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 AUNT DOROTHY'S TALE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 A NOVEL. 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES. 
 VOL. L 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 RICHARD BENTLEY, NEW BURLINGTON STREET. 
 1837.
 
 C3SSa- 
 
 v.l 
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 E que* begli occhi, che i cor fanno smalti, 
 Possenti a rischiai-ar abisso e notti, 
 E torre 1' alme a corpi, e darle altrui ; ^ 
 Col dir pien d' intelletti dolci e alti ; 
 Col sospir soavemente rotti : 
 Da questi magi trasformato fui. 
 
 Petrarca. 
 
 The first time I saw Geraldine Morton was 
 in the Tribune at Florence. She was finishing 
 a beautiful copy of the Holy Family by Cor- 
 reggio. 
 
 I had only arrived in the place the preceding 
 day ; and though I am a passionate admirer 
 of pictures, I looked at none of the glorious 
 works of art contained in the Tribune till I 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 had attentively examined that most lovely girl. 
 She appeared to be about fifteen, thoijgh I 
 found she was a year younger. She was beau- 
 tiful, yet it was not her beauty which so pow- 
 erfully attracted and riveted my attention. I 
 wish I could describe her, but that I feel is im- 
 possible. If I were to say, her features were 
 Grecian, her hair black and glossy, her skin 
 white and clear, and her light airy figure 
 moulded to perfection, it would describe no- 
 thing, for all these might belong to others in 
 a higher degree ; but never would there be 
 found that lovehness, that purity of expres- 
 sion, that grace and originality which cha- 
 racterised every movement, and gave a pe- 
 culiar charm and force to every word she ut- 
 tered. You constantly beheld the working of a 
 mind, a genius, far above the common level — 
 a character which must command admiration 
 and inspire love in all. 
 
 I had heard that my old friend Lady Julia 
 Morton was at Florence, with her only
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 3 
 
 daughter and heiress, Geraldine, who was 
 celebrated all over Italy as an extraordi- 
 nary girl. I traced a slight, a very slight 
 resemblance to her mother, — yet from the first 
 moment I was convinced that the lovely being 
 before me was Geraldine ; and I also strongly 
 suspected that the tall handsome man who stood 
 near, and watched her every movement with 
 the admiration of a lover, could be no other 
 than the Earl of Castleford, a young man of 
 great wealth and high character, who had at- 
 tained the age of two-and-twenty without fall- 
 ing a victim to the designing mammas and 
 artful daughters of London and Paris. But 
 report said he had fallen passionately in 
 love with this young girl, and that he had 
 promised, if he might be allowed to superin- 
 tend her education, he would wait four years 
 — till she was eighteen — for the chance of 
 her then consenting to become his wife. 
 
 I watched the masterly touches of her pencil, 
 and the striking eflPects which she so instanta- 
 
 B 2
 
 4 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 neously produced ; but what impressed me 
 most with the perfection of her genius was 
 the apparently careless manner in which she 
 proceeded. She constantly looked from her 
 work to the people who crowded the room, and, 
 with the same serious air which usually charac- 
 terised her, to the young man, which caused 
 him to laugh heartily. Her large dark eyes 
 had that peculiar deep, earnest expression, but 
 steady slow movement, which may often be 
 seen in persons of very superior minds; — an 
 eye which observes and takes in everything at 
 a single glance, but never appears surprised 
 or startled, though expressing with speaking 
 accuracy the various feelings of admiration, 
 command, or contempt. 
 
 For a moment her attention was arrested by 
 my figure. And here I am afraid I must bestow 
 a few words in describing that most interesting 
 object, myself: — 
 
 I am not very young or very beautiful, 
 and moreover, belong to that class of beings
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 5 
 
 who are distinguished from their more fa- 
 voured companions by a precise stiffness of 
 figure, and, as our enemies are sometimes pleas- 
 ed to say, a somewhat ill-natured tartness of 
 feature : — in other and more charitable words, 
 I am an old maid. My nose is large and red, 
 cheeks thin and pale ; my little grey eyes, 
 being weak, are encased in spectacles, and 
 surmounted by a green shade, which con- 
 ceals the only tolerable feature I possess, — a 
 high open forehead. I am not very particular 
 in my dress, studying comfort more than fash- 
 ion. At that time every one was a victim to 
 mameluke sleeves and very large bonnets : 
 I had attempted to wear both, and for some 
 days I patiently bore the trial of having 
 my breakfast and gown spoiled, the repose 
 of my tea disturbed, and my fried bacon, 
 egg, and mustard, interfered with by frequent 
 dips and immersions of these said mameluke 
 monsters. Then, not being accustomed to 
 allow so much space for my little head, the
 
 6 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 gigantic bonnet was eternally knocking against 
 every door and window I approached, twisting 
 round with its unwieldy self my spectacles, shade, 
 and wig. I could endure it no longer, but re- 
 sumed the small poke bonnet resembling an in- 
 verted coalscuttle, which I had always worn. 
 The mamelukes I left off in consequence of 
 being nearly burnt to death by one of them 
 catching fire; and had now just resumed my 
 former dress, with small straight sleeves, 
 scarcely fuller at the shoulder than at the 
 wrist, and replaced the hoop -like petticoats 
 with my old plain scanty skirts. 
 
 When the beautiful girl beheld me, I saw 
 the instantaneous twinkle of fun in the corner 
 of her eye ; but she instantly began paint- 
 ing as quietly as before. However, the mo- 
 mentary glance she had bestowed on me 
 was not lost ; for on my going round to 
 look at the picture, I found she had popped 
 me into one of the unfinished folds of the 
 Madonna's drapery. There I was drawn to
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 7 
 
 the life ! My straight gawky figure, sharp 
 chin, flaxen wig ; the large trumpet I have 
 forgotten to mention, which I wore, slung 
 over my right shoulder, with a green rib- 
 bon, (for I was grievously afflicted with deaf- 
 ness ;) the old-fashioned parasol, which serv- 
 ed also for a walking-stick ; — nothing was 
 omitted. I thought I should have gone into 
 fits with laughing at the extremely ridiculous 
 figure. 
 
 Lord Castleford saw I had discovered the 
 likeness, — he touched her ar^i. She looked 
 round at me, and was proceeding gravely to 
 efface the drawing, when I suddenly arrested 
 her. I begged she would not destroy so perfect 
 a resemblance, and as she had canvassed me 
 for a joke, (I have a dreadful propensity for 
 punning,) she must let my representative re- 
 main. The colour mounted to her naturally 
 pale cheek, with regret at having done a thing 
 which was perhaps not very good-natured; 
 but hard must have been that heart, and sour
 
 8 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 indeed that temper, which could remain un- 
 moved at the beautiful humility and grace 
 with which she apologised for having carica- 
 tured me. 
 
 I tried by looks and words to express my 
 forgiveness, and at the same time said, how 
 delighted I was to become acquainted with the 
 daughter of my former friend. Lady Julia 
 Morton. 
 
 She gazed full and earnestly in my face, 
 while every feature brightened with joy, and, to 
 my unspeakable surprise, threw her arms round 
 my neck and said, '' You are — I am sure you 
 are — Dorothy Harcourt, my dearest Matilda^s 
 aunt. I have heard you described so often, 
 I only wonder at my own stupidity in not find- 
 ing it out at first sight. The very pattern of 
 an old maid, and the best, the most loveable 
 of mortals ! Dear Aunt Dorothy, I am en- 
 chanted to see you !" 
 
 All this was said with an air of affectionate 
 sincerity which touched me to the heart ; tears
 
 ~ GERALDIiNE MORTON. 9 
 
 of joy ran down my old cheeks at being thus 
 so pleasingly recognised by the daughter of 
 her who had been the dearest friend and com- 
 panion of my youth. Though in after life the 
 world had separated us, I never ceased at a 
 distance to trace her brilliant career of fashion 
 and success with gratified yet anxious mind, or 
 to offer up fervent prayers for her happiness. 
 
 What I had heard of Geraldine had excited 
 many an old-maidish apprehension. It was said 
 that her temper was unmanageable and violent ; 
 that her wild fancies could not be controlled 
 even by her mother, or her lover Lord Castle- 
 ford ; that the immense admiration she excited, 
 and the public life she led, must sooner or later 
 completely turn her head. I was now so de- 
 lighted with her, and my foolish vanity so 
 highly gratified by her affectionate reception, 
 that I determined to think such a fascinating 
 creature must be faultless. 
 
 My nephew Vere Harcourt had accompanied 
 me to the Gallery, but not to the Tribune. I 
 
 B 5
 
 10 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 had left him lost in admiration of something or 
 other, I forget what. He was the only son of 
 my eldest brother, Sir Charles Harcourt, and, 
 without being accused of partiality, I may 
 say he was the handsomest, and in every way 
 the most attractive, young man I ever saw. 
 There was a shade of melancholy in his large 
 black eyes ; a slight insouciance in his man- 
 ner, which was totally devoid of affectation, 
 but was caused by an extremely refined and 
 sensitive, perhaps rather fastidious, mind. 
 Few things were perfect enough to excite his 
 admiration or love ; but when once — such was 
 his ardent and enthusiastic nature — his feel- 
 ings were excited, the whole energies of a 
 warm and powerful mind became engaged and 
 concentrated. 
 
 We had been travelling together for two 
 years, — and a most happy time it was ; for, 
 though he was reckoned conceited and fine in 
 general society, his affectionate heart caused 
 him to bear with patient love the laughs and
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 11 
 
 sneers he incurred from travelling about 
 the world with an old quiz like his aunt 
 Dorothy. His only fault was a too great confi- 
 dence in his own powers of mind, (which, it 
 must be owned, were great,) and this occasioned 
 him to be actuated by prejudice. He had 
 very peculiar ideas about women: though an 
 enthusiastic admirer of genius and talent, he 
 had an aversion to women who were reckon- 
 ed clever, and he could never disguise his 
 feelings of contempt and disgust at the least 
 appearance of display. He was an excellent 
 parti, and of course much sought after 
 wherever we went ; but hitherto he had 
 never fallen in love, and I was in great 
 hopes he would have returned to England 
 with an untroubled heart ; for the darling 
 wish and object of my life was that he 
 should marry his cousin, the beautiful and 
 gentle Matilda, the daughter of my youngest 
 brother. I never mentioned it, though I con- 
 trived often to draw comparisons between the
 
 12 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 girls we saw, and the modest unassuming 
 Matilda ; and he always agreed with me that 
 he never saw any one more perfect than his 
 cousin. 
 
 After I had talked for some time with 
 Geraldine and Lord Castleford, Vere entered 
 the room ; and, as I made them known to each 
 other, I watched with no small anxiety the 
 effect which I expected Geraldine's surpassing 
 loveliness would produce. But even here his 
 deep-rooted prejudice rendered him proof 
 against her extraordinary attractions, and I 
 was almost provoked at the coldness with 
 which he looked first at Geraldine and then at 
 her painting. 
 
 I asked him rather sharply if he had 
 ever seen so perfect a copy. He looked care- 
 fully for some time with the critical eyie of 
 an artist ; then turning to me with extreme 
 nonchalance bordering on contempt, he said 
 the faces were certainly superior, but the 
 drapery not so good as in one he had seen 
 by Muschi.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 13 
 
 I felt quite angry, and turned anxiously 
 to Geraldine to see how she would receive 
 such unusual coldness. There was no ap- 
 pearance of anger on her fine brow : she ex- 
 amined with some curiosity the first man who 
 had ever appeared insensible to her charms ; 
 then hastily seizing a large brush, she effaced 
 all the drapery with an air of indifference equal 
 to his own, and asked if he could point out the 
 other defects. Again he examined accurately, 
 and at last said the nose of the Madonna was 
 a little bit too long, and one of the child's 
 fingers rather out of drawing. 
 
 I was now quite furious, and appealed to 
 Lord Castleford, and to an eminent artist close 
 by, who was copying the St. John. Both 
 declared Geraldine's copy perfect. In the 
 mean time, I saw she was intently examining 
 the two pictures. " You are right, Mr. Har- 
 court," she at last said in a calm tone of voice ; 
 but the blood mounted visibly to her cheek 
 and brow, and I almost fancied a tear glistened
 
 14 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 under her long dark eyelashes ; and, taking up 
 the palette knife, she impetuously stabbed the 
 picture in a dozen places. 
 
 I saw Lord Castleford was deeply grieved : 
 he walked away to the other side of the room, 
 and stood looking at a picture with his hands 
 behind his back. I could not see his face, but 
 a sort of convulsive movement showed how 
 great was his agitation. 
 
 My nephew Vere, the cause of so much 
 mischief, stood for a moment in silent surprise; 
 then, making a cold contemptuous bow, left 
 
 the room. The artist G resumed his 
 
 painting, and I alone was left near Geraldine. 
 She sat contemplating the sad vestiges of a 
 picture destroyed by her ungovernable passion. 
 Her small trembling hand still held the fatal 
 palette knife ; all colour had forsaken* her 
 cheeks, and left her face white as that of the 
 lovely Medicean Venus which stood near, and 
 whose marble features much resembled her 
 own.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 15 
 
 After a few minutes Lord Castleford came 
 up. She suddenly sprang down from her 
 high chair, and, bursting into tears, took his 
 hand in both her own, and looked up in his 
 face with an expression of such contrition, 
 such irresistible sweetness, that no mortal 
 could withstand it. Then, in the most pleading 
 tones of her silvery voice, she earnestly asked 
 forgiveness for her behaviour, confessed she 
 was wrong — always wrong, and promised to 
 paint another picture for him which should 
 have no faults, quite unlike herself. 
 
 Lord Castleford shook his head as if in de- 
 spair at his own weakness, while a tear trembled 
 in his large blue eye ; and he pressed one of 
 the small delicate hands to his lips. I shook 
 my wise old head, and began to fear it was 
 utterly impossible that a girl who, at her age, 
 (fourteen,) so completely ruled everybody that 
 surrounded her, should not be spoiled. Yet even 
 I felt that, had her faults been ten times greater, 
 I should forgive them all : how much more
 
 16 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 then must her guide and instructor, who was 
 at the same time a young and ardent lover, be 
 influenced by her endearing fascinations ! In- 
 deed she was in every respect different from 
 any one I had ever seen. Tears and passion, 
 those unbecoming things, usually spoil beauty ; 
 they make the nose red and swelled — the 
 cheeks shining and blue — the eyes blood-shot 
 and heavy. But with her it was quite other- 
 wise : the crystal drops gave increased lustre 
 to her speaking eyes, and her whole coun- 
 tenance seemed to derive additional interest 
 from the emotion which had ruffled for a 
 moment its serenity.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 A beautiful green land. 
 In light not clear nor dark ; a mellow day 
 Shed its soft influence over hill and dale, 
 And tenderest foliage down a hundred dells 
 Spread over paths that wound beside the bed 
 Of tinkling streamlets. Thickly scattered, stood 
 Elm-shaded cottages, and wreathed smoke 
 In bright blue curls went up, and o'er the vales, 
 That lay toward the waves, slept peacefully. 
 
 Alford. 
 
 During the remainder of my stay at Florence 
 I was a constant visitor in the house of Lady 
 Julia Morton, and was daily more enchanted 
 and interested by her daughter. My anxiety 
 respecting her earthly career, and, above all, my 
 trembling apprehensions concerning her eternal 
 happiness, proportionably increased. 
 
 I may be called prejudiced; but I have
 
 18 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 seen and studied mankind with great attention 
 in all parts of the world, and I never saw a 
 very superior mind conduce to the happiness of 
 its possessor, or of those around, unless it was 
 strongly imbued with religion. It is hard for 
 those who cannot but be aware they have ta- 
 lents and gifts far above the common level — 
 who always lead and never follow — who must 
 necessarily possess an unbounded influence over 
 their immediate circle of friends and acquaint- 
 ance, — it is very hard for such to be influenced 
 by the common rules of society. Accustomed 
 not only to view everything in their own ori- 
 ginal manner, and by the light of their own glow- 
 ing imaginations, but to cause others to do the 
 same, they depend confidently on their own 
 powerful judgment ; which might be a very 
 good guide, did it not meet with a formidable 
 opponent in passion, that power which often 
 sways with an almost resistless force minds of an 
 elevated and imaginative cast : so that though 
 reason may struggle and judgment disapprove,
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 19 
 
 yet where religion does not lend her assisting 
 hand, passion is ever sure in the end to be 
 victorious. 
 
 Thus, though Geraldine's feelings were good 
 — though every action proceeded from the kind- 
 est motives — though her attachment to those 
 she loved was strong, yet wanting a sense of 
 religion, that only safeguard in treading the 
 thorny and intricate paths of life, no wonder 
 that I trembled for her. Her affection for her 
 mother — a woman of great natural talent — bor- 
 dered on idolatry ; and she loved Lord Castle- 
 ford with a sister's tenderness. As yet she 
 showed no indications of love, and I sometimes 
 feared he was not the man calculated to call 
 forth all the tender feelings of her enthusiastic 
 nature. Yere Harcourt would have been much 
 more likely to kindle such an ardent flame in 
 her breast ; but, fortunately for my dear niece 
 Matilda, they seemed to have taken the greatest 
 possible aversion to each other : she only tole- 
 rated him because he was my nephew, and, as
 
 ^0 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 she suspected, the lover of her dear friend Ma- 
 tilda ; and he only went to Lady Julia's parties 
 because they were by far the pleasantest, and 
 because at them he met all the cleverest people 
 in Florence. 
 
 He soon proceeded with me to Sorente, where 
 I intended to pass the winter for the benefit of 
 my health. The Mortons and Lord Castleford 
 made a long tour in Germany and Russia, and 
 for three years I heard very little about them. 
 My nephew, after travelling with me for two 
 years, returned to England, from whence his 
 letters were most satisfactory, containing no- 
 thing but praises of Matilda; and I evidently 
 perceived he was in love, till I was repeatedly 
 obliged to wipe the tears of joy that dimmed 
 my spectacles before I could finish his epistles. 
 
 Alas ! what blind, short-sighted mortals are 
 we all ! We never cease to be enchanted at the 
 promised success of any of our schemes, though 
 we are constantly doomed to witness that what 
 is planned by man does not always answer the
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 2\ 
 
 end intended. No disappointment will prevent 
 us from wishing, hoping, and planning all sorts 
 of things with an undue anxiety. We should 
 remember that all our undertakings will pro- 
 sper if it be for the best, well knowing that 
 they are in the hands of One infinitely wiser 
 than ourselves. 
 
 The letters I received from Matilda were 
 equally satisfactory, though they contained no 
 praises of Vere ; she scarcely mentioned his 
 name. This was a good sign. 
 
 A few months before my return to England, 
 I heard that the Mortons were again residing 
 in their beautiful old family-mansion, Morton 
 
 Hall, in shire. It was only twenty 
 
 miles from my brother's place, Lyme Vicarage, 
 where Matilda lived ; and since their return 
 she had been almost constantly staying at Mor- 
 ton Hall, Geraldine having resumed her youth- 
 ful friendship for her with tenfold ardour. 
 This surprised the timid girl beyond measure, 
 for nothing could be more different than
 
 22 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 their true characters ; but perhaps it was the 
 cause of their extreme attachment : each be- 
 held and admired in the other those qualities in 
 which she felt herself most deficient. This also 
 delighted me, for I thought Matilda's religious 
 feelings and strong common sense would check 
 the wild ebullitions of Geraldine's enthusiasm. 
 
 Full of pleasing anticipations, I returned to 
 my native land after an absence of nearly five 
 years. I was so delighted at seeing the dear 
 old cliffs of Dover, that I wondered how I 
 could have remained so long in foreign lands. 
 Everything enchanted me : I could scarcely re- 
 frain from kissing the waiter and chamber- 
 maid at the Ship Hotel, and continually asked 
 them some question, and held out my trumpet 
 that I might have the unspeakable pleasure of 
 hearing the dear language, to the comm'on ac- 
 cents of which at least I had been so long a 
 stranger. Even the small sitting-room was 
 charming, with its narrow wooden chimney- 
 piece, devoid of any ornament, save the little
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 23 
 
 round mirror which, with cruelly unbecoming 
 reflection, diminished my already diminutive 
 sleeves and bonnet, but appeared to increase the 
 size of my unfortunate nose, dreadfully red- 
 dened by sea-sickness and sea-breezes : but it 
 was England, and I forgave all, as well as the 
 little, hard, slippery, black sofa, on which I tried 
 in vain to repose my weary bones. Then, the 
 small bedroom, filled with a dear, heavy, four- 
 posted bed, and no space left for the innumerable 
 trunks I had brought home, full of foolish 
 finery, for my friends and nieces. At dinner, 
 too, the large silver dish, containing two small 
 mutton-chops, triumphantly placed on the 
 table, and its ponderous cover removed, by the 
 fat innkeeper, the waiter following with a small 
 dish of watery-looking potatoes, and a blue boat 
 of still more watery-looking butter. All small, 
 but the price they cost; everything dear to 
 me in every sense of the word : I was enchant- 
 ed with all. 
 
 I passed through London. It was the end of
 
 24 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 October ; most of the beloved houses and build- 
 ings were veiled from my doting eyes by a 
 thick yellow fog : yet it was forgiven. I hur- 
 ried on to shire, intending first to visit 
 
 my favourite brother at Lyme Vicarage. 
 
 Oh, with what joy I approached Lyme Vi- 
 carage, that peaceful abode ! At the first sight 
 of the old church-tower I nearly jumped out of 
 the carriage-window. My maid, Sukey Sprat, 
 — who, though old, is not made like myself, in- 
 asmuch as she is very fat, and married to the 
 old village clerk, — fully participated in my de- 
 light. We were expected, and many a well- 
 known face was thrust out of the latticed win- 
 dows as we rattled through the village. Adam 
 Sprat, the clerk, was at the little garden-gate 
 of his own neat white cottage, covered with 
 roses and jessamines : it looked prettiei- than 
 ever. I made the postboy stop and open the 
 carriage-door, and I had the pleasure of seeing 
 Sukey clasped in the fond arms of a husband 
 she fondly loved, and restored to a comfortable
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 25 
 
 home she had quitted out of affection for me. 
 On I drove ; passed the picturesque old church, 
 and turned in at a gate which was held open by 
 my old friend the gardener, who was there sur- 
 rounded by his numerous children and grand- 
 children, all waiting to greet the " auld leddy."" 
 I passed on through the shrubbery, which had 
 grown thicker than ever, to where a sudden turn 
 in the gravel road discovered the old red-brick 
 vicarage-house, with its irregular front and 
 gable ends, and porch covered with a large, — 
 dear me ! I forget the name, — in full bloom. 
 
 I discovered figures standing on the steps : 
 my eyes were soon so full of tears, I could see 
 nothing. The carriage stopped : I felt it was 
 the old vicar himself who assisted me out ; — 
 that the fond kiss, and tears of joy that min- 
 gled with my own, were a brother's ; and that 
 the tall girl who then clasped me in her arms 
 and sobbed upon my breast, was my own dar- 
 ling Matilda. 
 
 I tried to wipe my spectacles, that I might 
 
 VOT, I. c
 
 ^6 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 behold those beloved objects. I looked and 
 laughed and cried, but could not speak a word, 
 though I wanted to ask a thousand questions. 
 
 My little niece and god-daughter, named after 
 me, Dorothy, whom I had left a baby, and whose 
 mother had died at her birth, came bounding 
 down the old oak staircase at one end of the 
 hall, fancying she too ought to be delighted to 
 see the Aunt Dorothy, whose anticipated re- 
 turn had been the only subject talked of for 
 some time. When she saw me, she stopped 
 suddenly and blushed, and was going to run 
 away again ; but I caught her up and covered 
 her pretty little face with kisses. 
 
 When my eyes were satisfied with beholding 
 the dear living objects, I proceeded to regale 
 them by examining the inanimate ones, to see 
 if each familiar article was in its usual place. 
 Yes! all wore the same character of .tranquil 
 comfort and simplicity which stamped it as the 
 abode of goodness and benevolence — as the
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 27 
 
 dwelling of minds naturally refined, though 
 old-fashioned and not highly cultivated. 
 
 In the old China vases which were ranged 
 along the large, broad, oaken window-seat, 
 myrtles and verbenias were growing. My bro- 
 ther's same old low-crowned, broad-brimmed 
 hat, looped up on one side after the fashion of 
 old churchmen, w^as, with his rough great-coat 
 and red-worsted handkerchief, suspended on a 
 peg near the door : under them, on the mat, were 
 his galoches and Matilda's pattens. The carved 
 ebony chairs were ranged in the same order as 
 formerly, with their high backs against the 
 wainscoted walls. On the one near the door 
 was Matilda's blue shawl, the very same she 
 wore before I went abroad ; as also her straw 
 garden-bonnet, whose shape and character were 
 most ominously like her aunt Dorothy's. 
 
 I went through a door on the right, and down 
 two steps — those two tiresome steps at which I 
 had so often stumbled and grumbled, and found 
 
 c2
 
 28 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 myself in the drawing-room, or rather the par- 
 lour, which, like the hall, was wainscoted, and 
 could scarcely boast of more furniture : but it 
 had two large bay-windows to the south, in deep 
 recesses, looking out on the flower-garden, 
 and another to the west, which showed the vil- 
 lage steeple and the distant hills, catching the 
 sunbeams all day long, and lending to the 
 room an air of brilliant cheerfulness. In the 
 middle of the room was the well-rubbed 
 dinner-table, its polished surface rivalling in 
 brightness the dark oak floor which was seen 
 at the sides of the room where the Turkey 
 carpet did not extend. The latter was grown 
 more faded and threadbare, particularly that 
 part next the fireplace where fat old Thomas 
 daily stood behind his master's chair. A large 
 sofa and some armed chairs, worked by my 
 grandmother, and intended to represent- ^sop's 
 Fables, but now become more unintelligible 
 than ever from time and use, stood with an 
 old India cabinet and various other articles of
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 29 
 
 furniture dispersed about the room. These 
 had been expelled from Thorn wood Park by 
 my eldest brother, to make room for modern 
 comforts and conveniences when he married, 
 A smaller table, covered with a green cloth, 
 was placed in one of the deep windows, and on 
 it lay Matilda's work-box and the little shifts 
 and petticoats she was always making for the 
 poor, her Bible, and a volume of Cowper's 
 Poems ; and a child's high chair was placed 
 at this table, opposite an inkstand and an open 
 copy-book, in which 1 saw the wise apophthegm 
 of " Every situation has its inconveniences,'' 
 written in gigantic letters many times over, 
 
 " Why do you make the child write so large, 
 dear Matilda ? every one of these letters is as 
 large as her little finger." These were the 
 first vvords I uttered, which displayed one of 
 my sad propensities— that of finding fault : it 
 shows that often when we have much to say, 
 we begin with some trifling subject, about 
 which we do not in the least care. Then,
 
 30 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 without waiting for an answer, I turned to the 
 book-stand and asked what she had been read- 
 ing, whether she got on with her Italian, and 
 a thousand other questions. I then went up 
 to the large high fireplace, and was delighted 
 at discovering the very same peacock's feathers 
 I had placed amongst the grotesque figures of 
 the old carved chimney-piece. On each side 
 were likenesses in water-colours of my brother 
 and his late wife, a copied oil-painting of my 
 father, and a drawing in crayons of myself — not 
 as I am now, but as I was when I was young, 
 and had a fair clear complexion, a white though 
 rather turned-up nose, a profusion of light 
 brown hair, and a round plump figure ! Alas, 
 alas ! — well, never mind, I am not going to 
 write my own history, though it is a strange 
 one, — so I don't want to look interesting. 
 
 But to return to the thread of my narration. 
 
 At last I gave Matilda an opportunity of an- 
 
 wering some of my many questions ; and after 
 
 talking of several important matters that would
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 31 
 
 not interest the reader, I began to touch upon 
 a tender subject, and, I found, a painful one — 
 that of Vere Harcourt. I was a long time 
 before I could extract the exact state of the 
 case from the blushing and weeping girl. She 
 thought he loved her; and this avowal was 
 wonderful from a person of such diffidence as 
 to be unable to comprehend how any one could 
 love or care for her. But he had never pro- 
 posed, and she thought his father did not quite 
 approve; for as the son's kindness to her in- 
 creased, that of the old gentleman diminished. 
 " Nonsense," said I ; *' I will soon settle that 
 point." But she proceeded to tell me that 
 under this impression her father would not ask 
 him to Lyme, nor did he wish her to remain 
 at Morton Hall, where Vere was now expected. 
 She had left it yesterday and he was to arrive 
 to-day, much to Geraldine's annoyance, who 
 had only invited him to meet her friend. 
 
