to remove her 
 and her mother, and ' papa' was still a loved and 
 honoured title, she was fully sensible of the calm 
 security at Ormersfield. 
 
 When Mr. Ponsonby had recalled his wife on his 
 appointment at Lima, Mary had been left in England 
 for education, under the jcharge of his sister in London. 
 Miss Ponsonby was good and kind, but of narrow 
 views, thinking all titled people fashionable, and all 
 fashionable people reprobate, jealous of her sister-in- 
 law's love for her own family, and, though unable to 
 believe her brother blameless, holding it as an axiom 
 that married people could not fall out without faults 
 on both sides, and charging a large share of their 
 unhappiness on the house of Fitzjocelyn. Principle 
 had prevented her fi'om endeavouring to weaken the 
 little girl's affection to her mother ; but it had been 
 her great object to train her up in habits of sober 
 judgment, and freedom from all the romance, poetry, 
 and enthusiasm which she fancied had been injurious 
 to Mrs. Ponsonby. The soil was of the very kind that 
 she would have chosen. Mary was intelligent, but 
 with more sense than fancy, more practical than in- 
 tellectual, and preferring the homely to the tasteful. 
 At school, study and accomplishments were mere 
 tasks ; her recreation was found in acts of kindness 
 to her companions, and her hopes were all fixed on 
 the going out to Peru, to be useful to her father and 
 mother. At seventeen she went ; full of active, house- 
 wifely habits, with a clear head, sound heart, and 
 cramped mind ; her spirits even and cheerful, but not 
 high nor mirthful, after ten years of evenings spent 
 in needlework beside a dry maiden aunt. 
 
 Nor was the home she found at Lima likely to foster 
 the joyousness of early girlhood. Mr. Ponsonby was 
 excessively fond of her; but his affection to her only 
 marked, by contrast, the gulf between him and her 
 mother. There was no longer any open misconduct on 
 his part, and Mrs. Ponsonby was almost tremblingly 
 attentive to his wishes; but he was chill and sarcastic 
 
44 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 iu his manner towards lier, and lier nervous attacks 
 often betrayed that she had been made to suffer in 
 jirivate for differences of opinion. Healtli and spirits 
 were bi-eaking down ; and, though she never uttered a 
 word of comphiint, the sight of her sufferings was 
 trying for a warm-hearted yoiuig girl. 
 
 Mary's refuge was hearty affection to both parents. 
 She would not reason nor notice where filial tact taught 
 her that it was best to be ignorant ; she charged all 
 tracasseries on the Peru\dan republic, and set herself 
 simply to ameliorate each vexation as it arose, 
 and divert attention from it without generalizing, 
 even to herself, on the state of the family. The 
 English comfort which she brought into the Lime- 
 nian household was one element of peace; and her 
 brisk, energetic habits produced an air of ease and 
 pleasantness that did much to make home agree- 
 able to her father, and removed many cares which 
 oppressed her mother. To her, Mary was all the 
 world — daughter, comforter, friend, and nurse, unfailing 
 in deeds of love or words of cheer, and removing all 
 sense of dreariness and solitude. And Mary had found 
 her mother all, and more than all she remembered, 
 and admired and loved her with a deep, quiet glow of 
 intense affection. There was so much call for Mary's 
 actual exertion of various kinds, that there was little 
 opportunity for cultivating or enlarging her mind by 
 books, though the scenes and circumstances aromid her 
 could not but take some effect. Still, at twenty-one 
 she was so much what she had been at seventeen — so 
 staid, sensible, and practical, that Miss Ponsonby gladly 
 pronounced her not in the least spoilt. 
 
 Fain would her aunt have kept both her and her 
 mother as her guests ; but Mrs. Ponsonby had permis- 
 sion to choose whatever residence best suited her, and 
 felt that Bryanston-square and Miss Ponsonby would 
 be fatal to her harassed spirits. She yearned after 
 the home and companions of her youth, and Miss Pon- 
 tjonby could only look severe, talk of London doctors, 
 
THISTLE-DOWN. 4j5 
 
 and take Maiy aside to -warn her against temptations 
 from fashionable people. 
 
 Mary had been looking for the fashionable people 
 ever since, and the first sign of them she had seen, was 
 the air and figure of her cousin Fitzjocelvn, Probably 
 good Aunt Melicent would distnist him; and yet his 
 odd startling talk, and the arch look of mischief in the 
 comers of his mouth and eyes, had so much likeness to 
 the little Louis of old times, that she could not look on 
 him as a strancjer nor as a formidable beinjx; but ^ras 
 always recurring to the almost monitorial sense of pro- 
 tection, with which she formerly used to regard him, 
 when she shared his nursery. 
 
 Her mother had cultivated her love for Ormersfield, 
 and she was charmed by her visits to old haunts, 
 well remembering everything. She gladly recognised 
 the little low-browed chuix-h, the dumpy tower, and 
 grave-yai'd rising so high that it seemed to intend to 
 Vjury the church itself, and permitted many a view, 
 through the lattices, of the seats, and the Fitzjocelyn 
 hatchments and monuments, 
 
 8he lingered after chuix-h on Sunday afternoon 
 ^vith Mrs. Frost to look at Lady FitzjocehTi's monu- 
 ment. It was in the chancel, a recumbent figure in 
 white marble, as if newly fallen asleep, and with the 
 lovely features chiselled from a cast taken after death 
 had fixed and ennobled their beauty. 
 
 'It is just like Louis's profile!' said Mrs. Frost, as 
 they came out. 
 
 'Well,' said Louis, who was nearer than she was 
 aware, ' I hope at least no one will make me the occa- 
 sion of a lion when I am dead.' 
 
 * It is very beautiful,' said Maiy. 
 
 ' May be so ; but the sentiment is destroyed by its 
 having been six months in the Royal Academy, num- 
 ber 16,136, and by seeing it down among the excur- 
 sions in the NortliiKold Guided 
 
 ' Louis, my dear, you should not be satirical on this,' 
 said ^Ii-s. Frost. 
 
46 DYNE YOU TERRACE. 
 
 ' I never meant it,' said Louis ; * but I never could 
 love that monument. It used to oppress me with a sense 
 of having a white marble mother ! And, seriously, it 
 fills up the chancel as if it were its show-room, 
 according to our family tradition that the church is 
 dedicated to the Fitzjocelyns. Living or dead, we have 
 taken it all to ourselves.' 
 
 ' It was a very fair, respectable congregation,' said 
 his aunt. 
 
 * Exactly so. That is my complaint. Everything 
 belonging to his lordship is respectable — except his son.' 
 
 ' Take care, Louis ; here is Mary looking as if she 
 would take you at your word.' 
 
 ' Pray, Mary, do they let no one who is not respect- 
 able go to church in Peru V 
 
 ' I do not think you would change your congre- 
 gation for the wretched crowds of brown beggars,' said 
 Mary. 
 
 ' Would I not V cried Louis. ' Oh ! if the analogous 
 class here in England could but feel that the church 
 was for them ! — not driven out and thrust aside, by our 
 respectability.' 
 
 ' Marksedge to wit !' said a good-humoured voice, 
 as Mr. Holds worth, the young Vicar, appeared at his 
 own wicket, with a hearty greeting. 'I never hear 
 those words without knowing where you are, Fitz- 
 jocelyn.' 
 
 * I hope to be there literally some day this week,' 
 said Louis. ' Will you walk with me ? I want to ask 
 old jNIadison how his grandson goes on. I missed 
 going to see after the boy last time I was at home.' 
 
 * I fear he has not been going on well, and have been 
 sorry for it ever since,' said the Vicar. ' His master 
 told me that he found him very idle and saucy.' 
 
 ' People of that sort never know how to speak to a 
 lad,' said Louis. *It is their own rating that they 
 ought to blame.' 
 
 ' Not Tom Madison, I know,' said Mr. Holdsvrorth, 
 laughing. ' Put I did not come out to combat that point, 
 
THISTLE-DOWN. 47 
 
 but to inquire after the commissions you kindly under- 
 took.' 
 
 ' I have brought you such a set of prizes ! Red rubrics, 
 red margins ; and for the apparatus, I have brought a 
 globe with all the mountains in high relief; — yes, and 
 an admirable physical atlas, and a box of instruments 
 and models for appljring mathematics to mechanics. 
 We might give evening lectm^es, and interest the young 
 farmei's.' 
 
 'Pray,' said the Vicar, with a sound of dismay, 
 ' where may the bill be ? I thought the limits were 
 two pounds eighteen.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I take all that on myself.' 
 
 ' We shall see,' said Mr. Holdsworth, not gratefully. 
 ' Was Origen sent home in time for you to bring V 
 
 ' There !" cried Louis, starting, ' Origen is l}"ing on 
 the veiy chaii* where I put him last January. I will 
 write to Jem Frost to-morrow to send him to the 
 binder.' 
 
 ' Is it of any use to ask for the music V 
 
 ' I assiu'e you, Mr. Holdsworth, I am very sorry. 
 I'll write at once to Frost.' 
 
 ' Then I am afraid the parish will not be reformed 
 as you promised last Christmas,' said the Yicar, turn- 
 ing, with a smile, to Mrs. Frost. ' We were to be 
 civilized by weekly concerts in the schooL' 
 
 ' What were you to play, Louis V said Mrs. Frost, 
 laughing. 
 
 ' I was to imitate all the birds in the air at once,' 
 said Louis, beginning to chii-p like a 7nel€e of sparrows, 
 turning it into the croak of a raven, and breaking off 
 suddenly -vsdth, ' I beg your pardon — I forgot it was 
 Sunday I Indeed, Mr. Holdsworth, I can say no more 
 than that I was a wretch not to remember. Next time 
 I'll write it all down in the top of my hat, with a pathetic 
 entreaty that if my hat be stolen, the thief shall fulfil 
 the commissions, and punctually send in the bill to the 
 Rev. W. B. Holdsworth !' 
 
 ' I shall hardly run the risk,' said Mr. Holdsworth, 
 
48 DTN^EVOR TEREACE. 
 
 smiling, as he parted witli them, and disappeared within 
 his clipped yew hedges. 
 
 'Poor, ill-used Mr. Holdsworth !' cried Aunt Catharine. 
 
 ' Yes, it was base to forget the binding of that book,' 
 said Louis, gravely. * I wish I knew w-hat amends to 
 make.' 
 
 ' You owe amends far more for making a present of 
 a commission. I used to do the like, to save myself 
 trouble, till I came down in the world, and then I 
 found it had been a mere air de grand seigneur.'' 
 
 'I should not dare to serve you or Jem so; but I 
 thought the school was impersonal, and could receive 
 a favour.' 
 
 ' It is no favour, unless you clearly define where the 
 commission ended and the gift began. Careless benefits 
 oblige no one.' 
 
 Fitzjocelyn received his aunt's scoldings very 
 prettily. His manner to her was a becoming mixture 
 of the chivalrous, the filial, and the playful. Mary 
 watched it as a new and pretty picture. All his con- 
 fidence, too, seemed to be hers ; but who could help 
 pouring out his heart to the ever-indulgent, sympa- 
 thizing Aunt Catharine ? It w^as evidently the greatest 
 treat to him to have her for his guest, and his attention 
 to her extended even to the reading a sermon to her 
 in the evening, to spare her eyes; a measure so entirely 
 after Aunt Melicent's heart, that Mary decided that 
 even she would not think her cousin so hopelessly 
 fashionable. 
 
 Good-natured he was, without doubt ; for as the three 
 ladies were sitting down to a sociable morning of 
 work and reading aloud, he came in to say he was 
 goino" to see after Tom Madison, and to ask if there 
 w-ere any commands for Is orthwold, with his checked 
 shootinf'-jacket pockets so puffied out that his aunt 
 began patting and inquiring. 'Provisions for the 
 House Beautiful,' he said, as forth came on the one 
 side a long rough bro%vn yam. ' I saw it at a 
 shop in London,' he said, ' and thought the Faithfull 
 
THISTLE-DOWN. 49 
 
 sisters would like to be reminded of their West Indian 
 feasts.' And, 'to make the balance tiTie,' he had in the 
 other pocket a lambswool shawl of gorgeous dyes, with 
 wools to make the like, and the receipt, in what he 
 called ' female algebra,' the long knitting-pins under his 
 arm like a riding-whip. He explained that he thought 
 it would be a winter's work for Miss Salome to imitate 
 it, and that she would succour half-a-dozen families 
 with the proceeds; and Mrs. Ponsonbj was pleased 
 to hear him speak so affectionately of the two old 
 maiden sisters. They were the nieces of an old gentle- 
 man to whom the central and handsomest house of 
 D}Tievor Terrace had been let. He had an annuity 
 which had died with him, and they inherited very 
 little but the furniture with which they had lived 
 on in the same house, in hopes of lodgers, and 
 paying rent to Mrs. Frost when they had any. There 
 was a close friendship and perfect understanding 
 between her and them, and, as she truly assured 
 them, full and constant rent could hardly have done 
 her as much good as their neighbourhood. ]Miss 
 Mercy was the Sister of Charity of all Xorthwold ; Miss 
 Salome, who was confined to her chair by a complaint 
 in her knee, knitted and made fancy-works, the sale of 
 which furnished funds for her charities. She was highly 
 educated, and had a great knowledge of natural histoiy. 
 Fitzjocelyn had given their abode the name of the 
 House Beautiful, as being redolent of the essence of the 
 Pilgrims Progress ; and the title was so fully accepted 
 by their friends, that the very postman would soon 
 know it. He lingered, discoursing on this topic, while 
 Mary repacked his parcels, and his aunt gave him a 
 message to Jane Beckett, to send the carpenter to No. 5 
 before Mary's visit of inspection; but she prophesied 
 that he would forget ; and, in fact, it was no good auguiy 
 that he left the knitting-pins behind him on the table, 
 and Mary was only just in time to catch him with them 
 at the front door. 
 
 ' Thank you, Mary — you are the universal memory,' 
 
 VOL. L JS 
 
50 DYNEVOE- TERUACE. 
 
 he said. 'What rest you must give my father's me- 
 thodical spirit ! I saw you pile up all those Black- 
 woods of mine this morning, just as he was going to 
 fall upon them.' 
 
 * If you saw it, I should have expected you to do it 
 yourself,' said Mary, in her quaint downright manner. 
 
 * Never expect me to do what is expected/ an- 
 swered he. 
 
 ' Do you do that because it is not expected V said 
 Mary, feeling almost as if he were beyond the pale of 
 reason, as she saw him adjusting a plant of groundsel 
 in his cap. 
 
 ' It is for the dicky-bird at my aunt's. There's no 
 lack of it at the Terrace ; but it is an old habit, and 
 there always was an illusion that Ormersfield groundsel 
 is a superior article.' 
 
 * I suppose that is why you grow so much.' 
 
 * Are you a gardener 1 Some day we will go to 
 work, clear the place, and separate the botanical from 
 the intrusive !' 
 
 ' I should like it, of all things !' 
 
 * I'll send the horse round to the stable, and begin at 
 once !' exclaimed Louis, all eagerness ; but Mary de- 
 murred, as she had promised to read to her mother and 
 aunt some of their old favourites, Madame de Sevigne's 
 letters, and his attention flew off to his restless steed, 
 which he wanted her to admire. 
 
 ' My Yeomanry charger,' he said. ' We turn out 
 five troopei'S. I hope you will be here when we go 
 out, for going round to North wold brought me into a 
 direful scrape when I went to exhibit myself to the 
 dear old Terrace world. My father said it was an un- 
 worthy ambition. What would he have thought, if he 
 had seen Jane stroking me down with the brush on the 
 plea of dust, but really on the principle of stroking a 
 dog ! Good old Jane ! Have you seen her yet 1 Has 
 she talked to you about Master Oliver V 
 
 The horse became so impatient, that Mary had no 
 time for more than a monosyllable, before Louis was 
 
THISTLE-DOWN. 51 
 
 obliged to mount and ride off: and lie was seen no more 
 till ju^st before dinner, when, with a shade of French 
 malice^ Mrs. Frost inquired about Jane and the car- 
 penter : she had seen the cap, still decorated with 
 groundsel, lying in the hall, and had a shrewd suspicion, 
 but the answer went beyond her expectations — ' Ah 1' 
 he said, ' it is all the effect of the Xorraan mania 1' 
 
 ' What have you been doing ? AVhat is the matter V 
 she cried, alarmed, 
 
 'The matter is not \\-ith me, but with the ma- 
 gistrates.' 
 
 • My dear Louis, don't look so veiy ^Wse and capable, 
 or I shall think it a very bad scrape indeed ! Pray 
 tell me what you have been about,' 
 
 ' You know Sir Gilbert Brewster and Mr. Shoreland 
 are rabid about the little brook between their estates, 
 of which each wishes to arrogate to himself the exclu- 
 sive fishing. Theii' keepers watch like the Austrian 
 guard on the Danube, in a life of perpetual assault and 
 battery. Last Satuixlay, March 3rd, 1847, one Ben- 
 jamin Hodgekin, aged fifteen, had the misfortune to 
 wash his feet in the debateable water ; the bellicferent 
 powers made common cause, and haled the wretch 
 before the Petty Sessions. His mother met me. She 
 lived in service here till she married a man at Marks- 
 edge, now dead. This poor boy is an admirable son, 
 the main stay of the family, who must staiwe if he were 
 imprisoned, and she declared, \s'ith tears in her eyes, 
 that she could not bear for a child of hers to be sent to 
 gaol, and begged me to speak to the gentlemen.' He 
 started up with kindling eyes and vehement manner. 
 ' I went to the Justice-room I' 
 ' My dear ! with the gi'oundsel ?' 
 ' And the knitting-needles !' 
 
 On rushed the nan^ation, unheeding trifles. ' There 
 was the array : Mr. Calcott in the chair, and old 
 Freeman, and Captain Shaw, and fat Sir Gilbert, and 
 all the rest, met to condemn this wretched ^\'idow's son, 
 
 for washing his feet in a gutter !' 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF ILUNOfS 
 
 E Z 
 
52 DYNEVOR TERIIACE. 
 
 ' Pray what said the indictment V asked Mrs. Pon- 
 sonl)y. 
 
 ' Oh, that he had killed an infant trout of the value 
 of three farthings ! Three giant keepers made oath to 
 it, but I had his own mother's word that he was wash- 
 ing his feet !' 
 
 Ko one could help laughing, but Fitzjoceljn was far 
 past perceiving any such thing. ' Urge what I would, 
 they fined him. I talked to old BreAvster ! I appealed 
 to his generosity, if there be room for generosity about a 
 trout no bigger than a gudgeon ! I talked to Mr. Calcott, 
 who, I thought, had more sense, but Justice Shallow 
 would have been more practicable ! No one took a 
 rational view but Ramsbotham of the factory, a very 
 sensible man, with excellent feeling. When it is re- 
 corded in history, who will believe that seven moral, 
 well-meaning men agreed in condemning a poor lad 
 of fifteen to a fine of five shillings, costs three-and- 
 sixpence — a sum he could no more pay than I the 
 National Debt, and with the alternative of three 
 months' imprisonment, branding and contaminating for 
 life, and destroying all self-respect 1 I paid the fine, so 
 there is one act of destruction the less on the heads of 
 the English squirearchy.' 
 
 ' Act of destruction !' 
 
 * The worst destniction is to blast a man's character 
 because the love of adventure is strong within him — 1' 
 
 Pie was at this point when Lord Ormerstield entered, 
 and after his daily civil ceremonious inquiries of the 
 ladies whether they had walked or driven out, he turned 
 to his son, saying, ' I met Mr. Calcott just now, and 
 heard from him that he had been sorry to convict a 
 person in whom you took interest ; a lad from Marks- 
 edge. "What did you know of him 1 ' 
 
 ' I was prompted by common justice and humanity,' 
 said Louis. ' My protection was claimed for the poor 
 boy, as the son of an old servant of ours.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! I think you must have been imposed on. 
 Mr. Calcott spoke of the family as notorious poachers.' 
 
THISTLE-DOWN. 53 
 
 * Find a pooi' fellow on the wrong side of a liedge, and 
 not a squire but will swear that he is a hardened ruffian !' 
 
 ' Usually with reason/ said the Earl. ' Pray when 
 did this person's parents allege that they had been in 
 my serAT.ce?' 
 
 ' It was liis mother. Her name was Blackett, and 
 she left us on her marriasre with one of the Hodfrekins.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield rang the bell, and Frampton, the 
 butler and confidential servant, formed on his own 
 model, made his appearance. 
 
 ' Do you know whether a woman of the name of 
 Blackett ever lived in service here V 
 
 * Not that I am aware of, my Lord. I will ascertain 
 the fact.' 
 
 In a few moments Frampton returned. * Yes, my 
 Lord, a girl named Blackett was once engaged to help 
 in the scullery, but was discharged for dishonesty at 
 the end of a month.' 
 
 ' Did not Frampton know that that related to me V 
 said Louis, sotto voce, to his aunt. ' Did he not trust 
 that he was reducing me from a sea anemone to a 
 lump of quaking jelly]' 
 
 So far from this consummation, Lord Fitzjocelyn 
 looked as triumphant as Don Quixote liberating Gines 
 de Pasamonte. He and his father mi"ht have sat for 
 illustrations of 
 
 ' Youth is full of pleasance, 
 Age is full of care, ' 
 as they occupied the two ends of the dinner-table; the 
 Earl concealing anxiety and vexation, uDder more than 
 ordinary punctilious politeness ; the Yiscount doing 
 his share of the honours with easy, A\'inning grace and 
 attention, and rattling on in an under-tone of lively 
 conversation with A unt Catharine. Mary was silently 
 amazed at her encouraging him ; but perhaps she could 
 not help spoiling him the more, because there was a ' 
 storm impending. At least, as soon as she was in the 
 drawing-room, she became restless and nervous, and 
 said that she wished his father could see that speaking 
 
54 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 sternly to liim never did any good ; besides, it was mere 
 inconsiderateness, the excess of chivalrous compassion. 
 
 ]Mrs. Ponsonby said she thought young men's ardour 
 more a.])t to be against than for the poacher. 
 
 ' I must confess,' said Aunt Catharine, with all the 
 reluctance of a high-spirited Dynevor, — * I must confess 
 tliat Louis is no sportsman ! He was eager about it 
 once, till he had become a good shot ; and then it lost 
 all zest for him, and he prefers his own vagaries. He 
 never takes a gun unless James drives him out; and, 
 oddly enough, his father is quite vexed at his in- 
 difference, as if it were not manly. If his father 
 would only understand him !' 
 
 The specimen of that day had almost made Mrs. 
 Ponsonby fear that there was nothing to understand, 
 and that only dear Aunt Kitty's affection could per- 
 ceive anything but amiable folly; and it was not much 
 better when the young gentleman reappeared, looking 
 very dehonnaire, and, sitting down beside Mrs. Frost, 
 said, in a voice meant for her alone — ' Henry I V., Part 
 II,, the insult to Chief Justice Gascoigne. My father 
 will presently enter and address you : 
 
 * that it could be proved 
 That some night-tripping fairy had exchanged 
 In cradle-cloths our children as they lay, — 
 Call'd yours Fitzjocelyn — mine, Frost Dynevor!' ' 
 
 ' For shame, Louis ! I shall have to call you Fitz- 
 jocelyn ! You are behaving very ill.' 
 
 ' Insulting the English constitution in the person of 
 seven squires.' 
 
 ' Don't, my dear ! It was the very thing to vex 
 your father that you should have put yourself in such 
 a position.' 
 
 ' Bearding the Northwold bench with a groundsel 
 plume and a knitting-needle : 
 
 ' With a needle for a sword, and a thimble for a hat, 
 Wilt thou fight a traverse with the Castle cat ?' 
 
THISTLE-DOWN. 55 
 
 The proper champion in such a cause, since ' What 
 cat's averse to fish V ' 
 
 * No, Louis dear,' said his aunt, struggling like a 
 girl to keep her countenance ; ' this is no time for 
 nonsense. One would think you had no feeling for 
 your father.' 
 
 ' My dear aunt, I can't go to gaol like Prince Hal. 
 I do assure you, I did not assault the bench with the 
 knitting-pins. What am I to do V 
 
 ' Not set at nought your father's displeasure.' 
 
 ' I can't help it,' said he, almost sadly, though half 
 smiling. ' What would become of me if I tried to 
 support the full weight 1 Interfering with institutions, 
 ruining reputation, blasting bulwarks, patronizing 
 poachers, vituperating venerated — ' 
 
 ' Quite true,' cried Aunt Catharine, with spirit. 
 * You know you had no business there, lecturing a set 
 of men old enough to be your grandfathers, and talk- 
 ing them all to death, no doubt.' 
 
 ' Well, Aunt Kitty, if oppression maddens the wise, 
 what must it do to the foolish V 
 
 ' If you only allow that it was foolish — ' 
 
 * No ; I had rather know whether it was wrong. I 
 believe I was too eager, and not respectful enough to 
 the old squire : and, on reflection, it might have been 
 a matter of obedience to my father, not to interfere 
 with the prejudices of true-born English magistrates. 
 Yes, I was wrong : I would have owned it sooner, but 
 for the shell he fired over my head. And for the rest, I 
 don't know how to repent of having protested against 
 tyranny.' 
 
 There was something redeeming in the conclusion, 
 and it was a comfort, for it was impossible to retain 
 anger with one so gently, good-humouredly polite and 
 attentive. 
 
 A practical answer to the champion was not long in 
 coming. He volunteered the next day to walk to 
 Northwold with Mrs. Frost and Mary, who wanted 
 to spend the morning in selecting a house in 
 
56 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 Dynevor Terrace, and to be fetched liome by-and-by, 
 when Mrs, Ponsonby took her airing. Two miles 
 seemed nothing to Aunt Catharine, who accepted her 
 nephew's arm for love, and not for need, as he discoursed 
 of all the animals that might be naturalized in Eng- 
 land, obtained from Mary an account of the llamas 
 of the Andes, and rode off upon a scheme of an impor- 
 tation to make the fortune of Marksedge by a manu- 
 facture of Alpaca umbrellas. 
 
 Meantime, he must show the beautiful American 
 ducks which he hoped to naturalize on the pond near 
 the keeper's lodge : but, whistle and call as he would, 
 nothing showed itself but screaming Canada geese. 
 He ran round, pulled out a boat half full of water, and, 
 with a foot on each side, paddled across to a bushy 
 island in the centre, — but in vain. The keejDer's wife, 
 who had the charge over them, came out : ' Oh, my 
 Lord, I am so sorry ! They pretty ducks !' 
 
 ' Ha ! the foxes f 
 
 ' I wish it was, my Lord ; but it is they poachers out 
 at Marksedge that are so daring, they would come any- 
 wheres — and you see the ducks would roost up in the 
 trees, and you said I was not to shut 'em np at night. 
 My master w^as out up ])y Beech hollow ; I heerd a 
 gun, and looked out ; I seen a man and a boy — I'd take 
 my oath it was young Hodgekin. They do say Nanny 
 Hodgekin, she as was one of the Elacketts, whose 
 husband was transported, took in two ducks next 
 morning to Northwold. Warren couldn't make 
 nothing of it ; bub if ever he meets that Hodgekin 
 again, he says he shall catch it !' 
 
 ' Well, Mrs. Warren, it can't be helped — tliank you 
 for the good care you took of the poor ducks,' said 
 Louis, kindly; and as he w^alked on through the gate, 
 he gave a long sigh, and said, ' My dainty ducks ! So 
 there's an end of them, and all their tameness !' But the 
 smile could not but return. ' It is lucky the case does 
 not come before the bench ! but really that woman 
 deserves a medal for coolness !' 
 
THISTLE-DOWN. 57 
 
 ' I suppose,' said Mary, * she could have paid the fine 
 with the price of the ducks.' 
 
 * Ah ! the beauties ! I wish Mr. Hodgekin had fallen 
 on the pheasants instead ! However, I am thankful he 
 and Warren did not come to a collision about them. 
 I am always expecting that, having made those Marks- 
 edge people thieves, murder will be the next conse- 
 quence.' 
 
 A few seconds sufficed to bring the ludicrous back. 
 * How pat it comes ! Mary, did you prime Mrs. Warren, 
 or did Frampton V 
 
 ' I believe you had rather laugh at yourself than at 
 any one else,' exclaimed his aunt, who felt baffled at 
 haWng thrown away her compassion. 
 
 ' Of course. One knows how much can be borne. 
 Why, Mary, has that set you studying, — do you dissent V 
 
 ' I was tliinking whether it is the best thing to be 
 always ready to laugh at oneself,' said Mary. 'Does 
 it always help in mending f 
 
 ' 'Don't care' came to a bad end,' said Louis ; 'but on 
 the other hand, care killed a cat — so there are two sides 
 to the question.' 
 
 While Mary was feeling disappointed at his light 
 tone, he changed it to one that was almost mournful. 
 ' The worst of it is, that 'don't care' is my refuge. What- 
 ever I do care about is always thwarted by Frampton 
 or somebody, and being for ever tlirown over, I have 
 only to fall as softly as I can.' 
 
 ' You know, my dear,' said Mrs. Frost, ' that your 
 father has no command of means to gratify you.' 
 
 ' There are means enough for ourselves,' said Louis ; 
 ' that is the needful duty. What merely j^ersonal 
 indulgence did I ever ask for that was refused me V 
 
 ' If that is all you have to complain of, I can't pity 
 you,' said Mary. 
 
 ' Listen, Mary. Let me wish for a horse, there it 
 is! Let me wish for a painted window, we can't 
 afford it, though, after all, it would not eat; but 
 horses are an adjunct of state and propriety. So again, 
 
58 DYXEYOR TEHRACE. 
 
 the parish feasted last 1 8th of January, because I came 
 of age, and it was lyroper ; while if I ask that our 
 people may be released from work on Good Friday or 
 Ascension Day, it is thought outrageous.' 
 
 * If I remember right, my dear,' interposed his aunt, 
 * you wanted no work to be done on any saint' s-day. 
 Was there not a scheme that Mr. Holdsworth called 
 the cricket cure?' 
 
 * That may yet be. No one knows the good a few free 
 days would do the poor. But 1 developed my plan 
 too rapidly ! I'll try again for their church-going on 
 Good Friday.' 
 
 '■ I think you ought to succeed there.' 
 
 * I know how it will be. My father will ring, pro- 
 pound the matter to Frampton ; the answer will be, 
 ' Quite impracticable, my Lord / and there will be an 
 end of it.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not. At least it will have been considered,' 
 said Mary. 
 
 '■ True,' said Louis ; ' but you little know what it is 
 to have a Frampton 1 If he be a fair sample of 
 prime ministers, no wonder Princes of Wales go into 
 the opposition !' 
 
 ' I thought Frampton was a very valuable superior 
 servant.' 
 
 ' Exactly so. That is the worst of it. He is 
 supreme authority, and well deserves it. When la 
 Grande Mademoiselle stood before the gates of Orleans, 
 calling to the sentinel to open them, he never stirred 
 a step, but replied merely with profound bows. That 
 is my case. I make a request, am answered, * Yes, 
 my Lord ;' find no results, repeat the process, and at the 
 fourth time am silenced with, ' Quite impracticable, 
 my Lord.' ' 
 
 ' Surely Frampton is respectful V 
 
 ' It is his very essence. He is a thorough aristocrat, 
 respecting himself, and therefore respecting all others, 
 as they deserve. He respects a Viscount Fitzjocelyn 
 as an appendage nearly as needful as the wyverus on 
 
THISTLE-DOWX. 59 
 
 each side of the shield ; but as to the individual holdiuo- 
 that office, he regards him much as he would one of 
 the wyverns with a fool's-cap on.' 
 
 And with those words, FitzjoceljTi had sprung into 
 the hedge to gather the earliest willow-catkins, and 
 came down dilating on their silvery, downy buds and 
 golden blossoms, and on the pleasure they would give 
 Miss Faithful!; till Mary, who had been beginning to 
 compassionate him, was almost vexed to think her pity 
 wasted on grievances of mere random talk. 
 
 Warm and kindly was his greeting of his aunt's 
 good old servant, Jane Beckett, whom Mary was well 
 pleased to meet as one of the kind friends of her child- 
 hood. The refinement that was like an atmosphere 
 around Mrs. Frost, seemed to have extended even to 
 her servants; for Jane, though she could hardly read, 
 and carried her accounts in her head, had manners of 
 a gentle warmth and propriety that had a gi-ace of 
 their own, even in her racy, bad grammar; and there 
 was no withstanding the merry smile that twitched up 
 one side of her mouth, while her eyes twinkled in the 
 varied moods prompted by an inexhaustible fund of 
 good temper, sympathy, and affection; but the fulness 
 of her love was for the distant ' Master Oliver,' whose 
 young nursery-maid she had been. Her eyes winked 
 between tears and smiles when she heard that ]Miss 
 Mary had seen him but five months ago, and she 
 inquired after him, gloried in his prosperity, and 
 talked of his coming home, with far less reserve than 
 his mother had done. 
 
 Mary was struck, also, with the pretty, modest looks 
 of the little underling, and remarked on them as they 
 proceeded to the inspection of the next house. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Louis, ' Charlotte is something between 
 a wood sorrel and a five-plume moth. Tom Madison, 
 as usual, shows exquisite taste. She is a perfect Lady 
 of Eschalott.' 
 
 ' Now, Louis r said his aunt, standing still, and really 
 looking annoyed; 'you know I cannot encourage any 
 
60 DYXEVOR TEHRACE. 
 
 such tiling. Poor little Charlotte is an orphan, and I 
 am all the more responsible for her.' 
 
 ' There's a chivalry in poor Tom — ' 
 
 ' Nonsense !' said his aunt, as if resolved not to hear 
 him out, because afraid of herself. ' Don't say any 
 more about it. I wish I had never allowed of his 
 bringing your messages.' 
 
 ' Who set him down in the kitchen to drink a cup 
 of beer V said Louis, mischievously. 
 
 ' Ah ! well ! one comfort is, that girls never care for 
 boys of the same age,' replied Aunt Catharine, as she 
 turned the key, and admitted them into No. 7 ; when 
 -JFitzjocelyn confused Mary's judgment with his re- 
 commendations, till Aunt Catharine pointing out the 
 broken shutter, and asking if he would not have been 
 better employed in fetching the carpenter, than in hec- 
 toring the magistrates, he promised to make up for it, 
 fetched a jjiece of wood and James's tools, and was 
 quickly at work, his Aunt only warning him, that if he 
 lost Jem's tools she would not say it was her fault. 
 
 By the time Mary's imagination had portrayed what 
 paper, paint, furniture, and habitation might make the 
 house, and had discerned how to arrange a pretty little 
 study in case of her father's return ; he had completed 
 the repair in a workmanlike manner, and putting two 
 fingers to his cap, asked, 'Any other little job for me, 
 ma'am V 
 
 Of course, he forgot the tools, till shamed by Mary's 
 turning back for them, and after a m.erry luncheon, 
 served up in haste by Jane, they betook themselves to 
 Number 8, where the Miss Faithfulls were seated at a 
 dessert of hard biscuits and water, of neither of which 
 they ever partook : they only adhered to the hereditary 
 institution of sitting for twenty minutes after dinner 
 with their red and purple doileys before them. 
 
 ]SIary seemed to herself carried back fourteen years, 
 and to understand why her childish fancy had always 
 believed Christiana's Mercy a living character, when she 
 found herself in the calm, happy little household. The 
 
TIIISTLE-DOWX. 61' 
 
 chief change was that she must now bend down, in- 
 stead of reaching np, to receive the kind embraces. 
 Even the garments seemed unchanged, the dark merino 
 gowns, bhick silk aprons, white cap-ri})bons, the soft 
 little Indian shawl worn by the elder sister, the ribbon 
 bow by the younger, distinctions that used to puzzle 
 her infant speculation, not aware that the coloured 
 bow was Miss Mercy's ensign of youth, and that its 
 absence would have made Miss Salome feel aged indeed. 
 The two sisters were much alike — but the younger was 
 the more spare, shrivelled up into a cheery nonpareil, her 
 bloom changed into something quite as fresh and 
 healthful, and her blithe tripping step always active, 
 except when her fingers were nimbly taking their turn. 
 Miss Salome had become more plump, her cheek was 
 smoother and paler, her eye more placid, her air that 
 of a patient invalid, and her countenance more intel- 
 lectual than her sister's. She said less about their 
 extreme enjoyment of the yam, and while Mrs. Frost 
 and Mary held counsel with Miss Mercy on servants 
 and furniture, there was a talk on entomology going 
 on between her and Fitzjocelyn. 
 
 It was very pretty to see him with the old ladies, so 
 gently attentive, without patronizing, and they, though 
 evidently doting on him, laughing at him, and treating 
 him like a spoilt child. He insisted on Mary's seeing 
 their ordinary sitting room, which nature had intended 
 for a housekeeper's room, but which ladylike inhabi- 
 tants had rendered what he called the very ' kernel of 
 the House Beautiful.' There were the stands of flowers 
 in the window ; the bullfinch scolding in his cage, the 
 rare old shells and china on the old-fashioned cabinets 
 that Mary so well remembered ; and the silk patch- 
 work sofa-cover, the old piano, and Miss Faithfull's 
 arm chair by the fire, her little table with her beautiful 
 knitting, and often a flower or insect that she was 
 copying ; for she still drew nicely ; and she smiled and 
 consented, as Louis pulled out her portfolios, life-long 
 collections of portraits of birds, flowers, or insects. 
 
62 DYNEYOR TERRACE. 
 
 Her knitting found a sale at the workshop, where the 
 object was well known, and the proceeds were diflfused 
 by her sister, and whether she deserved her name 
 might be guessed by the basket of poor people's stores 
 beside her chair. 
 
 Miss Mercy was well known in every dusky North- 
 wold lane or alley, where she always found or made 
 a welcome for herself The kindly counsel and ready 
 hand were more potent than far larger means without 
 them. 
 
 Such neighbours were in themselves a host, and 
 Mary and her mother both felt as if they had attained 
 a region of unwonted tranquillity and repose, when 
 they had agreed to rent No. 5, Dynevor Terrace, from 
 the ensuing Lady-day, and to take possession when 
 carpenters and upholsterers should have worked their 
 will. 
 
 Louis was half-way home when he exclaimed, 'There ! 
 I have missed Tom Madison a second time. When 
 shall I ever remember him at the right time V 
 
 Little did Louis guess the effect his neglect was 
 taking ! Charlotte Arnold might have told, for Mrs. 
 Martha had brought in stories of his unsteadiness and 
 idle habits that confirmed her in her obedience to Jane. 
 She never went out alone in his leisure hours ; never 
 looked for him in returning from church — alas ! that was 
 not the place to look for him now. And yet she could 
 not believe him such a very bad boy as she was told 
 he had become. 
 
 
THE T^'O MINISTERS. 63 
 
 CHAPTEK Y. 
 
 THE TWO illNISTERS. 
 
 ' The creature's neither one nor t'other. 
 I caught the animal last night, 
 And viewed him o'er by candle-light ; 
 I marked him well, 'twas black as jet. 
 You stare, but sirs, I've got him yet, 
 And can produce him.' ' Pray, sir, do ; 
 I'll lay my life the thing is blue.' 
 ' And I'U be sworn, that when you've seen 
 The reptile, you'll pronounce him green.* 
 'Well, then, at once to end the doubt,' 
 Replies the man, ' I'll turn him out ; 
 And when before your eyes I've set him. 
 If you don't find him black, I'll eat him.' 
 He said — then, full before their sight 
 Produced the beast, and lo ! 'twas white ! 
 
 Merrick. 
 
 MRS. POXSOXBY had seen in the tropics birds 
 of brilliant hues, that even, whilst the gazer 
 pronounced them all one beaming tint of gorgeous 
 purple, would give one flutter, and in another light 
 would flash with golden green or fiery scarlet. No 
 less startling and unexpected were the aspects of Lord 
 Fitzjocelyn, ' Everything by starts, and nothing long ;' 
 sometimes absorbed in study, sometimes equally ardent 
 over a childish game ; w41d about philanthropic plans, 
 and apparently forgetting them the instant a cold word 
 had fallen on them ; attempting eveiything, finishing 
 nothing ; dipping into every kind of book, and foi^saking 
 it after a cursory glance ; ever busy, yet ever idle ; full 
 of desultory knowledge, ranging through all kinds of 
 
64 DYNEVOH TEHHACE. 
 
 reading and natural history, and still more full of talk. 
 This h\st was perhaps his most decided gift. To any 
 one, of whatever degree, he would talk; he could hardly 
 have been silent ten minutes with any human being, 
 except Frampton or his father; and whether deep re- 
 flections or arrant nonsense came out of his mouth, 
 seemed an even chance, though both alike were in the 
 same soft low voice, and with the same air of quaint 
 pensive simplicity. He was exceedingly provoking, and 
 yet there was no being provoked with him ! 
 
 He was so sincere, affectionate, and obliging, that 
 not to love him was impossible ; yet that love only 
 made his faults more annoying, and Mrs, Ponsonby 
 could well understand his father's perpetual restless 
 anxiety, for his foibles were exactly of the sort most 
 likely to tease such a man as the Earl ; and the most 
 positively unsatisfactory part of his character was the 
 insouciance that he disjolayed when his trifling or his 
 wild projects had given umbrage. Yet, even here, she 
 could not but feel a hope, such as it was, that the care- 
 lessness might be the effect of want of sympathy and 
 visible affection from his father, whose very anxiety 
 made him the more unbending; and that, what a worse 
 temper might have resented, rendered a good one gaily 
 reckless and unheeding. 
 
 She often wondered whether she should try to give 
 a hint — but Lord Ormersfield seemed to dread leading 
 to the subject, although on all else that interested him 
 he came to her as in old times, and seemed greatly re- 
 freshed and softened by her companionship. 
 
 An old friend and former fellow-minister had pro- 
 posed spending a night at Ormersfield. He was the 
 person whom the Earl most highly esteemed, and, 
 in his own dignified way, he was solicitous that the 
 household should be in more than usually perfect order, 
 holdincf a long conference with the man of whom he was 
 sure, Frampton. Would that he could have been equally 
 sure of his son ! He looked at him almost wistfully 
 several times during breakfast, and at last, as they rose, 
 
THE TWO MINISTERS. 65' 
 
 gave an exhoi'tation ' that he would be punctual to 
 dinner at half-past seven, which would give him ample 
 time, and he hoped he would be — ' He paused for a 
 word, and his son supplied it. ' On my good behaviour, 
 I understand.' With that he walked off, lea\TJig Lord 
 Ormersfield telling Mrs. Ponsonby that it was the first 
 introduction, as he had ' for various reasons ' thought it 
 undesirable to bring Fitzjoeelyn early to London, and 
 betraying his own anxiety a.s to the impression he might 
 produce on Sir Miles Oakstead. His own perplexity 
 and despondency showed themselves in his desire to 
 view his son with the eyes of othei*s, and he also thought 
 the tenor of Fitzjocelyn's future life might be coloured 
 by his friend's opinion. 
 
 Evening brought the guest. Mrs. Ponsonby was not 
 well enough to appear at dinner ; but Mary and Mrs. 
 Frost, pleased to see an historical character, were in the 
 drawing-room, enjoying Sir Miles's agreeable conver- 
 sation, until they caught certain misgivings reflected 
 in each other s looks, as time wore on and notliing had 
 been seen or heard of Louis. The half-hour struck ; 
 the Earl waited five minutes, then rang the bell. ' Is 
 Lord FitzjocehTi come in V 
 
 ' No, my Lord.' 
 
 ' Bring in the dinner.' 
 
 Mary longed to fiy in search of him, and spare further 
 vexation. She had assumed all an elder sister's feel- 
 ings, and suffered for him as she used to do, when he 
 was in disgrace and would not heed it. She heard no 
 more of the conversation, and was insensible to the 
 honour of going in to dinner with the late Secretary 
 of State, as she saw the empty place at the table. 
 
 The soup was over, when she was aware of a step in 
 the hall, and beside her stood a grey figure, bespattered 
 vnih. mud, shading his eyes with his hand, as if dazzled 
 by the lights. ' I beg your pardon,' were the words, 
 * but I was obliged to go to Northwold. I have shot 
 a rose-coloured pastor !' 
 
 ' Shot him !' cried Mary. ' Was he much hui't V 
 
 VOL. I. F 
 
66 DYNEVOE TERRACE. 
 
 ' Killed ! I took him to Miss Faitlifull_, to be sketched 
 before he is stuffed — ' 
 
 A clearer view of the comj^any, a wave of the hand 
 from the Earl, and the young gentleman was gone. 
 Next he opened the library door, saying, ' Here's my 
 pretty behaviour !' 
 
 ' Louis ! what is the matter V cried Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 
 ' I entirely forgot the right honourable, and marched 
 into the dining-room to tell Aunt Catharine that I have 
 killed a rose-coloured pastor.' 
 
 ' Killed what V 
 
 ' A bird, hardly ever seen in England. I spied him 
 in the fir-wood, went to Warren for a gun, brought 
 him down, and walked on to the House Beautiful, 
 where Miss Faithfull was enchanted. She will copy 
 him, and send him to the bird-stufier. I looked in to 
 give directions, and old Jenyns was amazed ; he never 
 knew one shot here before, so early in the year too. 
 He says we must send the account to the Ornithologi- 
 cal—' 
 
 ' Do you know how wet you are ?' exclaimed Mrs. 
 Ponsonby, seeing rivulets dropping from his coat. 
 
 ' I see. It rained all the way home, and was so 
 dark, I could not see the footpath ; and when I came 
 in, my eyes were blinded by the light, and my head so 
 full of the pastor, that the other minister never 
 occurred to me, and remains under the impression 
 that I have confessed a sacrilegious murder.' 
 
 ' You really are incorrigible !' cried j\Irs. Ponsonby. 
 * Why are you not dressing for dinner V 
 
 ' Because you are going to give me a cup of your 
 tea,' 
 
 ' Certainly not. I shall begin to think you pur- 
 posely mortified your father, when you know he wanted 
 you to be reasonable.' 
 
 ' The lower species never show ofi" well to strangers,' 
 said Fitzjocelyn, coolly; but, as he lighted his candle, 
 he added, with more candour, ' I beg your pardon — 
 indeed I did not do this on purpose ; but don't say 
 
THE TTVO MINISTERS. 67 
 
 anytliing about appearances — there's sometliing in me 
 that is sure to revolt.' 
 
 So noiselessly that the moment was unknown, the 
 vacant chair was filled by a gentleman irreproachably 
 attired, his face glowing with exercise, or with what 
 made him very dehonnaire and really silent, dining 
 rapidly and unobtrusively, and never raising his eyes 
 even to his aunt, probably intending thus to remain 
 all the evening ; but presently Sir Miles tui^ned to 
 him and said, ' Pray satisfy my curiosity. Who is the 
 rose-coloured pastor V 
 
 Louis raised his eyes, and meeting a pleasing, sensible 
 face, out beamed his arch look of suppressed fun as he 
 answered, ' He is not at all clerical. He is otherwise 
 called the rose-coloured ouzel or starling.' 
 
 * Whence is that other startlinor name ?' 
 
 ' From his attending flocks of sheep, on the same 
 mission as jackdaws fulfil here — which likewise have 
 an ecclesiastical reputation — 
 
 * A great frequenter of the church.' ' 
 
 Fearing alike nonsense and ornithology, Lord Or- 
 merstield changed the subject, and Louis subsided ; 
 but when the gentlemen came into the drawing-room, 
 Mrs. Ponsonby was surprised to see him taking a fair 
 share, and no more, of the conversation. Some infor- 
 mation had been wanted about the terms of labour in 
 the mining districts, and Louis's visit to Illershall 
 enaljled him to throw light on the subject, w4th much 
 clearness and accuracy. Sir Miles had more literature 
 than Lord Ormersfield, and was more used to young 
 men ; and he began to draw Fitzjocelyn out, wdth 
 complete success. Louis fully responded to the touch, 
 and without a notion that he was showing himself to 
 the best advantage, he yielded to the pleasure, and for 
 once proved of what he was capable — revealing unawares 
 an unusual amount of intelligence and observation, 
 and great power of expression. Not even his aunt had 
 ever seen him appear so much like a superior man, and 
 the only alloy was his father's ill-repressed dread lest 
 
 f2 
 
68 DTN"EYOR TEERACE. 
 
 he should fall on daugerous ground, and commit himself 
 either to his wildly philanthropical or extravagantly 
 monarchical views, whichever might happen to be in 
 the ascendant. However, such shoals were not ap- 
 proached, nor did Louis ever plunge out of his depth. 
 The whole of his manner and demeanour were proofs 
 that, in his case, much talk sprang from exuberance of 
 ideas, not from self-conceit. 
 
 He was equally good in the morning : he had risen 
 early to hunt up some information which Sir Miles 
 wanted, and the clearness and readiness with which 
 he had found it were wonderful. The guest was 
 delighted with him ; gave him a warm invitation to 
 Oakstead, and on being left alone with Mrs. Ponsonby, 
 whom he had formerly known, expressed his admiration 
 of his friend's son — as a fine, promising young man, 
 of great ability and originality, and, what was still 
 more remarkable, of most simple, natural manners, 
 perfectly free from conceit. He seemed the more 
 amazed, when he found, what he would hardly believe, 
 that Fitzjocelyn was twenty-one, and had nearly finished 
 his university education. 
 
 The liking was mutual. No sooner had Sir Miles 
 departed, than Louis came to the library in a rapture, 
 declaring that here was the refreshing sight of a man 
 unspoilt by political life, which usually ate out the hearts 
 of people. 
 
 Mary smiled at this, and told him that he was talk- 
 ing 'like an old statesman weary of the world.' 
 
 ' One may be weary of the world beforehand as well 
 as after,' said he. 
 
 ' That does not seem worth while,' said Mary. 
 
 ' No,' he said, ' but one's own immediate look-out may 
 not be flattering, whatever the next turn may bring ;' 
 and he took up the newspaper, and began to turn it 
 over. ' 'As butler — as single-handed man — as clerk and 
 accountant.' There, those are the lucky men, with down- 
 right work, and some one to work for. Or, just listen 
 to this !' and he plunged into a story of some heroic 
 
THE TWO MINISTERS. 69 
 
 conduct during a shipwreck. While he was reading it 
 aloud, with kindling eyes and enthusiastic interest, 
 his father opened the door. * Louis,' he said, 'if you 
 are doing nothing, I should be obliged if you would 
 make two copies of this letter.' 
 
 Louis glanced at the end of what he was reading, laid 
 the paper down, and opened a blotting-book. 
 
 ' You had better come into the study, or you will 
 not wi'ite correctly.' 
 
 ' I can write, whatever jjoes on.' 
 
 ' I particularly wish this to be legible and accurate. 
 You have begun too low down.' 
 
 Louis took another sheet. 
 
 ' That pen is not fit to write with.' 
 
 'The pens are delusions,' said Louis, trying them round, 
 in an easy, idle way : ' I never could mend a quill ! 
 How is this steel one ? Refuses to recognise the pur- 
 pose of his existeuce. Aunt Catharine, do you still 
 forbid steel pens in your school 1 If so, it must be 
 the solitary instance. How creese must cackle blessings 
 on the inventor ! He should have a testimonial — a 
 silver inkstand representing the goose that laid the 
 golden eorgs, — and all writino^-masters should sub- 
 scribe. Ha I where did this pen come from ? Mary, 
 were you the bounteous mender ? A thousand 
 thanks.' 
 
 If Louis fretted his father by loitering and nonsense, 
 his father was no less trying by standing over him with 
 advice and criticisms which would have driven most 
 youths beyond patience, but which he bore with con- 
 stant good-humour, till his father returned to the study, 
 when he exclaimed, ' Now, Mary, if you like to finish 
 the wreck, it will not interrupt me. This is mere 
 machine-work.' 
 
 ' Thank you,' said Mary ; ' I should like it better 
 afterwards. Do you think I might do one copy for 
 you ? Or would it not suit Lord Ormersfield V 
 
 Louis made polite demurs, but she overruled them 
 and began. 
 
70 DYNEYOU TERRACE. 
 
 He stretched himself, took up his Times, and skim- 
 med the remaining incidents of the shipwreck, till he 
 was shamed by seeingMar)' half-way down the first page, 
 when he resumed his pen, overtook her, and then re- 
 lapsed into talk, till Mrs. Frost fairly left the room, to 
 silence him. 
 
 As the two copies were completed, Lord Ormersfield 
 returned; and Mary, with many apologies, presented 
 her copy, and received most gracious thanks and com- 
 pliments on her firm, clear writing ; a vexation to her 
 rather than otherwise, since ' Fitzjocelyn' was called to 
 account for dubious scrawls, errors, and erasures. 
 
 He meekly took another sheet, consoling himself, 
 however, by saying, ' I warn you that pains will only 
 make it Miss Fanny.' 
 
 * What do you mean V 
 
 As if glad to be instigated, he replied, ' Did you 
 never hear of my signature being mistaken by an in- 
 genious person, who addressed his answer to 'Miss 
 Fanny Jocelyn V Why, Fanny has been one of Jem's 
 regular names for me ever since ! I have the envelope 
 somewhere as a curiosity. I'll show it to you, Mary.' 
 
 ' You seem to be proud of it !' exclaimed his father, 
 nearly out of patience. ' Pray tell me whether you 
 intend to copy this creditably or not.' 
 
 ' I will endeavour, but the Fates must decide. I c«n 
 scrawl, or, with pains, I can imitate Miss Fanny; but 
 the other alternative only comes in happy moments,' 
 
 ' Do you mean that you cannot write well if you 
 choose V 
 
 ' It is like other arts — an inspiration. DogbeiTy 
 was deep when he said it came by nature.' 
 
 ' Then make no more attempts. No. That school- 
 girl's niggle is w^orse than the first.' 
 
 * Fanny, as I told you,' said Louis, looking vacantly 
 up in resigned despair, yet not without the lurking 
 expression of amusement ; ' I will try again.' 
 
 ' No, I thank you. I will have no more time 
 wasted.' 
 
THE TTVO MINISTEES. 71 
 
 Louis passively moved to the window, wliere lie 
 exclaimed that he saw Aunt Catharine sunning her- 
 self in the garden, and must go and help her. 
 
 'Did you ever see anything like that?' cried Lord 
 Ormersfield, thoroughly moved to displeasure. 
 
 ' There was at least good-humour,' said Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby. 'Pardon me, there was almost as much to try 
 his temper as yours.' 
 
 ' He is insensible !' 
 
 ' I think not. A word from Aunt Catharine rules 
 him.' 
 
 ' Though you counselled it, Mary, I doubt whether 
 her training has answered. Henry Frost should have 
 been a warning.' 
 
 Mary found herself blundering in her new copy, 
 and retreated with it to the study, while her mother 
 made answer : ' I do not repent of my advice. The 
 affection between liim and Aunt Catharine is the 
 greatest blessing to him.' 
 
 ' Poor boy !' said his father, forgetting his lettei^ as 
 he stood pondering. Mrs. Ponsonby seized the moment 
 for reporting Sir Miles's opinion, but the Earl did not 
 betray his gratification. ' First sight !' he said. ' Last 
 nicjht and this afternoon he is as unlike as these are ;' 
 and he placed before her Louis's unlucky copies, together 
 with a letter written in a bold, manly hand. ' Three 
 different men might have written these 1 And he 
 pretends he cannot write like this, if he please 1' 
 
 ' I have no doubt it is to a certain extent true. 
 Yes, absolutely true. You do not conceive the influ- 
 ence that raood has on some characters before they have 
 learnt to master themselves. I do not mean temper, 
 but the mere frame of spirits. Even sense of restraint 
 will often take away the actual power from a child, or 
 where there is not a strong will.' 
 
 ' You are right 1' said he, becoming rigid as if with 
 pain. ' He is a child ! You have not yet told me 
 what you think of him. You need not hesitate. No 
 one bees the likeness more plainly than I do.' 
 
72 DYNEVOll TERRACE. 
 
 ' It is strong externally,' she said ; ' but I think it 
 is more external than real, more temperament than 
 character.' 
 
 ' You are too metaphysical for me, Mary ;' and he 
 would fain have smiled. 
 
 ' I want you to be hopeful. Half the object would 
 be attained if you were, and he really deserves that 
 you should.' 
 
 ' He will not let me. If I hope at one moment, I 
 am disappointed the next.' 
 
 'And how? By nothing worse than boyishness. 
 You confirm what my aunt tells me, that there has 
 never been a serious complaint of him.' 
 
 ' Never. His conduct has always been blameless ; 
 but every tutor has said the same — that he has no 
 application, and allows himself to be surpassed by 
 any one of moderate energy !' 
 
 ' Blameless conduct ! How many fathers would 
 give worlds to be able to give such a character of a son !' 
 
 'There are faults that are the very indications of 
 a manly spirit,' began the Earl, impatiently. ' Not 
 that I mean that I wish — he has never given me any 
 trouble — but just look at James Frost, and you would 
 see what I mean ! There's energy in him — fire — inde- 
 pendence; you feel there is substance in him, and 
 like him the better for having a will and way of his 
 own.' 
 
 ' So, I think, has Louis; but it is so often thwarted, 
 that it sinks away under the sense of duty and 
 submission.' 
 
 ' If there were any consistency or reason in his 
 fancies, they would not give way so easily; but it is 
 all talk, all extravagant notions — here one day, gone 
 the next. Not a spark of ambition !' 
 
 ' Ambition is not so safe a spark that we should 
 wish to see it lighted.' 
 
 ' A man must wish to see his son hold his proper 
 station, and aim high ! No one can be satisfied to see 
 him a trifler.' 
 
THE TWO MINISTERS. 73 
 
 ' I have been trying to find out why he trifles. As 
 far as I can see, he has no ambition, and I do not think 
 his turn will be for a life like yours. His bent is 
 towards what is to do good to others. He would 
 make an admirable country gentleman.' 
 
 ' A mere farmer, idling awav his time in his 
 fields.' 
 
 'No; doing infinite good by example and influence, 
 and coming forward whenever duty required it. 
 Depend upon it, the benefit to others is the impulse 
 which can work on Louis, not personal ambition. Birth 
 has already given him more than he values.' 
 
 ' You may be right,' said Lord Ormersfield, ' but it 
 is hard to see so many advantages thro^vn away, and 
 what sometimes seems like so much ability wasted. 
 But who can tell ? he is never the same for an hour 
 together.' 
 
 ' May it not be for want of a sphere of wholesome 
 action V 
 
 ' He is not fit for it, Mary. You know I resolved 
 that the whole bm-then of our losses should fall on me ; 
 I made it my object that he should not suflfer, and 
 should freely have whatever I had at the same age. 
 Everytliing is cleared at last. I could give him the 
 same income as I started in life with ; but he is so 
 reckless of money, that I cannot feel justified in putting 
 it into his hands. Say what I will, not a vacation 
 occurs but he comes to tell me of some paltry debt of 
 ten or fifteen pounds.' 
 
 ' He comes to tell you ! Nay, never say he has no 
 resolution ! Such debts as those, what are they com- 
 pared with other young men's, of wliich they do not 
 tell their fathers V 
 
 ' If he were like other youths, I should know how to 
 deal ^vdth him. But you agi-ee with me, he is not fit 
 to have a larger sum in his hands.' 
 
 ' Perhaps not ; he is too impulsive and inexperienced. 
 If you were to ask me how to make it conduce to his 
 happiness, I should say, lay out more on the estate, so 
 
74 DYNEYOR TERHACE. 
 
 as to employ more men, and make improvements in 
 wliich he would take interest.' 
 
 ' I cannot make him care for the estate. Last 
 winter, when he came of age, I tried to explain the 
 state of affairs ; but he was utterly indifferent — would 
 not trouble himself to understand the papers he was to 
 sign, and made me quite ashamed of such an exhibition 
 before Richardson.' 
 
 ' I wish I could defend him ! And yet — you will 
 think me unreasonable, but I do believe that if he had 
 thought the welfare of others was concerned, he would 
 have attended more.' 
 
 ^Umph!' 
 
 * I am not sure that it is not his good qualities that 
 make him so hard to deal with. The want of selfish- 
 ness and vanity seem to take away two common springs 
 of action, but I do l^elieve that patience will bring out 
 sometliing much higher w^hen you have found the way 
 to reach it.' 
 
 * That I certainly have not, if it be there !' 
 
 ' To cultivate his sympathies with you,' said Mrs. 
 Ponsonby, hesitating, and not venturing to look into his 
 face. 
 
 ' Enough, Mary,' he said, hastily. ' You said the like 
 to me once before.' 
 
 ' But,' said ]Mrs. Ponsonby, firmly, ' here there is a 
 foundation to work on. There are affections that only 
 need to be drawTi out to make you happy, and him — not, 
 perhaps, what you now wish, but better than you wish.' 
 
 His face had become hard as he answered, ' Thank 
 you, Mary; you have always meant the best. You 
 have always been kind to me, and to all belonging to me.' 
 
 Her heart ached for the fatlier and son, understand- 
 ing each other so little, and paining each other so 
 much ; and she feared that the Earl's mind had been 
 too much cramped, and his feelings too much chilled, 
 for such softening on his part as could alone, as it 
 seemed, prevent Louis from being estranged, and left 
 to his naturally fickle and indolent disposition. 
 
THE TWO MI>'ISTEUS. 75 
 
 Mary had in the mean time completed her copies, 
 and left them on the Earl's table ; and wishing neither 
 to be thanked nor contrasted with Louis, she put on 
 her bonnet, to go in search of Aunt Catharine. Not 
 finding her in the garden, she decided on visiting old 
 Gervas and his wife, who had gladly caught at her 
 offer of reading to them. The visit over, she returned 
 by the favourite path above Ferny dell, gathering prim- 
 roses, and meditating how to stir up Louis to finish off 
 his rocky steps, and make one piece of work complete. 
 She paused at the summit of them, and was much inclined 
 to descend and examine what was wanting, when she 
 started at hearing a rustling beneath, then a low moan 
 and an attempt at a call. The bushes and a projecting 
 rock cut off her view; but, in some trepidation, she 
 called out, ' Is any one there V Little did she expect the 
 answer — 
 
 ' It is I — Fitzjocelyn. Come ! — I have had a fall.' 
 
 * I'm coming — are you hurt V she cried, as with 
 shaking limbs she prepared to begin the descent. 
 
 ' Not that way,' he called ; ' it gave way — go to the 
 left.' 
 
 She was almost disobeying; but, recalling herself to 
 thought, she hm-ried along the top till the bank 
 became practicable, and tore her way through brake 
 and brier, till she could return along the side of the 
 stream. 
 
 Horror-struck, she perceived that a heavy stone had 
 given way and rolled down, bearing Louis with it, to 
 the bottom, where he lay, ghastly and helplesfs. She 
 called to him ; and he tried to raise himself, but sank 
 back. 'Mary! is it you? I thought I should have died 
 here,' he said; as she knelt by him, exclaiming, ' Oh, 
 Louis ! Louis ! what a dreadful fall !' 
 
 ' It is my fault,' he eagerly interrupted, ' I am glad 
 it has happened to no one else.' 
 
 * And you are terribly hurt ! I must go for help : 
 but what can I do for you ? Would you like some 
 water V 
 
76 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' Water ! Oh ! I have heard it all this time gurgling 
 there !' 
 
 She filled his cap, and bathed his face, apparently to 
 his great relief; and she ventured to ask if he had 
 been long there. 
 
 * Very long !' he said. ' I must have fainted after I 
 got the stone off my foot, so I missed Gervas going by. 
 I thought no one else would come near. Thank God !' 
 Mary almost grew sick as she saw how dreadfully 
 his left ankle had been crushed by a heavy stone ; and 
 her very turning towards it made him shudder, and 
 say, ' Don't touch me ! I am shattered all over.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I should only hurt you,' she said, with 
 difficulty controlling herself ' I had better fetch some 
 one.' 
 
 He did not know how to be left again ; but the damp 
 chilliness of his hands made her the more anxious to pro- 
 cure assistance, and, after spreading her shawl over 
 him, she made the utmost speed out of the thicket. 
 As she emerged, she saw Lord Ormersfield riding with 
 his groom, and her scream and sign arrested him ; but, 
 by the time they met, she could utter nothing but 
 'Louis!' 
 
 ' Another accident !' was the almost impatient 
 answer. 
 
 ' He is dreadfully hurt !' she said, sobbing and breath- 
 less. ' His foot is crushed ! He has been there this 
 hour !' 
 
 The alarm was indeed given. The Earl seemed about 
 to rush away without knowing whither ; and she had 
 absolutely to withhold him, while, summoning her 
 faculties, she gave directions to Poynings. Then she 
 let him draw her on, too fast for speaking, until they 
 reached the spot where Louis lay, so spent with pain 
 and cold, that he barely opened his eyes at their voices, 
 made no distinct answers as to his hurts, and shrank 
 and moaned when his father would have raised him. 
 
 Mary contrived to place his head on her lap, bathed 
 his forehead and chafed Ids hands, while Lord Ormers- 
 
THE TWO MIMSTERS. 77 
 
 field stood watching liim with looks of misery, or paced 
 about, anxiously looking for the servants. 
 
 They came at last, all too soon for poor Louis, who 
 suffered terribly in the transport, and gave few tokens 
 of consciousness, except a cry now and then extorted 
 by a rougher movement. 
 
 Ncme of the household, scarcely even Mrs. Frost, 
 seemed at first to be able to believe that Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn could really have hurt himself seriously. 
 ' Again 1' was the first word of every one, for his many 
 slight accidents were treated like crying ' Wolf ;' but 
 Frampton himself looked perfectly pale and shocked 
 when he perceived how the matter really stood ; and 
 neither he nor Lord Ormersfield was half so helpful 
 as Mrs. Frost. The shock only called out her energy 
 in behalf of her darling, and, tender as her nature was, 
 she shrank from nothing that could soothe and alleviate 
 his suffering; and it did infinitely comfort him, as he 
 held her hand and looked with affection into her face, 
 even in the extremity of pain. 
 
 Fain would others have been the same support; but 
 his father, though not leaving him, was completely 
 unnerved, and unable to do anything; and Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby was suffering under one of the attacks that were 
 brought on by any sudden agitation. Mary, though 
 giddy and throbbing in every pulse, was forced to put a 
 resolute check on herself — brace her limbs, steady her 
 voice, and keep her face composed, while every faculty was 
 absorbed in listening for sounds from her cousin's 
 room, and her heart was quivering with an anguish of 
 prayer and suspense. Could she but hide her burning 
 cheeks for one moment, let out one of the sobs that 
 seemed to be rending her breast, throw herself on her 
 knees and burst into tears, what an infinite relief it 
 would be ! But Mary had learnt to spend her life in 
 having no self. 
 
78 DYNEVOE TERRACE. 
 
 CHAPTER YI. 
 
 FAREWELLS. 
 
 What yet is there that I should do, 
 Lingering in this darksome vale ? 
 
 Proud and mighty, fair to view. 
 Are our schemes, and yet they fail, 
 
 Like the sand before the wind, 
 
 That no power of man can bind. 
 
 Arndt, Lyra Germanica. 
 
 DYNEYOR TERRA CE was said to have dark, damp 
 kitchens, Ijut by none who had ever been in No. 5, 
 when the little compact fire was compressed to one 
 glowing red crater of cinders, their smile laughing rud- 
 dilv back from the bright array on the dresser, the 
 drugget laid down, the round oaken table brought for- 
 ward, and Jane Beckett, in afternoon trim, tending her 
 geraniums, the offspring of the parting Cheveleigh 
 nosegay, or gauifreing her mistress's caps. No wonder 
 that on raw evenings, Master James, Miss Clara, or my 
 young Lord, had often been found gossiping with Jane, 
 toasting their o^vn cheeks as well as the bread, or 
 pinching their fingers in her gaufi^reing machine. 
 
 Yet, poor little Charlotte Arnold learnt that the 
 kitchen could be dreary, when Mrs. Beckett had been 
 summoned to nui'se Lord Fitzjocelyn, and she remained 
 in sole charge, under Mrs. Martha's occasional super- 
 vision. She found herself, her household cares over all 
 too soon, on a cold light March afternoon, with the 
 clock ticking loud enough for midnight, the smoke-jack 
 indulging in supernatm^al groans, and the whole lonely 
 house full of imdefined terrors, with an unlimited space 
 of the like solitude before her. She would even have 
 been glad to be sure of an evening of Mrs. Martha's 
 
FAREWELLS. 79 
 
 good advice, and of darning stockings ! She sat down 
 by the round table to Mr. James's wi'istbands ; but 
 every creak or crack of the furniture made her 
 start, and think of death-watches. She might have 
 learnt to contemn superstition, but that did not prevent 
 it from affecting her nerves. 
 
 She spread her favourite study, The Old English 
 Baron, on the table before her ; but the hero had some 
 connexion in her mind with Tom Madison, for whom 
 she had always coveted a battle-field in France. What 
 would he feel when he heard how he had filled up his 
 course of evil, being well-nigh the death of his bene- 
 factor ! If any one ought to be haunted, it would 
 assuredly be no other than Tom ! 
 
 Chills running over her at the thought, she turned 
 to the fire as the thing nearest life, but at the moment 
 started at a hollow call of her ovm name. A face was 
 looking in at her through the geraniiuns ! She shrieked 
 aloud, and clasped her hands over her eyes. 
 
 ^ Don't make a row. Open the door !' 
 
 It was such a relief to hear something unghostly, that 
 she sprang to the door ; but as she undid it, all her 
 scruples seized her, and she tried to hold it, saying, 
 ' Don't come in ! You unfortunate boy, do you know 
 what you have done ?' 
 
 But Tom Madison was in a mood to which her female 
 nature cowered. He pushed the door open, saying 
 authoritatively, ' Tell me how he is !' 
 
 ' He is as ill as he can be to be alive,' said Charlotte, 
 actuated at once by the importance of being the reposi- 
 tory of such tidings, and by the excitement of commu- 
 nicating them to one so deeply concerned. ' Mr. 
 Poynings came in to fetch Mrs. Beckett — he would 
 have no one else to nurse him — and he says the old 
 Lord and Missus have never had their clothes off these 
 two nights.' 
 
 ' Then, was it along of them stones V asked the lad, 
 hoarsely. 
 
 ' Yourself should know best 1' returned Charlotte. 
 
80 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 * Mr. Poynings says 'twas a piece of rock as big as that 
 warming-pan as crushed his ankle ! and you know — ' 
 
 * I know nothing,' said Tom. ' Master kept me in all 
 day yesterday, and I only heard just now at Little 
 Northwold, where I've been to take home some knives 
 of Squire Calcott's. Master may blow me up if he 
 likes, but I couldn't come till I'd heard the rights of it. 
 Is he so veiy bad V 
 
 ' They've sent up to London for a doctor,' pursued 
 Charlotte. ' Mr. Walby don't give but little hope of 
 him. Poor young gentleman, I'm sure he had a good 
 word from high and low !' 
 
 ' Well ! I'm gone !' cried Tom, vehemently. ^ Good- 
 bye to you, Charlotte Arnold ! You'll never see me in 
 these parts more !' 
 
 ' Gone ! Oh, Tom ! what do you mean V 
 
 ' D'ye think I'll stay here to have this here cast in 
 my face ? Such a one as won't never walk the earth 
 again !' and he burst out into passionate tears. ' I wish 
 I was dead !' 
 
 ' Oh, hush, Tom ! — that is wicked !' 
 
 ' May be so ! I am all that's wicked, and you all 
 turn against me !' 
 
 ' I don't turn against you,' sobbed Charlotte, moved 
 to the bottom of her gentle heart. 
 
 ' You ! you turned -^against me long ago. You've been 
 too proud to cast one look at me these three months ; 
 and he forgot me ; and that's what drew me on, when 
 who cared what became of me — nor I neither now.' 
 
 ' Don't speak that way ! Don't say 'twas pride. Oh 
 no! but I had to behave proper, and how should I 
 keep up acquaintance when they said you went on — 
 unsteady — ' 
 
 'Aye, aye! I know how it is,' said poor Tom, with 
 broken-down humility : ' I was not fit for you theu, 
 and I'm next thing to a murderer now ; and you're 
 like a white dove that the very fingers of me would 
 ginme. I'll take myself out of your way ; but, let what 
 will come of me, I'll never forget you, Charlotte.' 
 
FAREWELLS. 81 
 
 ' Oh, wait, Tom ! If I could but say it right 1— Oh ! I 
 know there's something about biding patiently, and 
 getting a blessing — if you'd only stop while I recol- 
 lect it; 
 
 ' I thought I heard voices !' exclaimed Mrs. Martha, 
 suddenly descending on them. ' I wonder you aren't 
 ashamed of yourselves, and the family in such trouble ! 
 Downright owdacious !' 
 
 ' Be this your house V said Tom, stepping before 
 Charlotte, his dejection giving way instantly to rude 
 independence, 
 
 ' Oh, very well,' said Martha, with dignity. ' I know 
 what to expect from such sort of people. The house 
 and young woman is in my charge, sir ; and if you don't 
 be off, ril call the police.' 
 
 * Never trouble your old bones !' retorted Tom. 
 ' Good-bye to you, Charlotte j' and, as in defiance of 
 Martha, he took her passive hand. ' You'll remember 
 one as loved you true and faithful, but was drove 
 desperate ! Good-bye ! I'll not trouble no one no 
 more !' 
 
 The three concluding negatives with which he dashed 
 out of the house utterly overwhelmed Charlotte, and 
 made her perfectly insensible to Mi-s. Martha's obj urga- 
 tions. She believed in the most horrible and despe- 
 rate intentions, and sobbed herself into such violent 
 hysterics that Miss Mercy came in to assist — ima- 
 gined that the rude boy had terrified her, misunder- 
 stood her shamefaced attempts at explanation, and left 
 her lying on her bed, crying quietly over her secret 
 terrors, and over that first, strangely-made declaration 
 of love. The white dove ! she did not deserve it, but it 
 was so poetical ! and poor Tom was so unhappy ! She 
 had not time even to- think what was become of her 
 own character for wisdom and prudence. 
 
 The next morning, between monition and triumph, 
 JNIartha announced that the good-for-nothing chap was 
 off with a valuable parcel of Mr. Calcott's, and the 
 police were after him ; with much more about his 
 
 VOL. I. G 
 
82 DYXEVOr. TERRACE. 
 
 former idle habits, — frequenting of democratic oratoiy, 
 public-houses, and fondness for bad company and 
 strolling actors. Meek and easily cowed, Charlotte 
 only opened her lips to say she knew that he had 
 taken home Mr. Calcott's parcel. But this brought 
 down a storm on her for being impertinent enough to 
 defend him, and she sat trembling till it had subsided; 
 and Martha retreating, left her to weep um-estrainedly 
 over her wild fancies, and the world's cruelty and 
 injustice towards one whom, as she was now ready to 
 declare, she loved with her whole heart. 
 
 The bell rang sharply, knocks rattled at the front 
 door ! She was sure that Tom had been just taken 
 out of the river ! But instinct to answer the bell 
 awoke at the second fm-ious clattering and double 
 pealing, which allowed no time for her to compose her 
 tear-streaked, swollen face, especially as the hasty sounds 
 suggested ' ISIr. James.' 
 
 Mr. James it was, but the expected rebuke for 
 keeping him waiting was not spoken. As he saw her 
 sorrowful looks, he only said, low and softly, ' Is it so, 
 Charlotte V In his eyes, there could be but one cause 
 for grief, and Charlotte's heart smote her for hypo- 
 crisy, when she could barely command her voice to 
 reply, ' No, sir ; my Lord has had a little better night.' 
 He spoke with unusual gentleness, as he made more 
 inquiiies than she could answer ; and when, after a few 
 minutes, he turned to walk on to Ormersfield, he said, 
 kindly, ' Good-bye, Charlotte ; I'll send you word if I 
 find him better ;' and the tears rose in his eyes at the 
 thought how every one loved the patient. 
 