 " You shall return this very minute," I said, 
 starting up and ringing the bell ; but Matilda
 
 32 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 implored me to hear her patiently, and made 
 me again resume my seat on the sofa. 
 
 Old Thomas came puffing and blowing to 
 answer a bell which, I believe, was very seldom 
 pulled. I asked if the horses were gone, and 
 bade them wait. 
 
 Well, then she proceeded to say she was 
 very glad not to be there, for a large party 
 was expected, and they were to have plays and 
 tableaux and all sorts of things, in which Ge- 
 raldine was most anxious she should take a 
 part. She felt this would be impossible, and 
 she would appear to such disadvantage, she 
 was sure Vere would quite take a dislike to 
 her. Then she expatiated most enthusiastically 
 on Geraldine, and said it was impossible any 
 one could see her without falling in love ; and 
 though she knew Vere possessed the safeguard 
 of a very strong prejudice, "yet if they could 
 really love each other, I would not mind," she 
 continued, while her eyes brightened with ge- 
 nerous feelings ; " but I do not think Geral-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 33 
 
 dine will ever be in love, and she begins to 
 think so herself. She has promised me faithfully 
 to confess if she ever feels a liking for Vere, 
 and this promise is my only comfort. No, no, 
 this is wrong ; I have many other consolations, 
 for I am some use to my dear father and to 
 little Dorothy, who became very ill while I was 
 away. I ought not to have remained so long ; 
 but I thought I was useful to Geraldine, which 
 made me neglect these far more important 
 duties of instructing little Dorothy and as- 
 sisting papa in the village." 
 
 " Never mind little Dorothy and the village,'' 
 I said ; "you are always too particular; let them 
 take care of themselves — what right have they 
 to interfere with your happiness through life ? 
 The tiresome village has already come sadly in 
 the way of your accomplishments : whenever I 
 wanted to teach yo^ to paint or sing, there was 
 always, * Old Molly is ill, and I must read to 
 her;' or, ' Jack has broke his leg, and I must 
 go and send him some rag.' 
 
 c 5
 
 34 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 " Stop, dearest aunt, and do not find fault 
 with the very things you yourself taught me to 
 practise as of greater importance than any ac- 
 complishment. Do not now deprive me of my 
 greatest consolation, — the conviction, that in 
 spite of my ignorance of everything which can 
 charm others or embellish myself, even if I 
 should be disappointed in the dearest wish of 
 my heart, I shall be as happy as dear Geraldine, 
 with her ten thousand a year, and her twice ten 
 thousand charms." 
 
 " You are right, darling," I said, kissing her 
 beautiful forehead — for, though I latterly re- 
 gretted I had not cultivated those qualities 
 which would attract and rivet Vere's love, yet, 
 upon the whole, I was satisfied : whether the 
 reader will agree with me in opinion, I know 
 not, — we shall see at the end of my tale. 
 
 I could not prevail on her to return to Mor- 
 ton Hall, but I determined, in spite of the 
 detestable fine party, to go there myself, and 
 brave all the sneers and rude treatment I
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 35 
 
 should be sure to meet with from all but Lady 
 Julia and her daughter. I resolved to witness 
 the effect produced on Vere, and ascertain the 
 state of his heart. 
 
 Having made this determination, my fidgetty 
 mind was more tranquil. I went to visit my 
 brother in his library — that dear little room, 
 where I had passed so many pleasant gossiping 
 dark hours before dinner ; for he was a clever 
 man, though he often did not agree in opinion 
 with me, which furnished subjects for many a 
 delightful argument. I now came fully pre- 
 pared to exert my talents in that accomplish- 
 ment ; so I drew a chair close to the fire, put 
 my feet on the fender, seized upon a pamphlet 
 on "poor laws" to defend my fair face from 
 the blaze, and having grumbled and scolded for 
 the want of a screen and footstool, and vented 
 ray anger in giving the fire a violent poke, I 
 then opened the battery of my eloquence upon 
 my brother. 
 
 But I was not successful. He said, he
 
 36 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 never would consent to Matilda's marrying, 
 unless with the full approbation of Vere's 
 father: nor would he again let her go to 
 Thornwood Park. " Besides,'* he continued, 
 " Vere has never proposed ; therefore, why has 
 the foolish girl fallen in love ?" 
 
 This and many other things he said, which 
 provoked me, and made me so fidgetty, that the 
 poor-law pamphlet fell into the fire, and I 
 twice tipped up the fender, and rattled down 
 the poker and tongs ; for I get so eager on a 
 subject which really interests me, that my 
 agitation is sure to do some mischief. I then 
 took up a thin book on village-gardening ; but 
 my brother gave me an old newspaper, wisely 
 fearing it might share the fate of the poor laws. 
 We resumed our dispute, and, as in most vi^ent 
 arguments, we succeeded in confirming • each 
 other more forcibly in our original opinions ; 
 yet, unlike many disputants, we ended without 
 quarrelling, or incurring any misfortunes heavier 
 than the fall of my spectacles under the grate,
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 37 
 
 and the breaking of one of their crystals ; which 
 gave me an opportunity of indulging in various 
 puns about grate and ingrate, and crystal 
 drops, &c. But I have promised to inflict no 
 such punishment upon the reader, and though 
 my violence broke my spectacles, my love of 
 display shall not induce me to break my word. 
 It was now time to dress for dinner. I will 
 not describe my unspeakable delight at again 
 dining in that loved old room ; or the delicious 
 tea made by dear Matilda in the old silver tea- 
 pot ; or the pleasure of again going to sleep 
 once more in my own darling old bed-room ; or 
 the enchantment of, when awaking next morn- 
 ing, finding myself in it, and seeing a bright au- 
 tumnal sun shining on the well-known church 
 steeple. Then the breakfast, that truly English 
 and most comfortable meal. It was a fine vvarm 
 day ; the windows were open, and the mignio- 
 nette beneath them, and the jessamine which 
 twined itself around their old stone framework, 
 smelt so sweet, that nature seemed exulting.
 
 38 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Dorothy came clambering and jumping through 
 one of them with a fresh nosegay from her own 
 garden for old aunty. Matilda appeared still 
 paler than the night before, and I saw from her 
 looks she had been crying, and must have pass- 
 ed a sleepless night, — yet she grew, still more 
 pale when Thomas brought in the letters. 
 There was one for her, which the instant she 
 saw, made the blood rush to her cheeks, and 
 herself fly to the window. 
 
 It was Vere's writing, and the first letter she 
 had ever received from him. She had turned 
 the cock of the urn, and the boiling water 
 went streaming on over the tea-pot. Fortu- 
 nately I saw and remedied the evil before it had 
 attracted my brother's attention. She trembled 
 so, that she could not break the seal, or answer 
 her father's question, of whom had she heard 
 from. I sent her up for my ginger-bottle, that 
 she might have the comfort of reading her letter 
 in peace. 
 
 It was long before she again made her ap-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 39 
 
 pearance, and of course my ginger-bottle was 
 forgotten, and I was doomed to suffer from a 
 violent pain in m}?^ stomach ; but this I should 
 not have minded, if I thought it could have 
 cured her heart-ache ; — and I had the delight 
 of seeing her eyes beaming with pleasure as she 
 laid the open letter on my brother's plate and 
 desired him to read it. " What now ? where 
 was the hurry ? could it not keep cool till he 
 had finished his breakfast ? and then he had 
 not got his spectacles." 
 
 The spectacles, however, were found, and the 
 important letter read before toast or egg was 
 tasted. It was a proposal, and written on the 
 preceding evening from Morton Hall, full of 
 expressions of the most ardent love, and ex- 
 treme disappointment at not seeing her there. 
 He only awaited an answer to come and throw 
 himself at her feet. 
 
 Matilda anxiously watched her father's coun- 
 tenance as he stood with his back to the fire 
 reading the letter. He shook his head at the
 
 40 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 end, and she turned deadly pale. He walked 
 up and down the room in great agitation, 
 and then said he would write at once to his 
 brother, and ascertain his wishes respecting 
 his son ; but in the mean time Matilda must 
 accept him only conditionally. " But I may 
 write to him, dearest papa.^" she eagerly in- 
 quired. He consented, and I was to be the 
 bearer of the letter, — a long, very long one it 
 was, but I did not see its contents ; so putting 
 it carefully in my bag, I started for Morton 
 Hall, promising to return soon. 
 
 Old Sukey insisted on accompanying me, in 
 spite of all my entreaties that she should re- 
 main with her loving husband ; and, to confess 
 the honest truth, I would rather not have taken 
 her, for, though I could bear the sneers and 
 rebuffs of a fine party up-stairs with tolerable 
 philosophy, I did not like to subject her to the 
 much more awful dispensation of being laughed 
 at by the fine servants below. One of my 
 weaknesses was an extreme fondness for my
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 41 
 
 servants ; and it was out of regard to her ap- 
 pearance that I latterly followed the fashions 
 a little more in my dresses, which I had made 
 to lap over considerably and hang loose upon 
 my thin figure, in order that they might after- 
 wards fit her fat one. But, with all this care 
 and contrivance, I knew she was not a fit object 
 to appear at such a house ; and I doubly re- 
 gretted conveying her off from the clerk's pretty 
 cottage, and the society of her old friends.
 
 42 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Few — none — find what they love, or could have loved, 
 Though accident, blind contact, and the strong 
 Necessity of loving, have removed 
 Antipathies — but only to return 
 Envenom'd with irrevocable wrong. 
 
 Byron. 
 
 I HAD not been at Morton Hall since the 
 death of Geraldine"*s father, Mr. Morton. He 
 was descended from an old Scotch family, and 
 inherited this property from his mother, Lady 
 Geraldine Morton, daughter and heiress -of the 
 last Earl of Leondine. He was a handsome 
 and pleasing man, and when just of age mar- 
 ried my dear friend Lady Julia Mapleton. 
 She wa^ then a beautiful girl of eighteen, full
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 43 
 
 of talent and wit ; but, alas ! in those days of 
 female subordination, talent in women was by 
 many considered a dangerous quality. The 
 natural energy of a powerful mind, instead of 
 being directed to intellectual pursuits, was, 
 by her well-meaning, but stiff and stately mo- 
 ther, chained down to tapestry and needle- 
 work. The consequence of this plan was, that 
 when Lady Julia was emancipated from ma- 
 ternal restraint, she launched forth into all the 
 follies and extravagances of the age, embra- 
 cing the first and readiest method of obtaining 
 that fame which she felt was her due : — for, 
 that superior minds have more thirst for ap- 
 plause than their less gifted companions, is a 
 truth which no one who accurately observes 
 human nature under all its various appearances 
 will deny. 
 
 Six years after their marriage, the death of 
 her husband checked for a time her worldly 
 career. Then the growing endearments of her 
 lovely child so engaged her mind, that vanity
 
 44 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 seemed forgotten ; but the fatal spark was not 
 extinguished — it was only transferred; and she 
 now courted the world's smile more for her 
 daughter than she had ever done for herself. 
 The whole object of her life was that Geraldine 
 should not only be perfect, but that her per- 
 fection should be seen and appreciated by all, 
 and that she should shine a radiant constella- 
 tion in the sphere of fashion. 
 
 I was delighted to find myself once more 
 driving by the quaint old Gothic lodges, 
 and entering an English park — that glorious 
 hereditary paradise which can be found in 
 such perfection nowhere else. I have a great 
 veneration for old family places ; they are al- 
 most the only vestiges of feudal magnificence 
 and aristocratic splendour which modern inno- 
 vations and the sad spirit of equality and re- 
 form have spared. Morton Park wiis one of 
 those specimens of ancient grandeur, the most 
 beautiful I have ever seen ; — the road some-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 45 
 
 times winding near the broad river, or rather 
 lake — sometimes through the dark forest of 
 gigantic oaks, beneath whose spreading shade 
 the deer bounded with proud step among the 
 fern, and which oaks were said to have been 
 planted by the founder of the family, Hugh de 
 Morton, who had come from Normandy with 
 William the Conqueror. After ascending a 
 long steep hill, an avenue of magnificent beeches 
 two miles in length lead to the house. Through 
 this was obtained a view of the north front of 
 that splendid structure, with its grey stone 
 centre, its large porch, its castellated battle- 
 ments, and its four high octagon towers, built 
 in the time of Henry the Eighth. On ap- 
 proaching nearer, a glimpse was caught of 
 the two wings, with their gable ends, round 
 towers, and picturesque dome-like pinnacles. 
 These, with the wide projecting windows of 
 the ground-floor, and the smaller oriel ones 
 of the higher stories, beautifully ornamented,
 
 46 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 were added in the reign of Elizabeth, and 
 formed a highly-decorated specimen of that 
 golden era of domestic architecture. 
 
 The principal rooms looked to the south, and 
 commanded, perhaps, one of the finest views in 
 England. There the garden with its numerous 
 wide terraces sloped far down to the broad, 
 rushing river, whose glittering and majestic 
 course may be traced through the hanging 
 woods of the park, till, like a silver serpent, it 
 glided gently away among the blue distant 
 hills. A long library with windows of different 
 sizes and forms extended almost the entire 
 length of the western front ; and from that de- 
 lightful room was a prospect equal in loveliness, 
 though not in extent, to the former. A beau- 
 tiful old church stood on a mound at a little 
 distance, and amidst a grove of dark yew and 
 tender cyprees trees rose its square- Norman 
 tower, partly covered with ivy, and the large 
 eastern window of painted glass, with all its 
 flowery ornaments and rich tracery.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 47 
 
 As I walked through the echoing porch of 
 the mansion and entered the magnificent hall, 
 I felt as if I was approaching the dangerous 
 abode of Morgante Armida, or some fatally 
 enchanted palace; for here the antique so- 
 lemnity which still characterises the exterior 
 was decorated by modern refinements and lux- 
 uries, so that an air of almost Oriental mag- 
 nificence and splendour pervaded this exquisite 
 place. Here exotics of rare beauty grew in 
 apparently wild profusion in splendid vases 
 of antique marble, amid statues of rare excel- 
 lence. But it would be vain to attempt its 
 description : it seemed as if every country had 
 contributed what it afforded either beautiful 
 in nature or excellent in the arts to make this 
 spot a perfect paradise. Immense riches had 
 been lavished upon it, under the directing hand 
 and highly-cultivated taste of painter and poet. 
 I almost trembled, aware of the fascinating 
 influence of such an abode, filled with every- 
 thing to delight the eye and intoxicate the
 
 48 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 senses ; for how in such a place can we then 
 remember " that this is not our rest ?" How 
 can we look to Heaven for superior happiness, 
 when all below ministers unceasingly to our 
 ever-varied, our uninterrupted enjoyment ? 
 
 And dear Geraldine, and her still beautiful 
 mother, how enchanted thej were to see me ! 
 It was a totally unexpected pleasure ; for they 
 knew not of my arrival in England. 
 
 I found them in the drawing-room with a 
 number of people, all with bonnets and cloaks 
 on, just starting for their morning rides and 
 drives. Geraldine was now seventeen, and cer- 
 tainly more lovely than when I saw her at Flo- 
 rence ; but she had still the same wild, enthu- 
 siastic, almost childish, manners. After kissing 
 me repeatedly, she danced round the room with 
 joy, flourishing her shawl in the air, and sing- 
 ing some Italian lines, composed alV improviso 
 on my arrival. Some of the dowagers and 
 dandies stared, and the well-trained young la- 
 dies smiled, at this astonishing outburst of feel-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 49 
 
 ing or want of knowledge of the world in the 
 young heiress, who was of course the subject 
 of their unceasing envy. Looks of surprise 
 and extreme curiosity were directed towards 
 me, which plainly said, " What can make the 
 proud, refined Lady Julia so civil to that old 
 quiz ?" Lord Castleford, too, seemed delighted 
 at my arrival, and, with that refined tact which 
 he possessed in a high degree, said to a stately 
 dowager, in whose hard features I recognised 
 the widow of Lady Julia's brother, the Count- 
 ess of Mapleton, in a tone loud enough for all 
 to hear, " how delighted he was Miss Har- 
 court had come ! she was just the person they 
 wanted to direct their tableaux and theatricals, 
 and he was sure that now everything would 
 succeed." 
 
 These few words had a magical effect. The 
 spy-glasses were put down, and only a few 
 whispers exchanged between some, which might 
 be, "I suppose she is a blue or an authoress 
 whom they have picked up abroad." 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 50 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 When Geraldine had finished her dance and 
 song, she ran up to a pretty fair-haired girl, 
 who I learned was one of her cousins, Lady 
 Jane Mapleton, and told her to superintend the 
 party to Fernwood, as she wanted to remain at 
 home to take care of me and show me the gar- 
 den. I remembered of old that remonstrances 
 were utterly useless with any fancy of Geral- 
 dine's, so I quickly submitted to spoil the 
 driving party ; and though I received many 
 angry looks from the young men, I was com- 
 forted by observing that the ladies did not 
 seem to be much grieved. But I do not mean 
 to reveal the numerous plots and schemes I 
 witnessed during my visit to Morton, among 
 mothers highly accomplished in the art of secur- 
 ing good husbands for their daughters, and 
 heiresses for their sons ; and though Geraldine 
 and Lord Castleford were known to be engaged, 
 this did not prevent the wise heads, who were 
 peeply experienced in the changes and chances 
 of this life, from making sundry well-directed at-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 51 
 
 tacks upon both ; sometimes by sowing the seeds 
 
 of discord between them, and sometimes 
 
 But what am I doing ! I promised not to be 
 censorious, and I have every reason to preserve 
 the determination. There is enough of that 
 sort of thing to be witnessed in every London 
 party, and most country houses, to sicken one 
 heartily, without finding it in books. 
 
 Well, I was dragged off to the dear girl's 
 own sitting-room, which was exactly the sort of 
 place I should have expected to find the studio 
 of a wild genius. We had some difficulty to 
 steer clear of several cases, large unfinished pic- 
 tures, numberless prints and sketches, heaps of 
 music, books and dictionaries of every language 
 under the sun, manuscripts, dresses, costumes, 
 and shawls, masks and every kind of disguise 
 for the tableaux. It was with some labour we 
 succeeded in clearing two chairs, Geraldine 
 apologising all the time for her. extreme unti- 
 diness ; but nobody, except mamma and Castle- 
 ford, was ever admitted into the room — not 
 
 d2 
 
 vmttf 
 
 mX'E^lVf OF ILLfNOrr
 
 52 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 even a housemaid, lest the pictures and groups 
 might be disturbed. 
 
 " Now then," she said, looking archly into 
 my face, " confess the honest truth : you did 
 not come here to see us ; — nay, don't stop my 
 mouth, — you know I am a sibyl ; I know all 
 your thoughts, and moreover this very minute 
 you are in a fidget because you have not seen 
 Vere, and you have got a letter in that ugly 
 green bag of yours for him. Ah, ah ! 1 am 
 right, and I know who it is from, and it 's in 
 answer to one I am sure he wrote last night, for 
 he was more disagreeable even than he was at 
 Florence. This disappointment at not finding 
 Matilda made him so mad and uncivil, I had 
 the greatest difficulty in keeping my temper, 
 which I only did from love for her. Well, it 's 
 no use your looking about and settling your 
 shade, for he''s out. Now I will tell you why 
 you came here : I am sure there is some hitch 
 about Matilda's papa, and you have not brought 
 a regular acceptation in your bag, and you are
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. oS 
 
 afraid of all sorts of things, and, amongst others, 
 that he may fall in love with me, or I with 
 him. Ah ! I see, by the corner of your mouth, 
 I am right : though you are very fond of me, 
 you would rather have him marry Matilda. 
 Well, now, there you shall stay and see how we 
 all behave ; and delighted I am that any cause 
 brought you here, though I should have been 
 more pleased if you had come for us alone. 
 Now let us go and walk in the garden. I saw 
 Mr. Vere this morning, from my bed-room 
 window, pacing up and down by the waterfall ; 
 so perhaps we may find him ; and I will run 
 away if we do, and leave you to enjoy his 
 hateful society. I was so glad not to go out 
 with those people ! I don''t like one of them, 
 except my cousin Jane, and I want to finish 
 this" — and she pointed to a beautiful picture, 
 a group of her own composition, from the 
 history of Masaniello, which enchanted me, so 
 that I sat admiring it in silence nearly half an 
 hour, forgetful of Vere, of the letter, and of
 
 54 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 everything. I then looked at Geraldine, and 
 held up in amazement that diminutive hand 
 which could work such wonders. 
 
 " Has Vere seen this P'' I asked. 
 
 " Oh no ; but there are some I have fin- 
 ished, in the saloon, quite as good. I don't 
 think, however, he has seen anything. But 
 won't you show me the defects in this .'' for 
 you are a better judge than Carnavari, and I 
 have nobody here to advise me." 
 
 Though I am extremely difficult to please in 
 painting, I could find no faults in this clever 
 design, — and my enthusiasm for the art was 
 such that I made her take me to the saloon, 
 and there I remained above an hour admiring 
 and criticising the beautiful pictures she had 
 painted. Some few were copies, but the rest 
 were of her own composition. It was then 
 too late to go out, and fortunately Geraldine 
 thought she heard Vere in the music-room. 
 There I proceeded, and found him singing 
 a delightful Italian air, and looking dread-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 55 
 
 fully melancholy. I gave him the letter at 
 once, and had the pleasure of watching his dear 
 speaking features as he perused it. Their ex- 
 pression told me at once what were its contents. 
 The conviction that he now possessed the 
 heart of Matilda gave him such intense joy, 
 that he would not allow himself to believe any 
 difficulty could exist. Though he was annoyed 
 at not being allowed to go to Lyme till his 
 father's consent was obtained to the marriage, 
 he went up to his room to write to his father 
 and Matilda, and came down to dinner in high 
 spirits. 
 
 I was so pleased at seeing him look happy, 
 that I did not care for any of the annoyances 
 and contretems occasioned by my getting into a 
 wrong place at dinner : the look of despair direct- 
 ed by piy dandy neighbour, a young Viscount 
 Langdale, of large expectations, and preten- 
 sions, towards a pretty Mrs. Gordon at the other 
 end of the table; then, in return, her sympathis- 
 ing glance of commiseration, as she cast up her
 
 56 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 dark-blue eyes and lowered her arched eyebrows. 
 He punished me, however, for not being Mrs. 
 Gordon, by making some common-place remarks, 
 in such a loud tone of voice, through my ear 
 trumpet, that my poor nerves did not recover 
 the shock for hours. Fortunately my other 
 neighbour was not an elder brother, though an * 
 elderly gentleman. 
 
 Mr. Mordaunt, a former admirer or lover of 
 Lady Julia's, was one of those men, or problems 
 of the world, the reason of whose success in 
 society is so difficult to solve ; who, without 
 being either agreeable, or handsome, or rich, 
 are sought for by all dinner-givers and courted 
 by everybody. Three or four of such mira- 
 culous beings are well known in London ; and 
 after due study and consideration the only pro- 
 bable solution of the mystery is, that one is 
 considered an excellent judge of wine, another 
 of horses, and another of beauty. Mr. Mor- 
 daunt belonged to the last class, and gained his 
 livelihood in fashiononable society by making
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 57 
 
 compliments. He contrived, most skilfully, on 
 all occasions, to say things which from any other 
 person would be deemed impertinent or com- 
 mon-place ; but with his soft, insinuating tone, 
 accompanied by an air of such perfect devotion 
 and sincerity, they were tolerated, and even re- 
 ceived with pleasure. It must have been a 
 severe trial to his equanimity, had he consider- 
 ed me of sufficient importance to require a com- 
 pliment. I did not hear the sound of his voice 
 during dinner, for he scarcely spoke except in 
 the exercise of his profession. 
 
 Methinks I see the reader smile and say, " I 
 have not made out why you yourself are tole- 
 rated at Morton ;" and, I confess, this is a 
 more difficult problem : but it may, perhaps, 
 receive a contrary interpretation, viz. that I 
 never made compliments, and always spoke the 
 plain unvarnished truth. But I cannot say 
 that this profession has been as successful in 
 the world as Mr. Mordaunt''s ; yet I am sa- 
 tisfied : for though honesty has caused me to 
 
 d5
 
 58 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 lose many acquaintances, it has also gained 
 many real friends ; — like a furnace it melts, and 
 purifies whatever is exposed to it ; the false 
 and worldly shrink at its approach, and leave 
 the gold-like genuine metals to stand the trial 
 of its searching test. 
 
 We had music in the evening. Lady Jane 
 Mapleton sang some pretty airs to the guitar ; 
 and then Geraldine, whose magnificent voice 
 had been instructed in'all parts of the Continent 
 by the best masters of the day, gave us some 
 Italian airs in such perfection, that even Vere 
 acknowledged he had never heard anything 
 more beautiful. He was asked to sing — not 
 by Geraldine. No, he could not alone, but 
 would try a duet. Books were turned over ; 
 Lady Jane pointed out several, meaning to sing 
 them with him : No, they would not do, he 
 said, pushing over some other books. 
 
 I longed to hear him sing with Geraldine, but 
 prudence made me refrain from asking him, for 
 I well know how fatal is the meeting between
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 59 
 
 two perfect voices. But dear Lord Castleford 
 was too confident in Geraldine, and moreover 
 too simple-minded, to entertain any jealous fears. 
 He came up and asked her to try a duet with 
 Mr. Vere. After much embarrassment and re- 
 luctance on both sides, they began searching 
 among the heaps of music. " There is Amor 
 possente Nome in Armida, do sing it," said Lady 
 Jane. They consented, and never was I more 
 delighted with anything before ; the parts 
 seemed to have been written expressly for their 
 two voices, and the voices themselves created 
 for each other. Both could not help feeling 
 how harmonious — how splendid was the effect 
 produced; yet, at the end, they separated like 
 two school children who have finished their 
 lesson, without saying a word. Vere went to 
 the fire, and Geraldine to her harp. 
 
 I had not heard her play, for she had no 
 harp in Italy, and it was with surprise and de- 
 light I now heard that instrument in all its 
 glory. I am a passionate admirer of the harp ;
 
 60 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 though many have a strong prejudice against it, 
 which is not surprising, for we very seldom 
 hear it well played : few have fingers so form- 
 ed as to produce a good tone, and still fewer 
 have taste or genius sufficient to make use of 
 the endless varieties of effects it is capable of 
 producing. Bochsa is certainly very clever, but 
 he is too violent — his lovely instrument seems 
 formed for a lady's hand. Whoever has had 
 the good fortune of hearing the beautiful Lady 
 
 M n or Geraldine play upon it, must feel 
 
 their prejudices give way before their delicious 
 performances, and become admirers of the harp. 
 Vere always said he could not bear it, but I 
 saw his mind was rapidly changing : the magic 
 touch of Geraldine's tiny fingers was overcom- 
 ing his prejudice. He sat, long after the air 
 was finished, with his eyes fixed on Geraldine, 
 (I verily believe for the first time,) in utter for- 
 getfulness of all around. Lady Mapleton, who 
 was sitting near, watched quietly his express- 
 ive countenance; she appeared satisfied, and
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 61 
 
 afraid of moving a finger, lest she should dis- 
 turb his thoughts. 
 
 Lady Mapleton was a clever worldly woman, 
 and had successfully married her three eldest 
 daughters. There now remained none to dis- 
 pose of but Lady Jane, who had been out 
 some years, and was pretty and agreeable, — 
 everybody was surprised that she was not 
 married. Report said, she had liked Lord 
 Castleford ; and she certainly had flirted more 
 with him than anybody else, four years ago, 
 during the London season, previous to his en- 
 gagement with Geraldine. Perhaps she loved 
 him still ; and this might have been the reason 
 of her refusing several very good offers, much to 
 her mother'^s annoyance. It was probably this 
 idea which made Lady Mapleton try to revive 
 the old flirtation : if so, her confidence in her 
 powers of manoeuvring must have been very 
 great, for never was there apparently so hope- 
 less a scheme. But I do not wonder at her 
 wishing to secure such apartie for her daughter.
 