 He was not wrong. There was everjnvhere great 
 affection and sympathy for the bright, fantastic being 
 whom all laughed at and liked, and Northwold and the 
 neighbourhood felt that they could have better spared 
 something more valuable. 
 
 The danger was hardly exaggerated even by Char- 
 lotte. The chill of the long exposure had brought on 
 Lish fever ; and besides the crushed ankle, there had 
 
FAr.EWELLS. 88 
 
 been severe contusions, which had resulted in an acute 
 pain in the side, hitherto untouched by remedies, and 
 beyond the comprehension of the old x^orthwold sur- 
 geon, Mr. Walby. As yet, however, the idea of peril 
 had not presented itself to Louis, though he was per- 
 fectly sensible. Severe pain and illness were new to 
 him ; and though not fretful nor impatient, he had not 
 the stoicism either of pride or of physical indifference, 
 put little resti-aint on the expression of suffering, and 
 was to an almost childish degree absorbed in the pre- 
 sent. He was always considerate and grateful ; and his 
 fond affection for his Aunt Catharine, and for good old 
 Jane, never failed to show itself whenever they did 
 anything for his relief; and they were the best of 
 nui'ses. 
 
 Poor Lord Ormersfield longed to be equally effective; 
 but he was neither handy nor ready, and could only sit 
 hour after hour beside his son, never moving except to 
 help the nurses, or to try to catch the slightest accent 
 of the sufferer. Look up when Louis would, he always 
 saw the same bowed head, and earnest eyes, which, as 
 Mrs. Ponsonby told her daughter, looked as they did 
 when Louisa was dying. 
 
 The coming of the London surgeon was an era to 
 which Louis evidently looked anxiously, with the itera- 
 tion of sickness, often reckoning the hours till he could 
 arrive; and when at last he came, there was an 
 evident effort to command attention. 
 
 When the visit was over, and the surgeon was 
 taking leave after the consultation, Fitzjocelyn calmly 
 desired to know his opinion, and kept his eyes steadily 
 fixed on his face, weighing the import of each word. 
 All depended on the subduing the inflammatory action 
 in the side ; and there was every reason to hope that 
 he would have strength for the severe treatment 
 necessary. There was no reason to desj)ond. 
 
 * I understand — thank you,' said Louis. 
 
 He shut his eyes, and lay so still that Mrs. Frost 
 trusted that he slept; but when his father came in, 
 
 g2 
 
84 DYNEYOR TEHEACE. 
 
 they were open, and Lord Ormersficld, bending over 
 him, hoped he was in less pain. 
 
 ' Thank you, there is not much difference.' But the 
 plaintive sound was gone ; the suffering was not the 
 sole thought. 
 
 ' Walby is coming with the leeches at two o'clock,' 
 said Lord Ormersfield : ' I reckon much on them.' 
 
 ' Thank you.' Silence again ; but his face spoke a 
 wish, and his aunt Catharine said, ' What, my dear'?' 
 
 * I should like to see Mr. Holdsworth,' said Louis, 
 with eyes appealing to his father. 
 
 ' He has been here to inquire eveiy day,' said the 
 Earl, choosing neither to refuse nor understand. 
 ' Whenever it is not too much for you — ' 
 
 ' It must be quickly, before I am weaker,' said 
 Louis. 'Let it be before Walby returns, father.' 
 
 ' Whatever you wish, my dear — ' and Lord Ormers- 
 tleld, turning towards the table, wrote a note, which 
 Mrs. Frost offered to despatch, thinking that her 
 presence oppressed her elder nephew, who looked 
 bowed down by the intensity of grief, which, unex- 
 pressed, seemed to pervade the whole man and weigh 
 him to the earth : and perhaps this also struck Louis 
 for the first time, for, after having lain silent for some 
 minutes, he softly said, ' Father !' 
 
 The Earl was instantly beside him ; but, instead of 
 speaking, Louis gazed in his face, and sighed, as he 
 murmm^ed, ' I was meant to have been a comfort to 
 you.' 
 
 ' My dear boy — ' began Lord Ormersfield, but he 
 could not trust his voice, as he saw Louis's eyes moist 
 with tears. 
 
 ' I wish I had !' he continued ; ' but I have never 
 been anything but a care and vexation, and I see it all 
 too late.' 
 
 ' Nay, Louis,' said his father, trying to assume his 
 usual tone of authority, as if to prove his security, 
 * you must not give way to feelings of illness. It is 
 weak to despond.' 
 
FAREWELLS. 85 
 
 ' It is best to face it,' said the youug man, with slow 
 and feeble utterance, but with no quailing of eye or 
 voice. ' But oh, father ! I did not think you would 
 feel it so much. I am not worth it.' 
 
 For the Earl could neither speak nor breathe, as if 
 smothered by one mighty unuttered sob, and holding 
 his son's hand between both his own, pressed it 
 con\'iilsively. 
 
 ' I am glad Mrs. Ponsonby is here,' said Louis ; ' and 
 you will soon find what a nice fellow Edward Fitz- 
 jocelyn is, whom you may make just what — ' 
 
 *■ Louis, my own boy, hiLsh ! I cannot bear this,' 
 cried his father, in an accent wrunc; fi-om him bv 
 excess of gi-ief. 
 
 ' I may recover,' said Louis, finding it his turn to 
 comfort ; ' and I should like to be longer with you, to 
 try to make up — ' 
 
 *You will. The leeches must relieve you. Only 
 keep up your spirits : you have many years before you 
 of happiness and success.' 
 
 The words brought a look of oppression over Louis's 
 face, but it cleared as he said, ' I am more -^"illing to be 
 spared those years !' 
 
 His father positively started. ' Louis, my poor 
 boy,' he said, ' is it really so ? I know I have 
 seemed a cold, .severe father.' 
 
 ' Oh, do not say so !' exclaimed Louis ; ' I have 
 deserved far less — idle, ungi-ateful, careless of your 
 \v'ishes. I did not know I could pain you so much, 
 or I would not have done it. You have forgiven 
 often ; say you forgive now,' 
 
 ' You have far more to forgive than I,' said the 
 Earl. 
 
 ' If I could tell you the half — waywardness, discontent, 
 neglect, levity, wasted time — my treatment of you only 
 three days back. Everything purposed — nothing done ! 
 Oh ! what a life to bring before the Judge 1' And he 
 covered his face, but his father heard long-drawn 
 sobs. 
 
86 DYNEVOE- TEREACE. 
 
 * Compose yourself, my clear boy/ he exclaimed, 
 exceedingly grieved and perplexed. ' You know there 
 is no cause to despond ; and even — even if there were, 
 you have no reason to distress yourself. I can say, 
 from the bottom of my heart, that you have never 
 given me cause for real anxiety; your conduct has 
 been exemplary, and I never saw such attention to 
 religion in any young man. These are mere trifles — ' 
 
 ' Oh, hush, father !' exclaimed Louis. ' You are only 
 making it worse ; you little know what I am ! If Mr. 
 Holdsworth would come !' 
 
 ' He could only tell you the same,' said his father. 
 
 * You may take every comfort in thinking how blame- 
 less you have been, keeping so clear of all the faults 
 of your age. I may not have esteemed you as you 
 deserved, my poor Louis; but, be assm-ed that very 
 few can have so little to reproach themselves with as 
 you have.' 
 
 Louis almost smiled. 'Poor coinfort that,' he said, 
 
 * even if it were true ; but oh, father !' and there was 
 a light in his eye, * I had thought of * He hath blotted 
 out like a cloud thy transgi-essions.' ' 
 
 ' That is right. One like you must find comfoi't in 
 thinking.' 
 
 ' There is comfoi-t ineffable,' said Louis ; ' but if I 
 knew what I may dare to take home to myself ! It is 
 all so dim and confused. This pain will not let any- 
 thing come connectedly. Would you give me tliat 
 little manuscript book?' 
 
 It was given; and as the many loose leaves fell under 
 Louis's weak hand, his father was amazed at the mass of 
 copies of prayers, texts, and meditations that he had 
 brought together ; the earlier pages containing childish 
 prayers written in Aunt Catharine's hand. Louis's 
 cheeks coloured at the revelation of his hidden life, 
 as his father put them together for him. 
 
 ' It is of no use,' he said, sadly ; ' I cannot read. 
 Perhaps my aunt would come and read this to me.' 
 
 * Let me/ said his father; and Louis looked pleased. 
 
FAJLEWELLS. 87 
 
 Lord Ormersfield read what was pointed out. To him 
 it was a glimpse of a very new world of contrition, faith, 
 hope, and prayer ; but he saw the uneasy expression on 
 Louis's face give place to serenity, as one already at 
 home in that sphere. 
 
 ' Thank you,' he said. ' That was what I wanted. 
 ^Ir. Holdsworth will soon come, and then I don't want 
 to say much more. Only don't take this too much 
 to heart — I am not worth it ; and but for you and the 
 dear Terrace home, I can be very glad. If I may hope, 
 the hope is so bright ! Here there are so many ways 
 of going wrong, and all I do always fails ; and yet I 
 always tried to do Him ser^'ice. Oh, to have all perfect ! 
 — no failure — no inconsistency — no self ! Can it be ?' 
 
 ' I always tried to do Him service !' Sadly and deject- 
 edly as the words were spoken — mournful as was the 
 contrast between the wUl and the result, this was the 
 true cause that there was peace with Louis. Unstable, 
 negligent, impetuous, and weak as he had been, the 
 one earnest pm^pose had been his, guarding the heart, 
 though not yet controlling the judgment. His soul 
 was awake to the unseen, and thus the sense of the 
 reality of bliss ineffable, and power to take comfort in 
 the one great Sacrifice, came with no novelty nor 
 strangeness. It was a more solemn, more painful 
 preparation, but such as he had habitually made, only 
 now it was for a more perfect Festival. 
 
 His father, as much awestruck by his hopes as dis- 
 tressed by his penitence, still gave himself credit for 
 ha^dng soothed him, and went to meet and forewarn 
 the Vicar that poor Fitzjocelyn was inclined to despond, 
 and was attaching such importance to the merest foibles 
 in a most innocent life, that he required the most tender 
 and careful encouragement. He spoke in his usual tone 
 of authoritative courtesy; and then, finding that his son 
 \\'ished to be left alone with Mr. Holdsworth, he went 
 to the library to seek the only person to wliom he could 
 bear to talk. 
 
 * Mary,' he said, ' you were right. I have done so 
 
88 DYNEVOR TErvRACE. 
 
 little to make tliat poor boy of mine haj^py, tliat he 
 does not wish for life.' 
 
 Mrs, Ponsonby looked up surprised. ' Are you sure 
 of what he meant V she said. ' Was it not that this 
 life has nothing to compare with that which is to 
 come V 
 
 ' But what can be more minatural V said the Earl. 
 'At his age, with everything before him, nothing but 
 what he felt as my harshness could so have checked 
 hope and enjoyment. My poor Louis 1' And, though 
 eye and voice were steady and tearless, no words could 
 express the anguish of his under-tone. 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby adduced instances showing that, to 
 early youth, with heart still luitainted by the world, 
 the joys of the Life Everlasting have often so beamed 
 out as to efface all that eai-th could promise ; but he 
 could not be argued out of self-reproach for his own 
 want of sympathy, and spoke mournfully of his cold 
 manner, sternness to small faults, and denial of gratifi- 
 cations. 
 
 Mary the younger could not help rising from her 
 corner to say, ' Indeed, Louis said the other day that 
 you never had denied him any personal indulgence.' 
 
 ' My dear, he never asked for personal indulgences,' 
 said the Earl. His fm-ther speech was interrupted by 
 a quick step, a slow opening of the door, and the 
 entrance of James Frost, who grasped his outstretched 
 hand with a breathless inquiry. 
 
 ' He is very ill — ' Lord Ormersfield paused, too much 
 oppressed to say more. 
 
 ' No better ? What did the London surgeon say ? 
 what V 
 
 ' He says there is no time to be lost in attacking the 
 inflammation. If we can subdue that, he may recover ; 
 but the state of the ankle weakens him severely. I be- 
 lieve myself that he is going fast,' said the Earl, with the 
 same despairing calmness ; and James, after gazing at 
 him to collect his meaning, dropped into a chaii*, covered 
 his face with his hands, and sobbed aloud. 
 
PAUE WELLS. 89 
 
 Lord Ormersfield looked on as if he almost envied 
 tlie relief of the outbiu-st; but James's first movement 
 was to turn on him, as if he were neglecting his son, 
 sharply demanding, ' Who is with him V 
 
 ' He ^vished to be left with Mr. Holdsworth.' 
 
 ' Is it come to this I' cried James. ' Oh, why did I 
 not come down with him ? I might have prevented 
 aU this !' 
 
 ' You could not have acted otherwise,' said the Earl, 
 kindly. 'Your engagement was abeady formed.' 
 
 ' I could !' said James. ' I would not. I thought it 
 one of your excusas for helping us.' 
 
 ' It is vain to lament these things now,' said Lord 
 Ormei^field. ' It is very kind in you to have come down, 
 and it will give him gi-eat pleasure if he be able to see 
 you.' 
 
 ' If I' James stammered between consternation and 
 anger at the doubt, and treated the Earl with a kind 
 of implied resentment as if for injustice suffered by 
 Louis ; but it was affecting to see his ijetulance received 
 with patience, almost with gratitude, as a proof of his 
 affection for Louis. The Earl stood upright and 
 motionless before the fire, answering steadily, but in 
 an almost inward voice, all the detailed questions put 
 by James, who, seated on one chaii^, with his hands 
 locked on the back of the other, looked keenly up to 
 him 'vs'ith his sharp black eyes, often overflo^^"ing with 
 tears, and his voice broken by grief When, he had 
 elicited that Louis had been much excited and dis- 
 tressed by the thought of his failings, he burst out, 
 ' Whatever you may think. Lord Ormersfield, no one 
 ever had less on his conscience !' 
 
 *I am sure of it.' 
 
 ' I know of no one who would have given up his own 
 way again and again without a murmui-, only to be 
 called fickle.' 
 
 ' Yes, it has often been so,' meekly said Lord Ormers- 
 field. 
 
 ' Fickle !' repeated James, warming with the topic, 
 
90 DYNEVOU TERRACE. 
 
 and pouring out what had been boiling within for 
 years. * He was only fickle because his standard was 
 too high to be reached ! You thought him weak !' 
 
 ' Tliere may be weakness by nature strengthened by 
 principle,' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 
 ' True,' cried Jem, who, having taken no previous 
 notice of her, had at first on her speaking bent his 
 brows on her as if to extend to her the storm he was 
 inflicting on poor, defenceless Lord Ormersfield, ' he is 
 thought soft because of his easy way ; but come to the 
 point where harm disj^lays itself, you can't move him 
 a step farther — though he hangs back in such a quiet, 
 careless fashion, that it seems as if he was only tired of 
 the whole concern, and so it goes dowTi again as change- 
 ableness. ' 
 
 ' You always did him justice,' said Lord Ormersfield, 
 laying his hand on his cousin's shoulder ; but James 
 retreated ungi-aciously. 
 
 ' I suppose, where he saw evil, he actually took a 
 dislike,' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 
 ' It is an absolute repugnance to anything bad. 
 You,' turning again on the Earl, 'had an idea of his 
 being too ready to run into all sorts of company ; but I 
 told you there was no danger.' 
 
 ' You told me I might trust to his disgust to any- 
 thing unrefined or dissipated. You knew him best.' 
 
 ' There is that about him which men, not otherwise 
 particular, respect as they might a woman or a child. 
 They never show themselves in their true coloui's, and 
 I have known him uphold them because he has never 
 seen their worst side !' 
 
 ' I have always thought he learnt that peculiar 
 refinement from your grandmother.' 
 
 ' I think,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, softly, 'that it is 
 purity of heart which makes him see heaven so bright.' 
 
 ' Sydney Calcott walked part of the way with me,' 
 continued Jem, 'and showed more feeling than I 
 thought was in him. He said just what I do, that he 
 never saw any one to whom evil seemed so unable to 
 
FAREWELLS. 91 
 
 cling. He spoke of him at school — said he was the friend 
 of all the juniors, but too dreamy and uncertain for 
 fellows of his own standing. He said, at first they did 
 not know what to make of him, with his soft looks and 
 cool ways — they could not make him understand bully- 
 ing, for he could not be frightened nor put in a passion. 
 Only once, one great lout tried forcing bad language 
 on him ; and then Fitzjocelyn struck him, fought him, 
 and was thoroughly licked, to be sure : but Calcott said 
 it was a moral victory — no one tried the like again — ' 
 
 James was interrupted by Mr. Holdsworth's entrance. 
 He said a few words apart to the Earl, who answered, 
 with alarm, ' Not now ; he has gone through enough.' 
 
 ' I told him so ; but he is very anxious, and begged 
 me to return in the evening.' 
 
 ' Thank you. You had better join us at dinner.' 
 
 The Yicar understood Lord Ormerstield better than 
 did James, and said, pressing his hand, ' My Lord, it is 
 heart-breaking; but the blessedness is more than we can 
 feel.' 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby and Mary were left to try to pacify 
 James, who was half mad at his exclusion from the sick- 
 room, and very angry with every hint of resignation — 
 abusing the treatment of the doctors, calling Mr. 
 Walby an old woman, and vehemently «bent on pro- 
 phesying the well-doing of the patient. Keenly sensi- 
 tive, grief and suspense made him unusually irritable; 
 and he seemed to have no power of waiting patiently, 
 and trusting the event to wiser Hands. 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby dared not entertain any such ardent 
 wishes. Life had not afforded her so much joy that 
 she should deem it the greatest good, and all that she 
 had heard gave her the impression that Louis was too 
 soft and gentle for the world's hard encounter, — most 
 pure and innocent, sincere and loving at present, but 
 rather with the qualities of childhood than of manhood, 
 with little strength or perseverance, so that the very 
 dread of taint or wear made it almost a relief to think 
 of his freshness and sweetness being secured for ever. 
 
92 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 Even when she thought of his father, and shrank from 
 such grief for liim, she could not but see a hope that 
 this affliction might soften the heart closed up by the 
 first and far worse sorrow, and detach it from the 
 interests that had absorbed it too exclusively. All this 
 was her food for silent meditation. Mary sat reading or 
 working beside her, paler perhaps than her wont, and 
 betraying that her ear caught every sound on the stairs, 
 but venturing no word except the most matter-of-fact 
 remark, quietly giving force to the more favourable 
 symptoms. 
 
 Kot till after Mr. Walby's second visit, when there 
 was a little respite in the hard life-and-death contest be- 
 tween the remedies and the inflammation, could Mrs. 
 Frost spare a few moments for her grandson. She met 
 him on the stairs — threw her arms round his neck, called 
 him her poor Jemmy, and hastily told him that he must 
 not make her cry. He looked anxiously in her face, 
 and told her that he must take her place, for she was 
 worn out.' 
 
 * No, thank you, my dear ; I can rest by-and-by.' 
 
 It sounded very hopeless. 
 
 ' Come, granny, you always take the bright side.' 
 
 ' Who knows which is the bright side V she said. 
 ' Such as he are always the first. But there, dear Jem, 
 I told you not to make too much of granny — ' and 
 hastily withdrawing her hand, she gave a parting 
 caress to his hair as he stood on the step below her, and 
 returned to her charge. 
 
 It would haVe been an inexpressible comfort to 
 James to have had some one to reproach. His own 
 wretchedness was like a personal injmy, and an offence 
 that he could resent would have been a positive relief. 
 He was forced to get out of the way of Frampton 
 coming up with a tray of lemonade, and glared at him, 
 as if even a station on the stairs were denied, then 
 dashed out of doors, and paced the garden, goaded by 
 every association the scene recalled. It seemed a mere 
 barbarity to deprive him of what he now esteemed as 
 
FAREWELLS. 93 
 
 the charm of his life — the cousin who had been as a 
 brother, ever seeking his sympathy, never oflfended by 
 his sharp, imperious temper, and though often slighted 
 or tyrannized over, meeting all in his own dehonnaire 
 fashion, and never forsaking the poor, hard-working 
 student, so that he might well feel that the world could 
 not offer him aught like Louis Fitzjocelyn. 
 
 He stood in the midst of the botanical garden, and, 
 with almost triumphant satisfaction, prognosticated 
 that now there would be regret that Louis's schemes 
 had been neglected or sneered at, and when too late, 
 his father might feel as much sorrow as he had time 
 for. It was the bitterness, not the softness of grief, in 
 which he looked forth into the dull blue east-windy 
 haze deepening in the twilight, and presently beheld 
 something dark moving along imder the orchard bank 
 beneath. ' Hollo ! who's there V he exclaimed, and 
 the form, rearing itself, disclosed young Madison, never 
 a favourite "svith him, and though, as a persecuted 
 protege of Louis, having claims which at another time 
 might have softened him, coming forward at an 
 unlucky moment, when his iiTitation only wanted an 
 object on which to discharge itself It was plain that 
 one who came skulking in the jDrivate grounds could 
 intend no good, and James greeted him, harshly, with 
 ' You've no business here !' 
 
 ' I'm doing no harm,' said the boy, doggedly, for his 
 temper was as stubborn as James's was excitable. 
 
 * No harm ! lurking here in that fashion in the dark ! 
 You'll not make me believe that ! Let me hear what 
 brings you here ! The truth, mind !' 
 
 ' I came to hear how Lord Fitzjocelyn is,' said Tom, 
 with brief bluntness and defiance. 
 
 ' A likely story ! What, you came to ask the apple- 
 trees T and James scornfully laughed. ' There was no 
 back-door, I suppose ! I could forgive you anything but 
 such a barefaced falsehood, when you know it was your 
 own intolerable carelessness that was the only cause of 
 the accident T 
 
04 DYXEVOU TERRACE. 
 
 ' Better say 'twas yourself !' cried Tom, hoarse with 
 passion and shaking all over. 
 
 The provocation was intense enough to bring back 
 James's real principle and self-restraint, and he spoke 
 with more dignity. ' You seem to be beside yourself, 
 Madison,' he said ; ^ you had better go at once, before 
 any one finds you here. Lord Fitzjocelyn cared for 
 you so much, that I should not wish for you to meet 
 your deserts under present circumstances. Go ! I wish 
 to have no more of your tongue !' 
 
 The boy was bounding off, while James walked 
 slowly after to see him beyond the grounds, and finding 
 Warren the keeper, desired him to be on the look-out. 
 Warren replied with the tidings that Madison had run 
 away from his place, and that the police were looking 
 out for him on the suspicion of having stolen Mr. Cal- 
 cott's parcel; moralizing further on the depravity of 
 such doings when my young Lord was so ill, but ac- 
 counting for the whole by pronouncing poaching to be 
 bred in the bone of the Marksedge people. 
 
 This little scene had done Jem a great deal of good, 
 both by the exhalation of bitterness and by the final 
 exertion of forbearance. He had, indeed, been under 
 two great fallacies on tliis day, — soothing Charlotte for 
 the grief that was not caused by Fitzjocelyn's illness, 
 and driving to extremity the lad brimming over with 
 sorrow not inferior to his own. Little did he know 
 what a gentle word might have done for that poor, wild, 
 tempestuous spirit! 
 
 Yet, James's heart smote him that evening, when, 
 according to Louis's earnest wish, Mr. Holdsworth 
 came again, and they all were admitted to the room, and 
 he saw the feeble sign and summons to the Vicar to 
 bend down and listen. ' Tell poor Madison, it was 
 wronof in me not to go to see him. Give him one of 
 my books, and tell him to go on well !' 
 
 That day had been one of rapid change, and the 
 remedies and sufiering had so exhausted Louis that 
 he could scarcely speak, and seemed hardly conscious 
 
FAREWELLS. 95 
 
 who was present. All his faculties were absorbed in 
 the one wisli, which late in the evening was granted. 
 The scene was like an epitome of his life — the large 
 irregular room, cumbered with the disorderly apparatus 
 of all his multifarious pursuits, while there he lay on his 
 little narrow iron bed, his features so fair and colour- 
 less as to be strangely like his mother's marble eflagy — 
 his eyes closed, and his brows often contracted with 
 pain, so that there was a doubt how far his attention 
 was free ; but still with a calm, pure sweetness, that 
 settled down more and more, as if he were being lulled 
 into a sleep. 
 
 ' He is asleep,' Mrs. Frost said, as they all rose up. 
 
 They felt what that sleep might become. 
 
 'We might as well wish to detain a snow-wreath,' 
 thought Mr. Holdsworth. 
 
96 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 CHAPTER YII. 
 
 GOSSAMER. 
 Chaos is come again. — Othello. 
 
 THAT sleep was not unto death. When James and 
 Mary came simultaneously creeping to the door 
 in the grey twilight of the morning, they heard that 
 there had been less pain and more rest ; and gradually 
 throughout the day, there was a diminution of the 
 dangerous symptoms, till the trembling hope revived 
 that the patient miglit be given back again to life. 
 
 James was still sadly aggrieved at being forbidden the 
 sick-room, and exceedingly envied Lord Ormei-sfield's 
 seat there. He declared, so that Mary doubted whe- 
 ther it were jest or earnest, that the Earl only remained 
 there because society expected it from their relative 
 positions, and that it must retard poor Fitzjocelyn's 
 recovery to be perpetually basilisked by those cold grey 
 eyes. Mary stood up gallantly for the Earl, who had 
 always been so kind to her, and, on her mother's 
 authority, vouched for his strong though hidden feel- 
 ings ; to which Jem replied, ' Aye ! he was hiding a 
 strong fear of being too late for the beginniiig of the 
 Session.' 
 
 ' I do not think it right to impute motives,' said Mary. 
 
 ' I would not, Mary, if I could help it,' said James ; 
 ' but through the whole course of my life I have never 
 seen a token that his lordship is worthy of his son. 
 If he were an ordinary, practical, common-place block, 
 apt to support his dignity, he might value him ; but 
 all the grace, peculiarity, and unconventionality is a 
 mere burthen and vexation, utterly wasted.' 
 
 Mary knew that she was a common-place block, and 
 
GOSSAMER. 97 
 
 did not wonder at herself for not agreeing with James, 
 but cherishing a strong conviction tliat the father and 
 son would now leave off rubbini^ asfainst each other • 
 since no unprejudiced person could doubt of the strong 
 affection of the father, nor of the warm gratitude of the 
 son. In spite of the asperity with which James spoke 
 of the Earl, she was beginning to like him almost as 
 much as she esteemed him. This had not been the case 
 in their childhood, when he used to be praised by the 
 elders for his obedience to his grandmother and his pro- 
 gress in the Northwold Grammar School ; but wa.s 
 terribly overbearing with his juniors, and whether he 
 cuffed Louis or led him into mischief, equally distressed 
 her. Grown up, he was peculiarly vif. quick and readv, 
 unselfish in all his ways, and warmly affectionate — a 
 very agi'eeable companion where his sensitiveness was 
 not wounded, and meriting high honour by his deeper 
 qualities. Young as he was, he had already relieved 
 his grandmother from his own maintenance : he had 
 turned to the utmost account his education at the 
 endowed school at Xorthwold ; by sheer diligence, had 
 obtained, first a scholarship and then a fellowship at 
 Oxford ; and now, by practising rigid economy, and 
 spending his vacations in tuition, he was enabled to 
 send his sister to a boarding-school. He had stolen a 
 few days from his pupils on hearing of Fitzjocelyn's 
 danger, but was forced to return as soon as the improve- 
 ment became confirmed. On the previous day, he asked 
 Mary to walk with him to the scene of the accident ; 
 and they discussed the cause with more coolness than 
 they really felt, as they shuddered at the depth of the 
 fall, and the size of the stones. 
 
 James declared it all the fault of that runaway 
 scamp, young Madison, in whom Louis had always 
 been deceived, and who had never been seen since the 
 night of his apparition in the garden. 
 
 ' Poor boy ! I suppose that was the reason he ran 
 away,' said ^Mary. 
 
 ' A very good thing, too. He would never have 
 
 VOL. L K 
 
98' DYXEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 beon anything but a torment to Louis. I remember 
 telling him he was setting the stones so as to break the 
 neck of some one !' 
 
 * I think it would be of more use to build them up 
 than to settle how they broke down,' said Mary. ' Do 
 you think we could manage it safely V 
 
 * A capital thought !' cried James, eagerly, and no 
 sooner said than done. The two cousins set to work — 
 procured some cement from the bricklayer in the village, 
 and toiled at their masonry with right good-will as 
 long as light and time served them ; then made an 
 appointment to meet at half-past six next morning, 
 and finish their work. 
 
 When the rendezvous took place, they were rejoicing 
 over Mrs. Frost's report of an excellent night, and over 
 her own happy looks, from which James prognosticated 
 that all her fatigue and watching had done no harm to 
 her vigorous frame, for which gladness was always the 
 best cordial. It was a joyous beginning on that spring 
 morning, and seemed to add fresh sparkles to the daz- 
 zling dewdrops, and double merriment to the blackbirds 
 and thrushes answering each other far and wide, around, 
 as the sun drew up the grey veil of morning mist. 
 ' They all seem holding a feast for his recovery !' ex- 
 claimed Mary, warming for once into poetiy, as she 
 trudged along, leaving green footmarks in the silver dew. 
 
 ' Well they may,' said James ; ' for who loves them 
 better than he? I gi'udge myself this lovely morning, 
 when he is lying there, and my poor Clara is caged up 
 at that place — the two who would the most enjoy it.' 
 
 ' Your going to see her will be as good as the spring 
 morning.' 
 
 ' Poor child ! I di-ead it !' sighed Jem. 
 
 It was his first voluntary mention of liis sister. He 
 had always turned the conversation when Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby or Mary had tried to inquire for her, and Mary 
 was glad to lead him on to say more. 
 
 * I remember her last when you were teaching her 
 to run alone, and letting none of us touch her, because 
 you said she was youi' child, and belonged to no one else.' 
 
GOSSAilEPt. 99 
 
 ' I should not be so ungrateful, now that I am come to 
 the sense of mj responsibility in teaching her to go 
 alone.' 
 
 * But she has Aimt Catharine,' said Mary, thinking 
 that he was putting the natural guardian out of the 
 question as much now as in the days referred to. 
 
 ' My gi'andmother never had to do with any girl 
 before, and does not profess to understand them. She 
 let Clara be regularly a boy in school, at first learning 
 the same lessons, and then teaching ; and whatever I 
 tried to impress in the feminine line, natui-ally, all went 
 for nothing. She is as wild as a hare, and has not a 
 particle of a girl about her !' 
 
 ' But she is very young.' 
 
 ' There it is again ! She grows so outrageously. 
 She is not sixteen, and there she is taller than granny 
 already. It is getting quite absurd.' 
 
 ' What advice do you want on that head V 
 
 * Seriously, it is a disadvantage, especially to that 
 sort of girl, who can't afibrd to look like a woman 
 before her time. Well, as she must probably depend 
 on herself, I looked out for as good a school as could 
 be had for the means, and thought I had succeeded, 
 and that she would be brought into some sort of shape. 
 Granny was ready to break her heart, but thought it 
 quite right.' 
 
 ' Then, does it not answer?' 
 
 ' That is just what I can't tell. You have been used 
 to schools : I wish you could tell me whether it is a 
 necessary evil, or Clara's own idiosyncrasy, or peculiar 
 to the place.' 
 
 ' Whether what is V 
 
 ^ Her misery !' 
 
 * Misery! Why, there is nothing of that in her 
 letters to my aunt. There is not a complaint.' 
 
 ' She is a brave girl, who spares granny, when she 
 knows it would be of no use to distress her. Judge 
 now ; there's the sort of letter that I get from her.' 
 
 ^Mary read. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 DYNEVOR TErtRACE. 
 
 ' Dearest Jemmy, — AVrite to me as quick as ever 
 you can, and tell me how Lov.is is ; and let me come 
 home, or I shall run mad. It is no good telling me to 
 command my feelings ; I am sure I would if I could, for 
 the fifirls are more detestable than ever : but what can 
 one do when one cannot sleep nor eat 1 All the scream- 
 ing and crvdng has got into one bump in my throat, 
 because I can't get it out in peace. If I could only 
 shy the inkstand at the English teacher's head ! or get 
 one moment alone and out of sight ! Let me come 
 home. I could at least run messages ; and it is of no 
 use for me to stay here, for I can't learn, and all the girls 
 are looking at me. If they were but boys, they would 
 have sense ! or if I could but kick them ! This will 
 make you angry, but do forgive me ; I can't help it, for 
 I am so very unhappy. Louis is as much to me as you 
 are, and no one ever was so kind ; but I know he will 
 o-et well — I know he will; only if I knew the pain was 
 better, and could but hear every minute. Ycu need 
 not come to fetch me; only send me a telegraph, and 
 one to Miss Brigham. I have money enough for a 
 second-class ticket, and would come that instant. If 
 you saw the eyes and heard the whispers of these 
 girls, I am sure you would. I should laugh at such 
 nonsense any other time, but now I only ask to be 
 wretched quietly in a corner. 
 
 ' Your affectionate, nearly crazy, sister, 
 
 ' Clara Frost Dynevor.' 
 
 Mary might well say that there was nothing more 
 expedient than going to see Clara, and 'much,' said 
 poor James, ' he should gain by that,' especially on the 
 head that made him most uneasy, and on which he 
 could only hint lightly — namely, whether the girls were 
 ' putting nonsense in her head.' 
 
 ' If they had done her any harm, she would never 
 have written such a letter,' said Mary. 
 
 ' True,' said Jem. ' She is a mere child, and never 
 got that notion into her head for a moment ; but if 
 
GOSSAMEll. 101 
 
 they put it in, we are done for 1 Or if the place were 
 ever so bad, I can't remove her now, when granny Is 
 thus occupied. One reason why I made a point of her 
 going to school was, that I thought doing everything 
 that Fitzjocelyn did was no preparation for being a 
 governess.' 
 
 'Ohl I hope it will not come to that ! Mr.'Oliver 
 Dynevor talks of coming home in a very few years.' 
 
 ' So few, that we shall be grey before he comes. No ; 
 Clara and I are not u'oi'n.'z to be bound to him for the 
 wealth heaped up while my grandmother was left in 
 poverty. We mean to be independent.' 
 
 Mary was glad to revert to Clara. 
 
 ' I must do the best I can for her for the present,' 
 said Jem, — 'try to harden her against the girls, and 
 leave her to bear it. Poor dear! it makes one's heart 
 ache ! And to have done it oneself, too I Then, in the 
 holidays, perhaps, you will help me to judge. You will 
 be her friend, Mary; there's nothing she needs so 
 much. I thought she would have found one at school 
 but they are not the right stamp of animal. She has 
 been too much thrown on Louis ; and though he has 
 made a noble thing of her, that must come to an end, 
 and the sooner the better.' 
 
 Certainly, it was a perplexity for a young elder 
 brother; but there could not but remain some simple 
 wonder in Mary's mind whether the obvious person, 
 Mrs. Frost, had not better have been left to decide for 
 her granddaughter. 
 
 The building operations gave full occupation to the 
 powers of the two cousins, and in good time before 
 breakfast, all was successfully completed, — a hand-rail 
 affixed, and the passage cleared out, till it looked so 
 creditable, as well as solid, that there was no more to wish 
 for but that Louis should be able to see their handiwork. 
 
 James went away in the better spirits for having 
 been allowed to shake Lotiis by the hand and exchan;,'e 
 a few words with him. Marv auccured that it would 
 be the better for Clara and for the pupils. 
 
10:2 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 All thai further transpired IVom lii)ii was a cheerful 
 letter to Mrs. Frost, si)eaking of (,'lara as ])crfeotly 
 ■well, and beginning to acconmiodate herself to her 
 situation ; and from this Mary gathered that he was 
 better satisfied. 
 
 The days brought gradual improvement to the 
 patient, under Mi-s. Frost's tender nursing, and his 
 father's constant assiduity; both of which, as he re- 
 vived, seemed to afford him the greatest pleasure, and 
 were requited with the utmost warmth and caressing 
 sweetness towards his aunt, and towards his father 
 ■with ever-fresh gratitude and delight. Lord Ormers- 
 tield was like another man, in the sick-room, whence 
 he never willingly absented himself for an hour. 
 
 One day, however, when he was forced to go to 
 Northwold on business, Louis put on a fit of coaxing 
 im}K)rtunity. Nothing would serve him but some of 
 Jane Beckett's choice dried j)ears, in the corner of the 
 oaken cupboard, the key of whicli was in Aunt Kitty's 
 ])ocket, and no one must fetch them for him but Aunt 
 Kitty herself Jle was so absurdly earnest and grave 
 about them, that Jane scolded him, and Mrs. Frost 
 saw recovery in his arch eyes; undei-standing all the 
 time that it was all an excuse for complimenting 
 Jane, and sending her to air herself, visit the Faith- 
 full sisters, and inspect the Lady of Riclialott. So 
 she consented to accompany Lord Ormersfield, and 
 leave their charge to Mrs. Ponsonby, who found Louis 
 quite elated at the success of his m;»n(i'uvre — so much 
 disj)osed to talk, and so solicitous for the good of his 
 nurses, that she ventured on a bold stroke. 
 
 His chamber was nearly as much like a lumber-room 
 as ever; for any attempt to clenr away or distur)> his 
 possessions had seemed, in his half-conscious condition, 
 to excite and tease him so much, that it had been 
 at once relinquished. Although the room was large, 
 it was always too much crowdc^d with his goods; and 
 the tables and cliaiis that had been brought in during 
 his illness, liad added to the acouniulatiun which wa.-j 
 
GOSSAMER. lO.j 
 
 the despair of Mrs. Beckett and Mr. Frarnpton. Mrs, 
 Ponsoiiby tliought it was time for Louis to make a 
 saciifice in his turn, and ventured to suggest that he 
 was well enough to say where some of his things might 
 be Vjestowed ; and though ho winced, she persevered 
 in representing how unpleasant it must be to his father 
 to live in the midst of so much confusion. The 
 (Mx/anaire expres>sion pa.ssed over his face, as he glanced 
 around, saying, * You are right. I never reflected on 
 the stretch of kindness it must have V^een, It shall 
 be done. If I lose everything, it will not be soon that 
 I find it out.' 
 
 It evidently cost him a good deal, and Mr-i. Pon- 
 s<')nby proposed that Mary sliould c^>me and deal with 
 his treasures ; a j)lan at which he caught nfy eagerly, 
 that it was decided that no time was like the pres^^nt, 
 and Mary was called. He could move nothing but his 
 hands ; but they were eagerly held out in welc^»me : and 
 his eyes glittered with the bright smile that once she had 
 feared never to see again. She felt a moisture in her 
 own which made her glad to turn awide to her task even 
 while he complimented hf-r with an allusion to the 
 labours of Hercules, It did not seem uncalled-for, 
 when she began by raising a huge sheet of pat>er that 
 had been thrown in desperation i/) veil the confusion 
 upon the table, and which proved to be the Ordnance 
 map of the county, eml^dlishfxl with numerouH 
 streaks of jjaint. ' The outlines of the old Saxon 
 wappentakes,' said Louis : ' I was trying to make tliem 
 out in blue, and the Roman roads in re<^l. That mark 
 is spontaneous; it has V>een against s^>me paint.' 
 
 Which paint was found in dried .swamps in saucers, 
 while cakes of lake and Pru.ssian Vjlue a/lherc^ to the 
 drawinj;-board- 
 
 ' The colour-lxjx is probably in the walnut-press; but 
 I advise you not to irritate that yet. Lc^ me see that 
 drawing, the design for tlie cottages that Frarnpton 
 nipped in the V^ud — ' 
 
 'How pretty and ajmfoi-table they do look!' ex* 
 
104? DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 claimed Mary, pleased to come to something that was 
 Avithiii her sphere of comprehension. ' If they were 
 but finished !' 
 
 * Ah ! I thought of them when I was lying there in 
 the dell ! Had they been allowed to stand where 
 I wanted them, there would have been no lack of 
 people going home from work ; but, ' Quite im- 
 practicable' came in my way, and I had no heart 
 to finish the drawing.' 
 
 ' What a pity !' exclaimed Mary. 
 
 ' This was Richardson's veto, two degi-ees worse than 
 Frampton's ; and I shall never be able to abuse Framp- 
 ton again. I have seen him in his true light now, 
 and never was any one more kind and considerate. 
 Ha, Mary, what's that V 
 
 ' It looks like a rainbow in convulsions.' 
 
 ' Now, Mary, did not I tell you that I could not 
 laugh ? It is a diagram to illustrate the theory of 
 li2[ht for Clara.' 
 
 ' Does she understand tluU ?' cried Mary. 
 
 ' Clara 1 She understands anything but going to 
 school — poor child ! Yes, burn that map of the strata ; 
 — not that — it is to be a painted window whenever I 
 can aflford one, but I never could make money stay 
 with me. I never could think why — ' 
 
 The why was e%ddent enough in the heterogeneous 
 mass— crumpled prints, blank dra^vdng-paper, and maps 
 heaped ruinously over and under books, stuflfed birds, 
 geological specimens, dislocated microscopes, pieces of 
 Koman pavement, curiosities innumerable and in- 
 describable ; among which roamed blotting-books, 
 memorandum-books, four pieces of Indian rubber, 
 three pair of compasses, seven paper-knives, ten 
 knives, thii-teen odd gloves, fifteen pencils, pens beyond 
 reckoning, a purse, a key, half a poem on the Siege of 
 Granada, three parts of an essay upon Spade Husbandry, 
 the dramatis personre of a tragedy on Queen Brune- 
 liault, scores of old letters, and the dust of three years 
 and a half. 
 
GOSSAMER. 105 
 
 Louis owned that the arranofements conduced to 
 finding rather than losing, and rejoiced at the disinter- 
 ment of his long-lost treasures ; but either he gi*ew 
 weary, or the many fragments, the ghosts of departed 
 fancies, made him thoughtful; for he became silent, 
 and only watched and smiled as Mary quietly and 
 noiselessly completed her reforms, and arranged table 
 and chaii-s for the comfoi-t of his father and aunt. He 
 thanked her warmly, and hoped that she would pursue 
 her kind task another day, — a permission which she 
 justly esteemed a great testimony to her having avoided 
 annoying him. It was a great amusement to him to 
 watch the surprised and pleased looks of his various 
 nurses as each came in, and a real gi-atification to see 
 Ills father settle himself ^^dth an air of comfort, ob- 
 sei'Adng that 'they were under great obligations to 
 Mary.' Still, the sight of the aiTangements had left a 
 dreary, dissatisfied feeling ^vdth Louis : it might have 
 been caught from Mary's involuntary look of disappoint- 
 ment at each incomplete commencement that she 
 encountered, — the multitude of undertakings has-tily 
 begun, laid aside and neglected — nothing properly 
 earned out. It seemed a mere waste of life, and 
 dwelt on his spirits, with a weariness of himself and 
 his o^vn want of steadfastness — a sense of ha^'ing 
 disappointed her and disappointed himself; and he 
 sighed so hea\ily several times, that his aunt anxiously 
 asked whether he were in pain. He was, however, so 
 much better, that no one was to sit up "with him at 
 night — only his father would sleep on a bed on the floor. 
 As he bade him good night, Louis, for the fii-st time, 
 made the request that he might have his Bible given 
 to him, as well as his little book ; and on his father 
 adWsing him not to attempt the effbi-t of reading, he 
 said, * Thank you ; I think I can read my two verses : 
 I want to take up my old habits.' 
 
 'Have you really kept up this habit constantly?' 
 asked his father, with wonder that Louis did not 
 understand. 
 
106 DYNEVOR TEllRACE. 
 
 * Aimt Catharine taiiglit it to ns/ he said. ' I 
 neglected it one half-year at school; but I grew so 
 uncomfortable, that I began again.' 
 
 The Earl gave the little worn volume, saying, ' Yes, 
 Louis, there has been a thread running thi'ough yoiu* 
 life.' 
 
 ' Has there been one thread V sadly mused Louis, as 
 he found the weight of the thick book too much for his 
 weak hands, and his eyes and head too dizzy and con- 
 fused for more than one verse : — 
 
 * I am come that they might have life, 
 And that they might have it more abundantly. ' ' 
 
 The Bible sank in his hands, and he fell into a slumber 
 so sound and refreshing, that when he opened his eyes 
 in early morning, he did not at first realize that he was 
 not awakening to health and activity, nor why he had 
 an instinctive dread of movin;;. He turned liis eves 
 towards the window, uncurtained, so that he could see 
 the breaking dawn. The sky, deep blue above, faded 
 and glowed towards the horizon into gold, redder and 
 more radiant below; and in the midst, fast becoming 
 merged in the increasing light, shone the planet Venus, 
 in her pale, calm brilliance. 
 
 There was repose and delight in dwelling on that 
 fair morning sky, and Louis lay dreamily gazing, while 
 thoughts passed over his mind, more defined and con- 
 nected than pain and weakness had as yet permitted. 
 Since those hours in which he had roused his faculties to 
 meet with approaching death, he had been seldom awake 
 to aught but the sensations of the moment, and had only 
 just become either strong enough, or sufficiently at 
 leisure for anything like reflection. As he watched the 
 eastern reddening, he could not but revert to the 
 feelings with which he had believed himself at the 
 gate of the City that needs neither sun nor moon to 
 lighten it ; and, for the first time, he consciously realized 
 that he was restored to this world of life. 
 
 The sensation was not unmixed. His youthful spirit 
 
GOSSAMER. 107 
 
 bounded at tlie prospect of returning vigour, his warm 
 heart clung round those whom he loved, and the per- 
 ception of his numerous faults made him gi-ateful for a 
 longer probation; but still he had a sense of ha\dng 
 Vjeen at the borders of the glorious Land, and thence 
 turned back to a tedious, doubtful pilgrimage. 
 
 There was much to occasion this state of mind. His 
 life had been without great troubles, but with many 
 mortifications ; he had never been long satisfied with 
 himself or his pursuits, his ardour had only been the 
 prelude to vexation and self-abasement, and in his station 
 in the world there was little incentive to exertion. 
 He had a strong sense of responsibility, with a tempera- 
 ment made up of tenderness, refinement, and inertness, 
 such as shrank from the career set before him. He had 
 seen just enough of political life to destroy any romance 
 of patriotism, and to make him regard it as little more 
 than party spirit, and dread the hardening and dead- 
 ening process on the mind. He had a dLsmal experience 
 of his own philanthropy ; and he had a conscience that 
 would not sit down satisfied with selfish ease, pleasure, 
 or intellectual pursuits. His smooth, bright, lo^^.ng 
 temper had made him happy; but the past was all 
 melancholy, neglect, and futile enterprise; he had no 
 attaching home — no future visions; and, on the out- 
 skirts of manhood, he shi-ank back from the turmoil, 
 the temptations, and the roughness that awaited him — 
 nay, from the mere eflfort of perseverance, and could 
 almost have sighed to think how nearly the death-pang 
 had been over, and the home of Love, Life, and Light 
 had been won for ever : — 
 
 * I am come that they might have life, 
 And that they might have it more abundantly.* 
 
 The words returned on him, and with them what his 
 father had said, ' You have had a thread running 
 through your life.' He was in a state between sleeping 
 and waking, when the confines of reflection and dream- 
 ing came very near together, and when vague impres- 
 
108 DYXEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 sions, hardly noticed at the time they were made, began 
 to tell on him without his own conscious volition. It 
 was to him as if from that brightening eastern heaven, 
 multitudes of threads of light were floating hither and 
 thither, as he had often watched the gossamer undulat- 
 ing in the sunshine. Some were firm, purely white, and 
 glistening here and there with rainbow tints as they 
 tended straight upwards, shining more and more into 
 the perfect day ; but for the most part they were 
 tangled together in inextricable confusion, intermingled 
 with many a broken end, like fleeces of cobweb driven 
 together by the autumn wind, — some sailing aimlessly, 
 or with shattered tangled strands — some white, some 
 dark, some anchored to mere leaves or sprays, some 
 tending down to the abyss, but all in such a perplexed 
 maze that the eye could seldom trace which were directed 
 up, which downwards, which were of pure texture, 
 which defiled and stained. 
 
 In the abortive, unsatisfactory attempt to follow out 
 one fluctuating clue, not without whiteness, and heav- 
 ing often upwards, but frail, wavering, ravelled, and 
 tangled, so that scarcely could he find one line that held 
 together, Louis awoke to find his father wondering 
 that he could sleep with the sun shining full on his face. 
 
 ' It was hardly quite a dream,' said Louis, as he 
 related it to Mrs. Frost. 
 
 ' It would make a very pretty allegoiy.' 
 
 'It is too real for that just now,' he said. 'It was 
 the moral of all my broken strands that Mary held up 
 to me yesterday.' 
 
 ' I hope you are going to do more than point your 
 moral, my dear. You always were good at that.' 
 
 ' I mean it,' said Louis, earnestly. ' I do not believe 
 such an illness — ay, or such a dream — can come for 
 nothing.' 
 
 So back went his thoughts to the flaws in his own 
 course; and chiefly he bewailed his want of sympathy 
 for his father. Material obedience and submission had 
 been yielded ; but, having little cause to believe himself 
 
GOSSAilEE. 109 
 
 beloved, his lieart had never been called into action so 
 as to sol'ten the clashings of two essentially dissimilar 
 charactei-s. Instead of rebelling, or even of murmuring, 
 he had liid disappointment in indifference, taken refuge 
 in levity and versatility, and even consoled himself 
 by sporting with what he regarded as prejudice or 
 unjust displeasure. All this cost him much regret 
 and self-reproach at each proof of the affection so 
 long veiled by reserve. Never would he have given 
 pain, had he guessed that his father could feel ; but 
 he had grown up to imagine the whole man made up 
 of politics and conventionalities, and his new discoveries 
 gave him at least a-s much contrition as pleasm-e. 
 
 After long study of the debates, that morning, his 
 father prepared to write. Louis asked for the paper, 
 sajdng his senses would just serve for the advertisements, 
 but presently he made an exclamation of surprise at 
 beholding, in full progress, the measure which had 
 brought Sir Miles Oakstead to Ormersfield, one of 
 peculiar interest to the Earl. His blank look of 
 wonder amused Mrs. Ponsonby, but seemed somewhat 
 to hurt his father. 
 
 ' You did not suppose I could attend to such matters 
 now V he said. 
 
 ' But I am so much better !' 
 
 Fearing that the habit of reserve would clieck any 
 exchange of feeling, Mrs. Ponsonby said, ' Did you 
 fancy your father could not think of you except upon 
 compulsion V 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, father,' said Louis, smiling, 
 while a tear rose to his eyes; 'I little tliought I was 
 obstructing the business of the nation. Vv'hat ^vill Sir 
 Miles do to me T 
 
 'Sir Miles ha.s written a most kind and gratifying 
 letter,' said Lord Ormersfield, ' expressing great 
 anxiety for you, and a high opinion of your poweiu' 
 
 Louis had never heard of his own powers, except for 
 mischief, and the colour returned to his cheeks, as he 
 listened to the kind and cordial letter, wiitten in the 
 
no DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 first shock of the tidings of tlie accident. He enjoyed 
 tlie pleasiu-e it gave his father far more than the com- 
 mendation to himself; for he well knew, as he said, 
 that ' there is something eml^ellishing in a catastrophe,' 
 and he supposed ' that had driven out the rose-coloured 
 pastor.' 
 
 ' There is always indulgence at your age,' said the 
 Earl. * You have created an impression which may be 
 of great importance to you by-and-by. ' 
 
 Louis recurred to politics. The measure was one 
 whicli approved itself to his mind, and he showed all 
 the interest which was usually stifled, by such subjects 
 being forced on him. He was distressed at detaining 
 his father when his presence might be essential to the 
 success of his party, and the Earl could not bear to 
 leave him while still confined to his bed. The little 
 scene, so calm, and apparently so cold, seemed to 
 cement the attachment of father and son, by convincing 
 Louis of the full extent of his father s love ; and his 
 enthusiasm began to invest the Earl's grey head with a 
 perfect halo of wisdom slighted and affection injured ; 
 and tlie tenor of his thread of life shone out bright 
 and silvery before him, spun out of projects of devoting 
 heart and soul to his father's happiness, and meriting 
 his fondness. 
 
 The grave Earl was looking through a magnifying- 
 glass no less powerful. He had not been so happy 
 since his marriage; the consciousness of his own cold 
 manner made him grateful for any demonstration from 
 his son, and the many little graces of h)ok and manner 
 which Louis had inherited from his mother added to 
 the charm. The sense of previous injustice enhanced 
 all his good qualities, and it was easy to believe him 
 perfect, while nothing was required of him but to lie 
 still. Day and niglit did Lord Ormersfield wait upon 
 him, grudging every moment spent away from him, 
 and trying to forestal each wish, till he became almost 
 afraid to express a desire, on account of the trouble it 
 would cause. Mar.y found the Earl one day wandering 
 
GOSS.^MER. Ill 
 
 among tlie vines in the old hothouse, in search of a 
 flower, when, to her amusement, he selected a stiff pert 
 double hyacinth, the special aversion of his son, who 
 nevertheless received it most graciously, and would fain 
 have concealed the headache caused by the scent, until 
 Mrs. Frost privately abstracted it. Another day, he 
 went, unasked, to hasten the birdstuffer in finishing 
 the rose-coloured pastor ; and when it came, himself 
 brought it up-stairs, unpacked it, and set it up where 
 Louis could best admire its black nodding crest and 
 pink wings ; unaware that to his son it seemed a 
 memento of his own misdeeds — a perpetual lesson 
 against wayward carelessness. 
 
 ' It is like a new love,' said Mrs. Ponsonby; 
 ' but oh ! how much depends upon Louis after his 
 recovery !' 
 
 ' You don't mistrust his goodness now, mamma !' 
 ' I could not bear to do so. I believe I was think- 
 inor of his father more than of himself. After ha\dnfj 
 been so much struck by his religious feeling, I dread 
 nothing so much as his father finding him deficient 
 in manliness or strength of character.' 
 
 i^U W J&i 
 
112 DY>'EVOR TERRACE. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 A TRUANT DISPOSITION. 
 
 Gathering up each broken thread. 
 
 Whytehead. 
 
 TOM IMADISOX is come back,' said the Vicar, as 
 he sat beside Fitzjocelyn's couch, a day or two after 
 Lord Ormersfield had gone to London. 
 
 ' Come back — where has he been V exclaimed Louis. 
 
 ' There !' said the Vicar, with a gesture of dismay ; 
 ' I forgot that you were to hear nothing of it ! How- 
 ever, I should think you were well enough to support 
 the communication.' 
 
 ' What is it V cried Louis, the blood rushing into his 
 cheeks so suddenly, that Mr. Holdsworth felt guilty of 
 ha\4ng disregarded the precautions that he had fancied 
 exaggerated by the fond aunt. ' Poor felLjw — he has 
 not—' but, checking himself, he added, ' I am parti- 
 cularly anxious to hear of him.' 
 
 ' I wish there were anything more gratifying to tell 
 you ; but he took the oppoi-tiuiity of the height of your 
 illness to iim away from his place, and has just been 
 passed home to his parish. After all your puins, it is 
 very mortifying ; but — ' 
 
 ' Pains ! Don't you know how I neglected him 
 latterly !' said Louis. ' Poor fellow — then — ' but he 
 stopped himself again, and added, * You heard nothing 
 of the grounds V 
 
 • They were not difficult to find,' said Mr. Holds- 
 worth. ' It is the old story. He was, as Mrs. Smith 
 told me, ' a great trial' — more and more disposed to be 
 saucy and disobedient, taking up with the most good- 
 for-nothing boys in the town, haunting those Chartist 
 
A TRUANT DTSPOSITIOX. 113 
 
 lectures, and never coining home in proper time at 
 night. The very last evening, he had come in at eleven 
 o'clock, and when his master rebuked him, came out 
 with something about the rights of man. He was sent 
 to Little Northwold, about the middle of the day, to 
 carry home some silver-handled knives of Mr. Calcott's, 
 and returned no more. Smith fancied, at first, that he 
 had made off with the plate, and set the police after 
 him; but that proved to be an overhasty measure, 
 for the parcel had been safely left. However, Miss 
 Faithfull's servant found him frightening INIrs. Frost's 
 poor little kitchen-maid into fits; and the next day 
 James Frost detected him lurking suspiciously about 
 the garden here, and set Warren to warn him off — ' 
 
 Louis gave a kind of groan, and struck his hand 
 aijainst the couch in despair ; then said, anxiously, 
 ' What then V 
 
 ' No more was heard of him, till yesterday the police 
 passed him home to the Union as a vagabond. He 
 looks very ill and ragged ; but he is in one of those sullen 
 moods, when no one can get a word out of him. Smith 
 declines prosecuting for running away, being only too 
 glad of the riddance on any terms ; so there he is at 
 his grandfather's, ready for any sort of mischief.' 
 
 ' Mr. Holdsworth,' said Louis, raising himself on his 
 elbow, 'you are judging, like every one else, from ap- 
 pearances. If I were at liberty to tell the whole, you 
 would see what a noble nature it was that I trifled with ; 
 and they have been hounding — Poor Tom ! would it 
 have been better for him that I had never seen him ? 
 It is a fearful thing, this blind treading about among 
 souls, not knowing whether one does good or harm !' 
 
 * If you feel so,' said Mr. Holdsworth, hoping to lead 
 him from the unfortunate subject, ' what must we dof 
 
 ' My position, if I live, seems to have as much power 
 for evil, without the supernatural power for good. 
 Doing hastily, or leaving undone, are equally fatal !' 
 
 ' Nay, what hope can there be but in lear, and sense 
 of responsibility V 
 
 VOL. I. I 
 
114 DYNEVOR TERllACE. 
 
 ' I think not. I do more mischief than those who 
 do not go out of their way to think of the matter at 
 
 aur 
 
 * Do you V said the Yicar, smiling. ' At least, I 
 know, for my own pai-t, I prefer all the trouble and 
 perplexity you give me, to a squire who would let me 
 and my parish jog on our own way.' 
 
 ' I dare say young Brewster never spoilt a Tom 
 Madison.' 
 
 ' The sight of self indulgence spoils more than inju- 
 dicious care does. Besides, I look on these experiments 
 as giving experience.' 
 
 ' Nice experience of my best efforts !' 
 
 ' Pardon me, Fitzjocelyn, have we seen your bestf 
 
 ' I hope you will !' said Louis, vigorously. 'And to 
 begin, will you tell this poor boy to come to me V 
 
 Mr. Holdsworth had an unmitigated sense of his 
 own indiscretion, and not such a high one of Fitz- 
 jocelyn's discretion as to make him think the interview 
 sufficiently desirable for the culprit, to justify the pos- 
 sible mischief to the adviser, whose wisdom and folly 
 were equally perplexing, and who would surely be either 
 disappointed or deceived. Dissuasions and arguments, 
 however, failed; and Mrs. Frost, who was appealed 
 to as a last resource, no sooner found that her patient's 
 heart was set on the meeting, than she consented, and 
 persuaded Mr. Holdsworth that no hann would ensue 
 equal to the evil of her boy lying there distressing 
 himself 
 
 Accordingly, in due time, Mr. Holdsworth admitted 
 the lad, and, on a sign from Louis, shut himself out, 
 leaving the runaway standing within the door, a 
 monument of surly embarrassment. Raising himself, 
 Louis said, affectionately, • Never mind, Tom ; don't you 
 see how fast I am getting over it f 
 
 The lad looked up, but apparently saw little such 
 a-ssurance in the thin pale cheeks, and feeble, recumbent 
 form ; for his face twitched all over, resumed the same 
 sullen stolidity, and was bent do^v^l again. 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITION. 115 
 
 * Come near, Tom,' continued Louis, \\-ith imaljated 
 kindness — ' come and sit down here. I am afraid you 
 have suffered a great deal,' as the boy shambled with 
 an awkward footsore gait. ' It was a gi-eat pity you 
 ran away.' 
 
 ' I couldn't stay I' burst out Tom, half crying. 
 
 'Why not?' 
 
 ' Not to have that there cast in my teeth 1' he ex- 
 claimed, with blunt inci\'ility. 
 
 ' Did any one reproach you V said Louis, anxiously. 
 ' I thouijht no one knew it but om'selves.' 
 
 ' You knew it, then, my Lord V asked Tom, staring. 
 
 ' I found out du-ectly that there was no cement,' said 
 Louis. * I had suspected it before, and intended to 
 examine whenever I had time.' 
 
 ' Well ! I thought, when I came back, no one did 
 seem to guess as 'twas all along of me !' cried Tom. ' So 
 sure I thought you hadn't known it, my Lord. And you 
 never said nothing, my Lord !' 
 
 * I trust not. I would not consciously have accused 
 you of what was quite as much my fault as yom-s. That 
 wotdd not have been fail* play.' 
 
 ' If I won't give it to Bill Bettesworth !' cried Tom. 
 
 * What has he done ]' 
 
 'Always telling me that gentlefolks hadn't got no 
 notion of fair jjlay with the like of us, but held us like 
 the dirt to be trampled on ! But there — I'll let him 
 know — ' 
 
 'Who is he?' 
 
 *A young man what works with Mr. Smith,' re- 
 turned Tom, his sullenness having given place to a 
 frank, open manner, such as any one but Louis would 
 liave deemed too fi-ee and ready. 
 
 ' Was he your gi*eat friend at North wold V 
 
 ' A chap must speak to some one,' was Tom's answer. 
 
 ' And what kind of a some one was he V 
 
 ' Why, he comes down Illershall way. He knows a 
 thing or two, and can go on like an orator or a play- 
 book — or like yourself, my Lord.' 
 
 I 2 
 
116 rtYNEYOR TEr.HACE. 
 
 ' Thank you. I hope the thing or two were of the 
 right sort.' 
 
 Tom looked sheepish. 
 
 '■ I heard something about bad companions. I hope 
 he was not one. I ought to have come and visited you, 
 Tom ; I have been very sorry I did not. You'd better 
 let me hear all about it, for I fear there must have been 
 worse scrapes than this of the stones.' 
 
 ^ Worse !' cried Tom — ' sure nothing could be 
 worserer !' 
 
 ' I wish there were no evils worse than careless for- 
 getfiilness,' said Louis. 
 
 ' I didn't forget!' said Tom. ' I meant to have told 
 you whenever you came to see me, but' — his eyes filled 
 and his voice began to alter — ' you never came ; and 
 she at the TeiTace wouldn't look at me ! And Bill and 
 the rest of them was always at me, asking when I ex- 
 pected my aristocrat, and jeering me 'cause I'd said 
 you wasn't like the rest of 'em. So then I thought I'd 
 have my liberty too, and show I didn't care no more 
 than they, and spite you all.' 
 
 ' How little one thinks of the grievous harm a little 
 selfish heedlessness may do !' sighed Louis, half aloud. 
 ' If you had only looked to something better than me, 
 Tom! And so you ran into mischief?' 
 
 Half confession, lialf \dndication ensued, and the poor 
 fellow's story was manifest enough. His faults had been 
 unsteadiness and misplaced independence rather than 
 any of the more degrading stamp of e^dls. The public- 
 house had not been sought for liquor's sake, but for 
 that of the orator who inflamed the crude imaginations 
 and aspirations that effervesced in the youth's mind ; 
 and the rudely-exercised authority of master and fore- 
 man had only driven his fierce temper further astray. 
 AVith sense of right sufficient to be dissatisfied with 
 himself, and taste and principle just enough developed 
 to loathe the evils round him, hardened and soured by 
 Louis's neglect, and rendered discontented by Chartist 
 preachers, he had come to long for any sort of change 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITIOX. 117 
 
 or break ; and the tidings of the accident, coupled 
 with the hard words which he knew hiuiseH' to deserve 
 but too well, had put the finishing stroke. 
 
 Hearing that the police were in pursuit of him, he 
 had fancied it was on account of the harm done by his 
 negligence. ' I hid about for a day,' he said : ' some- 
 how I felt as if I could not go far off, till I heard how 
 you were, my Lord ; and I'd made up my mind that 
 as soon as ever I heard the first stroke of the bell, 
 I'd go and find the police, and his Lordship might 
 hang me, and glad !' 
 
 Louis was nearer a tear than a smile. 
 
 'Then Mr. Frost finds me, and was mad at me, 
 Nothing wasn't bad enough for me; and he sets Mr. 
 Warren to see me ofi", so I had nothing for it but to cut.' 
 
 ' What did you think of doing V sighed Louis. 
 
 ' I made for the sea. If I could have got to them 
 pla<;es in the Indies, such as that Philip went to, as you 
 reads aVxjut in the vei'^e-book — he as killed his wife 
 and lost his son, and made fiiends ^vith that there big 
 rascal, and had the chest of gold — ' 
 
 ' Philip Mortham ! ^^'ere you going in search of 
 buccaneei's V 
 
 *■ I don't know, my Lord. Once you told me of some 
 English Sir, as kiUs the pirates, and is some sort of a 
 king. I thought, may be, now you'd tell me where 
 they goes to dig for gold.' 
 
 ' Oh, Tom, Tom, what a mess I have made of youi- 
 notions !' 
 
 ' Isn't there no such place V 
 
 ' It's a bad business, and what can you want of it ?' 
 
 ' I want to get shut of them as ordei-s one about here 
 and there, with never a ciWl word. Besides,' looking 
 down, * there's one I'd like to see live like a lady.' 
 
 ' Would that make her happier V 
 
 * I'll never see her put about, and slave and di'udge, 
 as poor mother did !' exclaimed Tom. 
 
 ' That's a better spirit than the mere dislike to a 
 master,' said Louis. ' What is life but obedience V 
 
lis DYNEVOTl TEKEACE. 
 
 ' I'd obey fjist enough, if folk would only speak like 
 you do — not drive one about like a dog, when one 
 knows one is every bit as good as they.' 
 
 ' I'm sure I never knew that 1' 
 
 Tom stared broadly. 
 
 * I never saw the person who was not my superior,' 
 repeated Louis, quietly, and in full earnest. ' Not 
 that this woidd make rough words pleasanter, I sup- 
 pose. The only cure I could ever see for the ills of the 
 world is, that each should heartily respect his neighbour.' 
 
 Paradoxes musingly uttered, and flying over his 
 head, were to Tom a natural and comfortable atmo- 
 sphere ; and the conversation proceeded. Louis found 
 that geography had been as much at fault as chro- 
 nology, and that the runaway had found himself not at 
 the sea, but at Illershall, where he had applied for 
 work, and had taken a gi'eat fancy to Mr. Dobbs, but 
 had been rejected for want of a character, since the 
 good superintendent made it his rule to keep up a high 
 standard among his men. Wandering had succeeded, 
 in which, moneyless, forlorn, and unable to find employ- 
 ment, he had been obliged to part with portions of his 
 clothing to procure food ; his strength began to give 
 way, and he had been foimd by the police sleeping 
 under a hedge ; he was questioned, and sent home, 
 crestfallen, sullen, and miserable, unwdlling to stay at 
 Marksedge, yet not knowing where to go. 
 
 His hankering was for Illershall ; and Louis, think- 
 ing of the judicious care, the evening school, and the 
 openings for promotion, decided at once that the ex- 
 periment should be tried without loss of time. He 
 desired Tom to bring him ink and paper, and hastily 
 wrote : — 
 
 ' Dear Mr. Dobbs, — You would do me a gi-eat kind- 
 ness by employing this poor fellow, and bearing with 
 him. I have managed him very ill, but he would 
 reward any care. Have an eye to him, and put him 
 in communication with the chaplain. If you can take 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITION. 110 
 
 him, I will write more at length. If you have heard 
 of my accident, you vnll excuse more at present. 
 
 ' Yours very truly, 
 
 ' ElTZJOCELYN.' 
 
 Then arose the question, how Tom was to get to 
 Illershall. He did not know ; and Louis directed his 
 search into the places where the loose money in his 
 pocket might have been put. When it was found, 
 Tom scrupled at the proposed half-sovereign. Three- 
 and-fourpence would pay for his ticket. 'You vnll 
 want a supper and a bed. Go respectably, Tom, and 
 keep so. It will be some consolation for the mischief 
 I have done you !' 
 
 ' You done me harm !' cried Tom. ' Why, 'tis all 
 along of you that I ain't a regularly-built scamp !' 
 
 ' Very irregularly built, whatever you are !' said 
 LouLs. But I'll tell you what you shall do for me,', 
 continued he, with anxious earnestness. * Do you know 
 the hollow ash-tree that shades over Inorlewood stile ? 
 It has a stout sucker, with a honeysuckle grown into it 
 — coming up among the moss, where the great white 
 vase-shaped funguses gi-ew up in the autumn.' 
 
 * I know him, my Lord,' said Tom, brightening at 
 the detail, given with all a sick man's vivid remem- 
 brance of the out-of-doors world. 
 
 ' I have fixed my mind on that stick ! I think it 
 has a bend at the root. Will you cut it for me, and 
 trim it up for a walking-stick V 
 
 'That I wiU, my Lord!' 
 
 * Thank you. Bring it up to me between seven and 
 eight in the morning, if you please; and so I shall see 
 you again — ' 
 
 Mr. Holdsworth was already entering to close the 
 conversation, which had been already over-long and 
 exciting ; for Louis, sinking back, mournfully exclaimed, 
 ' The medley of that poor boy's mind is the woi*st of 
 my pieces of work. I have made him trio refined for 
 one class, and left him too rough for another — discon- 
 
120 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 tented with his station, and too desultory and insub- 
 ordinate to rise ; nobleness of nature turning to 
 arroofance, fact and fiction all mixed up together. It 
 would be a study, if one was not so sorry !' 
 
 Nevertheless, Mr. Holdsworth could not understand 
 how even Fitzjocelyn could have given the lad a re- 
 commendation, and he would have remonstrated, but 
 that the long interview had already been sufiiciently 
 trying ; so he did his best to have faith in his eccentric 
 friend's good intentions. 
 
 In the early morning, Tom Madison made his 
 appearance, in his best clothes, erect and open-faced, 
 a strong contrast to the jaded, downcast being who 
 had yesterday presented himself. The stick was pre- 
 pared to perfection, and Louis acknowledged it with 
 gratitude proportioned to the fancies that he had spent 
 on it, poising it, feeling the cool grey bark, and raising 
 himself in bed to try how he should lean on it. ' Hang 
 it up there, Tom, within my reach. It seems like a 
 beginning of independence.' 
 
 'I wish, my Lord,' blurted out Tom, in agitation, 
 ' you'd tell me if you're to go lame for life, and then I 
 s hould know the worst of it.' 
 
 * I suspect no one knows either the worst or the 
 best,' said Louis, kindly. ' Since the pain has gone off, 
 I have been content, and asked no questions. Mr. 
 Walby says my ankle is going on so well, that it is a 
 real picture, and a pleasure to touch it ; and though 
 I can't say the pleasure is mutual, I ought to be 
 satisfied.' 
 
 ' You'll only laugh at me !' half sobbed Tom ; ' and 
 if there was but anything I could do ! I've wished my 
 own legs was cut off — and serve me right — ever since 
 I seen you lying there.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; I'm afraid they would have been no 
 use to me ! But, seriously, if I had been moderately 
 prudent, it would not have happened. And as it is. 
 I hope I shall be glad of that roll in Ferny dell to the 
 end of my life.' 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITION'. 121 
 
 * I did go to see after mending them stones !' cried 
 Tom, as if injured by losing this one compensation ; 
 ' but they are all done up, and there ain't nothing to 
 do to them.' 
 
 ' Look here, Tom : if you want to do anything for 
 me, it is easily told, what would be the greatest boon 
 to me. They tell me I've spoilt you, and I partly be- 
 lieve it; for I put more of my own fancies into you 
 than of real good, and the way I treated you made you 
 impatient of control: and then, because I could not 
 keep you on as I should have wished, — as, imluckily, 
 you and I were not made to live together on a desert 
 island, — I left you without the little help I might 
 have given. Now, Tom, if you go to the bad, I shall 
 know it is all my fault — ' 
 
 ' That it ain't,' the boy tried to say, eagerly ; but 
 Louis went on. 
 
 ' Don't let my bad management be the ruin of you. 
 Take a turn from this moment. You know Who can 
 help you, and AVho, if you had thought of Him, would 
 have kept you straight when I forgot. Put all the stuff 
 out of your head about one man being equal to another. 
 Equal they are; but some have the trial of ruling, 
 others of obeying, and the last are the lucky ones. If 
 we could only see their souls, we should know it. 
 You'll find evening schools and lectures at Illershall ; 
 you'd Vjetter take to them, for you've more real liking 
 for that sort of thing than for mischief; and if you 
 finished up your education, you'd get into a line that 
 would make you happier, and w^iere you miglit do 
 much good. There — promise me that you'll think of 
 these things, and take heed to your Sundays.' 
 
 ' I promise,' said Tom. 
 
 ' And mind you write to me, Tom, and tell how you 
 get on. I'll write, and let you know about yom- grand- 
 father, and iVlarksedge news and all — ' 
 
 The ' Thank you, my Lord,' came with great plea- 
 sure and alacrity. 
 
 ' iiome day, v.hen you are a foreman, perhaps I may 
 
122 DYNEYOR TEIIHACE. 
 
 bring Miss Clara to see copper-smoltiiig. Only mind, 
 that you'll never go on soundly, nor even be fit to 
 make your pretty tidy nest for any «^entle bird, unless 
 you mind one thing most of all; and that is, that we 
 have had a new Life given us, and we have to begin 
 now, and live it for ever and ever.' 
 
 As he raised himself, holding out his pale, slender 
 hand from his white sleeve, his clear blue eyes earnestly 
 fixed on the sky, his face all one onward look, something 
 of that sense of the unseen passed into the confused, 
 turbulent spirit of the boy, very susceptible of poetical 
 impressions, and his young lord's countenance connected 
 itself with all the floating notions left in his mind by 
 parable or allegory. He did not speak, as Louis heartily 
 shook his hardy red hand, and bade him good speed ; 
 but his bow and pulled forelock at the door had in them 
 more of real reverence than of conventional courtesy. 
 
 Of tastes and perceptions above his breeding, the very 
 sense of his own deficiencies had made him still more 
 rugged and clownish, and removed him from the sym- 
 pathies of his own class ; while he almost idolized the 
 two most refined beings whom he knew. Lord Fitzjoce- 
 lyn and Charlotte Arnold. On an interview with her, 
 his heart was set. He had taken leave of his half- 
 childish grandfather, made up his bundle, and marched 
 into Northwold, with three hours still to spare ere the 
 starting of the parliamentary train. Sympathy, hope, 
 resolution, and the sense of respectability had made 
 another man of him ; and, above all, he dwelt on the 
 prospect held out of repairing the deficiencies of his 
 learning. The consciousness of ignorance and awkward- 
 ness was very painful, and he longed to rub it off, and 
 take the place for which he felt his powers. * I will 
 work !' thought he ; ' I have a will to it, and, please 
 God, when I come back next, it won't be as a rough, 
 ignorant lout that I'll stand before Charlotte!' 
 
 * Louis,' said Mary Ponsonby, as she sat at work be- 
 side him that afternoon, after an expedition to the new 
 
A TKUAXT DISPOSITION'. 1~3 
 
 house at Dynevor Terrace, 'I want to kno^v, if you 
 please, how you haye been acting like a gentleman.' 
 ' I did not know that I had been acting at all of late.' 
 
 * I could not help hearing something in Aunt 
 Catharine's garden that has made me yery curious.' 
 
 ' Ha !' cried Louis, eagerly. 
 
 ' I was so\yin£r some annuals in our back garden, and 
 heard yoices through the trellis. Presently I heard, 
 quite loud, ' My yoiing Lord has behayed like a real 
 gentleman, as he is, and no mistake, or I'd neyer have 
 been here now.' And, presently, 'I'ye promised him, 
 and I promise you, Charlotte, to keep my Church, and 
 haye no more to do with them things. I'll keep it as 
 sacred as they keeps the Temperance pledge ; for sure 
 I'm bound to him, as he forgaye me, and kept my 
 secret as if I'd been his own brother : and when I'ye 
 proyed it, won't that satisfy you, Charlotte V ' 
 
 * And what did Charlotte say V 
 
 ' I think she was crying ; but I thought listening 
 any more would be unfair, so I ran upstaii^ and threw 
 up the drawing-room window to warn them.' 
 
 ' Oh, Mary, how unfeeling !' 
 
 ' I thought it could be doing no good I' 
 
 ' That is so like prudent people, who can allow no 
 true love under fiye hundred pounds a year ! Did you 
 see them ? How did they look?' 
 
 ' Charlotte was standing in an attitude, her hands 
 clasped over her broom. The gentleman was a country- 
 looking boy — ' 
 
 ' Bearing himself like a sensible, pugnacious cock- 
 robin ? Poor fellow, so you marred their parting.' 
 
 ' Charlotte flew into the house, and the boy walked 
 off up the garden. Was he your Madison, Louis ? for 
 I thought my aunt did not think it right to encourage 
 him about her house.' 
 
 ' And so he is to be thwarted in what would best 
 raise and refine him. That great, bright leading star 
 of a well-jtlaced affection is not to be allowed to help 
 him through all the storms and quicksands in his way.' 
 
124- DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 Good Mary might well open her eyes; but, pondering 
 a little, she said, ' He need not leave off liking Char- 
 lotte, if that is to do him good ; but I suppose the 
 question is, what is safest for her V 
 
 ' Well, he is safe enough. He is gone to Illershall 
 to earn her.' 
 
 * Oh ! then I don't care ! But you have not answered 
 me, and I think I can guess the boy's secret that you 
 have been keeping. Did you not once tell me that 
 you trusted those stones in Ferny dell to him V 
 
 ' Now, Mary, you must keej) his secret !' 
 
 * But why was it made one ? Did you think it 
 unkind to say that it was his fault V 
 
 ' Of course I did. When I thought it was all over 
 with me, I could not go and charge the poor fellow 
 with it, so as to make him a marked man. I was only 
 afraid tliat thinking so often of stoj^ping myself, 1 
 should bring it out by mistake.' 
 
 Mary looked down, and thought ; then raised her 
 eyes suddenly, and said, as if surprised, ' That was really 
 very noble in you, Louis !' Then, thinking on, she said, 
 * But how few people would think it worth while !' 
 
 ' Yes,' said Louis ; ' but I had a real regard for this 
 poor fellow, and an instinct, perhaps perverse, of 
 shielding him ; so I could not accuse him on my own 
 account. Besides, I believe I am far more guilty 
 towards him. His neglect only hurt my ankle — my 
 neglect left him to fall into temptation.' 
 
 ' Yet, by the way he talks of you — ' 
 
 'Yes, he has the sort of generous disposition on 
 which a little delicacy makes a thousand times more 
 impression than a whole pile of benefits I hope and 
 trust that he is going to repair all that is past. I 
 wish I could make out whether good intentions over- 
 rule errors in detail, or only make them more fatal.' 
 
 Mary was glad to reason out the question. Abstract 
 practical views interested her, and she had much depth 
 and observation, more original than if she had read 
 more and thought less. Of course, no conclusion was 
 
A TnUAXT DISP05ITI0X. 125 
 
 aiTived at ; but the two cousins had an argument of 
 much enjoyment and some advantage to both. 
 
 Affairs glided on quietly till the Satiu'day, when 
 Lord Ormersfield returned. Never had he so ti-nly 
 known what it was to come home as when he mounted 
 the stairs, with steps unlike his usual measured tread, 
 and beheld his son s look of animated welcome, and 
 eager, outstretched hands. 
 
 ' I was afraid,' said the Earl, presently, ' that you 
 had not felt so well;' and he touched his own upper 
 lip to indicate that the same feature in his son was 
 covered with down like a young bird. 
 
 Louis blushed a little, but spoke indifferently. ' I 
 thought it a pity not to leave it for the regulation 
 moustache for the Yeomanry.' 
 
 ' I wish I could think you likely to be fit to go out 
 with the Yeomanry.' 
 
 ' Every effort must be made !' cried LouLs. ' What 
 do they say in London about the invasion V 
 
 It was the year 1847, when a French invasion was 
 in every one's mouth, and Sydney Calcott had been 
 retailing all sorts of facts about war-steamei's and 
 artillery, in a visit to Fitzjocelyn, whose patriotism 
 had forthwith run mad, so that he looked quite 
 baffled when his father coolly set the whole down as 
 ' the regular ten years' panic' There was a fervid 
 glow within him of awe, courage, and enterprise, the 
 outward symbol of which was that infant yellow 
 moustache. He was obliged, however, to allow the 
 subject to be dismissed, while his fatlier told him of 
 Sir Miles Oakstead's kind inquiries, and gave a message 
 of greeting from his aunt Lady Conway, delivering 
 liimself of it as an unpleasant duty, and adding, as he 
 turned to Mrs. Ponsonl)y, ' She desired to be remem- 
 bered to you, Mary.' 
 
 ' I have not seen her for many years. Is Sir Walter 
 alive V 
 
 ' No; he died about three years ago.' 
 
 ' I suppose her daughters are not come out yet V 
 
126 DYNEVOR TERIIACE. 
 
 ' Her own are in the school-room ; but there is a 
 step- daughter who is much admired.' 
 
 * Those cousins of mine,' exclaimed Louis ; 'it is 
 strange that I have never seen them. I think I had 
 better employ some of my spare time this summer in 
 making their acquaintance.' 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby perceived that the Earl had become 
 inspired with a deadly terror of the handsome step- 
 daughter ; for he turned aside and began to unpack a 
 parcel. It was M'Culloch's Natural TJieology, into 
 which Louis had once dipped at Mr. Calcott's, and had 
 expressed a wish to read it. His father had taken 
 some pains to procure this too-scarce book for him, 
 and he seized on it with delighted and surprised grati- 
 tude, plunging at once into the middle, and reading 
 aloud a most eloquent passage upon electricity. No 
 beauty, however, could atone to Lord Ormersfield for 
 the outrage upon method. ' If you would oblige me, 
 Louis,' he said, ' you would read that book consecu- 
 tively.' 
 
 ' To oblige you, certainly,' said Louis, smiling, and 
 turning to the first page ; but his vivacious eagerness 
 was extinguished. 
 
 M'Culloch is not an author to be thoroughly read 
 without a strong effort. His gems are of the purest 
 ray, but they lie embedded in a hard crust of reason- 
 ing and disquisition ; and on the first morning, Louis, 
 barely strong enough yet for a battle with his own 
 volatility, looked, and owned himself, dead beat by the 
 first chapter. 
 
 Mary took pity on him. She had been much inte- 
 rested by his account of the work, and would be de- 
 lighted if he would read it with her. He brightened 
 at once, and the regular habit began, greatly to their 
 mutual enjoyment. Mary liked the argument, Louis 
 liked explaining it; and the flood of allusions was 
 delightful to both, with his richness of illustration, 
 and Mary's actual experience of ocean and mountains. 
 »She brought liim whatever books he wanted, and from 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITION. ] 27 
 
 tlie benevoleut view of entertaining him while a prisoner, 
 came to be more interested than her mother had ever 
 expected to see her in anything literary. It was 
 amusing to see the two cousins unconsciously educating 
 each other — the one learning expansion, the other con- 
 centration, of mind. Mary could now thoroughly trust 
 Louis's goodness, and therefore began by bearing with 
 his vagaries, and gradually tracing the grain of wisdom 
 that was usually at their root ; and her eyes were 
 opened to new worlds, where all was not evil or 
 uninteresting that Aunt Melicent distrusted. Louis 
 made her teach him Spanish ; and his insight into 
 grammar and keen delight in the majestic language 
 and rich literature infected her, while he was amused 
 by her positive distaste to anything incomplete, and 
 playfully, though half murmui-ingly, submitted to his 
 ' good governess,' and let her keep him in excellent 
 order. She knew where all his property was, and, 
 in her quaint, straightforward way, would refuse to 
 give him whatever ' was not good for him.' 
 
 It was all to oblige Mary that, w^hen he could sit up 
 and use pen and pencil, he set to work to finish his 
 cottage plans, and soon drew and talked himself into 
 a vehement condition about Marksedge. Mary's pa- 
 tronage drew on the work, even to hasty learning of 
 perspective enough for a pretty elevation intelligible to 
 the unlearned, and a hopeless calculation of the expense. 
 The plans lay on the table when next his father 
 came home, and their interest was explained. 
 
 'Did you draw all these yourself?' exclaimed the 
 Earl. ' Where did you learn architectural drawing ? 
 I should have thought them done by a 2:)rofessional 
 hand.' 
 
 ' It is ea.sy enough to get it up from books,' said 
 Louis ; ' and Mary kept me to the point, in case you 
 .should be willing to consider the matter. I would have 
 written out the estimate ; but this book allows for 
 l)ricks, and we could use the stone at luglewood more 
 cheaply, to say nothing of beauty.' 
 
1:28 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' Well,' said Lord Ormersfield, considering, ' you 
 have every right to have a voice in the management 
 of the property. I should like to hear your views with 
 regard to these cottages.' 
 
 Colouring deeply, and with earnest thanks, Fitz- 
 jocelyn stated the injury both to labourers and em- 
 ployers, caused by their distance from their work ; he 
 explained where he thought the buildings ought to 
 stand, and was even guarded enough to show that the 
 rents would justify the outlay. He had considered the 
 matter so much, that he could even have encountered 
 Richardson ; and his father was only afraid that what 
 was so plausible Qyiust be insecure. Caution contended 
 with a real desire to gi-atify his son, and to lind him in 
 the right. He must know the wishes of the farmer, 
 be siu-e of the cost, and be certain of the spot intended. 
 His crippled means had estranged him from duties that 
 he could not fulfil according to his wishes ; and, though 
 not a hard landlord, he had no intercourse with his 
 tenants, took little interest in his estate, and was such 
 a stranger to the localities, that Louis could not make 
 him understand the nook selected for the buildings. 
 He had seen the arable field called ' Great Courtiers,' 
 and the farm called ' Small Profits,' on the map, but 
 did not know their ups and downs much better than 
 the coast of China. 
 
 * Mary knows them !' said Louis. ' She made all ray 
 measui-ements there, before I planned the gardens.' 
 
 ' Mary seems to be a good friend to your designs,' 
 said the Earl, looking kindly at her. 
 
 ' The best !' said Louis. ' I beain to have some hope 
 of my doings when I see her take them in hand.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield thanked Mary, and asked whether 
 it would be trespassing too much on her kindness to 
 ask her to show him the place in question. She was 
 delighted, and they set out at once, the Earl almost 
 overpowering her by his exceeding graciousness, so 
 that she was nearly ready to laugh when he compli- 
 mented her on knowing her way through the bye-paths 
 
A TIIUANT DISPOSITION. 129 
 
 of his own park so much better than he did. ' It is a 
 great pleasure to nie that you can feel it something 
 like home,' he said. 
 
 * I was so happy here as a child,' said Mary, heartily, 
 ' that it must seem to me more of a home than any 
 other place.' 
 
 ' I hope it may always be so, my dear.' 
 
 He checked himself, as if he had been about to speak 
 even more warmly ; and Mary did the honours of the 
 proposed site for the cottages, a waste strip fronting a 
 parish lane, open to the south, and looking full of capa- 
 bilities, all of which she pointed out after Louis's well- 
 learned lesson, as eagerly as if it had been her own 
 affair. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield gave due force to all, but still was 
 prudent. ' I must find out,' he said, ' whether this 
 place be in my hands, or included in Norris's lease. 
 You see, Mary, this is an encumbered property, with 
 every disadvantage, so that I cannot always act as you 
 and Louis would wish ; but we so far see our way out 
 of our difficulties, that, if guided by good sense, he will 
 be able to effect far more than I have ever done.' 
 
 ' I believe,' was Mary's answer, ' this green is in the 
 farmer's hands, but that he has no use for it.' 
 
 ' I should like to be certain of his wishes. Farmers 
 are so unwilling to increase the rates, that I should 
 not like to consent till I know that it would be really 
 a convenience to him.' 
 
 Mary suggested that there stood the farmhouse ; and 
 the Earl apologetically asked if she would dislike their 
 proceeding thither, as he would not detain her long. 
 She eagerly declared that Louis would be ' so glad,' 
 and Lord Ormersfield turned his steps to the door, 
 where he had only been once in his life, when he was 
 a very young man, trying to like shooting. 
 
 The round-eyed little maid would say nothing but 
 ' Walk in, sir,' in answer to inquiries if Mr. Norris were 
 at home ; and they walked into a parlour, chill with 
 closed windows, and as stiff and fine as the lilaa 
 
 VOL. I. K 
 
130 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 streamers of the cap tliat Mrs. Norris had just put on 
 for their reception. Nevertheless, she was a sensible, 
 well-mannered woman, and after explaining that her 
 husband was close at hand, showed genuine warmth 
 and interest in inquiring for Lord Fitzjocelyn. As 
 the conversation began to flag, Mary had recourse to 
 admiring a handsome silver tankard on a side table. It 
 was the prize of a ploughing-match eight years ago, and 
 brought out a story that evidently always went with 
 it, how ]\Irs. Norris had been unwell and stayed at 
 home, and had first heard of her husband's triumph by 
 seeing the young Lord galloping headlong up the home- 
 field, hurraing, and waving his cap. He had taken his 
 pony the instant he heard the decision, and rushed off 
 to be the first to bring the news to Mrs. Norris, wild 
 with the honour of Small Profits. ' And,' said the 
 farmer's wife, ' I always say Norris was as pleased 
 with what I told him, as I was with the tankard !' 
 
 Norris here came in, an unpretending, quiet man, of 
 the modern, intelligent race of farmers. There was 
 anxiety at first in his eye, but it cleared off as he heard 
 the cause of his landlord's visit, and he was as propi- 
 tious as any cautious farmer could be. He was strong 
 on the present inconveniences, and agreed that it 
 would be a great boon to have a few families brought 
 back, such as were steady, and would not burden the 
 rates ; but the few recurred so often as to show that he 
 was afraid of a general migration of Marksedge. Lord 
 Ormersfield thereupon promised that he should be con- 
 sulted as to the individuals. 
 
 ' Thank you, my Lord. There are some families at 
 Marksedge that one would not wish to see nearer here; 
 and I'll not say but I should like to have a voice in 
 the matter, for they are apt to take advantage of Lord 
 Fitzjocelyn's kindness.' 
 
 ' I quite understand you. Nothing can be more rea- 
 .sonable. I only acted because my son was persuaded it 
 was your wish.' 
 
 ' It is so, my Lord. I am greatly obliged. He has 
 
A TRUANT DISPOSITION. 131 
 
 often talked of it with me, and I had mentioned the 
 matter to Mr. Richardson, but he thought your lordship 
 would be averse to doing anything.' 
 
 * I have not been able to do all I could have wished,' 
 said the Earl. * My son will have it in his power to 
 turn more attention to the propei-ty.' 
 
 ' And he is a thorough farmer's friend, as tliey all 
 say,' earnestly exclaimed Norris, with warmth breaking 
 through the civil formal manner. 
 
 ' True,' said Lord Ormei-siield, gi-atified ; * he is very 
 much attached to the place, and all connected with it.' 
 
 'I'm sm-e they're the same to him,' replied the 
 farmer, ' As an instance, my Lord, you'll excuse it — 
 do you see that boy driving in the cows 1 You would 
 not look for much from him. Well, the morning the 
 doctor from London came down, that boy came to his 
 work, crying so that I thought he was ill. ' No, master,' 
 said he, ' but what'll ever become of us when we've lost 
 my young Lord ]' And he burst out again, fit to break 
 his heart. I told him I was sorry enough myself, but 
 to go to his work, for crying would do no good. ' I 
 can't help it, master,' says he, 'when I looks at the 
 pigs. Didn't he find 'em all in the park, and me 
 nutting — and helped me his own self to drive 'em out 
 before Mr. Warren see 'em, and lifted the little pigs 
 over the gap as tender as if they were Christians V ' 
 
 ' Yes, that's the way with them all,' interposed 
 Mrs. NoiTis : ' he has the good word of high and 
 low !' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield smiled : he smiled better than he 
 used to do, and took leave. 
 
 ' Fitzjocelyn will be a popular man,' he said. 
 
 Mary could not help being diverted at this moral 
 deduced from the pig-story. ' Every one is fond of 
 him,' was all she said. 
 
 ' Talent and popularity,' continued the Earl. ' He 
 will have great influence. The free, prepossessing 
 manner is a great advantage, where it is so natural 
 and devoid of effort.' 
 
 k2 
 
13^ DYNEVOR TEREACE. 
 
 * It comes of his loving eveiy one,' said Mary, almost 
 indignantly. 
 
 'It is a decided advantage,' continued the Earl, 
 complacently. ' I have no doubt but that he has 
 every endowment requisite for success. You and your 
 mother have done much in developing his character, 
 my dear; and I see every reason to hope that the 
 same influence continued will produce the most bene- 
 ficial results.' 
 
 Mary thought this a magnificent compliment, even 
 considering that no one but her mamma had succeeded 
 in teaching Louis to read when a little boy, or in 
 making him persevere in anything now : but then, 
 when Lord Ormersfield did pay a compliment, it was 
 always in the style of Louis XIV. 
 
THE TAMILY COMPACT. 133 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE FAMILY COMPACT. 
 
 Who, nurst with tender care, 
 And to domestic bounds confined, 
 Was still a wild Jack- hare. 
 
 COWPEB. 
 
 MAEY; said ISIrs. Frost. 
 Mi-s. PonsonVty was sitting by the open win- 
 dow of the library, inhaling the pleasant scents of July. 
 Raising her eyes, she saw her aunt gazing at her with 
 a look somewhat perplexed, but brim-full of mischiev- 
 ous frolic. However, the question was only ' Where 
 is that boy V 
 
 ' He is gone down "s\-ith Mary to his cottage-build- 
 ing.' 
 
 ' Oh ! if Mary is with him, I don't care,' said Aunt 
 Catharine, sitting do-ss-n to her knitting; but her ball 
 seemed restless, and while she pursued it, she broke out 
 into a little laugh, and exclaimed, ' I beg your pardon, 
 my dear, but I cannot help it. I never heard anything 
 so funny !' 
 
 ' As this scheme,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, with a little 
 hesitation. 
 
 ' Then you have the other side of it in your letter,' 
 cried Mrs. Frost, gi^'ing way to her merriment. * The 
 Arabian Niglds themselves ; the two Adziers laying 
 their heads together, and sending home orders to us to 
 make up the match !' 
 
 • My letter does not go so far,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, 
 amused, but anxious. 
 
 * Yours is the lady's side. My orders are precise. 
 Oliver has talked it over with Mr. Ponsonby, and finds 
 the connexion would be agreeable ; so he issues a decree 
 
134 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 that his nephew, Rokuid Dynevor — (poor Jem — he 
 would not know himself !) — should enter on no pro- 
 fession, but forthwith pay his addresses to Miss Pon- 
 sonby, since he will shortly be in a position befitting 
 the heir of our family !' 
 
 ' You leave Prince Roland in happy ignorance/ said 
 Mrs. Ponsonby, blushing a little. 
 
 ' Certainly — or he would fly off like a sky-rocket at 
 the first symptom of the princess.' 
 
 * Then I think we need not alter our plans. All 
 that Mary's father tells me is, that he does not intend 
 to return home as yet, though his successor is appointed, 
 since he is much occupied by this new partnership with 
 Oliver, and expects that the investment will be suc- 
 cessful. He quite approves of our living at the Terrace, 
 especially as he thinks I ought to be informed that 
 Oliver has declared his intentions with regard to his 
 nephew ; and so if anything should arise between the 
 young people, I am not to discourage it.' 
 
 'Mary is in request,' said Mrs. Frost, slyly, and as 
 she met Mrs. Ponsonby's eyes full of uneasy inquiry. 
 ' You don't mean that you have not observed at least 
 his elder lordship's most decided courtship ] Don't be 
 too innocent, my dear.' 
 
 ' Pray don't say so, Aunt Kitty, or you will make 
 me uncomfortable in staying here. If the like ever 
 crossed his mind, he must perceive that the two are 
 just what we were together ourselves.' 
 
 ' That might make him wish it the more,' Aunt 
 Catharine had almost said; but she restrained it half- 
 way, and said, ' Louis is hardly come to the time of 
 life for a grande passion.' 
 
 'True. He is wonderfully young; and Mary not 
 only seems much older, but is by no means the girl to 
 attract a mere youth. I rather suspect she will have 
 no courtship but from the eldei-s.' 
 
 ' In spite of her opportunities. What would some 
 mammas — Lord Ormersfield's bugbear, for instance, 
 Lady Conway — give for such a chance ! Three months 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT. 135 
 
 of a lame young Lord, and sucli a lame young Lord as 
 my Louis !' 
 
 * I might have feared,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, ' if Mary 
 were not so perfectly simple. Aunt Melicent managed 
 to abstract all romance, and I never regretted it 
 so little. She has looked after him merely be- 
 cause it came in her way as a form of kindness, and 
 is too much his governess for anything of the other 
 sort.' 
 
 ' So you really do not wish for the other sort V said 
 Mrs. Frost, half mortified, as if it were a slight to her 
 boy. 
 
 ' I don't know how her father might take it,' said 
 Mrs. Ponsonby, eager to disarm her. ' With his 
 grand expectations, and his view of the state of this 
 property, he might make difficulties. He is fond of 
 expressing his contempt for needy nobility ; and I 
 am afraid, after all that has passed, that this would be 
 the last case in which he would make an exception.' 
 
 ' Yet you say he is fond of Mary.' 
 
 ' Very fond. If anything would triumph over his 
 dislike, it would be his affection for her ; but I had 
 rather my poor Mary had not to put it to the proof. 
 And, after all, I don't think it the safest way for a 
 marriage, that the man should be the most attractive, 
 and the woman the most — ' 
 
 * Sensible ! Say it, Mary — that is the charm in my 
 nephew's eyes.' 
 
 ' Your ^rea/-nephew is the point ! No, no. Aunt 
 Kitty; you are under a delusion. The kindness to 
 Mary is no more than 'auld lang-spie,' and because 
 he thinks her too impossible. He cannot afford for 
 his son to marry anything but a grand unquestionable 
 heiress. Mary's fortune, besides, depending on specu- 
 lations, would be nothing to what Lady Fitzjocelyu 
 ought to have.' 
 
 ' For shame ! I think better of him. I believe he 
 would be unworldly when Louis's happiness was 
 concerned.' 
 
lo6 DYNEVOR TEERACE. 
 
 ' To return to James,' said Mrs. Poiisonby, decidedly : 
 ' I am glad that his uncle should have declared his 
 intentions.' 
 
 ' Oh, my dear, we are quite used to that. I am only 
 glad that Jem takes no heed. We have had enough 
 of that ! — For my own part,' and the tears arose, ' I 
 never expect that poor Oliver will think he has done 
 enough in my lifetime. These things do so grow on 
 a man ! If I had but kept him at home !' 
 
 ' It mis^ht have been the same.' 
 
 ' There would have been something to divide his 
 attention. His brother used to be a sort of idol ; he 
 seemed to love him the more for his quiet, easy ways, 
 and to delight in waiting on him. I do believe he 
 delays, because he cannot bear to come home without 
 Henry !' 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby preferred most topics to that of Mrs. 
 Prost's sons, and was relieved by the sight of the 
 young people returning across the lawn — Fitzjocelyn 
 Avitli his ash stick, but owing a good deal of support 
 to Mary's firm, well-knit arm. They showed well 
 together : even lameness could not disfigure the grace of 
 his leisurely movements; and the bright changefulness 
 and delicacy of his face contrasted well with the placid 
 noVjleness of her composed expression, while her 
 complexion was heightened and her eyes lighted by 
 exercise, so that she was almost handsome. She 
 certainly had been looking micrimraonly well lately. 
 Was this the wav they were to walk together through 
 life? 
 
 But Mrs. Ponsonby had known little of married life 
 save the troubles, and she was doubly anxious for her 
 daughter's sake. She exceedingly feared unformed 
 characters, and natures that had no root in them- 
 selves. Mary's husband must not lean on her for 
 strength. 
 
 She was glad, as with new meaning, she watched 
 their proceedings, to see how easily, and as a matter 
 of course, Louis let Mary bring his footstool and his 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT. 137 
 
 slipper, fetch his books, each at the proper time, read 
 Spanish with him, and make him look out the words 
 in the dictionary when he knew them by intuition, 
 remind him of ordei-s to be written for his buildings, 
 and manage him as her pupil. If she ruled, it was 
 with perfect calmness and simplicity, and the play- 
 fulness was that of brother and sister, not even with 
 tlie coquettish intimacy of cousinhood. 
 
 The field was decidedly open to Roland Dynevor, 
 alias James Frost. 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby was loth to contemplate that con- 
 tingency, though in all obedience, she exposed her 
 daughter to the infection. He was expected on that 
 afternoon, bringing his sister with him, for he had not 
 withstood the united voices that entreated him to 
 become Fitzjocelyn's tutor diu-ing the vacation, and 
 tlie whole party had promised to remain for the 
 present as guests at Ormerslield. 
 
 Louis, in high spirits, offered to drive Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby to meet the travellers at the station ; and much 
 did he inflict on her poor shattered nerves by the way. 
 He took no servant, that there might be the more 
 room, and perched aloft on the diiving seat, he could 
 only use his indefatigable tongue by leaning back with 
 his head turned round to her. She kept a sharp look- 
 out a-head ; but all her warnings of coming perils only 
 caused him to give a moment's attention to the horses 
 and the reins, before he again turned backwards to 
 resume his discourse. In the town, his head was 
 more in the right direction, for he was nodding and 
 returning greetings every moment ; he seemed to have 
 a bowing acquaintance with all the world, and when 
 he drew up at the station, reached down several times 
 to shake hands with figures whom his father would 
 barely have acknowledged ; exchanging good-humoured 
 inquiries or congratulations with almost every third 
 person. 
 
 Scarcely had the train dashed up before Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby was startled by a shout of ' He's there himself ! 
 
13S DYNEVOR TEraiACE. 
 
 Louis ! Louis !' and felt, as well as saw, the springing 
 ascent to the box of a tall api)arition, in a scanty 
 lilac cotton dress, an outgrown black mantle, and a 
 brown straw bonnet, scarcely confining an over- 
 profusion of fair hair. Louis let go the reins to catch 
 hold of both hands, and cry, ' Well, old Giraffe ! what 
 have you done with Jem V 
 
 ' Seeing to the luggage ! You wont let him turn 
 me out ! I must sit here !' 
 
 ' You must have manners,' said Louis ; ' look round, 
 and sj^eak rationally to Mrs. Ponsonby.' 
 
 ' I never saw she was there !' and slightly colouring, 
 the 'Giraffe' erected her length, turned round a small 
 insignificant face slightly freckled, with hazel eyes, as 
 light as if they had been grey ; and stretched down a 
 hand to be shaken by her new relation ; but she was 
 chiefly bent on retaining her elevation. 
 
 ' There, Jem !' she cried exultingly, as he came forth, 
 followed by the trunks and portmanteaus. 
 
 ' Madcap !' he said ; ' but I suppose the first day of 
 the holidays must be privileged. Ha! Fitzjocelyn, 
 you're the right man in the right place, whatever 
 Clara is.' 
 
 So they drove off", James sitting by Mrs. Ponsonby, 
 and taking care to inform her that, in spite of her pre- 
 posterous height, Clara was only sixteen, he began to 
 ask anxious questions as to Fitzjocelyn's recovery ; 
 while she looked up at the pair in front, and thought, 
 from the appearance of things, that even Louis's tongue 
 was more than rivalled, for the new comer seemed to 
 say a sentence in the time he took in saying a word. 
 Poor Mrs. Ponsonby ! she would "hot have been 
 happier had she known in which pair of hands the 
 reins were ! 
 
 ' And Louis ! how are you V cried Clara, as soon as 
 this point had been gained; 'are you able to walk?' 
 
 ' After a fashion.' 
 
 ' And does your ankle hurt you V 
 
 * Only if I work it too hard. One would think that 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT. 139 
 
 loungini; liacl become a virtue instead of a vice, to hear 
 the way I am treated.' 
 
 ' You look — ' began Clara. ' But oh, Louis 1' cried 
 she, in a sort, of hesitating wonder, 'what I a moustache X 
 
 ' Don't say a word :' he lowered his voice. ' Riding 
 is against orders ; but I cannot miss the Yeomanry, 
 under the present aspect of affairs,' 
 
 ' The invasion ! A man in the train was talking of 
 the war steamers, but Jem laughed. Do you believe 
 in it V 
 
 * It is a time when a display of loyalty and national 
 spirit may turn the scale. I am resolved to let no trifle 
 prevent me from doing my part,' he said, colouring 
 with enthusiasm. 
 
 * You are quite right,' cried Clara. ' You ought to 
 take your vassals, like a feudal chief ! I am sure the 
 defence of one's country ought to outweigh every- 
 thing.' 
 
 * Exactly so. Our volunteer forces are our strength 
 and glory, and are a happy meeting of all classes in the 
 common cause. But say nothing, Clara, or granny will 
 take alarm, and get an edict from Walby against me.' 
 
 * Dear granny ! But I wish we were going home to 
 the Terrace.' 
 
 ' Thank you. How flattering 1' 
 
 ' You would be always in and out, and it would be 
 so much more comfortable. Is Lord Ormerslield at 
 home T 
 
 ' No, he w411 not come till legislation can bear Lon- 
 don no longer.' 
 
 ' Oh I' — with a sound of ^eat relief. 
 
 * You don't know how kind he has been,' said Louis, 
 eagerly. ' You will find it out when you are in the 
 house with him.' 
 
 Clara laughed, but sighed. ' I think we should have 
 had more fun at home.' 
 
 ' What ! than with me for your host 1 Try what I 
 can do. Besides, you overlook ]\Lar}'.' 
 
 ' But she has been at school ;' 
 
1-10 DYNEVOR TEHRACE. 
 
 ' Well !' 
 
 * I didn't bargain for school-girls at home !' 
 
 * I should not have classed Mary in that category.' 
 
 * Don't ask me to endure any one who has been at 
 school ! Oh, Louis ! if you could only guess — if you 
 would only speak to Jem not to send me back to that 
 place — ' 
 
 * Aunt Kitty will not consent, I am sure, if you are 
 really unhappy there, my poor Clara.' 
 
 ' Ko ! no ! I am ordered not to tell granny. It 
 would only vex her, and Jem says it must be. I don't 
 want her to be vexed, and if I tell you, I may be able 
 to keep it in !' 
 
 Out poured the whole flood of troubles, unequal in 
 magnitude, but most trying to the high-spirited girl. 
 Formal walks, silent meals, set manners, perpetual 
 French, were a severe trial, but far worse was the com- 
 panionship. Petty vanities, small disputes, fretful 
 jealousies, insincere tricks, and sentimental secrets, 
 seemed to Clara a great deal more contemptible than 
 the ignorance, indolence, abrupt manners and boyish 
 tastes which brought her into constant disgrace — and 
 there seemed to be one perpetual chafing and contra- 
 diction, which made her miserable. And a further 
 confidence could not help following, though with a 
 warning that Jem must not hear it, for she did not 
 mind, and he spent every fai-thing on her that he could 
 afibrd. She had been teased about her dress, told that 
 her friends were mean and shabby, and rejected as a 
 walking companion, because she had no parasol, and 
 that was vulgar. 
 
 ' I am sure I wanted to walk with none of them,' 
 said Clara, ' and when our English governess advised 
 me to get one, I told her I would give in to no such 
 nonsense, for only vulgar people cared about them. 
 Such a scrape I got into ! Well, then Miss Salter, 
 whose father is a knight, and who thinks herself the 
 great lady of the school, always bridled whenever she 
 saw me, and, at last, Lucy E.ay nor came whispering up, 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT. 141 
 
 to beg that I would contradict that my grandmamma 
 kept a school, for Miss Salter was so very particular.' 
 
 ' I should like to have heard your contradiction.' 
 
 ' I never w^ould whisper, least of all to Lucy Raynor, 
 so I stood up in the midst, and said, as clear as I could, 
 that my grandmother had always earned an honest live- 
 lihood by teaching little boys, and that I meant to do 
 the same, for nothing would ever make me have any- 
 thing to do with girls.' 
 
 'That spoilt it,' said Louis — * the first half was 
 dignified.' 
 
 ' What was the second V 
 
 ' Human nature,' said Louis. 
 
 ' I see,' said Clara. ' Well, they were famously 
 scandalized, and that was all very nice, for they let me 
 alone. But you brought far worse on me, Louis.' 
 
 'I!' 
 
 * Ay ! 'Twas my own fault, though, but I couldn't 
 help it. You must know, they all are ready to bow 
 down to the ninety-ninth part of a Lord's little finger ; 
 and Miss Brown — that's the teacher — always reads all 
 the fashionable intelligence as if it were the Arabian 
 KiyhiSy and imparts little bits to Miss Salter and her 
 pets ; and so it was that I heard, whispered across the 
 table, the dreadful accident to Viscount Fitzjocelyn !' 
 
 ' Did nobody write to you V 
 
 ' Yes — I had a letter from granny, and another fi-om 
 Jem by the next morning's post, or I don't know what 
 I should have done. Granny was too busy to write 
 at first ; I didn't three parts believe it before, but there 
 was no keeping in at that first moment.' 
 
 * What did vou do V 
 
 ' I gave one great scream, and flew at the newspaper. 
 The worst was, that I had to explain, and tlien — 
 oh ! it was enough to make one sick. Why had I not 
 said I was Lord Ormersfield's cousin ? I turned into 
 a fine aristocratic-looking girl on the spot ! Miss 
 Salter came and fondled, and wanted me to walk 
 with her 1' 
 
142 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' Of course ; she had compassion on jour distress — 
 amiable feeling !' 
 
 * She only wanted to ask ridiculous questions, whether 
 you were handsome.' 
 
 'What did you reply?' 
 
 'I told them not a word, except that my brother was 
 going to be your tutor. When I saw Miss Salter set- 
 ting off by this line, I made Jem take second-class 
 tickets, that she might be ashamed of me.' 
 
 *My dear Giraffe, bend down your neck, and don't 
 take such a commonplace, conventional view of your 
 schoolfellows.' 
 
 ' Conventional ! ay, all agi-ee because they know it 
 by experience,' said Clara — ' I'm sure I do !' 
 
 ' Then take the other side — see the best.' 
 
 ' Jem says you go too far, and are unreasonable with 
 your theory of making the best of every one.' 
 
 ' By no means. I always made the worst of 
 Frampton, and now I know what injustice I did him. 
 I never saw greater kindness and unselfishness than he 
 has shown me.' 
 
 ' I should like to know what best you would make 
 of these girls !' 
 
 ' You have to try that !' 
 
 ' Can I get any possible good by staying ?' 
 
 'A vast deal.' 
 
 ' I'm sure Italian, and music, and drawing, are not a 
 good compared with truth, and honour, and kindness.' 
 
 ' All those things only grow by staying wherever 
 we may happen to be, unless it is by our own fault.' 
 
 ' Tell me what good you mean !' 
 
 ' Learning not to hate, learning to mend your 
 gloves. Don't jerk the reins, Clara, or you'll get me 
 into a scrape.' 
 
 Clara could extract no more, nor did she wish it ; 
 for having relieved her mind by the overflow, she 
 only wanted to forget her misfortunes. Her cousin 
 Louis was her chief companion; they had always felt 
 themselves on the same level of nonsense, and had 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT. 143 
 
 unreservedly shared eacli other's confidences and pro- 
 jects ; and ten thousand bits of intelligence were dis- 
 cussed with rautual ardour, while Clara's ecstasy became 
 uncontrollable as she felt herself coming nearer to her 
 grandmother. She finally descended with a bound 
 almost as distressing to her brother as her ascent had 
 been, and leapt at once to the embrace of Mrs. Frost, 
 who stood there, petting, kissing her, and playfully 
 threatening all sorts of means to stop her growth. 
 Clara reared up her giraffe figure, boasting of having 
 overtopped all the world present, except Louis ! She 
 made but a cold, abrupt resf)onse to her cousin Mary's 
 greeting, and presently rushed upstairs in search of 
 dear old Jane, with an impetus that made Mrs. Frost 
 sigh, and say, ' Poor child ! how happy she is ;' and 
 follow her, smiling, while James looked annoyed. 
 
 ' Never mind, Jem,' said Louis, who had thrown 
 himself at full length on the sofa, ' she deserves com- 
 pensation. Let it fizz.' 
 
 ' And undo everything ! What do you say to that, 
 Maryr 
 
 ' Mary is to say nothing,' said Louis ; ' I mean that 
 poor child to have her swing.' 
 
 ' I shall leave you and James to settle that,' said 
 Mary, quitting them. 
 
 ' I am very anxious that Clara should form a friend- 
 ship with Mary,' said James, gravely. 
 
 ' Friendships can't be crammed down people's 
 throats,' said Louis, in a weary indifierent tone. 
 
 ' You who have been three months with Mary !' 
 
 * Mary and I did not meet with labels round our 
 necks that here were a pair of friends. Pray do 
 you mean to send that victim of yours back to school V 
 
 * Don't set her against it. I have been telling her 
 of the necessity all the way home.' 
 
 ' Is it not to be taken into consideration that a bad 
 — not to say a base — style of girl seems to prevail 
 there V 
 
 ' I can't help it, Fitzjocelyn,' cried Jem, ruffling up 
 
Ill DYNEVOR TEHrvACE. 
 
 his liair, as he always did when vexed. ' Girls fit to 
 be her companions don't go to school — or to no school 
 within my means. This place has sound superiors, 
 and she must be provided with a marketable stock of 
 accomplishments, so there's no choice. I can trust 
 her not to forget that she is a Dynevor.' 
 
 ' Query as to the benefit of that recollection.' 
 
 ^ What do you mean V 
 
 ' That I never saw evils lessened by private self- 
 exaltation.' 
 
 * Very philosophical ! but as a matter of fact, what 
 ■was it but the sense of my birth that kept me out of 
 all the mischief I was exposed to at the Grammar 
 School V 
 
 ' I always thought it had been something more re- 
 spectable,' said Louis, his voice gi'owing more sleepy. 
 
 ' Pshaw ! Primary motives being understood, se- 
 condary stand common wear the best.' 
 
 ' As long as they don't eat into the primary.' 
 
 ' Tlie long and short of it is,' exclaimed James, 
 impatiently, ' that we must have no nonsense about 
 Clara. It is pain enough to me to inflict all this on 
 her, but I would not do it, if I thought it were more 
 than mere discomfort. Her principles are fixed, she 
 is above these trumperies. But you have the sense to 
 see that her whole welfare may depend on whether 
 she gets fitted to be a valuable accomplished governess 
 or a mere bonne, tossed about among nursery-maids. 
 There's where poverty galls ! Don't go and set my 
 grandmother on ! If she grew wretched and took 
 Clara away, it would be mere condemning of her to 
 rudeness and struggling !' 
 
 ' Very well,' said Louis, as James concluded the 
 brief sentences, uttered in the bitterness of his heart, 
 'one bargain I make. If I am to hold my tongue about 
 school, I will have my own way with her in the holi- 
 days.' 
 
 ' I tell you, Louis, that it is time to have done 
 ■with childishness. Clara is growing up — I vjont have 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT. 145 
 
 you encourage her in all that wild flightiness — I 
 didn't want to have had her here at all ! If she is 
 ever to be a reasonable, conformable woman, it is high 
 time to begin. I can't have you undoing the work of 
 six months ! when Mary might make some hand of 
 her, too — ' 
 
 James stopped. Louis's eyes were shut, and he 
 appeared to be completely asleep. If silence were 
 acquiescence, it was at least gained ; and so he went 
 away, and on returning, intended to impress his 
 lessons of reserve on Clara and her grandmother, but 
 was prevented by finding Mrs. Ponsonby and her 
 daughter already in the library, consulting over some 
 letters, while Clara sat at her grandmother's knee in 
 the full felicity of hearing all the North wold news. 
 
 The tea was brought in, and there was an inquiry 
 for Louis. He came slowly forward from the sofa at 
 the dark end of the room, but disclaimed, of coui'se, the 
 accusation of fatigue. 
 
 ' A very bad sign,' said James, ' that you have 
 been there all this time without oui* finding; it out. 
 Decidedly, you have taken me in. You don't look 
 half as well as you promised. You are not the same 
 colour ten minutes together ; j ust now white, and 
 now — how you redden !' 
 
 ' Don't, Jem !' cried Louis, as each observation re- 
 newed the tide of burning crimson in his cheek. ' It is 
 like whistling to a turkey-cock. If I had but the blue 
 variety, it might be more comfortable, as well as more 
 interesting.' 
 
 Clara went into a choking paroxysm of laughter, 
 which her brother tried to moderate by a look, and 
 Louis rendered more convulsive by quoting 
 
 * Marked you his cheek of heavenly blue/ 
 
 and looked with a mischievous amusement at James's 
 ill-suppressed displeasure at the merriment that knew 
 no bounds, till even Mrs. Frost, who had laughed at 
 first as much at James's distress as at Louis's 
 VOL. I. L 
 
liG DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 travestie or Clara's fun, thought it time to check it by 
 saying, ' You are right, Jem, he is not half so strong 
 as he thinks himself. You must keep him in good 
 order.' 
 
 * Take care. Aunt Kitty,' said Louis ; ' you'll make 
 me restive. A tutor and governess both ! I appeal ! 
 Shall we endure it, Clara V 
 
 * Britons never shall be slaves ! ' was the eager 
 response, 
 
 ' Worthy of the daughter of the Pendragons,' said 
 Louis ; ' but it lost half its effect from being stifled 
 with laughing. You should command yourself, 
 Clara, when you utter a sentiment. I beg to repeat 
 Miss Frost Lynevor's novel and striking speech, and 
 declare my adhesion, ' Britons never shall be slaves ! ' 
 Liberty, fraternity, and equality ! Tyrants, beware!' 
 
 ' You ungrateful boy !' said Mrs. Frost ; * that's the 
 way you use your good governess !' 
 
 ' Only the way the nineteenth century treats all its 
 good governesses,' said Louis. 
 
 * When it gets past them,' said Mary, smiling. * I 
 hope you did not think I was not ready to give you 
 up to your tutor V 
 
 Mary found the renunciation more complete than 
 perhaps she had expected. The return of his cousins 
 had made Fitzjocelyn a different creature. He did 
 indeed read with James for two hours every morning, 
 but this was his whole concession to discipline; other- 
 wise he was more wayward and desultory than ever, 
 and seemed bent on teazing James, and amusing him- 
 self by making Clara extravagantly wild and idle. 
 Tired of his long confinement, he threw off all pru- 
 dence with regard to health, as well as all struggle 
 with his volatile habits; and the more he was scolded, 
 the more he seemed to delight in making meekly 
 ridiculous answers and going his own way. Some- 
 times he and Clara would make an appointment, at 
 some unearthly hour, to see Mrs. Norris make cheese, 
 or to find the sun-dew blossom open, or to sketch some 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT. IH 
 
 effect of morning sun. Louis would afterwards be 
 tired and unhinged the whole day, but never con- 
 vinced, only capable of promoting Clara's chatter ; and 
 ready the next day to stand about with her in the sun 
 at the cottages, to the increase of her fi-eckles, and the 
 detriment of his ankle. Their frolics would have been 
 more comprehensible had she been more attractive ; 
 but her boisterous spirits were not engaging to any 
 one but Louis, who seemed to enjoy them in propor- 
 tion to her brother's annoyance, and to let himself 
 down into nearly equal folly. 
 
 He gave some slight explanation to Mary, one day 
 when he had been reminded of one of their former 
 occupations — ' Ah I I have no time for that now. 
 You see there's nobody else to protect that poor 
 Giraffe from being too rational.' 
 
 * Is that her great danger ]' said Mary. 
 
 * Take my advice, Mary, let her alone. * Follow 
 your own judgment, and not poor .Jem's fidgets. He 
 wants to be ' father, mother both, and uncle, all in 
 one,' and so he misses his natural vocation of elder 
 brother. He wants to make a woman of her before 
 her time ; and now he has his way with her at school, 
 he shall let her have a little compensation at home.' 
 
 ' Is this good for her ? Is it the only way she can 
 be happy V 
 
 ' It is her way, at least ; and if you knew the penance 
 she undergoes at school, you would not grudge it to 
 her. She is under his orders not to disclose the secrets 
 of her prison-house, lest they shoidd disquiet Aunt 
 Catharine; and she will not turn to you, because — I 
 beg your pardon, Mar}* — she has imbibed a disti-ust of 
 all school-girls; and besides, Jem has gone and in- 
 sisted on vour being her friend more than human 
 nature can stand.' 
 
 ' It is a great pity,' said Mary, smiling, but grieved; 
 ' I should not have been able to do her much good — 
 but if I could only try !' 
 
 * I'll tell you,' said Louis, coming near, with a look 
 
 L 2 
 
148 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 between confidence and embarrassment; 'is it in the 
 power of woman to make her dress look rather more 
 like other people's without inflaming the blood of the 
 Dynevoi's — cautiously, you know 1 Even my father 
 does not dare to give her half-a-sovereign for jjocket- 
 money; but do ask your mother if she could not be 
 made such that those girls should not make her their 
 laughingstock.' 
 
 ' You don't mean it !' 
 
 ' Aye, I do ; and she has not even told James, lest 
 he should wish to spend more upon her. She glories 
 in it, but that is hardly wholesome.' 
 ' Then she told you V 
 
 ' Oh, yes ! We always were brothers I It is great 
 fun to have her here ! I always wished it, and I'm 
 glad it has come before they have made her get out of 
 the boy. He will be father to the woman some day; 
 and that will be soon enough, without teasing her.' 
 
 Mary wished to ask whether all this were for Clara's 
 good, but she could not very well put such a question 
 to him; and, after all, it was noticeable that, noisy 
 and unguarded as Clara's chatter was, there never was 
 anything that in itself should not have been said : 
 though her manner with Louis was unceremonious, it 
 was never flirting; and refinement of mind was as 
 evident in her rough-and-ready manner as in his high- 
 bred quietness. This seemed to account for Mrs. 
 Frost's non-interference, which at first amazed her 
 niece ; but Aunt Catharine's element was chiefly with 
 boys, and her love for Clara, though very gi-eat, showed 
 itself chiefly in still regarding her as a mere child, 
 petting her to atone for the privations of school, and 
 while she might assent to the propriety of James's 
 restrictions, always laughing or looking aside when 
 they were eluded. 
 
 James argued and remonstrated. He said a great 
 deal, always had the advantage in vehemence, and 
 appeared to reduce Louis to a condition of quaint de- 
 bonnaire indiflference; and warfare seemed the normal 
 
THE FAMILY COMPACT. 149 
 
 state of the cousins, the one fiery and sensitive, the 
 other cool and impassive, and yet as appropriate to 
 each other as the pepper and the cucumber, to borrow 
 a bon mot from their neighbour, Sydney Calcott. 
 
 If Jem came to Mary brimful of annoyance with 
 Louis's folly, a mild word of assent was sufficient to 
 make him turn round and do battle with the imagi- 
 nary enemy who was always depreciating FitzjocehTi. 
 To make up for Clara's avoidance of Mary, he rendered 
 her his prime counsellor, and many an hour was spent 
 in pacing up and down the garden in the summer 
 twilight ; while she did her best to pacify him by 
 suggesting that thorough relaxation would give spirits 
 and patience for Clara's next half year, and that it 
 might be wiser not to overstrain his own undefined 
 authority, while the lawful power, Aunt Catharine, did 
 not interfere. Surely she might safely be trusted to 
 watch over her own granddaughter ; and while Clara 
 was so perfectly simple, and Louis such as he was, 
 more evil than good might result frum inculcating 
 reserve. At any rate, it was hard to meddle with the 
 poor child's few weeks of happiness, and to this James 
 always agreed ; and then he came the next day to re- 
 lieve himself by fighting the battle over again. So con- 
 stantly did this occur, that Aunt Kitty, in her love of 
 mischief, whispered to Mrs. Ponsonby that she only 
 hoped the two viziers would not quarrel about the 
 three thousand sequins, three landed estates, and three 
 slaves. 
 
 Still, Louis's desertion had left unoccupied so many 
 of the hours of !Mary's time that he had pre^dously 
 absorVjed, that her mother watched anxiously to see 
 whether she would feel the blank. But she treated it 
 as a matter of course. She had attended to her cousin 
 when he needed her, and now that he had regained his 
 former companion, Clara, she resigned him \vithout efibrt 
 or mortification, as far as could be seen. She was forced 
 to fall back on other duties, furnishing the house, 
 working for every one, and reading some books that 
 
150 DYXEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 Louis had brought before her. Tlie impulse of self- 
 improvement had not expired with his attention, and 
 without any shadow of pique she was always ready to 
 play the friend and elder sister whenever he needed 
 her, and to be grateful when he shared her interests 
 or pursuits. So the world went till Lord Ormers- 
 field's return caused Clara's noise to subside so entirely, 
 that her brother was sufficiently at ease to be exceed- 
 ingly vivacious and entertaining, and Mrs. Ponsonby 
 hoped for a great improvement in the state of affaii*s. 
 
 4^ 
 
THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR. 151 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR. 
 
 For who is he, whose chin is but enriched 
 
 With one appearing hair, that will not follow 
 
 These cuUed and choice-drawn cavaliers 'gainst France ? 
 
 Work, work your thoughts, and therein see a siege. 
 
 King Henry V. 
 
 r'PHE next forenoon, Mary met James in the park, 
 X wandering in search of his pupil, whom he had 
 not seen since they had finished their morning s work 
 in the study. Some wild freak with Clara was appre- 
 hended, but while they were conferring, Mary ex- 
 claimed, ' What's that V as a clatter and clank met her 
 ear. 
 
 ' Only the men going out to join old Brewster's 
 ridiculous yeomanry,' said Jem. 
 
 ' Oh, I should like to see them,' cried Mary, running 
 to the top of a bank, whence she could see into the 
 hollow road leading from the stables to the lodge. 
 Four horsemen, the sun glancing on their helmets, 
 were descending the road, and a fifth, at some distance 
 ahead, was nearly out of sight. ' Ah,' she said, ' Louis 
 must have been seeing them off. How disappointed 
 he must be not to go !' 
 
 ' I wish I was sure — ' said James, with a start. ' I 
 declare his folly is capable of anything ! Why did I 
 not think of it sooner ? ' 
 
 Clara here rushed upon them with her cameleopard 
 gallop, sending her voice before her; ' Can you see them]' 
 
 ' Scarcely,' said Mary, making room for her. 
 
 ' Where's Louis V hastily demanded her brother. 
 
 ' Gone to the yeomanry meeting,' said Clara, looking 
 
152 DYNEYOR TERRACE 
 
 in their faces in the exultation of producing a sensa- 
 tion. 
 
 James was setting off with a run to intercept him, 
 but it was too late ; and Clara loudly laughed as she 
 said, ' You can't catch him.' 
 
 * I've done with him ! ' cried James. ' Can madness 
 go further 1 ' 
 
 ' James ! I am ashamed of you,' cried the Giraffe, 
 with great stateliness. ' Here are the enemy threaten- 
 ino- our coasts, and our towns full of disaffection and 
 sedition ; and when our yeomanry are lukewarm 
 enough to go off grouse-shooting instead of attending 
 to their duty, what is to become of the whole country 
 if somebody does not make an exertion ? The tran- 
 quillity of all England may depend on the face our 
 yeomanry show.' 
 
 ' On Lieutenant Fitzjocelyn's yellow moustache ! 
 Pray how long have you been in the secret of these 
 heroic intentions V 
 
 ' Ever since I came home.' 
 
 * We all knew that he meant to go out if he could,* 
 said Mary, in a tone calculated to soothe Jem, and 
 diminish Clara's glory in being sole confidante, * but we 
 did not think him well enough. I hope it will do him 
 no harm.' 
 
 ' Exertions in a good cause can do no harm ! ' boldly 
 declared Clara ; then, with sudden loss of confidence, 
 ' do you really think it will ? ' 
 
 ' Just cripple him for life,' said James. 
 
 ' Mr. Walby wished him not to attempt riding,' said 
 Mary. ' He thinks any strain on the ankle just now 
 might hurt him very much ; but it may be over caution.' 
 
 ' Mr. Walby is an old woman,' said Clara. ' Now, 
 Jem, you said so yourself Besides, it is all for his 
 duty ! Of course, he would risk anything for the good 
 of his country.' 
 
 ' Don't say another word, Clara,' exclaimed James, 
 ' or you will drive me distracted with your folly. One 
 
THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR. 153 
 
 grain of sense, and even you would have stopped it ; 
 but neither you nor he could miss a chance of his 
 figuring in that masquerade dress ! Look at the sun, 
 exactly like a red-hot oven ! We shall have him come 
 home as ill as ever !' 
 
 Clara had another milder and more sorrowful ver- 
 sion of the scolding from her grandmother ; but Lord 
 Ormersfield escaped the day's anxiety by being so busy 
 with Richardson, that he never emerged from the 
 study, and did not miss his son. 
 
 It was an exceedingly sultiy day, and the hopeful 
 trusted that Louis wauld be forced to give in, before 
 much harm could be done ; but it was not till five 
 o'clock that the hoofs were heard on the gravel ; and 
 Jem went out to revenge himself with irony for his 
 uneasiness. 
 
 ' I hope you are satisfied,' he said , ^ dulce est pro 
 patria mori* 
 
 Louis was slowly dismounting, and as he touched 
 the ground gave a slight cry of pain, and caught at 
 the servant's arm for support. 
 
 ' No more than I expected,' said James, coming to 
 help him ; and at the same moment Lord Ormersfield 
 was heard exclaiming — 
 
 ' Fitzjocelyn ! what imprudence !' 
 
 'Take care,' hastily interrupted James, finding 
 Louis leaning helplessly against him, unable to speak 
 or stand, and his flushed cheek rapidly changing to 
 deadly white. 
 
 They lifted him. up the steps into the hall, where he 
 sisrned to be laid down on the seat of the cool north 
 window ; and trying to smile, said ' it was only the 
 hot sun, and his foot aching rather; it would soon 
 go ofi".' And when, with much pain and difficulty, 
 Frampton had released his swollen foot from the 
 regulation-boot, into which he had foolishly thrust 
 it, he went on more fluently. ' He had thought it 
 his duty, especially when Mr. Shaw, the captain of his 
 
154 DYXEYOR TERRACE. 
 
 troop, had chosen to go away — he had believed it 
 could do no harm — he was sure it was only a little 
 present discomfort, and in the present crisis " 
 
 He addressed his aunt, but his eyes were on his 
 father ; and when he heard not a single word from 
 him, he suddenly ceased, and presently, laying his head 
 down on the window-sill, he begged that no one would 
 stand and watch him ; he should come into the library 
 in a few minutes. 
 
 The few minutes lasted, however, till near dinner- 
 time, when he called to Mary, as she was coming 
 downstairs, and asked her to help him into the 
 library ; he could remain no longer exposed to 
 Frampton's pity, as dinner went in. 
 
 He dragged himself along with more difficulty than 
 he had found for weeks, and sank down on the sofa 
 with a sigh of exhaustion ; while Clara, who was 
 alone in the room, reared herself up from an easy- 
 chair, where she had been sitting in an attitude that 
 would have been despair to her mistress. 
 
 ' Ha, Clara !' said Louis, presently ; 'you look as if 
 you had been the object of invective ?' 
 
 ' I don't care,' exclaimed Clara j ' I know you were 
 in the good old cause.' 
 
 ' Conde at Jarnac, Charles XII. at Pultowa — 
 which V said Louis. ' I thought of both myself — only, 
 unluckily, I made such frightful blunders. I was 
 thankful to my men for bringing me off, like other 
 great commanders.' 
 
 ' Oh, Louis ! but at least you were in your place — 
 you set the example.' 
 
 ' Unluckily, these things descend from the sublime 
 to the other thing, when one is done up, and begin- 
 ning to doubt whether self-will cannot sometimes 
 wear a mask.' 
 
 ' I'm sure they are all quite cross enough to you 
 already, without your being cross to yourself.' 
 
 ' An ingenious and elegant impersonal,' said Louis. 
 
 Clara rushed out into the garden to tell the stiff old 
 
THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR. 155 
 
 rose-trees that if Lord Ormersfield were savage now, 
 lie would be more horrid than ever. 
 
 Meanwhile, Louis drew a long sigh, murmuring, 
 ' Have I gone and vexed him again ? Mary, have I 
 been very silly V 
 
 The half-piteous doubt and compunction had some- 
 thing childish, which made her smile as she answered : 
 ' You had better have done as you were told.' 
 
 ' The surest road to silliness,' said Louis, whose ten- 
 dency was to moralize the more, the more tired he was, 
 ' is to think one is going to do something fine ! It is 
 dismal work to come out at the other end of an illusion.' 
 
 ' With a foot aching as, I am afraid, yours does.' 
 
 * I should not mind that, but that I made such 
 horrid mistakes !' 
 
 These weighed upon his mind so much, that he went 
 on, half aloud, rehearsing the manoeuvres and orders in 
 which he had failed, from the difficulty of taking the 
 command of his troop for the first time, when bewil- 
 dered ^^■ith pain and discomfort. The others came in, 
 and James looked rabid ; Louis stole a glance now and 
 then at his father, who preserved a grave silence; while 
 Clara stood aloof, comparing the prostrate figure in blue 
 and silver to all the wounded knights in history or 
 fiction. 
 
 He was past going in to dinner, and the party were 
 ' civil and melancholy,' Mrs. Frost casting beseeching 
 looks at her grandson, who sat visibly chafing at the 
 gloom that rested on the Earl's brow, and which in- 
 creased at each message of refusal of everything but 
 iced water. At last Mrs. Frost carried off some 
 grapes from the dessert to temj^t him, and as she 
 passed through the open window — her readiest way to 
 the library — the Earl's thanks concluded ^vith a dis- 
 consolate murmur 'quite ill,' and 'abominable folly;' 
 a mere soliloquy and nearly inaudible, but sufficient 
 spark to produce the explosion. 
 
 ' Fitzjocelyn's motives deserve no such name as 
 folly,' James cried, with stammering eagerness. 
 
15G DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' I know you did not encourage him,' said Lord 
 Onnersfield. 
 
 ' I did,' said a young, clear voice, raised in alarm at 
 her own boldness; *Jem knew nothing of it, but I 
 thought it rifrht.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield made a little courteous mclmation 
 with his head, which annihilated Clara upon the spot. 
 
 ' I doubt whether I should have done right in striving 
 to prevent him,' said James. ' Who can appreciate the 
 moral effect of heroism Y 
 
 ' Heroism in the cause of a silver jacket !' 
 
 * Now, that is the most unfair thing in the world !' 
 cried James, always most violent when he launched out 
 with his majestic cousin. ' There is not a man living 
 more careless of his appearance. You do him justice, 
 Mrs. Ponsonby?' 
 
 ' Yes, I do not believe that vanity had anything to 
 do with it. A man who would bear what he has done 
 to-day would do far more.' 
 
 ' If it had been for any reasonable cause,' said the 
 Earl. 
 
 ' You may not understand it, Lord Ormersfield,' 
 exclaimed James, * but I do. In these times of disaffec- 
 tion, a sound heart, and whole spirit, in our volunteer 
 corps may be the saving of the country; and who can 
 tell what may be the benefit of such an exhibition of 
 self-sacrificing zeal. The time demands every man's 
 utmost, and neither risk nor suffering can make liim 
 flincli from his duty.' 
 
 ' My dear Jem,' said a voice behind him at the 
 window, ' I never see my follies so plainly as when 
 you are defending them. Come and help me up stairs; 
 Granny is ordering me up; a night's rest will set all 
 smooth.' 
 
 It was not a night's rest, neither did it set things 
 smooth. In vain did Louis assume a sprightly coun- 
 tenance, and hold his head and shoulders erect and 
 stately; there was no concealing that he was very pale, 
 and winced at every step. His ankle had been much 
 
THE BETTER PART OF VALOUR. 157 
 
 hurt by the pressure of the stirrup, and he was not 
 strong enough t<j bear with impunity severe pain, 
 exertion, and fatigue on a burning summer day. It 
 was evident that his recovery had been thi'own back 
 for weeks. 
 
 His father made no reproaches, but was grievously 
 disappointed. His exaggerated estimate of his son's 
 discretion had given place to a no less misplaced des- 
 pondency, quite inaccessible to ]\Irs. Ponsonby's con- 
 solations as to the spirit that had prompted the per- 
 formance. He could have better understood a youth 
 being unable to forego the exhibition of a handsome 
 person and dress, than imagine that any one of mode- 
 rate sense could either expect the inva.sion, or use these 
 means of averting it. If imagination was to be allowed 
 for, so much the worse. A certain resemblance to the 
 childish wilfulness with which his wife had trifled -v\ith 
 her health, occurred to him, increasing his vexation by 
 gloomy shadows of the past. 
 
 His silent mortification and kind anxiety went to 
 his son's heart. Louis was no less disappointed in 
 himself, in finding his o^^^l judgment as untnistworthy 
 as ever, since the exploit that had been a perpetual 
 feast to his chivalrous fancy had turned out a mere 
 piece of self-willed imprudence, destroying all the 
 newly-bestowed and highly-valued good opinion of his 
 father ; and even in itself, incompetently executed. 
 ' He had made a fool of himself every way.' That had 
 been James's first dictum, and he adopted it from con- 
 \-iction. 
 
 In the course of the day, goodnatured, fat Sir Gilbert 
 Brewster, the colonel of the yeomanry, who had been 
 seriously uneasy at his looks, and had tried to send 
 him home, rode over to inquire for him, compliment- 
 ing him on Vjeing ' thorough game to the last.' Louis 
 relieved his mind by apologies for his blunders, where- 
 upon he learnt that his good colonel had never dis- 
 covered them, and now only laughed at them, and 
 declared that they were mere trifles to what the whole 
 
158 DYNEVOE TEREACE. 
 
 corps, officers and men, committed whenever they met, 
 and no one cared except one old sergeant who had 
 been in the Light Dragoons. Louis's very repentance 
 for them was another piece of absurdity. He smiled, 
 indeed, but seemed to give himself up as a hopeless 
 subject. His spirits flagged as they had not done 
 throughout his illness, and, unwell, languid, and de- 
 pressed, he spent his days without an attempt to rally. 
 He was only too conscious of his own inconsistency, 
 but he had not energy enough to resume any of the 
 habits that Mary had so diligently nursed ; neglected 
 even his cottage-building, would not trouble him- 
 self to consider the carpenter's questions, forgot 
 messages, put off engagements, and seemed to have 
 only just vigour enough to be desultory, tease James, 
 and spoil Clara. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield became alarmed, and called in 
 doctors, who recommended sea air; and James suggested 
 a secluded village on the Yorkshire coast, where some 
 fiiends had been reading in the last long vacation. 
 This was to be the break-up of the party ; Mrs. Frost 
 and the two Marys would resort to Dynevor Terrace, 
 Clara would return to school, and James undertook 
 the charge of Louis, who took such exceedingly little 
 heed to the arrangements, that Jem indignantly told 
 him that he cared neither for himself nor anybody 
 else. 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL. 159 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A HALTING PROPOSAL. 
 
 Shallow. Will you upon good dowry, marry her ? 
 Slender. I will do a greater thing than that, upon your request. 
 
 Merry Wives of Windsor. 
 
 T^HE first thing that Louis did appear to care for 
 was a letter that arrived about three days 
 previous to their departure, addressed to ' Lord Fits- 
 gosling, Ha%viQsfield Park, Nortliwold,' Rather too 
 personal, as he observed ; he must tell his correspondent 
 that it hurt his feelings. The coiTespondent was Tom 
 Madison, whose orthography lagged behind his other 
 attainments, if his account might be trusted of ' they 
 lectures on Kemistry.' His penmanship was much 
 improved, and he was prospering, with hopes of pro- 
 motion and higher wages, when he should have learnt 
 to keep accounts. He liked Mr. Dobbs and the chap- 
 lain, and wished to know how to send a crown per 
 post to ' old granfer up at Marksedge ; because he is 
 too ignorant to get a horder sinned. Please, my lord, 
 give my duty to him and all enquiring friends, and to 
 Schirlt, up at the Teras.' 
 
 Highly amused, Louis lay on the uppermost step 
 from the library window, in the cool summer evening, 
 laughing over the letter. 'There, Aunt Kitty, he 
 said, ' I commit that tender gi-eeting to your charge,' 
 and as she looked doubtful, ' Yes, do, there's a good 
 aunt and mistress.' 
 
 ' I am afraid I should not be a good mistress ; I 
 ought not to sanction it.' 
 
 * Better sanction it above board than let it go on by 
 stealth/ said Louis. ' You ai-e her natm-al protector.' 
 
160 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' So much the more reason against it ! I ought to 
 wish her to forget this poor boy of yours.' 
 
 ' Ay, and light Hymen's torch with some thriving 
 tallow chandler, who would marry a domestic slave as 
 a good speculation, without one spark of the respectful 
 chivalrous love that — ' 
 
 ' Hush ! you absurd boy.' 
 
 * Well, then, if you wont, I shall go to Jane. The 
 young ladies are all too cold and too prudent, but Jane 
 has a soft spot in her heart, and will not think true 
 love is confined within the rank that keeps a gig. I 
 did think Aimt Kitty had been above vulgar pre- 
 judices.' 
 
 ' Not above being coaxed by you, you gosling, you,' 
 said Aunt Kitty ; ' only you must come out of the 
 dew, the sun is quite gone.' 
 
 ' Presently,' said Louis, as she retreated by the 
 window. 
 
 'I would not have been too cold or too prudent !' 
 said Clara. 
 
 ^ I well believe it !' 
 
 ' You will be one if you are not the other,' said Mary, 
 gathering her work up, with the dread of one used to 
 tropical dews. ' Are not you coming in V 
 
 ' When I can persuade myself to write a letter of 
 good advice, a thing I hate.' 
 
 ' Which,' asked Mary ; ' giving or receiving it V 
 
 'Receiving, of course.' — 'Giving, of course,' said 
 Clara and Louis at the same instant. 
 
 ' Take mine, then,' said Maiy, ' and come out of the 
 damp.' 
 
 ' Mary is so tiresome about these things !' cried 
 Clara, as their cousin retreated. ' Such fidgetting 
 nonsense.' 
 
 ' I once argued it with her,' said Louis, without 
 stirring ; ' and she had the right side, that it is often 
 more self-denying to take care of one's health, than to 
 risk it for mere pleasure or heedlessness.' 
 
 ' There's no dew 1' said Clara ; ' and if there was^ it 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL. 161 
 
 "would not hurt ; and if it did, I should be too glad to 
 catch a cold, or something to keep me at home. Oh, if 
 I could only get into a nice precarious state of health !' 
 
 * You would soon wish yourself at school, or any- 
 where else, so that you could feel some life in yoiu* 
 limbs,' half sighed Louis. 
 
 ' I've more than enough ! Oh I how my feet ache to 
 run ! and mv throat feels stifled for want of makinor a 
 noise ; and the hatefulness of always sitting upright, 
 with my shoulders even ! Come, you might pity me a 
 little this one night, Louis : I know you do, for Jem is 
 always telling me not to let you set me against it.' 
 
 * No, I don't pity yoiL Pity is next akin to contempt.' 
 ' Nonsense, Louis. Do be in earnest.' 
 
 * I have seldom seen the human being whom T could 
 presume to pity : certainly not you, bravely resisting 
 folly and temptation, and with so dear and noble a 
 cause for working.' 
 
 ' You mean, the hope of helping to maintain grand- 
 mamma.' 
 
 ' Which you will never be able to do, unless you pass 
 through this ordeal, and qualify yourself for skilled 
 labour.' 
 
 ' I know that,' said Clara ; ' but the atmosphere there 
 seems to poison, and take the vigour out of, all they 
 teach. Oh, so different from granny teaching me my 
 notes, or Jem teaching me French — ' 
 
 ' Growling at you — ' 
 
 ' He never growled half as much as I deserved. I 
 cared to learn of him ; but I don't care for anything 
 now, — no, not for drawing, which you taught me ! 
 There's no heart in it ! The whole pui-pose is to get 
 amazing numbers of marks and pass each other. All 
 dates and words, and gabble gabble !' 
 
 ' Ay ! there's an epitome of the whole world : all 
 ambition, and vanity, and gabble gaVjble,' said Louis, 
 .sadly. ' And what is a gosling, that he should complain V 
 
 ' You don't mean that in reality. You are always 
 merry.' 
 
 VOL. I. il 
 
162 DYNEVOR TEllRACK. 
 
 ' Some mirth is because one does not always think, 
 Clara ; and when one does think deeply enough, there 
 is better cheerfulness.' 
 
 ' Deeply enough,' said Clara. ' Ah ! I see. Knowing 
 that the world of gabble is not what we belong to, only 
 a preparation 1 Is that it V 
 
 ' It is what I meant.' 
 
 * Ah ! but how to make that knowledge help us.' 
 
 ' There's the point. Now and then, I think I see ; 
 but then I go off on a wrong tack : I get a silly fit, and 
 a hopeless one, and lose my clue. And yet, after all, 
 there is a highway; and wayfaring men, though fools, 
 sliall not err therein,' murmured Louis, as he gazed on 
 the first star of evening. 
 
 * Oh ! tell me how to see my highway at school !' 
 
 * If I only kept my own at home, I might. But you 
 have the advantage — you have a fixed duty, and you 
 always have kept hold of your purposes much better 
 than I.' 
 
 ' My purpose !' said Clara. ' I suppose that is to 
 learn as fast as I can, that I may get away from that 
 place, and not be a burthen to gi-anny and Jem. Perhaps 
 Jem will marry and be poor, and then I shall send his 
 sons to school and college.' 
 
 ' And pray what are your social duties till that time 
 comes V 
 
 ' That's plain enough,' said Clara : ^ to keep my tone 
 from being deteriorated by these girls. Why, Louis, 
 what's that for V as, with a bow and air of alarm, he 
 hastily moved aside from her. 
 
 ' If you are so much afraid of being deterio- 
 rated — ' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! If you only once saw their trumpery 
 cabals, and vanities, and mean equivocations, you 
 would understand that the only thing to be done is to 
 keep clear of them; take the learning I am sent for, 
 but avoid them !' 
 
 * And where is the golden rule all this time V said 
 Louis, very low. 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL. 163 
 
 * But ought not one to keep out of what is wrong V 
 
 * Yes, but not to stand aloof from what is not wronsr. 
 Look out, not for what is inferior to yourself, but 
 what is superior. Ah ! you despair ; but, my Giraffe, 
 will you promise me this 1 Tell me, next Christmas, 
 a good quality for every bad one you have found in 
 them. You shake your head. Nay, you must, for the 
 credit of your sex. I never found the man in whom 
 there was not something to admire, and I had rather 
 not suppose that women are not better than men. Will 
 you promise ?' 
 
 ' I'll try, but—' 
 
 ' But, mind, it takes kind offices to bring the blos- 
 soms out. There — that's pretty well, considering our 
 mutual sentiments as to good advice.' 
 
 ' Have you been giving me good advice V 
 
 * Not bad, I hope.' 
 
 ' I thought only people like — like Mary — could give 
 advice.' 
 
 ' Ah ! your blindness about Mary invalidates your 
 opinion of your schoolfellows. It shows that you do 
 not deserve a good friend.' 
 
 ' I've got you ; I want no other.' 
 
 ' Quite wrong. Not only is she full of clear, kind, 
 solid sense, like a pillar to lean on, but she could go into 
 detail with you in your troubles. You have thrown 
 away a great opportunity, and I am afraid I helped 
 you. I shall hold you in some esteem when you are — 
 to conclude sententiously — worthy of her friendship.' 
 
 Clara's laugh was loud enough to bring out the 
 Earl, to summon them authoritatively out of the dew. 
 Louis sat apart, writing his letter ; Clara, now and 
 then, hovering near, curious to hear how he had cor- 
 rected Tom's spelling. He had not finished, when the 
 ladies bade him good-night ; and, as he proceeded with 
 it, his father said, ' What is that engrossing correspon- 
 dence, Louis? 
 
 ' Such a sensible letter, that I am quite ashamed of 
 it,' said Louis. 
 
 M 2 
 
16 i DYNEVOE TERRACE. 
 
 ' I wonder at the time you chose for writing, when 
 you are so soon to part with our guests.' 
 
 ' I have no excuse, if you think it uncivil. I never 
 have spirit to set about anything till the sun is down.' 
 
 His father began at once to speak softly : ' No, I 
 intended no blame ; I only cannot but wonder to see 
 you so much engrossed with Clara Dynevor.' 
 
 ' Poor child ! she wants some compensation.' 
 
 * I have no doubt of your kind intentions ; but it 
 would be safer to consider what construction may be 
 placed on attentions so exclusive.' 
 
 Louis looked up in blank, incredulous amazement, 
 and then almost laughingly exclaimed, ' Is that what 
 you mean 1 Why, she is an infant, a baby — ^ 
 
 ' Not in appearance — ' 
 
 * You don't know her, father,' said Louis. 'I love 
 her with all my heart, and could not do more. Why, 
 she is, and always has been, my she-younger-brother !' 
 
 * I am aware,' said the Earl, without acknowledging 
 this peculiar relationship, ' that this may appear very 
 ridiculous; but experience has shown the need of 
 caution. I should be concerned that your heedless 
 good-nature should be misconstrued, so as to cause pain 
 and disappointment to her, or to lead you to neglect one 
 who has every claim to your esteem and gratitude.' 
 
 Louis was bewildered. ' I have been a wretch lately,' 
 he said, ' but I did not know I liad been a bear.' 
 
 ' I did not mean that you could be deficient in 
 ordinary courtesy ; but I had hoped for more than mere 
 indifferent civility towards one eminently calculated — ' 
 Lord Ormersfield for once failed in his period. 
 
 ' Are we talking at cross purposes V exclaimed Fitz- 
 jocelyn. ' What have I been doing, or not doing V 
 
 * If my meaning require explanation, it is needless to 
 attempt any. — Is your ankle painful to-night V 
 
 Not a word more, except about his health, could 
 Louis extract, and he went to his room in extreme 
 perplexity. 
 
 Again and again did he revolve those words. 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL. 165 
 
 Quick as "were his perceptions on most points, they 
 were slow where self-consciousness or personal vanity 
 might have sharpened them; and it was new light to 
 him that he had come to a time of life that could 
 attach meaninsc to his attentions. 
 
 ' Whom had he been neglectinfj 1 What had his 
 father been hoping ] Who was eminently calculated, 
 and for what ]' 
 
 It flashed upon him all at once. ' I see ! I see !' he 
 cried, and burst into a laugh. 
 