 62 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 There was to me something peculiarly inter- 
 esting in Lord Castleford, for never was a man 
 devoted — so entirely engrossed, by the object of 
 his love. He had forsaken his former life and 
 companions, to give up the whole of his time to 
 a young girl full of caprice and self-will, and 
 for the four years of his engagement had pa- 
 tiently submitted to her wildest fancies. Yet, 
 like her too, he had been spoiled by a doting 
 mother, and by a world that worshipped his 
 unbounded wealth. He had been extremely 
 wild, and before he became acquainted with 
 Geraldine, his temper was violent and his 
 manners rough ; but love altered the whole 
 tenor of his existence, and it had refined and 
 purified passions which were naturally strong. 
 In endeavouring to educate her, he had been 
 obliged to re-educate himself ; and in order to 
 check the wild outbreaks of her temper, he 
 had learned to subdue his own ; and to keep 
 pace with the gigantic strides of her genius he 
 had studied deeply, — for in ancient and mo-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 63 
 
 dern languages, and general literature, he was 
 her sole instructor. How, when I looked at 
 his tall commanding figure, and his handsome 
 proud features, usually subdued when he gazed 
 on Geraldine into an expression of humility 
 and love, I trembled lest anything should dash 
 the cup of happiness for which he had so long 
 — so patiently laboured, from his lips ! 
 
 I must do Geraldine the justice to say, she 
 fully appreciated his love and devotion, and 
 often told him, with tears in her eyes, how 
 provoked and angry with herself she was for 
 not returning it with more warmth, while she 
 lamented how utterly unworthy she was of his 
 disinterested affection. But he was quite 
 satisfied with the degree of love he had in- 
 spired. As yet, every thought, however 
 strange and wild, which entered into her mind, 
 was immediately communicated to him. Their 
 confidence in each other was unbounded, and 
 this confidence alone inspired me with the 
 hope that they might form each other's hap-
 
 64 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 piness ; for, in two minds neither guided nor 
 regulated by religion, the check imposed by 
 mutual confidence is the only chance of pass- 
 ing with any degree of safety through the 
 dangers and temptations of this world.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 65 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 What is this talk? replies a friend, 
 And where will this diy moral end ? 
 The truth of what you here lay down, 
 By some example should be shown. 
 With all my heart — for once read on. 
 
 Prior. 
 
 The next morning was occupied in arrang- 
 ing theatricals and tableaux, and devising 
 means to supply the sad vacancy Matilda's 
 absence caused. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon very good-naturedly offered to 
 take her part in the French plays, and said 
 she would also endeavour to represent the 
 character of Modesty in the beautiful picture 
 of Leonardo da Vinci.
 
 66 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Geraldine, however, would not agree to the 
 latter proposal: she said Matilda was really 
 the only person in the world capable of giving 
 it its peculiar expression. Lady Mapleton 
 was certain Jane would do it beautifully, — 
 whilst Mr. Mordaunt discovered that both the 
 candidates had all the requisite features and 
 expression. Lord Langdale thought it so like 
 Mrs. Gordon, that Leonardo da Vinci must 
 have painted it on purpose for her : — but Lord 
 Castleford asked my opinion, and I confessed I 
 did not think it would suit either of the ladies 
 in question : certainly it would be a sad pity 
 for Geraldine not to represent Vanity, for her 
 features were so uncommonly like the original ; 
 but I thought she had such wonderful power 
 of assuming any expression, she might act 
 Modesty ; and though Mrs. Gordon's featVires 
 were not like, she certainly had in a slight 
 degree the expression of Vanity. 
 
 Geraldine had painted a very good copy of 
 that celebrated picture, and as it was in her
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 67 
 
 sitting-room, or, as she called it, the chaos of 
 arts and sciences, thither she, with Lord Castle- 
 ford and myself, retired to debate this import- 
 ant affair in private. 
 
 We had no small difficulty in finding it 
 behind a number of other paintings ; and 
 having removed it from its obscurity, we plac- 
 ed it near the window. And then the like- 
 ness of Geraldine to the figure of Vanity be- 
 came strikingly apparent : we all gazed at it 
 in silence for some moments. 
 
 " I know what you are both thinking of," 
 said Geraldine, " and why you look so grave : 
 you are both sorry I am so like that picture. 
 Do you think me very vain, dear Aunt Doro- 
 thy .P" and she put her arms round my neck 
 and looked inquiringly in my face. 
 
 " Not yet," said I, " the flower has not 
 yet bloomed ; but I fear the seeds are deeply 
 rooted in this beautiful little head. However, 
 if you remain the same, Geraldine, after two or 
 three London seasons, I shall have some hope
 
 68 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 that sense and good feeling will eventually pre- 
 vail and crush the noxious weeds/' 
 
 " Why is London so much worse than 
 other places? I have passed through safely 
 the dissipations and temptations of Rome, of 
 Paris, and Vienna. Why am I to fall a victim 
 to London ?" 
 
 " Because, dearest Geraldine, you cannot 
 fail to be the fashion ; and, believe me, that is 
 a hard trial in a place where society is on so 
 extensive a scale, where thousands are striving 
 to acquire the popularity which can only be 
 enjoyed by a few, and where multitudes wor- 
 ship the idols of their own creation with a 
 devotion far greater and an obsequiousness far 
 more humble than that which is accorded to 
 any tyrant in the Eastern world. The plea- 
 sure of being idolised or ruling over the most 
 enlightened society in the universe is the more 
 intoxicating from the conviction that it is not 
 accorded merely to rank, beauty, or riches, 
 and because it is, in fact, impos^ble exactly to
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 69 
 
 discover the quality most required for its at- 
 tain men t. Believe me, you will be placed on a 
 dizzy and dangerous height, from whence few 
 indeed can look down on their fellow-mortals 
 with undazzled eyes and maintain their early 
 purity of mind. For that the idols of London 
 society have been once as good, as they are 
 captivating, is a truth of which I am con- 
 vinced . it appreciates far too justly to adore 
 anything, however lovely, which is essentially 
 bad;' 
 
 " But, dear Aunt Dorothy, tell me why 
 does it set up these imagined idols of 
 fashion ?" 
 
 " Because for many years there has been no 
 acting court — no natural leader of fashion and 
 ton ; and there is a strong innate love of 
 governing and being governed in every mind — 
 a propensity to exercise one passion in setting 
 up a ruler, and another in blindly obeying his 
 dictates. This is one reason why all usurped 
 authority is more powerful, and its arbitrary
 
 70 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 mandates more implicitly obeyed, than those 
 of any hereditary monarch ; because the mul- 
 titude behold in the usurper a creation of its 
 own, and pride and self are gratified in admir- 
 ing the object whose merits each fancies he had 
 been the first to discover and appreciate. In 
 these days of insubordination and innovation, 
 many people imagine all rule will soon be at 
 an end ; but they are mistaken : our desire of 
 being governed is not at an end ; it is only 
 that we are losing all local attachments — all 
 respect for the abodes, the religion, the laws, 
 and the choice of our ancestors. The love of 
 country, the reverence for our fathers and 
 their institutions, have all been thrown into 
 shade by what we consider the brilliant light 
 of reason ; and so dazzled are we by this new 
 name, that we can no longer see any good in 
 customs and institutions which are not of our 
 own creation, and the ruling demon of the 
 present day — pride, or veneration of our own 
 superior knowledge and new light, has entirely
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 71 
 
 banished the deference we used to manifest 
 towards the wisdom and experience of those who 
 lived before us. A king that we have not 
 chosen, we think can be of no use ; but we shall 
 not be the less willing or ready to bow down 
 to any authority or idol we see fit to set up." 
 
 " I believe you are right,*" said Lord Castle- 
 ford ; " though I now perceive your politics 
 differ from mine — you have betrayed yourself 
 to be a tory.'' 
 
 " Oh ! don't let us have a political discus- 
 sion," said Geraldine, " but let us return to 
 London life. Is one short season to do all 
 this ? am I to be a spoilt idol in that time ?" 
 
 " Oh no ! as long as you are unmarried, you 
 will be safe in London ; but Lord Castleford 
 will not thank me for saying so : he probably 
 imagines, if you would consent to marry him 
 before the season begins, he would conduct 
 you safely through all its dangers." 
 
 He smiled, and taking Geraldine's hand, 
 said with a look of romantic devotion which
 
 1(2 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 enchanted me, — " No hand but this shall ever 
 be mine — without it there can be no happiness 
 fbr me in this world : yet, if Geraldine should 
 ever prefer another, she has promised sacredly 
 to tell me ; and for her happiness I will 
 willingly relinquish my own. Remember, it 
 was a solemn promise, dearest girl : never let 
 your affection or gratitude actuate you to 
 sacrifice yourself for me." 
 
 " Do not look so grave — you are always 
 apprehending an evil which can never happen : 
 you know I never have, and I am quite cer- 
 tain never shall see the being I would pre- 
 fer to my own dear Castleford. Now do try 
 and look happy again, or I shall think you 
 are not satisfied with your own little Geraldine. 
 There ! you may kiss my hand, like a preux 
 chevalier as you are; and now we must not 
 lose any more time. — Come, Aunt Dorothy, 
 they will be all out of patience to hear our 
 decision. Have you both determined I am to 
 relinquish my dear Vanity to Mrs. Gordon,
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 73 
 
 and usurp dear Matilda's Modesty. Well, 
 well, I agree, — now for the play. Was your 
 odious nephew in earnest when he said he 
 would take Constantine, in Constantine et 
 Ulisette ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I can never answer for my nephew — 
 he is sadly capricious and changeable; but if 
 you really want him to act, I will use my in- 
 fluence." 
 
 " Oh no !'' said Geraldine, colouring, — " not 
 I indeed. Now don't be angry with me, 
 Castleford, for abusing the man for whom you 
 seem to have taken such a fancy : you will 
 never succeed in teaching me to like him." 
 
 " I do not wish you particularly to like 
 him," said Lord Castleford, smiling, — " I only 
 want you to be civil ; and I think if he would 
 act that part and sing a duet with you, the 
 piece would certainly be very perfect ; for I 
 have heard he is an excellent actor, and his 
 singing is, even you must acknowledge, ad- 
 mirable." 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 74 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 I was then despatched to negotiate with 
 Vere. I found him in the library sitting at a 
 table leaning over a large folio ; but between 
 its pages and his eye I discovered Matilda's 
 letter. ^ The pleasing effect produced by its 
 first perusal still remained ; he was in excellent 
 humour with himself and everything else, and 
 readily agreed to do anything that was re- 
 quired — even to act Constantine, the part of 
 lover to Geraldine's Ulisette. 
 
 The remainder of that day was employed in 
 learning and rehearsing the parts ; and I being 
 an unemployed, and consequently idle person, 
 was in great requisition. Even Lord Lang- 
 dale condescended to beg I would teach him a 
 little French song which was to be introduced 
 in one of the pieces. He had a fine voice, but 
 a bad ear ; and not knowing his notes, could 
 learn nothing without extreme labour and 
 assistance, which he was unwilling to seek 
 from those whose good opinion he valued, as 
 he did not like to betray this defect ; and so I
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 75 
 
 was condemned to pound away at the notes till 
 I succeeded in driving them into his conceited 
 head. 
 
 His friend Mrs. Gordon had equal labour in 
 learning her part. She was obliged to say 
 every sentence an hundred times over, and 
 even then she forgot the stops and sense, and 
 repeated the words in such an unmeaning way 
 as quite to destroy my patience : yet the poor 
 thing was really so anxious to perform her 
 part well, I endeavoured to assist her in every 
 imaginable way ; for she was not conceited, but 
 fully aware of her stupidity. 
 
 Mrs. Gordon was an apothecary's daughter, 
 who had been married some years to a good- 
 natured silly man of immense wealth. He had 
 a beautiful place near Lyme ; and she was one 
 of that numerous class of common-place young 
 ladies who, when they marry a rich man and 
 are suddenly launched, have sense enough to 
 see their own deficiencies without having power 
 to improve. She was never happy, because 
 
 e2
 
 76 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 she felt a sort of perpetual contrast between 
 the splendour with which she was surrounded, 
 and the poverty of her own ideas ; and as she 
 felt she was so much less than her magnificent 
 house and jewels, she was not satisfied to shine 
 with a borrowed splendour, but longed to be 
 admired for herself alone, and as the readiest 
 means had lately taken to flirting. Her 
 husband, moreover, being a good-natured man, 
 without much more sense than was requisite 
 for hunting, attending public dinners, country 
 sessions, or London clubs, was not displeased 
 at her flirtation with Lord Langdale, and he 
 perfectly agreed in the idea that it was by such 
 means alone popularity in London could be 
 attained. 
 
 The following morning I received three 
 letters. The post came in early — before eight, 
 at Morton Hall, which is, I think, a great 
 blessing, for one's breakfast is so often spoilt 
 by finding a letter on your plate ; and though 
 letters are the greatest comfort in life, yet
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 77 
 
 they generally contain some news which it is 
 pleasanter to read in private. 
 
 The first I received was from Matilda ; and, 
 alas ! it confirmed all I had feared and expect- 
 ed. My eldest brother did not approve of his 
 son''s marriage at present, but would consent 
 to it in a year, if during that time Vere would 
 never see Matilda, or correspond in any man- 
 ner with her. 
 
 This was a heavy trial for her, for I knew 
 her father would make *her adhere most scru- 
 pulously to his eldest brother^s wishes. Both 
 feared Yere's naturally wild and capricious! 
 disposition, and though this year's probation 
 would be an excellent test of his constancy, I 
 did not see the matter at all in the same light. 
 I felt that Vere's happiness entirely depended 
 on his marrying exactly such a person as 
 Matilda, whose quiet good sense and affection- 
 ate heart would counteract in some measure 
 the wild flights of his genius, and I dreaded 
 for his impatient disposition. Another long
 
 78 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 year passed in waiting for a happiness which he 
 could see no reason in postponing — I was sure 
 he would plunge into all sorts of dissipation to 
 kill the time ; and though violently in love at 
 present, I could not help fearing his constancy 
 would not bear the trial of a dreary absence 
 unbroken by even a letter from the object of 
 his love. 
 
 The dear girl's letter was sad indeed, and in 
 some parts the words were nearly obliterated by 
 her tears. She fully apprehended all the evils 
 I have mentioned — she felt that Vere was lost 
 to her for ever ; yet there was not a word of 
 reproach towards her father and uncle. She 
 was resolved to abandon all hopes of every 
 earthly happiness, and scrupulously to obey 
 their wishes. It ended by conjuring me not 
 to grieve, for she trusted for support and com- 
 fort from a source which had never yet failed. 
 She would send no message to Vere, for he 
 already knew how deeply she loved him. In- 
 deed, so deep was her attachment, that even
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 79 
 
 were he to cease to love her, he need not fear 
 her reproaches, though even lost, he would 
 ever possess her heart. 
 
 I read the dear girl's letter again and again, 
 but had scarcely patience to get through those 
 from my brothers, for I knew beforehand 
 every word they would contain. I then hastily 
 dressed, anxious to see my nephew before the 
 company assembled for breakfast. 
 
 Quite sick with vexation and annoyance, I 
 went to the library. He was not there. It 
 rained in torrents ; yet I thought it probable 
 he might be in the garden : so, taking an 
 umbrella, I sallied forth, hurried down the 
 steep terraces towards the river, and there I 
 found him near his favourite waterfall, pacing 
 up and down in violent agitation, looking the 
 picture of despair. 
 
 He was too much annoyed to take any no- 
 tice of me ; and even when I gave him the 
 letter of Matilda, he pushed it angrily away. 
 " No,'' he said contemptuously, " I have been
 
 80 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 treated like a fool — a child : they are all in 
 league to drive me to distraction ; and Matilda, 
 too, has consented to their foolish plan, which 
 disappoints me more than all ; she cannot pos- 
 sibly love me, or she would have more spirit, 
 and not blindly submit to such absurd ideas." 
 
 '' Do not reproach Matilda,"" I said, getting 
 as angry as my nephew, " for I am certain 
 your disappointment is not half so severe as 
 hers : she will suffer during this year of sad 
 suspense far more deeply than you, for she 
 will have nothing but the dull monotony of 
 Lyme Vicarage and the drudgery of teaching 
 her little sister to divert her thoughts, while 
 you have the whole world before you. Ah, 
 no ! cast not a reproach on that gentle — that 
 angelic creature ; but read this letter, and I 
 am sure you will be convinced that her love is 
 indeed devoted — it absorbs every feeling of her 
 heart except the sense of duty to her father.""' 
 
 After some more angry words he took the 
 letter, which affected him even to tears; but
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 81 
 
 when he arrived at the sentence, " I shall never 
 love another even though Vere should cease to 
 have any affection for me," his angry feelings 
 again broke out : " She, too, suspects me of 
 being capricious and changeable ; I see I am 
 condemned by all — I am destined to be miser- 
 able in this world." 
 
 I endeavoured to soothe his agitated feelings, 
 to infuse some degree of resignation into his 
 troubled breast ; but it was a hopeless attempt. 
 At last, finding I was getting quite wet, and 
 chilled with the cold — for I had come out 
 without a shawl or bonnet, — I suggested the 
 propriety of going in to breakfast, unless he 
 wished to attract attention and furnish a sub- 
 ject of merriment for the party. 
 
 Vere was deeply sensitive to ridicule ; so, in 
 spite of his despair, he hurried in and changed 
 his wet clothes, dried his hair, and came down 
 to breakfast with a tolerably composed, though 
 not a cheerful countenance. Geraldine's quick 
 eyes soon discovered what had occurred, and I 
 
 e5
 
 S2 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 saw she was much grieved for dear Matilda. 
 Several of the company who had seen us, from 
 their bed-room windows, taking our morning 
 walk in such pouring rain, rallied both Vere 
 and myself on the subject. Mr. Gordon won- 
 dered why Mr. Harcourt walked in the rain 
 without hat or umbrella. 
 
 The conversation was beginning to be very 
 disagreeable to poor Vere ; but Geraldine, who 
 now really felt for his disappointment, dexter- 
 ously put a stop to the subject, and contrived 
 to interest everybody in something else.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 83 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 D'altra parte un pensier dolce ed agro 
 Con faticosa e dillettevol salma 
 Sedendosi dentro I'alma, 
 Preme il cor di desio, di speme il pasce. 
 
 Petrarca. 
 
 The moment breakfast was over Geraldine 
 despatched Vere to look over his part, which 
 she was sure he had not had time to learn, and 
 appointed a general rehearsal at twelve o'clock. 
 Then making me follow her to the painting- 
 room, she learnt all that had occurred. 
 
 The dear girl was deeply affected, though 
 she rather participated in Yere's anger against 
 Matilda for submitting patiently to such an 
 absurd plan ; but she was quite determined.
 
 84 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 however, they should meet, as she would cer- 
 tainly make Matilda come to London. 
 
 I shook my head, aware of the impossibility 
 of overcoming her scrupulous sense of duty ; 
 but I would not crush Geraldine's hopes, or 
 put a stop to her kind intentions. She then 
 said, " I know you are longing to be at Lyme, 
 and you mean to desert us as soon as possible; 
 but you must not go yet. I think Mr. Har- 
 court will like to stay now — all these things 
 will amuse him ; so you must remain to watch 
 our behaviour, and then, when all these people 
 go, I will try and persuade mamma and Castle- 
 ford to part with me for a few days, and will 
 take you home and try to comfort dear Ma- 
 tilda. I have never been at Lyme, and I 
 want to see the place where she contrives to be 
 so good and so happy without doing any of 
 the things which form my delight and pleasure 
 in life.^' 
 
 " She does not exist for this world alone,"
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 85 
 
 I said : *' her thoughts, her principal expecta- 
 tions of happiness, are in the next." 
 
 "Oh, I know that," said Geraldine with a 
 sigh: " she is a dear, perfect creature, and I 
 wish I was one half as good ; she is the only 
 religious person I could ever love, and she 
 almost makes me like religion. She really 
 must not desert me through the next season, 
 for I know not what will become of me without 
 her kind advice." 
 
 She then sat down and wrote a long letter to 
 Matilda. 
 
 The rehearsal was tolerably successful, with 
 the exception of Mrs. Gordon and Lord Lang- 
 dale, who did not yet know their parts. Lord 
 Castleford acted extremely well. Vere had 
 only read over the play ; but he had the same 
 kind of wonderful talent for remembering as 
 Geraldine, and once to read with care for him 
 was sufficient. 
 
 The following evening was fixed for the re-
 
 86 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 presentation. All the neighbourhood and most 
 of the principal families of the county were in- 
 vited ; and the entertainment was to wind up 
 with a ball. 
 
 The greater part of the guests had never yet 
 seen Geraldine ; but the fame of her beauty and 
 her talent had long since reached their ears, 
 and great curiosity "prevailed at home to be- 
 hold the young heiress who had been so ad- 
 mired abroad. A long and very large old 
 gallery on the upper story, said to have been 
 a ball-room in the days of Queen Elizabeth, 
 had been converted into a theatre, and seats 
 were prepared for four hundred people ; the 
 walls were beautifully decorated on either side 
 with flowers. 
 
 The first piece was — I forget, but it "^ no 
 matter. — When the curtain drew up, Geral- 
 dine, who acted the part of a country girl, 
 was discovered. The dress became her ex- 
 tremely, and I never saw her look so lovely. 
 A murmur of admiration and applause burst
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 87 
 
 from the audience. She and Lord Castleford 
 acted to perfection. Lady Jane, too, got 
 through her part very well, and nothing oc- 
 curred to destroy the illusion of an interesting 
 play. 
 
 The tableaux were equally successful : Ra- 
 phael's St. Celicia of Bologna, the Gamesters, 
 Dominichino's Sibyls, were all very beau- 
 tiful ; but the most perfect was Leonardo da 
 Vinci's Vanity and Modesty. Geraldine had 
 the talent of assuming so exactly the expres- 
 sion of anything she wished to represent, that 
 one fancied for the moment her features were 
 even like those in the picture. Vere, whose 
 prepossessions against her were fast wearing 
 away, was quite enchanted ; he confessed he 
 had never seen anything so lovely. 
 
 The dancing was in the saloon ; and Geral- 
 dine, in high spirits, as her sylph-like form 
 floated around the room, whirling in every 
 waltz with a grace which was quite a luxury 
 for my old eyes to dwell upon. Twice Vere
 
 88 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 had the honour of her hand in the dance, and 
 I could not help fancying her step was lighter 
 and her countenance still more bright when his 
 arm was supporting her fair form. But he 
 was decidedly the best waltzer I had ever seen, 
 which might be the reason, and I determined 
 not to be apprehensive ; though I could not 
 avoid feeling some anxiety as I watched them 
 going into the conservatory, and not returning 
 till two quadrilles and a galopade had been 
 danced. 
 
 Geraldine guessed my thoughts; she blush- 
 ed, and disengaging her arm from Vere, ran 
 up to me and said : " DonH be afraid ; we 
 were talking of Matilda." But this was no 
 consolation : on the contrary, I feared that a 
 barrier was now broken which might have 
 been for Vere a great safeguard, for there is 
 nothing so dangerous as confidence of this 
 kind. 
 
 Vere was a man of such a reserved disposi- 
 tion, I was quite astonished that he should
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 89 
 
 allow a person against whom he was much 
 prejudiced to talk so soon on a subject which 
 could only awake such agonising feeling, and 
 at the same time wound his pride : but I did 
 not betray my fears to either party. 
 
 Lord Castleford was delighted at Geraldine's 
 success, and received the compliment of all on 
 his lovely intended with great satisfaction. 
 Too happy to have the slightest suspicion, or to 
 observe the commencement of a feeling which 
 might eventually destroy his happiness, his 
 benevolent heart was only made still more 
 happy by observing that Geraldine was now 
 quite civil to Mr. Harcourt ; for Lord Castle- 
 ford knew of Vere's love for Matilda, and had 
 been sincerely grieved at his disappointment. 
 
 Another week passed away, and I had the 
 misery of observing the increasing intimacy 
 between Geraldine and Vere. They not only 
 sang together in the evenings, but a great part 
 of the morning was devoted to music. They 
 sang through whole operas ; and the delight of
 
 90 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 hearing two such voices together was so great, 
 that even I often forgot my apprehensions and 
 gave myself up to the enjoyment which all the 
 others felt in listening. It put me in mind of 
 the Irish legend of the wonderful tune which, 
 when it was played at an execution, set every 
 one dancing, and thus enabled the man who 
 was going to be hanged to make his escape. 
 
 Lord Castleford did not even seem to regret 
 that Geraldine no longer passed her mornings 
 in the " chaos of arts and sciences," studying 
 with him, or painting while he read aloud, as 
 was their usual habit ; though I heard him 
 once express a hope that she would soon finish 
 the picture from Masaniello which I had so 
 much admired. Lady Mapleton was in high 
 glee, and listened to the duets with much 
 greater pleasure than any one else ; and she 
 already anticipated that the next London 
 season would place the earl's coronet on her 
 daughter's brow. Lady Jane, I think, had 
 some hopes of the same nature : she certainly
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 91 
 
 liked Lord Castleford ; but though too gentle 
 and good to enter into all her mother's 
 schemes, she sometimes succeeded in gaining 
 his attention in their long rides or walks, while 
 Geraldine was listening to Vere's most agree- 
 able discourse. 
 
 The day so long and anxiously wished for 
 by me at length arrived, on which we were all 
 to separate. Geraldine had succeeded in ob- 
 taining permission to accompany me to Lyme 
 for a few days ; after this Lady Julia and 
 Lord Castleford were to come and take her to 
 his place in Yorkshire, which she had not yet 
 seen, and where they intended to remain till 
 they went to town in February. 
 
 Vere could not determine where he would 
 go to ; he was too much provoked at his 
 father's opposition about Matilda to return 
 home. I strongly advised his going abroad 
 for another year ; but that, he said, was im- 
 possible. He had lately been returned for 
 some borough in Scotland, and he would
 
 92 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 be obliged to attend parliament. — No : he 
 would go and pay a long-promised visit to his 
 friend Lord Henry Leslie in Scotland. 
 
 Lord Castleford hoped he would adopt the 
 latter plan, as, in his road, he might be tempt- 
 ed to come and shoot at Castleford. Geraldine 
 said nothing ; but a slight expression of ap- 
 probation or of pleasure might perhaps have 
 been discovered on her countenance when the 
 latter plan was proposed. I know not if Vere 
 perceived it, but he joyfully acceded to the 
 invitation to visit Castleford. 
 
 In high spirits he bade us all adieu and 
 stepped into his britska. I followed him to 
 the hall-door, and watched its rapid progress 
 through the long avenue with tearful eyes and 
 a heavy heart. I had a presentiment that it 
 would be long — very long before we should 
 meet again, and then, perhaps, under far dif- 
 ferent circumstances. 
 
 I loved Vere as my son. I had from his 
 earliest youth anxiously watched the develop-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 93 
 
 ment of talents which seemed to promise that 
 his career in life would be not only brilliant, 
 but such as would lead to his own honour 
 and the good of his fellow-creatures. My ex- 
 pectations as to his talents had been fully 
 realised ; but since he had arrived at years of 
 manhood, I had discovered a something which 
 I scarcely know how to describe, — a sort of 
 fastidious sensibility, a too great carefulness 
 for the opinion of others, which often proved 
 a bar to his own enjoyment and to the exercise 
 of his excellent qualities,— a disposition to view 
 things on the gloomy side. 
 
 All this made me fear that the first disap- 
 pointment he met with in life would entirely 
 crush all his energies, and ruin one of the most 
 splendid dispositions Nature had ever formed. 
 I stood thinking and putting up fervent 
 prayers for his happiness long after the 
 britska had disappeared, and was only roused 
 by the voice of my man John announcing 
 that my old travelling carriage was ready
 
 94 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 packed, with Sookey perched upon the box 
 enveloped in dozens of cloaks, and shawls, and 
 veils, to protect her against the cold. She 
 usually travelled with me inside ; but as 
 Geraldine was to accompany me, she was 
 obliged to try and make up her mind, and 
 body too, for the dickey. 
 
 The poor old soul was but too delighted 
 to leave Morton Hall in any way, and to get 
 back safe to her dearly-beloved clerk on any 
 terms, to grumble about her unusually 
 elevated position. Geraldine was quite ready 
 also, and came running through the hall with a 
 large picture in each hand, which were to be 
 placed carefully in the carriage — presents for 
 the vicarage. Lord Castleford followed with 
 a parcel of books ; and it required old John's 
 utmost ingenuity to stow all these things 
 in such a manner as to leave any room for 
 Geraldine and myself. 
 
 Lord Castleford, who was quite melancholy 
 at the prospect of losing Geraldine even fo a
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 95 
 
 few days, endeavoured to persuade her to let 
 him drive her to Lyme in the phaeton ; for, 
 with the pictures and books, it would be im- 
 possible we could both sit in the chaise. Lady 
 Julia strongly seconded the proposal, — she 
 would like to drive over also. It was the first 
 time in her life she had been separated from 
 her darling child, and she was as miserable at 
 the idea of passing two or three days without 
 her as most mothers would be at the prospect 
 of being separated for life. But Geraldine 
 would hear of no such thing : they had promis- 
 ed her two holidays, and she had set her heart 
 on travelling with Aunt Dorothy, and being 
 waited on by old Sookey, and sleeping with 
 dear Matilda, and making herself quite rural 
 and good in Lyme Vicarage. Lady Julia, with 
 tears in her eyes, embraced again and again 
 the laughing girl, who at last, disengag- 
 ing herself from her mother's arms, jumped 
 into the carriage: I followed, and we drove 
 off.
 
 96 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Geraldine was in the greatest delight with 
 everything. No girl ever left school in 
 wilder spirits, or anticipated more pleasure in 
 returning to a beloved home, than Geraldine 
 felt on that day at the prospect of visiting 
 Lyme with old Aunt Dorothy. 
 
 I could not help half suspecting this was not 
 the cause of so much happiness, though I am 
 sure the dear girl fancied it was ; but there 
 was in her look and manner a peculiar sun- 
 shining expression, and in her language a 
 joyous buoyancy, showing the lightness of the 
 spirit — the harmony of it — if I may use the 
 expression, — with every subject on which she 
 spoke, that too plainly to my experienced eye 
 indicated the first dawning of love in her 
 young heart. — Yes ; her happiness at that mo- 
 ment showed me that that feeling had already 
 commenced, which in its first stages, when as 
 yet it hopes, it fears nothing — is so heavenly. 
 It is then a sentiment, not a passion, when 
 the awakened heart is satisfied with only
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 97 
 
 experiencing a new and blissful sensation, 
 seeing all things through an enchanted 
 medium, as if the whole world was tinged with 
 bright and glowing colours. And as all im- 
 pressions are more pleasing when we are least 
 aware of their cause, so has love a more fas- 
 cinating influence when we are as yet un- 
 conscious of its existence. How well has 
 Schiller expressed this in those beautiful 
 words ! 
 
 " Das Auge sieht den himmel offen, 
 Es schwelgt das herz in seligkeit, 
 O ! das sie ewig griinen bliebe, 
 Die schone Zeit der jungen Liebe." 
 
 Who had awakened this feeling, I would not 
 allow myself to ask ; indeed, it would have been 
 a useless inquiry, for, in a mind like Geraldine's, 
 if it had once taken root, no earthly power, no 
 warning, no advice, could ever avail to crush 
 its growth. I, therefore, dismissed all fear 
 and uneasiness, and, influenced by Geraldine'*s 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 98 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 enchanting conversation, enjoyed the present 
 moment, and tried to hope that some portion 
 of her brilliant visions for Matilda might be 
 realised.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 99 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 La religion n'est rien si elle n'est pas tout — si I'existence 
 n'en est pas remplie, si Von n'entretient pas sans cesse 
 dans Tame cette foi k I'lnvisible, ce devouement, cette 
 elevation de desirs qui doivent triompher des penchans 
 vulgaires auxquels notre nature nous expose. 
 
 De Stael. 
 
 We found Matilda and little Dorothy in the 
 porch awaiting our arrival. I was much struck 
 by the alteration which one short fortnight had 
 made in the dear girl's appearance. Her cheeks 
 had lost their bloom ; the brilliant happiness 
 which usually animated her large blue eyes 
 was exchanged for an expression of meek re- 
 signation which was far more touching than 
 even sorrow. 
 
 f2
 
 100 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Geraldine's wild spirits were for an instant 
 checked, and she attentively perused Matilda's 
 features, till in the endeavour to cheer — to com- 
 fort the poor girl, she recovered her own gaiety, 
 and gradually succeeded in bringing a faint 
 smile upon Matilda's lips. 
 
 She talked of Vere, of her confidence in the 
 duration of his love, with all that glowing 
 eloquence and enthusiasm which never failed 
 of convincing her hearers, and infusing into 
 their minds some portion of her own sanguine 
 feelings. She then made Matilda show her 
 all over the house; she attentively examined 
 all the books in my brother's library, ran over 
 the garden, and finally fixed upon the places in 
 the drawing-room where her two pictures were 
 to be hung. 
 
 When my brother returned home from the 
 village, and their greeting had passed,- she took 
 him to his library and commenced a long lec- 
 ture upon his cruelty to Matilda. On this 
 subject, however, she was not more successful
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 101 
 
 than I was myself on the day 1 burnt his poor- 
 law pamphlet ; and their violent dispute was 
 fortunately interrupted by Matilda herself, who 
 came to say that they would be late for dinner. 
 
 Old Sookey had unpacked Geraldine's things, 
 and was waiting to assist her in dressing for 
 dinner. Sookey was in great fuss and agita- 
 tion at the idea of dressing such a fine lady ; 
 but she got over the task much more easily 
 than she had expected, for Gerald ine always 
 dressed her own hair — the most beautiful I ever 
 saw. It was simply parted in the front, and 
 discovered the whole of her fine forehead ; and 
 behind, it formed a large plait, which was placed 
 as we see in Grecian statues — very low on the 
 back of the head. 
 
 I had never seen these two lovely girls together 
 before, and, as they sat opposite to me at dinner, 
 I amused myself by observing their very differ- 
 ent styles of beauty, and in trying to discover 
 which I most preferred ; but it was impossible 
 to decide. At one moment I thought the ex-
 
 10^ GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 pression of religion (if I may use such a word) 
 which gave such a heavenly calm to Matilda's 
 features was more attractivsj^jeven than the bril- 
 liant genius which animated Geraldine's : her 
 figure too was taller and fuller, and might be 
 deemed more perfect; but then she had not 
 that inexpressible grace in all her movements, 
 nor that originality of expression, which cha- 
 racterised Geraldine. 
 
 It was fortunate my man John was an ex- 
 tremely good waiter, for old Thomas could 
 scarcely attend to his business at the dinner- 
 table, so much was his attention excited by 
 Geraldine and her two pictures. It was so 
 long since anything new had been seen at the 
 Vicarage, where every bit of furniture remained 
 exactly the same as when first brought there 
 thirty years before, without its position being 
 ever altered, that the introduction of two pic- 
 tures and a pretty young lady were events 
 which quite seemed to overturn poor Thomas's 
 intellects; nor could he avoid expressing his
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 103 
 
 admiration and surprise. Geraldine had to 
 wait for a plate while he was praising those in 
 her picture, and the second course was suffered 
 to get cold whilst he was staring at the pic- 
 ture of Achilles and his companions. At last 
 he cried out, addressing my brother — " Oh ! 
 your reverence, how cold these gentlemen must 
 have been sitting for their pictures, with their 
 legs bare and scarcely a screed of clothes on ! 
 Howdsomever, I suppose they was in a hot 
 climax." 
 
 It may appear, by this and the conversation 
 which followed, to some of my readers, that 
 old Thomas was rather deficient in respect to 
 his superiors : I must, therefore, apologise for 
 him, by informing them, that he had been born 
 in my brother'^s house, and was the son of an 
 old butler, who had lived all his life with my 
 father. He was, on this account, then, treated 
 more as an old friend than as a servant ; and as 
 he very seldom had to wait upon any except 
 oijr own family, — for though my brother had
 
 104* GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 a very comfortable fortune, he gave away too 
 much to his poorer neighbours to have any- 
 thing left for the entertainment of his richer, — 
 he had become perhaps a little familiar and 
 a small bit spoiled. Besides, Thomas was a 
 genius and a wit, a great talker, and the parish 
 oracle — which last distinction had rather turned 
 his head; though I cannot aver that the repu- 
 tation he enjoyed among the village-swains was 
 quite deserved, for his knowledge was jum- 
 bled together in his head in the most extraor- 
 dinary manner. 
 
 Geraldine happened to mention that the 
 Dutch picture was a copy from Teniers, and 
 she had been in some doubt whether Matilda 
 would not have preferred one after Netscher. 
 
 " After Nature !" said Thomas ; " and sure 
 ain't all them pictures," pointing to the figures, 
 " done after Nature ? But ten years did you 
 say, Miss r — was you really ten years about it ?" 
 " Not quite,"" said Geraldine, laughing at 
 the two puns Thomas had unconsciously made.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 105 
 
 and much amused by the novelty of hearing 
 a servant enter into conversation. She en- 
 couraged him to proceed by asking him ques- 
 tions, and by appearing to value his opinion of 
 her performance. 
 
 Pleased with this condescension of hers, he 
 examined minutely every part of the Dutch 
 picture, and said, *' Well, sure, I could never 
 be tired of circumspecting it. There 's all the 
 kitchen utelsils, and the saucepans and turnips, 
 quite opprobrius." 
 
 " Appropriate, he means," said Matilda, who 
 was rather distressed at the old servant's thus 
 exciting Geraldine''s mirth ; and she endeavour- 
 ed to stop his making a fool of himself by the 
 correction, but in vain. 
 
 " Yes, Miss," he continued, " 1 know appro- 
 priate is the epitaph ; only I thought ate did 
 not sound so decent-like, words ending in ous 
 being more genteel, deviated from the Grease, 
 such as genious. But sure young ladies are 
 wonderful creatures now-a-days, as wise as So- 
 
 F 5
 
 106 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 lomon's Queen of Sheba, and as — as — a" 
 
 Here he came to a stop for a smile, but con- 
 tinued, " And now they cultivates their minds 
 as well as their gardens, as Locke says in his 
 Key to Human Understanding. The young 
 folks up at the familiar mansion, as they calls 
 the old family house now, have a man all the 
 way from Lonnon to. teach them gummatys and 
 gastronomy, and the Lord knows what other 
 things we never heard the name of in our 
 days/' 
 
 " Who lives there ?" asked. Geraldine. 
 
 " Oh, they be only com''d there about two 
 years. Miss. Mr. Smith Ellis slipped into the 
 property all of a sudden like, and took the old 
 gentleman's name as was there afore him — be- 
 cause you see. Miss, though he was a very dis- 
 tant relation, yet he was the mearest o'kin, and, 
 moreover, the head of the family, so -he came 
 into the tail, as they call property what 's 
 settled on the male hears. They are an old
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 107 
 
 family, wi' a power of posterity — whose pic- 
 tures, like that, are hanging up for many gene- 
 rations backwards. — No, no — I am wrong, — 'tis 
 antsisters they call them ; meaning, I suppose, 
 the aunts and sisters of the family. Pray, Miss, 
 if it is not too bold, may I ask who that gen- 
 tleman is with a kind of saucepan topsy-turvey 
 on his head, holding that 'ere silver dish per- 
 pendicler on his arm. 
 
 " That is Achilles," said Geraldine, who 
 could scarcely speak for laughing. 
 
 " Achilles?" said Thomas slowly, while he 
 pressed his head thoughtfully — ''wasn't he 
 one of the consternations of Grecian geology, or 
 mytheology ? — No, no, I know how it is ; he 
 was a great warrior, what fought in Homer's 
 Oddity, and was called Achilles because he 
 killed with ease." 
 
 I had forgot to mention a very important 
 piece of furniture in the drawing-room, — an 
 organ, on which Matilda played beautifully,
 
 108 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 and always after prayers accompanied with the 
 fine rich tones of her voice a hymn, in which 
 my brother and all the family joined. 
 
 I never heard sacred music in any part of 
 the world, or beheld a sight which so power- 
 fully awakened feelings of devotion, as this 
 daily homage rendered by the mild, the gen- 
 tle, and the good, to their Creator. There was 
 an air of tranquil solemnity in the large old 
 room, its carved ceihng, dark wainscoted walls, 
 and deep recesses of the windows, but dismally 
 lighted by the fire at the farther end, and by 
 the two candles near the organ. Their bright 
 rays illumined the beautiful face of Matilda, 
 and the handsome and venerable features of my 
 brother, and fell faintly and dimly on the 
 group of old servants who stood behind, and 
 who, from the length of time they had been in 
 the house, looked like a part of the family. 
 
 The next morning Geraldine insisted on 
 Matilda's doing everything exactly the same 
 as if she were alone ; for she was very anxious
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 109 
 
 to know what made Matilda so good, and said 
 she should enjoy doing everything with her. 
 It was Saturday, and besides her usual avoca- 
 tions, Matilda on this day visited most of the 
 poor cottages that she might see if their in- 
 habitants had meat for a comfortable dinner 
 on the following Sunday, and if their clothes 
 were so bad as to serve for an excuse for 
 non-attendance at church. But she thought 
 the miserable places where she would go to 
 would afford no amusement to her friend. 
 However, Geraldine said, it would be enchant- 
 ing, particularly as she had never been in a 
 cottage in her life, or at a village-school. 
 
 The morning was extremely fine, and Geral- 
 dine was delighted with our rural walk. The 
 only subject of regret or annoyance was, that 
 she had no money with her to give to the 
 wretched objects whom she saw, and she had 
 much difficulty in prevailing on Matilda to 
 allow her to promise some should be sent. 
 
 We can never visit three or four cottages
 
 110 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 without learning an impressive lesson on human 
 nature ; for I have almost invariably observed 
 that those who have the fewest of this world's 
 comforts are most contented and happy in it. 
 Geraldine was forcibly struck by this. The 
 only comfortable cottage we visited, — for, as I 
 before said, Saturday was devoted to visiting 
 the worst, — was that of an old woman and her 
 only son. In this, the large clock which stood 
 ticking in the corner, the bright warming-pan, 
 the savoury pot which simmered and smoked 
 upon the fire, and other luxuries of cottage life, 
 showed they were above its wants. 
 
 The old dame was seated in the chimney- 
 corner, attired in a manner superior to most of 
 her neighbours : indeed, there was an attempt 
 at finery visible in the bright scarlet ribband 
 which trimmed her lace-cap, and the flounces 
 which, from their proximity to the burning 
 embers, threatened to endanger her life. There 
 was an air of dejection, however, in her attitude; 
 her elbows rested on her knees, and her hand
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. Ill 
 
 covered het face. She did not at first perceive 
 our presence ; but when she looked up, there 
 was a discontented scowl on her large harsh 
 features, and her eyes were red with tears. 
 
 " What is the matter, Dame Giles ?" said 
 Matilda. 
 
 ** What is the matter. Miss ! Sure I have 
 plagues enough to drive a body out of this 
 wicked world." 
 
 " Yet you seem very comfortably off: your 
 chimney is well stocked with gammons, and 
 your garden full of vegetables, and you have 
 no children to provide for." 
 
 " No children, indeed !" continued the old 
 woman, while her eyes kindled with rage. " Is 
 not there the boy Tom, that's the very plague 
 and terror of my life ? The boy I loved and 
 never contradicted in anything, to use me so !" 
 and she burst into a flood of tears- 
 
 " I am afraid you spoil him : remember, my 
 father often cautioned you against it. But you 
 always dreaded his being religious : now you
 
 112 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 see the consequence. Pray for him, Dame 
 Giles." 
 
 Matilda''s advice was here interrupted by the 
 entrance of that son, whom Dame Giles called 
 the plague and terror of her life. He was a 
 tall, handsome man, with dark hair and eye- 
 brows; but there was something repulsive in 
 his air — a dogged sort of sullenness in his heavy, 
 downcast, grey eyes. He threw himself into a 
 chair near the fire, and kicking the logs of 
 wood together, stirred the contents of the black 
 pot. All this was done without once raising his 
 eyes towards us, or taking notice of the " gen- 
 tlefolk." 
 
 Matilda wished the dame good morning, and 
 we left the cottage. 
 
 ' . "I am certain that man is a murderer,'" said 
 Geraldine when we had proceeded some dis- 
 tance ; " I never beheld a countenance where 
 the expression of the bad passions so complete- 
 ly destroy its natural beauty. 1 should be more 
 afraid of that single man than of twenty Italian
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. US 
 
 bandits, even if they were as fierce as my friend 
 Gasperone himself: — dear, brave man ! I went 
 to see him in the Castle of St. Angelo." 
 
 " How very odd," said Matilda in a whis- 
 per, " you should think so ! for many people 
 think he is guilty of a robbery which was 
 committed a week ago : but there was such 
 strong evidence in proof of his innocence and of 
 the guilt of another, that, after the examina- 
 tion of both by the magistrates, he was dis- 
 charged, and the other, George Hilliard, hi- 
 therto a young man of excellent character, re- 
 manded to await his trial at the assizes." 
 
 '* Tell me — oh, tell me all about it !" said 
 Geraldine eagerly ; " I am sure the other is 
 innocent. There is so much cunning in that 
 man we have just seen, he would be the very 
 sort of person to succeed in throwing the blame 
 upon another." 
 
 " What a strange creature you are !" said 
 Matilda. " Well, I will not only tell you all 
 about it, but you shall see Hilliard's dear old
 
 114 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 blind grandmother, and his pretty cousin, who 
 both doat on him ; — indeed, he was engaged to 
 be married to the latter. The old woman had 
 taken great pains with his education, and he 
 was really the only comfort and support of her 
 old age ; for 1 fear Alice, his cousin, is, as 
 Dame Giles said of her son, rather a plague 
 and torment to her. Alice has been living 
 with her only for the last year, but I cannot 
 understand how any one could pass even a 
 week with dear old Dame Milliard without be- 
 coming better. Alice is a sad flirt ; and though 
 she had consented to marry her cousin, she 
 continued in secret to encourage the addresses 
 of Tom Giles, till the two young men had a 
 violent quarrel. It was not in George Mil- 
 liard's nature to be angry long, and he soon 
 wished for a reconciliation with his former 
 friend ; but Tom swore he would be revenged. 
 We are now so near the dame^s cottage, I am 
 afraid to say any more ; for the loss of sight has
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 115 
 
 rendered her ears sharp to an extraordinary 
 degree." 
 
 We now turned out of the road, and pro- 
 ceeded along a narrow path which led through 
 a corn-field to Dame Hilliard's cottage. It was 
 one of the smallest we had seen ; but the gar- 
 den was full of flowers and vegetables, and 
 there was an air of cleanliness and of comfort in 
 many little things in which her wealthier neigh- 
 bours were deficient. Four beehives were 
 placed under the shelter of a thick maple 
 hedge, and a vine of great beauty covered the 
 walls and roof of the cottage. 
 
 The old dame sat spinning near the open 
 door, and at our approach the wheel stopped. 
 She arose and came towards us, while an ex- 
 pression of delight beamed^ in her aged yet 
 handsome features, and even her sightless eyes 
 seemed to smile. 
 
 " Welcome, welcome, Miss Matilda, my 
 darling," she said, putting out her hand, " and
 
 116 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Mrs. Dorothy, for I knew it was your step as 
 you came along the path. But who was with 
 you ? for I heard another tread — that of a high- 
 born lady, with a lighter body and a smaller 
 foot than any grown person's I have ever heard; 
 yet it was not the gait of a child." 
 
 " It is Miss Morton, who is staying with me; 
 and I brought her to see the greatest curiosity 
 our poor village afFords,*" said Matilda. 
 
 " Morton — Morton ? ah, I know now ! — my 
 son Joe, who lives with Master Vere, saw her in 
 Italy. Ah, lady !" she continued, turning to- 
 wards Geraldine, " I know you are beautiful, 
 and clever, and rich : I was always fond of the 
 sight of beauty ; God grant you may remember 
 the Giver of all these blessings ! for, believe me, 
 prosperity is a far sorer trial than adversity, 
 and beauty is a dangerous thing ; yet I was al- 
 ways fond of beholding a pretty face. Will 
 you let me feel your hand, lady ? — you need not 
 fear ; mine are clean, though brown and shri- 
 velled. That was kind of you, to take off your
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 117 
 
 glove. What a lovely hand ! it is much small- 
 er, but it puts me in mind of my dear Alice's, 
 who's dead and gone long ago, and all her 
 children, except young Alice." 
 
 " Would you like to feel my face, dear old 
 woman ?" said Geraldine ; and taking off her 
 bonnet, she placed the dame's hand on her 
 smooth forehead . 
 
 " Beautiful, beautiful !" said the old wo- 
 man as she passed her hand gently over the 
 girl's features and head ; " and what a slender 
 waist I — no wonder your footfalls sounded like 
 a fairy's. Oh, then, lady, I fear you'll have 
 many trials in this life.'"* 
 
 " Why, are you a fortune-teller.?'' inquired 
 Geraldine. 
 
 " No, God forbid, lady, I am no fortune- 
 teller ; but I have lived near eighty years, and 
 seen a great deal of the real world; and at 
 one time, when I was well off and had time to 
 spare, I read a great many books, besides my 
 Bible, which is the comfort of my life."
 
 118 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 " And is it your Bible which makes you 
 so happy and contented with your lot?" said 
 Geraldine. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Morton, I fear by that question 
 you have not learned the value of that blessed 
 book. My poor word can have but little effect 
 on a grand and clever lady like you ; but, oh, I 
 wish you would read, what will be a comfort 
 if ever sorrow should reach you ; and it would 
 heighten all your joys — for ours is a religion 
 of joy. The Redeemer died to save and make 
 us happy, and he never afflicts but for our 
 good. Oh, read, and remember, that ' unto 
 whom much has been given, of them shall much 
 be required.* You are one who has had ten 
 talents, and will have to give an account at the 
 day of judgment of the manner in which your 
 influence, your genius, and your money have 
 been used. — But, I forgot, I am keeping you 
 all standing out here — come into the cottage ; 
 yet I have hardly a chair to oflPer, and I fear 
 Alice went out this morning without cleaning
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 119 
 
 the room. Poor Alice ! she is in a sad way — I am 
 sure something more than she will tell me is 
 on her conscience. I wish, Miss Matilda, you 
 would watch her countenance if she comes in 
 before you go. She does nothing but fret night 
 and day about poor dear George : yet I never 
 thought, before he was taken to prison, that 
 she loved him much. My poor George ! may 
 the Lord defend him from his accusers, and 
 make known his innocence !" 
 
 And the old dame clasped her hands and 
 raised her sightless eyes to heaven with an 
 expression of mingled anxiety and resignation, 
 the sight of which quite moved Geraldine. " I 
 am sure yours must have been a strange life. 
 Dame Hilliard," said she : " I wish you would 
 tell me your history."" 
 
 " Sure, if it would give you any pleasure, 
 lady, I would try, and put into a few words 
 what occupied so many years. Here comes 
 Alice : I will make her clean a chair for you, 
 and offer you a little honey."
 
 120 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 " I am afraid," said Matilda, " you can but 
 ill spare your honey ; for I know your vines 
 and your beehives are all you have to live 
 upon."" 
 
 " Thank God ! they are enough : the honey 
 was plentiful this year, and I sold the greater 
 part of it yesterday; and that money, with 
 what 1 got for the grapes, will, with the bless- 
 ing of God, keep us comfortably the remainder 
 of the season, — even if poor George^ " 
 
 Here she stopped, for she heard Alice ap- 
 proach the cottage. 
 
 " Oh, how like the Cenci !" exclaimed Ge- 
 raldine as she surveyed the beautiful girl. I 
 had also been often struck with the resem- 
 blance : yet in her day of mirth and happiness, 
 the likeness was not so striking; but now, 
 her dejected look and slight redness round the 
 drooping tearful eye, the sorrowful parched 
 lips, the rounded pale cheeks, and the blue 
 veins seen through the transparent skin of her
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 121 
 
 broad, high forehead, were exactly like that 
 lovely chef-d^(£uvre of Guido's pencil. 
 
 With a listless air she obeyed her grand- 
 mother, and prepared some bread and honey 
 while we entered the cottage. Geraldine was 
 charmed with its picturesque interior. The 
 beams and rafters of the low roof were browned 
 by time and smoke into a truly Teniers' hue : 
 a few common cooking utensils were ranged 
 along the shelves of an old carved oaken 
 dresser; and some earthen jugs, and pans, and 
 old wooden pails were scattered about the room 
 in a manner which, though quite contrary 
 to the old dame's love of order, enchanted 
 Geraldine. Some vegetables were carelessly 
 thrown on a low broken table, the only one 
 which the room contained. The fire was nearly 
 out ; and the old woman took a large pair of 
 bellows, and putting down one of the logs of 
 wood which stood on the outside of the chim- 
 ney, soon blew it into a cheerful blaze. 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 1^2 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Geraldine then reminded her of her pron^ise — 
 she nodded her head, and bringing her spinning- 
 wheel near the fire, sat down on a block of 
 wood, which formed a sort of stool. Alice re- 
 moved the kitten from a broken chair, and 
 wiped it with her apron for Geraldine ; Ma- 
 tilda and I shared with the old cat a bench 
 within the large chimney ; and Alice took her 
 work and sat down in silence at her grand- 
 mother's feet. The old dame, continuing her 
 spinning, directed her sightless eyes towards 
 Geraldine and thus began her narrative, which 
 the reader will find in the following chapter.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 123 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 To what can reason such effects assign 
 Transcending Nature, but to laws divine ? 
 Which in that Sacred Volume are contain'd 
 Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordain'd. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 " I WAS the only child of my mother's old 
 age : my father I never saw — he was carried to 
 his grave the day on which I was born. The 
 neighbours said I should be a luckless maid ; 
 but 1 was my mother's only joy, and she never 
 ceased praising the Lord for his mercy in hear- 
 ing her prayer, and in giving her a child at 
 a moment when He had seen fit to remove her 
 beloved husband. She early taught me to 
 pray, to rejoice in the Lord, and to be not only 
 
 g2
 
 124 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 satisfied, but happy, under all circumstances. 
 I never found this a difficult task till I was 
 eighteen. We were poor, but, by dint of hard 
 work, we had always enough, and w^ere able 
 to spare a bit now and then to those who were 
 still poorer. 
 
 " The neighbours said I was a buxom lass, 
 and sure enough I had plenty of suitors before 
 I was seventeen who told me the same ; but I 
 cared for none, and I said I would never leave 
 my mother. About this time, old Tarrant the 
 clerk died ; and there came a new one in his 
 place from Appleford, and he had two sons. 
 The eldest soon took a liking to me, and as he 
 was a steady lad, and well off in the world, my 
 mother advised me to accept him ; but I liked 
 his brother Jerry much better, though he- did 
 not care for me, and moresomever was noways 
 steady — so I made up my mind never to marry. 
 
 " Soon after this, Jerry altered his manner 
 to me entirely, and to my great surprise, one 
 fine evening, as we was walking by the river-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 125 
 
 side, he asked if I'd marry him. I was taken so 
 by surprise like, I did not know what to say ; 
 but I ran home and told my mother. She shook 
 her head, and I saw she would not like it, 
 though she did not say anything ; so I cried 
 ready to break my heart all that night, and 
 in the morning, when I had said my prayers, I 
 went and told Jerry I could never be his. 
 He was very angry, and stormed and raved 
 like a madman, so that I began to think mo- 
 ther's objection was right; but my heart sank 
 and quavered when he said he would go away 
 and list in the army, and give up his family 
 and all, because he wouldn't stay if I could 
 not love him. There was no use in saying 
 I loved him, — which, alack ! alack ! was the 
 truth, — if I wouldn't marry him. So he went 
 away that very day, and nobody heard for a 
 long time what became of him. 
 
 " Mother saw I was very unhappy, but she 
 soon convinced me how sinful it was to grieve, 
 so I cheered up ; but it was a hard task, for I
 
 126 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 loved Jerry better than ever, and I thought 
 if I had married him nothing could ever have 
 made me unhappy. 
 
 " A year passed by, and then my dear mo- 
 ther died." Here Dame Hilliard stopped the 
 spinning-wheel to wipe her tears with the corner 
 of her apron. — " Well, where was I ? — Oh, 
 well, as I was sitting one morning in my soli- 
 tary home, the door opened, and who should 
 appear but Jerry! I was quite terrified, and had 
 like to fall off my chair ; but he thought I was 
 glad to see him again, which was in troth the 
 very truth ; and so he made many promises of 
 reform and all that, and at last I agreed, if he 
 remained steady, at the end of a year I 'd be 
 his ; and, s^ire enough, the year's end came 
 round in no time, but I had many misgivings 
 that mother would not be pleased if she could 
 look down and see that I was doing what she 
 had not liked in her lifetime; but I prayed 
 earnestly for guidance aiid blessing. 
 