 Then came consternation, or something very like it. 
 He did not want to feel embarked in manhood. And 
 then his far-away dream of a lady-love had been so 
 transcendently fair, so unequalled in grace, so perfect in 
 accomplishments, so enthusiastic in self-devoted charity, 
 all undefined, floating on his imagination in misty 
 tints of glory ! That all this should be suddenly 
 brought down from cloudland, to sink into Mary Pon- 
 sonby, with the honest face and downright manner 
 for whom romance and rapture would be positively 
 ridiculous ! 
 
 Yet the notion would not be at once dismissed. His 
 declaration that he would do anything to gratify his 
 father had been too sincere for him lightly to turn 
 from his suggestion, especially at a moment when he 
 was full of shame at his own folly, and eagerness to 
 retain the ground he had lost in his father's opinion; 
 and, above all, to make him happy. His heart thrilled 
 and glowed as he thought of giving his father real joy, 
 and permanently brightening and enlivening that 
 lonely, solitary life. Besides, who could so well keep 
 the peace between him and his father, and save him 
 by hints and by helpfulness from giving annoyance 1 
 He had already learnt to depend on her; she entered 
 into all his interests, and was a most pleasant com- 
 panion — so wise and good, that the most satisfactory 
 days of his life had been passed under her manage- 
 ment, and he had only broken from it to ' play the 
 fool.' He was sick of his own volatile Quixotism, and 
 
1G6 DYXEVOR TERKACE. 
 
 could believe it a relief to be kept in order without 
 trusting to his own judgment. She had every right to 
 his esteem and affection, and the warm feeling he had 
 for her could only be strengthened by closer ties. The 
 unworldliness of the project likewise weighed with 
 him. Had she been a millionaire or a Duke's daughter, 
 he would not have spent one thought on the matter ; 
 but he was touched by seeing how his father's better 
 feelings had conquered all desire for fortune or con- 
 nexion. 
 
 And then Mary could always find everything he 
 wanted ! 
 
 ' I will do it !' he determined. ' Never was son more 
 bound to consider his father. Of course, she will make 
 a much better wife than I deserve. Most likely, my 
 fancies would never have been fulfilled. She will save 
 me from my own foolishness. What ought a man to 
 wish for more than a person sure to make him good ? 
 And — well, after all, it cannot be for a long time. They 
 must write to Lima. Perhaps they will wait till her 
 father's return, or at least till I have taken my degree.' 
 
 This last encouraging reflection always wound up 
 the series that perpetually recurred throughout that 
 night of broken sleep ; and when he rose in the morn- 
 ing, he felt as if each waking had added a year to his 
 life, and looked at the glass to see whether he had not 
 grown quite elderly. 
 
 ' No, indeed ! I am ridiculously youthful, especially 
 since I shaved off my moustache in my rage at the 
 Yeomanry mania ! I must systematically burn my 
 cheeks, to look anything near her age !' And he laughed 
 at himself, but ended with a long-drawn sigh. 
 
 He was in no state of mind to pause : he was tired of 
 self-debate, and was in haste to render the step irrevo- 
 cable, and then fit himself to it ; and he betook him- 
 self &t once to the study, where he astonished his father 
 by his commencement, with crimson cheeks — ' I wished 
 to speak to you. Last night 1 did not catch your 
 meaning at once.' 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL. 167 
 
 * "We will say no more about it,' was the kind answer. 
 ' If you cannot turn your thoughts in that direction, 
 there is an end of the matter.' 
 
 ' I think,' said Louis, ' that I could.' 
 ' My dear boy,' said the Earl, vdih more eagerness 
 than he could quite control, ' you must not imagine 
 that I wish to influence your inclinations unduly; but 
 I must confess that what I have seen for the last few 
 months, has convinced me that nothing could better 
 secure your happiness.' 
 
 ' I believe so,' said Louis, gazing from the window. 
 ' Right,' cried the Earl, with more gladness and 
 warmth than his son had ever seen in him ; ' I am 
 delighted that you appreciate such sterling excellence ! 
 Yes, Louis,' and his voice grew thick, * there is nothing 
 else to trust to.' 
 
 ' I know it,' said Louis. ' She is very good. She 
 made me very happy when I was ill.' 
 
 ' You have seen her under the most favourable cir- 
 cumstances. It is the only sort of acquaintance to be 
 relied on. You have consulted your own happiness 
 far more than if you had allowed yourself to be attracted 
 by mere .showy gifts,' 
 
 ' I am sure she will do me a great deal of good,' said 
 Louis, still keeping his eyes fixed on the evergreens. 
 
 ' You could have done nothing to give me more 
 pleasure !' said the Earl, with heartfelt earnestness. 
 * I know what she is, and what her mother has been 
 to me. That aunt of hers is a stiff, wrongheaded 
 person ; but she has brought her up well — very well, and 
 her mother has done the rest. As to her father, that 
 is a disadvantage ; but, from what I hear, he is never 
 likely to come home ; and that is not to be weighed 
 against what she is herself. Poor Maiy ! how rejoiced 
 she will be, that her daughter at least should no longer 
 be under that man's power ! It is well you have not 
 been extravagant, like some young men, Louis. If 
 you had been running into debt, I should not have 
 been able to gratify your wishes now j but the property 
 
1G8 DYNEVOE TERRACE. 
 
 is SO nearly disencumbered, that you can perfectly afford 
 to many her, with the very fixir fortune she must have, 
 unless hor father should gamble it away in Peru.' 
 
 This was for Lord Ormersfield the incoherency of 
 joy, and Louis was quite carried along by his delight. 
 The breakfast-bell rang, and the Earl rising and draw- 
 ing his son's arm within his own, pressed it, saying, 
 *■ Bless you, Louis !' It was extreme surprise and plea- 
 sure to Fitzjocelyn, and yet the next moment he recol- 
 lected that he stood committed. 
 
 How silent he was — how unusually gentle and 
 gracious his father to the whole party ! quite affectionate 
 to Mary, and not awful even to Clara. There was far 
 too much meaning in it, and Louis feared Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby was seeing through all. 
 
 'A morning of Greek would be insupportable,' thought 
 he ; and yet he felt as if the fetters of fate were being 
 fast bound around him, when he heard his father 
 inviting James to ride with him. 
 
 He wandered and he watched, he spoke absently to 
 Clara, but felt as if robbed of a protector, when she 
 was summoned up-stairs to attend to her packing, 
 and Mary remained alone, writing one of her long 
 letters to Lima. 
 
 *Now or never,' thought he, 'before my courage 
 cools. I never saw my father in such spirits !' 
 
 He sat down on an ottoman opposite to her, 
 and turned over some newspapers with a restless 
 rustling. 
 
 ' Can I fetch anything for you ?' asked Mary, look- 
 ing up. 
 
 * No, thank you. You are a great deal too good to 
 me, Mary.' 
 
 * I am glad,' said Mary, absently, anxious to go on 
 with her letter ; but, looking up again at him — ' I am 
 sure you want something.' 
 
 * No — nothing — but that you should be still more 
 good to me.' 
 
 ' What is the matter ?' said Mary, suspecting that 
 
A HALTTN'G PROPOSAL. 1C9 
 
 he was TDeginnmg to repent of his lazy fit, and wanted 
 lier to hear his confession. 
 
 ' I mean, Mary,' said he, rising, and speaking faster, 
 ' if you — if you would take charge of me altogether. 
 If you would have me, I would do all I could to make 
 you happy; and it would be such joy to my father, 
 and — ' (rather like an after-thought) ' to me.' 
 
 Her clear, sensible eyes were raised, and her colour 
 deepened ; but the confusion was on the gentleman's 
 side — she was too much amazed to feel embarrassment, 
 and there was a pause, till he added, ' I know better 
 than to think myself worthy of you ; but you will take 
 me in hand — and, indeed, Mary, there is no one whom 
 I like half so well.' 
 
 Poor Louis I was this his romantic and poetical 
 wooing ] 
 
 ' Stop, if you please, Louis I' exclaimed iMaiy. 
 ' This is so veiy strange I' And she seemed ready to 
 laugh. 
 
 ' And — what do you say, Mary V 
 
 ' I do not know. I cannot tell what I ought to 
 say,' she returned, rising. 'Will you let me go to 
 mamma V 
 
 She went; and Louis roamed about restlessly, till, 
 on the stairs, he encountered Mrs. Frost, who instantly 
 exclaimed, ' Why, my dear, what is the matter with 
 you V 
 
 ' I have been proposing to Mary,' said he, in a veiy 
 low murmur, hia eyes do^^^loast, but raised the next 
 moment, to see the effect, as if it had been a piece of 
 mischief. 
 
 'Well — proposing what V 
 
 ' Myself ;' most innocently whispered. 
 
 ' You ! — you I — Mary ! — And — ' Aunt Catharine 
 was scarcely able to speak, in the extremity of her 
 astonishment. ' You are not in earnest !' 
 
 ' She is gone to her mother,' said Louis, hanging 
 over the baluster, so as to look straight down into the 
 hall ; and both were silent, till Mrs. Frost exclaimed, 
 
170 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 'My dear, dear clukl, it is au excellent choice ! You 
 
 must be very happy with her !' 
 
 ' Yes, I found my father was bent on it.' 
 
 ' That was clear enough,' said his aunt, laughing, 
 
 but resuming a tone of some perplexity. ' Yet it takes 
 
 me by surprise : I had not guessed that you were 
 
 so much attracted.' 
 
 * I do like her better than any one. No one is so 
 thoroughly good ; no one is likely to make me so good, 
 nor my father so happy.' 
 
 There was some misgiving in Mrs. Frost's tone, as 
 she said, ' Dear Louis, you are acting on the best 
 of motives, but — ' 
 
 ' Don't, pray don't. Aunt Kitty,' cried Louis, rearing 
 himself for an instant to look her in the face, but again 
 throwing half his body over the rail, and speaking low. 
 ' I could not meet any one half so good, or whom I 
 know as well. I look up to her, and — yes — I do love 
 her heartily — T would not have done it otherwise. 
 I don't care for beauty and trash, and my father has 
 set his heart on it.' 
 
 ' Yes, but — ' she hesitated. ' My dear, I don't think it 
 safe to marry, because one's father has set his heart on it. ' 
 
 ' Indeed,' said Louis, straightening himself, ' I do 
 think I am giving myself the best chance of being 
 made rational and consistent. I never did so well as 
 when I was under her.' 
 
 * N — n — no-— but — ^ 
 
 * And think how my father will unbend in a home- 
 like home, where all should be made up to him,' he 
 continued, deep emotion swelling his voice. 
 
 ' My dear boy ! And you are sure of your own 
 feeling V 
 
 ' Quite sure. Why, I never saw any one,' said he, 
 smiling — * I never cared for any one half so much, ex- 
 cept you. Aunt Kitty; no, I didn't. Won't that do f 
 
 ' I know I should not have liked your grandpapa — 
 your uncle, I mean — to make such comparisons.' 
 
A HALTING PllOrOSAL. 171 
 
 ' Perhaps he had not got an Aunt Kitty,' said Louif'. 
 * No, no ! 1 can't have you so like a novel. No, don't be 
 anxious. It can't be for ever so long ; and, of course, 
 the more I am with her, the better I must like her. 
 It will be all right' 
 
 ' I don't think you know anything about it,' said 
 Mrs. Frost; * but there, that's the last I shall say. 
 You'll forgive your old aunt.' 
 
 He smiled, and playfully pressed her hand, adding, 
 'But we don't know whether she will have me.' 
 
 Mary had meantime entered her mother s room, with 
 a look that revealed the whole to Mrs, Ponsonby, who 
 had already been somewhat startled by the demeanour 
 of the father and son at breakfast. 
 
 ' Oh, mamma, what is to be done V 
 
 'What do you wish, my child?' asked her mother, 
 putting her arm round her waist. 
 
 ' I don't know yet,' .said Mary. ' It is so odd 1' 
 And the disposition to laugh returned for a moment. 
 
 * You were not at all prepared.' 
 
 ' Oh no ! He seems so young. And,' she added, 
 blushing, ' I cannot tell, but I should not have thought 
 his ways were like the kind of thing.' 
 
 ' Nor I, and the less since Clara has been here/ 
 
 ' Oh,' said Mary, without a shade on her calm, sincere 
 brow, ' he has Clara so much with him because he is 
 her only friend.' 
 
 The total absence of jealousy convinced Mi-s. Pon- 
 sonby that the heart could hardly have been deeply 
 touched; but Mary continued, in a slightly trembling 
 voice, ' I do not see why he should have done thLs, 
 unless — ' 
 
 ' Unless that his father wished it.' 
 
 ' Oh,' said Mary, somewhat disappointed, ' but how 
 could Lord Ormei-sfield possibly — ' 
 
 ' He has an exceeding dread of Louis's making as 
 great a mistake as he did,' said Mrs. Ponsonby ; ' and 
 perhaps he thinks you the best security/ 
 
172 DYNEYOE TERRACE. 
 
 ' And you think Louis only meant to please him V 
 
 ' My dear, I am afraid it may be so. Louis is very 
 fond of him, and easily led by a strong character.' 
 
 She pressed her daughter closer, and felt rather than 
 heard a little sigh ; but all that Mary said was, ' Then 
 I had better not think about it.' 
 
 ' Nay, my dear, tell me first what you think of 
 his manner.' 
 
 ' It was strange, and a little debonnaire, I think,' 
 said Mary, smiling, but tears gathering in her eyes. 
 ' He said I was too good for him. He said he would 
 make me happy, and that he and his father would be 
 very happy.' A great tear fell. ' Something about 
 not being worthy.' Mary shed a few more tears, 
 while her mother silently caressed her ; and, recover- 
 ing her composure, she firmly said, ' Yes, mamma, I 
 see it is not the real thing. It will be kinder to him 
 f o tell him to put it out of liis head.' 
 
 * And you, my dear V 
 
 ' Oh, mamma, you know you could not spare me.' 
 
 * If this were the real thing, dearest — ' 
 
 ' No,' whispered Mary j ' I could not leave you alone 
 with papa.' 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby went on as if she had not heard : 
 * As it is, I own I am i-elieved that you should not 
 wish to accept him. I cannot be sure it would be for 
 your happiness.' 
 
 * I do not think it would be right,' said Mary, as if 
 that were her strength. 
 
 ' He is a dear, noble fellow, and has the highest, 
 purest principles and feelings. I can't but love him 
 almost as if he were my own child : I never saw so much 
 sweetness and prettiness about any one, except his 
 mother ; and, oh ! how far superior he is to her ! But 
 then, he is boyish, he is weak — I am afraid he is 
 changeable.' 
 
 Not in his afiections,' said Mary, reproachfully. 
 
 ' No ; but in purposes. An impulse leads him he 
 does not know where ; and now, I think, he is acting 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL. 173 
 
 on excellent motives, without knowing what he is 
 doing. There's no security that he might not meet 
 the person who — ' 
 
 * Oh, mamma!' 
 
 ' He would strive against temptation, l3ut we hdve 
 no right to expose him to it. To accept him now, it 
 seems to me, would be taking too much advantage of 
 his having been left so long to our mercy ; and it 
 might be, that he would become restless and discon- 
 tented, find out that he had not chosen for himself — 
 regret — and have his tone of mind lowered — ' 
 
 ' Oh, stop, mamma ; I would not let it be, on any 
 account.' 
 
 ' 'So, my dear, I could not part with you where we 
 were not sure the * real thing' was felt for you. If he 
 had been strongly bent on it, he would have conducted 
 matters differently; but he knows no better.' 
 
 * You and I don't part,' said Maiy. 
 
 Neither spoke till she renewed her first question, 
 * What is to be done V 
 
 ' Shall I go and speak to him, my dear V 
 
 ' Perhaps I had better, if you will come with me.' 
 Then, hesitating — 'I will go to my room for a moment, 
 and then I shall be able to do it more steadily.' 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby's thoughts were anxious during the 
 five minutes of Mai'y's absence; but she returned com- 
 posed, according to her promise, whatever might be 
 the throbbings beneath. As Mrs. Ponsonby opened 
 the door, she saw Louis and his aunt together, and 
 was almost amused at their conscious start, the youth- 
 ful speed with which the one darted into the further 
 end of the corridor, and the undignified haste with 
 which the other hopped down stairs. 
 
 By the time they reached the drawing-room, he had 
 recovered himself so as to come forward in a very 
 suitable, simple manner ; and Mary said, at once, 
 ' Louis, thank you ; but we think it would be better 
 not — ' 
 
 ' Not !' exclaimed Fitzjocelyn, 
 
174 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' Not,' repeated Mary ; ' I do not think there is that 
 between lis which would make it right.' 
 
 * There would be !' cried Louis, gaining ardour by 
 the difficulty, ' if you would only try. Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby, tell her we would make her happy.' 
 
 ' You would try,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, kindly; 'but 
 I think she is right. Indeed, Louis, you must forgive 
 me for saying that you are hardly old enough to make 
 up your mind — ' 
 
 ' Madison is younger,' said Louis, boyishly enough 
 to make her smile, but earnestly proceeding, ' Won't 
 you try me ? Will you not say that if I can be steady 
 and persevering — ' 
 
 ' No,' said Mrs. Ponsonby ; ' it would not be fair 
 towards either of you to make any conditions.' 
 
 ' But if without them, I should do better — Mary, 
 will you say nothing Y 
 
 ' We had better not think of it,' said Mary, her eyes 
 on the ground, 
 
 * Why ? is it that I am too foolish, too unworthy V 
 She made a great effort. ' Not that, Louis. Do not 
 
 ask any more ; it is better not ; you have done as 
 your father wished — now let us be as we were before.' 
 ' My father will be very much disappointed,' said 
 Louis, with chagrin. 
 
 * I will take care of your father,' said Mi-s. Pon- 
 sonby ; and as Mary took the moment for escaping, 
 she proceeded to say some affectionate words of her 
 own tender feeling towards Louis ; to which he only 
 replied by saying, sadly, and with some mortification, 
 ' Never mind ; I know it is quite right. I am not 
 w^orthy of her.' 
 
 ' That is not the point ; but I do not think you 
 understand your own feelings, or how far you were 
 actuated by the wish to gratify your father.' 
 
 ' I assure you,' cried Louis, * you do not guess how 
 I look up to Mary ; her unfailing kindness, her enter- 
 ing into all my nonsense — her firm, sound judgment, 
 that would keep me right — and all she did for me when 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL. 175 
 
 I was l^id up. Oil ! why cannot you believe how dear 
 she is to nie V 
 
 ' IIoiv dear is just what I do believe ; but still this 
 is not enough.' 
 
 * Just what Aunt Kitty says,' said Louis, perplexed, 
 yet amused at his own perplexity. 
 
 * You will know better by-and-by,' she answered, 
 smiling : ' in the mean time, believe that you are our 
 very dear cousin, as ever.' And she shook hands with 
 him, detecting in his answering smile a little relief, 
 although a great deal of disappointment. 
 
 Mary had taken refuge in her room, where a great 
 shower of tears would have their course, though she 
 scolded herself all the time. ' Have done ! have done ! 
 It is best as it is. He does not really wish it, 
 and I could not leave mamma. We will never 
 think of it again, and we will be as happy as we were 
 before.' 
 
 Her mother, meanwhile, was waiting below-stairs, 
 thinking that she should spare Louis something, by 
 taking the initiative in speaking to his father ; and 
 she was sorry to see the alacrity with which the Earl 
 came up to her, with a congratulatory ' Well, Mary 1' 
 She could hardly make him comprehend the real state 
 of the case ; and then his resignation was far more 
 trying than that of the party chiefly concerned. Her 
 praise of Fitzjocelyn had little power to comfort. ' I 
 see how it is,' he said, calmly : ' do not try to explain 
 it away ; I acquiesce — I have no doubt you acted 
 wisely for your daughter.' 
 
 ' Nothing would have delighted me more, if he were 
 but a few years older.' 
 
 ' You need not tell me the poor boy's failings,' said 
 his father, sadly. 
 
 * It is on account of no failing ; but would it not be 
 a great mistake to risk their happiness to fulfil our 
 own scheme V 
 
 ' I hoped to secure their hap])iness.' 
 
 ' Ay, but is there not something too capricious to 
 
176 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 find happiness without its own free will and ^choice ? 
 Did you never hear of the heart Y 
 
 ' Oh ! if she be attached elsewhere' — and he seemed 
 so much relieved, that Mrs. Ponsonby was sorry to 
 be obliged to contradict him in haste, and explain 
 that she did not believe Fitzjocelyn's heart to be yet 
 developed ; whereupon he was again greatly vexed. 
 ' So he has offered himself without attachment. I beg 
 your pardon, Mary ; I am sorry your daughter should 
 have been so treated.' 
 
 ' Do not misunderstand me. He is strangely youth- 
 ful and simple, bent on pleasing you, and fancying his 
 warm, brotherly feeling to be what you desire.' 
 
 * It would be the safest foundation.' 
 
 ' Yes, if he were ten years older, and had seen the 
 world ; but in these things he is like a child, and it 
 would be dangerous to influence him. Do not take it 
 to heart ; you ought to be contented, for I saw nothing 
 so plainly as that he loves nobody half so well as you. 
 Only be patient with him.' 
 
 * You are the same Mary as ever,' he said, softened ; 
 and she left him, hoping that she had secured a 
 favourable audience for his son, who soon appeared at 
 the window, somewhat like a culprit. 
 
 ' I could not help it !' he said. 
 
 * No ; but you may set a noble aim before you — 
 you may render yourself worthy of her esteem and 
 confidence, and in so doing you will fulfil my fondest 
 hopes.' 
 
 ' I asked her to try me, but they would make no 
 conditions. I am soriy this could not be, since you 
 Avished it.' 
 
 * If you are not sorry on your own account, there 
 are no regrets to be wasted on mine.' 
 
 * Candidly, father,' said Louis, ' much as I like her, 
 I cannot be sorry to keep my youth and liberty a little 
 longer.' 
 
 ' Then you should never have entered on the sub- 
 ject at all,' said Lord Ormersfield, beginning to write 
 
A HALTING PROPOSAL. 177 
 
 a letter ; and poor Louis, in his praiseworthy effort not 
 to be reserved with him, found he had been confessing 
 that he had not only been again making a fool of him- 
 self, but, what was less frequent and less pardonable, of 
 his father likewise. He limped out at the window, 
 and was presently found by his great-aunt, reading 
 what he called a raving novel, to see how he ought to 
 have done it. She shook her head at him, and told 
 him that he was not even decently concerned. 
 
 ' Indeed I am,' he replied. ' I wished my father to 
 have had some peace of mind about me, and it does not 
 flatter one's vanity.' 
 
 Dear, soft-hearted Aunt Kitty, with all her stores 
 of comfort ready prepared, and unable to forgive, or 
 even credit, the rejection of her Louis, without a 
 prior attachment, gave a hint that this might be his 
 consolation. He caus^ht eagjerly at the idea. ' I had 
 never once thought of that ! It can't be any Spaniard 
 out in Peru — she has too much sense. What are you 
 looking so funny about ? What ! is it nearer home ? 
 That's it, then ! Famous ! It would be a capital ar- 
 rangement, if that terrible old father is conformable. 
 What an escape I have had of him ! I am sure it is 
 a most natural and proper preference — ' 
 
 ' Stop ! stop, Louis ; you are going too fast. I know 
 nothing. Don't say a word to Jem, on any account : 
 indeed, you must not. It is all going on very well 
 now ; but the least notion that he was observed, or 
 that it was his Uncle Oliver s particular wish, and there 
 would be an end of it.' 
 
 She was just wise enough to keep back the wishes 
 of the other vizier ; but she had said enough to set 
 Louis quite at his ease, and put him in the higliest 
 spirits. He seemed to have taken out a new lease of 
 boyishness, and, though constrained before Mary, 
 laughed, talked, and played pranks, so as unconsciously 
 to fret his father exceedingly. 
 
 Clara's alert wits perceived that so many private 
 interviews had some siguiiication ; and Mrs. Frost 
 
 VOL. I. N 
 
178 . DYNEYOU TERHACE. 
 
 found her talking it over witli licr brother, and con- 
 jecturing so much, that gi-anny thought it best to 
 supply the key, thinking, perha])S, that a little jealousy 
 Avould do Jem no harm. But the effect on him was to 
 produce a fit of hearty laughter, as he remembered 
 poor Lord Ormersfield's unaccountable urbanity and 
 suppressed exultation in the morning's ride. ' I ho- 
 nour the Ponsonbys,' he said, ' for not choosing to 
 second his lordship's endeavours to tyrannize over 
 that poor fellow, body and soul. Poor Louis ! he is 
 fabulously dutiful.' 
 
 But Clara, recovering from her first stupor of wonder, 
 began scolding him for presuming to laugh at anything 
 so cruel to Louis. It was not the part of a friend ! 
 And with tears of indignation and symi)athy starting 
 from her eyes, she was pathetically certain that, though 
 granny and Jem were so unfeeling as to laugh, his 
 high spirits were only assumed to hide his sniftering. 
 ' Poor Louis ! what had he not said to her about Mary 
 last nisfht ! Now she knew what he meant ! And as 
 to iMary, she was glad she had never liked her; she 
 had no patience with her : of course, she was far too 
 prosy and stupid to care for anything like Louis ; it 
 was a great escape for him. It would serve her right 
 to marry a horrid little crooked clerk in her father's 
 office ; and poor dear, dear Louis must get over it, and 
 have the most beautiful wife in the world. Don't you 
 remember, Jem, the lady with the splendid dark eyes 
 on the platform at Euston Square, when you so nearly 
 made us miss the train, with the brow that you said — ' 
 
 * Hush, Clara ; don't talk nonsense.' 
 
CHILDE EOLAyD. 179 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 CHILDE ROLAND. 
 
 A house there is, and that's enough, 
 
 From whence one fatal morning issues 
 
 A brace of warriors, not in buff, 
 
 But rustling in their silks and tissues. 
 
 The heroines undertook the task ; 
 
 Thro' lanes unknown, o'er stiles they ventured, — - 
 
 Rapped at the door, nor stayed to ask. 
 
 But bounce into the parlour entered. 
 
 Gray's Long Story. 
 
 ' ]^0 carmine ? Nor scarlet lake in powder?' 
 IM ' Could procure some, my Lord.' 
 
 ' Thank you, the actinia would not live. I must 
 take what I can find. A lump of gamboge — ' 
 
 'If you stay much longer, he will not retain his 
 senses,' muttered James Frost, who was leaning back- 
 wards against the counter, where the bewildered book- 
 seller of the little coast-town of Bickleypool was 
 bustling, in the vain endeavour to understand and fultil 
 the demands of that perplexing customer. Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn. 
 
 ' Some drawing-paper. This is hardly absorbent 
 enough. If you have any block sketch-books ? — ' 
 
 ' Could procure some, my Lord.' 
 
 James looked at his watch, while the man dived 
 into his innermost recesses. ' The tide !' he said. 
 
 ' Never mind ; we shall only stick in the mud.' 
 
 ' How could you expect to find anything here 1 A 
 half-crown paint-box is their wildest dream.' 
 
 ' Keep quiet, Jem ; go and look out some of those 
 library books, like a wise man.' 
 
 ' A wise man would be at a loss here,' said James, 
 
 ^-2 
 
ISO DTN'EVOR TERRACE. 
 
 casting his eye along the battered purple backs of the 
 circulating-library books. 
 
 ' Wisdom won't condescend ! Ah ! thank you ; 
 this will do nicely. Those colonic — yes; and the 
 Sea-side Book. I'll choose one or two. What is most 
 popular here f 
 
 James began to whistle ; but Louis, taking up a 
 volume, became engrossed beyond the power of hints, 
 and hardly stepped aside to make way for some ladies 
 who entered the shop. A peremptory touch of the 
 arm at length roused him, and holding up the book to 
 the shopman, he put it into his pocket, seized his 
 ash-stick, put his arm into his cousin's, and hastened 
 into the street. 
 
 ' Did you ever see — ' began Jem. 
 
 ' Most striking. I did not know you had met with 
 her. What an idea — the false self conjuring up 
 phantoms — ' 
 
 ' What are you talking of 1 Did you not see her T 
 
 ' Elizabeth Barrett. Was she there T 
 
 * Is that her name 1 Do you know her V 
 
 '■ I had heard of her, but never — ' 
 
 ' How % — where ? W^ho is she ?' 
 
 ' I only saw her name in the title-page.' 
 
 ' What's all this % You did not see her f 
 
 ' Who ? Did not some ladies come into the shop f 
 
 ' Some ladies ! Is it possible % Why, I touched you 
 to make you look. 
 
 ' I thought it was your frenzy about the tide. 
 A'VHiat now ? — ' 
 
 James made a gesture of despair. ' The loveliest 
 creature I ever saw. You may see her yet, as she 
 comes out. Come back !' 
 
 'Don't be so absurd,' said Fitzjocelyn, laughing, 
 and, with instinctive dislike of staring, resisting his 
 cousin's effort to wheel him round. * What, you v/ill?' 
 withdra\ving his arm. ' I shall i:>ut off without you, if 
 you don't take care.' 
 
 And, laughing, he watched Jem hurry up the sloping 
 
CniLDE llOLAND. ISl 
 
 street and turn the comer, then turned to pursue his 
 own way, his steps much less lame and his looks far 
 more healthful than they had been a month before. 
 He reached the quay — narrow, slippery, and fishy, 
 but not without beauty, as the green water lapped 
 against the hewn stones, and rocked the little boats 
 moored in the "wide bay, sheltered by a richly-wooded 
 promontory. ^ Jem in a fit of romance ! Well, whose 
 fault will it be if we miss the tide ? I'll sit in the 
 boat, and read that poem again. — Oh ! here he comes, 
 out of breath. Wei], Jem, did the heroine drop 
 glove or handkerchief ? Or, on a second Yiew, was she 
 minus an eye V 
 
 ' You were,' said James, hurrying breathlessly to 
 unmoor the boat. 
 
 ' Let me row,' said Louis ; ' your breath and senses 
 are both lost in the fair vision.' 
 
 * It is of no use to talk to you — ^ 
 
 * I shall ask no questions till we are out of the 
 harbour, or you will be running foul of one of those 
 colliers — a tribute with which the Fair Unknown may 
 dispense.' 
 
 The numerous black colliers and lighters showed 
 that precautions were needful till they had pushed out 
 far enough to make the little fishy town look graceful 
 and romantic ; and the tide was ebbing so fast, that 
 Louis deemed it prudent to spend his strength on 
 rowing rather than on talking. 
 
 James fii-st broke silence by exclaiming — ' Do you 
 know where Beauchastel is ?' 
 
 ' On the other side of the promontory. Don't you 
 remember the spire rising among the trees, as we see 
 it from the water V 
 
 ' That church must be worth seeing. I declare I'll 
 go there next Sunday.' 
 
 Another silence, and Louis said — ' I am curious to 
 know whether you saw her.' 
 
 * She was getting into the caiTiaiije as I turned the 
 corner ; so I went back and asked Bull who they were.' 
 
1S2 DYNEVOll TEllRACE. 
 
 * I hope she was the greengrocer's third cousin.* 
 
 * Pshaw ! I tell you it was Mrs. Mansell and her 
 visitors.' 
 
 * Oho ! No wonder Beaucliastel architecture is so 
 grand. What an impudent fellow you are, Jem!' 
 
 ' The odd thing is,' said James, a little ashamed of 
 Louis having put Mansell and Beaucliastel together, 
 as he had not intended, ' that it seems they asked Bull 
 who we were. I thought one old lady was staring 
 hard at you, as if she meant to claim acquaintance; 
 but you shot out of the shop like a sky-rocket.' 
 
 ' Luckily there's no danger of that. No one will 
 come to molest us here." 
 
 ' Depend on it, they are meditating a descent on his 
 lordship.' 
 
 * You shall appear in my name, then.' 
 
 ' Too like a bad novel : besides, you don't look re- 
 spectable enough for my tutor. And, now I think 
 of it, no doubt she was asking Bull how he came 
 to let such a disreputable old shooting-jacket into his 
 shop.' 
 
 The young men worked up an absurd romance be- 
 tween them, as merrily they crossed the estuary, and 
 rowed up a narrow creek, with a whitewashed village 
 on one side, and on the other a solitary house, the 
 garden sloping to the water, and very nautical — the 
 vane, a union-jack waved by a brilliant little sailor on 
 the top of a mast, and the arbour, half a boat set on 
 end; whence, as James steered up to the stone steps 
 that were one by one appearing, there emerged an old, 
 grizzly, weather-beaten sailor, who took his pipe from 
 his mouth, and caught hold of the boat. 
 
 ' Tliank you, Captain!' cried Fitzjocelyn. 'I've 
 brought home the boat safe, you see, by my own 
 superhuman exertions — no thanks to Mr. Frost, 
 there !' 
 
 ' That's his way. Captain,' retorted Jem, leaping out, 
 and helping his cousin : ' you may thank me for getting 
 him home at all ! But for me, he would have his back 
 
CillLDE llOLAXD. 1S3 
 
 against tlie counter, and liis head in a book, this very 
 moment.' 
 
 * Ask him what he was after,' returned Louis. 
 
 ' Which of us d'ye think most likely to lag, Cap- 
 tain Hannaford V cried Jem, preventing the question. 
 ' Which would you choose to have on board V 
 
 * Ye'd both of ye make more mischief than work,' 
 said the old seaman, who had been looking from one 
 to the other of the young men, as if they were per- 
 forming a comedy for his special diversion. 
 
 ' So you would not enter us on board the Eliza 
 Priscilla T cried Louis. 
 
 ' No, no,' said the old man, shrewdly, and wdth an 
 air of holding something back ; whereupon they both 
 pressed him, and obtained for answer, 'No, no; I 
 wouldn't sail with you' — signing towards Fitzjocelyn 
 — ' in my crew : ye'd be more trouble than ye're worth. 
 And as to you, sir, if I wouldn't sail vntli ye, I'd like 
 still less to sail under you.' 
 
 He finished with a droll, deprecating glance, and 
 Louis laughed heartily; but James was silent, and as 
 soon as they had entered the little parlour, declared 
 that it would not do to encourage that old skipper — 
 he was waylaying them like the Ancient Mariner, and 
 was actiially growing impudent. 
 
 * An old man's opinion of two youngsters is not what 
 / call impudence,' began Louis, with an em2)hasis that 
 made Jem divert his attack. 
 
 Those two cousins had never spent a happier month 
 than in these small lodgings, built by the old retired 
 merchant-seaman evidently on the model of that pride 
 of his heart, the Eliza Priscilla, his little coasting 
 trader, now the charge of his only sui'\'iving son; for 
 this was a family where drowning was like a natural 
 death, and old Captain Hannaford looked on the pro- 
 bability of sleeping in Ebbscreek churchyard, much 
 as Bayard did at the prospect of dying in his bed. His 
 old deaf wife kept the little cabin-like rooms most 
 exquisitely neat; and the twelve-yeai-s-old PrisciUa, 
 
184 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 the orphan of one of the lost sons, waited on the gen- 
 tlemen with an old-fashioned, womanly deportment 
 and staid countenance that, in the absence of all other 
 grounds of distress, Louis declared was quite a pain to 
 him. 
 
 The novelty of the place, the alxsence of restraint, 
 the easy life, and, above all, the freshness of returning 
 health, rendered his spirits exceedingly high, and 
 lie had never been more light-hearted and full of 
 mirth. James, elated at his rapid improvement, w^as 
 scarcely less full of liveliness and frolic, enjoying to 
 the utmost the holiday, which perhaps both secretly 
 felt might be the farewell to the perfect carelessness of 
 boyish relaxation. Bathing, boating, fishing, dabbling, 
 were the order of the day, and withal just enough 
 quarrelling and teasing to add a little spice to their 
 pleasures. Louis was over head and ears in maritime 
 natural liistory ; but Jem, backed by Mrs. Haunaford, 
 prohibited his ' messes' from making a permanent settle- 
 ment in the parlour ; though festoons of sea-weed 
 trellised the porch, ammonites heaped the grass-plat, 
 tubs of sea-water flanked the approach to the front 
 door; and more than one bowl, with inmates of a 
 suspicious nature, was often deposited even on the 
 parlour table. 
 
 On the afternoon following the expedition to Bick- 
 leypool, Louis was seated, with an earthenware pan 
 before him, coaxing an actinia with raw beef to expand 
 her blossom, to be copied for Miss Faithfull. Another 
 l)Owl stood near, containing some featliery serpulas ; and 
 the weeds were heaped on the locker of the window 
 behind him, and on the back of the chair which sup- 
 ported his lame foot. The third and only remaining 
 chair accommodated James, with a book placed on the 
 table ; and a semicircle swept round it, within which 
 nothing marine might extend. 
 
 Louis was by turns dra^ving, enticing his refractory 
 sitter, exhorting her to bloom, and complimenting her 
 delicate beauty, until James, with a groan, exclaimed, 
 
CniLDE EOLAXD. 185 
 
 'Is silence impossible to you, Fitzjocelyn? I would go 
 into the garden, but that I should be beset by the in- 
 tolerable old skipper !' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon — I thought you never heard nor 
 heeded me.' 
 
 ' I don't in general, but this requires attention ; and 
 it is past all bearing to hear how you go on to that 
 jelly r 
 
 * Read aloud, then : it will answer two purposes. 
 
 ' This is Divinity — Hooker,' said James, sighing 
 wearily. 
 
 'So much the better. I read some once; I wish 
 I had been obliged to go on.' 
 
 'You are the oddest fellow! — After all, I believe 
 you have a craving after my profession.' 
 
 ' Is that a discovery ?' said Louis, washing the colour 
 out of his brush. ' The only person I envy is a country 
 curate — except a town one.' 
 
 ' Don't talk like affectation !' growled James. 
 
 ' Do you know, Jem,' said Louis, leaning back, and 
 drawing the brush between his lips, ' I am persuaded 
 that something will turn up to prevent it from being 
 your profession.' 
 
 ' Your persuasions are wrong, then !' 
 
 ' That fabulous uncle in the Indies — ' 
 
 ' You know I am determined to accept nothing 
 from my uncle, were he to lay it at my feet — which he 
 never will.' 
 
 ' Literally or metaphorically V asked Louis, softly. 
 
 ' Pshaw 1' 
 
 ' You Dynevors don't resemble my sea-pink. See 
 liow she stretches her elegant fringes for this very un- 
 pleasant bit of meat! There! I won't torment you 
 any more ; read, and stop my mouth !' 
 
 * You are in earnest V 
 
 ' You seem to think that if a man cannot be a 
 clergyman, he is not to be a Christian.' 
 
 ' Then don't break in with your actinias and stuflf 1' 
 ' Certainly not,' said Louis, gravely. 
 
186 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 The first interruption came from James himselt. 
 Leaping to his feet with a sudden bound, he exclaimed, 
 ' There they are !' and stood transfixed in a gaze of 
 ecstasy. 
 
 ' You have made me smudge my lake,' said Louis, 
 in the mild tone of ' Diamond, Diamond!' 
 
 ' I tell you, there they are !' cried James, rushing 
 into wild activity. 
 
 ' One would think it the Fair Unknown,' said Louis, 
 not troubling himself to look round, nor desisting from 
 washing out his smudge. 
 
 'It is ! it is ! — it is all of them ! Here they come, 1 
 tell you, and the place is a very merman's cave !' 
 
 ' Take care — the serpula — don't !' as James hur- 
 riedly opened the door leading to the stairs — disposed 
 of the raw meat on one step and the serpulas on an- 
 other, and hurled after them the heap of sea-weed, all 
 but one trailing festoon of ' Luckie Minnie's lines,' 
 which, while his back was turned, Louis by one dex- 
 terous motion wreathed round the crown of his straw 
 hat ; otherwise never stirring, but washing quietly on, 
 until he rose as little Priscilla opened the door, and 
 stood aside, mutely overawed at the stream of flounced 
 ladies that flowed past, and seemed to fill up the entire 
 room. It was almost a surprise to find that, after all, 
 there were only three of them ! 
 
 ' I knew I was not mistaken,' said a very engaging, 
 affectionate voice. ' It is quite shocking to have to 
 introduce myself to you — Lady Conway — ' 
 
 ' My aunt !' cried Louis, with eager delight — ' and 
 my cousin !' he added, turning with a slight blush to- 
 wards the maiden, whom he felt, rather than saw, to 
 be the worthy object of yesterday's rapture. 
 
 ' Not quite,' she answered, not avoiding the grasp of 
 his hand, but returning it with calm, distant polite- 
 ness. 
 
 * Not quite,' repeated Lady Conway. ' Your real 
 cousins are no fai-ther off than Beauchastel — ' 
 
 * Where you must come and see them,' added the 
 
CHILDE ROLAND. 187 
 
 third lady — a portly, cordial, goodnatiired dame, whom 
 Lady Conway introduced as j\[rs. Mansell, who had 
 known his mother well; and Louis making a kind of 
 presentation of his cousin James, the two elder ladies 
 were located on two of the chairs : the younger one, as 
 if trying to be out of the way, placed herself on the 
 locker. Jem stood leaning on the back of the other 
 chair; and Louis stood over his aunt, in an ecstasy at 
 the meeting — at the kind, warm manner and pleasant 
 face of his aunt — and above all, at the indescribable 
 l^leasure imparted by the mere presence of the beauti- 
 ful girl, though he hardly dared even to look at her; 
 and she was the only person whose voice was silent in 
 the chorus of congratulation, on the wonderful chance 
 that had brought the aunt and nephew together. The 
 one had been a fortnight at Beauchastel, the other a 
 month at Ebbscreek, without guessing at each other's 
 neighbourhood, until Lady Conway's attention had 
 been attracted at the library by Louis's remarkable 
 resemblance to her sister, and making inquiries, she 
 had learnt that he was no other than Lord JFitzjocelyn. 
 She was enchanted with the likeness, declaring that all 
 she wished was to see him look less delicate, and 
 adding her entreaties to those of Mrs. IMansell, that 
 the two young men would come at once to Beauchasteh 
 
 Louis looked with wistful doubt at James, who, 
 he knew, could not brook going to fine places in the 
 character of tutor; but, to his surprise and pleasure, 
 James was willing and eager, and made no demur, 
 except that Fitzjocelyn could not walk so far, and the 
 boat was gone out. Mrs. Mansell then proposed the 
 ensuing Monday, when, she said, she and Mr. Mansell 
 should be delighted to have them to meet a party of 
 shooting gentlemen — of course they were sportsmen. 
 Louis answered at once for James; but for himself, he 
 could not walk, nor even ride the ofiered shooting- 
 pony; and thereupon ensued more minute questions 
 wdiether his ankle were still painful. 
 
 ' Not more than so as to be a useful barometer. I 
 
18S DYXEYOR TEHRACE. 
 
 Lave been testing it by tlie sea- weeds. If I am good 
 for nothing else, I shall be a walking weather-glass, as 
 well as a standing warning against man-traps.' 
 
 ' You don't mean that you fell into a man-trap 1' 
 exclaimed Mrs. Mansell, in horror. ' That will be a 
 warning for Mr. Mansell ! I have such a dread of the 
 frightful things!' 
 
 * A trap ingeniously set by myself,' said Louis. ^ I 
 was only too glad no poor poacher fell into it.' 
 
 ' Your father told me that it was a fall down a steep 
 bank,' exclaimed Lady Conway. 
 
 'Exactly so; but I suppose he thought it for my 
 credit to conceal that my trap consisted of a flight of 
 stone steps, very solid and permanent, with the trifling 
 exception of cement.' 
 
 ' If the truth were known,' said James, ' I believe 
 that a certain scamp of a boy was at the bottom of 
 those steps.' 
 
 ' I'm the last person to deny it,' said Louis, quietly, 
 though not without rising colour ; ' there was a scamp 
 of a boy at the bottom of the steps, and very un- 
 pleasant he found it — though not without the best 
 consequences, and among them the present — ' And 
 he turned to Lady Conway with a pretty mixture of 
 gracefulness and affection, enough to win the heart of 
 any aunt. 
 
 Mrs. Mansell presently fell into raptures at the sight 
 of the drawing materials, which must, she was sure, 
 delight Isabel ; but she was rather discomfited by the 
 sight of the ' subject,' — called it an odious creature, 
 then good-humouredly laughed at herself, but would 
 not sit down again, evidently wishing to escape from 
 close quarters with such monsters. Lady Conway like- 
 wise rose, and looked into the basin, exclaiming, in her 
 turn, ' Ah ! I see you understand these things ! Yes, 
 they are very interesting! Virginia will be delighted; 
 she has been beixging me for an aquarium wherever 
 we go. You must tell her how to manage it. Look, 
 Isabel; would not she be in ecstasies?' 
 
CHILDE EOLAND. 189 
 
 Miss Conway looked, but did not seem to partake 
 in the admiration. ' I am perverse enough never to 
 like what is the fashion,' she said. 
 
 * I tried to disgust Fitzjoceljn with his pets on that 
 very ground,' said James ; ' but their charms were too 
 strong for him.' 
 
 ' Fashion is the very testimony to them,' said Louis. 
 * I think I could convince you.' 
 
 He would perhaps have produced his lovely serpula 
 blossoms : but he was forced to pass on to his aunt and 
 Mrs. Mansell, who had found something safer for their 
 admiration, in the shape of a great Cornu amnwnis in 
 the garden. 
 
 ' He can throw himself into any pursuit/ said James, 
 as he paused at the door with Miss Conway; but sud- 
 denly becoming aware of the slimy entanglement round 
 his hat, he exclaimed, * Absurd fellow !' and jmlled it 
 off rather petulantly, adding, with a little constraint, 
 ' Recovery does put people into mad spirits! I fancy 
 the honest folks here look on in amaze.' 
 
 Miss Conway gave a very pretty smile of sympathy 
 and consolation, that shone like a sunbeam on her 
 beautiful pensive features and dark, soft eyes. Then 
 she began to admire the view, as they stood on the turf, 
 beside Captain Hannaford's two small cannon, over- 
 looking; the water towards Bickleypool, with a jijurple 
 hill rising behind it. A yacht was sailing into the 
 harbour, and James ran in-doors to fetch a spy-glass, 
 while Lady Conway seized the occasion of asking her 
 nephew his tutor's name. 
 
 Louis, who had fancied she must necessarily un- 
 derstand all his kindred, was glad to guard against 
 shocks to Jem's sensitive pride, and eagerly explained 
 the disproportion between his birth and fortune, and 
 his gallant efforts to relieve his grandmother from 
 her burthens. He was pleased to find that he had 
 touched all his auditoi*s, and to hear kind-hearted 
 Mrs. Mansell repeat her special invitation to Mr. Frost 
 Dynevor with double cordiality. 
 
190 DYNEVOR TEEllACE. 
 
 ' If you must play practical jokes,' said James, as 
 they watched the carriage drive off, ' I wish you would 
 choose better moments for them.' 
 
 ' I thought you would be more in character as a 
 merman brave,' said Louis. 
 
 ' I wonder what character you thought you appeared 
 in!' 
 
 ' I never meant you to discover it while they were 
 here, nor would you, if you were not so careful of your 
 complexion. Come, throw it at my head now, as you 
 would have done naturally, and we shall have fair 
 weather again !' 
 
 ' I am only concerned at the impression you have 
 made.' 
 
 ' Too late now, is it 1 You don't mean to be bad 
 company for the rest of the day. It is too bad, after 
 such a presence as has been here. She is a poem in 
 herself. It is like a vision to see her move in that 
 calm, gliding way. Such eyes, so deep, so tranquil, 
 revealing the sphere apart where she dwells ! An 
 ideal! How can you be savage after sitting in the 
 same room, and hearing that sweet, low voice?' 
 
 Meantime the young lady sat back in the carriage, 
 dreamily hearing, and sometimes answering, the con- 
 versation of her two elders, as they returned through 
 pretty forest-drives into the park of Beauchastel, and 
 up to the handsome, well-kept house; where, after 
 a few words from Mrs. Mansell, she ascended the 
 stairs. 
 
 'Isabel!' cried a bright voice, and a girl of fourteen 
 came skaiting along the polished oak corridor. ' Come 
 and have some tea in the school-room, and tell us your 
 adventures!' And so saying, she dragged the dignified 
 Isabel into an old-fashioned sitting-room, where a little 
 pale child, two years younger, sprang up, and, with a 
 cry of joy, clung round the elder sister. 
 
 * My wliite bind- weed,' said Isabel, fondly caressing 
 her, ' have you been out on the pony V 
 
 ' Oh ! yes 3 we wanted only you. Sit down there.' 
 
CHILDE EOLAND. 191 
 
 And as Isabel obeyed, the little Louisa placed herself 
 on her lap, with one arm round her neck, and looked 
 with proud glee at the kind, sensible-faced governess 
 who was pouring out the tea. 
 
 ' The reconnoitring party !' eagerly cried Virginia. 
 * Did you find the cousin V 
 - ' Yes, we did.' 
 
 'Oh! Then what is he like r 
 
 ' You will see when he comes on Monday.' 
 
 ' Coming — oh! And is he so very handsome?' 
 
 ' I can see how pretty a woman your Aunt Louisa 
 must have been.' 
 
 ' News !' laughed Virginia ; ' when mamma is always 
 preaching to me to be like her !' 
 
 ' Is he goodnatured?' asked Louisa. 
 
 ' I liad not full means of judging,' said Isabel, more 
 thoughtfully than seemed justified by the childish 
 question. ' His cousin is coming too,' she added; ' ^h\ 
 Frost Dynevor.' 
 
 ' Another cousin!' exclaimed Virginia. 
 
 * Ko ; a relation of Lord Ormerstield — a person to be 
 much respected. He is heir to a lost estate, and of a 
 very grand old family. Lord Fitzjocelyn says that he 
 is exerting himself to the very utmost for his grand- 
 mother and orphan sister; denying himself everything. 
 He is to be a clergyman. There was a book of divinity 
 open on the table.' 
 
 ' He must be very good !' said Louisa, in a low, im- 
 pressed voice, and fondling her sister's hand. ' Will he 
 be as good as Sir Roland?' 
 
 ' Oh ! I am glad he is coming !' cried Virginia. ' We 
 have so wished to see somebody very good !' 
 
 A bell rang — a signal that Lady Conway would be 
 in her room, where she liked her two girls to come to 
 her while she was dressing. Louisa reluctantly de- 
 tached herself from her sister, and Virginia lingered to 
 say, ' Dress quickly, please, please, Isabel. I know 
 there is a new bit of Sir Koland done ! Oh ! I hope 
 Mr. Dynevor is like him l' 
 
192 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 * Not quite,' said Isabel, smiling as they ran away. 
 *Poor children, I am afraid they will be disappointed; 
 but long may their craving be to see ' somebody very 
 good !' ' 
 
 ' I am very glad they should meet any one answering 
 the description,' said the governess. * I don't gather 
 that you are much deliglited with the object of the 
 expedition.' 
 
 ' A pretty boy — very pretty. It quite explains all 
 I have ever heard of his mother.' 
 
 * As you told the children.' 
 
 ' More than I told the children. Their aunt never 
 by description seemed to me my ideal, as you know. I 
 would rather have seen a likeness to Lord Ormersfield, 
 who — though I don't like him — has something striking 
 in the curt, dry, melancholy dignity of his manner.' 
 
 ' And how has Lord Fitzjocelyn displeased you?' 
 
 ' Perhaps there is no harm in him — he may not have 
 character enough for that; but talk, attitudes, every- 
 thing betrays that he is used to be worshipped — takes 
 it as a matter of course, and believes nothing so inte- 
 resting as himself.' 
 
 'Don't you think you may have gone with your 
 mind made up?' 
 
 * If you mean that I thought myself uncalled for, 
 and heartily detested the expedition, you are right; 
 but I saw what I did not expect.' 
 
 'Was it very bad?' 
 
 ' A very idle practical joke, such as I dislike parti- 
 cularly. A quantity of wet sea-weed wound round 
 Mr. Dynevor's hat.' 
 
 Miss King laughed. ' Really, my dear, I don't think 
 you know what young men like from each other.' 
 
 ' ]Mr. Dynevor did not like it,' said Isabel, ' though 
 he tried to pass it off lightly as the spirits of recovery. 
 Those spirits — I am afraid he has too much to suffer 
 from them. There is something so ungenerous in prac- 
 tical wit, especially from a prosj^erous man to one un- 
 prosperous !' 
 
CHILDE ROLAND. 193 
 
 'Well, Isabel, I won't contradict, but I should ima- 
 gine that such things often showed people to be on the 
 best of terras.' 
 
 Isabel shook her head, and left the room, to have 
 her dark hair braided, with little heed from herself, as 
 she sat dreamily over a book. Before the last bracelet 
 was clasped, she was claimed by her two little sisters, 
 who gave her no peace till her desk was opened, and a 
 manuscript drawn forth, that they might hear the two 
 new pages of her morning's work. It was a Fouque- 
 like tale, relieving and giving expression to the yearn- 
 ings for holiness and loftiness that had grown up within 
 Isabel Conway in the cramped round of her existence. 
 The story went back to the troubadour days of Pro- 
 vence, where a knight, the heir of a line of shattered 
 fortunes, was betrothed to the heiress of the oppressors, 
 that thus all wrongs might be redressed. They had 
 learnt to love, when Sir Roland discovered that the 
 lands in dispute had been won by sacrilege. He met 
 Adeline at a chapel in a little valley, to tell the whole. 
 They agreed to sacrifice themselves, that restitution 
 should be made ; the knight to go as a crusader to the 
 Holy Land; the lady, after waiting awhile to tend her 
 aged father, to enter a convent, and restore her dower 
 to the church. Twice had Isabel written that parting, 
 pouring out her heart in the high-souled tender devo- 
 tion of Roland and his Adeline; and both feeling and 
 description were beautiful and poetical, though unequal. 
 Louisa used to cry whenever she heard it, yet only 
 wished to hear it again and again ; and when Virginia 
 insisted on reading it to Miss King, tears had actually 
 been surprised in the governess's eyes. Yet she liked 
 still better Adeline's meek and patient temper, where 
 breathed the feeling Isabel hei-self would fain cherLsli 
 — the deep, earnest, spiritual life and high consecrated 
 purpose that were with the Provencal maiden through 
 all her enforced round of gay festivals, light minstrelsy, 
 tourneys, and Courts of Love. Thus far had the story 
 gone. Isabel had been writing a wild, mysterious 
 VOL. I. o 
 
19 i DYNEVOU TEKllACE. 
 
 Lallad, reverting to that higher love and the true spirit 
 of self-sacritice, which was to thrill strangely on the 
 ears of the thoughtless at a contention for the Golden 
 Violet, and which she had adapted to a favourite air, 
 to the extreme deli<dit of the two girls. To them the 
 GJui2)el in tlie valley, Roland and his Adeline, were 
 very nearly real, and were the hidden joy of their 
 hearts, — all the more because their existence was a 
 precious secret between the three sisters and Miss King, 
 who viewed it as such an influence on the young ones, 
 that, with more meaning than she could have explained, 
 she called it their Telemaque. The following-up of 
 the teaching of Isabel and Miss King might lead to 
 results as little suspected by Lady Conway as Fenclon's 
 philosophy was by Louis XIV. 
 
 Lady Conway was several years older than her beau- 
 tiful sister, and had married much later. Perhaps she 
 had aimed too high, and had met with disappointments 
 unavowed : for she had finally contented herself with 
 becoming the second wife of Sir Walter Conway, and 
 was now his serene, good-natured, prosperous widow. 
 Disliking his estate and neighbourhood, and thinking 
 the daughters wanted London society and London 
 masters, she shut up the house until her son should be 
 of age, and spent the season in Lowndes-square, 
 the autumn either abroad, in visits, or at watering- 
 places. 
 
 Beauchastel was an annual resort of the family, 
 Isabel was more slenderly portioned than her half- 
 sisters; and she was one of the nearest surviving rela- 
 tions of her mother's cousin, Mr. ManseJl, whose large 
 comfortable house was always hospitable; and whose 
 wife, a great dealer in goodnatured confidential gossij^, 
 used to throw out hints to her great friend Lady Con- 
 way, that much depended on Isabel's marriage — that 
 Mr. Mansell had been annoyed at connexions formed 
 by others of his relations — but though he had decided 
 on nothing, the dear girl's choice might make a great 
 difference. 
 
CIIILDE ROLAND. 193 
 
 Nothing could be more passive tlian Miss Conway. 
 She could not remember her mother, but her childhood 
 had been passed under an admirable governess; and 
 though her own Miss Longman had left her, Miss King, 
 the successor, was a person worthy of her chief con- 
 fidence. At two-and-twenty, the school-room was 
 still the home of her affections, and her ardent love 
 was lavished on her little sisters and her brother 
 Walter. 
 
 Going out with Lady Conway was mere matter of duty 
 and submission. She had not such high animal spirits as 
 to find enjoyment in her gaieties, and her grave, pensive 
 character only attained to walking through her part; 
 she had seen little but the more frivolous samples of 
 society, scorned and disliked all that was worldly and 
 manoeuvring, and hung back from levity and coquetry 
 with utter distaste. Removed from her natural home, 
 where she would have found duties and seen various 
 aspects of life, she had little to interest or occupy her 
 in her unsettled wanderings ; and to her the sap of life 
 was in books, in dreams, in the love of her brother and 
 sisters, and in discussions with Miss King ; her favourite 
 vision for the future, the going to live with Walter at 
 Thornton Conway when he should be of age. But 
 Walter was younger than Louisa, and it was a very 
 distant prospect. 
 
 Her characteristic was a calm, serene indifference, 
 in which her stepmother acquiesced, as lovers of peace 
 do in what they cannot help; and the more willingly, 
 that her tranquil dignity and pensive grace exactly 
 suited the style of her tall queenly figure, delicate 
 features, dark soft languid eyes, and clear olive com- 
 plexion, just tinged with rosebud pink. 
 
 What Louis said of her to his tutor on the Monday 
 night of their arrival was beyond the bounds of all 
 reason; and it was even more m.emorable that Jem was 
 neither satirical nor disputatious, assented to all, and 
 if he sighed, it was after his door was shut. 
 
 A felicitous day ensued, spent by James in shoot- 
 
 o2 
 
196 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ing, by Fitzjocelyn, in tlie drawing-room; whither 
 Mrs. Mansell had requested Isabel's presence, as a 
 favour to herself. The young lady sat at work, 
 seldom raising her eyes, but this was enough for 
 him ; his intense admiration and pleasure in her pre- 
 sence so exhilarated him, that he rattled away to 
 the utmost. Louisa was at first the excuse. In 
 no further doubt of his good-nature, she spent an 
 hour in the morning in giving him anagrams 
 to guess; and after she had repaired to the school- 
 room, he went on inventing fresh ones, and transposing 
 the ivory letters, ramVjling on in his usual style of 
 pensive drollery. Happiness never set him off to 
 advantage, and either there was more froth than ordi- 
 nary, or it appeared unusually ridiculous to an audi- 
 ence who did not detect the under-current of re- 
 flection. His father would have been in despair, 
 Mrs. Ponsonby or Mary would have interposed; but 
 the ladies of Beauchastel laughed and encouraged 
 him, — all but Isabel, who sat in the window, and 
 thought of Adeline, ' spighted and angered both,' by a 
 Navarrese coxcomb, with sleeves down to his heels, 
 and shoes turned up to his knees. She gave herself 
 great credit for having already created him a 
 Viscount. 
 
 In the afternoon, Louis drove out lionizing with his 
 aunt ; but though the ponies stopped of themselves at 
 all the notable views; sea, hill, and river were lost on 
 him. Lady Conway could have drawn out a far less 
 accessible person, and her outpouring of his own sen- 
 timents made him regard her as perfect. 
 
 She consulted him about her winter's resort. 
 Louisa required peculiar care, and .she had thought of 
 trying mineral baths — what was thought of North- 
 wold i w4iat kind of houses were there ? The North- 
 wold faculty themselves might have taken a lesson 
 from Fitzjocelyn's eloquent analysis of the chemical 
 properties of the waters, and all old Mr. Frost's spirit 
 would seem to have descended on him when he dilated 
 
CHILDE TwOL^yD. 197 
 
 on tlie House Beautiful. Lodgers for Miss Faitlifull ! 
 what jubilee they would cause! And such lodgers! 
 No wonder he was in ecstasy. All the evening the 
 sound of his low, deliberate voice was unceasing, and 
 his calm announcements to his two little cousins were 
 each one more startling than the last ; while James, 
 to whom it was likewise all sunshine, was full of 
 vivacity, and a shrewd jiiquancy of manner that gave 
 zest to all he said, and wonderfully enlivened the often 
 rather dull circle at Beauchastel. 
 
 Morning came ; and when the ladies descended to 
 breakfast, it was found that Lord Fitzjocelyn had gone 
 out with the sportsmen. The children lamented, and 
 their elders pronounced a young gentleman's ]>assion 
 for shooting to be quite incalculable. When, late in 
 the day, the party returned, it was reported that he 
 did not appear to care much for the sport; but had 
 walked beside Mr. Man sell's shooting-pony, and had 
 finally gone with him to see his model farm. This 
 was a sure road to the old squire's heart, and no one was 
 more delighted with the guest. For Aunt Catharine's 
 sake, Louis was always attracted by old age, and his 
 attentive manners had won Mr. Mansell's heart, even 
 before his inquiries about his hobby had completed 
 the charm. To expound and to listen to histories of 
 agricultural experiments that really answered, was 
 highly satisfactory to both, and all the evening they 
 were ea^er over the ^eat account-book which was the 
 pride of the squire's heart ; while Virginia and Louisa 
 grumbled or looked imploring, and Isabel marvelled at 
 there being any interest for any one in old Mr. ^Ian- 
 sell's convei"sation. 
 
 ' What is the meaning of this V asked James, as they 
 went up stairs. 
 
 Louis shrugged like a Frenchman, looked dehon- 
 naire, and said ' Good-night.' 
 
 Again he came down ; prepared for shooting, though 
 both pale and lame; but he quietly put aside all 
 expostulations, walking on until, about fifty yards 
 
198 DYNEVOR TERIIACE. 
 
 from tlie house, a pebble, turning under the injured 
 foot, caused such severe pain that he could but just 
 stagger to a tree and sit down. 
 
 There was much battling before Mr. Mansell would 
 consent to leave him, or he to allow James to help 
 him back to the house, before going on to overtake 
 the party. 
 
 Very irate was Jem, at folly that seemed to have 
 undone the benefits of the last month, and at change- 
 ableness that was a desertion of the queen to whom 
 all homage was due. He was astonished that Louis 
 turned into the study, a room little inhabited in 
 general, and said, ' ]Make haste — you will catch the 
 others ; don't fall in with the ladies.' 
 
 * I mean to send your aunt to you.' 
 
 'Pray don't. Can't you suppose that j)eace is 
 grateful after having counted every mortal hour last 
 night f 
 
 ' Was that the reason you were going to walk ten 
 miles without a leg to stand upon? Fitzjocelyn! is 
 this systematic?' , 
 
 'What is?' said Louis, wearily. 
 
 ' Your treatment of — your aunt.' 
 
 'On what system should aunts be treated?' 
 
 'Of all moments to choose for caprice! Exactly 
 when T thought even you were fixed !' 
 
 ' Fur troppo^ sighed Louis. 
 
 ' Ha !' cried Jem, ' you have not gone and preci])i- 
 tated matters! I thought you could never amaze me 
 again ; but even you might have felt she was a being 
 to merit rather more time and respect !' 
 
 ' Even I am not devoid of the organ of veneration.' 
 
 His meek tone was a further provocation ; and with 
 uplifted chin, hair ruffled like the crest of a Shetland 
 pony, flashing eyes, and distinct enunciation, James 
 exclaimed, ' You will excuse me for not understanding 
 you. You come here; you devote yourself to your 
 aunt and cousins — you seem strongly attracted ; then, 
 all on a sudden, you rush out shooting — an exercise for 
 
CHILDE ROLAXD. 199 
 
 which you don't care, and when you can't walk : you 
 show the most pointed neglect. And after being done- 
 up yesterday, you repeat the experiment to-day, as if 
 for the mere object of laming yourself for life. I could 
 understand pique or temper, but you have not the — ' 
 
 ' The sense,' said Louis ; ' no, nor anything to be 
 piqued at.' 
 
 ' If there be a motive,' said James, ' I have a right 
 to demand not to be trifled with any longer.' 
 
 ' I wish you could be content to shoot your birds, 
 and leave me in peace : you will only have your tun 
 spoilt, like mine, and go into a fury. The fact is, that 
 my father writes in a state of perturbation. He says, 
 I might have understood, from the tenor of his con- 
 duct, that he did not wish me to be intimate with my 
 aunt's family ! He cannot know anything about them, 
 for it is all one warning against fashion and frivolity. 
 He does not blame us — especially not you.' 
 
 * I wish he did.' 
 
 ' But he desires that our intercourse should l)e no 
 more than propriety demands, and plunges into a 
 discourse against first impressions, beauty, and the 
 like.' 
 
 ' So that's the counterblast !' 
 
 ' You ought to help me, Jem,' said Louis, dejectedly. 
 
 * I'll help you with all my heart to combat your 
 father's prejudices.' 
 
 ' An hour's unrestrained intercourse with these 
 people would best destroy them,' said Louis; * but, in 
 the mean time — I wonder what he means.' 
 
 ' He means that he is in terror for his darling scheme.' 
 ' Mrs. Ponsonby was very right,' sighed Louis. 
 
 * Ay ! A pretty condition you would be in, if she 
 had not had too much principle to let you be a victim 
 to submission. That's what you'll come to, though ! 
 You will never know the meaning of passion ; you will 
 escape something by it, though you will be twisted 
 round his lordship's finger, and marry his choice. I 
 hope she will have red hair !' 
 
200 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' Negative and positive obedience stand on different 
 grounds,' said Louis, with sucli calmness as often 
 fretted James, but saved their friendship. * Besides, 
 till I had this letter, I liad no notion of any such tiling.' 
 
 James's indignation resulted in fierce stammering; 
 while Louis deliberately continued a vivd voce self- 
 examination, with his own quaint naivete, betraying 
 emotion only by the burning colour of cheek and brow. 
 
 'No; I had no such notion. 1 only felt that her 
 presence had the gladdening, inspiriting, calming effect 
 of moonlight or starlight. I reverenced her as a dream 
 of poetry walking the earth. Ha ! now one hears the 
 sound of it — that is like it ! I did not think it was 
 such a confirmed case. I should have gone on in 
 peace but for this letter, and never thought about it 
 at all.' 
 
 ' So much the better for you !' 
 
 ' My father is too just and candid, not to own his 
 error, and be thankful.' 
 
 * And you expect her to bear with your alternations 
 in the mean time?' 
 
 ' Towards her I have not alternated. When I have 
 made giggle with Clara under the influence of the 
 starry sky, did you suppose me giggling with Lyra or 
 the Pleiades? I should dread to see the statue 
 descend; it seemed irreverence even to gaze. The 
 lofty serenity keeps me aloof. I like to believe in a 
 creature too bright anel good for human nature's daily 
 food. Our profane squinting through telescopes at the 
 Lady Moon reveals nothing but worn-out volcanoes 
 and dry oceans, black gulfs and scorched desolation; 
 but verily that may not be Lady Moon's fault — only 
 that of our base inventions. So I would be content 
 to mark her — Isabel, I mean — queenly, moon like 
 name ! — walk in beauty and tranquillity unruflSied, 
 without distorting my vision by personal aims at 
 bringing her down to my level. There — don't laugh 
 at me, Jem.' 
 
 ' No, I am too sorry for you.' 
 
CHILDE EOLAND. 201 
 
 ' Why?' he exclaimed, impatient of compassion ; ' do 
 you tliink it desperate?' 
 
 ' I see your affection given to a most worthy object, 
 and I know what your notions of submission will end 
 in.' 
 
 ' Once for all, Jem,' said Fitzjocelyn, ' do you know 
 how you are using my father ? No ; Isabel Conway 
 may be the happiness or the disappointment of my life 
 — I cannot tell. I am sure my father is mistaken, and 
 I believe he may be convinced ; but I am bound not to 
 fly in the face of his direct commands, and, till we can 
 come to an understanding, I must do the best I can, 
 and tinist to — ' 
 
 The last word was lost, as he turned to nurse his 
 ankle, and presently to entreat James to join the 
 sportsmen ; but Jem was in a mood to do nothing 
 pleasing to himself nor to any one else. A sacrifice is 
 usually irritating to the spectators, who remonstrate 
 leather than listen to self-reproach ; and Louis had 
 been guilty of three great offences — being in the right, 
 making himself ridiculous, and submittiu'? tamely — 
 besides the high-treason to Isabel's beauty. It was 
 well that the Earl was safe out of the way of the son 
 of the Pen dragons ! 
 
 Fitzjocelyn was in pain and discomfort enough to 
 make James unwilling to leave him ; though his good- 
 will did not prevent him from keeping up such a stream 
 of carpings and sinister auguries, that it was almost the 
 climax of good-temper that enabled Louis to lie still, 
 tr}^ing to read a great quarto Park's Travels, and abstain- 
 ing from any reply that could aggravate matters. As 
 the one would not go to luncheon, the other would not ; 
 and after watching the sound of the ladies' setting out 
 for their drive, Louis said that he would go and lie on 
 the turf; but at that moment the door was thrown 
 open, and in ran Virginia. Explanations were quickly 
 exchanged — how she had come to find Yertot's Malta 
 for Isabel, and how he had been sent in by hurting his 
 foot. 
 
202 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 'Were you going to stay in all day?' said Virginia. 
 ' Oh, come with us ! We have the pony-carriage ; and 
 we are going to a dear old ruin, walking and driving 
 by turns. Do, pray, come ; there's plenty of room.' 
 
 There could be no objection to the school-room party, 
 and it was no small relief to escape from James and 
 hope he was amused ; so Fitzjocelyn allowed himself 
 to be dragged off in triumph, and James was acceding 
 to his entreaty that he would go in search of the 
 shooting-party, when, as they reached the hall-door, 
 they beheld Miss Conway waiting on the steps. 
 
 There was no recedinsj for her anv more than for 
 Louis, so she could only make a private resolution 
 against the pony-carriage, and dedicate herself to the 
 unexceptionable company of little sister, governess 
 and tutor ; for James had resigned the shooting, and 
 attached himself to the expedition. It was an excel- 
 lent opportunity of smoothing his cousin's way, and 
 showing that all was not caprice that might so appear: 
 so he began to tell of his most advantacreous traits of 
 cliaracter, and to explain away his whimsical conduct, 
 with great ardour and ingenuity. He thought he 
 should be perfectly satisfied if he could win but 
 one smile of approbation from that gravely beautiful 
 mouth ; and it came at last, when he told of Fitzjoce- 
 lyn's devoted affection to Mrs. Frost and his unceasing 
 kindness to the old ladies of Dynevor Terrace. Thus 
 gratified, he let himself be led into abstract questions 
 of principle, — a style of discussion frequent between 
 Miss Kins: and Isabel, but on which the latter had 
 never seen the light of a man's mind thrown except 
 tlirou2:h books. The jjentlemen whom she had met 
 were seldom either deep or earnest, except those too 
 much beyond her reach; and she had avoided anything 
 like confidence or intimacy: but Mr. Dynevor could 
 enlighten and vivify her perplexed reflections, answer 
 her inquiries, confirm her opinion of books, and enter 
 into all that she ventured with diffidence to express. 
 He was enchanted to find that no closer approach 
 
CIIILDE rtOLAXD. 203 
 
 could dim the lustre of Louis's moon, and honoured 
 her doubly for what she had made herself in frivolous 
 society. He felt sure that his testimony would gain 
 credit where Fitzjocelyn s would be regarded as love- 
 blinded, and already beheld himself forcing full proof 
 of her merits on the reluctant Earl, beholding Louis 
 haj)py, and Isabel emancipated from constraint. 
 
 A live miles' walk gave full time for such blissful 
 discoveries ; for Miss Conway was resolute against 
 entering the pony-carriage, and walked on, protesting 
 arainst ever beinij fatigued ; while Louis w^as oblisfed 
 to occupy his seat in the carriage, with a constant 
 change of companions. 
 
 ' I think, my dear,' said Miss King, when the younger 
 girls had gone to their mother's toilette, ' that you will 
 have to forgive me.' 
 
 * Meaning,' said Isabel, ' that you are bitten too ! 
 Ah! Miss King, you could not withstand the smile 
 with which he handed you in !' 
 
 ' Could you withstand such an affectionate account 
 of your cruel, tyrannical practical joker V 
 
 ' Facts are stubborn things. Do you know what 
 Mr. Dynevor is doing at this moment 1 I met him 
 in the gallery, hurrying off to Ebbscreek for some 
 lotion for Lord Fitzjocelyn's ankle. I begged him to let 
 jNIrs. Mansell send ; but no^no one but himself could 
 find it, and his cousin could not bear strangers to disar- 
 range his room. If anything were wanting, it would 
 be enough to see how simply and earnestly such a man 
 has been brought to pamper — nay, to justify, almost to 
 adore, the whims and follies of this youth.' 
 
 ' If anything were wanting to what ? To your dis- 
 like.' 
 
 ' It would not be so active as dislike, unless — ' Isabel 
 spoke with drooping head, and Miss King did not ask 
 her to finish, but said, ' He has not given you much 
 cause for alarm.' 
 
 ' No ; he is at least a thorough gentleman. It may 
 be conceit, or wrong self-consciousness, but from the 
 
204 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 moment the poor boy was spied in the shop, I had a 
 perception that mamma and Mrs. Mansell marked him 
 down. Personally he would be innocent; but, through 
 all liis chatter, 1 cannot shake off the fancy that I am 
 watched, or that decided indifference is not needed to 
 keej) him at a distance.' 
 
 ' I wish you could have seen him without knowing 
 him!' 
 
 ' In vain, dear Miss King ! I can't bear handsome 
 men. I see his frivolity and shallowness ; and for 
 amiability, what do you think of keeping his cousin 
 all the morning from shooting for such a mere nothing, 
 and then sending him off for a ten miles' walkl' 
 
 ' For my part, I confess that I was struck with the 
 good sense and kindness he showed in our tete-a-tele — 
 1 thought it justified Mr. Dynevor's description.' 
 
 * Yes, I have no doubt that there is some good in 
 him. He might have done very well, if he had not 
 always been an idol.' 
 
 Isabel was the more provoked with Lord Fitzjocelyn, 
 when, by-and-by, he appeared in the drawing-room, and 
 related the result of his cousin's mission. Jem, who 
 would know better than himself where to find his 
 property, had not chosen to believe his description 
 of the spot where he had left the lotion ; and, in the 
 twilight, Louis had found his foot coiled about by the 
 feelers and claws of a formidable monster — no other 
 than a bottled scorpion, a recent present from Captain 
 Hannaford. He did not say how emblematic the scorpion 
 lotion was of that which Jem had been administering 
 to his wounded spirit all the morning, but he put the 
 story in so ludicrous a light that Isabel decided that 
 Mr. Dynevor was ungenerously and ungratefully treated 
 as a butt ; and she turned away in displeasure from the 
 group whom the recital was amusing, to offer her 
 sympathy to the tutor, and renew the morning's con- 
 versation. 
 
mOSTY, BUT KINDLY. 205 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 FROSTY, BUT KIXDLY. 
 
 Go not eastward, go not westward. 
 For a stranger whom we know not. 
 Like a fire upon the hearthstone, 
 Is a neighbour's homely daughter ; 
 Like the moonlight or the starlight, 
 Is the handsomest of strangers. 
 