 " We were married, and for a year I never
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 127 
 
 knew what sorrow was. Jerry worked hard, 
 and read the Bible for me in the evening : and 
 I had a beautiful little maid, that child Alice's 
 mother ; and as I sat and nursed my baby, and 
 heard my husband read the blessed Word, I 
 thought what a delightful place this world is, 
 and wondered if I could be more happy in 
 heaven. Then I remembered my mother, and 
 it did me good ; and I saw how kind God had 
 been in taking her away, — for if she had been 
 with us, I do think I should have forgot there 
 was a heaven above my head, and that death 
 was to be gain. Even as it was, I was almost 
 forgetting it, for prosperity is a selfish thing. 
 But God saw fit to try me, — and a hard trial 
 it was ! Jerry took to drinking ; and one un- 
 fortunate day there came a recruiting officer to 
 the public-house, and finding Jerry in liquor, 
 he contrived to make him list again. I thought 
 I should have died when he came and told 
 me, and he was a'most as miserable too ; but 
 there was no help, and go he must : so I de-
 
 128 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 clared I would go with him, and that was his 
 only comfort. 
 
 " He was to set out the following day with 
 the rest of the party for Plymouth, whence 
 the regiment was to embark for Ireland. I 
 packed up what little things we'd most want, 
 and arranged everything as well as we could 
 at a moment's warning. I cried bitterly at 
 leaving for the first time my native village ; 
 but I remembered I was going with all I loved 
 best in the world, my child and Jerry, and 
 that God was everywhere, and would protect 
 us both by sea and land ; and Jerry was very 
 penitent and down-hearted ; so in cheering him 
 I became happy, and never felt tired, though 
 we had four long days' journey on foot, and I 
 carried the baby all the way. 
 
 " When we got to Plymouth, the ship was 
 just ready to sail, and they, would not allow 
 me to go on board. What was I to do? 
 There was no time for any thinking — all was 
 noise and bustle. In vain I begged the
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 129 
 
 captain of the ship, and the captain of the 
 regiment : they pushed me away and would 
 not listen to a word. 
 
 " Well, the ship sailed, and I watched Jerry 
 waving his handkerchief till the large ship 
 looked no bigger than a pea ; and night came 
 on, and the baby cried, for it was the cold 
 month o"* December. I determined, however, 
 not to be down-hearted, and if a pound 'o 
 silver, which was all I had in my purse, was 
 not sufficient to pay my passage over in some 
 other ship, I made up my mind to try and 
 get work till I earned enough. I would not 
 spend anything in lodgings that night, so I 
 went and bought a loaf of bread, and took it 
 out o' the town, and found a nice snug place 
 sheltered from the wind under a haystack ; 
 and there I and baby slept as sound as ever 
 we did in our own dear home. 
 
 " The next day I inquired and found no 
 other ships would sail for Cork for a long, long 
 time ; but a kind gentleman who had seen my 
 
 g5
 
 130 GERALDRs^E MORTON. 
 
 distress the day before, and was standing on 
 the shore, said if I would go to Bristol, there 
 were ships that sailed every week ; and taking 
 five shillings out of his purse, he said : ' There, 
 my good woman, that will pay for your 
 journey to Bristol: go and join your hus- 
 band.' 
 
 " I thanked him much, but would not take 
 the money — only asked him to tell me how far 
 it was to Bristol. I did not lose a minute 
 after he told me, but set off and walked thirty 
 miles that day. I was not tired; but in the 
 evening baby was very ill, and I was afeard 
 of her sleeping out a doors, so I went to the 
 inn, and, poor little dear ! the next morning she 
 was out in the measles. This was a sad mis- 
 fortune, and all my money soon went to* the 
 doctor, and I found it a hard matter, to get 
 any work. 
 
 " Two months passed away before I could 
 earn enough to fill my purse ; but I was never
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 131 
 
 cast down, though I met with many rebuffs, 
 and the people o' the inn threatened to turn 
 me out. But God Almighty heard my prayer, 
 and cured my child, and enabled me to find 
 work ; so we set out with another hard-earned 
 pound o' silver. 
 
 " All the rest o' the journey and voyage to 
 Cork was prosperous, and my dear husband 
 was delighted to see me : but, alackaday ! I 
 found he had taken up with his old habits, 
 and whiskey, as they call it, was strong and 
 cheap ; and though he tried hard, and I pray- 
 ed and entreated, he could not leave it off, and 
 he often suffered disgrace, and the baby and I 
 severe privations. 
 
 " I had soon another child, too, — poor 
 Willy'^s father. They 're all gone now, I hope 
 to a better place ! I was very ill for more than 
 a month, and hardly knew what was going on. 
 When I recovered, I found Jerry had pawned 
 almost everything we had. Little Alice was
 
 132 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 a'most naked, and I had no clothes to put on. 
 But what smote the deepest to my poor heart 
 was, to find my Bible pawned. 
 
 " The large old Bible, in which mother had 
 read till the last hour of her life, and where I 
 had first learnt the blessed Word, which I had 
 carried wi' my own baby in my arms all the 
 way by land and sea, — it was gone, and I 
 really thought for a moment the Lord had 
 forsaken us ; but it was a sinful thought, and 
 though all was dark and drear, myself weak 
 and children, and Jerry seemed to love me no 
 more, I considered there was a God, and a 
 blessed Saviour, who would not permit me to 
 be afflicted beyond what I could endure, and 
 that repining would only make all worse; so, 
 for my children's sake, I exerted myself to* the 
 utmost, and worked night and 'day till my 
 Bible was redeemed, and they were clothed 
 again : and the first really happy moment I had 
 for many a day was when I dressed my beautiful 
 little Alice. She was just two year and a half
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 133 
 
 old, and a prettier child I never see : she could 
 just say, ' daddy' and ' mammy."* Oh, how 
 could he ? — Oh, alack ! my blood runs cold at 
 telling it. — That evening Jerry took her out 
 for a walk, and as I sat in the door nursing 
 baby,— for I was not strong yet, but was recover- 
 ing fast ; and I was thinking if the Lord 
 would give me health, all might yet go well ; 
 for though Jerry was as bad as possible, yet 
 I never despaired of his coming round again 
 some day or other. 
 
 "It grew late, and they did not come, and 
 I began to be sore terrified ; but I never 
 thought he would drink with that little angel 
 by his side. But, oh ! if he had, and should 
 lose her in the crowded streets o"* Cork ! The 
 thought was too dreadful, so I tried to read my 
 Bible : but it would not do ; it grew so dark 
 I could not see — it was quite dark ; and when I 
 heard the church clock strike nine and ten, I 
 could bear it no longer ; so, giving baby in 
 charge of my next neighbour, I tried to walk
 
 134 GERALDINE MORTON, 
 
 all over the town, and went to all the public- 
 houses, but I did not find Jerry. I shuddered 
 every time I passed the quays, and by the dim 
 light of the lamps fancied I saw something 
 moving in the water and heard my child 
 cry. 
 
 " I did not get home till morning, and then, 
 after I had nursed baby, I set out again, though 
 I could scarce drag one foot after the other. 
 As I was passing by a pawnbroker's, I heard a 
 cry : yes ! it was my own Alice's voice ! I went 
 in like one mad, and sure there was the little 
 cherub sitting on the counter without a stitch 
 o' clothes on. 
 
 " I caught her up in my arms and was going 
 away, when the surly-looking pawnbroker 
 caught a hold of me, and said that wa^ his 
 child — it had been pawned to him last night 
 for the price of a pint of whiskey. I sunk 
 down right on the floor, and for some time 
 could hear and see nothing ; but I kept Alice 
 tight in my arms, though the man tried to get
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 135 
 
 her away. ' Pay me foarpence,'' he said, ' and 
 you shall have the brat.' 
 
 " I had not a farthing, for the last went to 
 pay for her clothes, which I found Jerry had 
 pawned first, and not satisfied with that, he 
 had pawned his child too. Well, I gave the 
 man the handkerchief I had on, and took home 
 my darling. Jerry did not come back for three 
 days." 
 
 " What a pity he ever returned !" said 
 Geraldine : " how could you remain so long 
 with such a man ?" 
 
 " Ah, Miss," continued the old woman with 
 a meek smile, " you don't know what it is to 
 love, or you would not ask that. To be sure, 
 sometimes I had a hard matter not to be 
 angry, and after he had pawned his child, I 
 thought I could never forgive him ; but I 
 remembered, that however altered he might be, 
 he was still the husband I had chosen, the man 
 I had loved best ; — yes ! better, I fear, at one 
 time, than the blessed Saviour who died to
 
 136 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 redeem me, and better than my own dear 
 mother's advice : that was sinful,^ and I deserv- 
 ed to be punished. 
 
 " When Jerry came home, he was almost out 
 of his mind. Incessant drinking had injured 
 both mind and body ; he seemed to remember 
 nothing about his child, he did not speak a 
 word, but threw himself on his bed. 
 
 " Four long months he remained on that 
 bed, expecting to die every day ; and, oh ! what 
 tortures he suffered ! At one moment he wished 
 to die ; but then he was afeard the next, for 
 he felt the heavy burden of his sins, and could 
 not believe that God would forgive him. 
 
 " I won't detain you, Miss, by relating all 
 he went through, and the trouble I had to 
 comfort his poor heart, and the hard time I 
 had to support myself and my poor infants. 
 Well, at last my prayers were heard : his health 
 returned, he obtained his discharge, and we 
 came back here and lived very happy, praise 
 to God ! For six years he was a kind and
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 137 
 
 good husband as ever lived; but his constitu- 
 tion never quite recovered, and he died a 
 happy death — I hope to meet him in heaven. 
 
 " I have since had many misfortunes with 
 the loss of my children and their little ones ; 
 but * the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken 
 away ; blessed be the name of the Lord !' 
 But my poor dear George ! I do think this is 
 the sorest trial I ever had to bear ; and if he 
 is condemned, I don't know really what I 
 shall do. Such a perfect — such a dear boy ! he 
 never harmed -a human creature or a dumb 
 animal, and the object of his life was to do 
 good to every one. I loved him too well ! 
 For me, — oh, perhaps for me ! is this trial 
 sent; but surely God will not suffer the just 
 to be condemned. Yet, to be sure, 'now we 
 see as through a glass darkly.' " 
 
 " Why was he suspected ?" asked Geral- 
 dine. 
 
 " The stolen things belonging to Farmer 
 Smith were found in his room — in that little
 
 138 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 room there at the back of this cottage, and he 
 was seen near the farmhouse a few minutes 
 before the robbery was committed." 
 
 " That might have been chance,'' said 
 Geraldine; " some malicious person might 
 have contrived to put the stolen things in your 
 grandson's room : surely he will be, he must be 
 acquitted. Do not you think so, Alice ?" she 
 continued, putting her hand suddenly on the 
 girl's shoulders, and looking her steadfastly in 
 the face. 
 
 Alice started, blushed, muttered a few unin- 
 telligible words, and then burst into tears and 
 left the cottage. 
 
 Geraldine whispered to Dame Hilliard, "You 
 are right in supposing your grand-daughter 
 has more on her mind than she confesses. I 
 strongly suspect it would be in her power to 
 clear her cousin's character. 
 
 " Think you so, lady ?" said the old woman, 
 clasping her hands. " Oh, then ! if so, the
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 139 
 
 Lord will soften her heart, and she will declare 
 all." 
 
 We then took leave of the old woman. 
 " Lady," said she, taking Geraldine's hand, 
 " listen to the advice of an old woman : — Read 
 seriously the Scriptures ; and the more you read, 
 the more you will be delighted with them. 
 Think not they will ever check your innocent 
 mirth : on the contrary, they will teach you 
 to rejoice in all things. There is nothing 
 gloomy in real religion ; it forbids no innocent 
 pleasure. Only, in all your prosperity remem- 
 ber God, for ' his yoke is easy, and his burden 
 is light ;' and, in the beautiful words of the 
 Prophet Micah, ' He hath showed thee, O 
 man, what is good ; and what doth the Lord 
 require of thee, but to do justly, and to love 
 mercy, and to walk humbly with thy God ?^ 
 Now the blessing of our Father in heaven be 
 upon you, and guard you in peace !" she said, 
 kissing Geraldine's hand. *' Good-b'ye, my
 
 140 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 darling Miss Matilda ! you and Mrs. Dorothy, 
 I hope, will come to see me soon again." And 
 she resumed her spinning. 
 
 During the remainder of our walk, Geral- 
 dine was silent and thoughtful. I saw she had 
 been deeply moved by the old dame^s words : 
 yet the words were in themselves nothing ; but 
 it was her manner which was so extraordinarily 
 impressive. There is something extremely 
 touching in hearing a resigned and even joyful 
 sentiment uttered by lips which have through 
 a long life drunk of the bitter cup of misery, — 
 in seeing a face furrowed with many a care, 
 and a frame bent with age, bearing up witli 
 the holy energy of religion against every 
 ill, unsoured by misery and unshaken by ad- 
 versity, abounding in faith, hope, and charity. 
 
 I forbore to speak a word, lest I should dis- 
 turb the impression produced on Geraldine's 
 mind by the instructive scene we had just 
 witnessed. 
 
 That evening, at dinner, the conversation
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 141 
 
 turned upon the late robbery, in which Geral- 
 dine felt so much interested. Old Thomas, 
 with tears in his eyes, said, " It was indeed a 
 sad pity such an estimated young man as 
 George Hilliard should be captivated and sent 
 to prison ; and if even he did not come to the 
 gallows, he was sure to be transported." 
 
 " Impossible!" said Geraldine; " surely there 
 must be more justice in England, than to con- 
 demn an innocent man, and suffer the culprit to 
 escape."" 
 
 " ' Ah I there 's the rub !' as Shakspeare says 
 in Milton's Paradise Lost : who is the culprit. 
 Miss Morton ? for they examined Tom Giles, 
 who is the most willing and likeliest man in the 
 parish to do a willinus act, and they say that 
 he proved a lullaby ; which means, I suppose, 
 he was asleep in his own bed while the robbery 
 was committed. Ah, poor George ! I never 
 was in such a constellation in my life as when 
 that thief of a Tom came home wictorious — a 
 vagabone as he is ! 'Twas only yesterday he
 
 142 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 called me all manner of bad names and other 
 appropriate episodes, because I comprehended 
 him beating his mother. I don't like to 
 calumny any one; but ever since Tom took 
 up with them Irishmen and their whiskey, as 
 they call the liquor they brings over, he has 
 been a good-for-nothing fellow : he got too 
 fond of them and their rollicking songs and 
 their whiskey, and consented but too readily 
 when they cried out, ' Tom, my boy, take a 
 drop of the cratur.' — Crater, indeed ! I wish 
 them and their cratur were on the crater of 
 Mount Vesuvius, to drop into it ; and that all 
 their whiskey-casks, numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 
 7, were placed upon the top or apex of that 
 burning mountain, where Pliny the elder 
 got drunk with whiskey whilst observing the 
 clonflagration. And this I know to be a fact 
 from my own personal experience ; for in the 
 y^ar 1566, the natives of India got drunk 
 with whiskey, — but whether introduced from 
 Scotland or Ireland, I cannot say."
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 143 
 
 Poor old Thomas was very evidently getting 
 out of his depth, and making a sad jumble of 
 his historical recollections. I saw Matilda 
 getting fidgetty, and at last, to save her old 
 favourite from further difficulties, she sudden- 
 ly, much to Geraldine's regret, got up and put 
 an end to the discussion.
 
 144 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Since our birth, 
 Our thoughts have grown togetlier in one mould : 
 All through the seasons of our infancy, 
 The same hills rose about us — the same trees, 
 Now bare, now sprinkled with the tender leaf, 
 Now thick with full dark foilage — the same church, 
 Our own dear village- c*hurch, has seen us pray, 
 In the same seat, with hands clasp'd side by side, — 
 And we have sung together, and have walkM, 
 Full of one thought, along the homeward lane. 
 
 The evening service was late — it commenced 
 at four o'clock, for my brother found thp poor 
 people were better able to attend at that hour, 
 and in the winter there was some chance of 
 idle men and boys coming, when it was too 
 dark to play cricket or gossip before the ale- 
 house door ; and he also thought the service and
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 145 
 
 music by candle-light would produce, in some 
 minds, a religious feeling, — for he did not 
 agree with many, who think that helps to de- 
 votion, such as good music, a fine gothic ca- 
 thedral, its architecture, &c. . are of no avail, 
 because the impression would not be perhaps 
 lasting. 
 
 I will not pretend to decide this point, but 
 the result would favour his opinion ; for I never 
 saw a country church so well attended, or 
 where the appearance of devotion was more 
 manifest. Then my brother certainly was one 
 of the best preachers I ever heard, and an ex- 
 tremely clever man. He had been often offered 
 stalls and preferment, which his affection to the 
 people of Lyme had caused him always to re- 
 fuse: he said, he was contented with his lot, 
 and his dear parishioners were all fond of him. 
 Most ungrateful, indeed, would they have been 
 had they not loved him ; for his whole life, with 
 every power of his soul, was devoted to their 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 146 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 improvement, and the greater part of his 
 fortune to their happiness and comfort. 
 
 I was surprised to see Tom Giles at church 
 with his mother; I believe it was the first 
 time for many years that either had attended: 
 I am afraid, however, it was not of much use 
 to the former. He seemed to take but little 
 interest in the service, and I should think he 
 rather disturbed the devotions of poor Alice, 
 who sat near her grandmother, on the opposite 
 side of the aisle. 
 
 Dame Hilliard's countenance in church was 
 more interesting than ever. To her, Sunday 
 was indeed a day of rest. She always deter- 
 mined to cast away all care and anxiety on that 
 day, and she then enjoyed perfect peace, be- 
 cause her whole thoughts were upon God and 
 heavenly things. I observed that Geraldine 
 was deeply affected with the service. 
 
 When we left the church, the moon shone 
 brightly. There is something very solemn and 
 impressive in the sight of a churchyard by
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 147 
 
 moonlight. The dark gloomy yew-trees, — the 
 white tombstones, which at a distance one 
 may fancy to be the shrouded spirits of the 
 dead rising above their graves, — the mournful 
 stillness of the scene, all unite to produce a 
 feeling of calm, soothing melancholy, which I 
 like to prolong. 
 
 Matilda always traversed the churchyard 
 to visit her dear mother's grave. A marble 
 sarcophagus simply records her name and 
 age : her many virtues live alone in the me- 
 mory of those who knew and loved her. An 
 iron railing enclosed a small piece of ground in 
 which Matilda had planted a profusion of flow- 
 ers, which she carefully tended every day. 
 Her example had been followed by many of 
 the parishioners ; so that the whole church- 
 yard looked like a beautiful garden, dedicated 
 to the dead. 
 
 It was now the beginning of November, 
 but many of the late-blowing flowers were 
 in bloom, and perfumed the air with their 
 
 u2
 
 148 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 fragrance. Matilda picked a sprig of myrtle 
 which grew against her mother's tomb, and 
 giving it to Geraldine, said, " In this solemn 
 place, near the remains of her who was 
 dearest to me on earth, I implore you 
 again to remember the promise you gave me. 
 If you should ever love Vere, send me this 
 branch of myrtle, and I will gladly and cheer- 
 fully resign him to your love. But, dearest 
 Geraldine, do not, I beseech you, endeavour to 
 deceive yourself and me. My only hope is in 
 your candour, — you never yet deceived a human 
 being ; be true to yourself and to me. Do not 
 endeavour to crush the feelings in your heart ; 
 for, I am convinced, if you can love him, 
 your love will be returned." 
 
 Geraldine had listened to her with a breath- 
 less attention ; her face was pale as death, her 
 dark eyes were fixed on Matilda''s countenance 
 with an earnestness, an intensity of expression, 
 as if she thought her fate, her life, depended on 
 the words Matilda was uttering. At last she
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 149 
 
 Started, and the colour mounted to her cheeks, 
 her eyes were cast to the ground, and her eye- 
 lashes quivered with emotion. 
 
 Matilda continued : — " Yes, my dearest 
 Geraldine, he will love you ; but let not that 
 idea cause you any uneasiness. I love Vere : 
 — I love you far better than myself; and if it 
 would conduce to the happiness of you both, 
 the day which would unite you would be the 
 most blessed of my life. But I know Vere's 
 disposition, and he would die a thousand 
 deaths sooner than declare his love to you : — he 
 would sacrifice his own, and all our happiness, 
 to a feeling, which he considers honour. Oh, 
 how wretched — how miserable would my life 
 be, if I, under these circumstances, were united 
 to him ! Save me ! oh, dearest Geraldine ! 
 save me from such a trial ! Be not offended 
 if I again aslc you solemnly to perform your 
 promise/"* 
 
 " I do — I do," said Geraldine, throwing her 
 arms around Matilda's neck, and sobbing
 
 150 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 violently. " God grant that this myrtle branch 
 may accompany me to my grave sooner than 
 be returned to you !" 
 
 Matilda sighed and continued: — "I fear 
 you are but too like Vere already; you 
 would rather die than confess to your own 
 heart a feeling which your conscience con- 
 demns. Alas ! alas ! my caution — your pro- 
 mises, will be of no avail ; I can only pray that 
 God may guide you both, and that we may 
 all meet in heaven ;" and she knelt on the 
 marble step and prayed fervently, while the 
 tears rolled down her cheeks. 
 
 After some minutes she arose, and her coun- 
 tenance was cheerful, and a smile of holy 
 peace and love played on her beautiful lips. 
 ** I am happy now," she said to Geraldine ; 
 " I never pray at that dear grave without ex- 
 periencing a calm — a tranquillity, which is 
 delightful. I am quite superstitious about 
 this place," she laughingly continued as we 
 walked home ; '' so you must forgive me for
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 151 
 
 having spoken to you so solemnly : — there, 
 don't look melancholy, dearest ; you have 
 nothing to fear if you conceal nothing." 
 
 Geraldine tried hard to resume her usual 
 gaiety : but in spite of all her efforts she could 
 not during the vrhole evening regain her 
 animation and her spirits ; yet she could assign 
 to herself no imaginable reason for the strange 
 melancholy which oppressed her heart. 
 
 The following morning Lady Julia and 
 Lord Castleford arrived ; and, after a visit of 
 half an hour, they departed with Geraldine, 
 whose grief at parting from Matilda was most 
 violent. She could scarcely tear herself from 
 her : she used every argument which elo- 
 quence and ingenuity could devise to persuade 
 Matilda to accompany her, and in the attempt 
 she was ably seconded by her mother and Lord 
 Castleford ; but Matilda could not be prevail- 
 ed upon to leave her father's home. 
 
 Thomas, whose susceptible and poetical 
 heart had been deeply touched by Geraldine,
 
 152 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 said with a sigh, as he pressed his large hand 
 on the green waistcoat which covered his capa- 
 cious bosom, '< Oh, lady ! your presence 
 has been sweeter than violets, and your ab- 
 sence more to be regretted than a spring 
 morning : I should say, like the ghost in Ham- 
 let's Romeo, 
 
 ' Parting is such sweet sorrow, 
 And puts me in such a plight, 
 That I could say good morrow, 
 Until it be to-night/ " 
 
 At last they drove off. Geraldine stood up 
 
 in the barouche, and directed her tearful eyes 
 
 towards the vicarage, till a turn of the road 
 
 hid it from her view.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 153 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 My whole life 
 
 Has been a golden dream of love and friendship : 
 
 But now I wake, I 'm like a merchant roused 
 
 From soft repose, to see his vessel sinking, 
 
 And all his wealth cast o'er. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 Time passed on, and the, to me, pleasing 
 monotony of life at Lyme Vicarage caused the 
 months to appear like weeks. I was so occu- 
 pied in observing the improvement of little 
 Dorothy, in sometimes visiting the poor with 
 Matilda, and scolding them too, and trying to 
 add to their comforts and happiness, in dis- 
 puting with my brother, and in teaching Ma- 
 tilda Italian and painting, I hardly marked 
 the step of time. 
 
 h5
 
 154- GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 We often visited Dame Hilliard, and she, 
 poor woman, was indeed now severely afflicted ; 
 her grandson's trial was coming on, and as 
 nothing further had been discovered about the 
 robbery, there seemed not the slightest chance 
 of his acquittal. Alice was in a miserable con- 
 dition ; her health had suffered extremely from 
 the continual anxiety ; and it was heart-rend- 
 ing to behold so young and beautiful a crea- 
 ture so completely woe-stricken. 
 
 My brother and I went to witness the trial ; 
 but Matilda thought it better to remain at 
 home : she dreaded the crowd and the excite- 
 ment. 
 
 A court-house has always been to me a 
 scene of great interest from the variety of ex- 
 pression which can be traced in the counte- 
 nances of those connected with the proceed- 
 ings. The solemnity of the judge, — the care- 
 less indifference of the officers of the court 
 whilst going through forms upon which the 
 liberty, or perhaps the life, of a human being
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 155 
 
 depends, — the importance of the bustling 
 lawyer, are all objects of curiosity to me : a 
 vacant stare generally characterises the crowd 
 of faces which fill the court : but now and 
 then may be seen amongst them, in strong 
 contrast, a face which by its intensity of ex- 
 pression clearly identifies the individual as 
 allied by some tender tie with the prisoner; 
 and yet how strange it is that he, the object 
 of all this preparation and anxiety, frequently 
 appears the least interested in what is going 
 forward. 
 
 On the present occasion, I felt an anxiety far 
 beyond anything I had ever experienced ; and 
 when I beheld the poor sightless grandmother, 
 I could scarcely refrain from tears. A seat 
 had been placed for her near the dock, and 
 amidst the variety of feeling which could be 
 traced in her expressive countenance, I 
 thought hope and resignation appeared to pre- 
 dominate, — and indeed I could not but look 
 forward with hope to the result, however
 
 156 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Strong the presumption of guilt. When I 
 beheld the fine, open face and manly form of 
 the prisoner, " Surely," said I to my brother, 
 " guilt cannot belong to such a countenance." 
 He shook his head, but said nothing. 
 
 Near Mrs. Hilliard stood Alice, pale as 
 death, evidently exciting by her beauty and 
 wretchedness the deepest commiseration. In 
 the tall figure behind her I recognized Tom 
 Giles; his dark complexion bringing out, in 
 strong relief, the pale features of the wretched 
 girl who stood before him : the general ex- 
 pression of his dark eye was that of reckless 
 daring as it passed from one object to the 
 other in the crowd ; and yet, when it chanced 
 to meet the eye of the prisoner, I thought it 
 quailed before his mild expression. This 
 might have been fancy or prejudice, and I was 
 angry with myself for feeling so interested for 
 one against whom the presumption of guilt was 
 so strong : yet I could not help thinking if the
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 157 
 
 two young men were to change places, how 
 many individuals it would make happy. 
 
 I was thus occupied with my thoughts and 
 observations, when they were suddenly put an 
 end to by the commencement of the trial ; and 
 now it occupied every thought. The judge 
 took his seat, — the jury were empannelled, — 
 the indictment read, and the other forms gone 
 through; then came the question to the 
 prisoner, " Are you guilty of the charge, 
 or not guilty ?" 
 
 The answer " Not guilty," was given so 
 modestly and yet so decisively, with an air of 
 so much truth and resignation, that it carried 
 conviction of innocence to my breast, and, I felt 
 sure, to the majority of those who heard it ; 
 but, alas ! this conviction diminished at every 
 stage of the subsequent proceedings. The fact 
 of the robbery, and of the subsequent discovery 
 of some of the articles stolen in Hilliard's 
 room, were clearly established. Tom, when
 
 158 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 called upon, swore that on the night of the 
 robbery he had seen Hilliard waiting about 
 the farmer's house : he proved too, that a 
 clasp-knife which had been found on the pre- 
 mises, and which evidently had been used in 
 forcing a shutter, belonged to him : and the 
 traces of footsteps near the window were ascer- 
 tained by the constable who discovered the 
 property, to correspond exactly with the nails 
 of a pair of shoes found in Hilliard's room, and 
 identified as his. 
 
 This last circumstance seemed to remove all 
 doubt, and my commiseration was now entirely 
 absorbed by the wretched, sightless grand- 
 mother ; and I sighed when I reflected on the 
 strange inconsistencies of our nature, so mani- 
 fest in the conduct of this young man, who 
 could thus, by the commission of a crime, ap- 
 parently too without strong temptation, tarnish 
 the lustre of his former life, which had been 
 remarkable for regularity and good conduct. 
 
 When Hilliard, who had not employed coun-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 159 
 
 cil, was called upon for his defence, he 
 acknowledged that appearances were strong 
 against him ; but declared in the presence of 
 that God who knows the secrets of all hearts, 
 that, notwithstanding these appearances, he 
 was innocent. He did not deny that the knife 
 was his, but asserted that he had missed it 
 unaccountably the day before the robbery : he 
 admitted, too, that the shoes were his ; yet that, 
 owing to a hurt, he had not worn them for 
 several days previous. 
 