 Legend of Hiawatha. 
 
 TTTHAT a laboured production had the letter been ! 
 \ V How many copies had the statesman written ! » 
 how late had he sat over it at night ! how much more 
 consideration had he spent on it than on papers involv- 
 ing the success of his life ! A word too much or too 
 little might precipitate the catastrophe, and the bare 
 notion of his son's marriage with a pupil of Lady 
 Conway renewed and gave fresh poignancy to the 
 past. 
 
 At first his anxieties were past mention; but he 
 grew restless under them, and the instinct of going to 
 Mrs. Ponsonby prevailed. At least, she would know 
 what had transpired from James, or from Fitzjocelyn 
 to Mrs. Frost. 
 
 She had heard of ecstatic letters from both the 
 cousins, and Mary had been delighted to identify Miss 
 Conway with the Isabel of whom one of her school 
 friends spoke rapturously ; but the last letter had been 
 from James to his grandmother, declaring that Lord 
 Ormersfield was destroying the happiness of the most 
 dutiful of sons, who was obedient even to tameness, and 
 so absurd that there was no bearing him. His lordship 
 must hear reason, and learn that he was rejecting the 
 
206 DYNEYOU TERUACE. 
 
 most admirable creature in existence, her superiority of 
 mind exceeding even her loveliness of person. He had 
 better beware of tyranny ; it was possible to abuse 
 submission, and who could answer for the consequences 
 of thwai-ting strong affections ? All the ground Fitz- 
 jocelyn had gained in the last six weeks had been lost; 
 and for the future, James would not predict, 
 
 ' An uncomfortable matter,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, 
 chiefly for the sake of reading her daughter's feelings. 
 * If it were not in poor Louis's mind already, his father 
 and James would plant it there by their contrary 
 efforts.' 
 
 ' Oh ! I hope it will come right,' said Mary. ' Louis 
 is too good, and his father too kind, for it not to end 
 well. And then, mamma, he "will be able to prove, 
 what nobody will believe — that he is constant.' 
 
 ' You think so, do you?' said her mother, smiling. 
 
 Mary blushed, but answered, ' where he really cared, 
 he would be constant. His fancy might be taken, and 
 he mif^ht rave, but he would never really like what 
 was not good. — If he does think about Miss Conway, 
 we may trust she is worthy of him. Oh ! I should 
 like to see her !' 
 
 Mary's eyes lighted up with an enthusiasm that used 
 to be a stranger to them. It was not the over-acted 
 indifference nor the tender generosity of disappoint- 
 ment : it seemed more to partake of the fond, unselfish, 
 elder-sisterly affection that she had always shown 
 towards Louis, and it set her mother quite at ease. 
 
 Seeing Lord Ormerstield riding into the terrace, 
 Mary set out for a walk, that he might have his tete- 
 dr-tete freely with her mother. On coming home, she 
 met him on the stairs ; and he spoke with a sad softness 
 and tone of pardon that alarmed her so much, that she 
 hastened to ask her mother whether Louis had really 
 avowed an attachment. 
 
 ' Oh no,' said Mrs. Ponsonby ; ' he has written a very 
 right-minded letter, on the whole, poor boy ! though he 
 is sure the Conway s have only to be known to be ap- 
 
FROSTY^, BUT KINDLY. 207 
 
 predated. Eatber too true ! It is in his Miss Fannv 
 hand, stiff and dispirited ; and Lis father has worked 
 himself into such a state of uneasiness, that I tliink it 
 will end in his going to Ebbscreek at once.' 
 
 ' mamma, you won't let him go and toraient 
 Louis V 
 
 'Why, Mary, have you been learning of James? 
 Perhaps he would torment him more from a distance; 
 and besides, I doubt what soi-t of counsellor James is 
 likely to make in his present mood.' 
 
 ' I never could see that James made any difference 
 to Louis,' said Mary. ' I know people think he does, 
 because Louis gives up wishes and plans to him ; but 
 he is not led in opinions or principles, as far as I can 
 see.' 
 
 ' Not unless his own wishes went the same way.' 
 ' At least, Lord Ormersfield will see Miss Conway !' 
 ' I am afraid that will do no good. It will not be 
 for the first time. Lady Conway has been his dread 
 from the time of his own marriage: and if she should 
 come to Northwold, he will be in despair. I do tliink 
 he must be right ; she miLst be making a dead set at 
 Louis.' 
 
 ' Not Miss Conway,' said Mary. '' I know slie must 
 be good, or he would not endure her for a moment.' 
 •' Mary, you do not know the power of beauty.' 
 ' I have heard of it,' said Mary ; • I have seen how 
 Dona Guadalupe was followed. But those people 
 were not like Louis. No, mamma; I think James 
 might be taken in, I don't think Louis could be — unless 
 he had a very grand dream of liis own before his eves ; 
 and then it would be his ov.-n dream, not the lady 
 that he saw; and by-and-by he would hnd it out, and 
 be so vexed !' 
 
 ' And, I trust, before he had committed himself.^ 
 ' Mamma, I won't have you think Miss Conway any- 
 thing but up to his dreams ! I know she is. Only 
 think what Jane Di-ummond says of her !' 
 
 ^V'hen the idea of going to see how matters stood 
 
20S DYXEVOll TERRACE. 
 
 had once occurred to the Earl, he could not stay at 
 home : the ankle and the affections preyed on him by 
 turns, and he wrote to Sir ISIiles Oakstead to fix an 
 earlier day for the promised visit, as well as to his son, 
 to announce his speedy arrival. Then he forgot the 
 tardiness of cross-country posts, and outran his letter, 
 so that he found no one to meet him at Bickleyi)Ool ; 
 and on driving up to the gate at Ebbscreek, found all 
 looking deserted. After much knocking, Priscilla ap- 
 peared, round-eyed and gasping, and verified his worst 
 fears with ' Gone to Bochattle.' However, she explained 
 that only one gentleman was gone to dine there ; the 
 other was rowing him round the point, with grand- 
 father; — they would soon be back — indeed theyouglit, 
 for the tide was so low, they would have to land down 
 by the shingle bar. 
 
 She pointed out where the boat must come in; and 
 thither the Earl directed his steps, feeling as if he were 
 going to place himself under a nutmeg-grater, as he 
 thought how James Frost would receive the implied 
 distrust of his guardianship. 
 
 The sunset gleam was fading on the sleepy waves 
 that made but a feint of breaking, along the shining 
 expanse of moist uncovered sand, when two figures 
 were seen progressing from the projecting rocks, casting 
 long shadows before them. Lord Ormersfield began to 
 prepare a mollifying address — but, behold ! "Was it the 
 efiect of light so much to lengthen Jem's form 1 nay, 
 was it making him walk with a stick ] A sudden, un- 
 looked-for hope seized the Earl. Tlie next minute he 
 had been recognised ; and in the grasping hands and 
 meeting eyes, all was forgotten, save the true, fond 
 affection of father and son. 
 
 ' I did not expect this pleasure. They told me you 
 were dining out.' 
 
 * Only rowing Jem to the landing-place. I told him 
 to make my excuses. It is a dinner to half the neigh- 
 bourhood, and my foot is always troublesome if I do 
 not lay it up in the evening.' 
 
FROSTY, BUT KIXDLY. 209 
 
 'I am glad you are prudent,' said his father, dis- 
 missing his fears in his gratification, and proceeding to 
 lay his coming to the score of his foot. 
 
 Fitzjocelyn did not wish to see through the plea — 
 he was much too happy in his father's unusual warmth 
 and tenderness, and in the delights of hospitality. 
 Mrs. Hannaford was gone out, and eatables were 
 scarce ; but a tea-dinner was prepared merrily between 
 Priscilla, the Captain, and Louis, who gloried in display- 
 ing his school-fagging accomplishments with toast, eggs, 
 and rashers — hobbled between parlour and kitchen, 
 helping Priscilla, joking with the Captain, and waiting 
 on his father so eagerly and joyously as to awaken a 
 sense of adventure and enjoyment in the Earl himself. 
 Ko meal, with Frampton behind his chair, had ever 
 equalled Fitzjocelyn s cookery or attendance ; and 
 Louis's reminiscences of the penalties he had suffered 
 from his seniors for burnt toast, awoke like recollec- 
 tions of schoolboy days, hitherto in utter oblivion, and 
 instead of the intended delicate conversation, father 
 and son found themselves laughing over a ' tirodnium 
 or review of schools.' 
 
 Still, the subject must be entered on; and when 
 Lord Ormersfield had mentioned the engagement to go 
 to Oakstead, he added, 'All is well, since I have found 
 you here. Let me tell you that I never felt more 
 grateful nor more relieved than by this instance of 
 regard for my wishes.' 
 
 Though knowing the fitful nature of Louis's colour, 
 he would have been better satisfied not to have called 
 up such an intensity of red, and to have had some 
 other answer than, ' I wish you saw more of them.' 
 
 'I see them every year in London.' 
 
 ' London gives so little scope for real acquaintance,' 
 ventured Louis again, with downcast eyes. 
 
 ' You forget that Lady Conway is my sister-in-law.' 
 Louis would have spoken, but his father added, ' Before 
 3^ou were born, I had full experience of her. You must 
 take it on trust that her soft, prepossessing manners 
 
 VOL. I. p 
 
210 DYNEVOH TERRACE, 
 
 belong to her as a woman of the world who cannot see 
 you without designs on you,' 
 
 ' Of course,' said Louis, ' I yield to your expressed 
 wishes ; but my aunt has been very kind to me : 
 and,' he added, after trying to mould the words to 
 their gentlest form, *you could not see my cousins 
 without being convinced that it is the utmost injus- 
 tice — ' 
 
 ' I do not censure them,' said his father, as he hesi- 
 tated between indignation and respect ; ' I only tell 
 you, Louis, that nothing could grieve me more than to 
 see your happiness in the keeping of a pupil of Lady 
 Conway.' 
 
 He met a look full of consternation, and of struggles 
 between filial deference and the sense of injustice. All 
 Louis allowed himself to say was, however, ' Surely, 
 when I am her own nephew ! when our poverty is a 
 flagrant fact — she may be acquitted of anything but 
 caring for me for — for my mother's sake.' 
 
 There was a silence that alarmed Louis, who had 
 never before named his mother to the Earl. At last, 
 Lord Ormei^field spoke clearly and sternly, in charac- 
 teristic succinct sentences, but taking breath between 
 each. 'You shall have no reason to think me prejudiced. 
 I will tell you facts. There was a match which she 
 desired for such causes as lead her to seek you. The 
 poverty was greater, and she knew it. On one side 
 there was strong affection; on that which she influ- 
 enced there was — none whatever. If there were 
 scruples, she smothered them. She worked on a 
 young innocent mind to act out her deceit, and 
 without a misgiving on — on hi5 part that his feel- 
 ings were not returned, the man'iage took place.' 
 
 ' It could not have been all her own fault,' cried 
 Louis. ' It must have been a willing instrument — 
 much to blame — ' 
 
 His father cut him short with sudden severity, 
 such as startled him. ' Never say so, Louis. She 
 was a mere child, educated for that sole purpose ; 
 
FROSTY, BUT KINDLY. 211 
 
 her most sweet and docile nature wasted and per- 
 verted,' 
 
 'And you know this of your own knowledge?' said 
 Fitzjocelyn, still striving to find some loophole to escape 
 from such testimony. 
 
 The Earl paused, as if to collect himself, then repeated 
 the words, slowly and decidedly, ' Of my own know- 
 ledge. I could not have spoken thus otherwise.' 
 
 ' May I ask how it ended V 
 
 ' As those who marry for beauty alone have a ri<?ht 
 to expect. There was neither confidence nor sympathy. 
 She died early. I — we — those who loved her as their 
 own life — were thankful.' 
 
 Louis perceived the strong efibrt and great distress 
 with which these words were uttered, and ventured no 
 answer, glancing hastily through all his connexions to 
 guess whose history could thus deeply affect his father; 
 but he was entirely at a loss ; and Lord Ormersfield, 
 recovering himself, added, ' Say no more of this ; but, 
 believe me, it was to spare you from her manceuvres 
 that I kept you apart from that family.' 
 
 ' The Northwold baths have been recommended for 
 Louisa,' said Fitzjocelyn. ' Before we knew of your 
 objections, we mentioned Miss Faithfull's lodgings.' 
 
 What the Earl was about to utter, he suppressed. 
 
 * You cannot look at those girls and name ma- 
 noeuvring !' cried Louis. 
 
 ' Poor things.' 
 
 After a silence, Lord Ormersfield added, with more 
 anxiety than prudence, ' Set my mind at rest, Louis. 
 There can have been no harm done yet, in so short a 
 time.' 
 
 ' I — don't — know — ' said Louis, slowly. ' I have 
 seldom spoken to her, to be sure. She actually makes 
 me shy ! I never saw anything half so lovely. I can- 
 not help her reigning over my thoughts. I shall never 
 believe a word against he?', though I cannot dispute 
 what you say of my aunt. She is of another mould. 
 I wish you could let me hope that — ' 
 
 P 2 
 
212 DTNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 A gesture of despair from his father cut him short. 
 
 ' I will do whatever you please,' he concluded. 
 
 ' You will find that time conquers the fancy,' said 
 the Earl, quickly. ' I am relieved to find that you 
 have at least not committed yourself : it would be no 
 compliment to Mary Ponsonby.' 
 
 Louis's lip curled somewhat ; but he said no more, 
 and made no objections to the arrangements which his 
 father proceeded to detail. Doubtful of the accommo- 
 dations of Ebbscreek, Lord Ormersfield had prudently 
 retained his fly; and though Louis, intending to sleep 
 on the floor, protested that there was plenty of room, 
 he chose to return to the inn at Bickleypool. He 
 v/ould call for Louis to-morrow, to take him for a 
 formal call at Beauchastel ; and the day after they 
 would go together to Oakstead, leaving James to 
 return home, about ten days sooner than had been 
 previously concerted. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield had not been gone ten minutes, 
 before James's quick bounding tread was heard far 
 along the dry woodland paths. He vaulted over the 
 gate, and entered by the open window, exclaiming, as 
 he did so, ' HuiTah ! The deed is done ; the letter is 
 oS to enfjage the House Beautiful.' 
 
 ' Doom is doom !' were the first words that occurred 
 to Louis. ' The lion and the prince.' 
 
 ' What's that V 
 
 ' There was once a king,' began Louis, as if the tale 
 were the newest in the world, ' whose son was pre- 
 destined to be killed by a lion. After much con- 
 sideration, his majesty enclosed his royal highness in a 
 tower, warranted wild-beast proof, and forbade the 
 chase to be mentioned in his hearing. The result was, 
 that the locked-up prince died of lock-jaw in conse- 
 quence of tearing his hand with a nail in the picture 
 of the lion.' 
 
 ' I shall send that apologue straight to Ormersfield.' 
 
 ' You may spare that trouble. My father has been 
 with me all the evening.' 
 
mOSTY, BUT KINDLY. 213 
 
 ' Oh ! his double-ganger visits you. That accounts 
 for your freaks.' 
 
 ' Double-gangers seldom come in yellow-bodied flys.' 
 ' His lordship in proprid persona. You don"t mean it.' 
 ' He is sleeping at the ' George' at Bickleypool. 
 There is a letter coming to-morrow by the post, to say 
 he is coming to-day, with every imaginable civility to 
 you ; but 1 am to go to the rose-coloured pastor's with 
 1dm on Wednesday.' 
 
 * So there's an end of our peace and comfort !' 
 
 ' I am afraid we have sadly discomposed his peace.' 
 ' Did you discover whether his warnings liave the 
 slightest foundation V 
 
 ' He told me a history that somewhat accounts for 
 his distrust of my aunt. I think there must be another 
 side to it, and nothing can be more unjust than to 
 condemn all the family ; but it affected him so ex- 
 ceedingly that I do not wonder at his doing so. He 
 gave no names, but I am sure it touched him very 
 nearly. Can you tell who it could have been V And 
 he narrated enough to make .James exclaim, ' It ought 
 to touch him nearly. He was talking of himself 
 
 * Impossible I — my mother !' cried Louis, leaping up. 
 ' Yes — his own version of his married life.' 
 
 ' How do you know ? You cannot remember it,' 
 said Louis, though too well convinced, as he recollected 
 the suppressed anguish, and the horror with which all 
 blame of the young wife had been silenced. 
 
 * I have heard of it as^ain and a^^ain. It was an 
 unhappy, ill-assorted marriage : she was gay, he was 
 cold.' 
 
 * My Aunt Catharine says so V 
 
 * As far as she can blame anything. Your mother was 
 a sweet Vjlossom in a cold wind. She loved and pitied 
 her with all her heart. Your aunt was talking, this 
 very evening, of your father having carried her sister 
 to Ormersfield, away from all her family ; and one 
 reason of her desire to go to North wold is to see those 
 who were with her at last.' 
 
2i-i DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 Louis was confounded. ' Yes ! I see/ he said. ' How 
 obtuse not to read it in his own manner ! How much 
 it explains!' and he silently rested his Lrow on his 
 hands. 
 
 * Depend upon it, there are two sides to the story. T 
 would not be a pretty, petted, admired girl in his 
 keeping.' 
 
 ' Do you think it mends matters with me to fasten 
 blame on either?' said Louis, sadly. ' No ; I was realiz- 
 ing the perception of such a thread of misery woven 
 into his life, and thinking how little I have felt for 
 him,' 
 
 'Endowing him with your own feelings, and then 
 feeling for him !' 
 
 ' No. I cannot estimate his feeling. He is of harder, 
 firmer stuff than I; and for that very reason, I sus- 
 pect, suffering is a more terrific thing. I heard the doc- 
 tors saying, when I bore pain badly, that it would 
 probably do the less futui-e harm : a bad moral, but 
 I believe it is true of the mental as of the physical 
 constitution.' Answering something between a look 
 and a shrug of James, he mused on, aloud — ' I under- 
 stand better what the wreck of affection must have 
 been.' 
 
 ' For my pari:,' said James, ' I do not believe in the 
 affection that can tyrannize over and blight a woman.' 
 
 ' Nay, James ! I cannot doubt. My very name — my 
 having been called by it, are the more striking in one 
 so fond of usage and precedent. Things that passed 
 between him and Mrs. Ponsonby while I was ill — 
 much that I little regarded and ill requited — show 
 what force of love and grief there must have been. 
 The cold, grave manner, is the broken, inaccessible edge 
 of the cliff rent asunder.' 
 
 ' If romance softens the rough edge, you are welcome 
 to it ! I may as well go to bed !' 
 
 ' Not romance — the sad reality of my poor father's 
 history. I trust I shall never treat his wishes so 
 lightly—' 
 
mOSTY, BUT KINDLY. 215 
 
 Impatient of one-sided sympathy, James exclaimed, 
 * As if you did not give way to him like a slave !' 
 
 * Yes, like a slave,' said Louis, gravely. ' I wish to 
 give way like a son who would try to comfort him for 
 what he has undergone.' 
 
 'Now, I should have thought your feeling would 
 have been for your mother !' 
 
 ' If my mother could speak to me,' said Louis, with 
 trembling lips, * she would surely bid me to try my 
 utmost, as far as in me lies, to bring peace and happi- 
 ness to my father. I cannot tell where the errors may 
 have been, and I will never ask. If she was as like to 
 me as they say, I could understand some of them! 
 At least, I know that I am doubly bound to give as 
 little vexation to him as possible ; and I trust that you 
 will not make it harder to me. You lost your father 
 so early, that you can hardly estimate — ' 
 
 ' The trial V said James, willing to give what had 
 passed the air of a joke. 
 
 ' Exactly so — Good night.' 
 
216 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 CHAPTER Xiy. 
 
 NEW INHABITANTS. 
 
 Sometimes a troop of damsels glad — 
 Sometimes a curly shepherd lad, 
 Or long-haired page in crimson clad, 
 
 Goes by to towered Camelot ; 
 And sometimes, through the mirror blue, 
 The knights come riding two and two. 
 She hath no loyal knight and true — 
 The Lady of Shalott. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 'Oakstead, Oct. 14th, 1847. 
 
 ']l/rY DEAR Aunt, — I find that Fitzjocelyn is writing 
 i\J_ to you; but I think you will wish for a fuller 
 account of him than can be obtained from his own 
 letters. Indeed, I should be much obliged if you 
 would kindly exercise your influence to persuade him 
 that he is not in a condition to be imprudent with im- 
 punity. Sir Miles Oakstead was absolutely shocked 
 to see the alteration in his appearance, as well as in 
 his spirits ; and although both our kind host and 
 hostess are most solicitous on his account, it happens 
 unfortunately that they are at this juncture quite 
 alone, so that he is without com2-)anions of his own age. 
 I must not, however, alarm you. The fact is, that 
 circumstances have occurred which, though he has 
 acted in the most exemplary manner, have harassed 
 and distressed him a good deal ; and his health suffers 
 from the difficulty of taking sufficient exercise. James 
 will triumph when he hears that I regret having 
 shortened his stay by the sea-side; for neither the 
 place nor the weather seems to agree with him : he 
 
NEW INHABITANTS. 217 
 
 has had a recurrence of wakeful nights, and is very 
 hmgiiid. Poor boy ! yesterday he wandered out alone 
 in the rain, lost his way, and came home so fatigued 
 that he slept for three hours on the sofa ; but to-day 
 he seems better — has more colour, and has been less 
 silent. We go to Leffingham Castle from Monday 
 till Thursday, when I shall take him to London for 
 Hastings to decide whether it be fit for him to return 
 to Christchurch after the vacation, according to his 
 own most anxious wish. With my love to Mary Pon- 
 sonby and her daughter, and best remembrances to 
 James, 
 
 'Year affectionate nephew, 
 
 ' Ormersfield.' 
 
 The same envelope contained another letter of many 
 sheets, beginning in a scrawl : — 
 
 * Scene — Rose-coloured Pastor's Nest. Tables, 
 chairs, bo(jks, papers, despatch-boxes. The two ex- 
 ministers writinof and consultiasT. Viscount F. look- 
 ing on like a colt running beside its parent at plough, 
 tliinking that harness leaves deep marks, and that he 
 does not like the furrow. 
 
 'October 13th, 1847. — That correct date must be a 
 si^n that he is ocettins: into harness. 
 
 ' Well, dear Aunt Kitty, to make a transition from 
 the third to the first person, like Mrs. Norris, you 
 have in this short scene an epitome of the last foi-t- 
 niglit. Lady Oakstead is an honourable matron, 
 whom I pity for having me in her way; a man unable 
 to be got rid of by the lawful exercises of shooting 
 and riding, and with a father always consulting her 
 about him, and watching every look and movement, 
 till the blood comes throbbing to my temples by the 
 mere attraction of his eyes. To be watched into a 
 sense of impatience and ingratitude, is a trial of life 
 for which one is not prepared. My father and Sir 
 Miles are very busy; I hang here an anomaly, sitting 
 with them as being less in theii' way than in Lady 
 
218 BTNEVOR TEHRACE. 
 
 OaksteacVs, and wondering what I shall be twenty 
 years hence. I am sick of the only course of life that 
 will content my father, and I can see no sunshine 
 likely to brighten it. But, at least, no one's happiness 
 is at stake but my own. Here is a kind, cordial letter 
 from Lady Conway, pressing me to join her at Scar- 
 borough, make expeditions, &c. My father is in such 
 a state about me, that I believe I could get his con- 
 sent to anything; but I suppose it would not be fair, 
 and I have said nothing to him as yet. On Monday 
 we go to Leffingham, which, I hear, is formality itself. 
 After that, more state visits, unless I can escape to 
 Oxford. My father fancies me not well enough ; but 
 pray unite all the forces of the Terrace to impress that 
 nothing else will do me any good. Dragging about in 
 this dreary, heartless way is all that ails me, and read- 
 ing for my degree would be the best cure. I mean to 
 work hard for honours, and, if possible, delude myself 
 with hopes of success. Work is the need. Here, 
 there is this one comfort. There is no one to talk to, 
 no birds in last year's nest, sons absent, daughters 
 disposed of; but, unluckily, the Pastoress, under a mis- 
 taken sense of kindness, has asked the Vicar's son to 
 walk with me, and he is always lying in wait, — an 
 Ensign in a transition state between the sheepish 
 schoolboy and the fast man, with an experience of 
 three months of depot. Having roused him from the 
 pristine form, I regret the alternative. 
 
 ' Did I ever write so savage a letter ? Don't let it 
 vex you, or I won t send it. What a bull ! There is 
 such a delectable Scotch mist, that no one will suspect 
 me of going out ; and I shall actually cheat the Ensign, 
 and get a walk in solitude to hearten me for the 
 dismal state dinner party of the evening. 
 
 'October 14th. — Is it in the book of fate that I 
 should always treat this rose-coloured pastor like a 
 carrion crow ? I have done it again ! And it has but 
 brought out more of my father's marvellous kindness 
 and patience. 
 
NEW INHABITANTS. 219 
 
 ' I plunged into the Scotch mist unsuspected and 
 unpursuecL The visible ebullition of discontent had 
 so much disgusted me that I must needs see whether 
 anything could be done with it, and fairly face the 
 matter, as I can only do in a walk. Pillow counsel is 
 feverish and tumultuous ; one is hardly master of one- 
 self The soft, cool, mist-laden air, hea\y but incense- 
 breathing, was a far more friendly adjunct in the quiet 
 decay of nature — mournful, but not foul nor corrupt, 
 because man had not spoilt it. It suited me better 
 than a sunny, glaring day, such as I used to revel in, 
 and the brightness of which, last spring, made me pine 
 to be in the free air. Such days are past with me ; I 
 had better know that they are, and not strive after 
 them. Personal happiness is the lure, not the object, 
 in this world. I have my Northwold home, and I am 
 beginning to see that my father's comfort depends on 
 me as I little imagined, and sufficiently to sweeten any 
 sacrifice. So I have written to refuse Scarborough, 
 for there is no use in trying to combine two things, 
 pleasing my father and myself I ^^*ish the determina- 
 tion may last; but mine have never been good for 
 much, and you must help me. 
 
 ' Neither thinking nor fog conduced to seeing where 
 I was going; and when my ankle began to give out, 
 and I was going to turn, I ran into a hedge, which, 
 looming through the mist, I had been taking for a fine 
 range of distant mountains — rather my way of dealing 
 with other objects. Being without a horse on whose 
 neck to lay the reins, I could only coast the hedge, 
 hoping it might lead me back to Oakstead Park, which 
 I had abandoned in my craving for space and dread of 
 being dogged by the Ensign. But the treacherous 
 hedge led me nowhere but to a horsepond; and 
 when I had struggled out of the adjacent mire, and 
 attained a rising ground, I could only see about four 
 yards square of bare down, all the rest being grey fog. 
 Altogether, the scene was worth something. I heard 
 what I thought the tinkling of a sheep bell through 
 
220 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 the cloud, which dulled the sound like cotton wool; I 
 pursued the call, when anon, the veil began to grow 
 thin, and revealed, looking just like a transparency, a 
 glimpse of a little village in a valley almost under my 
 feet, trees, river, church- s])ire and all, and the bell 
 became clearer, and showed nie what kind of flock it 
 was meant for. 1 turned that way, and had just found 
 a path leading down the steep, when down closed the 
 cloud — a natural dissolving view — leaving me wonder- 
 ing whether it had been mirage or imagination, till 
 presently, the curtain drew up in earnest. Out came, 
 not merely form, but colour, as I have seen a camera 
 clear itselt^ — blue sky, purple hills, russet and orange 
 woods, a great elm green picked out with yellow, a mass 
 of brown oaks, a scarlet maple, a beech grove, skirting 
 a brilliant water meadow, with a most reflective stream 
 running through it, and giving occasion for a single- 
 arched bridge, and a water mill, with a wheel draperied 
 with white foam ; two swans disporting on the water 
 (I would not declare they were not geese), a few 
 cottony flakes of mist hanging over damj:) corners, the 
 hill rising green, with the bright whitewashed cottages 
 of this district, on the side a rich, red, sandstone-coloured 
 church, late architecture, tower rather mouldering — all 
 the more picturesque ; churchyard, all white headstones 
 and ochreous sheep, surmounted by a mushroom-shaped 
 dark yew tree, railed in with intensely white rails, the 
 whole glowing in the parting coup-de-soleil of a wet day, 
 every tear of every leaf glistening, and everything in- 
 describably lustrous. It is a picture that one's mental 
 photograph ought to stamp for life, and the cheering 
 and interest it gave, no one but you can understand. 
 I wished for you, I know. It looks so j^oor in 
 words. 
 
 ' After the ser\'ice, I laid hold of the urchin whose 
 hearty stare had most reminded me of Tom Madison, 
 and gave him a shilling to guide me back to Oakstead, 
 a wise measure, for down came the cloud, blotting all 
 out like the Castle of St. John; and by the time I 
 
>:ew inhabttaxts. 221 
 
 came home, it was pitch dark and raining hard, and 
 my poor father was imagining me at the foot of another 
 precipice. I was hoping to creep up in secret, but 
 they all came out, fell upon me, Lady Oakstead sent 
 me tea, and ordered me to rest ; and so handsomely 
 did I obey, that when next I opened my eyes, and saw 
 my father waiting, as I thought, for me to go down to 
 dinner with him, I found he had just come uj) after 
 the ladies had quitted the dining-room. So kind and 
 so little annoyed did he seem, that I shook myself, to 
 be certified that T had broken no more bones, but it 
 was all sheer forbearance and consideration — enough 
 to go to one's heart — when it was the very thing to 
 vex him most. With great penitence, I went down, 
 and the first person I encountered was the very curate 
 I had seen in my misterious -vTllage, much as if he had 
 walked out of a story book. On fraternizing, I found 
 him to be a friend of Holdsworth. Lady Oakstead is 
 going to take me, this afternoon, to see his church, (tc, 
 thoroughly; and behold, I learn from him that she is 
 a notable woman for doing good in her parish, never 
 so happy as in trotting to cottages, though her good 
 deeds are always in the background. Thereupon, I 
 ventured to attack her this morning: on cottage ofarni- 
 ture, and obtained the very counsel I wanted about 
 ovens and piggeries ; we began to get on together, and 
 she is to put me up to all manner of information that 
 I want particularly. I must go now, not to keep her 
 waiting; never mind the first half of my letter — I 
 have no time to cancel it now. I find my father wants 
 to put in a note : don't believe a word that he says, 
 for I am much better to-day, body and mind. 
 
 Goosey, goosey gander, 
 "Where shall we wander, 
 
 Anywhere, everywhere, to remain still 
 
 ' Your most afiectionate, 
 
 'Fits Goslds'g.' 
 
9,'2'2 DYNEVOR TERKACE. 
 
 Dear Aunt Kitty ! One of her failings was never to 
 be able to keep a letter to hei*self. She fairly cried 
 over her boy's troubles ; and Mrs. Ponsonby would not 
 have known whether to laugh or cry but for James's 
 doleful predictions, which were so sentimental as to 
 turn even his gi-andmother to the laughing party, and 
 left him no sympathizer but Mary, who thought it very 
 hard and cruel to deride Louis when he was trying so 
 earnestly to be good and suffering so much. Why 
 should they all — Aunt Catharine herself — be merry 
 over his thinking the spring- days of his life past away, 
 and trying so nobly and patiently to resign himself? 
 
 ' It is the way of the world, Mary,' said James. 
 ' People think they are laughing at the mistaking a 
 flock of sheep for the army of Pentapolin of the naked 
 arm, when they are really sneering at the lofty spirit 
 taking the weaker side. They involve the sublime 
 temper in the ridiculous accident, and laugh both alike 
 to scorn.' 
 
 ' Not mamma and Aunt Catharine,' said Mary. 
 ' Besides, is not half the harm in the world done by 
 not seeing where the sublime is invaded by the ridi- 
 culous V 
 
 * I see nothing ridiculous in the matter,' said James. 
 ' His father has demanded an unjustifiable sacrifice. 
 Fitzjocelyn yields and suffers.' 
 
 'I do believe Lord Ormersfield must relent; you 
 see how pleased he is, saying that Louis's conduct is 
 exemplary.' 
 
 'He would sacrifice a dozen sons to one prejudice!' 
 
 * Perhaps Miss Conway will overcome the prejudice. 
 I am sure, if he thinks Louis's conduct exemplary, 
 Louis must have the sort of happiness he used to wish 
 for most, and his father would do his very best to 
 gratify him.' 
 
 That sentence was Mary's cheval de hataille in her 
 discussions with James, who could never be alone with 
 her without broaching the subject. The two cousins 
 often walked together during James's month at North- 
 
np:w inhabitants. 223 
 
 wold. The town church was uot very efficiently served, 
 and was only opened in the morning and late evening 
 on Sundays, without any afternoon prayers, and James 
 was often in the habit of walking to Ormersfield church 
 for the three o'clock service, and asking Mary to join 
 him. Their return was almost always occupied in 
 descriptions of Miss Conway's perfections, and Mary 
 learnt to believe that two beings, evidently compounded 
 of every creature's best, must be destined for each 
 other. 
 
 ' How well it is,' she thought, * that I did not stand 
 in the way. Oh ! how unhappy and puzzled 1 should 
 be now. How thankful I am that dear mamma un- 
 derstood all for us so well ! How glad I am that 
 Louis is waiting patiently, not doing anything self- 
 willed. As long a.s his father says he is exemplary, 
 it must make one happy: and mamma will convince 
 Lord Ormersfield. It will all turn out well ; and 
 how delightful it will be to see him quite happy and 
 settled !' 
 
 Mary and her mother had by this time taken root 
 at Dynevor Terrace, and formed an integral part of 
 the inhabitants. Their newspaper went the round of 
 the houses, their name was sent to the Xorthwold 
 book-club and enrolled among the subscribers to local 
 charities, and Miss Mercy Faithfull found that their 
 purse and kitchen would bear deeper hauls than she 
 could in general venture upon. Mary was very happy, 
 working under her, and was a Avelcome and cheerful 
 visitor to the many sick, aged, and sorrowful to whom 
 she introduced her. 
 
 If Mary could only have induced Aunt Melicent to 
 come and see with her own eyes, to know Mrs. Frost 
 and the Faithfull sisters, and, above all, to see mamma 
 in her own house, she thought one of her most eager 
 wishes would have been fulfilled. But invite as she 
 and her mother might, they could not move Miss 
 Ponsonby from Bryanstone Square. Railroads and 
 country were both her dread ; and she was not inclined 
 
224) DY^'EVOR TEPtRACE. 
 
 to overcome her fears on behalf of a sister-in-law whom 
 she forgave, but could not love. 
 
 ' You must give it up, my dear,' said Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 * I let the time for our amalgamation pass. Melicent 
 and I were not tolerant of each other. Since she has 
 given you back to me, I can love and respect her as I 
 never did before ; but a little breach in youth becomes 
 too wide in age for either repentance or your affection, 
 my dear, to be able to span it.' 
 
 jNIary saw what a relief it was that the invitations 
 were not accepted, and though she was disa2:)pointed, 
 she blamed herself for having wished otherwise. Tran- 
 quillity was such a boon to that wearied spirit, each 
 day was so much gain that went by without the pain- 
 ful, fluttered look of distress; and never had Mrs. 
 Ponsonby had so much quiet enjoyment with her 
 daughter and her aunt. Mary was perfectly contented 
 in seeing her better, and had no aims beyond the pre- 
 sent trivial, commonplace life, with so many to help 
 by little ordinaiy services, and her mother serene 
 and comfortable. Placid, and yet active, she went 
 busily through the day, and did not forget the new 
 pleasures to which Louis had opened her mind. She 
 took up his books without a pang, and would say, 
 briskly and unblushingly, to her mother, how strange 
 it was that before she had been with him, she had 
 never liked at all, what she now cared for so much. 
 
 The winter portended no lack of excitement. Miss 
 Faithfull's rooms were engaged. When Miss Mercy 
 ran in breathless to Mrs. Frost with the tidings, she 
 little knew what feelings were excited ; the hope and 
 fear; the doubt and curiosity; the sense of guilt 
 towards the elder nephew, in not preventing what she 
 could not prevent, the rejoicing on behalf of the 
 younger nephew; the ladylike scorn of the motives 
 that brought the lodgers; yet the warm feeling to- 
 wards what was dear to Louis and admired by Jem. 
 
 What a flapping and battering of carpets on the 
 much-enduring stump ! What furious activity of 
 
I^£W INHABITANTS. 9.2 
 
 Martha! Wliat eager help of little Charlotte, who 
 was in a perfect trepidation of delight at the rumour 
 that a real beauty, lit for a heroine, was coming ! What 
 trotting hither and thither of Miss Mercy ! What 
 netting of blinds and stitching of chintz by Miss 
 Salome ! What envy and contempt on the part of 
 other landladies on hearing that Miss Faith full's 
 apartments were engaged for the whole w^inter! What 
 an anxious progress was Miss Mercy's, when she con- 
 ducted Mrs. Frost and Mary to a final inspection ! and 
 what was her triumph when Mary, sitting down on the 
 well-stufted arm-chair, pronounced that people who 
 would not come there did not understand what comfort 
 was. 
 
 Every living creature gazed — Mrs. Frost through 
 her blind, Mary behind her hydrangea in the balcony, 
 Charlotte from her attic window, — when the lodgers 
 disembarked in full force — two ladies, two children, 
 one governess, three maids, two men, two horses, one 
 King Charles's spaniel! Let it be what it might, it 
 was a grand windfall for the Miss Faithfulls. 
 • Mary's heart throbbed as the first carriage thundered 
 upon the gravel, and a sudden swelling checked her 
 voice as she was about to exclaim ' There she is !' when 
 the second lady emerged, and moved up the garden 
 path. She was veiled and mantled; but accustomed 
 as was ^Mary's eye to the Spanish figure and walk, the 
 wonderful grace of movement and deportment struck 
 her as the very thing her eye had missed ever since 
 she left Peru. What the rest of the strangei-s were 
 like, she knew not ; she had only eyes for the creature 
 who had won Louis's affection, and doubtless deserved 
 it, as all else that was precious. 
 
 ' So they are come, Charlotte,' said Mrs. Frost, as 
 the maiden demurely brought in the kettle. 
 
 ' Yes, ma'am ;' and stooping to put the kettle on, and 
 growing carnation-coloured over the fire. ' Oh, ma'am, I 
 never saw such a young lady. She is all one as the 
 king's sister in I'he Lord of the Isles T 
 
 VOL. I. <2 
 
22 G DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 While the object of all this enthusiasm "was arriving 
 at the Terrace, she was chiefly conscious that Sir 
 Koland was sinking down on the ramparts of Acre, 
 desperately wounded in the last terrible siege ; and she 
 was considering whether palmer or minstrel should 
 carry the tidings of his death to Adeline. It was her 
 refuge from the unpleasant feelings, with which she 
 viewed the experiment of the Northwold baths upon 
 Louisa's health. As the carriage stopped, she cast one 
 glance at the row of houses; they struck her as dreary 
 and dilapidated; she drew her mantle closer, shivered, 
 and walked into the house. ' Small rooms, dingy fur- 
 niture — that is mamma's affair,' passed through her 
 mind, as she made a courteous acknowledgment of Miss 
 ]\Iercy's greeting, and stood by the drawing-room fire. 
 ' Roland slowly awoke from his swoon ; a white-robed 
 old man, with a red eight-pointed cross on his breast, 
 
 was bending over him. He knew himself to be in 
 
 I can't remember which tower the Hospitallers de- 
 fended. I wonder whether Marianne can find the 
 volume of Vertot.' 
 
 ' Isabel, Isabel !' shrieked Virginia, who, with Louisa, 
 had been roaming everywhere; ' here is a discovery in 
 the school-room ! Come !' 
 
 It was an old framed print of a large house, as much 
 of a sham castle as the nature of things would permit ; 
 and beneath were the words ' Cheveleigh, the seat of 
 Roland Dynevor, Esquire.' 
 
 ' There !' cried Virginia ; ' you see it is a castle, a 
 dear old feudal castle! Think of that, Isabel! Why, 
 it is as good as seeing Sir Roland himself, to have 
 seen Mr. Dynevor Frost disinherited. Oh ! if his 
 name were only Roland, instead of that horrid James 1' 
 
 ' His initials are J. R.,' said Isabel. * It is a curious 
 coincidence.' 
 
 ' It only wants an Adeline to have the castle now,' 
 said Louisa. ' Oh ! there shall be an heiress, and she 
 sludl be beautiful, and he shan't go crusading — he shall 
 marry her.' 
 
NEW INHABITANTS. 227 
 
 Tlie sisters had not been aware that the school-room 
 maid, who had been sent on to prepare, was busy un- 
 packing in a corner of the room. ' They say, Miss 
 Louisa,' she interposed, ' that Mr. Frost is going to be 
 married to a great heiress — his cousin, Miss Ponsonby, 
 at No. 7.' 
 
 Isabel requited the forwardness by silently leaving 
 the room with the sisters, and Virginia apologized for 
 not havincr been more cautious than to lead to such 
 subjects. 'It is all gossip,' she said, angrily; 'Mr. 
 Dynevor would never marry for money.' 
 
 ' Nay, let us find in her an Adeline/ said Isabel. 
 
 The next day, j\[iss Mercy had hurried into No. 7, 
 to declare that the ladies were all that was charming, 
 but that their servants gave themselves airs beyond 
 credence, especially the butler, who played the guitar, 
 and insisted on a second table; when there was a peal 
 of the bell, and Mary from her post of observation 
 ' really believed it was Lady Conway herself;' where- 
 upon Miss Mercy, witliout listening to persuasions, 
 popped into the back drawing-room to effect her 
 retreat. 
 
 Lady Conway was all eagerness and cordiality, en- 
 chanted to renew her acquaintance, venturing so early 
 a call in hopes of prevailing on Mrs. Ponsonby to 
 come out with her to take a drive. She conjured 
 up recollections of Mary's childhood, declared that 
 she looked to her for drawing Isabel out, and was 
 extremely kind and agreeable. Mary thought her 
 delightful, with something of Louis's charm of manner; 
 and Mrs. Ponsonby believed it no acting, for Lady 
 Conway was sincerely affable and affectionate, with 
 great warmth and kindness, and might have been all 
 that was excellent, had she started into life with a diffe- 
 rent code of duty. 
 
 So there was to be an intimacy. For Fitzjocelyn's 
 sake, as well as for the real good-nat\ire of the ad- 
 vances, Mrs. Ponsonby would not shrink back more than 
 befitted her self-respect. Of that quality she had less 
 
 <i2 
 
228 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 tliaii Mrs. Frost, who, with her innate punctilious 
 spirit, avoided all favours or patronage. It was 
 curious to see the gentle old lady fire up with all the 
 dignity of the Pendragons, at the least peril of in- 
 curring an obligation ; and, though perfectly courteous, 
 easy, and obliging, she contrived to keep at a greater 
 distance than if she had been mistress of Cheveleigh. 
 There, she would have remembered that both she and 
 Lady Conway were aunts to Louis; at Northwold, 
 her care was to become beholden for nothing that she 
 could not repay. 
 
 Lady Conway did her best, when driving out with 
 Mrs. Ponsonby, to draw her into confidence. There 
 were tender reminiscences from her heart of poor 
 sweet Louisa, tearful inquiries respecting her last weeks, 
 certainties that Mrs. Ponsonby had been of great use 
 to her; for, poor darling, she had been thoughtless — 
 so much to turn her head. There was cause for regret 
 in their own education — there was then so niucli less 
 attention to essentials. Lady Conway could not have 
 borne to bring up her own girls as she herself and her 
 sisters had gro^v^l up ; she had chosen a governess who 
 made religion the first object, and she was delighted 
 to see them all so attached to her ; she had never had 
 any fears of their being too serious — people had learnt 
 to be reasonable now, did not insist on the imprac- 
 ticable, did not denounce moderate gaieties, as had 
 once been done to the alarm of poor Louisa. 
 
 Sweetest Louisa's son ! She could not speak too 
 warmly of him, and she declared herself highly grati- 
 fied by Mr. Mansell's opinion of his modesty, attention, 
 and good sense. Mr. Mansell was an excellent judge, 
 he had such an opinion of Lord Ormersfield's 2)ublic 
 character. 
 
 And, at a safe interv^al, she mentioned the proba- 
 bility that Beauchastel might be settled on Isabel, if 
 she should marry so as to please Mr. Mansell : he 
 cared for connexion more than for wealth; if he had 
 a weakness, it was for rank. 
 
NEW INIIABITAXTS. 229 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby tlioiiglit it fair that the Earl should 
 be aware of these facts. He smiled ironically. 
 
 He left his card with his sister-in-law, and, to have 
 it over while Louis w^as safe at Oxford, invited the 
 party to spend a day at Ormersfield, with jNIrs. Frost 
 to entertain them. He was far too considerate of the 
 feelings that he attributed to the Ponsonbys to ask them 
 to come ; and as three out of the six in company were 
 more or less in a state of haughtiness and coolness, 
 Lady Conw-ay's graces failed entirely; and poor inno- 
 cent Virginia and Louisa protested that they had 
 never spent so dull a day, and that they could not 
 believe their cousin Fitzjocelyn could belong to such 
 a tiresome place. 
 
 Isabel, who had undergone more dull days than they 
 had, contrived to get through it by torturing Adeline 
 with utter silence of all tidings from the East, and by 
 a swarm of suitors, with the fantastic Yiscount fore- 
 most. She never was aw^ake from her dream until Mr. 
 Holdsworth came to dinner, and was so straightfor- 
 ward and easy that he thawed every one. 
 
 Afterwards, he never failed to return an enthusiastic 
 reply to the question that all the neighbourhood were 
 asking each other — namely, whether they had seen 
 Miss Conway. 
 
 No one was a more devoted admirer than the Lady 
 of Eschalott, whose webs had a bad chance when 
 there was one glimpse of Miss Conway to be obtained 
 from the window, and the vision of \vhose heart w^as 
 that Mi^. INIartha might some day let her stand in the 
 housemaid's closet, to behold her idol issue forth in the 
 full glory of an evening dress — a thing Charlotte had 
 read of, but never seen anything nearer to it than 
 Miss Walby coming to tea, and her own Miss Clara in 
 the scantiest of all white muslins. 
 
 But Mrs. Martha was in an unexampled state of 
 vixenish crossness, and snapped venomously at mild 
 Mrs. Beckett for the kindest offers of sparing Char- 
 lotte to assist her in her multiplied labours. She 
 
230 DYXEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 seemed to be ruinnng after time all day long, with 
 five dinners and teas npon her hands, poor woman, 
 and allowing herself not the slightest relaxation, 
 except to rush in for a few seconds to No. 7, to 
 indulge herself by inveighing against the whole of the 
 fine servants; and yet she was so proud of having 
 lodgers at all, that she hated them for nothing so much 
 as for threatening to go away. 
 
 The object of her bitterest invectives was the fas- 
 tidious butler, Mr. Delaford, who by her account 
 could do nothing for himself, grudged her mistresses 
 their very sitting-room, drank wine with the ladies' 
 maids like a gentleman, and ordered fish for the 
 second table; talked of having quitted a duke, and 
 submitting to live with Lady Conway because he 
 compassionated unprotected females, and my Lady was 
 dependent on him for the care of Sir Walter in the 
 holidays. To crown his ofifences, he never cleaned his 
 own plate, but drew sketches and ])layed the guitar! 
 Moreover, Mrs. Martha had her notions that he was 
 making that sickly Frenchified maid of Miss Conway's 
 much too fond of him ; and as to his calling himself 
 Mr. Delaford — w'hy, Mrs. Martha had a shrewd sus- 
 picion that he was some kin to her fii-st cousin's 
 brother-in-law's shopman's wife in Tottenham-court- 
 road, whose name she knew was Ford, and who had 
 been picked out of a gutter! The establishment of 
 such a fact appeared as if it would be the triumph of 
 Mrs. Martha's liie. In the mean time, she more than 
 hinted that she would wear herself to the bone rather 
 than let Charlotte Arnold into the house; and Jane, 
 generally assenting, though seldom going all lengths, 
 used to divert the conversation by comparisons with 
 Mr. Frampton's j)olitcness and consideration. He 
 never came to No. 5 to give trouble, only to help. 
 
 The invectives produced on Charlotte's mind an 
 efiect the reverse of what was intended. I\Ir. Dela- 
 ford, a finer gentleman than Mr. Frampton and Mr. 
 Poynings, must be a wonder of nature. The guitar — 
 
XETV INHABITANTS. 231 
 
 redolent of serenades and Spanish cloaks — oh I Lut 
 once to see and hear it ! The very rudeness of Mrs. 
 Martha's words, so often repeated, gave her a feeling in 
 favour of their object. Slie had known Mrs. Martha 
 unjust before. Poor Tom ! if he had only been a 
 Spaniard, he would have sung about the white dove — 
 his pretty thought — in a serenade; but then he might 
 have poignarded Mr. James in his passion, which 
 would have been less agreeable — she supposed he had 
 forgotten her long ago — and so much the better ! 
 
 It was a Sunday evening. Every one was gone to 
 church, except Charlotte, who was left to keep house. 
 Thoutjh November, it was not cold ; the dav had been 
 warm and showery, and the full moon had risen in the 
 most glorious brightness, riding in a sky the blue of 
 which looked almost black by contrast with her bril- 
 liancy. Charlotte stood at the back door, crazincr at 
 the moon walking in biicjhtness, and wandered into 
 the garden, to enjoy what to her was beyond all other 
 delights, reading Gessner's Death of Abel by moon- 
 light. There was quite sufficient light, even if she had 
 not known the idyll almost by heart ; and in a trance 
 of dreamy, undefined delight, she stood beside the dark 
 ivy-covered wall, each leaf glistening in the moon- 
 beams, which shed a subdued pearliness over her white 
 apron and collar, paled but gave a shadowy refinement 
 to her features, and imparted a peculiar soft golden gloss 
 to the fair braids of hair on her modest brow. 
 
 A sound of opening the back gate made her give 
 one of her violent starts ; but before she could spring 
 into the shelter of the house, she was checked by the 
 civil words, ' I beg your pardon, I was mistaken — I 
 took this for No. 8.' 
 
 ' Three doors off — ' began Charlotte, discovering, with 
 a shy thrill of surprise and pleasure, that she had been 
 actually accosted by the great Mr. Delaford ; and the 
 moonlight, quite as becoming to him as to her, made 
 him an absolute Italian count, tall, dark, pale, and 
 whiskered. He did not go away at once ; he lingered, 
 
232 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 and said softly, ' I perceive tliat you partake my ovm 
 predilection for the moonlight hour.' 
 
 Charlotte would have been delighted, had it not been 
 a jrreat deal harder to find an answer than if the old 
 Lord had asked her a question; but she simpered and 
 blushed, which probably did just as well. 
 
 Mr. Delaford supposed she knew the poet's lines — 
 
 ' How sweet the moonlight sleeps on yonder bank — ' 
 
 * Oh yes, sir — so sweet !' exclaimed the Lady of 
 Eschalott, under her breath, though yonder bank was 
 only represented by the chequer-work of Mrs. Pon- 
 sonby's latticed trellis; and Mr. Delaford proceeded to 
 quote the whole passage, in a deep mellow voice, but 
 with a gi'eat deal of affectation ; and Charlotte gasped, 
 ^So beautiful!' 
 
 ' I perceive that you have a fine taste for poetry,' 
 said Mr. Delaford, so graciously, that Charlotte pre- 
 sumed to say, ' Oh, sir ! is it true that you can play the 
 guitar]' 
 
 He smiled upon her tone of veneration, and replied, 
 ^a trifle — a little instrumental melody was a great 
 resource. If his poor performance would afford her 
 any gratification, he would fetch his guitar.' 
 
 'Oh, sir — thank you — a psalm-tune, perhaps. It is 
 Sunday — if you would be so kind.' 
 
 He smiled superciliously as he regretted that his 
 music was not of that description, and Charlotte felt 
 ready to sink into the earth at the indignity she had 
 done the guitar in forgetting that it could accompany 
 anything but such songs as Valancourt sang to Emily. 
 She begged his pardon huml)ly; and he declared that 
 he had a great respect for a lady's scruples, and should 
 be happy to meet her another evening. ' If Mrs. Beckett 
 would allow her,' said Charlotte, overpowered with 
 gratitude : ' there would be the moon full to-morrow — 
 how delightful !' He could spare a short interval be- 
 tween the dinner and the tea; and with this j)romise 
 he took leave. 
 
 Honest little Charlotte told Mrs. Beckett the whole 
 
NEW INHABITANTS. 233 
 
 story, and all her eager wishes for to-morrow eveuing; 
 and Jane sighed and puzzled herself", and knew it would 
 make Martha veiy angry, hut could not help being 
 good-natured. Jane had a great deference for ^lartha's 
 strong, rough character ; but then Martha liad never 
 lived in a great house, and did not know ' what was 
 what,' nor the difference between ' low people' and 
 upper servants. So Jane acted chaperon as far as her 
 easy discretion went, and had it to say to her own con- 
 science, and to the angry Martha, that he never said 
 one word that need offend any young woman. 
 
 There was a terrible storm below-stairs in the House 
 Beautiful at the idea of Delaford taking up with Mrs. 
 Frost's little kitchen-maid — Delaford, the lady's-maid 
 killer par excellence, wherever Lady Conway went, and 
 whose coquetries whitened the cheeks of Miss Conway's 
 poor Marianne, the object of his attention's whenever 
 he had no one else in view. He had not known Char- 
 lotte to be a kitchen-maid when he first beheld her, 
 and her fair beauty and retiring gi-ace had had full 
 scope, assisted by her veneration for himself ; and now 
 the scorn of the grand Mrs. Fanshawe, and the amuse- 
 ment of teasing Marianne, only made him the more 
 bent on patronizing ' the little rustic,' as he called her. 
 He was deferential to Mrs. Beckett, who felt hei-self 
 in her element in discussing plate, china, and large 
 establishments with him; and he lent books, talked 
 poetry, and played the guitar to Charlotte, and even 
 began to take her portrait, with her mouth all on one side. 
 
 Delaford was an admirable servant, said the whole 
 Conway family; he was tinisted as entirely as he re- 
 presented, and Lady Conway often gave him charge 
 over her son in sports and expeditions beyond ladies' 
 management: he was, in effect, nearly the ruler of the 
 household, and never allowed his lady to go anywhere 
 if he did not approve. If it had not been for the 
 ' little rustic's' attractions, perhaps he might have made 
 strong demonstrations a^'ainst the House Beautiful. 
 Little did Miss Faithfull know the real cause of her 
 receiving or retaining her lodgers. 
 
234 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 CHAPTER XY. 
 
 MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR. 
 
 For better far than passion's glow, 
 
 Or aught of worldly choice, 
 To listen His own will to know, 
 
 And, listening, hear his voice. 
 
 The Angel of Marriage — Rev. I. Williams. 
 
 THE friendships that grew up out of sight were far 
 more effective than anything that Lady Conway 
 could accomplish on the stage. ]\Iiss King and the 
 Miss Faithfulls found each other out at once, and 
 the cfoverness was entreated to knock at the door at 
 the bottom of the stairs whenever her pupils could 
 spare her. 
 
 Then came eager wishes from her pupils to be 
 admitted to the snuggery, and they were invited to 
 see tlie curiosities. Isal^el believed the * very good' 
 was found, and came with her sisters. She begged to 
 be allowed to help in their parish v/ork, under Miss 
 Mercy Faithfull's guidance; and Sir Roland stood still, 
 while she fancied she was learning to make little frocks, 
 but really listening to their revelations of so new a 
 world. She went out with Miss Mercy — she undertook 
 a class aV\d a district, and began to be happier than 
 ever before ; though how much of the absolute harder 
 toil devolved on Miss King, neither she nor the gover- 
 ness understood. 
 
 This led to intercourse with Mary Ponsonby; and 
 Isabel was a very different person in that homely, 
 friendly parlour, from the lofty, frigid Miss Conway of 
 the drawing-room. Cold hauteur melted before Mary's 
 frank simplicity, and they became friends as fast as two 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAK. 235 
 
 ladies conld beyond the a^e of roniantic plunges, where 
 on one side there was good-will without enthusiasm, on 
 the other enthusiasm and reserve. They called each 
 other ' Miss Conway' and ' Miss Ponsonby,' and ex- 
 changed no family secrets ; but they were, for all that, 
 faster friends than young ladies under twenty might 
 imagine. 
 
 One winter's day, the crisp, exhilarating frost had 
 lured them far along the high road beyond ]Mr. Cal- 
 cott's park palings, talking over Isabel's favoiu-ite 
 theme, what to wish for her little brother, when the 
 sound of a large clock strikincj three made Isabel ask 
 where she was. 
 
 ' It was the stable clock at Ormersfield,' said Mary; 
 * did you not know we were on that road V 
 
 ' No, I did not.' And Isabel would have turned, 
 but ]\Iary begged her to take a few steps up the lane, 
 that they might see how Lord Fitzjocelvn's new 
 cottages looked. Isabel complied, and added, after 
 a pause, *Are you one of Lord Fitzjocelyn's wor- 
 shippers V 
 
 ' I should not like to worship any one,' said Mary, 
 looking straightforward. ' I am very fond of him, 
 because I have known him all my life. And he is so 
 good !' 
 
 ' Then I think I may consider you exempt ! It is 
 the only fault I have to find with Northwold. You 
 are the only person who does not rave about him — the 
 only person who has not mentioned his name.' 
 
 ' Have I not ? I think that was very imkind of 
 me — ' 
 
 ' Very kind to me,' said Isabel. 
 
 'I meant, to him,' said iMary, blushing; 'if you 
 thought that I did not think most highly of him — ' 
 
 ' Don't go on ! I was just going to trust to you for 
 a calm, dispassionate statement of his merits, and I 
 shall soon lose all my faith in you.' 
 
 'My mother — ' began Mary; but just then Lord 
 Ormersfield came forth from one of the cottatres, and 
 
23G DYNKVOR TERllACE. 
 
 encountered the yoiinc; ladies. He explained that 
 Fitzjocelyn was coming home next week, and he had 
 come to see how his last orders had been executed, 
 since Frampton and the carpenter had sometimes 
 chosen to think for themselves. He was very anxious 
 that all should be right, and, after a few words, revealed 
 a perplexity about ovens and boilers, in which Mary's 
 counsel would be invaluable. So, with apologies and 
 ceremonies to Miss Conway, they entered, and Isabel 
 stood waiting in the dull kitchen, smelling of raw 
 plaster, wondering at the extreme eagerness of the 
 discussion with the mason over the yawning boiler, the 
 Earl referring to his son's letter, holding it half a-yard 
 off, and at last giving it to Mary to decipher by the 
 waning light. 
 
 So far had it waned, that when the fixtures had all 
 been inspected, Lord Ormerstield declared that the 
 young ladies must not return alone, and insisted on 
 escorting them home. Every five minutes some one 
 thought of something to say : there was an answer, 
 and by good luck a rejoinder; then all died away, and 
 Mary pondered how her mother would in her place 
 have done somethinfj to draw the two together, but 
 she could not. She feared the walk had made Isabel 
 more adverse to all connected with Ormersfield than 
 even previously; for the Ormersfield road was avoided, 
 and the question as to Fitzjocelyn's merits was never 
 renewed. 
 
 Mary thought his cause w^ould be safest in the hands 
 of his great champion, who was coming home from 
 Oxford with him, and was to occupy his vacation in 
 acting tutor to little Sir Walter Conway. Louis came, 
 the day after his return, with his father, to make visits 
 in the Terrace, and was as well-behaved and uninte- 
 resting; as morninor calling could make him. He was 
 looking very well — his general health quite restored, 
 and his ankle much better; though he was still for- 
 bidden to ride, and could not walk far. 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR. 237 
 
 'You must come and see me, Aunt Kitty,' lie 
 said; *I am not available for coming in to see 
 you. I'm reading, and I've made a resignation of 
 myself,' he added, with a slight blush, and dehonnaire 
 shrug, glancing to see that his father was occupied 
 with James. 
 
 They were to dine with Lady Conway on the fol- 
 lowing Tuesday. In the interim, no one beheld them 
 except Jem, who walked to Ormersfield once or twice 
 for some skating for his little pupil Walter, and came 
 back reporting that Louis had sold himself, body and 
 soul, to his father. 
 
 Clara came home, a degree more civilized, and burn- 
 ing to confide to Louis that she had thought of his 
 advice,, had been the less miserable for it, and had much 
 more on which to consult him. IShe could not conceive 
 why even grandmamma would not consent to her ac- 
 companying the skatei's; though she was giving herself 
 credit for protesting that she was not going on the ice, 
 only to keep poor Louis company, while the others 
 were skating. 
 
 She was obliged to defer her hopes of seeing him 
 until Tuesday, when she had been asked to drink tea 
 in the school-room, and apj^ear in the evening. Mrs. 
 Frost had consented, as a means of exempting herself 
 from the party. And Clara's incipient feminine natnre 
 began to flutter at her first gaiety. The event was 
 magnified by a present from Jem, of a broad rose- 
 coloured sash and white muslin dress, with a caution 
 that she was not to consider the tucks up to the waist 
 as a provision for future growth. 
 
 She flew to exhibit the finery to the Miss Faithfulls, 
 and to consult on the making-up, and, to her conster- 
 nation, was caught by Miss Conway kneeling on the 
 floor, being measured by Miss Salome. To Isabel, 
 there was a sort of touching novelty in the simplicity 
 that could glory in i)ink ribbon when embellished 
 by being a brother's gift; she looked on with calm 
 
238 BYNEVOR TEHIIACE. 
 
 I^leasure at sncli homely excitement, and even fetched 
 some bows of lier own, for examples, and offered to 
 send Marianne down with patterns. 
 
 Clara was enchanted to recognise in Miss Conway 
 the vision of the Eiiston-square platform. The grand, 
 quiet style of beauty was exactly fitted to impress a 
 mind like hers, so strongly imbued with sentiments 
 like those of Louis, and regarding Isabel as necessarily 
 Louis's destiny, she began to adore her accordingly, 
 with a girl-reverence, quite as profound, far more 
 unselfish, and little less ardent than that of man for 
 woman. That a female vision of perfection should 
 engross Clara's imagination, was a step towards soften- 
 ing her; but, poor child I the dawn of womanhood was 
 to come in a painful burst. 
 
 Sur})risecl at her own aspect, with her light hair 
 dressed by Jane and wi-eathed with ivy leaves by 
 grandmamma, and her skirts so full that she could 
 not refrain from making a gigantic cheese, she was 
 inspected and admired V>y gi-anny and Jane, almost 
 approved by Jem himself; and, exalted by the con- 
 sciousness of being well-dressed, she repaired to the 
 school-room tea at the House Beautiful. 
 
 Virginia and Louisa were, she thought, very poor 
 imitations of Louis's countenance — the one too round, 
 the other too thin and sallow; but both they, their 
 brother, and Miss King were so utterly unlike any- 
 tliing at school, that she was at once at ease, and began 
 talking with Walter over schoolboy fun, in which he 
 could not be a greater proficient than herself. 
 Walter struck up a violent friendship for her on the 
 spot, and took to calling her ' a fellow,' in oblivion of 
 her sex; and Virginia and Louisa fell into ecstasies of 
 laughter, which encouraged Clara and Walter to com- 
 pete with each other which should most astonish their 
 weak minds. 
 
 In the drawing-room, Lady Conway spoke so gra- 
 ciously, that Clara was quite distressed at looking over 
 lier head. Mary looked somewhat oppressed, saying 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR. 239 
 
 her mother had not been so well that day ; and she 
 was disposed to keep in the backgi-ound, and occupy 
 herself with Clara; but it was quite contrary to the 
 Giraffe's notions to be engrossed by any one when Louis 
 was coming. As if she had divined Mary's intentions 
 of keeping her from importuning him, she was con- 
 tinually gazing at the door, ready at once to claim his 
 attention. 
 
 At first, the gentlemen only appeared in a black 
 herd at the door, where Mr. Calcott had stopped Lord 
 OrDiersfield short, in his eagerness to impress on him 
 the views of the county on a police-bill in course of 
 preparation for the next session. The other magis- 
 trates congregated round ; but James Frost and Sydney 
 Calcott had slij^ped past, to the piano where Lady 
 Conw^ay had sent Miss Calcott and Isabel. ' Why did 
 not Fitzjocelyn come too V was murmured by the young 
 group in the recess opposite the door; and when at 
 last he became visible, leaning against the wall, listen- 
 ing to the Squire, Virginia declared he was going to 
 serve them just as he used at Beauchastel. 
 
 ' Oh, no ! he shan't — I'll rescue him 1' exclaimed 
 Clara; and leaping up to her cameleopard attitude, 
 she sprang forward, and, with a voice audible in an 
 unlucky lull of the music, she exclaimed, 'Louis! 
 Louis ! don't you see that I am here ?' 
 
 As he turned, with a look of surprise and almost 
 rebuke, her own words came back to her ears as they 
 must have sounded to others ; her face became poppy- 
 coloured, nothing light but her flaxen eyebrows; and 
 she scarcely gave her hand to be shaken. ' No, I did 
 not know you were coming,' he said; and almost par- 
 taking her confusion, as he felt all eyes upon her, he 
 looked in vain for a refuge for her. 
 
 How welcome was I\Tary's kind face and quiet 
 gesture, covering poor Clara's retreat as she sank into 
 a dark nook, sheltered by the old black cabinet ! Louis 
 thanked Mary by a look, as much as to say, ' Just like 
 you,' and was glad to perceive that James had not 
 
240 DYNEVOR TERllACE. 
 
 been present. He had gone to tisk Miss Faithfull to 
 supply the missing stanzas of a Jacobite song, and 
 just then returned, saying that she knew them, but 
 could not remember them. 
 
 Fitzjocelyn, however, capped the fragment, and 
 illustrated it with some anecdotes that interested 
 Miss Conway. James had gi-eat hopes that she was 
 going to see him to the best advantage, but still there 
 was a great drawback in the presence of Sydney Cal- 
 cott. Idolized at home, successful abroad, young Cal- 
 cott liad enough of the prig to be a perpetual irrita- 
 tion to Jem Frost, all the more because he could never 
 make Louis resent, nor accept, as other than natural, 
 the goodnatured supercilious patronage of the steady 
 distinguished senior towards the idle junior. 
 
 Jacobite legends and Stuart relics would have made 
 Miss Conway oblivious of everything else ; but Sydney 
 Calcott must needs divert the conversation from that 
 channel by saying, ' Ah ! there Fitzjocelyn is in his 
 element. He is a perfect handbook to the byways 
 of history.' 
 
 * For the diffusion of useless knowledge ?' said Louis. 
 
 * Illustrated by the examination, when the only 
 fact you could adduce about the Argonauts was that 
 Charles V. founded the order of the Golden Fleece.' 
 
 ' I beg your pardon ; it was his great-grandfather. 
 I had read my Qaentin Durivard too well for that.' 
 
 ' I suspect,' said Isabel, ' that we had all rather 
 be examined in our Quentin Durward than our 
 Clmrles F.' 
 
 'Ah!' said young Calcott, 'I had all my dates at 
 my fingers' ends when I went up for the modern his- 
 tory prize. Now my sister could beat me.' 
 
 * A proof of what I always say,' observed Louis, 
 * that it is lost labour to read for an examination.' 
 
 'From personal experience?' asked Sydney. 
 
 * A Strasburg goose nailed down and crammed be- 
 fore a fire, becomes a Strasbuig pie,' said Louis, 
 
 Never did Isabel look more bewildered, and Sydney 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAll. 241 
 
 did not seem at once to catch the meaning. James 
 added, ' A goose destined to fulfil the term of existence 
 is not crammed, but the pie stimulus is not required 
 to prevent it from starving.' 
 
 ' Is your curious and complimentary culinary fable 
 aimed against reading or against examinations?' asked 
 Sydney. 
 
 'Against neither; only against the connecting pre- 
 position.' 
 
 ' Then you mean to find a superhuman set of 
 students V 
 
 'Xo; I'm past that. Men and examinations ^vill 
 go on as they are : the goose will run wild, the require- 
 ments will be increased, he will nail himself down in 
 his despair; and he who crams hardest, and has the 
 hottest place w^ill gain.' 
 
 ' Then how Is the labour lost V asked Isabel. 
 
 'You are new to Fitzjocelyn's paradoxes.' said 
 Sydney ; as if glorying in having made Louis contra- 
 dict himself 
 
 * The question is, what is lost labour V said Louis. 
 Both Sydney Calcott and Miss Conway looked as if 
 
 they thought he was arguing on after a defeat. ' Cal- 
 cott is teachincj her his own obtuseness !' thouo^ht 
 James, in a pet; and he exclaimed, 'Is the aim to 
 make men or winnei's of prizes V 
 
 ' The aim of prizes is commonly supposed to be to 
 make men,' loftily observed Sydney. 
 
 'Exactly so; and, therefore, I would not make 
 them too analogous to the Strasburg system,' said 
 Louis. ' I would have them close, searching, but not 
 admitting of immediate ci*amming.' 
 
 * Pray how would you bring that about V 
 
 'By having no subject on which superficial know- 
 ledge could make a show.' 
 
 ' Oh 1 I see whither you are working round ! That 
 won't do no%v, my dear fellow; we must enlarge our 
 field, or we shall lay ourselves open to the charge of 
 being narrow-minded.' 
 
 VOL. I. B 
 
9A2 DYNE von TERRACE. 
 
 * Yoli liave not strength of mind to be narrow- 
 minded!' said Louis, shaking his head. 'Ah! well, I 
 have no more to say ; my trust is in the narrow mind, 
 the only expansive one — ' 
 
 He was at that moment called away; Lord Ormers- 
 field's cari'iage had been announced, and his son was 
 not in a quarter of the room where he wished to de- 
 tain him. James could willingly have bitten Sydney 
 Calcott for the observation, 'Poor Fitzjocelyn! he 
 came out strong to-night.' 
 
 ' Very clever,' said Isabel, wishing to gratify James. 
 
 * Oh yes, very ; if he had ever taken pains,' said 
 Sydney. ' There is often something in his paradoxes. 
 After all, I believe he is reading hard for his degree, is 
 he not, Jem'? His feelings would not be hurt by the 
 question, for he never piqued himself upon his con- 
 sistency.' 
 
 Luckily for the general peace, the Calcott household 
 was on the move, and Jem solaced himself on their de- 
 parture by exclaiming, ' Well done, Strasburg system ! 
 A high-power Greek-imbibing machine, he may be; 
 but as to comprehending Fitzjocelyn — ' 
 
 'Nay,' said Isabel, ' 1 thiuk Lord Fitzjocelpi ought 
 to carry about a pocket expositor, if he will be so very 
 startling. He did not stay to tell us what to under- 
 stand by narrow minds.' 
 
 ' Did you ever hear of any one good for anything, 
 that was not accused of a narrow mind?' exclaimed 
 James. 
 
 ' If that were what he meant,' said Isabel ; — ' but he 
 said Ids trust was in the narrow mind — ' 
 
 ' In what is popularly so called,' said James. 
 
 ' I think,' said Mary, leaning foi-ward, and speaking 
 low, ' that he did not mean it to be explained away. I 
 think he was going to say that the heart may be wide, 
 but the mind must be so far narrow, that it will accept 
 only the one right, not the many wrong.' 
 
 * I thought narrowness of mind consisted in thinking 
 your own way the only right one,' said Isabel. 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR. 243 
 
 * Every one says so,' said Mary; ^ and that is why he 
 says it takes strength of mind to be narrow-minded. 
 Is not the real evil, the judging people harshly, because 
 their ways are not the same ; not the being sure that 
 tlie one way is the only right ! Others may be better 
 than ourselves, and may be led right in spite of 
 their error, but surely we are not to think all paths 
 alike—' 
 
 'And is that Lord Fitzjocelyn's definition of a nar- 
 row mind V said Isabel. ' It sounds like faith and love. 
 Are you sure you did not make it yourself, Miss 
 Ponsonby V 
 
 ' I could not,'' said IMary, blushing, as she remembered 
 one Sunday evening when he liad said something to 
 that effect, which had insensibly overthrown the 
 theory in which she had been bred up ; namely, that 
 all the sincere were right, and yet that, practically, 
 every one was to be censured, who did not act exactly 
 like Aunt Melicent. 
 
 She rose to take leave, and Clara clung to her, 
 emerging from the shade of her cabinet with colour 
 little mitigated since her disappearance. James would 
 have come with them, but was detained by Lady Con- 
 way for a few moments longer than it took them to 
 put on their shawls ; and Clara would not wait. She 
 dragged Mary down the steps into the darkness, and 
 gi'oaned out, ' O Mary, he can never speak to me 
 again !' 
 
 'My dear! he will not recollect it. It was very 
 awkward, but new places and new people often do 
 make us forget ourselves.' 
 
 ' Everybody saw, everybody heard ! O, I shall never 
 bear to meet one of them a^ain !' 
 
 ' I think very few saw or heard — ' began Mar}'. 
 
 'He did! I did! That's enough! The rest 
 
 o 
 
 IS 
 
 nothing ! I have been as bad as any one at school ! I 
 shall never hold up my head there again as I have 
 done ; and Louis ! Oh !' 
 
 ' Dear child, it will not be remembered. You only 
 
 R 2 
 
2i4! DYNEVOU TEURACE. 
 
 forgot how tall you were, and that you were not at 
 home. He knows you too well to care.' 
 
 James shouted from behind to know why they had 
 not been let into the house ; and as Clara rushed in at 
 the door and he walked on with Mary to leave her 
 at home and fetch his grandmother, who had been 
 spending the evening with Mrs. Ponsonby, he muttered, 
 ' I don't know which is most intolerable ! He neglects 
 her, talks what, if it be not nonsense, might as well be; 
 and as if she were not ready enough to misunderstand, 
 Sydney Calcott must needs thrust in his wits to em- 
 broil her understanding. Mary ! can't you get her to 
 see the stuff he is made of?' 
 
 ' If she cannot do that for herself, no persuasion of 
 mine will make her,' said Mary. 
 
 * No ! you do not half appreciate him either ! No 
 one does! And yet you could, if you tried, do some- 
 thing with her ! I see she does not think you preju- 
 diced. You made an impression to-night.' 
 
 Mary felt some consternation. Could it depend on 
 her 1 She could speak naturally, and from her heai-t 
 in defence of Louis when occasion served ; but some- 
 thing within her forbade the thought of doing so on a 
 system. Was that sometJiing wrong ! She could not 
 answer ; but contented herself with the womanly 
 intuition that showed her that anything of persuasion 
 in the present state of affairs would be ineffectual and 
 unbecoming. 
 
 Meantime, Clara had fled to her little room, to bid 
 her childhood farewell in a flood of bitter tears. 
 
 Exaggerated shame, past disdain of the foibles of 
 others, the fancy that she was publicly disgraced and had 
 forfeited Louis's good opinion, each thought renewed 
 her sobs ; but the true pang was the perception that old 
 times were passed for ever. He might forgive, he 
 would still be friend and cousin ; but womanhood had 
 broken on her, and shown that perfect freedom was at 
 an end. Happy for her that slie wept but for the 
 parting from a playfellow ! Happy that her feelings 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY V,'EM{. 245 
 
 ■were young and undeveloped, free from all the cruel 
 permanence that earlier vanity or self-consciousness 
 might have given ; happy that it could be so freely 
 washed away! When she had spent her sobs, she 
 could resolve to be wise and steady, so as to be a fit 
 governess to his children ; and the tears flowed at the 
 notion of being so distant and respectful to his lord- 
 ship. But what stories she could tell them of his 
 boyhood ! And in the midst of — 'Now, my dears, T will 
 tell you about your papa when he was a little boy,' she 
 fell asleep. 
 
 That party was a thing to be remembered with 
 tingling cheeks for life, and Clara dreaded her next 
 meeting with Louis ; but the days passed on without 
 his coming to the Terrace, and the terror began to 
 wear off, especially as she did not find that any one 
 else remembered her outbreak. Mary guarded against 
 any unfavourable impression by a few simple words to 
 Isabel and Miss King as to the brotherly terms that 
 had hitherto prevailed, and poor Claras subsequent 
 distress. Clara came in for some of the briorht tints in 
 which her brother was viewed at the House Beautiful ; 
 Walter was very fond of her, and she had been drawn 
 into a friendship for Virginia, cemented in the course 
 of long walks ; when the schoolroom party always 
 begged for Mr. and Miss Dynevor, because no one else 
 could keep Walter from disturbing Louisa's nerves by 
 teasing her pony or sliding on dubious ice. 
 
 As jNIrs. Ponsonby often joined in Lady Conway's 
 drive, Mary and Isabel were generally among the 
 •walkers ; and Mary was considered by Louisa as an 
 inestimable pony-leader, and an inexhaustible maga- 
 zine of stories about sharks, earthquakes, llamas, and 
 icebergs. 
 
 James and Miss Conway generally had either book 
 or principle to discuss, and were usually to be found 
 somewhat in the rear, either with or without Miss 
 King. One day, however, James gave notice that he 
 should not be at their service that afternoon ; and as 
 
246 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 soon as Walter's lessons had been despatched, he set 
 out with rapid steps for Ormersfield Park, clenching 
 his teeth together every now and then with his deter- 
 minate resolution that he would make Louis know his 
 own mind, and would ' stand no nonsense.' 
 
 ' Ah ! James, good morning,' said the Earl, as he 
 presented himself in the study. 'You will find Louis 
 in his room. I wish you would make him come out 
 with you. He is working harder than is good for him.' 
 
 He spoke of his son far differently from former 
 times ; but Jem only returned a judiciously intoned 
 * Poor fellow.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield looked at him anxiously, and, hesi- 
 tating, said, ' You do not think him out of spirits V 
 
 * Oh, he carries it off very well. I know no one with 
 so strong a sense of duty/ replied Jem, never com- 
 passionate to the father. 
 
 Again the Earl paused, then said, ' He may probably 
 speak more unreservedly to you than to me.' 
 
 ' He shuns the topic. He says there is no use in 
 aggravating the feelings by discussion. He would fain 
 submit in heart as well as in will.' 
 
 Lord Ormersfield sighed, but did not appear disposed 
 to say more ; and, charitably hoping that a dagger had 
 been implanted in him, Jem ran up-stairs, and found 
 Louis sitting writing at a table, which looked as if 
 Mary had never been near it. 
 
 ' Jem ! That's right ! I've not seen you this age.' 
 
 ' What are you about V 
 
 ' I wanted particularly some one to listen. It is an 
 essay on the Police — ' 
 
 ' Is this earnest V 
 
 ' Sober earnest. Sir Miles and all that set are 
 anxious to bring the matter forward, and my father 
 has been getting it up, as he does whatever he may 
 have to speak upon. His eyes are rather failing for 
 candle-light work, so I have been helping him in the 
 evening, till it struck me that it was a curious sub- 
 ject to trace in history, — the Censors, the attempts 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR. 247 
 
 in Germany and Spain to supply the defective law, 
 the Spanish and Italian dread of justice. I became 
 enamoured of the notion, and when I have thrown all 
 the hints together, I shall try to take in my father by 
 reading them to him as an article in the Quarterly.^ 
 
 ' Oh, very well. If your soul is there, that is an 
 end of the matter.' 
 
 * Of what matter V 
 
 ' Things cannot run on in this way. It is not a 
 thing to lay upon me to go on working in your cause 
 with her when you \vill not stir a step in your own 
 behalf 
 
 ' I am very much obliged to you, but I never asked 
 you to work in my cause. I beg your pardon, Jem, 
 don't fly into a \yelsh explosion. No one ever meant 
 more kindly and generously — ' He checked himself in 
 amaze at the demonstration he had elicited ; but, as it 
 was not accompanied with words, he continued, ' No 
 one can be more grateful to you than I ; but, as far as 
 I can see, there is nothing for it but to be thankful 
 that no more harm has been done, and to let the 
 matter drop ;' and he dropped his hand with just so 
 much despondency as to make Jem think him worth 
 storming at, instead of giving him up; and he went 
 over the old gi'ound of Louis being incapable of true 
 passion and unworthy of such a being if he could yield 
 her without an effort, merely for the sake of peace. 
 
 ' I say, Jem,' said Louis, quietly, ' all this was bad 
 enough on neutral ground; it is mere treason under 
 my father's own roof, and I will have no more of it.' 
 
 ' Then,' cried James, with a strange light in his 
 eyes, ' you henceforth renounce all hopes — all jn-e- 
 tensions ]' 
 
 ' I never had either hope or pretension. I do not 
 cease to think her, as I always did, the loveliest 
 creature I ever beheld. I cannot help that; and the 
 state I fell into after being with her on Tuesday, con- 
 vinced me that it is safest to stay here and fill up time 
 and thought as best I may.' 
 
248 DYNEVOU TEERACE. 
 
 * For once, Fitzjocelyn,' said James, with a gravity 
 not natural to him, * I think better of your father tlian 
 you do. I would neither treat him as so tyrannical 
 nor so prejudiced as your conduct supposes him.' 
 
 * How? He is as kind as possible. We never had 
 so much in common.' 
 
 * Yes. Your submission so far, and the united tes- 
 timony of the Terrace, will soften him. Show your 
 true sentiments. A little steadiness and perseverance, 
 and you will prevail.' 
 
 ' L)on't make me feverish, Jem.' 
 
 A summons to Lord Fitzjocelyn to come down to a 
 visitor in the library cut short the discussion, and. 
 James took leave at once, neither cousin wishing to 
 resume the conversation. 
 
 The darts had not been injudiciously aimed. The 
 father and son were both rendered uneasy. They had 
 hithei-to been unusually comfortable together ; and 
 though the life was unexciting, Louis's desire to be 
 useful to his father, and the pressing need of working 
 for his degree, kept liis mind faii-ly occupied. Though 
 wistful looks might sometimes be turned along the 
 Noi-thwold road, when he sallied forth in the twilight 
 for his constitutional walk, he did not analyse which 
 number of the Terrace was the magnet, and he avoided 
 testing to the utmost the powers of his foot. The 
 affection and solicitude shown for him at home claimed 
 a full return; nor had James been greatly mistaken in 
 ascribing something to the facility of nature that yielded 
 to force of character. But Jem had stiiTed up much 
 that Louis would have been contented to leave dor- 
 mant ; and the hope that he had striven to excite came 
 almost teazingly to interfere with the j)assive acquiescence 
 of an indolent will. Perturbed and doubtful, he was 
 going to seek counsel as usual of the open air, as soon 
 as the visitor was gone, but his father folloAved him 
 into the hall, asking whither he was going. 
 
 * I do not know. I had been thinking of trying 
 whether I can get as far as Marksedge.' 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAll. 249 
 
 Marksedge would be fcital to the ankle, solitude to 
 the spii-its, thought the Earl ; and he at once declared 
 his intention of walking with his son as far as he should 
 let him go. 
 
 Louis was half vexed, half flattered, and they pro- 
 ceeded in silence, till conscious of being ruffled, and 
 afraid of being ungracious, he made a remark on the 
 farm that they were approaching, and learnt in return 
 that the lease was nearly out, the tenant did not 
 want a renewal, and that Richardson intended to 
 advertise. 
 
 He breathed a wish that it were in their own hands, 
 and this led to a statement of the condition of affairs, 
 the same to which a year before he had been wdlfully 
 deaf, and to which he now attended chiefly for the sake 
 of gratifying hL< father, though he better understood 
 what depended on it. At least, it was making the Earl 
 insensible to the space they were traversing, and the 
 black outlines of Marksedge were rising on him before 
 he was aware. Then he would have turned, but Louis 
 pleaded that having come so far, he should be glad to 
 speak to Madison's grandfather, and one or two other 
 old people, and he prevailed. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield was not prepared for the real 
 aspect of the hamlet. 
 
 ' Richardson always declared that the cottages were 
 kept in repair,' he said. 
 
 ' Richardson never sees them. He trusts to Reeves.' 
 
 ' The people might do something themselves to keep 
 the place decent.' 
 
 'They might; but they lose heart out of sight of 
 respectability. I will just knock at this door — I will 
 not detain you a moment.' 
 
 The dark smoky room, damp, ill-paved floor, and 
 cracked walls produced theii- eflfect; and the name and 
 voice of the inmate did more. Lord Ormersfield 
 recognised a man who had once worked in the garden, 
 and came forsvard and spoke, astonished and shocked 
 to find him prematurely old. The story was soon told; 
 
^50 
 
 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 there had been a seasoning fever as a welcome to the 
 half-recluimed moorland ; ague and typhus were frequent 
 visitors, and disabling rheumatism a more permanent 
 comi)anion to labourers exhausted by long wet walks 
 in addition to the daily toil. At an age less than that 
 of the Earl himself, he beheld a bowed and broken 
 cripple. 
 
 FitzjoceljTi perceived his victory, and forebore to 
 press it too hastily, lest he should hurt his father's 
 feelings; and walked on silently, thinking how glad 
 Mary would be to hear of this expedition, and what a 
 pity it was that the unlucky passage of last August 
 should have interfered with their comfortable friend- 
 ship. At last the Earl broke silence by saying, ' It is 
 very unfbi-tunate ;' and Louis echoed, ' Very.' 
 
 ' My poor Uncle Dynevor ! He was, without ex- 
 ception, the most wrong-headed person I ever came 
 in contact with, yet so excessively plausible and eager 
 that he carried my poor father entirely along with 
 him. Louis ! nothing is so ruinous as to surrender 
 the judgment.' 
 
 Fully assenting, Louis wondered whether Marksedge 
 would serve no purpose save the elucidation of this 
 truism, and presently another ensued. 
 
 ' Mischief is sooner done than repaired. As I have 
 been showing you, there has never been ready money 
 at command.' 
 
 ' I thought there were no more mortgages to be paid 
 off. The rents of the Fitzjocelyn estate and the houses 
 in the lower town must come to somethinsr.' 
 
 He was then told how these, with his mother's 
 fortune, had been set apart to form a fund for his 
 establishment, and for the first time he was shown the 
 object of arrangements against which he had often in 
 heart rebelled. His first impulse was to exclaim that 
 it was a great pity, and that he could not bear that 
 his father should have denied himself on his account. 
 
 * I)o you think these things are sacrifices to me K 
 said the Earl. * My habits were formed long ago.' 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR. 251 
 
 ' Mine have been formed on yours,' said Louis. ' I 
 should be encumbered by such an income as you pro- 
 pose unless you would let me lay it out in making 
 work for the men and improving the estate, and that 
 I had rather you undertook, for I should be certain to 
 do something preposterous, and then be sorry.' 
 
 ' Mrs. Ponsonby judged rightly. It was her very 
 advice.' 
 
 ' Then 1' cried Louis, as if the deed were done. 
 
 ' You would not find the income too large in the 
 event of youi' marriage.' 
 
 ' A most unlikely event !' 
 
 His father glanced towards him. If there had been 
 a symptom of unhappiness, relenting was near, but it 
 so chanced that Marksedge was reigning supreme, and 
 he was chiefly concerned to set aside the supposition 
 as an obstacle to his views. The same notion as 
 James Frost's occurred to the Earl, that it could not 
 be a tenacious character which could so easily set aside 
 an attachment apparently so fervent, but the resig- 
 nation was too much in accordance with his desires to 
 render him otherwise than gratified, and he listened 
 with complacency to Louis's plans. Xothing was fixed, 
 but there was an understanding that all should have 
 due consideration. 
 
 This settled, Louis's mind recurred to the hint 
 which his father had thrown out, and he wondered 
 whether it meant that the present compliance might 
 be further stretched, but he thought it more likely to 
 be merely a reference to ordinary contingencies. 
 Things were far too comfortable between him and his 
 father to be disturbed by discussion, and he might 
 ultimately succeed better by submitting, and leaving 
 facts and candour to remove prejudice. 
 
 To forget perplexity in the amusement of a mystifi- 
 cation, he brought down his essay, concealing it inge- 
 niously within a review flanked by blue-books, and, 
 when Lord Ormersfield was taking out a pair of spec- 
 tacles with the reluctance of a man not yet accus- 
 
252 DYNEVOR TEHBACE. 
 
 tomed to them, he asked him if he would like to hear 
 an article on the Police question. 
 
 At first the Earl showed signs of nodding, and said 
 there was nothing to the purpose in all the historical 
 curiosities at tlie outset, so that Louis, alarmed lest he 
 should absolutely drop asleep, skipped all his favourite 
 passages, and came at once to the results of the recent 
 inquiries. The Earl was roused. Who could have 
 learnt those facts 1 That was telling — well put, but 
 how did he get hold of it. The very thing he had said 
 himself — What Quarterly was it ? Surely the Christ- 
 mas number was not out. Hitherto Louis had kept 
 his countenance and voice, but in an hiatus, where he 
 was trying to extemjjorize, his father came to look 
 over his shoulder to see w^hat ailed the book, and, 
 glancing upwards with a merry dehonnaire face, he 
 made a gesture as if convicted. 
 
 ' Do you mean that this is your own composition ?' 
 
 * I beg your pardon for the pious fraud !' 
 
 * It is very good ! Excellently done !' said Lord 
 Ormersfield. ' There are redundancies — much to betray 
 an unpractised hand — but — stay, let me hear the 
 rest — ' 
 
 Very differently did he listen now, broad awake, 
 attacking the logic of every third sentence, or else 
 double shotting it with some ponderous word, and 
 shaking his head at Utopian views of crime to be 
 dried up at the fountain head. Next, he must hear the 
 beginning, and ruthlessly picked it to pieces, demolish- 
 ins: all the Vehme GericJU and Saniissima Hermandad 
 as irrelevant, and, when he had made Louis ashamed 
 and vexed with the whole production, astonishing him 
 by declaring that it would tell, and advising him to 
 copy it out fair with these little alterations. 
 
 These little alterations w*oukl, as he was well aware, 
 evaporate all the spirit, and though glad to have 
 pleased his father, his perseverance quailed before the 
 task ; but he said no more than tliank you. The next 
 day, before he had settled to anything. Lord Ormers- 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY WEAR. 233 
 
 field came to liis room, saying, 'You will be engiged 
 with your more important studies for the next few- 
 hours. Can you spare the paper you read to me last 
 night V 
 
 ' I can spare it better than you can read it, I fear,' 
 said Louis, producing a mass of blotted MS. in all 
 his varieties of penmanship, and feeling a sort of lespair 
 at the prospect of being brought to book on all his 
 details. 
 
 His father carried it off, and they did not meet 
 again till late in the day, when the first thing Louis 
 heard was, ' I thought it worth while to have a lother 
 opinion on your manuscript before re-writing it. I 
 tried to read it to Mrs. Ponsonby, but we were inter- 
 rupted, and I left it with her.' 
 
 Presently after. ' I have made an engagement for 
 you. Lady Conway wishes that you should go to 
 luncheon with her to-morrow. I believe she wants to 
 consult you about some birth-day celebration,' 
 
 Louis was much surprised, and somewhat enter- 
 tained. 
 
 'When will you have the carriage?' pursued the 
 Earl. 
 
 ' Will not you come V 
 
 ' No, I am not wanted. In fact, I do not see how 
 you can be required, but anything will serve as an 
 excuse. In justice, however, I sliould add that our 
 friends at the Terrace are disposed to think well of 
 the younger part of the family.' 
 
 Except for the cold constraint of the tone, Louis 
 could have thought much ground gained, but he was 
 sure that his holiday would be damped by knowing 
 that it was conceded at the cost of much distress and 
 uneasiness. 
 
 Going to North wold early enough for a call at No. 5, 
 he was greeted by Mrs. Frost with, ' My dear ! what 
 have you been about ] I never saw your father so much 
 pleased in his life ! He came in on purpose to tell me, 
 and I thought it exceedingly kind. So you took him 
 
254 DYNKVOR TERIIACE. 
 
 in completely. What an impudent rogue you always 
 were !' 
 
 * I never meant it to go beyond the study. I was 
 obliged to write it down in self-defence, that I might 
 know what he was talking of.' 
 
 * I believe he expects you to be even with Sydney 
 Calcott after all. It is really very clever. Where did 
 you ^et all those funny stories V 
 
 ' What ! you have gone and read it !' 
 
 * Ah, ha ! ]\Irs. Ponsonby gave us a pretty little lite- 
 rary soiree. Don't be too proud, it was only ourselves, 
 except that Mary brought in Miss Conway. Jem 
 tried to read it, iDut after he had made that Spanish 
 Society into ' Hammer men dead,' Mary got it away 
 from him, and read through as if it had been in 
 print.' 
 
 ' What an infliction !' 
 
 * It is very disrespectful to think us so frivolous- 
 We only wished all reviews were as entertaining.' 
 
 ' It is too bad, when I only wanted to mystify my 
 father.' 
 
 * It serves you right for playing tricks. What have 
 you been doing to him, Louis ? You will turn him 
 into a doting father before lorig.' 
 
 ' What have you done witli Clara V 
 
 ' She goes every day to read Italian with Miss 
 Conway, and the governess is so kind as to give her 
 drawing lessons. She is learning far more than at 
 school, and they are so kind ! I should hardly know 
 how to accept it, but Jem does not object ; and he is 
 really very useful there, spends a great deal of time on 
 the boy, and is teaching the young ladies Latin.' 
 
 ' They are leaving you lonely in the holidays ! You 
 ought to come to Ormersfield, your nephews would 
 take better care of you.' 
 
 ' Ah ! I have my Marys. If I were only better satis- 
 fied about the dear old one. She is far less well than 
 when she came.' 
 
 ' Indeed ! Is Mary uneasy V 
 
MOTLEY THE OXLY -WEAll. 255 
 
 ' She says nothing, but you know how her eye is 
 always on her, and she never seems to have her out of 
 her thoughts. I am afraid they are worried about 
 Lima. From what Oliver says, I fear Mr. Ponsonby 
 goes on worse than ever without either his family or 
 his appointment to be a restraint.' 
 
 ' I hope they do not know all ! Mary would not 
 believe it, that is one comfort !' 
 
 ' Ah, Louis ! there are things that the heart will 
 not believe, but which cut it deeply ! However, if 
 that could be any comfort to them, he wishes them to 
 spare nothing here. He tells them they may live at the 
 rate of five thousand pounds a-year, poor dears. Indeed, 
 he and Oliver are in such glory over tlieir Equatorial 
 steam navigation, that I expect next to hear of a crash.' 
 
 ' You don't look as if it woidd be a very dreadful 
 sound.' 
 
 ' If it would only bring my poor Oliver back to me !' 
 
 * Yes — nothing would make Jem so civil to him as 
 his coming floated in on a plank^ wet through, v/ith a 
 little bundle in one hand and a parrot in the other.' 
 
 Mi-s. Frost gave one of her tender laughs, and filled 
 up the picture. "' Jane would open the door, Jane 
 would know Master Oliver's black eyes in a moment 
 — No, no. / must see him first ! If he once looked 
 up I could not miss him, whatever colour he may 
 have turned. I wonder whether he would know 
 mel' 
 
 * Don't you know that you grow handsomer eveiy 
 year, Aunt Kitty f 
 
 ' Don't flatter, sir.' 
 
 ' Well, I must go to my aunt.' 
 
 He tarried to hear the welcome recital of all the 
 kind deeds of the house of Conway, He i)resently 
 found Lady Conway awaiting him in tlie drawing- 
 room, and was greeted with gi*eat joy. ' That is well ! 
 I hoped to work on your father by telling him I did 
 not approve of young men carrying industry too 
 far — ' 
 
256 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' That is not my habit.' 
 
 ' Then it is your excuse for avoiding troublesome 
 relations ! No, not a word ! I know nothing about 
 the secret that occupied Isabel at Mrs, Ponsonby's 
 select party. But I really wanted you. You are more 
 aufa'it iis to the society here than the Ponsonbys and 
 Dynevors. Ah ! Avhen does that come off?' 
 
 * What is to come off?' 
 
 ' ]\Iiss Ponsonby and Mr. Dynevor. What a good 
 creature he is !' 
 
 ' I cannot see much likelihood of it, but you are 
 more on the scene of action.' 
 
 ' She could do much better, with such expectations, 
 but on his account I could not be sorry. It is shock- 
 ing to think of that nice young sister being a governess. 
 I think it a duty to give her every advantage that may 
 tend to form her. With her connexions and educa- 
 tion, I can have no objection to her as a companion to 
 your cousins, and with a few advantages ; though she 
 will never be handsome, she might marry well. They 
 are a most interesting family. Isabel and I are most 
 anxious to do all in our 2)ower for them.' 
 
 ' Clara is obliged,' said Louis, with undetected 
 irony, but secret wonder at the dexterity with which 
 the patronage must have been administered so as not 
 to have made the interesting family fly off at a 
 tangent. 
 
 Isabel made her appearance in her almost constant 
 moriiinf' dress of soft dove-coloured merino entirely un- 
 adorned, and looking more like a maiden in a romance 
 than ever. She had just left Adeline standing on the 
 steps of a stone cross, exhorting the ProvenQals to arm 
 against a descent of Moorish corsairs, and she held out 
 her hand to Fitzjocelyn much as Adeline did, when 
 the fantastic Viscount jn-ofessed his intention of flying 
 instead of fighting, and wanted her to sit behind him 
 on his courser. 
 
 Lady Conway pronounced her council complete, and 
 propounded the fete which she wished to give on the 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY TVEAR. 257 
 
 12th of January in honour of Louisa's hirthday. 
 Isabel took up a pencil, and was lost in sketching way- 
 side crosses, and vessels with lateen sails, only throw- 
 ing in a word or two here and there when necessary. 
 Dancing was still, Lady Conway feared, out of the 
 question with Fitzjocelyn. 
 
 ' And always will be, I suspect. So much for my 
 bargain with Clara to dance with her at her first 
 ball !' 
 
 ' You like dancing V exclaimed Isabel, rejoiced to 
 find another resemblance to the fantastic Yiscount. 
 
 ' Last year's Yeomanry ball was the best fun in. the 
 world !' 
 
 ' There, Isabel,' said Lady Conway, ' you ought to 
 be gratified to find a young man candid enough to 
 allow that he likes it ! But since that cannot be, I 
 must find some other plan — ' 
 
 ' What cannot be V exclaimed Louis. ' You don't 
 mean to omit the dancing — ' 
 
 ' It could not be enjoyed without you. Your 
 cousins and friends could not bear to see you sitting 
 dowTi — ' 
 
 Isabel's lips were compressed, and the foam of her 
 waves laughed scornfully under her pencil. 
 
 * They must get accustomed to the melancholy 
 spectacle,' said Louis. ' I do not mean to intermit 
 the Yeomanry ball, if it take place while I am at 
 home. The chaperons are the best company, after all. 
 Reconsider it, my dear aunt, or you will keep me 
 from coming at all.' 
 
 Lady Conway was only considering of tableaux, and 
 Louis took fire at the notion : he already beheld 
 ^Vaverley in his beloved Yeomanry suit, Isabel as 
 Flora, Clara as Davie Gellatley — the character she 
 would most appreciate. Isabel roused herself to say 
 that tableaux were very dull work to all save the 
 actors, and soon were mere weariness to them. Her 
 stepmother told her she had once been of a different 
 mind, when she had been Isabel Binice, kneeUng in her 
 
 VOL. I. s 
 
25 S DYXEYOR TERHACE. 
 
 cell, the ring before her. * I was young enough then 
 to tliiuk myself Isabel,' was her answer; and she drew 
 the more diligently because Fitzjocelyn could not 
 restrain an interjection, and a look which meant, 
 ' What an Isabel she must have been !' 
 
 She sat passive while Lady Conway and Louis 
 decked up a scene for Flora Mad vor; but presently it 
 appeared that the Waverley of the piece was to be, ac- 
 cording to Louis, not the proper owner of the Yeomanry 
 uniform, but James Frost. His aunt exclaimed, and 
 the rehearsals were strong temptation ; but he made 
 answer, ' No — you must not reckon on me : my 
 father would not like it.' 
 
 The manful childishness, the childish manfulness of 
 such a reply, Avere imjoenetrable. If his two-and-twenty 
 years did not make him ashamed of saying so, nothing 
 else could, and it covered a good deal. He knew that 
 his father's fastidious pride would dislike his making 
 a spectacle of himself, and thought that it would be 
 presumincr unkindly on to-day's liberty to involve him- 
 self in what would necessitate terms more intimate 
 than were desired. 
 
 The luncheon silenced the consultation, which was 
 to be a gi'eat secret from the children ; but afterwards, 
 when it was resumed, with the addition of James 
 Frost, Fitzjocelyn was vexed to find the tableaux dis- 
 carded; not avowedly because he excluded himself 
 from a share, but because the style of people might 
 not understand them. The entertainment was to be a 
 Christmas-tree — not so hackneyed a sjDCctacle in the 
 year 1848 as in 1857 — and Louis launched into a world 
 of couplets for mottoes. Next came the question of 
 guests, when Lady Conway read out names from the 
 card-basket, and Fitzjocelyn was in favour of every- 
 body, till Jem, after many counter- statements, assured 
 Lady Conway that he was trying to fill her rooms with 
 the most intolerable people in the world. 
 
 * My aunt said she wanted to give pleasure.' 
 
 * Ah ! there's nothing so inconvenient to one's friends 
 
MOTLEY THE ONLY AVEAP.. 259 
 
 as frood-natiire. Who cares for \vliat is shared indis- 
 crimiuately V 
 
 ' I don t think I can tmst Fitzjocelyn with my 
 visiting-list just yet,' said Lady Couway. ' You are 
 too far above to be sensible of the grades beneath, with 
 your place made for you.' 
 
 ' Not at all,' said Louis. ' Northwold tea-parties 
 were my earliest, most natural dissipation ; and I spoke 
 for these good people for my own personal gratification.' 
 
 ' Nay, I can't consent to your deluding Lady Con- 
 way into Mrs. Walby.' 
 
 * If there be any one you wish me to ask, my dear 
 Fitzjocelyn — ' began Lady Conway. 
 
 ' Oh no, thank you ; Jem is quite right. I might 
 have been playing on your unguarded innocence; but 
 I am the worst person in the world to consult; for all 
 the county and all the town are so kind to me, that I 
 don't know whom I could leave out. Now, the Pen- 
 dragon there will help you to the degree of gentility 
 that may safely be set to consort together.' 
 
 ' What an unkind fling 1' thousjlit Isabel. 
 
 Louis took leave, exclaiming to himself on the stairs, 
 ' There ! if comporting oneself like a donkey before the 
 object be a token, I've done it effectually. Didn't I 
 know the exclusiveness of the vroman? Yet, how could 
 I help saying a word for the poor little Walbys? and, 
 after all, if they were there, no one would speak to 
 them but Aunt Kitty and I. And Isabel, I am sure 
 she scorned the fastidious nonsense; I saw it in her 
 eye and lip.' 
 
 After a quarter of an hour spent in hearing her 
 praises from ^Nliss Faithfull, he betook hi^iself to Mrs. 
 Ponsonby's, not quite without embaiTassment, for he 
 had not been alone with the mother and daughter since 
 August. 
 
 ' I am glad you did not come before,' said Mary, 
 heartily; ' I have just done :' and she returned to her 
 writing-table, while her mother was saying, 
 
 ' We like it very much.' 
 
 s 2 
 
200 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 * You have not been copying that •wretched con- 
 cern !' exclaimed Louis. ' Why, Mary, you must have 
 been at it all night. It is a week's work.' 
 
 * Copying is not composing,' said ]\Iary. 
 
 * But you have mended it, made it consecutive! If 
 I had guessed that my father meant to trouble any one 
 with it 1' 
 
 ' If you take pains with it, it may be very valuable,' 
 said Mrs. Ponsonby. ' We have marked a few things 
 that you had better revise before it goes to Oakstead.' 
 
 ' Goes to Oakstead !' said Louis, faintly, 
 
 * Your father talks of sending it, to see if Sir Miles 
 does not think it might tell well in one of the Re- 
 views.' 
 
 * I hope not. I should lose all my faith in anony- 
 mous criticism, if they admitted such a crude under- 
 graduate's omnium gatherum ! Besides, what an im- 
 mense task to make it presentable !' 
 
 ' Is that the root of your humility V 
 
 ' Possibly. But for very shame I must doctor it, if 
 Mary has wasted so much time over it. It does not 
 look so bad in your hand !' 
 
 * It struck me whether you had rendered this Spanish 
 story right.' 
 
 * Of course not, I never stuck to my dictionary.' 
 A sound dose of criticism ensued, tempered by repe- 
 titions of his father's pleasure; and next came some 
 sympathy and discussion about the farm and Marks- 
 edge, in which the ladies took their usual earnest part, 
 and Mary was as happy as ever in hearing of his pro- 
 gress. He said no word of their neighbours; but he 
 could not hdp colouring when Mary said, as he wished 
 her good-bye, ' We like the party in the House Beau- 
 tiful so much ! Miss Conway is such an acquisition to 
 me ! and they are doing all you could ever have wished 
 for Clara.' 
 
 ]\Iary was glad that she had said it, 
 
 Louis was not so glad. He thought it must have 
 been an effort, then derided his vanity for the suppo- 
 sition. 
 
THE FEUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TEEE. 261- 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE FRUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. 
 
 Age, twine thy brows with fresh spring flowers, 
 And call a train of laughing hours ; 
 And bid them dance, and bid them sing : 
 And thou, too, mingle in the ring. 
 
 Wordsworth. 
 
 THE 12tli of January was tlie last day before James 
 and Louis meant to return to Oxford, Jem taking 
 Clara on from thence to school. It was to be the fare- 
 well to Christmas — one much enjoyed in Dynevor 
 Terrace. Fitzjocelyn's absence was almost a relief to 
 Clara; she could not make up her mind to see him till 
 she could hope their last encounter had been forgotten ; 
 and in the mean time, her anticipations were fixed on. 
 the great 12th. She was aware of what the entertain- 
 ment would consist, but was in honour bound to 
 conceal her knowledge from Virginia and Louisa, who 
 on their side aflfected great excitement and curiosity, 
 and made every ostentation of guessing and peeping. 
 Gifts were smuggled into the house from every quarter 
 — some to take their chance, some directed with 
 mottoes droll or affectionate. Clara prepared a few 
 trifles, in which she showed that school had done 
 something for her fingers, and committed her little 
 parcels to her brother's care; and Miss Mercy was the 
 happiest of all, continually knocking at the locked 
 door of the back drawing-room with gilded fir cones, 
 painted banners, or moss birds'-nests, from Miss 
 Salome. 
 
 Miss King and Isabel had undertaken the main 
 business. When roused from her pensive stillness, 
 Isabel could be veiy eager, active, and animated ; and 
 she worked with the exhilaration that she could freely 
 
263 DYXKVOU TERRACE. 
 
 enjoy when unrestrained by perceiving that she was 
 wanted to produce an effect. What woman's height 
 and hand could not pei-form fell to the share of James, 
 who, with his step-ladder and dexterous hands, was 
 invaluable. Merrily, merrily did the three w^ork, 
 laughing over their suspended bonbons, their droll 
 contrivances, or predicting the adaptations of their 
 gifts; and more and more gay w^as the laugh, the tutor 
 more piquant, the governess more keen and clever, 
 the young lady more vivacious, as the twilight dark- 
 ened, and the tree became more laden, and the 
 streamers and glass balls produced a more brilliant 
 effect. 
 
 Proudly, when the task was accomplished, did they 
 contemplate their work, and predict the aspect of 
 their tinsel and frippery when duly lighted up. Then, 
 as they dispersed to dress, James ran home, and 
 hastily tapped at his sister's door. 
 
 ' What is the matter]' she cried. ' Have the tassels 
 come off my purse?' 
 
 'Nothing of the kind, but — ' he came quite in, 
 and looked round restlessly, then hastily said, ' You 
 gave me nothing for Miss Conway.' 
 
 ' I wished it very much,' said Clara, ' but I could 
 not bear to do anything trumpery for her. Oh, if one 
 could give her aiiything worth having !' 
 
 ' Clara, I had thought — but I did not know if you 
 would like to part with it — ' 
 
 * I had thQught of it too,' said Clara ; ' but I thought 
 you would not like it to be given away.' 
 
 Pulling out a drawer, she opened an odd little box 
 of queer curiosities, w^hence she took a case containing 
 an exquisite ivory carving, a copy of the ' Madonna 
 della Sedia,' so fine that a magnifier alone could fully 
 reveal the delicacy and accuracy of the features and 
 expression. It was mounted as a bracelet clasp, and 
 was a remnant of poor Mr. Dynevor's treasures. It 
 had been given to Mrs. Henry Frost, and had de- 
 scended to her daughter. 
 
THE FRUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. 263 
 
 ' Should you be willing V wistfully asked James. 
 
 ' That I should ! I have longed to give her what 
 she would really care for. She has been so very kind 
 — and her kindness is so very sweet in its gracious- 
 ness ! I shall always be the happier for the very 
 thinking of it.' 
 
 ' I am glad — ' began Jem, warmly; but, breaking 
 off, he added — ' This would make us all more comfort- 
 able. It would lessen the weight of obligation, and 
 that would be satisfactory to you.' 
 
 ' I don't know. I like people to be so kind, that I 
 can't feel as if I would jDay them off, but as if I 
 could do nothing but love them.' 
 
 ' You did not imagine that I rate this as repay- 
 ment !' 
 
 ' Oh ! no, no !' 
 
 ' Ko ! it is rather that nothing can be too precious — ' 
 then pausing — ' You are sure you are willing, 
 Clary r 
 
 ' Only too glad. I like it to be something valuable 
 .0 us as well as in itself If I only had a bit of black 
 velvet, I could set it up.' 
 
 In ten minutes, Jem had speeded to a shop and back 
 again, and stood by as Clara stitched the clasp to the 
 ribbon velvet; while there was an amicable dispute, 
 he insisting that the envelope should bear only the 
 initials of the true donor, and she maintaining that 
 ' he gave the black velvet.' She had her way, and 
 wrote, ' From her grateful C. F. D. and J. R. F. 1). ;' 
 and as James took the little packet, he thanked her 
 with an affectionate kiss — a thing so unprecedented at 
 an irregular hour, that Clara's heart leapt up, and she 
 felt rewarded for any semblance of sacrifice. 
 
 He told his grandmother that he had agreed with 
 his sister that they could do no other\vise than present 
 the ivory clasp; and Mrs. Frost, who had no specially 
 tender associations with it, was satisfied to find that 
 they had anything worth offering on equal terms. 
 
 She was to be of the party, and setting forth, they 
 
2Gi DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 fouud the House Beautiful upside down — even the 
 Faithfull })arlour devoted to shawls and bonnets, and 
 the two good old sisters in the drawing-room; Miss 
 Salome, under the protection of little Louisa, in an 
 easy chair, opposite the folding doors. Small children 
 were clustered in shy groups round their respective 
 keepers. Lady Conway was receiving her guests with 
 the smile so engaging at first sight, Isabel moving from 
 one to the other with stately grace and coui-tesy ; Vir- 
 ginia watching for Clara, and both becoming merged 
 in a mass of white skirts and glossy heads, occupying 
 a wide area. Mrs. Frost was rapturously surrounded 
 by half-a-dozen young men, Sydney Calcott foremost, 
 former pupils enchanted to see her, and keeping pos- 
 session of her all the rest of the evening. She was a 
 dangerous person to invite, for the Northwold youth 
 had no eyes but for her. 
 
 The children were presently taken down to tea in 
 the dining-room by Miss King and Miss Mercy ; and 
 presently a chorus of little voices and peals of laughter 
 broke out, confirming the fact, whispered by Delaford 
 to his lady, that Lord Fitzjocelyn had arrived, and had 
 joined the downstairs party. 
 
 While coffee went round in the drawing-room, Isabel 
 glided out to perform the lighting jjrocess. 
 
 ' Oh, Mr. Dynevor !' she exclaimed, finding him at 
 her side, ' I did not mean to call you away.' 
 
 ' Mere unreason to think of the performance alone,' 
 said James, setting up his trusty ladder. ' What would 
 become of that black lace V 
 
 ' Thank you, it may be safer and quicker.' 
 
 ' So far the evening is most successful,' said Jem, 
 lighting above as she lighted below. 
 
 ' That it is ! I like Northwold better than any place 
 I have been in since I left Thornton Conway. There 
 is so much more heartiness and friendliness here than 
 in ordinary society. 
 
 ' I think Fitzjocelyn's open sympathies have con- 
 duced — ' 
 
THE FRUIT OF THE CHRISTMAS-TREE. 265 
 
 Isabel laughed, and he checked himself, disconcerted. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon,' she said ; ' I was amused at the 
 force of habit. If I were to say the Terrace chimneys 
 did not smoke, you would say it was Lord Fitzjocelyn's 
 doing.' 
 
 ' Do not bid me do otherwise than keep him in 
 mind.' 
 
 Down fell the highest candle : the hot wax dropping 
 on Isabel's arm caused her to exclaim, bringing Jem 
 down in horror, crying, ' I have hurt you ! you are 
 bui-nt !' 
 
 ' Oh no, only startled. There is no harm done, you 
 see,' as she cracked away the cooled wax — ' not even a 
 mark to remind me of this happy Christmas.' 
 
 ' And it has been a happy Christmas to you,' he said, 
 remounting. 
 
 ' Most happy. Nothing has been so peaceful or sa- 
 tisfactory in my wandering life.' 
 
 ' Shall I find you here at Easter V 
 
 'I fear not. Mamma likes to be in London early; 
 but perhaps she may leave the school-room party here, 
 as Louisa is gaining so much ground, and that would 
 be a pledge of our return.' 
 
 ' Too much joy,' said James, almost inaudibly. 
 
 ' I hope Walter may spend his holidays here,' she 
 pui^ued. ' It is a great thing for him to be with any 
 one who can put a few right notions into his head.' 
 
 Jem abstained from, as usual, proposing Fitzjocelyn 
 for his example, but only said that AValter was very 
 susceptible of good impressions. 
 
 ' And most heartily we thank you for all you have 
 done for him,' said Isabel, doubting whether Walter's 
 mother appreciated the full extent of it ; ' indeed, we 
 have all a great deal to thank you for. I hope my 
 sisters and I may be the better all our lives for the 
 helps and explanations you have given to us. Is that 
 the last candle? How beautiful ! "We must open.' 
 
 ' Miss Conway — ' 
 
 * Yes' — she paused with her hand on the key. 
 
2G6 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' No, no — do not wait.' taking i\\e key himself. ' Yet 
 — yes, I 7/ius( — I must tliank you for such words — ' 
 
 'My words?' said Isahel, smiling. 'For thanking 
 you, or being happy here?' 
 
 ' Both ! Loth ! Those words will be my never-failing 
 charm. You little guess how I shall live on the re- 
 membrance. Oh, if I could only convey to you what 
 feelings you have excited — ' 
 
 The words broke from him as if beyond his control; 
 and under the pressing need of not wasting the tapers, 
 he instinctively unlocked the door as he spoke, and cut 
 himself short by turning the handle, perhaps without 
 knowing what he was about. 
 
 Instantly Lady Conway and ]\Iiss King each pushed 
 a folding leaf, Isabel and James drew back on either side, 
 and the spectators beheld the tall glistening evergreen, 
 illuminated with countless little spires of light, glan- 
 cing out among the dark leaves, and reflected from the 
 gilt fir-cones, glass balls, and brilliant toys. 
 
 ' Sister ! sister !' cried Miss Mercy, standing by Miss 
 FaithfuU's chair, in the rear of the throng, and seizing 
 her hand in ecstasy; ' it is like a dream! like what we 
 have read of! Oh, the dear little children! So very 
 kind of Lady Conway ! Could you have imagined — V 
 She quite gasped. 
 
 'It is very pretty; but it was a nicer Christmas- 
 tree last year at Lady Runnymede's,' said Louisa, 
 with the air of a critic. ' There we had coloured 
 lamps.' 
 
 'Little fastidious puss!' said Louis, 'I thought you 
 keeping in the background out of politeness ; but I 
 see you are only blasee with Christmas-trees. I pity 
 you ! I could no more be critical at such a moment 
 than I could analyse the jewels in Aladdin's cave.' 
 
 ' Oh, if you and Miss Faitlifull talk. Cousin Fitz- 
 jocelyn, you will make it seem quite new.' 
 
 ' You will deride the freshness of our simplicity,' 
 said Louis, but presently added, ' Miss Salome, have 
 we not awakened to the enchanted land? Did ever 
 
THE FRUIT OF THE CHUISTMAS-TREE. 267 
 
 mortal tree bear stars of living flame? Here are 
 realized the fabled apples of gold — uay, the fir-cones 
 of Nineveh, the jewel-fruits of Eastern story, depend 
 from the same bough. Yonder lamps shine by faiiy 
 spell.' 
 
 ' Now, Cousin Fitzjocelyn, do you think I suppose 
 you so silly — ' 
 
 ' Soft ! The Dryad of the Enchanted Bower ad- 
 vances. Her floating robes, her holly crow^n, beseem 
 her queenly charms.' 
 
 ' As if you did not know that it is only Isabel !' 
 
 'Only! May the word be forgiven to a sister? 
 Isabel ! The name is all-expressive.' 
 
 ' She is looking even more lovely than usual,' said 
 Miss Faithfull. ' I never saw such a countenance.' 
 
 ' She has a colour to-niwht,' added Miss Mercy, 
 ' which does, as you say, make her handsomer than 
 ever. Dear ! dear ! I hope she is not tired. I am so 
 sorry I did not help her to light the tree !' 
 
 ' I do not think it is fatigue,' said her sister. ' I 
 hope it is animation and enjoyment — all I have ever 
 thought wantiucr to that sweet face.' 
 
 ' You are as bad as my prosaic cousin,' said Louis, 
 ' disenchanting the magic bower and the wood-nymph 
 into fir, wax, and modern young ladyhood.' 
 
 ' There, cousin, it is you who have called her a 
 modem young lady.' 
 
 Before Louisa had expressed her indignation, there 
 was a call for her. 
 
 * The Sovereign of the Bower beckons,' said Louis. 
 ' Favoured damsel, know how to desei've her smiles. 
 Faiiy gifts remain not with the unworthy.' 
 
 As he put her forward, some one made way for her. 
 It was Mary, and he blushed at perceiving that she 
 must have heard all his rhodomontade. As if to make 
 amends, he paused, and asked for Mrs. Ponsonby. 
 
 ' Much more comfortable to-night, thank you ;' and 
 the pleasant, honest look of her friendly eyes relieved 
 him by not reproaching him. 
 
2G8 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' I wish she were here. It is a prettier, more vi- 
 sionary sight than I could have conceived/ 
 
 ' I wish she could see it ; but she feared the crowd. 
 Many people in a room seem to stifle her. Is Lord 
 Ormersfield here?' 
 
 * No, it would not be his element. But imagine his 
 having taken to walking with me ! I really think he 
 will miss me.' 
 
 * Really V said Mary, amused, 
 
 'It is presumptuous; but he does not see well at 
 night, and is not quite broken in to his spectacles. 
 Mary, I hope you will walk over to see after him. No- 
 thing would be so good for him as walking you back, 
 and staying to dinner with you. Go right into the 
 library ; he would be greatly pleased. Can't you make 
 some book excuse? And you have the cottages to 
 see. The people inaugurated the boilers with Christ- 
 mas puddings.' 
 
 * ]\Ir. Holdsworth told us how pleased they were. 
 And the Norrises?' 
 
 ' Mrs. Norris is delighted; she has found a woman 
 to wash, and says it will save her a maid. The people 
 can get milk now : I assure you they look more whole- 
 some already! And Beecher has actually asked for 
 two more houses in emulation. And Richardson found 
 himself turned over to me !' 
 
 ' Oh, that's right.' 
 
 ' I've been at the plans all the afternoon. I see 
 how to contrive the hrephice in the back room, that 
 we could not have in the first set, and make them 
 cheaper, too. My father has really made a point of 
 that old decrepit Hailes being moved from Marksedge ; 
 and Mary, he, and Richardson mean Inglewood to be 
 made over to me for good. I am to put in a bailiff, 
 and do as I can with it — liave the profits or bear the 
 losses. I think I have an idea — ' 
 
 In spite of her willingness to hear the idea, Mary 
 could not help asking, ' Have you sent off the Police 
 article V 
 
THE FRUIT OF THE CHEISTMAS-TREE. 269 
 
 'Hush, Mary; it is my prime object to have it well 
 forgotten.' 
 
 ' Oh! did not Sir Miles like it?' 
 
 ' He said it wanted liveliness and anecdote. So the 
 Santissima Hermandad, and all the extraneous history, 
 were sent to him ; and then he was well content, and 
 only wanted me to leave out all the Christian chivalry 
 — all I cared to say — ' 
 
 ' You don't mean not to finish ? Your father was so 
 pleased, Isabel so much struck ! It is a pity — ' 
 
 ' No, no ; you may forgive me, Mary — it is not pure 
 laziness. It was mere rubbish, %\dthout the point, which 
 was too strong for the two poHticians; rubbish, any 
 way. Don't tell me to go on with it ; it was a mere 
 trial, much better let it die away. I really have no 
 time ; if I don't mind my own business, I shall be a 
 plucked gosling ; and that would go to his lordship's 
 heart. Besides, I must get these plans done. Do you 
 remember where we got the fire-bricks for the ovens?' 
 
 Mary was answering, when Walter came bursting 
 through the crowd. * Where is he? Fitzjocelyn, it is 
 your turn.' 
 
 ' Here is a curious specimen for our gi-eat naturalist,' 
 said Mi-s. Frost, a glow in her cheeks, and her voice all 
 stifled mirth and mischief. 
 
 It was a large nest of moss and horsehair, partly 
 concealed under the lower branches, and containing 
 two huge eggs streaked and spotted with azure and 
 vermilion, and a purple and yellow feather, labelled, 
 * Dropped by the parent animal in her flight, on the 
 discovery of the nest by the crew of H.M.S. Flying 
 Dutchman. North Greenland, April 1st, 1847. Qu. 1 
 Female of Equus Pegasus. Respectfully dedicated to 
 the Right Honourable Viscount Fitzjocelyn.' 
 
 ' A tine specimen,' said the Viscount at once, with 
 the air of a connoisseur, by no means taken by sur- 
 prise. ' They are not very uncommon ; I found one 
 myself about the same date in the justice-room. I 
 dare say Mr. Calcott recollects the circumstance.' 
 
270 DYXEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' Oh, my dear fellow,' exclaimed Sydney, instead of 
 his father ; ' you need not particularize. You always 
 were a discoverer in that line.' 
 
 ' True,' said Louis, ' but this is unique. North 
 Greenland — ah ! I thought it was from a Frosty 
 country. Ha, Clara?' 
 
 ' Not I ; T know nothing of it,' cried Clara, in hurry 
 and confusion, not yet able to be suspected of taking 
 liberties with liim. 
 
 ' No ?' said Louis, turning about his acquisition ; * I 
 thought I knew the female that laid these eggs. The 
 jjroper name is, I fancy, Glacies Dynevorensis — var. 
 Catharina — perhaps — ' 
 
 Walter and Louisa had brought their mother to see 
 the nest, the point of which she comprehended as little 
 as they ; and not understanding how much amusement 
 was betokened by her nephew's gravity, she protested 
 that none of her party had devised it, nor even been 
 privy to it, and that Mr. Dynevor must bear the 
 blame ; but he was very busy detaching the prizes from 
 the tree, and hastily denied any concern with it. Aunt 
 Catharine was obliged to console Lady Conv/ay, and 
 enchant Louis by owning herself the sole culprit, with 
 no aid but Miss Mercy's. Together they had disposed 
 the nest in its right locality, as soon as the Earl's 
 absence was secure. 
 
 'I had not courage for it before him,' she laughed. 'As 
 for this fellow, I knew he would esteem it a compliment.' 
 
 ' As a tribute to his imagination Y said Isabel, who, 
 in her mood of benevolence, could be struck with the 
 happy understanding between aunt and nephew re- 
 vealed by such a joke, so received. 
 
 'It would be a curious research,' said Louis, 
 ' whether more of these nidifications result from 
 over-imagination or the want of it.' 
 
 ' Often from want of imagination, and no want of 
 cowardice,' said Isabel. 
 
 ' That sort of nest has not illuminated eggs like 
 these,' said Louis. ' They are generally extremely full 
 
THE FRUIT OF THE CHIIISTMAS-TREE. 271 
 
 of gunpowder, and might he paiuted with a skull and 
 crossbones. I say, Clara, has Aunt Kitty considered 
 the consequences ? She has sacrificed her ostrich eggs ! 
 I can never part with these original productions of 
 her genius.' 
 
 He exhibited his mare's nest with his own gay ho7i- 
 hoinmie to all who were curious; and presently, when 
 every one's attention had been again recalled to the 
 wonders vvhich Isabel was distributing, and he had 
 turned aside to dispose of his treasure, he heard a 
 sound of soliloquy half aloud, ' I wonder whether she 
 has it !' from Clara, who stood a little apart. 
 
 * What ?' asked LouLs. 
 
 * My ivory clasp with the Madonna,' said Clara. ' Jem 
 and I thought it the only thing worthy of Miss Conway.' 
 
 ' Hem !' said Louis ; ' it is not your fault, Clara ; 
 but it would be graceful to learn to receive a favour.' 
 
 'A favour, but not a grand thing like this,' said 
 Clara, showin^r a beautiful little case of workincj im- 
 plements. 
 
 'Hardly worth, even intrinsically, your mother's 
 bracelet,' said Louis. ' But I am not going to talk 
 treason to the family doctrine, though it is very in- 
 convenient to your friends.' 
 
 ' Then you think we ought not to have done it ?' 
 
 ' That dej)ends on what I can't decide.' 
 
 ' What's that V 
 
 '■ Whether you give it out of love or out of pride.' 
 
 ' I think we gave it out of one, and excused it by 
 the other.' 
 
 ' Yery satisfactory. To reward you, here is some- 
 thing for you to do. I shall never get at Aunt Kitty 
 to-night. I see the midshipman, young Brewster, 
 will not relinquish her ; so w411 you or will she ad- 
 minister this letter to the Lady of Eschalott X 
 
 ' You don't mean that is Tom Madison !' exclaimed 
 Clara. ' Why, it is like copper-plate. No more 
 Pitsgoslini^s 1' 
 
 * No, indeed ! Is he not a clever fellow ? He has 
 
2 7 '2 DYNEVOR TEUIIACE. 
 
 just readied the stage of civilization that breaks out 
 in dictionary words. I have been, in return, telling 
 him the story of the Irish schoolmaster who puzzled 
 the magistrate's l^ench by a petition about a small 
 eornuted animal, meaning a kid. But I should think 
 it would be very edifying to Charlotte to see herself 
 commemorated as the individual at the Terrace, and 
 his grandfather as his aged relative. He sends the 
 old man ten shillings this time, for he is promoted. 
 Don't you think I may be proud of him 1 Is Mary 
 gone home 1 She must hear about him.' 
 
 As he turned away in search of Mary, Clara felt a 
 soft hand on her shoulder ; and Isabel beckoned her 
 to follow into the back drawing-room, where the tree 
 was burnt out and deserted. 
 
 ' I may thank you,'' said Isabel, in a low, sweet 
 voice, pressing her hand. 
 
 * And Jem,' said Clara ; ' he thought of it first.' 
 
 ' It is the most beautiful Christmas gift ; but I do 
 not like for you to part with it, my dear.' 
 
 ' We both wished it, and grandmamma gave leave. 
 We longed for you to have something we prized like 
 this, for it belonged to my mamma. It is Jem's 
 present too, for he went out and bought the black 
 velvet.' 
 
 ' Clasp it on for me, dear Clara. There !' and 
 Isabel kissed the fingers which obeyed. 'It shall 
 never leave my arm.' 
 
 Clara's face burnt with surprise and pleasure 
 amounting to embarrassment, as Isabel expressed 
 hopes of meeting again, and engaged her to write from 
 school. She looked for her brother to take his share 
 of thanks ; but he was determinately doing his duty 
 in cutting chicken and cake for those who desired 
 supper, and he did not come in their way again till 
 all the guests were gone, and good-night and good-bye 
 were to be said at once. 
 
 Lady Conway was warm in expressing her hopes 
 that Walter would enjoy the same advantages another 
 
THE FRUIT OF THE CHE.ISTMAS-TREE. 273 
 
 holidays, and told Mr. Dynevor she should write to 
 him. But Jem made little answer, nothing like a 
 promise. Clara thought he had become stiff from 
 some unknown affront, perhaps some oppressive 
 present, for he seemed to intend to include all the 
 young ladies in one farewell bow. But Isabel ad- 
 vanced with outstretched hand and flushing cheek, 
 and her murmured ' Thank you ' and confiding pres- 
 sure drew from him such a grasp as could not easily 
 be forgotten. 
 
 Clara's heart was all the lighter because she was 
 sure that Fitzjocelyn had forgiven, and, what was 
 more, forgotten. She had spoken naturally to him 
 once more, and was ready for anything now — even 
 though they had missed all confidential discussions 
 upon school. 
 
 She gave Charlotte Tom Madison's letter. The 
 little maiden took it, and twirled it about rather 
 superciliously. 'What business had my young Lord,' 
 she thought, 'to fancy she cared for that poor fellow? 
 Very likely he was improved, and she was glad of it ; 
 but she knew what was genteel now. Yes, she would 
 read it at once ; there w^as no fear that it would make 
 her soft and foolish — she had got above that !' 
 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
274 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 CHAPTER XYII. 
 
 THE RIVALS. 
 
 ' "Which king, Bezonian ?' — Henry IV. 
 
 SIR ROLAND of Provence remained in suspense 
 whether to be a novice or an irrevocably pledged 
 Hospitaller. The latter was most probable ; and when 
 Adeline's feelings had been minutely analysed, Miss 
 Conway discovered that she had better not show her 
 morning's work to her sisters. 
 
 Clara and Louis pronounced Jem to be as savage as 
 a bear all through the journey. Clara declared it was 
 revenge for having been civil and amiable all through 
 the vacation ; and Louis uttered a theatrical aside, that 
 even that could not have been maintained if he had 
 not occasionally come to Ormersfield to relieve himself 
 a little upon their two lordships. 
 
 Laugh as he might, Fitzj ocelyn was much concerned 
 and perplexed by his cousin's ill-humour, when it ap- 
 peared more permanent than could be puffed off in a 
 few ebullitions. Attempts to penetrate the gloom 
 made it heavier, and Louis resolved to give it time to 
 subside. He waited some days before going near 
 James, and when he next walked to his college found 
 him engaged with pupils. He was himself very busy, 
 and had missed his cousin several times before he at 
 length found him alone. 
 
 * Why, Jem, old fellow, what are you about 1 You've 
 not been near my rooms this term. Are you renoun- 
 cing me in anticipation of my plucking V 
 
 ' You won't be plucked unless you go out of your 
 senses for the occasion.' 
 
 ' No thanks to your advice and assistance if I am 
 
THE RIVALS. 273 
 
 not. But it would conduce to ray equanimity, Jem, 
 to know whether we are quarrelling, as in that case I 
 should know how to demean myself.' 
 
 ' I've no quarrel with you. You have far more 
 reason — But,' added Jem, catching himself up, 'don't 
 you know I have no leisure for trifling? The Ordina- 
 tion is the second week in March.' 
 
 ' The Ordination !' 
 
 * Ay — you know it ! My fellowship depends on it.' 
 
 * I never liked to contemplate it.' He sat down and 
 mused, while James continued his occupation. Pre- 
 sently he said, * Look here. Sir Miles Oakstead asked 
 me if I had any clever Oxford friend to recommend. 
 If he comes into office, he — ' 
 
 * I'll be no great man's hanger-on.' 
 
 ' This matter is not imminent. You are barely 
 four-and-twenty. Wait a year or two ; even a few 
 months would — ' 
 
 * You have tried my forbearance often enough,' broke 
 in James; 'my object is — as you very well know — 
 to maintain myself and mine without being liable to 
 obnoxious patronage. If you think I should disgrace 
 the office, speak out !" 
 
 Louis, without raising his eyes, only answered with 
 a smile. 
 
 * Then, what do you mean ? As to your notions of 
 a vocation, ninety-nine out of a hundred are in my 
 case. I have been bred up to this — nothing else is 
 open — I mean to do my duty ; and surely that is voca- 
 tion — no one has a right to object — ' 
 
 ' No one ; I beg your pardon,' meekly said Louis, 
 taking up his stick to go ; but both knew it was only 
 a feint, and James, whose vehemence was exhausting 
 itself, resumed, in an injured tone, 'What disturbs 
 you ? what is this scruple of yours 1 — you, who some- 
 times fe,ncy you would have been a curate your- 
 self!' 
 
 * I have just inclination enough to be able to perceive 
 that you have none.' 
 
 T 2 
 
276 DYNEVOR TEHRACE. 
 
 ' And is every one to follow his bent V 
 
 ' This is not a step to be taken against the grain, 
 even for the best earthly motives. Jem ! I only beg 
 you to ask advice. For the very reason that you are 
 irreproachable, you will never have it offered.' 
 
 ' The present time, for instance?' said James, laugh- 
 ing as best he might. 
 
 * That is nothing. I have no faith in my own judg- 
 ment ; but, thinking as I do of the profession and of 
 you, I cannot help believing that my distaste for seeing 
 you in it must be an instinct.' 
 
 ' Give me your true opinion and its grounds can- 
 didly, knowing that I would not ask another man 
 living.' 
 
 ' !Nor me, if I did not thrust it on you.' 
 
 * I^ow for it ! Let us hear your objection.' 
 
 ' Simply this. I do not see that anything impels 
 you to take Holy Orders immediately, except your 
 wish to be independent, and irrevocably fixed before 
 vour uncle can come home. This seems to me to have 
 a savour of something inconsistent with what you 
 profess. It might be fine anywhere else, but will 
 it not bear being brought into the light of the sanc- 
 tuary ? No, I cannot like it. I have no doubt many 
 go up for ordination far less fit than you ; but — Jem, 
 I wish you would not. If you would but wait a year !' 
 
 ' No, Fitzjocelyn, my mind is made up. I own that I 
 might have preferred another course, and Heaven knows 
 it is not that I think myself worthy of this ; but I have 
 been brought up to this, and I will not waver. It is 
 marked out for me as plainly as your earldom for you, 
 and I will do my duty in it as my appointed calling. 
 There lies my course of honest independence : you call 
 it pride — see what those are who are devoid of it : 
 there lie my means of educating my sister, providing 
 for my grandmother. I can see no scruple that should 
 deter me.' 
 
 Fitzjocelyn having said his say, it was his turn and 
 his nature to be talked down. 
 
THE RIVALS. 277 
 
 * In sliort,' concluded James, walking about the room, 
 'there is no alternative. Waiting; for a Colle<;e liviiijx 
 IS bad enough, but nothing else can make happiness 
 even possible.' 
 
 ' One would think you meant one sort of happiness,' 
 said Louis, with a calm considering tone, and look of 
 inquiry which James could not brook. 
 
 'What else?' he cried. 'Fool and madman that I 
 am to dwell on the hopeless — ' 
 
 ' Why should it be hopeless ? — ' began Louis. 
 
 'Hush ! you are the last person with whom I could 
 discuss this subject,' he said, trying to be fierce, but 
 with more sorrow than an2jer. ' I must bear mv burthen 
 alone. Believe me, I struggled hard. If you and I 
 be destined to clash, one comfort is, that even I could 
 never quarrel witli you.' 
 
 ' I have not the remotest idea of vour meaninsr.' 
 
 ' So much the better. No, so much the worse. You 
 are not capable of feeling what I do for her, or you 
 would have hated me lonof aj^o. Do not stav here ! 
 I do not know that I can quite bear the sight of you — 
 But don't let me lose you, Louis.' 
 
 James wrung the hand of his cousin ; and no sooner 
 was he alone, than he began to pace the room dis- 
 tractedly. 
 
 'Poor Jem !' soliloquized Fitzjocelyn. 'At least, I 
 am glad the trouble is love, not the Ordination. But 
 as to his meaning ! He gives me to understand that 
 we are rivals — It is the most absurd thing I ever 
 knew — I declare I don't know whether he means Mary 
 or Isabel. I suppose he would consider Mary's fortune 
 a barrier — No, she is too serene for his storms — 
 worthy, most worthy — but she would hate to be wor- 
 shipped in that wild way. Besides, I am done for in 
 that quarter. No clashing there — ! Nay, the other 
 it can never be — after all his efforts to lash me up at 
 Christmas. Yet, he was much with her ; he made 
 Clara sacrifice the clasp to her. Hm ! She is an em- 
 bodied romance, deserving to be raved about ; while 
 
278 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 for poor dear Mary, it would be simply ridiciilons. I 
 wish I could guess — it is too absurd to doubt, and worse 
 to ask ; and, what's more, he would not stand it. If 
 I did but know ! I'm not so far gone yet, but that I 
 could leave the field to him, if that would do him any 
 good. Heigh ho 1 it would be en regie to begin to 
 hate him, and be as jealous as Bluebeard ; but there ! 
 I don't know which it is to be about, and one can't be 
 jealous for two ladies at once, luckily, for it would be 
 immensely troublesome, unless a good, hearty quarrel 
 would be wholesome to revive his spirits. It is a bad 
 time for it, though ! Well, I hope he does not mean 
 Mary — I could not bear for her to be tormented by 
 him. That other creature might reign over him like 
 the full moon dispersing clouds. Well ! this is the 
 queerest predicament I ever heard of!' And on he 
 wandered, almost as much diverted by the humour of 
 the doubt, as annoyed by the dilemma. 
 
 He had no opportunity for farther investigation : 
 James removed liimself so entirely from his society, 
 that he was obliged to conclude that the prevailing 
 mood was that of not being quite able to bear the 
 sight of him. His consolation was the hope of an 
 opening for some generous proceeding, though how 
 this should be accomplished was not visible, since it 
 was quite as hard to be generous with other people's 
 hearts as to confer a benefit on a Pendragon. At any 
 rate, he was so confident of Jem's superiority, as to 
 have no fear of carrying oft" the afiection of any one 
 whom his cousin wished to win. 
 
 James was ordained, and shortly after went to some 
 pupils for the Easter vacation, which was spent by 
 Louis at Christchurch, in studying hard. The prepara- 
 tion for going up for his degree ended by absorbing 
 him entirely, as did every other pursuit to which he 
 once fairly devoted himself, and for the first time he 
 gave his abilities full scope in the field that ought long 
 ago to have occupied them. When, finally, a third 
 class was awarded to liim, he was conscious that it 
 
THE RIVALS. 279 
 
 iniglit' have been a first, but for his past waste of 
 time. 
 
 He was sorry to leave Oxford : he had been happy 
 there in his own desultory fashion ; and the additional 
 time that his illness had kept him an undergraduate, 
 had been welcome as deferring the dreaded moment of 
 considerinoj what was to come next. He had reached 
 man's estate almost against his will. 
 
 He was to go to join his father in London ; and he 
 carried thither humiliation for having, by his own 
 fault, missed the honours that too late he had begun 
 to value as a means of gratifying his father. 
 
 The Earl, however, could hardly have taken any- 
 thing amiss from Louis. After having for so many 
 years witliheld all the laissez-aller of paternal affection, 
 when the right chord had once been touched, his fond- 
 ness for his grown-up son had the fresh exulting pride, 
 and almost blindness that would ordinarily have been 
 la\'ished on his infancy. Lord Ormersfield's senti- 
 ments were few and slowly adopted, but they had all 
 the permanence and force of his strong character ; and 
 his affection for Fitzjocelyn partook both of parental 
 glory in a promising only son, and of that tenderness, 
 at once protecting and dependent, that fathers feel for 
 daughters. This was owing partly to Louis's gentle 
 and assiduous attentions during the last vacation, and 
 also to his long illness, and remarkable resemblance to 
 his mother, which rendered fondness of him a sort of 
 tribute to her, and restored to the Earl some of the 
 transient happiness of his life. 
 
 It was a second youth of the affections, but it was 
 purchased by a step towards age. The anxiety, 
 fatigue, and various emotions of the past year had told 
 on the Earl ; and though still strong, vigorous, and 
 healthy, the first touch of autumn had fallen on him — 
 he did not find his solitary life so self-sufficing as for- 
 merly, and craved the home feeling of the past Christ- 
 mas. So the welcome was twice as warm as Louis 
 had expected ; and as he saw the melancholy chased 
 
280 DYNEVOE TERRACE. 
 
 away, the stern grey eyes lighted up, and the thin, 
 compressed lips relaxed into a smile, he forgot his 
 aversion to the well-ap})ointed rooms in Jermyn Street, 
 and sincerely apologized that he had not brought home 
 more credit to satisfy his father. 
 
 ' Oakstead was talking it over with me,' was the 
 answer ; ' and we reckoned up many more third-class 
 men than first who have distinguished themselves.' 
 
 ' Many thanks to Sir Miles,' said Louis, laughing. 
 * My weak mind would never have devised such conso- 
 lation.' 
 
 * Perhaps the exclusive devotion to study which 
 attains higher honours may not be the best introduc- 
 tion to practical life.' 
 
 * It is doing the immediate work with the whole 
 might,' 
 
 ' You do work with all your might.' 
 
 * Ay ! but too many irons in the fire, and none of 
 them red-hot through, have been my bane.' 
 
 * You do not set out in life without experience ; I 
 am glad your education is finished, Louis !' said his 
 father, turning to contemplate him, as if the sight 
 filled up some void. 
 
 ' Are you V said Louis, wearily. ' I don't think I 
 am. It becomes my duty — or yours, which is a relief 
 — to find out the next stage.' 
 
 ' Have you no wishes V 
 
 ' Not at the present speaking, thank you. If I 
 went out and talked to any one, I might have too 
 many.' 
 
 ' No views for your future life V 
 
 ' Thus far : to do as little harm as may be — to be of 
 some use at home — and to make turnips grow in the 
 upland at Inglewood. I have some vague fancy to 
 see foreign parts, especially now they are all in such a 
 row — it would be such fun — but I suppose you would 
 not trust me there now. Here I am for you to do as 
 you please with me— a gracious permission, considering 
 that you did not want it. Only the first practical 
 
THE RIVALS. 281 
 
 question is how to get this money from Jem to Clara. 
 I shoukl like to call on her, but I suppose that would 
 hardly be according to the proprieties.' 
 
 ' I would walk to the school with you, if you wish 
 to see her. My aunt will be glad to hear of her, if we 
 go home to-morrow.' 
 
 'Are you thinking of going home V exclaimed Louis, 
 joyfully coming to life. 
 
 ' Yes ; but for a cause that will grieve you. Mrs. 
 Ponsonby is worse, and has written to ask me to come 
 down.' 
 
 'Materially worse?' 
 
 ' I fear so. I showed my aunt's letter to Hastings, 
 who said it was the natural course of the disease, but 
 that he thought it would have been less speedy. I fear 
 it has been hastened by reports from Peru. She had 
 decided on going out again; but the agitation over- 
 threw her, and she has been sinking ever since,' said 
 Lord Ormersfield, mournfully. 
 
 ' Poor Mary !' 
 
 ' Por her sake I must be on the spot, if for no other 
 cause. If I had but a home to oflfer her I' 
 
 Louis gave a deep sigh, and presently asked for 
 more details of Mrs. Ponsonby 's state. 
 
 ' I believe she is still able to sit up and employ her- 
 self at times, but she often suffers dreadfully. They 
 are both wonderfully cheerful. She has little to re- 
 gret.' 
 
 ' What a loss she will be ! Oh, father I what will 
 you do without her?' 
 
 ' I am glad that you have known her. She has been 
 more than a sister to me. Things might have been 
 very different, if that miserable marriage had not 
 separated us for so many years.' 
 
 'How could it have happened? How was it that 
 she — so good and wise — did not see through the man V 
 
 ' She would, if she had been left to herself; but she 
 was not. My mother discovered, when too late, that 
 there had been foolish, impertinent jokes of that unfor- 
 
282 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 tunate trifler, poor Henry Frost, that made lier imagine 
 herself suspected of designs on me.' 
 
 'Mary would never have attended to such folly!' 
 cried Louis. 
 
 ' Mary is older. Besides, she loved the man, or 
 thouirht she did. I believe she thinks herself attached 
 to him still. But for Mary's birth, there would have 
 been a separation long ago. There ought to have 
 been ; but, after my father's death, there was no one to 
 interfere ! What would I not have given to have been 
 her brother! Well! I never could see why one like 
 her was so visited — !' Then rousing himself, as though 
 tender reminiscences were waste of time, he added, 
 ' There you see the cause of the caution I gave you 
 with regard to Clara Dynevor. It is not fair to ex- 
 pose a young woman to misconstructions and idle com- 
 ments, which may goad her to vindicate her dignity 
 by acting in a manner fatal to her happiness. Now,' 
 he added, having drawn his moral, ' if we are to call 
 on Clara, this would be the fittest time. I have 
 engaged for us both to dine at Lady Conway's this 
 evening : I thought you would not object.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; but I am sure you cannot wish to go 
 out after such news.' 
 
 ' There is not sufficient excuse for refusing. There 
 is to be no party, and it would be a marked thing to 
 avoid it.' 
 
 Louis hazarded a suggestion that the meeting with 
 Clara would be to little purpose if they were all to 
 sit in state in the drawing-room ; and she was asked 
 for on the plea of going to see the new Houses of Par- 
 liament. The Earl of Ormersfield's card and com- 
 pliments went upstairs, and Miss Frost Dynevor 
 appeared, with a demure and astonished countenance, 
 which changed instantly to ecstasy when she saw that 
 the Earl was not alone. Not at all afraid of love, but 
 only of misconstructions, he goodnaturedly kept aloof, 
 while Chira, clinging to Louis's arm, was guided 
 through the streets, and in and out among the blocks 
 
THE mVALS. 2 S3 
 
 of carved stone on the banks of the Thames, inter- 
 spersing her notes of admiration and his notes on 
 heraldry with more comfortable confidences than had 
 fallen to their lot through the holidays. 
 
 His first hope was that Clara might reveal some 
 fact to throw light on the object of her brother's affec- 
 tions, but her remarks only added to his perplexity. 
 Once, when they had been talking of poor Maiy, and 
 lamenting her fate in having to return to her father, 
 Louis haziirded the conjecture that she might find an 
 English home. 
 
 ' There is her aunt in Bryanston Square,' said Clara. 
 ' Or if she would only live with us ! You see I am 
 growing wise, as you call it : I like her now.' 
 
 * That may be fortunate,' said Louis. ' You know 
 her destination according to Xorthwold gossip.' 
 
 ' Nonsense ! Jem would scorn an heiress if she 
 were ten times prettier. He will never have an 
 escutcheon of pretence like the one on the old soup- 
 tureen that the Lady of Eschalott broke, and Jane 
 was so sorry for because it was the last of the old 
 Cheveleigh china.' 
 
 Louis made another experiment. ' Have you re- 
 pented yet of giving away your clasp V 
 
 ' Xo, indeed ! ]Miss Conway always wears it. She 
 should be richly welcome to anything I have in the 
 world.' 
 
 ' You and Jem saw much more of them than I did.' 
 
 * Whose fault was that ? Jem was always raving 
 about your stupidity in staying at home.' 
 
 He began to question whether his interview with 
 James had been a dream. As they were walking back 
 towards the school, Clara went on to tell him that Lady 
 Conway had called and taken her to a rehearsal of a 
 concert of ancient music, and that Isabel had taken 
 her for one or two drives into the country. 
 
 ' This must conduce to make school endurable,' said 
 Louis. 
 
 ' I think I hate it more because I hate it less.' 
 
2S1 DYNEVOll TEREACE. 
 
 ' Translate, if you })lease.' 
 
 ' Tlie first half-year, 1 scorned them all, and they 
 scorned me ; and that was comfortable — ' 
 
 * And consistent. Well V 
 
 * The next, you had disturbed me ; I could not go 
 on being savage with the same satisfaction ; and their 
 tuft-hunting temper began to discharge itself in such 
 civility to me, that I could not give myself airs with 
 any peace.' 
 
 * Have you made no friends V 
 
 One and a half. The whole one is a good, rough, 
 stupid girl, who comes to school because she can't learn, 
 and is worth all the rest put together. The half is 
 Caroline Salter, who is openly and honestly purse- 
 proud, has no toad-eating in her nature, and straight- 
 forwardly contemns high-blood and no money. We 
 fought ourselves into respect for one another ; and now, 
 I verily believe, we are fighting ourselves into friend- 
 ship. She is the only one that is jDroud, not vain ; so 
 we understand each other. As to the rest, they adore 
 Caroline Salter's enamelled watch one day; and the 
 next, I should be their 'dearest' if I would but tell them 
 what we have for dinner at Ormersfield, and what 
 colour your eyes are !' 
 
 ' The encounters have made you so epigi'ammatic 
 and satirical, that there is no coming near you.' 
 
 ' Oh, Louis ! if you knew all, you would despise me 
 as I do myself ! I do sometimes get drawn into talk- 
 ing grandly about Ormersfield ; and though I always 
 say what I am to be, I know that I am as vain and 
 proud as any of them : I am proud of being poor, and 
 of the Pendragons, and of not being silly ! I don't 
 know which is self-respect, and which is pride !' 
 
 ' I have always had my doubts about that quality of 
 self-respect. I never could make out what one was to 
 respect.' 
 
 * Oh, dear! les voild,!' cried Clara, as, entering 
 Hanover Square, they beheld about twenty damsels 
 coming out of the garden in couples. ' I would not 
 
THE RIVALS. 285 
 
 have had it happen for the whole world !' she added, 
 abruptly withdrawing the arm that had clung to him 
 so trustfully across many a perilous crossing. 
 
 She seemed to intend to slip into the ranks without 
 any farewells ; but the Earl, with politeness that 
 almost confounded the little elderly governess, re- 
 turned thanks for having been permitted the pleasure 
 of her company ; and Louis, between mischief and 
 good-nature, would not submit to anything but a 
 hearty, cousinly squeeze of the hand, nor relinquish 
 it till he had forced lier to utter articulately the mes- 
 sage to grandmamma that she had been muttering with 
 her head averted. At last it was spoken sharply, and 
 her hand drawn petulantly away ; and, without look- 
 ing back at him, her high, stiff head vanished into the 
 house, towering above the bright rainbow of ribbons, 
 veils, and parasols. 
 
 The evening would have been very happy, had not 
 Lord Ormersfield looked imperturbably grave and in- 
 accessible to his sister-in-law's blandishments. She did 
 not use the most likely means of disarming him when 
 she spoke of making a tour in the summer. It had 
 been a long promise that Isabel and Virginia should 
 go to see their old governess at Paris ; but if France 
 still were in too disturbed a state, they might enjoy 
 themselves in Belgium, and perhaps her dear Fitz- 
 jocelyn would accompany them as their escort. 
 