 Some neighbours proved that he had been 
 seen to walk lame, owing, as he had stated, to 
 a hurt ; but they could not say what shoes he 
 wore. He acknowledged having been near the 
 farmer's house on the night in question ; but 
 the reason for being so was not as supposed. 
 Upon being asked what was the reason for 
 being at that peculiar place at so unusual an 
 hour, he paused, looked for a moment at 
 Alice, and then said he declined to give an 
 answer.
 
 160 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Several of the most respectable persons of 
 the parish, amongst them my brother, when 
 called upon, gave the strongest testimony as to 
 character; but nothing came out to shake the 
 evidence for the prosecution. 
 
 The judge in addressing the jury, told them 
 that if they believed the witnesses for the pro- 
 secution — and nothing had been brought for- 
 ward to impugn their veracity — they must find 
 the prisoner guilty ; at the same time, he was 
 sure they would give the prisoner the benefit 
 of the very respectable testimonies as to the 
 correctness of his former life,-— and the apparent 
 improbability of the commission of such a 
 crime ought to have great influence if support- 
 ed by direct evidence : yet in the absence of 
 that evidence, he felt it his duty to say that 
 they should have but little weight, particular- 
 ly when coupled with the very suspicious cir- 
 cumstance of the prisoner's admission of being 
 near the house at the time proved by the 
 witness for the prosecution, and yet his refusal
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 161 
 
 to account for his presence there at that un- 
 usual hour, — at the same time he was sure the 
 jury would give the prisoner all the advantages 
 of the very creditable evidence as to cha- 
 racter which he had produced. 
 
 The jury then retired to consider their ver- 
 dict, and though no one could reasonably doubt 
 what that verdict would be, yet it was a mo- 
 ment of fearful suspense, which was strongly 
 expressed in the countenances of the assembled 
 crowd: all eyes were directed to the jury- 
 box — but the eyes of her, who of all that mul- 
 titude was most interested in the result, were 
 strained upwards in vain — all was dark to her : 
 then unable any longer to bear the suspense, as 
 if to conceal the expression that told how 
 keenly she felt the deprivation of sight, she 
 covered her face with her hands; but there 
 was a convulsive movement in the wrinkles of 
 her forehead and in her thin withered hands 
 which betrayed her emotion. 
 
 The verdict of the jury was such as was ex-
 
 162 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 pected, — Hilliard was found guilty, but owing 
 to previous good character, was recommended 
 to mercy. 
 
 The old dame seemed to hear the fatal words 
 before any one else ; she uttered a faint cry and 
 clasped her hands and wrung them for a mo- 
 ment in despair — but it was only for a moment : 
 by a sudden effort she seemed to check the re- 
 bellious feeling, and crossed her arms meekly on 
 her bosom ; she raised her dark eyes to heaven, 
 and her lips moved as if in secret prayer. 
 Alice fainted in the arms of Tom Giles, who 
 with a diabolical sneer of triumph carried her 
 out of court. 
 
 The judge addressed the prisoner in a very 
 feeling manner — expatiated on the enormity of 
 his offence, and said, " That had it not been for 
 the recommendation of the jury, and the highly 
 respectable witnesses who had come forward to 
 bear testimony as to former character, he would 
 have felt himself called upon to sentence him 
 to banishment for life ; but yielding to these
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 163 
 
 considerations, he wobld mitigate the punish- 
 ment to transportation for seven years, in the 
 hope that, should it please God to spare his 
 life after this temporary absence, he may be 
 restored to his country a useful member of 
 society." 
 
 Poor Hilliard, with great modesty and deep 
 feeling, thanked the judge for his good advice, 
 and for the patience he and the jury had mani- 
 fested during the trial : he said he did not blame 
 them for the result, which after such evidence 
 he was aware could not be otherwise; but he 
 trusted the time would soon come, when the 
 discovery of the real delinquent would prove 
 the truth of what he again asserted before God 
 and his country, that he was perfectly innocent 
 of the crime imputed to him. 
 
 Dame Hilliard accompanied her grandson to 
 prison, and would not leave him till the day 
 fixed for removal, previous to his departure for 
 New South Wales. We went on that trying 
 day to bring her home, and I saw the unfor-
 
 164 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 tunate young man. Yet why should I say 
 unfortunate ? for condemned as he was to seven 
 years exile from all he loved, his state of mind 
 and feeling were more worthy of envy than of 
 pity. So true is it, that our happiness solely 
 depends on the power we have over self: a 
 contented mind, embued with the spirit of 
 Christianity, appears to control even destiny 
 itself. 
 
 Poor Hilliard had been wounded in the most 
 tender points, — his character, his good fame, all 
 the goods of this world he possessed, were gone, 
 and his name branded with infamy. The 
 grief, however, which I believe he found the 
 hardest to bear, was disappointed love ; — Alice 
 had consented to be his, and he had lavished 
 on her all the warm feeling of his deeply sus. 
 ceptible heart, and how had she repaid him ? 
 It was but too well known that she now loved 
 his bitterest enemy ; yet, when I saw him at 
 that last trying moment, the expression of his 
 handsome features was calm and serene, and
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 165 
 
 in all the words he uttered there was a spirit of 
 more than resignation, — of hope, of joy, which 
 could not fail to excite admiration and afford 
 the best consolation to his dear grandmother. 
 
 It was quite delightful to hear them, each 
 seeming only anxious for the other ; the idea of 
 self was quite lost. The old dame had brought 
 with her as a parting gift the thing she most 
 valued on earth — her mother's old Bible, the 
 one which had been pawned by her drunken 
 husband, and which had cost her so much 
 labour and exertion to recover ; this was a 
 treasure from which she had never since been 
 separated. 
 
 I saw a tear glisten in the young man's eye 
 as he received the precious book — " Does not 
 Alice read it to you ?'' he mournfully asked. 
 
 She shook her head, and said, ''Pray for 
 her, dearest George, for your prayer will avail 
 much. Yes," she continued, her face beam- 
 ing with an expression which seemed almost 
 inspired — " you surely are one who will
 
 166 GERALDINlE MORTON. 
 
 through great tribulation enter into the king- 
 dom of heaven ; you will rise to life immortal, 
 clothed in robes of spotless purity, sinless, 
 pure, perfect, even as our blessed Redeemer is 
 perfect. I thank thee, O Lord God Omnipo- 
 tent, for thou hast heard my prayer : I asked 
 not goods for him, but I implored a heavenly 
 crown. Now farewell, dearest, best-beloved of 
 all my children." 
 
 She imprinted one long fervent kiss on his 
 lips, and leaning on my arm left the cell. 
 
 I feared this blessed state of feeling could 
 not last long, but I was mistaken ; she was si- 
 lent during the drive home, but the calm 
 heavenly expression still continued to animate 
 her features. It may be imagined that scarcely 
 a day passed without our visiting the old 
 woman's cottage, and we always expected to 
 hear of Alice's approaching marriage with 
 Tom Giles. 
 
 George Hilliard was anxious to have taken 
 leave of her, but Alice would not consent to
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 167 
 
 see him ; and indeed, soon after his departure, 
 reports were afloat in the village highly in- 
 jurious to her character. Contrary, however, to 
 the expectations of everybody, Giles's atten- 
 tions seemed to have diminished, and indeed 
 it was reported that he was paying his ad- 
 dresses to the heiress of a rich farmer in the 
 next village. Poor Alice looked more deject- 
 ed and miserable, and it was impossible not 
 to feel interested for the beautiful girl; yet 
 there was a sort of proud reserve about her 
 which checked all approach to confidence
 
 168 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Death was denounced, that fearful sound 
 Which e'en the best can hardly bear. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 Lady Julia was enchanted with her daugh- 
 ter's success in London ; she was admired, 
 courted, and loved by all. No parties were so 
 recherche, no invitations sought for with so 
 much avidity, as those to her splendid house 
 in Grosvenor-square, — that same house which, 
 many years before, had been the scene of her 
 own triumphant success in a former world of 
 fashion. 
 
 Vere had taken up politics with all the en- 
 thusiasm of his ardent mind ; he had become a 
 celebrated speaker, and one of the most pro-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 169 
 
 raising members of the Tory party. It may be 
 imagined with what delight his speeches were 
 read in Lyme Vicarage. Now Matilda's eye 
 kindled with joy and admiration — and now the 
 tears ran down my old cheeks, as I held out 
 my trumpet towards my brother, who always 
 read aloud the newspaper after breakfast. 
 
 Vere had but little time for the gaiety of 
 London ; but we sometimes heard of his 
 dining in Grosvenor-square with Lady Julia, 
 and more often with Lord Castleford at his 
 house in Old Palace-yard ; for, though they 
 differed in politics, yet each saw in the other 
 one of the most able and leading men of the 
 day. Geraldine, who was a great admirer of 
 eloquence, often went to the House of Lords, 
 and to the ventilator of the House of Com- 
 mons, to hear the speeches. 
 
 As the season drew towards a close, business 
 in the House of Commons became less interest- 
 ing and important ; and Vere was able to 
 attend to the amusements which still continued 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 170 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 to rage in full fury, in spite of heat, dust, and 
 every other annoyance. 
 
 Soon after this I received a letter from my 
 friend Lady Jane Clarke, who always told me 
 the latest news of the day; she was one of those 
 good people who seemed to live only for the 
 sake of getting and dispersing intelligence of 
 all the flirtations, marriages, and separations, 
 which were going on in the world. 
 
 Dear Lady Jane Clarke ! her letters were ge- 
 nerally very amusing ; but this one caused me 
 some little uneasiness. She began by congra- 
 tulating me on my nephew's success, and said 
 that his talents had, during the session, given 
 a decided preponderance to the Tory party, 
 and quite eclipsed the fame of Lord Castle- 
 ford, though the best speaker of the Whigs. 
 But he did not seem content with this victory ; 
 for it was said, that he had also succeeded in 
 gaining the affection of the richest heiress, and 
 most beautiful girl of the day, who had been 
 previously engaged to Lord Castleford.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 171 
 
 She wished to hear from me the truth of the 
 report : she had seen them together at several 
 breakfasts ; and Miss Morton seemed to give 
 him her whole attention, to the apparent an- 
 noyance of Lord Castleford, who often stood by 
 absorbed in thought, taking no notice of the 
 happy pair, or indeed anybody else; and it 
 was the remark of all the world, how com- 
 pletely he seemed changed. Lady Mapleford, 
 indeed, latterly made many efforts to draw him 
 from this melancholy state ; and he sometimes 
 danced with her daughter Lady Jane. 
 
 I doubted whether or not I should show this 
 letter to Matilda, and at last I determined to 
 wait till I should hear something more posi- 
 tive; as I felt sure Lady Julia would write 
 if anything occurred which would influence so 
 strangely all her plans for Geraldine. Every 
 morning I looked with the greatest anxiety 
 towards the breakfast-table, but no letters from 
 any human being appeared. *' How strange !" 
 we all said ; " what can have beconue of them ?" 
 
 i2
 
 172 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 This continued so long that, but for the 
 newspapers, we should have suspected some 
 misfortune had happened. Parties continued 
 to be given, and we constantly saw the names 
 of Lady Julia and her daughter, Vere and 
 Lord Castleford having been at them all. But 
 one morning there was a paragraph which 
 caused Matilda to turn pale, and tremble so 
 violently, that I thought she was going to 
 faint ; I snatched the paper from her hand and 
 read as follows : 
 
 " It is rumoured among the higher circles, 
 that two marriages are on the tapis, which will 
 surprise many. A baronet's son, and a dis- 
 tinguished leader of the Tory party in the 
 House of Commons, is about to lead to the 
 hymeneal altar the beautiful and rich heiress, 
 who has been for some time engaged to a noble 
 lord — who, however, is to be consoled for his 
 disappointment, by receiving the fair hand of 
 Lady J M r 
 
 I could wait no longer, but despatched a
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 173 
 
 long letter to Lady Julia, another to Vere, and 
 Matilda wrote to Geraldine. I saw her beau- 
 tiful, her really angelic letter : it contained not 
 a word of reproach ; on the contrary, she con- 
 gratulated her with the whole sincerity of her 
 affectionate heart on the prospect of her union 
 with Vere ; and she kindly and playfully al- 
 luded to her prophecy, and the branch of 
 myrtle. 
 
 How the dear girl could obtain such a vic- 
 tory over every feeling of disappointment, 
 wounded friendship, and outraged love, I can- 
 not imagine. She seemed during the whole of 
 the time to be supported by a miraculous and 
 superhuman strength of mind. It was an im- 
 mense effort ; and it was not till the letter was 
 finished and despatched to the post, that she 
 gave way to her feelings. Then, — oh ! I shall 
 never forget her look of despair — 'twas as if 
 the thread of her existence had been broken ; 
 and like a flower suddenly torn from its stalk 
 by the rude tempest, she drooped, till I ac-
 
 174 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 tually fancied I could see her withering away 
 as fast. She could scarcely walk up to bed 
 that evening, though she went up-stairs with 
 a tearless eye, and an appearance of almost 
 cheerful resignation ; but the next morning she 
 was in a violent fever, and pronounced by the 
 physician to be in a very dangerous state. 
 
 My poor brother, with utter despair, heard 
 this fatal declaration : he felt he had been 
 almost the murderer of his darling child ; 
 he upbraided himself bitterly for having with- 
 held his consent to the marriage, and having 
 thus caused such cruel disappointment to Ma- 
 tilda. I had always prophesied he would one 
 day repent, and that day, alas ! had now ar- 
 rived : but though I really felt provoked with 
 him as having caused Matilda''s illness, I could 
 not upbraid him, but endeavoured to comfort 
 and inspire him with a hope I did not myself 
 feel. 
 
 That morning three letters arrived which, 
 owing to Matilda''s illness, I had not opened
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 175 
 
 till late in the day ; nor should I then, but, as 
 one was from Vere, the idea struck me that 
 there might be some hope that the report was 
 not true, — and yet, what would that avail now 
 that Matilda was dying ? However, I opened 
 it ; and, oh ! had it but arrived a day sooner, 
 all would have been avoided. It contained a 
 very kind and affectionate message to Matilda, 
 and announced his intention of going abroad 
 with his friend Lord Henry Leslie, in his 
 yacht, for the summer. He was not well, and 
 he thought a voyage to the Mediterranean 
 would do him good and amuse his mind, till 
 the tedious year of trial was over. 
 
 Whilst reading these joyful words, a feeling 
 of hope was awakened in my bosom ; I ran up 
 and gave the letter to my brother, who was 
 praying by Matilda's bed. He read it to her, 
 and I said, '' Show it! perhaps she will know 
 his writing, while I go and despatch a letter to 
 Vere — he shall come ; for I am certain the sight 
 of him would save her life."
 
 176 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 I wrote the letter, fortunately, just in time 
 for the post. When it was finished, I returned 
 to Matilda, and found that the dearest girl had 
 become worse. The sight of Vere's writing 
 had produced a strange effect ; at first she 
 seemed delighted, and repeatedly kissed the 
 letter, till suddenly remembering something, 
 she, with angry violence, tore it into atoms: 
 then, as if regretting what she had done, she 
 endeavoured to collect the bits, and on the 
 bed tried to put them together again ; till, 
 completely exhausted by the effort, she fell 
 back and remained in a state of stupor. The 
 effort was too much for her. 
 
 During that entire night we watched by the 
 dear girl, gazing alternately at the death-like 
 features of the poor sufferer, and the countenance 
 of Dr. Bernard. He was an old and highly es- 
 teemed friend, as well as skilful physician. To 
 him we looked in this trying moment for com- 
 fort and support ; but, alas ! there was no ex- 
 pression of hope in his benevolent features.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. it* 
 
 I thought that long and melancholy night 
 would never end. A sick room by day, and 
 even when it contains one to whom we are in- 
 different, is a mournful and affecting sight ; 
 but when by the dim night-lamp, whose tre- 
 mulous flickering rays cast such a pale hue of 
 sadness on all surrounding objects, causing the 
 dark shadows to move in a solemn death-like 
 dance, — when by its spectral light we sit be- 
 side the dying bed of the young, the beautiful 
 object we love, — how heart-rending is the 
 scene ! 
 
 On a chair near her bed was the dress she had 
 worn but the day before, when she was beaming 
 with health and happiness; and the bonnet and 
 shawl in which she had walked to Dame Hil- 
 liard's cottage, — perhaps she had worn them 
 for the last time. I recalled to my mind the 
 tones of her voice, the words of kindness and 
 comfort she had addressed to the old woman. 
 Under the dressing-table were her shoes ; they 
 were much too large and of an ugly shape, 
 
 I 5
 
 178 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 and had been the cause of my scolding her for 
 attending so little to her dress. Ah ! how bit- 
 terly did I now reproach myself for my angry 
 words — how earnestly I prayed that if God 
 would, in his mercy, spare her, I might never 
 again be angry with such an angelic crea- 
 ture. 
 
 Little Dorothy lay at the foot of the bed ; 
 poor child, she had cried long and bitterly, but 
 at last, tired and exhausted with sobbing, she 
 had fallen asleep ; and there she lay, happy, 
 blooming, and unconscious : the smile on her 
 lips, and her round rosy cheek on the pillow, 
 forming a sad contrast to her sister's agonized 
 and death-like appearance. 
 
 Morning at last dawned ; but its faint grey 
 light, mingled with that of the lamp, only 
 served to cast a still more melancholy hue on 
 every object in the room. There is" always a 
 degree of hope inspired by the new beams of 
 day, which a sort of instinct prompts us to 
 feel, even when reason would forbid its indul-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 179 
 
 gence ; we unconsciously turn for consolation 
 to the rising sun, trusting that some portion 
 of its rays may descend to enlighten our dark 
 and gloomy feelings. 
 
 I went to the window, but found nothing 
 to revive me there ; the sun, indeed, shone 
 brightly on the garden ; but every flower she 
 had planted, every tree, every shrub, brought 
 Matilda's image, gay and blooming with 
 health, painfully to my mind. The very bril- 
 liancy of the scene, the fresh morning dew, 
 the song of the awakening birds, the air of 
 life and vigour which pervaded every object, 
 seemed by its sad contrast to the room within 
 to mock my grief. 
 
 I turned from the window with vexation and 
 despair, and again took my station by the sick 
 bed : there was little variation in Matilda's 
 state. Dr. Bernard was obliged to go and 
 visit some other patients during the day ; but 
 he promised to return at night. I confidently 
 hoped that Vere would arrive in the evening ;
 
 180 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 and Dr. Bernard agreed with me in thinking 
 that if she were to know him, the emotion 
 caused by his presence might produce the most 
 beneficial results. 
 
 As the evening advanced, we all became 
 dreadfully anxious ; every sound caused us to 
 start and run to the windows. Little Dorothy, 
 whose ears were remarkably quick, fancied 
 every moment she heard a carriage at a dis- 
 tance; but hour after hour passed, and Vere 
 did not arrive. We had calculated he might 
 have been at the Vicarage at six o''clock, if he 
 had received my letter in due course. 
 
 Thought after thought of every imaginable 
 reason for delay presented themselves to our 
 minds ; for, if he had been at home when my 
 letter arrived, we felt perfectly sure that no- 
 thing on earth would have prevented his coming. 
 At last a carriage was really heard, our hearts 
 beat violently, and for some moments all was 
 breathless suspense ; but, alas ! it was only 
 Dr. Bernard. He did not perceive much
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 181 
 
 change in the sufferer's condition : her pulse 
 was scarcely perceptible ; but it was some com- 
 fort to hear she was not worse. 
 
 Another night passed, and again the morn- 
 ing dawned. The sun rose with the same 
 splendour as the morning before; the post 
 came in, but no letters or intelligence arrived 
 from Vere. 
 
 The two letters, which had arrived with 
 Vere*s on the first day of Matilda's illness, I 
 had been prevented by my anxiety from 
 opening ; but as I now thought it better to 
 write to Lady Julia, and inquire something 
 about my nephew, I read them. 
 
 One was from Lady Julia, announcing her 
 daughter's approaching marriage. She had 
 acceded to Lord Castleford's and Geraldine's 
 wish that it should take place sooner than the 
 time originally intended. She expressed an 
 earnest request that Matilda and I would come 
 to town for it ; and ended by alluding to the 
 absurd paragraph in the newspaper, which had
 
 182 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 caused much annoyance to all parties. It was 
 totally unfounded, as she was perfectly satis- 
 fied Geraldine''s affections were entirely en- 
 grossed by Lord Castleford ; for, if she were 
 not convinced of that important fact, no 
 earthly power would induce her to consent to 
 the marriage ; for though Lord Castleford 
 was a most amiable man, as well as an eligible 
 match, yet Geraldine's success in London had 
 been such that many people were surprised at 
 her allowing her daughter to marry so soon, 
 there being so many others who at that time 
 would be too happy to seek such an alliance. 
 
 The other letter was from Geraldine ; and 
 of course had been written before Matilda's 
 had reached her. It was addressed to the poor 
 dear girl, and written in a style of what ap- 
 peared to me exaggerated happiness and wild 
 gaiety. She hoped Matilda would come to 
 town at once and fulfil her promise of being 
 bridesmaid. 
 
 I instantly despatched a letter, imforming
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 183 
 
 them of the sad state of our poor invalid, and 
 of the dreadful disappointment Vere's not 
 coming had occasioned ; for, unless he arrived, 
 we gave up all hope of Matilda's life.
 
 184 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Die Seele war's, die jahre lang gebunden 
 Durch alle Fesseln jetz auf einmal brach 
 Und Tone fand in ihren tiefsten Tiefen 
 Die tingeahnt Und gottlich in ihr schiefen. 
 
 Goethe. 
 
 To account for Vere Harcourfs strange 
 silence and nonappearance at this moment, 
 I must endeavour to sketch the history of his 
 feelings during the last six months. Do not be 
 frightened, I shall make it as short as possible, 
 and as intelligible as that strange compound of 
 contradictory tastes, feelings, and passions, the 
 mind of man, ever can be either to itself or 
 others. 
 
 It sometimes happens that people are won- 
 derfully mistaken in themselves, in their own
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 185 
 
 tastes and characters, or, in common words, in 
 their own likings and dislikings. In such mis- 
 takes originate half the disappointments of life. 
 Many fancy they admire most those people 
 whose looks and dispositions come nearest to 
 the imaginary standard of perfection their 
 reason has erected ; but the reverse is too 
 often the case : they are captivated, but it is by 
 qualities totally different from those ideal ex- 
 cellences ; and the fascination is then the more 
 fatal, because, thrown off their guard, the 
 danger is not perceived : they cannot imagine 
 it possible to be influenced by a person or 
 thing so dissimilar to all they admire, and thus 
 the feeling becomes irresistible before they are 
 aware of its existence. 
 
 Vere Harcourt beheld in his cousin Matilda 
 a person who accorded exactly with his heau 
 idtal of a wife; and her beauty was also of a 
 character which he most admired. He fancied 
 he was very much in love ; but it was a love 
 of the imagination — of reason rather than of the
 
 186 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 heart. Provoked by his father''s objections, 
 and Matilda's early acquiescence to the year's 
 delay, he began to find fault with the very 
 quality he had most admired — namely, a cheer- 
 ful resignation to her father's will, which was 
 with Matilda her ruling principle. 
 
 This feeling against her made him dissatis- 
 fied with himself, almost without knowing it ; 
 and it conduced to his unhappiness even more 
 than the year's delay. In this state of mind 
 he anxiously sought every opportunity of with- 
 drawing his thoughts from himself ; and for a 
 time his attention was powerfully engaged, and 
 his feelings absorbed by politics, and the 
 amusing conversation of Geraldine. 
 
 A woman who interested herself much in 
 politics he would hate as a wife; but his .vanity 
 was gratified by Geraldine's approval of, and 
 the energy with which she discussed his speeches, 
 and entered into the merits of his arguments. 
 
 She was besides a Tory ; and her woman's 
 zeal, and the quick apprehension with which
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 187 
 
 she caught his meaning, rendered her com- 
 ments more flattering than those of any man 
 could be. 
 
 He would not approve of Matilda's frequent- 
 ing the ventilator ; yet it must be confessed 
 he felt more inspired, and his speeches were 
 more eloquent, when Geraldine's bright eyes 
 were directed towards him through the iron 
 grate, and her slender throat was extended 
 through the sort of pigeon-hole or pillory, 
 which the gallantry of the English House of 
 Commons has allotted to the fair sex. His dear 
 — yes still dear Matilda, would never be capti- 
 vated by the frivolous gaiety of the world. 
 No : he could never have married a London 
 girl, or one who could endure the sight of the 
 ballette : it was therefore impossible that waltz- 
 ing more frequently v^^ith Geraldine than with 
 any body else, or enjoying her conversations at 
 the opera and at other public places, could be 
 dangerous ; besides all these preventatives, she 
 was engaged to a man who, though not a con-
 
 188 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 servative, he highly respected and liked : 
 and then she was an heiress ; no motive on 
 earth should ever induce him to marry an 
 heiress. 
 
 With these and a thousand such plausible 
 reasons he endeavoured to stifle the hints of 
 conscience, which true and unerring guide 
 accused him of feeling too great happiness in 
 Geraldine's society, by warning him of the 
 danger he incurred by proving faithless to 
 Matilda, to himself, and to all his predilections 
 and feelings. No, no, his love for Matilda 
 would prove a safeguard from everything. Yet 
 all these securities did not prevent his becom- 
 ing daily more and more fascinated by Geral- 
 dine; and her manner, which was cold and 
 haughty to most people, by degrees assumed, 
 when talking to him, an air of kind interest. 
 Gradually those dark eyes, which measured 
 others with proud coldness, softened at his 
 approach into an expression of more than in- 
 terest. Her air, which, though extremely
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 189 
 
 animated, was usually calm and collected, be- 
 came latterly, he fancied, agitated and con- 
 fused at times when he spoke. 
 
 Was it possible ? Could that proud girl, 
 for whose hand all were striving, — who was be- 
 loved by the most delightful man in England, 
 — who from her childhood had received uni- 
 versal admiration wherever she had been, — was 
 it possible she could love him ? There was 
 something surprising as well as intoxicating in 
 the idea which so flattered his vanity, that he 
 at last gave himself up to the delightful feel- 
 ing, and enjoying the present moment, permit- 
 ted her image undisturbed to haunt his sleep- 
 ing and waking hours. Suddenly the ambition 
 of being admired by his own political party, 
 and feared by his opponents, became as no- 
 thing in comparison to the delight of exciting 
 the admiration of Geraldine. Her engagement 
 to Lord Castleford, and his own to Matilda, all, 
 all were forgotten. 
 
 The end of July arrived, and politics, flirta-
 
 190 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 tions, and marriages were winding up. Worn- 
 out dowagers, and their despairing daughters, 
 began to discover how hot and stupid London 
 was, and that it was no use to give any more 
 balls. While those who fancied there was 
 still some chance, said, " It was never so 
 pleasant as when the great gaieties ceased, 
 and people had time to enjoy society quiet- 
 ly ; and then the breakfasts were so delight- 
 ful." 
 
 There is certainly nothing so favourable to 
 a flirtation as the gay breakfasts which con- 
 clude a London season. The number of hours 
 they last, — the number of things to be seen, 
 but seldom looked at, in all parts of the 
 grounds, necessarily lead the happy two from 
 their chaperons and their party. 
 
 Among the most pleasant of all that had 
 been given that season was one at the Duke 
 
 of 's beautiful villa. The day was fine 
 
 and not too hot; the sunset was pronounced 
 to be more lovely than any before witnessed ;
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 191 
 
 and as the evening advanced, a soft luxurious 
 variegated light spread itself over the landscape, 
 arising from the coloured lamps which were 
 artfully concealed amidst the foliage of the 
 trees and shrubs. A splendid illumination 
 followed. 
 
 Vere and Geraldine had been wandering 
 about the lonely walks. Soon after the differ- 
 ent parties arrived, they went to see the dairy 
 and flower-garden, which were at some distance 
 from the house ; but strange to say they found 
 neither, and I fear even the splendid sunset 
 passed unheeded by them : yet theirs could 
 not be called a flirtation, for the word love 
 between them had never been uttered. They 
 enjoyed each other''s society, it is true^ and that 
 to a degree which made them forget every- 
 thing else in the world. 
 
 At last it became quite dark. They were 
 far from the illuminated end of the gardens, 
 and Geraldine suddenly remembered Lady 
 Julia would be uneasy.
 
 192 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 They walked slowly towards the distant 
 lights, and reached a brilliant tent, where a 
 waltz was just beginning. This tent they en- 
 tered and joined in the delightful dance. 
 