 His eyes had glittered at the proposal before he 
 recollected the sorrow that threatened his father, and 
 began to decline, protesting that he should be the worst 
 escort in the world, since he always attracted accidents 
 and adventures. But his aunt, discovering that he had 
 never been abroad, became doubly urgent, and even 
 apj)ealed to his father. 
 
 'As far as I am concerned, Fitzjocelyn may freely 
 consult his own inclinations,' said the Earl, so gravely, 
 that Lady Conway could only turn aside the subject 
 by a laugh, and assurance that she did not mean to 
 give him up. She began to talk of James Frost, and 
 
2S6 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 her wishes to secure him a second time as Walter's 
 tutor in the holidays. 
 
 * You had better take him with you,' said Louis ; ' he 
 would really be of use to you, and how he would enjoy 
 the sight of foreign parts !' 
 
 Isabel raised her head with a look of approbation, 
 such as encouraged him to come a little nearer, and 
 speak of the pleasure that her kindness had given to 
 Clara. 
 
 ' There is a high spirit and originality about Clara, 
 which make her a most amusing companion.' 
 
 Isabel replied, ' I am very glad of an hour \vith her, 
 especially now that I am without my sisters.' 
 
 ' She must be such a riddle to her respectable school- 
 fellows, that intercourse beyond them must be doubly 
 valuable.' 
 
 * Poor child ! Is there no hope for her but going 
 out as a governess?' 
 
 ' Unluckily, we have no Church patronage for her 
 brother; the only likely escape — unless, indeed, the uncle 
 in Peru, whom I begin to regard as rather mythical, 
 should send an unavoidable shower of gold on them.' 
 
 * I hope not,' said Isabel ; ' I could almost call their 
 noble poverty a sacred thing. I never saw anything 
 so beautiful as the reverent affection shown to Mrs. 
 Dynevor on Walter's birthday, when she was the 
 Queen of the Night, and looked it, and her old pupils 
 vied \\T.th each other in doing her honour. I have 
 remembered the scene so often in looking at our faded 
 dowagers here.' 
 
 ' I would defy Midas to make my Aunt Catharine a 
 faded dowager,' said Louis. 
 
 ' No ; but he could have robbed their homage of half 
 — nay, all its grace.' 
 
 They talked of Northwold, and Isabel mentioned 
 various details of Mrs. Ponsonby, which she had learnt 
 from Miss King, and talked of JNfary with great feeling 
 and affection. Never had Louis had anything so like 
 
THE RIVALS. 287 
 
 a conversation vriih. Isabel, and he was more bewitched 
 than ever by the enthusiasm and depth of sensibilities 
 which she no longer concealed by coldness and reserve. 
 In fact, she had come to regard him as an accessory of 
 North wold, and was delighted to enjoy some exchange 
 of sympathy upon Terrace subjects — above all, when 
 sei:tarated from the school-room party. Time had 
 brought her to perceive that the fantastic YLscount did 
 not always wear motley; and it was almost as refresh- 
 ing as meeting with Clara, to have some change from 
 the two worlds in which she lived. In her imaginary 
 world, Adeline had just been rescued from the Corsairs 
 by a knight hospitaller, with his ^izor down, and was 
 being conducted home by him, ^vith equal probabilities 
 of his dying at her feet of a concealed mortal wound, 
 or conducting her to her convent gate, and going off 
 to be killed by the Moors. The world of gaiety was 
 more hollow and weaiisome than ever; and the sum- 
 mons was as unwelcome to her as to Fitzjocelyn, when 
 Lord Ormersfield reminded him that the ladies were 
 going to an evening party, and that it was time to 
 take leave. 
 
 ' Come with us, Fitzjocelyn,' said his aunt. ' They 
 would be charmed to have you;' and she mentioned 
 some lions, whose names made Louis look at his father. 
 
 * I will send the carriage for you,' said the Earl ; but 
 Louis had learnt to detect the tone of melancholy 
 reluctance in that apparently unalterable voice, and at 
 once refused. Perhaps it was for that reason that 
 Isabel let him put on her opera-cloak and hand her 
 down stairs. ' I don't wonder at you,' she said ; ' I wish 
 I could do the same.' 
 
 * I wished it at first,' he answered ; ' but I could not 
 have gone without a heavy heart.' 
 
 'Are you young enough to expect to go to any 
 gaieties without a heavy heart?' 
 
 ' I am sorry for you,' said he, in his peculiar tone : 
 * I suppose I am your elder.' 
 
2SS DYNEVOR TERUACE. 
 
 * T am almost iwentj-/our,^ she said, \^dtl^ emphasis. 
 
 * Indeed! That must be the age for care, to judge 
 by the change it has worked in Jem Frost.' 
 
 The words were prompted by a keen, sudden desire 
 to mark theii* effect; but he failed to perceive any, for 
 they were in a dark part of the entry, and her face was 
 turned away. 
 
 ' Fitzjocelyn,' said the Earl, on the way home, * do 
 not think it necessary to look at me whenever you 
 receive an invitation. It makes us both appear ridicu- 
 lous, and you are in every respect your own master.' 
 
 * I had rather not, thank you,' said Louis, in an 
 almost provokingly indifferent tone. 
 
 ' It is full time you should assume your own guidance.' 
 
 * How little he knows how little that would suit him !' 
 thought Louis, sighing despondingly. ' Am I called on 
 to sacrifice myself in everything, and never even satisfy 
 himr 
 
REST FOR THE WEARY. 289 
 
 CHAPTER XYIII. 
 
 REST FOR THE WEARY. 
 
 Therefore, arm thee for the strife 
 All throughout this mortal life, 
 Soldier now and servant true, 
 Earth behind, and heaven in view. 
 
 Eev. I. Williams. 
 
 rr^HE first impression on arriving at Northwold was, 
 J- that the danger had been magnified. Mrs. Frost's 
 buoyant spirits had risen at the first respite; and 
 though there was a weight on Mary's brow, she spoke 
 cheerfully, and as if able to attend to other interests, 
 telling Louis of her father's wish for some good work- 
 men to superintend the mines, and asking him to 
 consult his friends at Illershall on the subject. 
 
 Lord Ormersfield came down encoui-aged by his visit 
 to the invalid, whom he had found dressed and able to 
 converse nearly as usual. She begged him to come to 
 dinner the next day, and spend the evening with her, 
 promising with a smile that if he would bring Louis, 
 their aunt should chaperon Mary. 
 
 When the Earl went upstairs after dinner, the other 
 three closed round the fire, and talked in a tranquil, 
 subdued strain, on various topics, sometimes grave, 
 sometimes enlivened by the playfulness inherent in 
 two of the party. Aunt Kitty spoke of her earlier 
 days, and Louis and Mary ventured questions that they 
 would have ordinarily deemed intrusive. Yet it was 
 less the matter than the manner of their dialogue — the 
 deep, unavowed fellow-feeling and mutual reliance — 
 which rendered it so refreshing and full of a kind of 
 repose. Louis felt it like the strange bright stillness, 
 when birds sing their clearest, fullest notes, and the 
 
 VOL. I. U 
 
290 DYNKVOR TERRACE. 
 
 horizon reach of sky beams witli the softest, hric^htest 
 radiance, just ere it be ch)sedout by the thunder-cloud, 
 whose first drops are pausiug to descend ; and to Mary 
 it was peace — peace whicli she was willing gratefully 
 to taste to the utmost, from the instinctive perception 
 that the call had come for her to brace all her powers 
 of self-control and fortitude ; while to the dear old 
 aunt, besides her enjoyment of her darling's presence, 
 each hour was a boon that she could believe the pa- 
 tient or the daughter, relieved and happy. 
 
 Louis was admitted for a few minutes' visit to the 
 sick-chamber, and went up believing that he ought to 
 be playful and cheerful ; but he was nearly overcome 
 by Mrs. Ponsonby's own brightness, as she hoped that 
 her daughter and aunt had made themselves agreeable. 
 ' Thank you, I never was so comfortable, not even 
 when my foot was bad.' 
 
 * I believe you consider that a great compliment.' 
 ' Yes, I never was so much off my own mind, nor on 
 other ])eople's:' and the recollection of all he owed to 
 Mrs. Ponsonby's kindness rushing over him, he looked 
 so much affected, that Mary was afraid of his giving 
 way, and spoke of other matters; her mother responded, 
 and he came away quite reassured, and believing Mrs. 
 Frost's augury that at the next call, the invalid would 
 be in the drawing-room. 
 
 On the way home, however, his father overthrew 
 such hopes, and made him aware of the true state of 
 the case, — namely, that this was but the lull before 
 another attack, which, whether it came within weeks 
 or days, would probably be the last. 
 ' Does Mary know V 
 ' She does. She bears up nobly.' 
 * And what is to become of her?' 
 The Earl sighed deeply. ' Lima is her destiny. 
 Her mother is bent on it, and says that she wishes it 
 herself; but on one thing I am resolved : she shall not 
 go alone ! I have told her mother that I will go with 
 her, and not leave her without seeing what kind of 
 
EEST FOR THE WEARY. 291 
 
 home that man has for lier. Mary — the mother, T 
 mean — persists in dechiriug that he has real affection 
 for his child, and that her presence will save him.' 
 
 'If anything could — ' broke out Louis. 
 
 * It should ! it ought ; but I do not trust him. I 
 know Robert Ponsonby as his wife has never chosen 
 to know him. This was not a time for disguise, 
 and I told her plainly what I thought of risking her 
 daughter out there. But she called it Mary's duty — 
 said that he was fully to be trusted where his child was 
 concerned, and that Mary was no stranger at Lima, but 
 could take care of herself, and had many friends besides 
 Oliver Dynevor there. But I told her that go with her 
 I would !' 
 
 ' You to take the vovacre ! Was not she glad V 
 
 'I think she was relieved; but she was over-grate- 
 ful and distressed, and entreating me to be patient 
 with him. She need not fear. I never was a hasty 
 man ; and I shall only remember that she bears his 
 name, and that he is Mary's father — provided always 
 that it is fit Mary should remain with him. Miserable ! 
 I can understand that death may well come as a friend — 
 But her daughter!' he exclaimed, giving way more 
 than he might have done anywhere but in the dark ; 
 * how can she endure to leave her to such a father — to 
 such prospects !' 
 
 ' She knows it is not only to such a father that she 
 leaves her,' murmured Louis. 
 
 'Her words — almost her words,' said the Earl, be- 
 tween earnestness and impatience ; ' but when these 
 things come to pressing realities, it is past me how 
 such sayings are a consolation.' 
 
 ' Not if they were no more than sayings.' 
 
 There was silence. Louis heard an occasional groan- 
 ing sigh from his father, and sat still, with feelings 
 strongly moved, and impelled to one of his sudden and 
 impetuous resolutions. 
 
 The next morning, he ordered his horse, saying he 
 would bring the last report from the Terrace. 
 
 u 2 
 
292 DYNE von TETIRACE. 
 
 That afternoon, Mrs. Ponsonby observed a tremii- 
 lousuess in Mary's Laud, and a willingness to keep her 
 face turned away ; and, on more minute glances, a 
 swelling of the eyelids was detected. 
 
 ' My dear,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, ' you should take a 
 walk to-day. Pray go out with the Con ways.' 
 
 ' Oh no, thank you, mamma.' 
 
 * If the cousins come in from Ormersfield, I shall 
 tell Louis to take you to look at his farm. It would be 
 very good for you — My dear, what is it V for Mary's 
 ears and neck, all that she could see, were crimson. 
 
 * Oh, mamma ! he has been doing it again. I did not 
 mean to have told you — ' said Mary, the strong will 
 to be calm forcing back the tears and even the flush. 
 
 * Nay, dear child, nothing can hurt me now. You 
 miist let me share all with you to the last. What did 
 you say to himf 
 
 ' I told him that I could not think of such things 
 now,' said Mary, almost indignantly. 
 
 'And he?' 
 
 ' He begged my pardon, and said he only did it 
 because he thought it might be a relief to you.' 
 
 ' Only ; did he say ' only?' ' 
 
 ' I am not sure. At least,' she added, with a deep 
 sigh, ' I thought he meant onli/ — ' 
 
 ' And you, my dearest, if you had not thought he 
 meant only?' 
 
 * Don't ask me, mamma; I cannot think about itl' 
 
 * Mary, dearest, I do wish to understand you.' 
 
 * Is it of any use for me to ask myself T said Mary. 
 
 ' I think it is. I do not say that there might not 
 be insuperable obstacles; but I believe we ought to 
 know whether you are still indiflbrent to Louis.' 
 
 ' Oh, that I never was ! Nobody could be ! 
 
 ' You know what I mean,' said her mother, slightly 
 smiling. 
 
 ' Mamma, I don't know what to say,' replied Mary, 
 after a pause. ' I had thought it wrong to let my 
 thoughts take that course; but when he spoke in his 
 
REST FOR THE WEARY. 293 
 
 own soft, gentle voice, I felt, and I can't help it, that 
 —he — could — comfort — me — better — than — any one.' 
 
 Not hesitating, but slowly, almost inaudibly, she 
 brought out the words; and, as the tears gushed out 
 irrepressibly with the last, she hastened from the 
 room, and was seen no more till she had recovered 
 composure, and seemed to have dismissed the subject. 
 
 Louis kept this second attempt a secret ; he was not 
 quite sure how he felt, aud did not wish to discuss his 
 rejection. At breakfast, he received a note from Mrs. 
 Ponsonby, begging him to come to the Terrace at 
 three o'clock; and the hope thus revived made him 
 more conversational than he had beeu all the former day. 
 
 He found that Mary was out walking, and he was 
 at once conducted to Mrs. Ponsonby's room, where he 
 looked exceedingly ros^y and confused, till she began 
 by holding out her hand, and saying, ' I wish to thank 
 you.' 
 
 * I am afraid I vexed Mary,' said Louis, with more 
 than his usual simplicity ; ' but do you think there is 
 no hope? I knew it was a bad time, but I thought 
 it miffht make vou more at ease on her account ' 
 
 ' You meant all that was most kind.' 
 
 *I thought I might just try,' pursued he, discon- 
 solately, ' whether she did think me auy steadier. I 
 hope she did not think me very troublesome. I tried 
 not to harass her much.' 
 
 ' My dear Louis, it is not a question of what you 
 call steadiness. It is the old story of last summer, 
 when you thought us old ones so much more romantic 
 than yourself 
 
 ' You are thinking of Miss Conway,' said Louis, 
 blushing, but with curious naivete. ' Well, I have 
 been thinking of that, and I really do not believe there 
 was anything in it. I did make myself rather a fool 
 at Beauchastel, and Jem would have made me a 
 greater one; but you know my father put a stop to it. 
 Thinking her handsomer than other people can't be 
 love, can it]' 
 
291 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 ' Not alone, certainly.' 
 
 * And actually,' he pursued, * I don't believe I ever 
 think of lier when I am out of the way of her ! No, 
 indeed ! if I had not believed that was all over, do you 
 think I could have said what I did yesterday V 
 
 ' Not unless you believed so.' 
 
 ' Well, but really you don't consider how little I 
 have seen of her. I was in awe of her at first, and 
 since, I have kept away on purpose. I never got on 
 with her at all till the other evening. I don't believe 
 I care for her one bit. Then,' suddenly pausing, and 
 changing his tone, ' you don't trust me after all.' 
 
 ' J. do. I trust your principle and kindness im- 
 plicitly ; but I think the very innocence of your heart 
 prevents you from knowing what you are about.' 
 
 ' It is very hard,' said Louis; ' every one will have it 
 that I must be in love, till I shall have to believe so 
 myself, and when I know it cannot come to good.' 
 
 ' You are making yourself more simple than you 
 really are,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, half provoked. 
 
 Louis shut his eyes, and seemed to be rousing his 
 faculties ; then, taking a new turn, he earnestly said, 
 * You know that the promises must settle the question, 
 and keep my affections fast.' 
 
 ' Ah, Louis ! there is the point. Others, true and 
 sincere as yourself, have broken their own hearts, and 
 those of others, from having made vows in wilful igno- 
 rance of latent feelings. It would be a sin in me to 
 allow you to bind yourself to Mary, with so little 
 comprehension as you have of your own sentiments.' 
 
 ' Then I have done wrong in proposing it.' 
 
 ' ^Yhat would have been wrong in some cases, was 
 more of blindness — ay, and kindness — in you. Louis, 
 I cannot tell you my gratitude for your wish to take 
 care of my dear girl,' she said, with tears in her eyes. 
 ' I hope you fully understand me.' 
 
 ' I see I have made a fool of myself again, and that 
 you have a right to be very angry with me.' 
 
 ' Not quite/ said Mrs. Ponsonby, smiling ; ' but I 
 
KEST YOU THE WEARY. 295 
 
 am going to give you some advice. Settle your mind 
 as to Miss Conway. Your father is beginning to per- 
 ceive that his disti-ust was undesei'^'ed ; he has pro- 
 mised me not to object in case it should be for your 
 true happiness; and I do believe, for my own part, 
 that, in some respects, she is better fitted for his 
 daughter-in-law than my poor Mary,' 
 
 ' No one ever was half as good as Mary !' cried Louis. 
 'And this is what you tell me !' 
 
 ' Mind, I don't tell you to propose to her, nor to 
 commit yourself in any way : I only tell you to put 
 yourself in a position to form a reasonable judgment 
 of your own feelings. That is due to her, to yourself, 
 and to your wife, be she who she may.' 
 
 Louis sighed, and presently added, smiling, ' I am 
 not going to rave about preferences for another; but I 
 do want to know whether anytliing can be dune for 
 poor Jem Frost.' 
 
 ' Ha ! has he anything of this kind on his mind V 
 
 ' He does it in grand style — disconsolate, frantic, and 
 frosty; but he puzzles me completely by disclosing 
 nothing but that he has no hope, and thinks me his 
 rival Can nothing be done V 
 
 ' No, Louis,' said Mrs. Ponsonby, decidedly ; ' T have 
 no idea that there is anything in that quarter. What 
 may be on his mind, I cannot tell : I am sure that he 
 is not on Mary's.' 
 
 Louis rose. ' I have tired you,' he said, ' and you 
 are very patient with my fooleries.' 
 
 ' You have been very patient with many a lecture 
 of mine, Louis.' 
 
 ' There are very few who would have thought me 
 worth lecturing.' 
 
 ' Ah, Louis ! if I did not like you so well for what 
 you are, I should still feel the right to lecture you, 
 when I remember the night I earned you to your 
 father, and tried to make him believe that you would 
 be his comfort and blessing. I think you have taught 
 him the lesson at last !' 
 
206 DYXEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 * You have done it all,' said Louis, with deep feeling. 
 
 * And now, may I say what more I want to see in 
 you ? If you could acquire more resolution, more 
 manliness — will you pardon my saying so V 
 
 * Ah ! I have always found myself the identical weak 
 man that all books give up as a hopeless case,' said 
 Louis, accepting the imputation more easily than she 
 could have supposed possible. 
 
 * No,' she said, vigorously, ' you have not come to 
 your time of life without openings to evil that you 
 could not have resisted if you had been really weak.' 
 
 * Distaste — and rather a taste, for being quizzed,' 
 said Louis. 
 
 * Those are not weakness. Your will is indolent, 
 and you take refuge in fancying that you want strength. 
 Rouse yourself, not to be drifted about — make a line 
 for yourself 
 
 * My father will have me walk in no line but his own.' 
 
 * You have sense not to make duty to him an excuse 
 for indolence and dislike of responsibility. You have 
 often disappointed yourself by acting precipitately; and 
 now you are throwing youi-self prone upon him, in a 
 way that is unwise for you both.' 
 
 * I don't know what to do !' said Louis. ' "When I 
 thought the aim of my life was to be to devote myself 
 to his wishes, you — ay, and he too — tell me to stand 
 alone.' 
 
 * It will be a disappointment to him, if you do not 
 act and decide for yourself — yes, and worse than dis- 
 appointment. He knows what your devotional habits 
 are ; and if he see you wanting in firmness or energy, 
 he will set down all the rest as belonging to the softer 
 parts of your nature.' 
 
 ' On the contrary,' exclaimed Louis, indignantly, 
 * all the resolution I ever showed came from nothing 
 else !' 
 
 * I know it. Let him see that these things make a 
 man of you ; and, Louis — you feel what a difference it 
 might make !' 
 
REST rOR THE WEARY. 297 
 
 Louis bowed liis head thoughtfully. 
 
 ' You, who are both son and daughter to him, may 
 give up schemes and pleasures for his sake, and may 
 undertake work for which you have no natural turn ; 
 but, however you may cross your inclinations, never be 
 led contrary to your judgment. Then, and with per- 
 severance, 1 think you will be safe.' 
 
 * Perseverance — your old lesson.' 
 
 * Yes ; you must learn to work over the moment 
 ■when novelty is gone and failure begins, even 
 though your father should treat the matter as a 
 crotchet of your own. If you know it is worth doing, 
 go on, and he will esteem you and it.' 
 
 ' My poor private judgment ! you work it hard ! 
 ■when it has generally only run me full-drive into 
 some egregious blunder !' 
 
 * Not your true deliberate judgment, exercised 
 with a sense of responsibility. Humility must not 
 cover your laziness. You have such qualities and 
 such talents as must be intended to do good to others, 
 not to be trifled away in fitful exertions. Make it 
 your great effort to see clearly, and then to proceed 
 steadfastly, without slackening either from weariness 
 or the persuasions of others.' 
 
 ' And you won't let me have the one person who 
 can see clearly, and keep me steady V 
 
 ' To be your husband, instead of your wife ! No, 
 Louis ; you must learn to take yourself on your own 
 hands, and lean neither on your father, nor on any one 
 else on earth, before you can be fit for Mary, or — "" 
 
 * And if I did f began Louis. 
 
 * You would make a man of yourself,' she said, 
 interrupting him. 'That is the first thing — not a 
 reed shaken with the wind. You can do it; tliere is 
 nothing that Grace cannot do.' 
 
 ' I know there is not,' said Louis, reverently. 
 
 * And, oh ! the blessing that you would so bring on 
 yourself and on your dear father! You have already 
 learnt to make him happier than I ever looked to see 
 
298 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 him ; and you must be energetic and consistent, that 
 so he may respect, not you, but the Power which can 
 give you the strength.' 
 
 Louis's heart was too full to make any answer. 
 Mrs. Ponsonby lay back in her chair, as though ex- 
 hausted by the energy with which she had spoken the 
 last words ; and there was a long silence. He thought 
 he ought to go, and yet could not resolve to move. 
 At last she spoke — ' Good-bye, Louis. Come what 
 may, I know Mary will find in you the — all that I 
 have found your father.' 
 
 ' Thank you, at least, for saying that,' said Louis. 
 ' If you would only hold out a hope — I wish it more 
 than ever now ! I do not believe that I should ever 
 do as well with any one else ! Will you not give me 
 any prospect ]' 
 
 ' Be certain of your own heart, Louis ! Nay,' as she 
 saw his face brighten, ' do not take that as a promise. 
 Let me give you a few parting words, as the motto I 
 should like to leave with you — ' Quit yourselves like 
 men ; be strong.' And so, Louis, whatever be your 
 fixed and resolute purpose, so it be accordant with the 
 Will of Heaven, you would surely, I believe, attain 
 it ; and well do you know how I should rejoice to 
 see' — She broke off, and said, more feebly, ' I must 
 not go on any longer. Let me wish you good-bye, Louis : 
 I have loved you only less than my own child !' 
 
 Louis knelt on one knee beside her, held her hand, 
 and bowed down his face to hide the shower of tears 
 that fell, while a mother's kiss and a mother's blessing 
 were on his brow. 
 
 He went down stairs, and out of the house, and 
 took his horse from the inn stables, without one word 
 to any one. The ostlers said to each other that the 
 young Lord was in great trouble about the lady at the 
 Terrace. 
 
 Mary came home ; and if she knew why that long 
 walk had been urged on her, she gave no sign. She 
 saw her mother worn and tired, and she restrained all 
 
REST FOR THE WEARY. 299 
 
 perception that she was conscious that there had been 
 agitation. She spoke quietly of the spring flowei-s 
 that she had seen, and of the people whom she had 
 met ; she gave her mother her tea, and moved about 
 with almost an increase of the studied quietness 
 of the sick-room. Only, when Mrs. Frost came in for 
 an hour, Mary drew back into a corner with her 
 knitting, and did not speak. 
 
 ' Mary,' said her mother, when she came back from 
 lighting her aunt down stairs, ' come to me, my 
 child.' 
 
 Mary came, and her mother took both her hands. 
 They were chilly ; and tliere was a little pulse on 
 Mary's temple that visibly throbbed, and almost 
 seemed to leap, with fearful rapidity. 
 
 ' Dear child, I had no power to talk before, or I 
 would not have kept you in suspense. I am afraid it 
 will not do.' 
 
 ' I was sure of it,' said Mary, almost in a whisper. 
 ' Dear mamma, you should not have vexed and tired 
 yourself.' 
 
 ' I comforted myself,' said Mrs. Ponsonby ; ' I said 
 things to him that I had longed to say, and how 
 beautifully he took them ! But I could not feel that 
 he knew what he was aVjout much better than he did 
 the first time.' 
 
 ' It would not be right,' said Mary, in her old tone. 
 
 * I think your father might have been persuaded, 
 I would have written, and done my utmost — ' 
 
 ' Oh, mamma, anything rather than you should have 
 that worry 1' 
 
 ' And I think things will be diflferent — he is 
 softened, and will be more so. But it is foolish to 
 talk in this way, and it may be well that the trial 
 should not be made ; though that was not the reason 
 I answered Louis as I did.' 
 
 ' I suppose it will be Miss Conway,' said Mary, 
 trying to smile. 
 
 ' At least; it ought to be no one else till he has seen 
 
300 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 enough of her to form a judgment without the charm 
 of prohibition; and this he may do without committing 
 himself, as they are so nearly connected. I must ask 
 his father to give him distinct permission, and then I 
 shall have done with these things.' 
 
 Mary would not ])reak the silence, nor recall her to 
 earthly interests ; but she returned to the suV)ject, 
 saying, wistfully, ' Can you tell me that you are con- 
 tent, dear child V 
 
 * Quite content, thank you, mamma — I am certain it 
 is right/ said Mary. ' It would be taking a wrong 
 advantage of his compassion. I fall too far short of 
 what would be wanted to make him happy.' 
 
 She spoke firmly, but her eyes were full of tears. 
 Her mother felt as if no one could fail of happiness 
 with Mary, but, controlling the impulse, said, * It is 
 best, dearest ; for you could not bear to feel yourself 
 unable to make him happy, or to fancy he might have 
 more peace without you. My dear, your prospect is 
 not all I could have wished or planned, but this would 
 be too crueL' 
 
 ' It is my duty to go to papa,' said Mary. * What 
 would be selfish could not turn out well.' 
 
 * If you could be sure of his feelings — if he were 
 only less strangely youthful — No,' she added, breaking 
 off, as if rebuking hei'self, ' it is not to be thought of ; 
 but I do not wonder at you, my poor Mary — I never 
 saw any one so engaging, nor in whom I could place 
 such confidence.' 
 
 ' I am so glad !' said Mary, gratefully. * You used 
 not to have that confidence.' 
 
 ' I feared his being led. Now I feel as sure as any 
 one can dare of his goodness. But I have been talking 
 to him about self-reliance and consistency. He is so 
 devoid of ambition, and so inert and difiident when 
 not in an impetuous fit, that I dread his doing no good 
 as well as no evil.' 
 
 Mary shook her head. Did she repress the ex- 
 pression of the sense that her arm had sometimes given 
 him steadiness and fixed his aim 1 
 
REST FOR THE WEARY. 301 
 
 ' The resemblance to his mother struck me more 
 than ever,' continued Mrs, Ponsouby. ' There is far 
 more mind and soul, but almost the same nature — all 
 bright, indolent sweetness, craving for sometliiug to 
 lean on ; but he shows what she might Jiave been with 
 the same principles. Dear boy ! may he do well ! ' 
 
 * He will be very happy with Miss Conway,' said 
 Maiy. ' She will learn to ap^jreciate all he says and 
 does — her enthusiasm will spui- him on. I shall hear 
 of them.' 
 
 The unbreathed sigh seemed to be added to the 
 weight of oppression on Mary's patient breast ; but she 
 kept her eye steady, her brow unruffled. 
 
 All the joys did indeed appear to be passing from 
 her with her mother, and she felt as if she should 
 never know another hour of gladness, nor of rest in full 
 free open-hearted confidence ; but she could not dwell 
 either on herself or on the future, and each hour that 
 her mother was spared to her was too precious to be 
 wasted or profaned by aught that was personaL 
 
 Mrs. Ponsonby herself realized the weary soon to 
 be at rest, the harassed well nigh beyond the reach of 
 troubling. She treated each earthly care and interest 
 as though there were peace in laying it down for the 
 last time. At intervals, as she was able, she wrote a 
 long letter to her husband, to accompany the tidings 
 of her death ; and she held several convei"sations with 
 !Maiy on her conduct for the future. She hoped much 
 from Mary's influence, for Mr. Ponsonby was fond of 
 his daughter, and would not willingly display himself 
 in his worst colom-s before her ; and Mary's steadiness 
 of spirits and nerves might succeed, where her own 
 liability to tears and trembling had always been a 
 provoctition. Her want of judgment in openly pre- 
 ferring her own relations to his uncongenial sister 
 had sown seeds of estrangement and discord which 
 had given Mi*s. Ponsonby some cause for self-re- 
 proach, and she felt great hope that her daughter 
 would prevail where she had failed. There was little 
 
302 DYNEVOE TEUUACE. 
 
 dancrer that he would not show Mary affection enough 
 to make lier home-duties labours of love ; and at her 
 age, and with her disposition, she could both take care 
 of herself, and be an unconscious restraint on her 
 father. The trust and hope that she would be the 
 means of weaning her father from evil, and bringing 
 him home a changed man, was Mrs. Ponsonby's last 
 bright vision. 
 
 As to scruples on Lord Ormersfield becoming Mary's 
 escort on the voyage, Mrs. Ponsonby perceived his de- 
 termination to be fixed beyond remonstrance. Perhaps 
 she could neither regret that her daughter should have 
 such a protector, nor bear to reject his last kindness ; 
 and she might have lingering hopes <^f the consequences 
 of his meeting her husband, at a time when the hearts 
 of both would be softened. 
 
 These matters arranged, she closed out the world. 
 Louis saw her but once again, when other words than 
 their own were spoken, and when the scene brought 
 back to him a like one which had seemed his own fare- 
 well to this earth. His thread of life was lengthened 
 — here was the moment to pray that it might be 
 strengthened. Firm purpose was wakening within 
 him, and the battle-cry rang again in his ears — 'Quit 
 yourselves like men ; be strong !' 
 
 His eye sought Mary. She looked, indeed, like one 
 who could ' suffer and be strong.' Her brow was calm, 
 though as if a load sat on her, borne too patiently to 
 mar her peace. The end shone upon her, though the 
 path might be hid in gloom : one step at a time was 
 enough, and she was blest above all in her mother's 
 good hope. 
 
 A hush was on them all, as though they were watch- 
 inf while a tired, overtasked child sank to rest. 
 
 There was a space of suffering, when Mary and Miss 
 Mercy did all that love could do, and kept Mrs. Frost 
 from the sight of what she could neither cheer nor 
 alleviate, and when all she could do was to talk over 
 the past with Lord Ormersfield. 
 
REST FOE, THE WEAUY. 303 
 
 Then came a brief interv^al of relief and conscious- 
 ness, precious for ever to Mary's recollection. The 
 last words of aught beneath were — ' My dearest 
 love to your father. Tell him I know now how much 
 he has to forgive.' 
 
 The tender, impulsive, overhasty spirit had wrought 
 for itself some of the trials that had chastened and 
 perfected it, even while breaking down the earthly 
 tabernacle, so as to set free the weary soul, to enter 
 into Rest ! 
 
 
804 DYNEVOR TERllACE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 MOONSHINE. 
 
 He talked of daggers and of darts, 
 
 Of passions and of pains, 
 Of weeping eyes and wounded hearts, 
 
 Of kisses and of chains : 
 But still the lady shook her head, 
 
 And swore by yea and nay, 
 My whole was all that he had said, 
 
 And all that he could say. 
 
 W. Mackworth Praed. 
 
 MAE-Y'S strength gave way. She was calm and 
 self-possessed as ever; she saw Lord Ormersfield, 
 wrote to her aunt, made all necessary arrangements, 
 and, after the funeral, moved to Mrs. Frost's house. 
 But, though not actually ill, she was incapable of 
 exertion, could not walk up stairs without fatigue; 
 and after writing a letter, or looking over papers, 
 Aunt Catharine would find her leaning back, so wau 
 and exhausted, that she could not resist being laid 
 down to rest on the sofa. 
 
 She shrank from seeing any fresh face, and the effort 
 of talking to the Earl resulted in such weariness and 
 quiet depression that Mrs. Frost dared not i)ress her 
 to admit any one else, except Louis, who rode to the 
 Terrace almost every day ; but when the kind aunt, 
 believing there must be solace in the sight of her 
 boy, begged to bring him in, Mary answered, with 
 unusual vehemence, 'Pray don't: tell him I cannot 
 see any one.' And when jMrs. Frost returned from a 
 sorrowful talk with Louis, she believed that Mary had 
 been weeping. 
 
MooxsnixE. 303 
 
 Lonis was sad enough. Out of the few friends of 
 his childhood he coiikl ill afford to lose one, and he 
 grieved much for his father, to whom the loss was very- 
 great. The Earl strove, in his old fashion, to stifle 
 sorrow in letters of business, but could not succeed : 
 the result was, that he would discuss the one, Mary's 
 past, and the other, Mary's future, till time waxed 
 so short that he gladly accepted his son's assistance. 
 Conversations with Kichardson and orders to Framp- 
 ton devolved on Louis, and the desire to do no mischief 
 caused him to employ his intellect in acquiring a new 
 habit of attention and accuracy. 
 
 His reverence for JNIary was doubled, and he was 
 much, concerned at his exclusion, attributing it to his 
 mistimed proposals, and becoming sensible that he had 
 acted boyishly and without due respect. With a 
 longing desire to do anything for her, he dared not 
 even send her a greeting, a flower, or a book, lest it 
 should appear an intrusion ; and but for his mournful 
 looks, his aunt would have been almost vexed at his so 
 often preventing her from going to make another 
 attempt to induce his cousin to see him. 
 
 Mary first roused herself on finding that Lord 
 Ormersfield was taking it for granted that she would 
 wait to hear from her father before sailing for Peru. 
 The correspondence which had passed since her mother 
 had begun to decline, had convinced her that he 
 expected and wished for her without loss of time, and 
 the vessel whose captain he chiefly trusted was to sail 
 at the end of May. She entreated to be allowed to go 
 alone, declaring that she had no fears, and would not 
 endure that the Earl should double Cape Horn on her 
 account; but he stood fast — he would not be deprived 
 of the last service that he could render to her mother, 
 and he had not reliance enough on her father to let 
 her go out without any guardian or friend. 
 
 Recent letters from Mr. Ponsonby and from Oliver 
 Dynevor reiterated requests for an intelligent man 
 conversant with mining operations, and Oliver had 
 
 VOL. I. X 
 
30G DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 indicated a person wliom he remembered at Cheve- 
 leigh ; Lut, as his mother said, he forgot that people 
 gi'ew old in the Eastern hemisphere, and the applica- 
 tion was a failure. Finding that Mary regarded it as 
 her charge, Fitzjocelyn volunteered to go to lUershall 
 to consult his friend Mr. Dobbs; and his first meeting 
 with Mary was spent in recei\dng business-like instruc- 
 tions as to the person for whom he shoidd inquire. 
 
 There were some who felt dubious when he was 
 seen walking back from the station with a young man 
 who, in spite of broadcloth and growth, was e\ddently 
 Tom ]\Iadison. 
 
 ' I could not help it, Mary,' said Louis ; ' it was not 
 my fault that Dobbs would recommend him.' 
 
 Mr. Dobbs had looked this way and that, and con- 
 cluded with, ' Well, Lord Fitzjocelyn, I do not know 
 who would answer your purpose better than the young 
 fellow you sent here a year ago.' 
 
 It appeared that Tom had striven assiduously both 
 to learn his business and to improve himself; and, 
 having considerable abilities, already brightened and 
 sharpened by Louis, his progress had been surprising. 
 He had no low tastes, and was perfectly to be relied 
 on for all essential points; but Mr. Dobbs owned that 
 he should be relieved by parting with him, as he was 
 not liked by his fellows, and was thought by the fore- 
 men to give himself airs. Quarrels and misunder- 
 standings had arisen so often, that he himself had 
 been obliged to exert an influence on his behalf, which 
 he feared might make him obnoxious to the accusation 
 of partiality. He considered that the lad had worth, 
 substance, and promise far beyond his fellows ; but his 
 blunt, haughty manners, impatience of rough jokes, and 
 rude avoidance of the unrefined, made him the object 
 of their dislike, so that it was probable that he would 
 thrive much better abroad and in authority; and at his 
 age, he was more likely to adapt himself to circum- 
 stances, and learn a new language, than an older man, 
 more used to routine. 
 
MOONSHINE . 307 
 
 The vision of the land for digging gold and silver 
 seemed about to be realized, just as Tom had been 
 growing learned enough to despise it. Enterprise and 
 hopes of fortune made him wild to go; and Mary, 
 after reading Dobbs's letter, and laying before Louis the 
 various temptations of Lima, found that he thought 
 England to the full as dangerous for his protege. She, 
 therefore, sent for the young man, and decided as dis- 
 passionately as she could, upon taking him. 
 
 The Ormersfield world was extremely indignant; 
 Frampton and Gervas prophesied that no good would 
 come of such a choice, and marvelled at the Vicar, 
 who gave the lad lodging in his house, and spent the 
 evenings in giving him such mathematical instruction 
 and teaching of other kinds, as he thought most likely 
 to be useful to him. 
 
 To liis surprise, however, Tom was much more gi-ave 
 and sober-minded under his promotion than could have 
 been expected. Louis, w^ho had undertaken his outfit, 
 was almost disappointed to find him so much out of 
 heart, and so little responsive to cheerful auguries; 
 and at last a little hint at bantering about the indi- 
 vidual at the Terrace explained his despondence. 
 
 It was all over. Charlotte had hardly spoken to 
 him while he was waiting at No. 5, and Miss Faith- 
 full's Martha had told him there had been nothiufir 
 but walking and talking with Lady Conway's fine 
 butler, and that Charlotte would never have nothing 
 more to say to him ! Now ! Just as he might have 
 spoken ! Was it not enough to knock the heart out 
 of it all? He never wished to cro near No. 5 ajzain. 
 
 Ijouis strongly advised him at least to know his 
 fate, and declared that for his part, he would never 
 take any Mrs. Martha's word, rather than that of the 
 lady herself. Speak out, and, of course, Mont- 
 rose's famous motto came in, and was highly appre- 
 ciated by Tom, though he still shook his head ruefully, 
 as he recollected what a lout he had been at his last 
 
 X 2 
 
308 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 meeting with Charlotte, and how little he could com- 
 pare with such a tiue gentleman as had been described, 
 ' And she always had a taste for gentility.' 
 
 *■ Well, Tom, I would not wish to see a better gen- 
 tleman any day, than you have stuff enough in you to 
 make; and, if Charlotte be a girl worth having, she'll 
 value that more than French polish. You're getting 
 polished, too, Tom, and will more as you get better 
 and sounder, and that polish will be true and not 
 French.' 
 
 Meantime Charlotte had been in twenty states of 
 mind. Had Tom striven at once to return to the 
 former terms, the Lady of Eschalott might have treated 
 it as mere natural homage, compared him with Dela- 
 ford's delicate flatteries, and disclaimed him. She had 
 been chilling and shy at the first meeting, expecting 
 him to presume on his promotion ; but when he was 
 gone, came no more, except for necessary interviews 
 with Miss Ponsonby, and then merely spoke civilly, 
 and went away directly, her heart began to fail her. 
 Neglect mortified her; she was first affronted, sure 
 she did not care, and resolved to show that she did not ; 
 but then the vexation became stronger; she w^ondered 
 if he had heard of Delaford, was angry at her inter- 
 course with the butler being deemed an offence, 
 and finally arrived at a hearty longing for a return 
 to old times. Vanity or affection, one or the other, 
 demanded Tom's allegiance. 
 
 And Tom came at last. He did not come by moon- 
 light — he did not come at all romantically ; but as she 
 was washing vegetables, he stood by the scullery door, 
 and made no elegant circumlocutions. Would she be 
 hLs wife, some time or other ? and he would try to be 
 worthy of her. 
 
 Fitzjocelyn had judged her rightly ! Sound true love 
 had force enough to dispel every illusion of sentimental 
 flattery. Charlotte burst into a flood of tears, and, 
 sobbing behind her apron, confessed that she never 
 liked nobody like Tom ; but she was afraid he would 
 
MOONSHINE. 309 
 
 think she had been false to him, for she did like 
 Mr. Delaford's talk, all about poetry and serenades ; 
 but she never would heed him no more, not if he went 
 down on his knees to her. 
 
 Tom was a great deal more likely to perform that 
 feat. 
 
 He stood his ground when Mrs. Beckett came in, 
 and told her all about it, and the sfood old soul mingled 
 her tears with Charlotte's, wished them joy, and 
 finished washing the greens. Nevertheless Mrs. Frost 
 thought the kitchen-clock was very slow. 
 
 Their 'walking together' was recognised. Martha was 
 very angry with Jane, and predicted that the young 
 vagabone would never be heard of more ; and that 
 the only benefit would be, that it would settle the 
 girl's mind, and hinder her from encouraging any 
 more followers. And even Mrs. Frost had her doubts. 
 Her prudent counsel interfered with Tom's wish to 
 carry out poor little Charlotte as his wife ; and they had 
 to content themselves with a betrothal until they 
 should have 'saved something,' exchanging brooches, 
 each with a memorial lock of hair. Durinof the 
 remaining week, the Lady of Eschalott neither ate nor 
 slept, and though she did her work, her tears never 
 seemed to cease. She defended herself by averring 
 that Miss Ponsonby's pillow was soaked every morning ; 
 but if Mary's heavy eyelids corroborated her, her de- 
 meanour did not. Maiy was busy in dismantling the 
 house and in packing up ; speaking little, but always 
 considerate and self-possessed, and resolute in avoiding 
 all excitement of feeling. She would not go to Or- 
 mersfield, as the Earl proposed, even for one day ; and 
 a few books connected with the happy lessons of last 
 summer, were given into Mrs. Frost's keeping, with 
 the steady, calm words, ' I had better not take them.' 
 She made no outpouring even to that imiversal, loving 
 confidante. Aunt Catharine ; and the final parting did 
 not break down her self-restraint, though, as tlie last 
 bend of her head was given, the last chimney of North- 
 
310 DYXEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 wold disappeared, her sensation of lieartaclie almost 
 amounted to sickening. 
 
 She was going to Bryanston Square. Her aunt 
 had been as kind as possible, and had even offered to 
 come to Northwold to fetch her home ; but Mary had 
 been too considerate to allow her to think of so 
 dreadful a journey, and had in fact, been glad to be 
 left only to her own Aunt Catharine. The last letters 
 which had passed between Mrs. Ponsonby and Aunt 
 IMelicent had been such as two sincere Christian 
 women could not fail to write in such circumstances 
 as must soften down all asperities, alleviate prejudice 
 and variance, and be a prelude to that perfect unity 
 when all misunderstandings shall end for ever; and thus 
 Mary had the comfort of knowing that the two whom 
 she loved so fondly, had parted with all mutual 
 affection and cordial honour. 
 
 She really loved the little prim stiff figure who 
 stood on the stairs to welcome her. The house had 
 been her home for ten of the most home-forming years 
 of her life, and felt familiar and kindly ; it was very 
 quiet, and it was an unspeakable comfort to be with 
 one who talked freely of her father with blind par- 
 tiality and love, and did not oppress her with implied 
 compassion for her return to him. 
 
 Yet Mary could not help now and then being 
 sensible that good Aunt Melicent was not the fountain 
 of wisdom which she used to esteem her. Now and 
 then a dictum would sound narrow and questionable, 
 objections to books seemed mistaken, judgments of 
 people hard, and without sufficient foundation; and 
 when Maiy tried to argue, she found herself decidedly 
 set down, with as much confident superiority as if she 
 had been still sixteen years old. Six years spent in 
 going to the other side of the world, and in seeing 
 so many varieties of people, did not seem to Aunt 
 Melicent to have conferred half so much experience as 
 sleeping every night in Bryanston Square, daily 
 reading the Morning Post, and holding intercourse 
 
MOONSHINE. 311 
 
 with a London world of a dozen old ladies, three 
 curates, and a doctor. 
 
 The worst of it was, that a hurt and angry tender- 
 ness was always excited in Mary's mind by the manner 
 of any reference to Xorthwold or Ormersfield. It 
 seemed to be fixed, beyond a doubt, that everything 
 there must have been wrong and fashionable; and even 
 poor dear Aunt Kitty was only spoken of with a 
 charitable hope that affliction had taught her to see the 
 error of her days of worldly display. 
 
 It was allowed that there was nothing objectionable 
 in Clara Frost, who was subdued by the sight of 
 Mary's deep mourning, and in silent formal company 
 could be grave and formal too. But there was a 
 severe shock in a call from Lady Conway and Isabel ; 
 and on their departure Mary was cross-examined, in 
 the hope that they had been outrageously gay at 
 Northwold, and for want of any such depositions, was 
 regaled with histories of poor Lady Fitzjocelyn's 
 vanities, which had not lost by their transmission 
 through twenty-two years and twice as many mouths. 
 
 Still more unpleasant was the result of a visit from 
 the Earl and liis son to appoint the day of starting for 
 Livei'pool. Louis was in no mood to startle any one ; 
 he was very sad at heart, and only anxious to be inof- 
 fensive ; but his air was quite enough to give umbrage, 
 and cause the instant remark, ' I never saw such a 
 puppy 1' 
 
 Nothing but such angry incoherency occurred to 
 Mary, that she forcibly held her peace, but could not 
 prevent a biu'ning crimson from spreading over her 
 face. She went and stood at the window, glad that 
 Miss Ponsonby had just taken up the newspaper, which 
 she daily read from end to end, and then posted for 
 Lima. 
 
 By and by came a little dry cough, as she went 
 through the presentations at the levee, and read out 
 * Yiscount Fitzjocelyn, by the Earl of Ormersfield.' 
 
 Marys mind made an excursion to the dear Yeo- 
 
312 DYXEVOR TEKT^ACE. 
 
 manry suit, till licr aunt, having further hunted thera 
 out among the Earls and Viscounts summed up at 
 the end, severely demanded whether she had known of 
 their intention. 
 
 ' I knew he was to be presented.' 
 
 ' Quite the young man of fashion. No doubt be- 
 ginning that course, as if the estate were not sufficiently 
 impoverished already. I am not surprised at the report 
 that Lord Ormersfield was very anxious to secure your 
 fortune for his son.' 
 
 This was too much, and Mary exclaimed, ' He 
 never believes in any fortune that depends on specu- 
 lation.' 
 
 ' Oh, so there was nothing in it !' said Miss Ponsonby, 
 who would have liked the satisfaction of knowing that 
 her niece had refused to be a Countess; and, while 
 Mary was debating whether her silence were untruth- 
 ful, her bent head and glowing cheek betrayed her. 
 * Ah ! my dear, I will ask no questions; I see you have 
 been annoyed. It always happens when a girl with 
 expectations goes among needy nobility.' 
 
 ' You would not say that, if you knew the circum- 
 stances,' said Mary, looking down. 
 
 ' I wont distress you, my dear ; I know you are too 
 wise a girl to be dazzled with worldly splendours, and 
 that is enough for me.' 
 
 The poor old furniture at Ormersfield ! 
 
 Mary held her tongue, though reproaching herself 
 for cruel injustice to all that was dearest to her, but 
 how deny her refusal, or explain the motives. 
 
 Not that her aunt wanted any explanation, excej^t 
 her own excellent training, which had saved her niece 
 from partaking her mother's infatuation for great 
 people. She had a grand secret to pour into the bosom 
 of her intimates in some tete-a-tete tea-party by-and-by ; 
 and poor Maiy little guessed at the glorification of her 
 prudence which was flowing from her aunt's well- 
 mended pen, in a long letter to Mr. Ponsonby. She 
 thought it right that he should be informed, bhe said, 
 
MOONSHINE. 313 
 
 that tlieir dear !Maiy had conducted herself according 
 to their fondest wishes; that the relations, among 
 whom she had unfortunately been thro^v^l, had formed 
 designs on her fortune, such as thev had eveiy reason 
 to expect ; that every solicitation had been employed, 
 but that iNFary had withstood all that would have been 
 most alluring to girls brought up to esteem mere 
 worldly advantages. It was extremely gratifying, the 
 more so as the young gentleman in question might be 
 considered as strikingly handsome to the mere outward 
 eye, which did not detect the stamp of frivolity, and 
 the effect of an early introduction to the world of 
 fashion and dissipation. She trusted that their dear 
 young heiress would have a better fate, owing to her 
 own wisdom, than being chosen to support the extrava- 
 gance of a young titled adventurer. 
 
 Having worked herself up into enthusiastic admira- 
 tion of her own work, !Miss Ponsonby was kinder than 
 ever to her niece, and pitied her for being harassed 
 with Lord Fitzjocelyn's company to Liverpool. 
 
 Mary was not as much relieved as she had expected, 
 when her hand had been released from his pressure, 
 and she had seen the last glimpse of his returning 
 boat. 
 
 Henceforth her imagination was to picture him only 
 with Isabel Conway. 
 
 And so Yiscount Fitzjocelyn was left with more 
 liberty than he knew what to do with. He wa^ disin- 
 clined to begin the pursuit of Miss Conway, as if this 
 would involve a want of delicacy and feeling, and he 
 had no other object. The world was before him, but 
 when he drove to the Liverpool Station, he was un- 
 willing to exert his mind to decide for what ticket 
 to ask. 
 
 The bias was given by the recollection of a message 
 from his father to Frampton. It would be less trouble 
 to go home than to write, and, besides, Aunt Catharine 
 was alone. She was his unfailing friend, and it would 
 be a great treat to have her to himself. 
 
314 DYNE von TERRACE. 
 
 Home then he went, where he spent the long summer 
 days in listless, desultory, busy idleness; often alone, 
 dreaming over last year; often passing his evenings 
 with his aunt, or bringing her to see his designs; 
 dining out whenever he was invited, and returning 
 odd uncertain answers when Mr. Calcott asked him 
 what he was going to do. 
 
 JMr. Holdsworth was going to leave James in charge 
 of his parish, and take a walking tour in Cornwall, and 
 perversely enough, Louis's fancy fixed on joining him ; 
 and was much disapjiointed when Mrs. Frost j^roved, 
 beyond dispute, that an ankle, which a little over haste 
 or fatigue always rendered lame, would be an unfair 
 drag upon a companion, and that if he went at all, it 
 must not be on his own feet. 
 
 At last, Lady Conway made a descent upon North- 
 wold. Paris had become so tranquil that she had no 
 hesitation in taking her two elder daughters to make 
 their promised visit ; and such appeals were made to 
 Louis to join them, that it became more troublesome 
 to refuse than to comply, and, at the shortest notice, 
 he prepared to set out as the escort of the Conway 
 family. 
 
 * Now for it !' he thought. ' If she be the woman, 
 I cannot fail to find it out, between the inns and the 
 sights !' 
 
 Short as the notice was, the Lady of Eschalott could 
 have wished it shorter. No sooner had Mr. Delaford 
 set foot in the House Beautiful, than Mrs. Martha an- 
 nounced to him that he would be happy to hear that 
 Charlotte Arnold was going to be married to a very 
 respectable young man, whom she had known all his 
 life, and to whom Mr. Dynevor and Miss Ponsonby had 
 given an appointment to the gold mines, out of respect 
 for Lord Fitzjocelyn. Mr. Delaford gi-avely declared 
 himself glad to hear it. 
 
 But Delaford's purpose in life was, that no maiden 
 should fail of being smitten with liis charms; and he took 
 Charlotte's defection seriously to heart. His first free 
 
MOONSHINE. o i D 
 
 moment was devoted to a call in ^N'umber 5, but Cliar- 
 lotte was scouring in the upper regions, and I\trs. 
 Beckett only treated him to another edition of the gold 
 mines, in which, if they became silver, the power and 
 grandeur of Mr. Oliver were mightily magnified. Mr. 
 Delaford thrummed his most doleful tunes on the guitar 
 that evening, but though the June sun was sinking 
 beauteously, Charlotte never put her head out. How- 
 ever, the third time, he found her, and then she was 
 coy and blushing, reseiwed and distaut, and so much 
 prettier, and more genuine than all his former con- 
 quests, that something beyond vanity became interested. 
 
 He courted the muses, and walked in with a pathetic 
 copy of verses, which, some day or other, might serve 
 to figure in the coimty newspaper, complaining of de- 
 sertion and cinielty. 
 
 Charlotte sat at the little round table ; Jane was 
 upstairs, and without her guardian, she felt that she 
 must guard herself. He laid the verses down before 
 her with a most piteous countenance. 
 
 ' Please don't, Mr. Delaford,' she said ; ' I asked Mrs. 
 Beckett to tell you ' 
 
 ' She has transfixed my breast,' was the commence- 
 ment, and out poui'ed a speech worthy of any hero of 
 Charlotte's imagination, but it was not half so pleasant 
 to hear as to dream of, and the utmost she could say 
 was a reiteration of her ' please don't !' 
 
 At last she mustered coui^age to say, ' I can't listen, 
 sir. I never ought to have done it. I am promised 
 now, and I can't.' 
 
 A melodramatic burst of indif:fnation friojhtened her 
 nearly out of her senses, and happily brought Jane 
 down. He was going the next day, but he returned 
 once more to the charge, very dolorous and ill-used; 
 but Charlotte had collected herself and taken counsel 
 by that time. ' I never promised you anything, sir,' 
 she said. ' I never knew you meant notliing.' 
 
 ' Ah ! Miss Arnold, you cannot interpret the heart !' 
 and he put his hand upon it. 
 
316 DYNEVOE TERRACE. 
 
 '!N'or I don't believe you meant it, neither!' con- 
 tinued Charlotte, with spirit. ' They tell me 'tis the 
 way you goes on with all young women as have the 
 ill-luck to believe you ; and that 'tis all along of your 
 hard-heai-tedness that poor Miss Marianne looks so 
 dwininsr.' 
 
 * When ladies will throw themselves at a gentle- 
 man's head, what can a poor man do? Courtesy to 
 the sex is m}'- motto; but never, never did T love as I 
 love you!' said Delaford — * never have I spoken as I 
 do now ! My heart and hand are yours, faii-est Char- 
 lotte !' 
 
 Tor shame, Mr. Delaford; don't you know I am 
 promised V 
 
 He went on, disregarding — ' My family is above my 
 present situation, confidential though it be ; but I would 
 at once quit my present post — I would open an exten- 
 sive establishment for refreshment at some fashionable 
 watering-place. My connexions could not fail to make 
 it succeed. You should merely superintend — have a 
 large establishment under you — and enjoy the society 
 and amusements for which you are eminently fitted. 
 We would have a library of romance and poetry — at- 
 tend the theatre weekly — and,' — (finishing as if to 
 clench the whole) * Charlotte, do you know what my 
 propeity consists of? I have four hundred pounds and 
 expectations !' 
 
 If Charlotte had not been guarded, what would have 
 been the effect of the library of poetry and romance? 
 
 But her own poetry, romance, and honest heart, all 
 went the same way, and she cried out — ' I don't care 
 what you have, not I. I've promised, and 111 be 
 true — get along with you !' 
 
 The village girl, hard pressed, was breaking out. 
 
 * You bid me go. Cruel girl ! your commands shall 
 be obeyed. I go abroad! You know the disturbed 
 state of the Continent. — In some conflict for libei-ty, 
 where the desperate poniard is uplifted — there — * 
 
 ' Oh ! don't talk so dreadful. Pray—' 
 
MOONSHINE. 3 1 7 
 
 ^ Do you bid me pause? At a word from you. You 
 are the arbitress of my destiny.' 
 
 ' No ; I've nothing to do — do go ! Only promise 
 you'll not do nothing dangerous — ' 
 
 'Reject me, and life is intolerable. Where the 
 maddened crowd rise upon their tyrants, there in 
 thickest of the fray — ' 
 
 'You'll be the first to take to your heels, I'll be 
 bound ! Aint 5'ou ashamed of yourself, to be ranting 
 and frightening a poor girl that fashion?' cried the 
 friendly dragon Martha, descending on them. 
 
 ' Do you apply that language to me, ma'am V 
 
 ' That I do ! and richly you deserve it, too, sir ! 
 See if your missus doesn't hear of your tricks, if I find 
 you at this again.' 
 
 The ' sex' fairly scolded the courteous Delaford ofi" 
 the field ; and though she turned her wrath on Char- 
 lotte for having encouraged him, and wondered w^hat 
 the poor young man over the seas would think of it, 
 her interposition had never been so welcome. Char- 
 lotte cried herself into tranquillity, and was only farther 
 disturbed by a dismal epistle, conveyed by the shoe-boy 
 on the morning of departure, breathing the language 
 of despair, and yet announcing that she had better 
 think twice of the four hundred pounds and expecta- 
 tions, for that it was her destiny that she and no 
 other should be the bride of Delaford. 
 
 ' If I could only know he would do nothing rash 1' 
 sighed Charlotte. 
 
 Jane comforted her ; Martha held that he was the 
 last man in the world who would do anything rash. 
 Miss Conway's Marianne, who was left behind, treated 
 Charlotte as something ignominious, but looked so 
 ill, miserable, and pining, that Miss Mercy was per- 
 suaded she was going into a decline, and treated her 
 with greater kindness than she had met since she was 
 a child. 
 
 In the meantime, Fitzjocelyn had begun with a fit 
 of bashfulness. The knowledge that this was the crisis. 
 
318 DTNEYOU TEHRACE. 
 
 and tliat all his friends looked to the result of the ex- 
 pedition, made him feel as if he were committing him- 
 self whenever he handed Isabel in or out of a carriage, 
 and find no comfort except in Virginia's chattering. 
 
 This wore off quickly; the new scene took effect on 
 his impressible mind, and the actual sights and sounds 
 drove out all the rest. His high spirits came back, he 
 freely hazarded ]\Irs. Frost's old boarding-school French, 
 and laiisrhed at the infinite blunders for which Vir^rinia 
 took him to task, was excessively amused at Delaford's 
 numerous adventures, and enjoyed ever}i:hing to the 
 utmost. To Miss Conway he turned naturally as the 
 person best able to enter into the countless associations 
 of every scene ; and Isabel, becoming aware of his 
 amount of knowledge, and tone of deep thought, per- 
 ceived that she had done Mr. Frost Dynevor injustice 
 in believing his friendship blind or unmerited. 
 
 They were on most comfortable terms. They had 
 walked all over Versailles together, and talked under 
 their breath of the murdered Queen ; they had been 
 through the Louvre, and Isabel, knowing it well of 
 old, found all made vivid and new by his enthusiastic 
 delight ; they had marvelled together at the poor 
 withered 'popular trees,' whose name had confeiTed 
 on them the fatal distinction of trees of liberty ; they 
 had viewed, like earnest people, the scenes of repub- 
 lican Paris, and discussed them with the same princi- 
 ples, but with sufficient difference in detail for amicable 
 argument. They had tlionght much of things and 
 people, and not at all of each other. 
 
 Only Isabel thought she w^ould make the Viscount 
 into a Vidame, both as more quaint and less personal, 
 and involving slight erasures, and Louis was sur2-)rised 
 to find what w^as the true current of his thoughts. 
 With Isabel propitious, without compunction in ad- 
 dressing her, with all the novelty and amusement 
 before him, he found himself always recurring to 
 Mary, trying all things by jSIary's judgment, wonder- 
 ing whether he should need approval of his theories in 
 
MOONSHINE. 319 
 
 Mary's eyes, craving Mary's sympathies, following her 
 on her voyage, and imagining her arrival. Was it the 
 perverse spirit of longing after the most unattainable 1 
 He demanded of himself whether it were a fatal 
 sign that he regretted the loss of Isabel, w^hen she 
 went to spend a few days with her old governess. 
 Miss Longman had left the Conway family in order to 
 take care of the motherless children of a good-for-no- 
 thing brother, who had run too deeply into debt to be 
 able to return to England. He was now dead, but 
 she was teaching English, and obtaining advantages of 
 education for her nieces, which detained her at Paris ; 
 and as she had a bed to offer her former pupil, Isabel 
 set her heart on spending her last three days in the 
 unrestrained intercourse afforded by a visit to her. 
 Louis found that though their party had lost the most 
 agreeable member, yet it was not the loss of the sun ; 
 and that he was quite as ready to tease his aunt and 
 make Virginia laugh, as if Isabel had been looking on 
 with a smile of wonder and commiseration for their 
 nonsense. 
 
320 DYNEVOU TEFvEACE. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE EANTASTIC VISCOUNT. 
 
 Search for a jewel that too casually 
 
 Hath left mine arm : it was thy master's. Shrew me 
 
 If I would lose it for a revenue 
 
 Of any king's in Europe ! — Cynibeline. 
 
 ' "]! /TY dear Fitzjocelyn, what is to be done ? Have you 
 -LtX heard 1 Delaford says these horrid creatures are 
 rising ! There was an attack on the Hotel de Vi]]e 
 last night ! A thousand people killed, at least ! — The 
 National Guard called out !' 
 
 ' One of the lions of Paris, my dear aunt ; Virginia 
 is seeing it in style.' 
 
 * Seeing it ! ^Ye must go at once. They will raise 
 those horrid barricades ; — we shall be closed in. And 
 Isabel gone to that governess ! I wish I had never 
 consented ! How could I come here at all ? Fitz- 
 jocelyn, what is to be done V 
 
 ' Drive round that way, if you are bent on going,' 
 said Louis, coolly. ' Meantime, Virginia, my dear, I 
 will thank you for some coffee.' 
 
 ' How can you talk of such things V cried his aunt. 
 ' It is all those savage wi-etches, mad because the 
 national workshops are closed. Delaford declares they 
 will massacre all the English.' 
 
 ' Poor wretches, I believe they are starving. I 
 think you are making yourself ill — the most pressing 
 danger. Come, Virginia, persuade your mamma to 
 sit down to breakfast, while I go to reconnoitre. 
 AY here are the passports T 
 
 Virginia had lost all terror in excitement, but 
 neither she nor her mother could bear to let him go 
 out, to return they knew not when. The carriage had 
 
THE FANTASTIC YISCOUXT. 321 
 
 already been ordered, but Lady Conway was exceed- 
 ingly frightened at the notion of driving anywhere but 
 direct to tlie railway station ; she was sure that they 
 should encounter something frightful if they went 
 along the Boulevards. 
 
 'Could not Delaford go to fetch Isabel?' suggested 
 Virginia ; * he might take a carriage belonging to the 
 hotel' 
 
 Delaford was summoned, and desired to go to fetch 
 Miss Conway, but though he said, ' Yes, my Lady,' he 
 looked yellow and white, and loitered to suggest whe- 
 ther the young lady would not be alarmed. 
 
 '1 will go with you,' said Louis. ' Order the 
 carriage, and I shall be ready.' 
 
 Lady Conway, to whom his presence seemed protec- 
 tion, was almost remonstrating, but he said, 'Delaford 
 is in no state to be of use. He would take bonjour 
 for a challenge. Let me go with him, or he will take 
 care the young lady is alarmed. When we are all 
 together, we can do as may seem best, and I shall be 
 able better to judge whether we are to fight or fly.' 
 
 Outside the door he found Delaford, who begged to 
 suggest to his lordship that my Lady would be alarmed 
 if she were left without either of them ; he could 
 hardly answer it to himself that she should remain 
 without any male protector. 
 
 ' Oh yes, pray remain to defend her,' said Louis, 
 much amused, and hastening down-stairs he ordered 
 
 the carriage to drive to Rue , ofi* the Boulevard 
 
 St. Martin. 
 
 He thought there were signs boding tempest. Shops 
 were closed, and men in blouses were beginning to 
 assemble in knots — here and there the red-cap loomed 
 ominously in the far end of narrow alleys, and in the 
 wider streets the only passengers either seemed in lia.ste 
 like himself, or else were National Guards hurrying to 
 their alarm-post. 
 
 He came safely to Miss Longman's apartments, 
 where he found all on the alert — the governess and 
 
 VOL. I. Y 
 
322 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 her nieces recounting their experiences of Febniary, 
 ■which convinced them that there was more danger in 
 returning than in remaining. Miss Longman was 
 urgent to keep Isabel and Lord Fitzjocelyn for at least 
 a few hours, which she declared would probably be the 
 duration of any enieute, but they knew this would 
 cause dreadful anxiety, and when Fitzjocelyn proposed 
 returning alone, Isabel insisted on accompanying him, 
 declaring that she had no fears, and that her mother 
 would be miserable if her absence should detain them. 
 Perhaps she Avas somewhat deceived by the cool, almost 
 ludicrous, light in which he placed the revolution, as a 
 sort of periodical spasm ; and Miss Longman's predic- 
 tions that the railway would be closed, only quickened 
 her preparations. 
 
 After receiving many entreaties to return in case of 
 alarm, they took leave, Louis seating himself beside 
 the driver, as well to keep a look-out, as to free Miss 
 Conway from fears of a tete-a-tete. Except for such a 
 charge of ladies, he would have been delighted at the 
 excitement of an emeute ; but he was far from guess- 
 infj how serious a turn affairs were taking. 
 
 The dark blue groups were thickening into crowds ; 
 muskets and pikes were here and there seen, and 
 once he recognised the sinister red flag. A few distant 
 shots were heard, and the driver would gladly have 
 hastened his speed, but swarms of haggard-looking 
 men began to impede their progress, and strains of 
 Mourir pour la patrie now and tlien reached their eai-s. 
 
 Close to the Porte St. Denis they were brought to 
 a full stop by a dense throng, above whose heads were 
 seen a line of carriages, the red flag planted on the 
 top. Many hands w^ere seizing the horses' heads, and 
 Louis leapt down, but not before the door had been 
 opened, and voices were exclaiming, Descendez, citoy- 
 enne ; au nom de la nation, descendez. The mob were 
 not uncivil, they made way for Louis, and bade him 
 reassure her that no harm was intended, but the car- 
 riage was required for the service of the nation. 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT. 323 
 
 Isabel had retreated as far as she could from their 
 hands, but she showed no signs of quailing ; her eyes 
 were brisrht, her colour hisrh, and the hand was firm 
 which she gave to Louis as she stepped out. Tliere 
 was a murmur of admiration, and more than one bow 
 and muttered apology about necessity and the nation, 
 as the crowd beheld the maiden in all her innate 
 nobleness and dignity. 
 
 'Which wayf asked Louis, finding that the crowd 
 were willincr to let them choose their course. 
 
 'Home,' said Isabel, decidedly j 'there is no use in 
 turning back.' 
 
 They pressed on past the barricade for which their 
 carriage had been required, a structure of confis- 
 cated vehicles, the interstices filled up with earth and 
 pa^dng stones, which men and boys were busily tearing 
 up from the trottoirs, and others carrying to their des- 
 tination. They were a gaunt, hungry, wolfish-looking 
 race ; and the first words that Isabel spoke were words 
 of pity, when they had passed them, and continued 
 their course along the Boulevards, here in desolate 
 tranquillity. ' Poor creatures, they look as if misery 
 made them furious ! and yet how civil they were.' 
 
 ' Were you much alarmed ] I wish I could have 
 come to you sooner.' 
 
 ' Thank you ; I knew that you were at hand, and 
 their address was not very terrific, poor things. I do 
 not imagine there was any real danger.' 
 
 ' I wish I knew whether v/e are within or without 
 the barricades. If within, we shall have to cross an- 
 other. We are actually becoming historical !' 
 
 He broke off, amazed by Isabel's change of counte- 
 nance, as she put her hand to the arm he held, hastily 
 withdrew it, and exclaimed, ' My bracelet ! oh, my 
 bracelet !' turning round to seek it on the pavement. 
 
 ' The ivory clasp ]' asked Louis, perceiving its ab- 
 sence. 
 
 ' Oh yes !' she cried, in much distress, ' I would not 
 have lost it for all th€ world.' 
 
 y2 
 
324 DYNEVOH TERRACE. 
 
 ' You may liave left it at Miss Longman's.' 
 
 ' No, no, I was never without it !' 
 
 She turned, and made a few retrograde steps, search- 
 ing on the ground, as if conscious only of her loss ; 
 shaking off his hand when he touched her arm to de- 
 tain her. 
 
 A discovery broke on him. Well that he could 
 bear it ! 
 
 ' Hark 1' he said, ' there is cannon firing ! Miss 
 Conway, you cannot go back. I will do my utmost to 
 recover your clasp, but we must not stay here.' 
 
 ' I had forgotten. I beg your pardon, I did not 
 think !' said Isabel, with a species of rebuked submis- 
 sion, as if impressed by the calmness that gave autho- 
 rity to his manner ; and she made no remark as he 
 made her resume his arm, and hurried her on past 
 houses with closed doors and windows. 
 
 Suddenly there was the sound of a volley of mus- 
 ketry far behind. ' Heaven help the poor wretches,' 
 said Louis ; and Isabel's grasp tightened on his arm. 
 
 Again, again — the dropping sound of shot became 
 continual. And now it was in front as well as in the 
 rear ; and the booming of cannon resounded from the 
 heart of the city. They were again on the outskirts 
 of a crowd. 
 
 * It is as I thought,' said Louis, ' we are between 
 both. There is nothing for it but to push on, and see 
 whether we can cross the barricades ; are you afraid 
 to encounter it ]' 
 
 ' Xo,' said Isabel. 
 
 ' There is a convent not far ofi", I think. We might 
 find shelter for you there. Yet they might break in. 
 It might not be easy to meet. I believe you are safer 
 with me. Will you trust in meV 
 
 ' I will not have you endanger yourself for me. 
 Dispose of me as you will — in a convent, or anywhere. 
 Your life is jorecious ; your safety is the first thing.' 
 
 ' You are speaking in irony.' 
 
 ' I did not mean it : I beg your pardon.' But 
 
THE FANTASTIC YISCOUXT. 325 
 
 she coloured and fiiltered. ' You must distinctly un- 
 derstand that this is only as Englishman to English- 
 woman.' 
 
 ' As Englishman to Englishwoman,' repeated Louis, 
 in her own formula. ' Or rather,' he added, lowering 
 his voice, ' trust me, for the sake of those who gave 
 the clasp.' 
 
 He was answered by her involuntary pressure of his 
 arm, and finally, to set her at ease, he said, hurriedly, 
 ' If it went wrong with me, it would be to Lima that 
 I should ask you to send my love.' 
 
 There was no time for more. They were again on 
 the freshly-torn ground, whence the pavement had been 
 wrenched. The throng had thickened behind them, 
 and seemed to be involving them in the vortex. Above 
 tiieir heads Louis could see in front between the tall 
 houses, the summit of another barricade complete, sur- 
 mounted with the red flag, and guarded by a fierce 
 party of ruffians. 
 
 All at once, tremendous yells broke out on all sides. 
 The rattle of a drum, now and then, might be dis- 
 tinguished ; shouts and shrieks resounded, and there 
 was a sharp fire of musketry from the barricade, and 
 from the adjoining windows ; there was a general rush 
 to the front, and Louis could only guard Isabel by 
 pressing her into the recess of the closed dooi'way of 
 one of the houses, and standing before her, preventing 
 himself from being swept away only by exerting all his 
 English strength against the lean, wild beings who 
 struggled past him, howling and screaming. The de- 
 fenders sprang upon the barricade, and thrust back and 
 hurled down the National Guards, whose heads were 
 now and then seen as they vainly endeavoured to gain 
 the summit. This desperate struggle lasted for a few 
 minutes, then cries of victory broke out, and there was 
 sharp firing on both sides, which, however, soon ceased; 
 the red flag and the blouses remaining still in posses- 
 sion. Isabel had stood perfectly silent and motionless 
 through the whole crisis, and though she clung to her 
 
326 DYNEVOR TEIMIACE. 
 
 protector s arai, it was not with nervous disabling terror, 
 even in the friglitful tumult of the multitude. There 
 was some other strength with her ! 
 
 * You are not hurt V said Louis, as the pressure re- 
 laxed. 
 
 ' Oh no ! thank God ! You are not V 
 
 ' Are you ready 1 We must make a rush before the 
 next assault.' 
 
 A lane opened in the throng to afford passage for the 
 wounded. Isabel shrank back, but Louis drew her on 
 hastily, till they had attained the very foot of the barri- 
 cade, where a space was kept clear, and there was a cry 
 * Au large, or we shall fire.' 
 
 * Let us pass, citizens,' said Louis, hastily rehearsing 
 the French he had been composing. ' You make not 
 war on women. Let nie take this young lady to her 
 mother.' 
 
 Grim looks were levelled at them by the fierce black- 
 bearded men, and their mutterings of helle made her 
 cling the closer to her guardian. 
 
 ' Let her pass, the poor child !' said more than one 
 voice. 
 
 '-Hem! — they are English, who take the bread out 
 of our mouths.' 
 
 ' If you were a political economist,' said Louis, 
 gravely, fixing his eyes on the vshrewd-looking, sallow 
 speaker, ' I would prove to you your mistake ; but I 
 have no time, and you are too good fellows to wish to 
 keep this lady here, a mark for the Garde Rationale.' 
 
 ' He is right there,' said several of the council of 
 chiefs, and a poissarde, with brawny arms and a tall 
 white cap, thrusting forward, cried out, ' Let them go, 
 the poor children. What are they doing here 1 They 
 look fit to be set up in the church for waxen images !' 
 
 ' Take care you do not break us,' exclaimed Louis, 
 whose fair cheek had won this tribute ; and his smile, 
 and the readiness of his reply, won his admission to 
 the first of the steps up the barricade. 
 
 ' Ualte la F cried a large-limbed, formidable-looking 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT. 327 
 
 ruffian on the summit, pointing liis musket towards 
 them ; ' none passes here who does not brinoj a stone to 
 raise our barricade for the rights of the Ked Rejjublic, 
 and cry, La liberie, Vegalitey et la fraternite, let it fit 
 his perfidious tongue as it may.' 
 
 ' There's my answer,' said Louis, raising his right 
 arm, which was drippinsj with blood, ' you have made 
 me mount the red flag !' 
 
 ' Ha !' cried the friendly fishwife, ' Wounded in the 
 cause of the nation! Let him go.' 
 
 ' He has not uttered the cry !' shouted the rest. 
 
 Louis looked round with his cool, pensive smile. 
 ' Liberty !' he said, ' what we mean by liberty is free- 
 dom to go where we will, and say what we will. I 
 wish you had it, my poor fellows. Fraternity — it is 
 not shooting our brother. Egalite — I preach that too, 
 but in my own fashion, not yours. Let me pass — si 
 cela vous est egaV 
 
 His nonchalant intrepidity — a quality never lost on 
 the French — raised an acclamation of ^e brave Anglais. 
 No one stirred a hand to hinder their mounting to the 
 banquette, and several hands were held out to assist in 
 surmounting the parapet of this extempore fortification. 
 Isabel bowed her thanks, and Louis spoke them with 
 gestures of courtesy; and shouts of high applause fol- 
 lowed them as they sped along the blood-stained street. 
 
 The troops were re-forming after the repulse, and the 
 point was to pass before the attack could be renewed, 
 as well as not to be mistaken for the insurgents. 
 