 After a few rounds they stopped, and found 
 Lord Castleford's eyes fixed upon them with 
 an expression in which anger and sorrow were 
 strangely blended. With a voice scarcely 
 audible from excessive agitation, he reminded 
 Geraldine that she had promised to dance the 
 first waltz with him when they arrived, which 
 was six hours ago, and he and Lady Julia had 
 been anxiously looking for her all over the 
 grounds. 
 
 Geraldine endeavoured to stammer out an ex- 
 cuse about the dairy and the Turkish garden ; 
 but she was so dismayed at Lord Castleford's 
 look of despair, she felt almost choked in at- 
 tempting to speak ; and turning alternate- 
 ly red and pale, she cast her eyes to the 
 ground. 
 
 Vere was not less confused ; he appeared to
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 193 
 
 awake from an enchanting dream to a sad and 
 painful reality. It seemed as if it was but 
 that instant he suddenly discovered that the 
 lovely being who was so' inexpressively dear to 
 his heart, and who was, alas ! far more capti- 
 vating to his fastidious taste than poor Ma- 
 tilda, could never be his. So sudden — so 
 startling was the painful truth which Lord 
 Castleford's agitation forced on his mind, that 
 he stood shocked ; as if it were only then for 
 the first time the sad reality had flashed upon 
 him, that this adored, this perfect creature, 
 was Geraldine Morton, the heiress — the 
 dear betrothed of his friend ; and that he 
 himself, alas ! alas ! far worse, was hopelessly, 
 irrevocably engaged to Matilda. 
 
 In one instant, the aspect, the sound of 
 everything was changed as if by magic. The 
 music, which before seemed so beautiful, now 
 jarred upon his ear; the brilliant lights were 
 intolerable, the heated rooms oppressive, and 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 194 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 the lovely creature, whose presence had cast 
 over the whole scene the blissful atmosphere of 
 paradise, was now lost to him for ever. He 
 was alone, a solitary being in the great peopl- 
 ed desert of life. She was the only person he 
 ever met with who could enter into all his feel- 
 ings, — who understood every thought and un- 
 expressed sentiment of his strange mind and 
 character. 
 
 He had always been of a melancholy turn, 
 which, I think, was chiefly owing to an idea 
 that he was unlike every one else : he had 
 felt convinced that he should never meet 
 with a mind that would harmonise, or a heart 
 that would beat in unison with his own. The 
 person he had most admired was Matilda ; but, 
 oh ! how different was the love he felt for her, 
 to the passionate, absorbing adoration which 
 Geraldine inspired. He cast on her one long, 
 one sorrowful look. Why should he remain 
 longer .?— his presence only served to increase
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 195 
 
 her confusion and Lord Castleford's annoyance. 
 Quite as great a novice as Gerald ine her- 
 self in the art of deceit, he never considered 
 that his sudden departure in the middle of 
 the waltz would appear odd, and that many 
 curious eyes were examining their every move- 
 ment. 
 
 Utterly sick at heart, and vexed with him- 
 self and everything else, he left the tent, and 
 traversed the gardens, without noticing or once 
 perceiving that he was followed, until he reach- 
 ed the entrance-hall, where some one tapped his 
 shoulder, and inquired what could induce him 
 to desert his partner in the middle of the 
 dance. 
 
 He turned and saw the round, weather- 
 beaten face and cheerful countenance of Lord 
 Henry Leslie, who exclaimed, 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, what has happened 
 to you ? — are you ill or mad ? You look as bitter 
 as a north-easter, and as withering as a sirocco. 
 
 k2
 
 196 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Well, nevermind, don't look so angry : I know 
 it all, you have been disappointed; 'tis the fate 
 of all at least once in our lives, and many a 
 one has fallen to my share, even this very day. 
 But never mind, I shall sail to-morrow, and 
 the fine breeze will blow away all care, and 
 carry me to the smiling shores of the Mediter- 
 ranean. Depend upon it, a yacht is the only 
 mistress worth a farthing. I have been hunt- 
 ing all day for a pleasant companion, and can 
 find no one ready to start so soon. Will you 
 come with me ? You don't look very cheerful 
 just now; but I, fortunately, have spirits 
 enough for two ; and you may gaze at the moon 
 as sentimentally as you did last year in Scot- 
 land, and listen or not, just as you like, to my 
 indefatigable tongue. Come, I am sure it will 
 do you good, and I promise not to quiz or say 
 a word about your disappointment. ' There's 
 a good fellow, I see you are thinking of it. 
 Come, make your mind up : there will be no-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 197 
 
 thing for you to do in the house — parliament 
 will be over in a few days." 
 
 Lord Henry was not obliged to employ 
 much rhetoric in persuading Vere to accom- 
 pany him ; for, after a few minutes'* considera- 
 tion, it appeared an excellent plan. When we 
 are dissatisfied with everything and wish to es- 
 cape from ourselves, the readiest method which 
 offers itself to our provoked and perverted 
 spirit, is to leave our country, our home, and 
 all we love best on earth. How many try this 
 and are disappointed ! 
 
 To shun Geraldine was certainly a wise 
 measure : to fly from his intended bride did 
 not seem quite so reasonable ; but then he was 
 not permitted to see her until the year was 
 ended; and I am afraid, just at the moment, 
 this same prohibition did not weigh very heav- 
 ily on his mind : on the contrary, it must be 
 confessed, that he was rather glad to have four 
 months more liberty, as he hoped in that time
 
 198 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 to eradicate Geraldiiie's fatal image from his 
 heart, and to be able to replace Matilda in her 
 original position. 
 
 How far he was j*ticcessful in this attempt 
 time will show. I fear he mistook, when he 
 imagined that the comparatively cold purity 
 of Matilda's disposition, like a fair northern 
 flower, was capable of fascinating him. His 
 was a character of too inflamed and passionate 
 a nature for anything to thrive in its exotic 
 soil but a brilliant enthusiastic daughter of a 
 southern clime, such as Geraldine might pro- 
 perly be called. 
 
 But I have promised not to waste many 
 words upon my nephew's motives and charac- 
 ter ; therefore, I will only say that he hurried 
 home, wrote a note of apology to Lord Castle- 
 ford, with whom he had promised to dine, and 
 a long letter to me, which I received the morn- 
 ing after Matilda was taken ill. He passed a 
 sleepless and a miserable night, and the next
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 199 
 
 day, before the Morning Post and its paragraph 
 appeared, he started with Lord Henry for 
 Gravesend, and embarked in his yacht the 
 Sylph. 
 
 The wind was fair, Lord Henry in high 
 spirits, and Vere tried hard to be amused with 
 his odd stories, and to take an interest in the 
 varied scenes through which they steered-
 
 200 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Mercy above did hourly plead 
 For her resemblance here below, 
 
 And mild P'orgiveness intercede 
 To stop the coming blow. 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 We now gave up all hopes for poor Ma- 
 tilda — the next night she was worse, and dur- 
 ing the following day. Dr. Bernard did not 
 for an instant leave her bedside. 
 
 In the evening Dorothy, who still anxiously 
 listened for the chance " that naughty cousin 
 Vere" would arrive, came running in breathless 
 haste, and said a carriage was driving up to 
 the door. 
 
 We all rushed to the window ; the night was 
 pitch dark, but we saw indeed two lamps, and
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 201 
 
 heard the steps let down ; we looked anxiously 
 at each other, and then at the doctor, as if to 
 ascertain by his countenance whether Vere's 
 arrival would be now too late : a smile was on 
 his lips — he too hoped. 
 
 The next moment the door opened, and we 
 beheld, alas ! alas ! not Vere, but Geraldine. 
 She flew to the bed, and clasping her arms round 
 the unconscious Matilda, sobbed violently, en- 
 treated her forgiveness, and conjured her in 
 the most earnest manner to speak to her, her 
 own, her devoted Geraldine. Finding her tears, 
 her supplications, were of no avail, she fell 
 down on the floor, and tearing her hair, ac- 
 cused herself of being a murderer, and of hav- 
 ing caused the death of her dearest friend, her 
 darling Matilda. 
 
 Poor Geraldine ! her violent and passionate 
 grief soon reduced her to a state that required 
 Dr. Bernard's assistance. He became alarmed, 
 and endeavoured to remove her to another 
 room, but she resisted, saying she was per-
 
 202 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 fectly well, and entreated leave to remain with 
 her friend, promising to be very quiet. She 
 then lay down near, and watched her with 
 such an expression of agonized suspense as I 
 never witnessed. 
 
 I observed that Geraldine was much thinner 
 than when we parted six months before, and 
 I fancied I could discover traces of a more 
 settled melancholy than could have been pro- 
 duced by seeing Matilda. The blue veins in 
 her white forehead and slender throat were as 
 if they would start through the transparent 
 skin ; her profusion of long black hair was 
 dishevelled, and some of its beautiful tresses 
 escaping from their confinement hung down 
 nearly to her feet. 
 
 Matilda did not move ; her eyes were fixed 
 in a vacant stare on the top of the bed. She 
 scarcely seemed to breathe, and but for the 
 faint beating of her pulse, we should have 
 thought that she was dead. Geraldine had 
 been holding one of her hands for more than
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 203 
 
 an hour, when to our inexpressible surprise 
 and joy Matilda suddenly turned round, and 
 seeing Geraldine, exclaimed in a faint voice, 
 " Is that you, dear Geraldine ? Where am I 
 — what has happened ?" 
 
 Geraldine looked enquiringly in Dr. Ber- 
 nard's face, and with that wonderful quick ap- 
 prehension and presence of mind which never 
 forsook her, she answered in a gentle tone, — 
 "Nothing has happened, dearest Matilda, only 
 I am come to see you ; — go to sleep, darling ; 
 don*t ask me any questions, for I am dreadfully 
 sleepy."" She then shut her eyes, and, as if 
 carelessly, placed one hand softly on Matilda's 
 brow, to prevent her seeing anything which 
 might excite her curiosity, while with the other 
 she made us a sign to withdraw. 
 
 We retreated behind the bed-curtain, but 
 our anxiety would not permit us to leave the 
 room. Matilda slept, and Dr. Bernard silently 
 pressed my brother's hand, whilst joy beamed 
 in his kind face. We knelt and returned
 
 204} GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 thanks to God for this unlooked-for deliver- 
 ance. 
 
 Geraldine, as she raised her eyes to heaven, 
 when she perceived what was going on, smiled 
 thankfully, but did not stir a finger lest she 
 should disturb Matilda, and the entire night 
 was passed by her in the same position. She 
 was too anxious to sleep, though much fatigued 
 with the long journey she had performed in 
 a state of mind distracted with grief and tor- 
 tured with apprehension. She had with diffi- 
 culty obtained her mother's consent, which 
 had at last been given at the earnest request of 
 dear Lord Castleford, who was always willing 
 to indulge and encourage every benevolent 
 feeling that might actuate Geraldine. 
 
 At a late hour the following morning Ma- 
 tilda awoke : Dr. Bernard had kindly waited, 
 though he had seen none of his other, patients 
 for three long days, that he might watch the 
 progress of her complaint. He now pronounced 
 her decidedly better.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 205 
 
 She knew us all, but did not seem as yet to 
 have a recollection of what had occurred, or 
 even of having been ill. Geraldine cleverly 
 contrived to give all manner of answers but the 
 real ones to her repeated questions, of what 
 had induced her to come. At last Matilda 
 seemed to remember something which gave her 
 pain, — but Geraldine, who had been expecting 
 this, said, without giving her time to speak 
 of it, 
 
 " You must get well quickly, dear Matilda, 
 for dear Castleford won't wait any longer, and 
 he has set his heart on your being my brides- 
 maid.'* 
 
 " Where is Vere ?" asked Matilda, who 
 seemed to remember something was wrong, 
 though she could not quite make out what. 
 
 " He is gone abroad — gone to sail with Lord 
 Henry Leslie till October, when, you know, 
 you are to be married." 
 
 " Is this all true ?" said Matilda, sitting up 
 in bed ; — " Oh, I have had a dreadful dream —
 
 206 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 yet no, it was not a dream I am sure, I read 
 it in the newpaper." 
 
 " Yes," interrupted Geraldine ; *' you read 
 an absurd paragraph, which I am sure was put 
 in by Lady Mapleton, or some spiteful person, 
 and which made us all very uneasy. Now 
 compose yourself, dearest, and I will go and 
 dress." 
 
 She left the room in her usual lively, joyful 
 manner: I followed, and found her on the 
 stairs bathed in tears and looking the picture 
 of woe. 
 
 I had not yet kissed her dear face or asked 
 her a single question, or thanked her for her 
 kindness in coming down, or for her surprising 
 conduct of the preceding night, though Dr. 
 Bernard had told my brother that her wonder- 
 ful presence of mind and miraculous good 
 sense had been almost the means of saving 
 Matilda's life; as, had she given way to any 
 feeling of joy when Matilda turned, it might 
 have proved fatal.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 207 
 
 She now threw her arms round my neck 
 and indulged in a flood of tears. I took her 
 into my room, which was at the other end of 
 the passage, far from Matilda's. 
 
 " Dearest, most noble-minded girl," I said, 
 " you cannot deceive me ; I am convinced I 
 know all you have suffered, all you have 
 sacrificed : do not deny it, for I am sure it will 
 be a comfort to speak the truth." 
 
 " No, no," she passionately said, " you are 
 wrong, I have made no sacrifice: I know what 
 you suspect, — but indeed — indeed you are 
 wrong. I love Castleford better than anybody ; 
 and rather than disappoint him, I would die a 
 thousand deaths."" 
 
 I had the happiness of seeing Matilda re- 
 cover rapidly. Geraldine earnestly wished to 
 remain at Lyme during the time which must 
 elapse before her marriage could take place ; 
 but Lady Julia could not bear the separation ; 
 and at the end of a week came and carried 
 her off, having made us all promise to attend
 
 208 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 the wedding, which would take place in Lon- 
 don as soon as the tiresome lawyers would 
 permit. 
 
 Matilda made me repeat, a thousand times, 
 the contents of Vere's letter, while she bitterly 
 reproached herself for having torn it. With 
 increasing health and strength she seemed to 
 recover her entire confidence in his love. She 
 had not been struck as I had with Geraldine's 
 altered looks, and alternate melancholy and 
 wild spirits; her guileless, unsuspecting nature 
 dreamed of no further hinderance to the happi- 
 ness of her friend and Lord Castleford, and her 
 own and Vere''s. She looked upon Geraldine's 
 marriage as the seal of her happiness ; as she 
 could not for a moment suspect her of deceit, 
 or of failing in her sacred promise to restore 
 the myrtle branch in case she should love Vere. 
 
 But poor Matilda was far too unsophisti- 
 cated, too ignorant of the many contending 
 and complicated passions of human nature, to 
 consider what a hard task it would be to con-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 209 
 
 fess to another a truth which we scarcely ac- 
 knowledge to ourselves ; — to give life, as it 
 were, in words, to a feeling of which we are 
 deeply ashamed, and which we are determined 
 to eradicate. Her knowledge of mankind was 
 confined to the narrow circle of her own family 
 and village, and this knowledge had been but 
 little increased by the fictitious portraiture of 
 books. 
 
 I was not equally sanguine, but forbore to 
 throw out the slightest suspicion that all was 
 not right, though 1 trembled to think what a 
 fatal influence Vere"'s conduct would have over 
 a life which seemed only to depend on his love. 
 I often tried, like a wise old maid, to moderate 
 her excessive admiration. I said it was sinful 
 to allow our affections for any human being to 
 acquire such an influence, as that existence 
 itself should depend upon their continuance. 
 
 But these cold sentiments did not spring 
 from my heart. They were the reasonings of 
 the head ; and, therefore, with her carried no
 
 210 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 weight : yet I saw, that if for a moment Ma- 
 tilda fancied I suspected anything unfavour- 
 able, she would turn pale, and her thin frame 
 would tremble so violently, that I became 
 frightened lest the slowly returning bloom 
 should be for ever banished from her cheeks, 
 and the spirit, weakened by suffering, should 
 become entirely broken. I therefore resolved 
 to say no more, but to trust that a kind Provi- 
 dence would support her, if it saw fit again to 
 chasten her gentle spirit. 
 
 On the day before the wedding we, — that is 
 all the inmates of Lyme Vicarage, my brother, 
 his two children, for little Dorothy could not 
 be left alone, and myself, started for London. 
 Matilda had never been there nor her father 
 since his marriage. But I will not dwell upon 
 the disappointments, pleasures, and so forth, 
 which we all experienced. We performed, 
 however, to my brother's infinite astonishment 
 in twelve hours, a distance which had taken in 
 his time at least two days ; and found Lady
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 211 
 
 Julia and Geraldine in a room filled with 
 bridal presents, and heaps of finery : both 
 were in high spirits, though the latter looked 
 paler than ever. 
 
 After dinner I had a long conversation with 
 Lady Julia in her own room, in which I en- 
 deavoured to find out her real opinion as to 
 her daughter's affection for Lord Castleford ; 
 but all that I could learn was, that she was 
 perfectly satisfied with the match, and with 
 Geraldine's feelings. She was glad her daugh- 
 ter was not violently in love, for she never 
 saw a love match turn out well ; the chances 
 of happiness were infinitely greater when all 
 the affection was on the man's side. 
 
 " I well know," she said, with a heavy sigh, 
 " the fatal consequences of marrying the man 
 with whom I was passionately in love. It was 
 very delightful for the first year ; but then he 
 began to get tired of me, and I unfortunately 
 could not succeed in getting tired of him, 
 though I made many attempts, and resisted
 
 212 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 many temptations. No, no, depend upon it, 
 love and the world can never agree together ; 
 a woman whose destiny it is to live in the 
 latter, should have no love in her composition, 
 or she will never be happy. I think Geraldine 
 might have loved your nephew, and I am de- 
 lighted the engagement of both prevented that 
 marriage, for dear Geraldine would have been 
 a slave to all his caprices.'" 
 
 " Whereas now," said I, rather nettled, 
 " poor Lord Castleford will be a slave to all 
 hers." 
 
 " No," said Lady Julia gravely, " Geral- 
 dine is far too amiable to make any one a 
 slave ; besides, she has a sincere regard for 
 him, and I am sure you must have observed 
 that, after myself, there is no one that has so 
 much influence over her as Lord Castleford ; 
 his slightest wish will at any moment tame 
 and subdue her wildest fancy. She has for 
 .him at once the affection of a daughter, a 
 sister, and a wife. This was the principle
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 213 
 
 reason for my preferring him to the young 
 Duke of Longville, who was deeply in love 
 with her, and had proposed for her at the be- 
 ginning of the season : he is now gone abroad 
 in despair at her refusal. You see I am not 
 quite so worldly as you suppose." 
 
 " Yet you would not have been satisfied 
 with my nephew," said I smiling ; " though I 
 now begin to change my opinion, and suspect 
 he would have made your daughter happier 
 than any of them ; — nay, don't look frightened, 
 I am not going to tell her so : the fate of both 
 will be sealed to-morrow, and God grant it 
 may conduce to their happiness ! I much fear, 
 however, that Geraldine''s warm heart and pas- 
 sionate disposition will expose her to many 
 trials, after having wedded a person who does 
 not engross the entire of her affection." 
 
 " Oh, I have no fear of that sort for Geral- 
 dine," said Lady Julia with a proud air : " her 
 dispositions are much too good, and principles 
 too deeply rooted, ever to permit her to get
 
 214 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 into any scrape. I often tell her she is almost 
 too particular ; and I am constantly afraid of 
 her imbibing some of your niece's methodistical 
 notions. She is really so perfect by nature, 
 and so totally unspoiled by all the admiration 
 she has received, that her virtue requires no 
 help from religion or devotion ; and as it is, 
 she has more religion than most people." 
 
 I trembled ; but knowing by sad experience 
 how useless was argument on such a subject, 
 made no reply to this. 
 
 We then talked of the young people's future 
 plans. Geraldine was anxious to go abroad ; 
 her health had certainly not been good lately ; 
 they thought travelling, and a winter in Italy, 
 might be beneficial ; but they would first go 
 for two months to a place of Lord Castleford's 
 in Scotland, and then come to Morton Hall. 
 
 " And I am afraid take you abroad with 
 them,'^ said I. "Ah, I see how it will be; I am 
 sorry you don't leave them quite to themselves 
 for a year at least ; for it is a fatal thing for
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 215 
 
 young married people to have no opportunity 
 for becoming really acquainted with each 
 other's dispositions, and learning to depend for 
 happiness on each other. The habitual pre- 
 sence of any third person is sure to prevent 
 this. How many marriages I have seen, which 
 appeared to promise happiness, spoilt by a 
 sister, a mother, or an intimate friend of either 
 party, residing constantly with them. The 
 danger of a regular London life is trifling in 
 comparison." 
 
 Lady Julia agreed with me in general cases ; 
 " but dear Geraldine and Lord Castleford were 
 surely exceptions to the rule ;" and it was utterly 
 impossible she could exist away from her dar- 
 ling child — and Geraldine would never consent 
 to the separation. " It was the first thing she 
 said, when, almost in her childhood, he had 
 made his proposals ; and when she confirmed 
 her consent last month, she again stipulated 
 we were never to be separated. Oh, it would 
 break her heart to part from me. I see you
 
 216 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 are full of fears, my dear Dorothy, and I know 
 you kindly take a great interest in my darling 
 child ; but, indeed your alarms are quite un- 
 necessary. You will see her return home in a 
 year or two as innocent and as untainted by 
 the world as she is now — I am positive of 
 it " 
 
 She continued with an air of confidence and 
 pride which almost shocked me. To see one 
 frail mortal building such hopes upon the 
 strength of another, as frail as herself, is fear- 
 ful indeed. 
 
 It was getting late, and we were all to go 
 early to rest, that we might be fresh and bloom- 
 ing for the important morrow. I went to wish 
 Geraldine good night, and found her already 
 undressed, and her maid dismissed ; she com- 
 plained of being tired and sleepy, and had not 
 allowed Matilda to remain and talk to her, as 
 was their usual custom, for which Lady Julia 
 and I had often scolded them. 
 
 " And I will not allow you to remain either,
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 217 
 
 dear Aunt Dorothy," she said, trying to smile ; 
 then throwing her arms round my neck, she 
 burst into tears. After some moments, she 
 said : " Don't be surprised, and pray don't ask 
 me any questions; I am quite happy — quite." 
 And with a violent effort she stopped the tor- 
 rent of tears, saying with a heavenly smile, 
 " Yes, I am perfectly satisfied ; I think I am 
 doing right, so don't be unhappy or frighten- 
 ed. There, I have made you cry," she con- 
 tinued, wiping my eyes ; " but pray don't, for 
 your dear eyes will be sore, and you will not 
 be able to see me look beautiful to-morrow 
 night in my bridal dress ; for I mean to look 
 as all brides are in duty bound to do — lovelier 
 than ever : your nose will be so red I shall be 
 ashamed to kiss you ; look at me — now I am 
 sure I appear happy. There, go and dream of 
 me so." 
 
 I wish I could describe that " so." How 
 much there was comprised in that little word ! 
 She did indeed appear radiant with happiness, 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 218 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 and I knew not whether most to admire the 
 beautiful form and features, where not a ves- 
 tige or trace of her recent grief and tears 
 could be discerned, or the strange mental pow- 
 ers which could produce such an instantaneous 
 expression of supreme happiness, or the kind 
 benevolence of feeling which prompted such 
 an effort. I could scarcely believe this was 
 the same person who so lately had manifested 
 such awful, such extreme grief — whose cheeks, 
 from the deadliest paleness, had become tinged 
 with a colour fresh and delicate as the blush 
 rose; and whose eyes, from being but a moment 
 before suffused with tears, now shone with daz- 
 zling brightness. 
 
 I left her, not to dream as she wished, for 
 it was impossible to sleep, but to think of her ; 
 and I earnestly hoped that a being endued 
 with such miraculous powers of subduing all 
 external motions, would have the same power 
 over her internal feelings and passions, and 
 reduce even love under her omnipotent sway.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 219 
 
 I almost looked upon her now as a being of a 
 different order ; there was something awful and 
 unearthly in the impression her last look had left 
 upon my mind ; it seemed impossible that so de- 
 licate and tender a creature should have acquir- 
 ed such command over her feelings ; that she, 
 who looked too fragile to contend with even the 
 ordinary trials of life, whose every wish had 
 been forestalled, and every fancy indulged, — 
 it seemed, I say, impossible that she should be 
 able thus to act a part, thus to deceive com- 
 pletely those who had known her from child- 
 hood, from whom until now she had never con- 
 cealed even a passing thought. 
 
 The more I thought upon her, the more I 
 was lost in amazement and admiration. Do not 
 mistake me ; I am not trying to justify her con- 
 duct ; nor do I think she was right in marry- 
 ing one man, while her affections were given to 
 another. It would have been far better for all 
 parties had she told the truth ; but I am 
 afraid I should not have admired her so much : 
 
 l2
 
 220 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 for there is something glorious and divine in 
 the determination to vanquish self, however 
 mistaken and hopeless may be the attempt ; 
 there is something which evidences a mind 
 created in the heavenly mould of perfection, 
 in the resolution to sacrifice the dearest feelings 
 and wishes of the heart to the happiness of 
 others — in the attempt to force even fate itself 
 to bend to our own despotic will. 
 
 This Geraldine endeavoured to do not only 
 in appearance but in reality ; for I am sure 
 that she made herself feel, as well as look, 
 happy at that moment, and that she was honest 
 in saying that she was satisfied. There are 
 few feelings in this world so gratifying as the 
 conviction of having gained a victory over self. 
 We feel then more immortal, more god-like, 
 and the enjoyment is greater, even if we have 
 renounced every earthly happiness, than either 
 prosperity or success can afford us. 
 
 I lay and watched the earliest dawn of that 
 day which was to seal her fate ; I put up a
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 221 
 
 fervent prayer that she might so live as to find 
 that happiness in the next world, which I 
 feared it was not decreed she should enjoy in 
 this ; and I felt an interest more than maternal 
 in the young creature who was thus at the 
 age of seventeen about to be united to a man 
 who was not the object of her choice. How- 
 ever amiable and good I knew Lord Castle- 
 ford to be, I trembled lest he should prove 
 but an erring guide in the wide world of 
 temptation into which they were both enter- 
 ing, without having higher motives for virtue 
 than those called forth by affection for each 
 other. I feared Geraldine would address no 
 petition to her Maker for strength to persevere 
 in her heroic resolutions; and her mother's 
 thoughts were occupied far otherwise than with 
 prayers. 
 
 Praying may be almost termed a supersti- 
 tion with me; I remember so many instances 
 of my prayers having been almost miraculously 
 answered, both for others and myself, that I
 
 ^22 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 early acquired a habit of bringing prayer into 
 every common circumstance of daily life. I 
 never begin a new employment that I do not 
 entreat God to bless it, for the advantage of 
 others and myself. Many religious friends, to 
 whom I have mentioned this, were rather 
 shocked to think of connecting God with the 
 composition of a song, a painting, or a story ; 
 but yet they think it not derogatory to His 
 dignity to be invoked at the beginning and 
 ending of a meal ; an action purely corporeal. 
 Why should they think it so in mental em- 
 ployments ? 
 
 The sun did not shine, all was gloomy and 
 dark on Geraldine's wedding-day. A thick 
 but summer fog oppressed all our spirits ; and 
 as the ceremony was not to take place till even- 
 ing, we passed the morning in painful efforts 
 to look cheerful and to amuse each other: 
 Matilda and Lord Castleford were the only 
 ones amongst us who seemed to be so without 
 effort. The former was in full enjoyment of
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. ^23 
 
 renewed health, and renewed hopes ; besides, 
 she was extremely amused and delighted with 
 all the new objects which presented themselves 
 for the first time to her wondering gaze ; and 
 she endeavoured to cheer Lady Julia's drooping 
 spirits, who was melancholy at the idea of 
 parting for two months with her child, and 
 could scarcely refrain from accompanying them 
 to Scotland for the honeymoon. 
 
 Matilda had given Geraldine a beautiful 
 Bible, and implored for her sake that she 
 would every day read it. 
 