 They were at once challenged, but a short explana- 
 tion to the officer was sufficient, and they were sufiered 
 to turn into the Rue Richelieu, where they were only 
 pursued by the distant sounds of warfare. 
 
 ' Oh, Lord Fitzjocelyn !' cried Isabel, as he slackened 
 his pace, and gasped for breath. 
 
 ' You are sure you are not hurt?' he said. 
 
 ' Oh no, no ; but you — ' 
 
 'It is very little,' he said — 'a stray shot — only 
 enough to work on their feelings. What good-natured 
 
3:3S DYNEVOR TERHACE. 
 
 rogues tliey were. I will only twist my liandkercliief 
 round to stop the blood. Thank you.' 
 
 Isabel tried to help him, but she was too much afraid 
 of hurting him to draw the bandage tight. 
 
 They dashed on, finding people on the watch for 
 tidings, and meeting bodies of the National Guard; 
 and when at length they reached the Place Vendome, 
 they found the whole establishment watching for them, 
 and Virginia flew to meet them on the stairs, throwing 
 her arms round her sister, while Lady Conway started 
 forward with the agitated joy, and almost anger, of one 
 who felt injured by the fright they had made her suffer. 
 
 ' There you are ! What has kept you ! Delaford 
 said they were slaughtering every one on the Boule- 
 vards r 
 
 ' I warned you of the consequences of taking me,' 
 said Louis, dropping into a chair. 
 
 ' Mamma ! he is all over blood !' screamed Yirginia. 
 
 Lady Conway recoiled, with a slight shriek. 
 
 ' It is a trifle/ said Louis ; ' Isabel is safe. There 
 is all cause for thankfulness. We could never have 
 got through if she had not been every inch a heroine.' 
 
 'Oh, Lord Fitzjocelyn, if I could thank you!' 
 
 ' Don't,' said Louis, with so exactly his peculiar 
 di'oll look and smile, that all were reassured. 
 
 Isabel began to recount their adventure. 
 
 ' In the midst of those horrid wretches ! and the 
 firing !* cried Lady Conway. ' My dear, how could 
 you bear it? I should have died of fright!' 
 
 * There was no time for fear,' said Isabel, with a 
 sort of scorn; 'I should have been ashamed to be 
 frightened when Lord Fitzjocelyn took it so quietly. 
 I was only afraid lest you should repeat their horrid 
 war-cry. I honour your refusal.' 
 
 ' Of coirrse one would not in their sense, poor things, 
 and on compulsion,' said Louis, his words coming the 
 slower from the exhaustion which made him j^hiloso- 
 pliize, rather than exert himself ' In a true sense, it 
 is the war-crv of our life.' 
 
THE ^.\^■TASTTC YISCOUNT. 329 
 
 ' How can you talk so !' cried Lady Conway. 
 
 * Delaford says the ruffians are certain to overpower 
 the Guard. We must go directly. Very likely this 
 delay of yours may prevent us from getting off at 
 all' 
 
 ' I will find out whether the way be open,' said 
 Louis, 'when I have — ' 
 
 His words failed him, for as he rose, the handker- 
 chief slipped off, a gush of blood came with it, and he 
 was so faint that he could hardly reach the sofa. 
 
 Lady Conway screamed, Virginia rang the bells, 
 Isabel gave orders that a surgeon should be called. 
 
 * Spirits from the vasty deep,' muttered Louis, in 
 the midst of his faintness ; ' the surgeons have graver 
 work on hand.' 
 
 ' For heaven's sake, don't talk so !' cried his aunt, 
 without daring to look at him ; * I know your arm is 
 broken !' 
 
 * Broken bones are a very different matter, experto 
 crede. This w^ill be all right when I can stop the 
 bleeding,' and steadying himself with difficulty, he 
 reached the door, and slowly repaired to his own room, 
 while the girls sent Fanshawe and Delaford to his 
 assistance. 
 
 Lady Conway, unable to bear the sight of blood, was 
 in a state of nervous sobbing, which Virginia's excited 
 restlessness did not tend to comj)Ose ; and Isabel 
 walked up and down the room, wishing that she could 
 do anything, looking reproachfully at her mother, and 
 exalting to the skies the rourage, presence of mind, and 
 fortitude of the wounded knight. 
 
 Presently, Delaford came down with a message from 
 Lord Fitzjocelyn that it was of no use to wait for him, 
 for as the butler expressed it, ' the haemorrhage was 
 pertinacious,' and he begged that the ladies would 
 depart without regard to him. ' In fact,' said Delaford, 
 
 * it was a serious crisis, and there was no time to be lost ; 
 an English gentleman, Captain Lonsdale, who had 
 alreadv offered his services, would take care of his 
 
330 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 lordship, and my Lady had better secure herself and 
 the young ladies.' 
 
 'Leave Fitzjocelyn!' cried Virginia. 
 
 'Is it very dangerous, Delaford?' asked Lady Con- 
 way. 
 
 ' I would not be responsible for the consequences of 
 remaining, my Lady,' was the answer. ' Shall I order 
 the horses to be brought out?' 
 
 'I don't know. Is the street full of people? Oh! 
 there is firing ! What shall I do ? Isabel, what do 
 you say?' 
 
 Isabel was sitting still and upright ; she hardly raised 
 her eyelids, as she tranquilly said, ' Nothing shall induce 
 me to go till he is better.' 
 
 ' Isabel ! this is most extraordinary ! Do you know 
 what you are saying?' 
 
 Isabel did not weaken her words by repetition, 
 but signed to Delaford to leave them, and he never 
 ventured to disregard Miss Conway. Virginia 
 hung about her, and declared that she was quite 
 right; and Lady Conway, in restless despair, predicted 
 that they would all be massacred, and that her nephew 
 would bleed to death, and appealed to every one on the 
 iniquity of all the doctors in Paris for not coming near 
 him. 
 
 Poor Louis himself was finding it very forlorn to be 
 left to Fanshawe, whose one idea was essences, and 
 Delaford, who suggested nothing but brandy. Some 
 aunts and cousins he had, who would not have left him 
 to their tender mercies. He Avas growing confused 
 and feeble, speculating upon arteries, and then starting 
 from a delusion of Mary's voice to realize his condition, 
 and try to waken his benumbed faculties. 
 
 At last, a decided step was heard, and he saw stand- 
 ing by him a vigorous, practical-looking Englishman, 
 and a black-eyed, white-hooded little Sceur de Cltarite. 
 
 Captain Lonsdale, on hearing the calls for surgical 
 aid, had without a word, hurried out and secured the 
 brisk little Sister, who, with much gesticulation, took 
 
TUE fANTASTIC VISCOUNT. 331 
 
 possession of the arm, and pronounced it a mere trifle, 
 which would have been nothincc but for the loss of 
 blood, the ball having simply passed through the fleshy 
 part of the arm, avoiding the bone. Louis, pleased 
 with this encounter as a result of the adventure, was 
 soon in condition to rise, though with white cheeks 
 and tottering step, and to present to Lady Conway her 
 new defender. 
 
 The sight of a bold, lively English soldier was a 
 grand consolation, even though he entirely destroyed 
 all plans of escape by assuring her that there was a 
 tremendous disturbance in the direction of the 
 Xorthem Hallway, and that the only safe place for 
 ladies was, just where she was. He made various 
 expeditions to procure intelligence, and his tidings 
 were cheerful enough to counteract the horrible stories 
 that Delaford was constantly bringing in, throughout 
 that Saturday, the dreadful 2-ith of June, 184:8. 
 
 It was late before any one ventm^ed to go to bed ; 
 and Louis, weak and weary, had wakened many times 
 from dreamy perceptions that some wonderful dis- 
 covery had been made, always fixing it upon Mary, 
 and then finding himself infinitely relieved by recol- 
 lecting that it did not regard her. He was in the full 
 discomfort of the earlier stage of this oft-repeated 
 vision, when his door was pushed open, and Delaford's 
 trembling voice exclaimed, ' My Lord, I beg your 
 pardon, the massacre is beginning.' 
 
 ' Let me know when it is over/ said Louis, nearly 
 in his sleep. 
 
 Delaford reiterated that the city was bombarded, 
 thousands of armed men were marching on the hotel, 
 and my Lady ought to be informed. A distant can- 
 nonade, the trampling of many feet, and ten-itied voices 
 on the stall's, finally roused Louis, and hastily rising, 
 he quitted his room, and found all the ladies on the 
 alert. Lady Conway was holding back Virginia 
 from the window, and by turns summoning Isabel 
 to leave it, and volubly entreating the master of the 
 
3o2 DYNEVOR TERHACE. 
 
 hotel to secure it witli feather-beds to defend them 
 from the shot. 
 
 'Oh, FitzjocelyTi !' she screamed, 'tell him so — tell 
 him to take us to the cellars. Why will he not p\it 
 the mattresses against the windows before tliey fire V 
 
 ' I should prefer a different relative position for our- 
 selves and the beds,' said Louis, in his leisurely manner, 
 as he advanced to look out. ' These are the friends 
 of order, my dear aunt; you should welcome your 
 protectors. Their beards and their bayonets by gas- 
 light are a grand military spectacle.' 
 
 ' They will fire ! There will be fighting here ! They 
 will force their way in. Don't, Virginia — I desire you 
 will not go near the window.' 
 
 ' We are all right. You are as safe as if you were 
 in your own drawing-room,' said Captain Lonsdale, 
 walking in, and with his loud voice drowning the 
 panic, that Louis's cool, gentle tones only irritated. 
 
 Isabel looked up and smiled, as Louis stood by her, 
 leaving his aunt and Virginia to the martial tones of 
 their consoler. 
 
 ' I could get no one to believe me when I said it 
 was only the soldiers,' she observed, with some secret 
 amusement. 
 
 ' The feather-bed fortress was the leading idea,' said 
 Louis. ' Some ladies have a curious pseudo presence 
 of mind.' 
 
 ' Generally, T believe,' said Isabel, ' a woman's pre- 
 sence of mind should be to do as she is told, and not to 
 think for herself, unless she be obliged.' 
 
 * Thinking for themselves has been fatal to a good 
 many,' said Louis, relapsing into meditation — ' this 
 poor Paris among the rest, I fancy. What a dawn for 
 a Sunday morning ! How cold the lights look, and 
 how yellow the gas burns. We may think of home, 
 and be thankful !' and kneeling with one knee on a 
 chair, he leant against the shutter, gazing out and 
 musing aloud. 
 
 ' Thankful, indeed !' said Isabel, thoughtfully. 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT. 833 
 
 'Yes — first it was thinking not at all, and then 
 thinking not in the right way.' 
 
 Isabel readily fell into the same strain. ' They 
 turned from daylight and followed the glare of their 
 owTi gas,' said she. 
 
 So they began a backward tracing of the calamities 
 of France ; and, as Louis's words came with more than 
 usual slowness and deliberation, they had only come to 
 Cardinal de Kichelieu, when Captain Lonsdale ex- 
 claimed, 'I am sorry to interrupt you, Lord Fitz- 
 jocelyn, but may I ask whether you can afford to lose 
 any mere blood V 
 
 * Thank you ; yes, the bandage is loosened, but I was 
 too comfortable to move,' said Louis, sleepily, and he 
 reeled as he made the attempt, so that he could not 
 have reached his room without support. 
 
 The Captain had profited sufficiently by the Sister's 
 example to be able to stanch the blood, but not till 
 the effusion had exhausted Louis so much that all the 
 next day it mattered little to him that the city was in 
 a state of siege, and no one allowed to go out or come 
 in. Even a constant traveller like Captain Lonsdale, 
 fertile in resource, and undaunted in search of all that 
 was to be seen, was obliged to submit, the more will- 
 ingly that Fitzjocelyn needed his care, and the ladies' 
 terror was only kept at bay by his protection. He sat 
 beside the bed where lay Louis in a torpid state, greatly 
 disinclined to be roused to attend when his aunt 
 would hasten into the room, full of some horrible 
 rumour brought in by Delaford, and almost petulant 
 because he would not be alarmed. All he asked of the 
 Tricolor or of the Drapeau Rouge for the present was 
 to let him alone, and he would drop into a doze again, 
 while the Captain was still arguing away her terror. 
 
 More was true than he would allow her to credit ; 
 and when the little Sceur de Charite found a few minutes 
 for visiting her patient's wound, her bright face was 
 pale with horror and her eyes red with weepino". 
 
 'Our good Archbishop !' she sobbed, when she allowed 
 
334< DYXEVOR TEERACE. 
 
 herself to speak, and to give way to a burst of tears. 
 *Ah, the martyr ! Ah , the good pastor ! The miserable — 
 But no — my poor people, they knew not what they did!' 
 
 And as Louis, completely awakened, questioned her, 
 she told how the good Archbishop Affre had begun 
 that Sunday of strife and bloodshed by offering his 
 intercessions at the altar for the unhappy people, and 
 then offering his own life. ' The good shepherd giveth 
 his life for the sheep,' were his words, as he went forth 
 to stand between the hostile parties, and endeavour to 
 check their fury against one another. She herself had 
 seen him, followed by a few priests, and preceded by a 
 brave and faithful ouvrier, who insisted on carrying 
 before him a green branch, as an emblem of his peaceful 
 mission. She described how, at the sight of his violet 
 robes, and the white cross on his breast, the brave boy 
 f/ardes mobiles came crowding round him, all black 
 with powder, begging for his blessing; some reminding 
 him that he had confirmed them, while others cried, 
 ' Your blessing on our muskets, and we shall be in- 
 vincible,' while some of the women asked him to carry 
 the bandages and lint which they wished to send to 
 the wounded. 
 
 On he went, comforting the wounded, absolving the 
 dying, and exhorting the living, and at more than one 
 scene of conflict the combatants paused, and yielded to 
 his persuasions ; but at the barricade at the Faubourg 
 St. Antoine, while he was signing to the mob to give 
 him a moment to speak, a ball struck him, and followed 
 by the weeping and horror-struck insurgents, he was 
 borne into the curate's house, severely wounded, while 
 the populace laid down their weapons, to sign a decla- 
 ration that they knew not who had fired the fatal 
 shot. 
 
 ' No, no, it was none of our people !' repeated the 
 little nun. ' Not one of them, poor lost creatures as 
 too many are, would have committed the act — so sacri- 
 legious, so ungrateful ! Ah ! you must not believe 
 them wicked. It is misery that drove them to rise. 
 
THE FA>'TASTIC YISCOT'NT. 335 
 
 Hold ! I met a yoiiDg man — alas ! I knew him well 
 when he was a child — I said to him, 'Ah! my son, von 
 are on the bad train.' ' Bread, mother — it is bread we 
 must have,' he answered. ' Why, would you speak to 
 one who has not eaten for twenty-four hours V I told 
 him he knew the way to our kitchen. ' No, mother,' 
 he said, 'I shall not eat: I shall get myself killed." 
 
 Many a lamentable detail of this description did she 
 narrate, as she busied herself with the wound; and 
 Louis listened, as he had listened to nothing else that 
 day, and nearly emptied his travelling purse for the 
 sufferers. Isabel and Virginia waylaid her on the 
 stairs to admire and ask questions, but she firmly, 
 though politely, put them aside, unable to waste any 
 time away from her children — her poor wounded ! 
 
 On Monday forenoon tranquillity was restored, the 
 rabble had been crushed, and the organized force was 
 triumphant. Still the state of siege continued, and no 
 one was allowed free egress or ingi-ess, but the Captain 
 pronounced this all nonsense, and resolutely set out 
 for a walk, taking the passports with him, and pro- 
 mising Lady Conway to arrange for her departure. 
 
 By-and-by he came in, subdued and affected bv the 
 procession which he had encountered — the dying Arch- 
 bishop borne home to his palace on a litter, carried by 
 workmen and soldiers, while the troops, who lined the 
 streets, paid him their military salutes, and the people 
 crowded to their doors and windows — one voice of 
 weeping and mourning running along Paris — as the 
 good prelate lay before their eyes, pale, suffering, 
 peaceful, and ever and anon lifting his feeble hand for 
 a last blessing to the flock for whom he had devoted 
 himself. 
 
 The Captain was so much impressed that, as he said, 
 he could not get over it, and stayed for some time talk- 
 ing over the scene with the young ladies, before startincr 
 up, as if wondering at his own emotion, he declared 
 that he must go and see what they would do next. 
 Presently afterwards, Fitzjocelyn came down stairs. 
 
336 DYNEVOR TEHRACE. 
 
 His aunt was judiciously lying down in her own apart- 
 ment to recruit her nerves after her agitation, and had 
 called Virginia to read to her, and Isabel was writing 
 her journal, alone, in the sitting-room. Lady Conway 
 would have been gratified at her eager reception of 
 him; but, as he seemed very languid, and indisposed 
 for conversation, she continued her occupation, while 
 he rested in an arm-chair. 
 
 Presently he said, ' Is it possible that you could have 
 left that bracelet at Miss Longman's V 
 
 ' Pray do not think about it,' exclaimed Isabel ; ' I 
 am ashamed of my childishness ! Perhaps, but for that 
 delay, you would not have been hurt,' and her eyes 
 filled with tears, as her fingers encircled the place 
 where the bracelet should have been. 
 
 * Perhaps, but for that delay, we might both have 
 been shot,' said Louis. ' No, indeed ; I could not 
 wonder at your prizing it so much.' 
 
 ' I little thought that would be the end of it,' said 
 Isabel. ' I am glad you know its history, so that I 
 may have some excuse ;' and she tried to smile, but 
 she blushed deeply as she dried her eyes. 
 
 ' Excuse 1 more than excuse !' said Louis, remem- 
 bering his fears that it would be thrown away upon 
 her. ' I know — ' 
 
 ' He has told you !' cried Isabel, starting with bashful 
 eagerness. 
 
 ' He has told me what I understand 7iow,' said Louis, 
 coming near in a glow of grateful delight. ' Oh, I am 
 so glad you appreciate him. Thank you.' 
 
 ' You are inferring too much,' said Isabel, turning 
 away in confusion. 
 
 'Don't you mean it !' exclaimed Louis. ' I thought — ' 
 
 ' We must not mistake each other,' said Isabel, 
 recovering her self-possession. ' Nothing amounting 
 to what you mean ever passed, except a few words the 
 last evening, and I may have dwelt on them more than 
 I ought,' faltered she, with averted head. 
 
 ' is ot more than he has done, I feel certain/ said 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT. 337 
 
 Louis ; * I see it all ! Dear old Jem ! there's no such 
 fellow in existence.' But here perceiving that he was 
 going too far, he added, almost timidly, ' I beg your 
 pardon.' 
 
 ' You have no occasion,' she said, smiling in the 
 midst of her blushes. ' I feared I had said what I 
 ought not. I little expected such kind sympathy.' 
 
 She hastily left him, and Lady Conway soon after 
 found him so fall of bright, half-veiled satisfaction, 
 that she held herself in readiness for a confession from 
 one or both every minute, and, now that the panic 
 was over, gave great credit to the Red Republicans for 
 having served her so effectually, and forgave the young 
 people for having been so provoking in their coolness in 
 the time of danger, since it proved how well they were 
 suited to each other. She greatly enjoyed the univer- 
 sally-implied conviction with regard to the handsome 
 young pair. Nor did they struggle against itj neither 
 of them made any secret of their admiration for the 
 conduct of the other, and the scrupulous appellations 
 of Miss Conway and Lord Fitzjocelyn were discarded 
 for more cousinly titles. 
 
 The young hero fell somewhat in his aunt's favour 
 when he was missing at the travellers early breakfast, 
 although Delaford reported him much better and gone 
 out. ' What if he should be late for the train ? — what 
 if he should be taken up by the poHce V Virginia 
 scolded her sister for not being equally restless, and 
 had almost hunted the Captain into going in search of 
 him j when at last, ten minutes before the moment of 
 departure, in he came, white, lame, and breathless, but 
 his eyes dancing vriih glee, and his lips archly grave, 
 as he dropped something into Isabels lap. 
 
 * Her bracelet !' exclaimed Yii'ginia, as Isabel looked 
 up with swimming eyes, unable to speak. * Where 
 did you find it]' 
 
 *In the carriage, in the heart of the barricade at 
 the Porte St. Denis.' 
 
 * It is too much !' cried Isabel, recovering her utter- 
 
 VOL. I. z 
 
338 DYNEVOR TEUUACE. 
 
 ance, and rising with her hands locked together in 
 her emotion. ' You make me repent my having 
 lamented for it!' 
 
 * I had an old respect for Clara's clasp.' 
 
 *I never saw a prettier attention,' said his aunt. 
 ' It is only a pity that you cannot fasten it on for her.' 
 
 * That could only be done by the right hand,' mut- 
 tered Louis, under his breath, enjoying her blush. 
 
 ' You have not told us how you got it !' said 
 Virginia. 
 
 *It struck me that there was a chance, and I had 
 promised to lose none. I found the soldiers in the 
 act of pulling down the barricade. What an astonish- 
 ing construction it is ! I spoke to the officer, who was 
 very civil, and caused me to depose that I had hired 
 the carriage, and belonged to the young lady. I believe 
 my sling had a great effect ; for they set up a shout of 
 acclamation w^hen the bracelet appeared, lying on the 
 cushion as quietly as if it were in its own drawer.' 
 
 ' The value will be greater than ever now, Isabel,' 
 said Lady Conway. * You will never lose it again !' 
 Isabel did not gainsay her. 
 
 The Captain shrugged his shoulders, and looked 
 sagacious at his patient's preparation for the journey 
 before him. 
 
 Louis gravely looked into his face as he took leave 
 of him, and said, * You are wrong.' 
 
 The Captain raised his eyebrows incredulously. 
 As they left the city, the bells of all the churches 
 were tolling for the martyred Archbishop. And not for 
 him alone was there mourning and lamentation through 
 the city : death and agony were everywhere ; in some 
 of the streets, each house was a hospital, and many 
 a groan and cry of mortal pain was uttered through 
 that fair summer-day. Louis, in a low voice, reminded 
 Isabel that, on this same day, the English primate was 
 consecrating the abbey newly restored for a mission- 
 ary college ; and his eyes glistened as he dwelt with 
 thanksgiving upon the contrast, and thought of the 
 
THE FANTASTIC VISCOUNT. 339 
 
 * peace within our walls, and plenteousness within our 
 palaces.' 
 
 He lay back in his corner of the carriage, too much 
 tired to talk ; though, by-and-by, he began to smile 
 over his own musings, or to make some lazily ludicrous 
 remark to amuse Virginia. His aunt caressed her 
 wounded hero, and promoted his intercourse with 
 Isabel, to his exquisite amusement, in his passive, 
 clebonnaire condition, especially as Isabel was perfectly 
 insensible to all these manucevres. 
 
 There she sat, gazing out of window, musing first 
 on the meeting with the live Sir Roland, secondly on 
 the amends to be made in the ' Chapel in the valley.'' 
 The Cloten of the piece must not even be a Yidame, 
 nothing distantly connected with a V j even though 
 this prototype was comporting himself much more like 
 the nonchalant, fantastic Viscount, than like her reso- 
 lute, high-minded Knight at the Porte St. Denis. 
 
310 DYXEVOR TEREACE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES. 
 
 The page slew the boar, 
 The peer had the gloire. 
 
 Quentin Durward. 
 
 G1 REAT uneasiness was excited at Dynevor Terrace 
 I by the tidings of the insurrection at Paris. After 
 extracting all possible alarm from her third-hand 
 newspaper, Mrs. Frost put on her bonnet to set off on 
 a quest for a sight of the last day's Times. James had 
 offered to go, but she was too restless to remain at 
 home; and when he had demonstrated that the 
 rumour must be exaggerated, and that there was no 
 need for alarm, he let her depart, and as soon as she 
 was out of sight, caught up the paper to recur to the 
 terrible repoi-ts of the first day's warfare. He paced 
 about the little parlour, reviling himself for not having 
 joined the party, to infuse a little common sense; 
 Fitzjocelyn, no more fit to take care of himself than a 
 baby, probably running into the fray from mere rash 
 indifference ! Isabel exposed to every peril and terror ! 
 Why had he refused to join them? The answer was 
 maddening. He hated himself, as he found his love for 
 his cousin melting under the influence of jealousy, 
 and of indignation that his own vehement passion 
 must be sacrificed to the tardy, uncertain love which 
 seemed almost an insult to such charms. 
 
 'What needs dwelling on it?' he muttered; 'doubt- 
 less they are engaged by this time ! I shall surely do 
 something desperate if they come here, under my very 
 eye. Would that I could go to the Antipodes, ere I 
 
THE HEUO OF THE BAURICADES. 341 
 
 forfeit Louis's love! But my granclmotlier, Clara! 
 Was ever man so miserably circumstanced?' 
 
 A hand was on the door; and he strove to compose 
 his face, lest he should shock his grandmother. 
 
 It was not Mrs. Frost. 
 
 * Louis ! for Heaven's sake, where are they V 
 
 * In the House Beautiful.' 
 
 James breathed — ' And you ! what makes you so 
 pale ? "What have you done to your arm V 
 
 ' A little affair of the barricades. I have been 
 watering the French Bepublic with my blood.' 
 
 * Bushing into the thickest of the row, of course.' 
 
 ' Only escorting Miss Conway through an assault of 
 the Garde Kationale,^ said Louis, in a tone as if he had 
 been saying ' walking up the High Street.' How could 
 he help teasing, when he could make such amends ? 
 
 James began to pace up and down again, muttering 
 something about madness and fi'enzy. 
 
 *It was not voluntary,' said Louis. 'When the 
 carriage was confiscated for the service of the nation, 
 what could we do ? — I can tell you, Jem,' he added, 
 fervently, ' what a gallant being she is ! It was the 
 glorious perfection of gentle, lofty feminine courage, 
 walking through the raging multitude — through shots, 
 througli dreadful sights, like Una through the forest, 
 in Chiistian maidenly fearlessness.' 
 
 James had flung himself into a chair, hiding his face, 
 and steadying his whole person, by resting his elbow 
 on his knee and his brow on his hand, as he put a 
 stron;^ force on himself that he misrht hear Louis out 
 without betraying himself Louis paused in ardent 
 contemplation of the image he had called up, and 
 poor James gruffly whispered, ' Go on : you were happy.' 
 
 'Yery happy, in knowing what cause I have to 
 rejoice for you.' 
 
 James gave a great start, and trembled visibly. 
 
 * I did not tell you,' pursued Louis, * that the single 
 moment when she lost her firmness, was when she 
 thought she had lost a certain ivoiy clasp.' 
 
342 DYNEVOU TERHACE. 
 
 James could endure no more : ' Louis,' he said, ' you 
 must try me no longer. What do you mean?' 
 
 Louis affectionately put his hand on his shoulder : 
 ' I mean, dear Jem, that I understand it now ; and it 
 is a noble heart that you have won, and that can value 
 you as you deserve.' 
 
 James wrung his hand, and looked bewildered, 
 inquiring, and happy; but his quivering lips could 
 form no words. 
 
 * It was a time to reveal the depths of the heart,' 
 said Louis. ' A few words and the loss of the bracelet 
 betrayed much : and afterwards, as far as a lady could, 
 she confessed that something which passed between 
 you the last evening — ' 
 
 'Louis!' cried James, 'I could not help it! I had 
 been striving against it all along ; but if you could 
 imagine how I was tried ! You never would come 
 to plead your own cause, and I thought to w^ork for 
 you; but my words are too near the surface. I cut 
 myself short. I have bitterly reproached myself ever 
 since, but I did not know the harm I had done you. 
 Can you forgive me? Can you — No, it is vain to 
 ask; you never can be happy.' 
 
 ' My dear Jem, you go on at such a pace, there is no 
 answering you. There is no forgiveness in the case. 
 Further acquaintance had already convinced me that 
 she was lovely and perfect, but that ' she is na mine 
 ain lassie.' Yes, she caught my imagination ; and you 
 and my father would have it that I was in love, and I 
 supposed you knew best : but when I was let alone to 
 a rational consideration, I found that to me she is 
 rather the embodied Isabel of romance, a beauteous 
 vision, than the — the — in short, that there is another 
 who has all that I am wanting in. No, no, dear Jem ; 
 it was you who made the generous sacrifice. Have no 
 scruples about me; I am content with the part of 
 Una's Lion, only thankful that Sans-Loy and Sans- 
 Foy had not quite demolished him before he had seen 
 her restored to the Red Cross Knight.' 
 
THE HErtO OF THE BAERICADES. 313 
 
 It was too much for James; he hid his face in his 
 hands, and burst into tears. Such joy dawning on 
 him, without having either offended or injured his 
 cousin, produced a revulsion of feeling which he could 
 not control, and hearing the street-door opened, he ran 
 out of the room, just before his grandmother came 
 hurrjdng in, on the wings of the intelligence heard 
 below. 
 
 'Yes! I knew my own boy would come to me!' she 
 cried. * Even Miss Conway has not begun to keep him 
 from me yet." 
 
 ' Nor ever will, Aunt Kitty. There are obstacles in 
 the way. You must be granny, and mother, and 
 sister and wife, and all my womankind, a little longer, 
 if you please.' And he sat down fondly at her feet, on 
 a footstool which had been his childish perch. 
 ' Not distressed, you insensible boy V 
 ' Very happy about Isabel,' said he, turning to 
 look at her with eyes dancing with merry mystifica- 
 tion. 
 
 'A foolish girl not to like my Louis! I thought 
 better of her; but I suppose my Lady has taught her to 
 aim higher!' 
 
 ' So she does,' said Louis, earnestly. 
 ' Ungrateful girl ! Why, Charlotte tells me you 
 led her straight over the barricades, with cannon firing 
 on you all the time 1' 
 ' But not Cupid.' 
 
 ' Then, it is true ! and you have really hurt yourself! 
 And so pale ! My poor boy — what is it ? I must 
 nui-se you.' 
 
 ' I had so little blood left, that a gnat of tolerable 
 appetite could have made an end of me on Sunday, 
 without more ado. But, instead of that, I had a good 
 little Sister of Charity ; and wasn't that alone worth 
 getting a bullet through one's arm V 
 
 Aunt Catharine was shuddering thankfully through 
 the narration, when James came do\vn, his brow 
 unclouded, but his manner stUl agitated, as if a 
 
34-i DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 burtlien had been taken away, and he hardly knew how 
 to realize his freedom from the weight. 
 
 ]Mrs. Frost could not part with her boy, and Jane 
 Beckett evidently had a spite against ' they French 
 bandages;' so that Louis only talked of going home 
 enough to get himself flattered and coaxed into remain- 
 ing at No. 0, as their patient. 
 
 The two young men went in the afternoon to inquire 
 after the Conway party, when they found that her 
 ladyship was lying down; but Isabel, who had been 
 summoned from a wholesale conflagration of all the 
 MS. relating to the fantastic Yiscount, brought down 
 Miss King, apparently to converse for her; for she did 
 little except blush, and seemed unable to look at either 
 of the friends. 
 
 As they took leave, Louisa came into the room with 
 a message that mamma hoped to see Mr. Frost 
 Dynevor to-morrow, and trusted that he had made no 
 engagements for the holidays. 
 
 James murmured something inaudible, and ran 
 down stairs, snarling at Louis as he turned to the 
 Miss Faithfulls' door, and telling him he wanted to 
 obtain a little more petting and commiseration. 
 
 * I could not waste such an opportunity of looking 
 interesting !' said Louis, laughing, as he tapped at the 
 door. 
 
 Delaford marshalled out the poor tutor with a sense 
 of triumph. ' His hopes, at least, were destroyed !' 
 thought the butler ; and he proceeded to regale 
 Marianne with the romance of the Barricades, — how he 
 had himself offered to be Miss Conway's escort, but 
 Lord Fitzjocelyn had declared that not a living soul 
 but himself should be the young lady's champion; and, 
 seeing the young nobleman so bent on it, Mr, Delaford 
 knew that the force of true affection was not to be 
 stayed, no more than the current of the limpid stream, 
 and had yielded the point ; and, though, perhaps, his 
 experience might have spared her the contaminating 
 propinquity of the low rabble, yet, considering the 
 
THE HEEO OF THE BArvRICADES. 345 
 
 circumstances, he did not regret liis absence, since he 
 was required for my lady's protection, and, no doubt, 
 two fond heai-ts had been made happy. Then, in the 
 midnight alarm, when the young nobleman had been 
 disabled, Delaford had been the grand champion: — he 
 had roused the establishment; he had calmed eyery 
 one's fears ; he had suggested arming all the waiters, 
 and fortifying the \yindows ; he had been the only 
 undaunted representatiye of the British Lion, when the 
 enyirons swarmed with deadly foes, with pikes and 
 muskets flashing in the darkness. 
 
 Fanshawe had been much too busy with her lady- 
 ship's nerves, and too ignorant of French, to gather 
 enough for his refutation, had she wished for it ; and, 
 in fact, she had regai^ded him as the only safeguard of 
 the party, devoutly believing all his reports, and now 
 she was equally willing to magnify her own adventures. 
 What a hero Delaford was all over the terrace and its 
 vicinity! People looked out to see the defender of 
 the British name ; and Charlotte Arnold mended 
 stockings, and wondered whether her cruelty had 
 made him so desperately courageous. 
 
 She could almost have been sorry that the various 
 arrivals kept the domestic establishments of both 
 houses so fully occupied ! Poor Tom ! she had been 
 a loner time without hearing; of him ! and a hero was 
 turning up on her hands ! 
 
 The world was not tranquil above-stairs. The 
 removal of the one great obstacle to James's attach- 
 ment had only made a thousand others visible ; and he 
 relapsed into ill-suppressed irritability, to the dis- 
 appointment of Louis, who did not perceive the cause. 
 At night, however, when Mrs. Frost had gone up, 
 after receiving a promise, meant sincerely, however it 
 might be kept, that ' poor Louis' should not be kept up 
 late, James began with a groan : 
 
 'Now that you are here to attend to my grand- 
 mother, I am going to answer this advertisement for 
 a curate near the Land's End.' 
 
316 DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 'Heyday!' 
 
 * It is beyond human endurance to see her daily and 
 not to speak ! I should run wild ! It would be using 
 Lady Conway shamefully.' 
 
 ' And some one else. What should hinder you from 
 speaking V 
 
 ' You talk as if every one was heir to a peerage.' 
 ' I know what I am saying. I do not see the way 
 to your marriage just yet ; but it would be mere 
 trifling with her feelings, after what has passed already, 
 not to give her the option of engaging herself.' 
 
 ' I'm sure I don't know what I said ! I was out of 
 myself I was ashamed to remember that I had be- 
 trayed myself, and dared not guess what construction 
 she put on it.' 
 
 ' Such a construction as could only come from her 
 own heart !' 
 
 After some raptures, James added, attempting to be 
 cool, ' You candidly think I have gone so far, that I am 
 bound in honour to make explanation.' 
 
 ' I am sure it would make her very unhappy if you 
 went off in magnanimous silence to the Land's End ; 
 and remaining as the boy's tutor, without confession, 
 would be a mere delusion and treachery towai'ds my 
 aunt.' 
 
 ' That woman !' 
 ' She is not her mother.' 
 
 'Who knows how far she will think herself bound 
 to obedience ? With that sort of relationship, nobody 
 knows what to be at.' 
 
 ' I don't think Isabel wishes to make her duty to 
 Lady Conway more stringent than necessary. They 
 live in utterly different spheres ; and, at least, you can 
 be no worse off than you are already.' 
 
 ' I may be exposing her to annoyance. Women 
 have ten million ways of persecuting each other.' 
 
 ' Had you seen Isabel's eye when she looked on the 
 wild crowd, you would know how little she would 
 heed worse persecution than my poor aunt could 
 
THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES. 34-7 
 
 practise. It will soon be my turn to say you don't 
 deserve her.' 
 
 James was arguing against his own impulse, and his 
 scruples only desired to be talked down; Louis's 
 generous and inconsiderate ardour prevailed, and, 
 after interminable discussion, it was agi-eed that, after 
 some communication with the young lady herself, 
 an interview should be sought with Lady Conway, for 
 which James was ah-eady bristling, prepared to resent 
 scorn with scorn. 
 
 In the morning, he was savage with shamefacedness, 
 could not endure any spectator, and fairly hunted his 
 cousin home to Ormersfield, where Louis prowled about 
 in suspense — gave contradictory orders to Frampton, 
 talked as if he was asleep, made Frampton conclude 
 that he had left his heart behind him, and was ever 
 roaming towards the Northwold turnpike. 
 
 At about four o'clock, a black figure was seen posting 
 along the centre of the road, and, heated, panting, and 
 glowing, James came up — made a decided and vehement 
 nod with his head, but did not speak till they had 
 turned into the park, when he threw himself flat on 
 the grass under an old thorn, and Louis followed his 
 example, while Farmer Norris's respectable cows stared 
 at the invasion of their privacy. 
 
 ' Tout va bien T asked Louis. 
 
 ' As well as a man in my position can expect ! She 
 is the most noble of created beings, Louis !' 
 
 ' And what is her mother ?' 
 
 ' Don't call her mother ! You shall hear. I could 
 not stay at home ! I went to the Faith fulls' room : I 
 found Miss IMercy waiting for her, to join in a walk to 
 some poor person. I went with them. I checked her 
 when she was going into the cottage. We have been 
 walking round Brackley's fields — '' 
 
 ' And poor Miss Mercy ?' 
 
 'Never remembered her till this moment!' 
 
 * She will forgive ! And her ladyship V 
 
 * That's the worst of it. She was nearly as bad as 
 
ol-S DYNEYOU TERRACE. 
 
 you could have been ! — so intensely civil and amiable, 
 that I began to tliink her all on my side. I really 
 could be taken in to suppose she felt for us !' 
 
 ' I have no doubt she did. My good aunt is very 
 sincerely loth to hurt people's feelings.' 
 
 'She talked of her duty! She sympathized! It 
 was not till I was out of the house that I saw it was 
 all by way of letting me dovni easy — trapping me into 
 binding myself on honour not to correspond.' 
 
 ' Not correspond !' cried Louis, in consternation. 
 * Are you not engaged V 
 
 'As far as understanding each other goes. But who 
 knows what may be her machinations, or Isabel's sense 
 of obedience !' 
 
 * Does she forbid it V 
 
 ' No. She went to speak to Isabel. I fancy she 
 found it unwise to test her power too far ; so she came 
 down and palavered me, — assured me that I was per- 
 sonally all that heart could wish — she loved her dear 
 child the better for valuing solid merit. Faugh ! how 
 could I stand such gammon 1 But I must perceive 
 that she was peculiarly circumstanced with regard to 
 Isabel's family; she must not seem to sanction an 
 engagement till I could offer a home suited to her 
 expectations. She said something of my Uncle Oliver; 
 but I disposed of that. However, I dare say it made 
 her less willing to throw me overboard ! Any way, 
 she smoothed me and flattered me, till I ended by 
 agreeing that she has no choice but to remove instanter 
 from the Terrace, and forbid me her abode ! And, as 
 I said, she wormed a promise from me not to corre- 
 spond.' 
 
 ' You have no great loss there. Depend upon it that 
 Isabel would neither brave her openly by receiving 
 your letters, nor submit to do anything underhand.' 
 
 ' Nor would I ask her ! — but it is intolerable to have 
 been tricked into complacent consent.' 
 
 ' I am glad your belle-inere knows how to manage 
 you.' 
 
THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES. 349 
 
 ' I told you she was only less unbearable than your- 
 self. You have it from the same stock.' 
 
 ' The better for your future peace. I honour her. 
 If she had let the Welsh dragon show his teeth in 
 style, he would only have had to make unpleasant 
 apologies when the good time comes.' 
 
 * When !' sighed James. 
 
 * If Isabel be the woman I take her for, she will be 
 easily content.' 
 
 ' She is sick of parade ; she has tried how little it 
 can do for a mind like hers : she desires nothing but a 
 home like our o^^^l — but what prospect have I of any 
 such thing ? Even if the loss of my fellowship were 
 compensated, how could I many and let Clara be a 
 governess ? Clara must be my first consideration. But, 
 I say, we ought to be going home.' 
 
 * I thought I was at home.' 
 
 ' My grandmother and Jane won't be pacified till 
 they see you. They think you are not fit to be in a 
 house by youi-self. They both fell on me for havino- 
 let you go. You must come back, or my grandmother 
 will think you gone ofi" in despair, as you ought to be, 
 and I shall never dare to speak to her,' 
 
 '■ At your service,' said the duteous Fitzjocelyn. * I'll 
 leave word at the lodge,' 
 
 * By-the-bye, are you up to walking V 
 
 ' Candidly, now I think of it, I doubt whether I am. 
 Come, and let us order the carriage.' 
 
 'No — no; — I can't stand waiting — I'll go home and 
 get over the first with granny — you come after. Yes ; 
 that's right.' 
 
 So the hunted Louis waited, contentedly, while 
 James marched back, chary of his precious secret, and 
 unwilling to reveal it even to her, and yet wantinf her 
 sympathy. 
 
 The disclosure was a gi^eater shock than he had ex- 
 pected from her keen and playful interest in matters 
 of love and matrimony. It was a revival of the mourn- 
 ful past, and she shed tears as she besought him not to 
 
350 DYNEVOR TEREACE. 
 
 be imprudent, to remember bis poor fatber, and not 
 rusb into a basty marriage. He and bis sister bad 
 been used to poverty, but it was different witb Miss 
 Conway. 
 
 He bitterly repUed, tbat Lady Conway would take 
 care tbey were not imprudent ; and tbat instant tbe 
 granny's beart melted at tbe tbougbt of bis uncertain 
 prospect, and at bearing of tbe struggles and sufferings 
 tbat be bad undergone. Tbey bad not talked balf an 
 bour, before sbe bad taken borne Isabel Conway to ber 
 beart as a daugbter, and flown in tbe face of all ber 
 wisdom, but assuring bim tbat sbe well knew tbat 
 ricbes bad little to do witb bappiness; auguring an 
 excellent living, and, witb great sagacity, promising to 
 settle tbe Terrace on bis wife, and repeating, in perfect 
 good faitb, all tbe wonderful probabilities wbicb ber 
 busband bad seen in it forty years ago. 
 
 Wben Louis arrived, be found ber alone, and divided 
 between pride in ber grandson's conquest, and some 
 anxiety on bis own account, wbicb took tbe form of 
 asking bim wbat be meant by saying that Isabel aimed 
 bi-^ber tban bimself. 
 
 ' Did sbe not?' said Louis ; and witb a sort of com- 
 punction for a playful allusion to tbe sacred calling, be 
 turned it off witb, ' Wby, wbat do you tbink of Roland 
 ap Dynasvawr ap Roland ap Gruffydd ap Rbys ap 
 Morgan ap Llywellwyn ap Roderic ap Caradoc ap 
 Artbur ap Utber ap Pendragon V running tbis off witb 
 calm, slow, impressive deliberation. 
 
 ' Certify me, Louis dear, before I can quite rejoice, 
 tbat tbis fun is not put on.' 
 
 ' Did you tbink me an arrant dissembler? No, in- 
 deed : before I guessed bow it was witb tbem, I bad 
 found out — Oh ! Aunt Kitty, shall I ever get Mary to 
 believe in me, after the ridiculous way in wbicb I have 
 behaved to ber V 
 
 ' Is tbis wbat you really mean?* 
 
 ' Indeed it is. Tbe very presence of Isabel could not 
 keep me from recurring to her; and at home, not a 
 
THE HEllO OF THE BAHRICADES. 351 
 
 room, not a scene, but is replete with recollections of 
 all tliat she was to me last year ! And that I should 
 only understand it ^vhen half the world is between us ! 
 How mad I was ! How shall I ever persuade her to 
 forget my past folly ? Past ! Nay, folly and incon- 
 sistency are blended in all 1 do, and now they have lost 
 me the only pei'son who could help me to conquer them ! 
 And now she is beyond my reach, and I shall never be 
 worthy of her.' 
 
 He was much agitated. The sight of James's suc- 
 cess, and the return to his solitary home, had stirred up 
 his feelings very strongly ; and he needed his aunt's 
 fond soothing and sympathy — but it was not difficult to 
 comfort and cheer him. His disposition was formed 
 more for affection than passion, and his attachment to 
 Mary was of a calmer nature than his fiery cousin 
 would have allowed to be love. It took a good deal of 
 working-up to make it outwardly affect his spirits or 
 demeanour; in general, it served only as an ingredient 
 in the pensiveness that pervaded all his moods, even his 
 most arrant nonsense. 
 
 The building of castles for James, and the narration 
 of the pleasing delusion in which he had brought home 
 his aunt, were sufficient to enliven him. He was to 
 go the next morning to call upon Lady Conway, and 
 see whether he could persuade her into any concessions : 
 James was very anxious that Isabel and his grand- 
 mother should meet, and was beginning to propose that 
 Louis should arrange an interidew for them in Miss 
 Faithfull's room, before the departure, which was fixed 
 for Monday. 
 
 ' I intend to call upon Lady Conway,' said Mrs. Frost, 
 with dignity that made him feel as if he had been pro- 
 posing something contraband. 
 
 Louis went first, and was highly entertained by the 
 air of apology and condolence with w^hich his aunt 
 received him. She told him how excessively concerned 
 she was, and how guilty she felt towards him — a score 
 on which, he assured her, she had no need to reproach 
 
oOZ DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 herself. She had heard enough from Isabel to lead to 
 so much admiration of his generosity, that he was 
 obliged to put a stop to it, witliout being skilful enough 
 to render sincerity amiable; but she seemed satisfied, 
 eagerly assured him of her approval, and declared that 
 she fully understood him. 
 
 Had she explained, he would have thought her un- 
 derstanding went too far. She entirely forgave him. 
 After all, he was her own sister's son, and Isabel only 
 a step-daughter; and though she had done her duty 
 by putting Isabel in the way of the connexion, she 
 secretly commended his prudence in withstanding 
 beauty, and repairing the dilapidated estate with Peru- 
 vian gold. She sounded him, as a very wise man, on 
 the chances of Oliver Dynevor doing something for his 
 nephew, but did not receive much encouragement; 
 though he prophesied that James was certain to get 
 on, and uttered a rhapsody that nearly destroyed his 
 new reputation for judgment. Lady Conway gave 
 him an affectionate invitation to visit her whenever he 
 could, and summoned the young ladies to wish him 
 good-bye. The mute, blushing gratitude of Isabel's 
 look was beautiful beyond description ; and Vii'ginia's 
 countenance was exceedingly arch and keen, though 
 she was supposed to know nothing of the state of 
 affairs. 
 
 Lady Conway was alone when Mrs. Frost was seen 
 approaching the house. The lady at once prepared to 
 be affably gracious to her apologies and deprecations 
 of displeasure ; but she was quite disconcerted by the 
 dignified manner of her entrance ; — tall, noble-looking, 
 in all the simple majesty of age, and of a high though 
 gentle spirit, Lady Conway was surprised into absolute 
 respect, and had to rally her ideas before, with a slight 
 laugh, she could say, ' I see you are come to condole 
 with me on the folly of our two young people.' 
 
 'I think too highly of them to call it folly,' said the 
 heiress of the Dynevors. 
 
 ^Why, in one way, to be sure,' hesitated Lady Con- 
 
THE HERO OF THE BAURICADES. 353 
 
 way, 'we cannot call it follj to be sensible of each, 
 other's merits ; and if — if Mr. Dynevor have any ex- 
 pectations — I think your son is unmarried V 
 
 'He is;' but she added, smiling, 'you will not expect 
 me to allow that my youngest child is old enough to 
 warrant any calculations on that score.' 
 
 'It is very unfortunate; I pity them from my heart. 
 An encjaojement of thii> kind is a wretched beofinning 
 for life.' 
 
 'Oh, do not say so!' cried the old lady; 'it may often 
 be the greatest blessing, the best incentive to both 
 parties.' 
 
 Lady Conway was too much surprised to make a 
 direct answer, but she continued, 'If my brother could 
 exert his interest — and I know that he has so high an 
 opinion of dear Mr. Dynevor — and you have so much 
 influence. That dear, generous Fitzjocelyn, too — ' 
 
 As soon as Mrs. Frost understood whom Lady Con- 
 way designated as her brother, she drew herself up, 
 and said, coldly, that Lord Ormerstield had no church 
 patronage, and no interest that he could exert on be- 
 half of her grandson. 
 
 Again, ' it was most unlucky;' and Lady Conway pro- 
 ceeded to say that she wa.s the more bound to act in 
 opposition to her own feelings, because Mr. Mansell 
 was resolved against bequeathing Beauchastel to any 
 of his cousinhood who might marry a clergyman ; dis- 
 liking that the place should fall to a man who ought 
 not to reside. It was a most unfortunate scruple; but 
 in order to avoid offending him, and losing any chance, 
 the engagement must remain a secret. 
 
 Mrs. Frost replied, that M r. Mansell was perfectly 
 richt ; and seemed in nowise discomfited or conscious 
 that there was any condescension on her ladyship's 
 part in winking at an attachment between Miss Con- 
 way and a Dynevor of Cheveleigh. She made neither 
 complaint nor apology; there was nothing for Lady 
 Conway to be gracious about ; and when the request 
 was made to see Miss Conway, her superiority was no 
 
 VOL. I. A A 
 
35-1 DYNEVOU TERHACE. 
 
 fully established that there was no demur, and the 
 ftivour seemed to be on her side. 
 
 The noble old matron had long been a subject of 
 almost timid veneration to the maiden, and she obeyed 
 the summons with more bashful awe than she had ever 
 felt before ; and with much fear lest the two elders 
 might have been combining to make an appeal to her 
 to give up her betrothal, for James's sake. 
 
 As she entered, the old lady came to meet her, held 
 out both arms, and drew lier into her bosom, with the 
 fond words, ' My dear child !' 
 
 Isabel rested in her embrace, as if she had found her 
 own mother again. 
 
 ']\Iy dear child,' again said Mrs. Frost, 'I am glad 
 you like my Jem, for he has always been a good boy to 
 his granny.' 
 
 The homeliness of the words made them particularly 
 endearing, and Isabel ventured to put her arm round 
 the slender waist. 
 
 ' Yes, darling,' continued the grandmother ; ' you 
 will make him good and happy, and you must teach 
 him to be ])atient, for I am afraid you will both want 
 a gi'eat deal of patience and submission.' 
 
 ' He ^vi\\ teach me,' whispered Isabel. 
 
 Lady Conway was fairly crying. 
 
 ' I am glad to know that he has you to look to, when 
 his old grandmother is gone.' 
 
 ' Oh, don't say — ' 
 
 ' 1 shall make way for you some day,' said Mrs. Frost, 
 caressing her. ' You are leaving us, my dear. It is 
 quite right, and we will not murmur ; but would not 
 your mamma spare you to us for one evening? Could 
 you not come and drink tea with us, that we may know 
 each other a little better V 
 
 The stepmother's affectionate assent, and even emo- 
 tion, were a gi'eat surprise to Isabel ; and James began 
 to imagine that nothing was beyond Mrs. Frosts power. 
 
 Louis saved James the trouble of driving him away 
 by going to dine with Mr. Calcott, and the evening was 
 
THE HERO OF THE BARRICADES. 3oo 
 
 happy, even beyond anticipation ; the grandmother all 
 affection, James all restless bliss, Isabel serene amid 
 her blushes J and yet the conversation would not thrive, 
 till Mrs. Frost took them out walking, and, when in the 
 loneliest lane, conceived a wish to inquire the price of 
 poultry at the nearest farm, and sent the others to walk 
 on. Long did she talk of the crops, discourse of the 
 French and Bohemian enormities, and smilingly con- 
 tradict reports that the young lord w^as to marry the 
 young lady, before the lovers reappeared, without the 
 most distant idea where they had been. 
 
 After that, they could not leave off talking : they 
 took granny into their counsels; and she heard Isabel 
 confess how the day-dream of her life had been to live 
 among the ' very good.' She smiled with humble self- 
 conviction of falling far beneath the standard, as she 
 discovered that the enthusiastic girl had found all her 
 aspirations for ' goodness' realized by Dynevor Terrace ; 
 and regarding it as peace, joy, and honour, to be linked 
 ■with it. The newly-found happiness, and the effort to 
 be worthy of it, were to bear her through all uncon- 
 genial scenes; she had such a secret of joy that she 
 should never repine again. 
 
 ^ Ah ! Isabel, and what am I to do ?' said James. 
 
 * You SiskV she said, smiling. ' You, who have North- 
 wold for your home, and live in the atmosphere I only 
 breathe now and then V 
 
 ' Your presence is my atmosphere of life.' 
 ' Mrs. Frost, tell him he must not talk so WTongly, 
 so extravagajitly, I mean.' 
 
 ' It may be wrong ; it is not extravagant. It falls 
 only too far short of my feeling ! What will the Ter- 
 race be without youf 
 
 * It will not be without my thoughts. How often 
 I shall think I see the broad road, and the wide field, 
 and the mountain-ash berries, that were reddening when 
 we came ; and the canary in the window ! How little 
 my first glance at the houses took in what they w^ould 
 be to me !' 
 
 A a2 
 
356 DYNE von TERRACE. 
 
 And then they had to settle the haunts she was to 
 revisit at Beauchastel. An invitation thither was the 
 ostensible cause of the rapid break-up from the House 
 Beautiful ; but the truth was not so veiled but that 
 there were many surmises among the uninitiated. 
 Jane had caught something from my young Lord's de- 
 meanour which certified her, and made her so exceed- 
 ingly proud and grand, that, though' she was too 
 honourable to breathe a word of her discovery, she 
 walked with her kind old head three inches higher; 
 and, as a great favour, showed Charlotte a piece of poor 
 dear Master Henry's bridecake, kept for luck, and a 
 little roll of treasured real Brussels lace, that she had 
 saved to adorn her cap whenever Mr. James should 
 marry. 
 
 Charlotte was not absolutely as attentive as she 
 might have been to such interesting curiosities. She 
 had one eye towards the window all the time; she 
 wanted to be certified how deeply she had wounded the 
 hero of the barricade, and she had absolutely not seen 
 him since his return ! The little damsel missed 
 homage ! 
 
 ' You are not heeding me !' exclaimed Jane at last. 
 
 ' Yes ; I beg your pardon, ma'am — ' 
 
 * Charlotte, take care. Mind me, one thing at a 
 time,' said Jane, oracularly. ' Not one eye here, the 
 other there !' 
 
 ^I'm sure I don't know what you mean, Mrs. 
 Beckett.' 
 
 ' Come, don't colour up, and say you don't know 
 nothing ! Why did you water your lemon plant three 
 times over, but that you wanted to be looking out of 
 window ? Why did you never top nor tail the goose- 
 berries for the pudding, but sent them up fit to choke 
 my poor missus 1 If Master Jem hadn't — Bless me ! 
 what was I going to say 1 — but we should soon have 
 heard of it ! No, no, Charlotte ; I've been a mother to 
 you ever since you came here, a little starveling thing, 
 and I'll speak plain for your good. If you fancy that 
 
THE lIEPvO OF THE BAr^RICADES. 357 
 
 fifenteel butler in there, say so downright ; but first sit 
 down, and write away a letter to give up the other 
 young man !' 
 
 Charlotte's cheeks were in a flame, and something 
 vehement at the end of her tongue, when, with a 
 gentle knock, and * By your favour, ladies,' in walked 
 Mr. Delaford. 
 
 Jane was very civil, but very stiff at first, till he 
 thawed her by great praise of Lord Fitzjocelyn, the 
 mere prelude to his own magnificent exploits. 
 
 Charlotte listened like a very Desdemona. He was 
 very pathetic, and all that was not self-exaltation 
 was aimed at her. Nothing could have been more 
 welcome than the bullets to penetrate his heart, and 
 he turned up his eyes in a feeling manner. 
 
 Charlotte's heart was exceedingly touched, and she 
 had tears in her eyes when she moved forward in 
 the attitude of the porcelain shepherdess in the parlour, 
 to return a little volume of selections of tender poetry, 
 bound in crimson silk, that he had lent to her some 
 time since. 'Would she not honour him by accepting 
 a trifling gift V 
 
 She blushed, she accepted ; and with needle-like 
 pen, in characters fine as hair, upon a scroll garlanded 
 with forget-me-nots, and borne in mid air by two 
 portly doves, was Charlotte Arnold's name inscribed 
 by the hero of the barricades. 
 
 Oh, vanity ! vanity ! how many garbs dost thou 
 wear ! 
 
 Delaford went away, satisfied that he had produced 
 an impression such as he could improve if they should 
 ever be thrown toicether asrain. 
 
 The Lady of Eschalott remained anything but satis- 
 fied. She was touchy and fretful, found everything a 
 grievance, left cobwebs in the corners, and finally went 
 into hysterics because the cat jumped at the canaiy- 
 bird's cage. 
 
358 DY>^EVOR TEEIIACE. 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 BURGO:k[ASTEIlS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS. 
 
 When full upon his ardent soul 
 The champion feels the influence roll. 
 He swims the lake, he leaps the wall, 
 Heeds not the depth, nor plumbs the fall. 
 Unshielded, mailless, on he goes. 
 Singly against a host of foes ! 
 
 Harold the Dauntless. 
 
 ' TEM ! Jem ! have you heard V 
 O ' What should I hear V 
 ' Mr. Lester is going to retire at Christmas !' 
 ' Does that account for your irrational excitement V 
 ' And it has not occurred to you that the grammar- 
 school would be the making of you ! Endowment, 
 150^. — thirty, forty boys at 10^. per annum, 400/. at 
 least. That is 5501. — say 600/. for certain ; and it 
 would be doubled under a scholar and a gentleman — 
 1200/. a year! And you might throw it open to 
 boarders; set up the houses in the Terrace, and let 
 them at — say 40/. Kine houses, nine times forty — ' 
 
 ' Well done, Fitzjocelyn ! At this rate one need not 
 go out to Peini.' 
 
 ' Exactly so ; you would be doubling the value of 
 vour own property as a secondary consideration, and 
 doing incalculable good — ' 
 
 ' As if there were any more chance of my getting 
 the school than of the rest of it !' 
 
 ' So you really had not thought of standing V 
 ' I would, most gladly, if there were the least hope 
 of success. I cant alibrd to miss any chance; but it 
 
BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT OXE-EYEES. 359 
 
 is mere folly to talk of it. Oue-lialf of the trustees 
 detest my principles ; the others would thiuk them- 
 selves insulted by a young man in deacon's orders offer- 
 ing himself 
 
 ' It is evident that you are the only man on whom 
 they can combine who can save the school, and do any 
 good to all those boys — mind you, the importa-ut 
 middle class, whom I would do anything to train in 
 sound principles.' 
 
 ' So far, it is in my favour that I am one of the few 
 University men educated here.' 
 
 'You are your grandmother's grandson — that is 
 everything ! and you have more experience of teaching 
 than most men twice your age.' 
 
 James made a face at his experience ; but little 
 stimulus was needed to make him attempt to avail 
 himself of so fair an opening, coming so much sooner 
 than he could have dared to expect. It was now Sep- 
 tember, and the two months of waiting and separation 
 seemed already like so many years. By the time Mrs. 
 Frost came in from her walk, she found the two young 
 gentlemen devising a circular, and composing appli- 
 cations for testimonials. 
 
 After the first start of surprise, and telling James 
 he ought to go to school himself, Mrs. Frost was easily 
 persuaded to enter heartily into the project ; but she 
 insisted on the first measure being to consult Mr. 
 Calcott. He was the head of the old sound and 
 respectable party — the chairman of everything, both 
 in county and borough — and had the casting vote 
 amonc: the eight trustees of Kini; Edward's School, 
 who, by old custom, nominated each other from the 
 landholders within the town. She strongly deprecated 
 attempting anything without first ascertaining his 
 views ; and, as the young men had lashed themselves into 
 great ardour, the three walked off at once to lay the 
 proposal before the Squire. 
 
 But Mr. Calcott was not at home. He had set off 
 yesterday, with Miss Calcott and Miss Caroline, for a 
 
3G0 "DYNEVOR TERRACE. 
 
 tour in ^Yales, and would not return for a week or ten 
 days. 
 
 To the imaginations of Lord Fitzjocelyn and Mr. 
 Frost, this was fatal delay. Besides, he would be sure 
 to linger! — He would not come home for a month — 
 nay, six weeks at least ! — What candidates might not 
 start — what pledges might not be given in the mean- 
 time ! 
 
 James, vehement and disappointed, went home to 
 spend the evening on the concoction of what his 
 grandmother approved as ' a very proper letter,' to be 
 desi)atched to meet the Squire at the post-oflSce at 
 Caernarvon, and resigned himself to grumble away the 
 period of his absence, secretly relieved at the postpone- 
 ment of the evil day of the canvass, at which all the 
 Pendragon blood was in a state of revolt. 
 
 But Louis, in his solitude at Ormersfield, had nothing 
 to distract his thoughts, or prevent him from lapsing 
 into one of his most single-eyed fits of impetuosity. 
 He had come to regard James as the sole hope for 
 Northwold school, and ISTorthwold school as the sole 
 hope for James ; and had created an indefinite host of 
 dangerous applicants, only to be forestalled by the most 
 vigorous measures. Evening, night, and morning, did 
 but increase the conviction, till he ordered his horse, 
 and galloped to the Terrace as though the speed of his 
 charger would decide the contest. 
 
 Eloquently and piteously did he protest against 
 James's promise to take no steps until the Squire's 
 opinion should be known. He convinced his cousin, 
 talked over his aunt, and prevailed to have the letter 
 re- written, and sent oflT to the post with the applications 
 for testimonials. 
 
 Then the rough draft of the circular was revised and 
 corrected, till it appeared so admirable to Louis, that he 
 snatched it up, and ran away with it to read it to old ■ 
 Mr. Walby, who was one of the trustees, and very fond 
 of his last year's patient. His promise, good easy man, 
 was pretty sure to be the prize of the first applicant; 
 
BURGO.MASTEHS AND GPtEAT OXE-EYEE,S. 361 
 
 but this did not render it less valuable to his young 
 lordship, who came back all glorious with an eighth 
 part of the victory, and highly delighted with the ex- 
 cellent apothecary's most judicious and gratifying 
 sentiments, — namely, all his own eager rhetoric, to 
 which the good man had cordially given his meek 
 puzzle-headed assent. Thenceforth Mr. Walby was to 
 'think' all Fitzjocelyn's strongest recommendations of 
 his cousin. 
 
 There was no use in holdinsf back now. James was 
 committed ; and, besides, there was a vision looming in 
 the distance of a scholar from a foreign University 
 with less than half a creed. Thenceforth prompt 
 measures were a mere duty to the rising generation ; 
 and Louis di^agged his Coriolanus into the town, to 
 call upon certain substantial ti-adesmen who had voices 
 among the eight. 
 
 Civility was great ; but the portly grocer and gentle- 
 manly bookseller had both learned prudence in many an 
 election ; neither would make any immediate reply — 
 the one because he never did anything but what Mr. 
 Calcott directed, and the other never pledged himself 
 till all the candidates were in the field, and he had im- 
 partially printed all their addresses. 
 
 Richardson, the solicitor, and man-of -business to the 
 Ormersfield estate, appeared so sure a card, that James 
 declared that he was ashamed of the farce of calling 
 on him ; but they obtained no decided reply. Louis 
 was proud that Richardson should display an inde- 
 pendent conscience, and disdained his cousin's sneering 
 comment, that he had forgotten that there were other 
 clients in the county besides the Fitzjocelyns. 
 
 No power could drag Mr. Frost a step further. He 
 would not hear of canvassing that ' very intelligent' 
 Mr. Ramsbotham, of the Factory, who had been chosen 
 at unawares by the trustees before his principles had 
 developed themselves; far less on his nominee, the 
 wealthy butcher, always more demonstratively of the 
 same mind. 
 
3G2 DYNE von TERHACE. 
 
 James declared, first, that he would have nothing to 
 do witli them ; secondly, that he could not answer it 
 to the Earl to let Louis ask a favour of them; thirdly, 
 that he had rather fail than owe his election to them ; 
 fourthly, that it would be most improper usage of Mr. 
 Calcott to curry favour with men who systematically 
 opposed him ; and, fifthly, that they could only vote for 
 him on a misunderstanding of his intentions. 
 
 The eighth trustee was a dead letter, — an old gentle- 
 man lonfj retired from business at his bank to a cottaofe 
 at the Lakes, where he was written to, but without 
 much hope of his taking the trouble even to reply. 
 However, if the choice lay only between James and 
 the representative of the new lights, there could be 
 little reasonable fear. 
 
 Much fretting and fuming was expended on the non- 
 arrival of a letter from Mr. Calcott ; but on the ap- 
 pointed tenth day he came home, and the next morn- 
 ing James was at Ormersfield in an agony of disap- 
 pointment. The Squire had sent him a note, kind in 
 expression, regretting his inability to give his interest 
 to one for whom he had always so much regard, and 
 whose family he so highly respected; but that he had 
 already promised his support to a Mr. Powell, the 
 under-master of a large classical school, whom he 
 thought calculated for the situation, both by experience 
 and acquirements. 
 
 James had been making sure enough of the school to 
 growl at his intended duties ; but he had built so entirely 
 on success, and formed so many projects, that the dis- 
 appointment was extreme; it appeared a cruel injury 
 in so old a friend to have overlooked him. He had been 
 much vexed with his grandmother for regarding the 
 veto as decisive ; and he viewed all his hopes of haj)pi- 
 ness with Isabel as overthrown. 
 
 Louis partook and exaggerated his sentiments. They 
 railed — the one fiercely, the other philosoj^hically — 
 against the Squire's domineering; they proved him 
 narrow and prejudiced — afraid of youth, afraid of 
 
BUUGOM ASTERS AXD GPtEAT ONE-EYERS. 3C3 
 
 salutary reform, bent on prolonging the dull old system, 
 and on bringing in a mere iLslier. They recollected a 
 mauvais sujet from the said classical school; argued 
 that it never turned out good scholars, nor good men ; 
 and that they should be conferring the greatest benefit 
 on Northwold burghei'S yet unborn, by recalling the 
 old Squire to a better mind, or by bringing in James 
 Frost in sjiite of him. 
 
 Not without hopes of the fii-st, though, as James 
 told him, no one would have nourished them save him- 
 self, Louis set forth for Little Xorthwold, with the 
 same valour which had made him the champion of the 
 jSIarksedge poacher. He found the old gentleman 
 good-natured and sympathizing, for he liked the wami 
 friendship of 'the two boys,' and had not the most 
 remote idea of their disputing his verdict. 
 
 * It is very unlucky that I was from home,' he said. 
 * I am afraid the disappointment w^ill be the greater 
 from its having gone so far.' 
 
 ' May I ask whether you are absolutely pledged to 
 Mr. PoweU?' 
 
 ' Why, yes. I may say so. Considering all things, it is 
 best as it is. I should have been unwilling to vex my 
 good old friend, Mrs. Frost; and yet,' smiling benig- 
 nantly on his fretted auditor, ' I have to look out for 
 the school fii\st of all, you know.' 
 
 ' Perhaps I shall not allow that Mr. Powell is the 
 best look-out for the school, sir.' 
 
 ' Eh ? The best under the circumstances. Such a 
 place as this wants experience and discipline more than 
 scholarship. Powell is the very man, and has been 
 waiting for it long ; and young Frost could do much 
 better for himself, if he will only have patience.' 
 
 ' Then his age is all that is against him ? The only 
 inferiority to Mr. Powell V 
 
 'Hml yes, I may say so. Inferior? No, he is 
 superior enough ; it is a mere joke to compare them ; 
 but this is not a post for one of yom* young unmarried 
 men.' 
 
304 DYXEYOU TERllACE. 
 
 * If that be all,' cried Louis, Hhe objection would 
 be soon removed. It may be an inducement to hear 
 that you would be making two people happy instead 
 of one.' 
 
 * Now, don't tell me so !' almost angrily exclaimed 
 the Squire. * Jem Frost marry ! He has no business 
 to think of it these ten years ! He ought to be mind- 
 ing his grandmother and sister. To marry on that 
 school would be serving poor Mrs. Frost exactly as his 
 poor absurd father did before him, and she is too old 
 to have all that over again. I thought he was of a 
 different sort of stamp,' 
 
 ' My aunt gives her full consent.' 
 
 'I've no doubt of it ! just like her ! But he ought 
 to be ashamed to ask her, at her age, when she should 
 have every comfort he could give her. Pray, who is 
 the lady ? There was some nonsense afloat about Miss 
 Conway ; but I never believed him so foolish !' 
 
 * It is perfectly true, but I must beg you not to men- 
 tion it ; I ought not to have been betrayed into mention- 
 ing it.' 
 
 * You need not caution me. It is not news I should 
 be forward to spread. What does your father say to it ?' 
 
 ' The engagement took place since he left England.' 
 *I should think so !' Then pausing, he added, with 
 condescending good- nature, ' Well, Fitzjocelyn, I seem 
 to you a terrible old flint-stone, but I can t help that. 
 There are considerations besides true love, you know; 
 and for these young people, they can't have ])ined out 
 their hearts yet, as, by your ovm showing, they have 
 not been engaged three months. If it were Sydney 
 himself, I should tell him that love is all the better for 
 keeping — if it is good for anything ; and where there 
 is such a disparity, it ought, above all, to be tested by 
 waiting. So tell Master Jem, with my best wishes, to 
 take care of his grandmother. I shall think myself doing 
 him a kindness in keeping him out of the school, if it 
 is to hinder him from marrying at four-and-twenty, 
 and a girl brought up as she has been !' 
 
BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS. 305 
 
 ' And, Mr. Calcott,' said Louis, rising, ' you will 
 excuse my viewing my cousin's engagement as an addi- 
 tional motive for doing my utmost to promote his suc- 
 cess in obtaining a situation, for which I consider him 
 as eminently htted. Good morning, sir.' 
 
 ' Good morning, my Lord.' 
 
 Lord Fitzjocelyn de2:)arted so grave, so courteous, so 
 dignified, so resolute, so comically like his father, that 
 the old Squire threw himself back in his chair and 
 laughed heartily. The magnificent challenge of war 
 to the knife, was no more to him than the adj uration 
 he had heard last year in the justice- room ; and he no 
 more expected these two lads to make any efiectual 
 opposition than he did to see them repeal the game- 
 laws. 
 
 The Yiscount meanwhile rode off thoroughly roused 
 to indignation. The good sense of sixty naturally fell 
 hard and cold on the ears of twenty-two, and it was one 
 of the moments when counsel inflamed instead of check- 
 ing him. iSTever angry on his own account, he could be 
 exceedingly wrathful for others ; and the unlucky word, 
 disparity, drove him especially wild. In mere charity, 
 he thought it right to withhold this insult to the Pen- 
 dragons from his cousin's ears ; but this very reserve 
 seemed to bind him to resent it in James's stead ; and 
 he was far more blindly impetuous than if, as usual, he 
 had seen James so vehement that he was obliged to 
 try to curb and restrain him. 
 
 He would not hear of giving in! When the Rams- 
 botham candidate appeared, and James scrupled to 
 divide the contrary interest, Louis laid the whole blame 
 of the split upon Mr. Calcott ; while, as to poor Mr. 
 Powell, no words were compassionate enough for his 
 dull, slouching, ungentlemanly air ; and he was pro- 
 nounced to be an old writing-master, fit for nothing but 
 to mend pens. 
 
 But Mr. Walby's was still their sole promise. The 
 grocer followed the Squire ; the bookseller was liberal, 
 and had invited the Kamsbotham candidate to dinner. 
 
3G6 DYNEYOR TERRACE. 
 
 On this alarming symptom, Fitzjocelyn fell upon 
 Richardson, and talked, and talked, and talked, till the 
 solicitor conld either bear it no longer, or feared for 
 the Ormersfield agency; and his vote was carried off 
 as a captive. 
 
 This triumph alarmed Mrs. Frost and James, who 
 knew how scrupulously the Earl abstained from seek- 
 ing anything like a favour at Northwold ; and they 
 tried to impress this on Louis, but he was exalted far 
 above even understanding the remonstrance. It was 
 all their disinterestedness ; he had no notion of that 
 guarded pride which would incur no obligation. No, 
 no ; if Jem would be beholden to no one, he would 
 accept all as personal kindness to himself Expect a 
 return ! he returned good-will — of course he would do 
 any one a kindness. Claims, involving himself ! he 
 would take care of that ; and off he went laughing. 
 
 He came in the next day, announcing a still grander 
 and more formidable encounter. He had met Mr. 
 Ivamsbotham himself, and secured his promise that, in 
 case he failed in carrying his own man, he and the 
 butcher would support Mr. Frost. 
 
 The fact was, that Lord Fitzjocelyn's advocacy of 
 the poacher, his free address, his sympathy for ' the 
 masses,' andhis careless words, had inspired expectations 
 of his liberal views; Mr. Kamsbotham was not sorry 
 to establish a claim, and was likewise gratified by the 
 frank engaging manners, which increased the pleasure 
 of being solicited by a nobleman — a distinction of which 
 he thought more than did all the opposite party. 
 
 To put James beyond the perils of the casting vote 
 was next the point. Without divulging his tactics, 
 Louis flew off one morning by the train, made a sudden 
 descent on the recluse banker at Ambleside, barba- 
 rously used his gift of the ceaseless tongue, till the poor 
 old man was nearly distracted, touched his wife's 
 tender heart with good old Mrs. Frost and the two 
 lovers, and made her promise to bring him comfortably 
 and quietly down to stay at Ormersfield and give his 
 vote. 
 
BURGOMASTERS AND GREAT ONE-EYERS. 367 
 
 And SO, when the election finally came on, Mr. 
 Calcott found himself left with only his faithful grocer 
 to support his j^'^'otege. Three votes were given at 
 once for the Reverend James Roland Frost Dynevor ; 
 the bookseller followed as soon as he saw how the land 
 lay; and Ramsbotharn and Co. swelled the majority 
 as soon as they saw that their friend had no chance. 
 
 Poor Mr. Powell went home to his drudgery with 
 his wrinkles deeper than ever; and his wife sighed as 
 she resigned her last hope of sending her son to the 
 University. 
 
 Mr. Calcott had, for the first time in his life, been 
 over-ridden by an unscrupulous nse of his neighbour's 
 rank ; and of the youthfulness that inspired hopes of 
 fixing a claim on an untried, inexperienced man. 
 
 The old Squire was severely hurt and mortified ; but 
 he was very magnanimous — generously wished James 
 joy, and congratulated Mrs, Frost with all his heart. 
 He was less cordial with Louis; but the worst he said 
 of him was, that he was but a lad, his father was out 
 of the way, and he wished he might not find that he 
 had got himself into a scrape. He could not think 
 why a man of old Ormersfield's age should go figuring 
 round Cape Horn, instead of staying to keep his own 
 son in order. 
 
 Sydney was absent ; but the rest of the family and 
 their friends were less forbearing than the person chiefly 
 concerned. They talked furiously, and made a strong 
 exertion of forgiveness in order not to cut Fitzjocelvn. 
 Sir Gilbert Brewster vowed that it would serve him 
 right to be turned out of the troop, and that he must 
 keep a sharp look out lest he should sow disaflTection 
 among the Yeomanry. Making friends with Rams- 
 botham! never taking out a gun! The country was 
 going to the dogs when such as he was to be a peer! 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
LONDON 
 
 SAVILL AND EDWARDS, PRINTERS, CHAKDOS STREET, 
 
 COVENT GARDEN. 
 
 P 
 
UNIVERSrr> OF ILLINOIS-URBANA 
 
 3 0112 056952044 
 
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