 Geraldine said, she would try; " but I hope," 
 she continued laughing, " it will not make me 
 like those religious people who think it a 
 crime to go to a party or a ball ; because, I 
 must confess, I am not fond of that set : I 
 know them at once by their look ; — for those 
 who turn up their noses at balls, are sure to 
 turn in their toes, walk like ploughboysj dress 
 their hair like washerwomen, wear crumpled 
 caps, and dowdy dresses. Tell me, Matilda,
 
 22if GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 is it necessary to be ungraceful ? Why cannot 
 they show by their outward appearance that 
 they belong to a beautiful religion, which loves 
 whatsoever things are lovely, and tells you to 
 let your light so shine before men that they 
 may see your good works. There, you see I 
 remember something of Scripture; and I 
 should attend far more to it, if that set of peo- 
 ple did not frighten me; for really if it were 
 to make me stoop and walk like that little 
 duck-footed Miss Parsons, I could not endure 
 it. Why should they, by neglecting to make 
 their appearance pleasing, cast an unfavourable 
 light on a religion I am sure they would wish 
 to embellish." 
 
 " All this is very unfortunate," said I, " and 
 I fear it must be confessed that worldly people 
 are far more attractive. One of their greatest 
 charms is an appearance of gaiety and hap- 
 piness, not to be disturbed by the common 
 daily occurrences of life, which stands in lieu 
 of both good feeling and good temper. This
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 225 
 
 never forsakes them, even when annoyances 
 occur, which would sadly put out other peo- 
 ple ; but their feelings are so well trained to 
 amuse and please, they contrive to infuse an 
 air of brilliant cheerfulness into, every subject 
 on which they speak, and cast an atmosphere 
 of life and gaiety over every circle in which 
 they move. This is certainly not often the 
 case with religious people ; but perhaps it is 
 very difficult for those whose whole thoughts 
 are in the next world to care much about their 
 appearance in this. I own this is a sad pity ; 
 it only shows that ' the children of this world 
 are in their generation wiser than the children 
 of light,' and that those who wish to please the 
 world, do it with all their hearts, and therefore 
 they succeed ; whereas, I fear, many of those 
 who seek to please God, and are not actuated 
 so powerfully, do not think it worth while to 
 attend to many little things, which are of more 
 consequence than they suppose, and by looking 
 like Miss Parsons, become a stumbling-block 
 
 l5
 
 226 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 to many. I see no reason why true and real 
 Christianity should be at variance with what 
 one may call the poetry of life ; why, for 
 want of general reading, and the assistance of 
 a dancing and singing master, their figures 
 should be awkward, their voices uncouth, and 
 their minds uncultivated ? I assure you, dear 
 Geraldine, I often scold Matilda for her neg- 
 lect of all these things. 
 
 " Oh !*" said Geraldine, " if they were all 
 like Matilda, I should find no fault with them ; 
 but her nature is too perfect to be spoilt by all 
 her methodistical notions." 
 
 " I believe," said I, " that one reason why 
 you and many people care so little what be- 
 comes of your souls is, that you have such un- 
 comfortable ideas of Heaven ; you imagine it 
 is a sort of desolate place, in boundless air, 
 damp and dreary. I once heard a person say, 
 they could find no pleasure in being like an 
 angel seated on a wet cloud.""
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. ^27 
 
 " I am sure," replied Matilda, " dear Geral- 
 dine has no such ideas." 
 
 " Oh, no ! she has more Christianity than 
 you imagine. And now she has promised to 
 read the Bible every day, she will soon find 
 the pleasure, the delight of living in such a 
 beautiful religion. Dearest Geraldine, I hope 
 you may be imbued with its true spirit. Oh ! 
 those moments in this life are only truly 
 delicious when we can clearly trace the hand of 
 God in everything, --when we can view all our 
 past misfortunes, not as such, but as salutary 
 ordeals to purify for heaven. In these blessed 
 moments even remorse for our past sins loses 
 its bitterness : not that it appears less dread- 
 ful or guilty, but we feel it was all permitted 
 by a gracious God to lower our pride, to con- 
 vince us of our weakness, to prevent us from 
 expecting any good from our own efforts with- 
 out his assistance. In this state of mind, we 
 regret, we fear nothing ;' — we are sure that the
 
 228 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 same merciful Creator who has hitherto taken 
 such pains to draw us towards Him, will con- 
 duct us safely through the remainder of our 
 journey, and bring us at last to the place 
 where all are perfect even as He is perfect." 
 
 " Perfection," said Geraldine : " what a 
 blissful — what an enchanting word !" Oh ! 
 that I could feel what you describe ! How 
 far — how immeasurably far I am from that 
 blessed state of mind ! on the contrary, I feel 
 quite like a hypocrite, for every one loves me 
 as much as if I was as lovely as those beautiful 
 flowers in that agate vase. I feel quite ashamed 
 at being so unworthy of the love and admira- 
 tion I receive : I am always afraid of forget- 
 ting what I am, and learning to see myself 
 with other people's fascinated eyes. Oh I how 
 tiresome ; there is a knock at the door, — oh ! 
 no, I see it is only Castleford and his dear 
 little sister : you have never seen her : I think 
 you will be so delighted with her." 
 
 Lord Castleford then came into the room
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 2^9 
 
 with his beautiful sister. Lady Mary Lisle. 
 She was about Geraldine's age, her figure as 
 small and delicate ; but her fair pink and white 
 complexion, laughing blue eyes, and light 
 glossy hair, made her look younger. She had 
 always lived with an old maiden aunt, the 
 Lady Diana Lisle, in a retired part of Devon- 
 shire ; and being naturally delicate, her educa- 
 tion had been much neglected ; for the old 
 lady, who did not know much herself, but had 
 always found her knowledge sufficient to carry 
 her comfortably through the daily concerns of 
 life, was wholly averse to give what she called 
 a fashionable education to her niece, — besides, 
 the dear girl's health would never stand the 
 confinement of practising the harpsichord four 
 hours a day, and other sedentary employ- 
 ments. 
 
 There is something very refreshing to my 
 old eyes in the sight of a young untutored 
 child of nature, — when that nature is good 
 and graceful. To meet with anything of the
 
 ^30 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 kind is so rare in the present day of effort and 
 forced refinement, when everybody is trying 
 to do everything well whether they have a 
 genius for what they undertake or not. I 
 viewed with much interest the surprise pro- 
 duced on the beautiful girPs countenance by 
 all she saw and heard. She looked over every 
 one of the bridal presents with enthusiastic 
 admiration ; clapping her little hands and 
 jumping with delight, she said, " Oh ! how I 
 long to be married, that I may have such 
 beautiful presents !" Then fearing she had 
 uttered something wrong, she blushed so deep- 
 ly, that her forehead and slender throat be- 
 came tinged with the same rosy hue that usual- 
 ly dwelt upon her cheeks. 
 
 She then came and talked to me with that 
 natural ease and grace, and absence of all 
 shyness and reserve, which I have x)ften ob- 
 served in girls who have lived in great retire- 
 ment, and which astonishes many people. But 
 the fact is, their shyness, if they have any in
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. S31 
 
 their compositions, has never been brought 
 into play ; they have never had occasion to be 
 reserved, or to fear any one ; therefore they 
 know not what shyness is. She told me all 
 about her aunt's home and place, and her 
 hopes that dear aunt Die would bring her to 
 town next year, and take her about to some 
 
 balls and parties, " and then " Here 
 
 she again blushed, and I saw by the down- 
 cast eye and smiling lip which seemed 
 trying to retain within its rosy prison 
 words it longed to utter, that her thoughts 
 had again reverted to the forbidden subject of 
 a husband, and the wedding presents. How- 
 ever, we talked on as if we had known each 
 other all our lives. 
 
 I did not see her again for several years, 
 but that happy hour returns often to my 
 mind, like the memory of some lovely view 
 on a spring morning, always refreshing and 
 delightful.
 
 2S2 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Driim priife, wer sich ewig bindet, 
 Ob sich das herz zum herzen findet ! 
 Der Wahn ist kurz, die Reu' ist lang. 
 
 Schiller. 
 
 It was a splendid wedding ; but I like not to 
 see that sacred ceremony performed in a house, 
 and in a room which is usually devoted to 
 far other purposes than prayer — where every 
 familiar chair and sofa brings to the mind 
 some every-day feeling of common life if not 
 of worldliness. I never believe that people 
 can actually fancy themselves married, when, 
 after a large magnificent dinner-party, they 
 go up stairs, and one of the cheerful party 
 mumbles over the sacred prayers in a tone of 
 voice far lower and less authoritative than
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 233 
 
 that in which he has uttered jokes at the 
 dinner-table, and, as if it was the only unim- 
 portant and disagreeable part of the fete, 
 hurries over those words which determine for 
 ever the destiny of two human beings. 
 
 Such was the case now, though the knot 
 was tied by an amiable divine. There was no 
 solemnity in his manner. The only alteration 
 which could be perceived was, that he looked 
 rather more ashamed of what he was about 
 than w^hen drinking a glass of wine and laugh- 
 ing with the bridesmaid. I being deaf, of 
 course did not hear the sound of his voice ; 
 but, I felt that scarcely any of the numerous 
 and distinguished guests were praying or at- 
 tending to those awful and beautiful words, 
 which I fortunately know by heart ; — strange 
 confession for an old maid. 
 
 Geraldine looked as she had determined, both 
 beautiful and happy — not tlie slightest regret 
 or emotion could be discovered in her manner. 
 I, though delighted to see her go through the
 
 2'S4t GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 trying ceremony so well, was almost provoked 
 at her apparent coldness, particularly as dear 
 Lord Castleford was much agitated; so that 
 in endeavouring to place the ring on her finger 
 it fell to the ground : his emotion was so great 
 that he would not have found it, had not Lady 
 Jane Mapleton, who was one of the bride- 
 maids, come to his assistance. 
 
 Poor Lady Jane ! I saw that, at the mo- 
 ment, she was bathed in tears, and if the truth 
 were told, I am sure she was thinking what 
 a much happier person that little ring would 
 have made her than the person for whom it 
 was intended. I admired extremely the pre- 
 sence of mind she showed on the occasion ; it 
 was an additional trial for her, who had to 
 overcome her feelings so as to be able to at- 
 tend the ceremony. This she did at the earnest 
 request of her mother, who thus wished to im- 
 press upon the world that the suspicion of her 
 daughter's penchant for Lord Castleford was 
 false.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 235 
 
 All those of the party who were given to 
 superstition considered the accident as a bad 
 omen. Mrs. Gordon, who was so interested 
 and so anxious for her dear friend Geral- 
 dine, and had assumed a sentimental character, 
 thought it proper to scream and faint on the 
 occasion, and had the pleasure of being carried 
 into the next room by her still constant ad- 
 mirer Lord Langdale ; Lady Mapleton, on the 
 contrary, could not conceal the joy she felt : 
 I will not say whether it was caused by the 
 prospect of some misfortune threatening her 
 niece, or by her daughter's presence of mind 
 in repairing the mischief, but her proud fea- 
 tures expressed a joy more malicious than 
 benevolent. 
 
 Mr. Mordaunt, jealous in his avocations and 
 anxious to be the first to congratulate the 
 bride, said it was no wonder Lord Castleford 
 should have been so much dazzled by her 
 loveliness as not to see the ring-finger of that 
 hand which was at once the most beautiful
 
 2S6 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 and the smallest that eyes had ever looked 
 upon. Then, quite satisfied with having made 
 a most original and well-rounded compliment, 
 he turned towards Mrs. Gordon — who had now 
 succeeded in becoming the fashion, and there- 
 fore was worthy of his notice — and condoled 
 with her on her sensitive nerves. 
 
 The table which held the sacred books was 
 cleared away, the piano took its place, and 
 some of the finest singers of the day lent their 
 beautiful voices to banish any stray feelings 
 of devotion which might have been left linger- 
 ing on the mind. 
 
 In another room there was dancing, and I 
 had the pleasure of seeing Matilda's first trial 
 of the graceful art in a ball-room, and of see- 
 ing how much she was admired. Geraldine 
 kindly introduced her to all the nicest people 
 as her dearest friend, and as the name of Har- 
 court was so well known, all were delighted with 
 her, and even Mr. Mordaunt thought it neces- 
 sary to say she had the fairest skin he ever
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 237 
 
 saw. She was too happy, and too much occu- 
 pied with the idea that Geraldine was actually 
 married, to have time for any feelings of shy- 
 ness and timidity which she might otherwise 
 have felt. Her step was light and firm, and 
 there was an ease in her movements which 
 could spring only from a noble, a naturally 
 graceful, and an innocent mind; for she had 
 never received any lessons in dancing but from 
 poor old me ; and alas ! no one who has seen 
 my long bony figure and spindle-looking arms 
 and legs, would think I made a very efficient 
 dancing mistress ; it only shows what deter- 
 mination will do both as to teaching and learn- 
 ing. 
 
 The travelling carriage was announced which 
 was to take the young couple to Lord Castle- 
 ford's villa near Richmond, where they meant 
 to remain a few days. Matilda darted off in 
 the midst of her quadrille to take leave of 
 Geraldine, and overcome by a sudden impulse 
 of feeling she burst into tears — but the lustre
 
 S38 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 of Geraldine's dark eyes was unclouded. Then 
 came the trial for poor Lady Julia to give 
 the last long kiss to her darling child, and she 
 sobbed so violently and clung to her with so 
 much force that Geraldine could scarcely dis- 
 engage herself from her earnest embraces. 
 
 She was then fearfully pale, and the hand 
 she extended to me, and which I ardently kissed, 
 was trembling and cold ; I was so fearful lest 
 her long-repressed feelings should at last burst 
 forth, that I forbore to claim the kiss on her 
 dear forehead which was my due. She felt 
 I was the only person who understood her, 
 and she gave me one indescribable look, in 
 which agony of mind was strongly blended 
 with smiling resignation.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 239 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Beato in sogno, e di languir contento, 
 D' abbraciar 1' ombre, e seguir V aura estiva, 
 Nuoto per mar che non ha fondo o riva, 
 Solco onde, e'n rena fondo, e scrivo in vento. 
 
 Petrarca. 
 
 We returned to our dear home at Lyme, 
 and anxiously expected every day to hear from 
 Vere; but another month passed without any 
 tidings. 
 
 One morning, however, we observed on the 
 breakfast-table his dear writing : the letter was 
 covered with different post-marks ; it seemed 
 to have travelled all over the world, and was 
 dated six months before from Athens. He had 
 given it to a friend who was starting from 
 Naples, and it was put into the post-office there.
 
 24f0 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Vere said, Lord Henry Leslie did not seem 
 inclined to return at the promised time, wish- 
 ing much to visit Egypt and Syria; which, if 
 he did, Vere would of course find his way 
 home by some other means, either by land, or 
 in some merchant ship, for he would certainly 
 be in England the beginning of October. There 
 was a very affectionate message to Matilda, 
 and a long glowing account of all the places 
 he had seen in lovely Greece. He seemed 
 quite enraptured with that sunny land ; and I 
 told Matilda she must certainly make up her 
 mind to cross the sea as a penalty for tearing 
 him away from those enchanting scenes. The 
 dear girl gave me a blushing look which plain- 
 ly said, sea or land, mountain or desert, would 
 be alike delightful to her, with Vere as a com- 
 panion . 
 
 We often heard from Geraldine. Her let- 
 ters were lively and amusing; but one is so 
 characteristic of her imaginative and versatile 
 mind, which was equally acted upon by things
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 241 
 
 grave as well as gay, that I cannot help trans- 
 cribing a part. 
 
 After some allusions to the serious conversa- 
 tions we had together in town, she goes on to 
 say, that in order to prove to Matilda that her 
 thoughts were not exclusively absorbed by the 
 things of this world, she had endeavoured to 
 recollect and transcribe the following, which 
 came into her mind whilst crossing the sea, 
 soon after her marriage. 
 
 " STEAM-PACKET THOUGHTS ; OR, A VISION OF 
 THE DEEP. 
 
 * From the depths of woe spring fountains of bliss.' 
 
 [See p. 6, Vol. I. of " Odd Musings and Amus- 
 ing Oddities ; or Scraps of Pleasure plucked 
 by Folly from the Wings of Despair. — By 
 Geraldine C. . . d.*'] 
 
 " As I crossed over, yesterday, in the steam- 
 packet from Dover to Calais, I lay on the 
 hard, slippery, horse-hair seat of a cabin, 
 crowded with people of all ages and sizes under 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 24^ GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 all the various stages of sea-sickness: noises 
 of retching, groaning, and crying in my ears ; 
 fumes of sickness, hot iron, rancid grease and 
 smoke in my nose — the feeling of pain and 
 misery in every bone — so faint that I could not 
 move a finger or turn my head, though combs 
 and hair-pins were hurting it most horribly. 
 
 " In the midst of these frightful sufferings I 
 saw a beautiful vision : I was in a garden, or 
 rather in a world, more splendid than imagi- 
 nation can conceive, wheYe every tree, valley, 
 and mountain, seemed to inspire happiness; 
 perfumes, sweeter than roses and violets, were 
 wafted by light silvery air from flowers more 
 lovely, and quite different from any seen by 
 the mortal eye, — some of every hue and shape 
 were growing on the gigantic trees, which were 
 scattered in wild profusion over the mountains* 
 side, amid rocks of crystal, dazzling and trans- 
 parent as rubies and emeralds. Wherever I 
 turned, a new and more lovely landscape was
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 243 
 
 seen. This, I felt, is the glorious abode of the 
 happy spirits, which I am allowed to behold — 
 but is it not for me ? 
 
 " As I was reflecting on my sins, and the 
 slight chance of my remaining there, a light, 
 more brilliant than a thousand suns, appeared 
 in the distance ; and as my eyes became accus- 
 tomed to its dazzling splendour, I saw that it 
 was fast approaching, and was caused by my- 
 riads of lovely beings. To attempt their de- 
 scription would be impossible ; for painters' 
 skill, or Grecian art, in their most happy efforts, 
 never produced such loveliness. To behold them 
 was perfect bliss. With them I was joyfully 
 impelled, and onwards we hovered over beau- 
 tiful worlds, till we arrived at a dark barrier, 
 which seemed to extend in all directions as far 
 as sight could reach : with a tremendous sound 
 it was rent asunder — noxious vapours, bringing 
 a feeling of pain and misery, arose from the 
 dismal chasm. Downwards we now went, and 
 
 m2
 
 244 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 all was black darkness, except the forms around 
 me, who shone in all their lovely radiance like 
 stars in the blue vault of heaven. 
 
 " I heard sounds of lamentation and woe — 
 nearer and nearer they came, and a ray from 
 the glorious spirits of light shone upon multi- 
 tudes of ghastly, spectral-looking forms, who ad- 
 vanced with gestures of supplication, entreating 
 to be delivered from their tortures. 
 
 " I now learnt that my companions, who 
 were the spirits of just men made perfect, were 
 allowed by the great Redeemer to save from 
 eternal punishment the friend they had loved 
 best on earth. 
 
 " I remarked one of the spirits of light 
 fairer, if possible, and lovelier than them all, 
 whose shining brow was expressive of sorrow 
 and anxiety when she beheld the supplicating 
 group. Before her knelt an old woman, with 
 hard, proud features, and commanding air ; it 
 was her cruel mother, who, agonised but unsub- 
 dued by helPs torments, proudly demanded to
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 245 
 
 be saved. A man, too, there was of cruel and 
 envious aspect ; his hands were clasped, but he 
 ventured not to raise his dark, murderous eyes 
 to the radiant spirit, in whose lovely form he 
 had recognised the young wife his cruelty had 
 sent to an early grave. 
 
 " At some distance behind stood a young 
 man, whose handsome yet haggard features 
 were expressive of joy, at beholding the being 
 he had most loved ; but not a ray of hope was 
 mingled with his delight, for he knew his 
 punishment was just. Despair had caused him 
 to commit crimes for which he was now suffer- 
 ing ; but his tortures lost half of their bitter- 
 ness, as he gazed, satisfied that she was happy, 
 yet not daring to approach, and enable her 
 by her own glorious light to see the con- 
 demned being he once thought she loved. She 
 had loved him with all the depth and tender- 
 ness of her pure spirit ; but compelled by her 
 proud and cruel mother, she had wedded the 
 rich profligate, who now suffered with that
 
 S46 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 mother in the deepest abyss of woe the due 
 reward of their crimes ; yet both hoped, — ex- 
 pected, to be saved by the spirit they had in- 
 jured. But the merciful God permitted her to 
 save only one ; and long she doubted, looking 
 from one to the other with pain and anxiety. 
 At last her fair hand was extended towards her 
 mother — and oh ! what fiendish joy the light 
 of that hand revealed ! It could not be in vain 
 did she draw up her commanding figure to its 
 full height, and endeavour to advance towards 
 her child ; efforts, groans were unavailing, — she 
 could not reach the extended hand, but sank 
 lower and lower. The bright spirit perceiving 
 that God would not permit her mother to be 
 saved, generously turned towards the cruel hus- 
 band who had destroyed her earthly happiness. 
 With a yell of exultation he eagerly grasped 
 at the small hand he had once possessed, but 
 his power over it was ended : and, as a punish- 
 ment for daring to touch the tip of that fin- 
 ger glorified by God, he was again precipi-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 24/7 
 
 tated, with a noise like thunder, to the lowest 
 depths of hell. At the same moment the 
 young man, who had not ventured to ap- 
 proach, was, without any voluntary movement, 
 borne forwards; and when by her own light 
 she saw the beloved of her youth, a blush, a 
 ray of heavenly joy redoubled her splendour ; 
 and as she extended her shining arms, he sud- 
 denly assumed the form of a spirit of bliss, 
 and upwards they flew to enjoy together the 
 eternal happiness granted by a merciful Creator. 
 " The next I saw was the glorified spirit of 
 a mother, surrounded by all her condemned 
 children. A gentle and innocent life she had 
 led, but mistaken kindness had caused the ruin 
 of her children, and now marred her own hap- 
 piness in heaven. Oh ! that she had endea- 
 voured, before it was too late, to lead their 
 thoughts to the glorious place where she was 
 now earnestly endeavouring to take them ; for 
 there were six, and she loved them all too well 
 to allow of her choosing one. Long I watched
 
 248 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 her unceasing efforts to clasp all in her arms, 
 till the sorrow she felt almost dimmed her 
 light ; and I began to fear, as they could not 
 all be saved, she would feel anger against her 
 righteous Judge, and thus be condemned to 
 suffer with them. 
 
 " I turned and saw 'the beautiful spirit of a 
 glorified young child, who (among the multi- 
 tudes of condemned spirits, that with heart- 
 rending lamentations entreated to be saved,) 
 had just discovered its mother. Her sins had 
 been many, but she had endeavoured to direct 
 her children s' hearts to God ; and after a life of 
 suffering, and a death of despair, she now re- 
 ceived her reward. The child's tiny fingers 
 touched her agonised frame — she was drawn 
 upwards, and, as a spirit of bliss, accompanied 
 the little darling into heaven. 
 
 " All vanished. — I saw nothing bat Lady 
 Block well's fat figure, enveloped in cloaks and 
 shawls, her cap and wig turned the wrong 
 ■way, endeavouring to squeeze out of her
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 249 
 
 berth, stretch her thick legs down to the black 
 couch of misery on which I was suffering. 
 The heaving and tossing ceased ; the hissing 
 steam was let off; and sundry pale, sick vis- 
 ages emerged from the berths around. I could 
 see nothing which reminded me of the glorious 
 vision, or bring one ray of comfort to my sick, 
 exhausted frame, till Castleford came tottering 
 down with nose red and cheeks blue, a blissful 
 messenger from the upper air, with the glad 
 tidings of our arrival at last at Calais .^^ 
 
 It was now the end of September, and days 
 and hours were anxiously counted. They pass- 
 ed by. The first week in October closed, and 
 we heard nothing more of Vere. His father, 
 Sir Richard, in despair at not hearing, wrote 
 to Lyme, in hopes we could give him intelli- 
 gence ; poor Matilda was dreadfully alarmed ; 
 the shocking idea that he was drowned took 
 firm hold on her mind, and every time the 
 
 M 5
 
 250 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 wind blue stronger than usual, she trembled, 
 turned pale, and looked as if she thought the 
 waves were at that moment closing over her 
 lover. But I will not describe our long, our 
 painful suspense. It is a period I cannot look 
 back upon without a shudder; for of all the 
 taxes on reason and trials of life, waiting, 
 hopelessly waiting, and knowing nothing, yet 
 dreading all things, is the worst. 
 
 At this time an event happened in the pa- 
 rish which absorbed all our interest, and for a 
 time caused even Matilda to forget her own 
 sorrows in commiseration of the more severe 
 sufferings of another. Alice had of late been 
 more melancholy than ever, so that at times 
 we almost feared she would have lost her 
 reason. I and some other wise heads in the 
 village could not avoid suspecting she was 
 with child ; I had mentioned the suspicion as 
 kindly and gently as possible to the girl her- 
 self, and I quite trembled at witnessing the 
 mixture of pride and anger with which she
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 251 
 
 heard me. I trieS by every means I could 
 devise to soften her heart : I asked if she would 
 not wish Tom Giles to marry her, which we 
 might have persuaded him to do if she would 
 confess the truth ? She scornfully rejected the 
 idea, and said she would rather die a thou- 
 sand deaths than oblige any one to marry her 
 against his will. 
 
 The poor old woman was sadly affected on 
 hearing of the disgraceful report which had 
 been circulated about her grand daughter ; it 
 was the first time she had really cause to suspect 
 any of her family of guilt, and therefore it was 
 indeed a severe trial. 
 
 One night Alice did not return to her grand- 
 mother's cottage. The old dame sat up the 
 whole night, watching and listening for the 
 poor girl, but in vain. The next morning she 
 came at an early hour to consult what was best 
 to be done. I trembled when I remembered 
 the conversation I had so lately heard ; and 
 soon, too soon were my fears realized : for old
 
 252 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 John came running in breathless haste with 
 a countenance of horror ; — fortunately he had 
 seen enough not to speak before the old wo- 
 man, but her apprehension was awakened at 
 hearing his unusually quick pace, and the puff- 
 ing and blowing of his old lungs. 
 
 " Tell me at once," she said ; " Mr. Thomas, 
 I know you have heard something of my love, 
 because you stopped so suddenly when you 
 saw me in the room. I beseech you tell me ; 
 for, anything is better than suspense." 
 
 The sad truth was this. Some labourers, 
 going to work near Ford^s mill that morning, 
 had seen something floating in the river, and 
 upon examination it was found to be the body 
 of poor Alice. It was quite cold, and life must 
 have been extinct for several hours. 
 
 That day an inquest was held upon the body. 
 
 We went to see the lifeless remains : J never 
 beheld so dreadful a sight ; yet there were no 
 marks of violence, nothing to indicate that she 
 had been murdered ; but the expression of those
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 253 
 
 most interesting features was truly horrible. 
 They were lovely even in death ; but that 
 death must have been one of despair. I cannot 
 describe the look ; but the conviction it pro- 
 duced on our minds was, that a soul which had 
 left such an expression of agony on its mortal 
 abode, must in its immortal state be suffering 
 the tortures of hell. I felt thankful the old 
 dame could not see it — but, alas ! she would 
 insist on passing her hand over the cold livid 
 features, and her fine sense of touch revealed 
 as forcibly to her mind as sight did to us, 
 the expression they wore, and carried to her 
 the same sad conviction ; for she groaned, and 
 said, " Oh ! that she had been spared !*" 
 
 Several people were examined. Two wit- 
 nesses proved they had seen her walking with 
 Tom Giles, after twilight, on the preceding 
 evening, and heard their voices raised as if in 
 angry discourse. 
 
 Giles was then examined, and acknowledged 
 having walked towards Ford's mill with Alice,
 
 254f GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 but he did not remember any angry words 
 having passed between them : he had remarked, 
 the deceased had appeared in a very unhappy 
 state of mind. This was said in a firm tone 
 and with a careless air. 
 
 The coroner then asked if he had often 
 lately walked in the evenings with Alice Grey. 
 *' Sometimes," was the short, abrupt reply. To 
 the question, if at one time he had not been 
 engaged to be married to the girl, he replied, 
 " Not that he knew of ; but it seemed some 
 people knew better what he was doing, or he 
 intended to do, than he did himself." 
 
 He looked on with an air of apparent indif- 
 ference while the other witnesses were examined, 
 occasionally eyeing the pale livid remains of 
 that beautiful girl with the greatest unconcern. 
 I never felt so utterly provoked by any human 
 being in all my life. I fear I was uncharitable 
 enough to vyish he might be apprehended for 
 the murder; but my kind wishes were not des- 
 tined to be gratified. Nothing further appeared
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 255 
 
 to criminate him : no marks of violence were 
 discovered on the body ; so that after an hour's 
 deliberation the jury returned the unsatis- 
 factory verdict of " Accidental death by drown- 
 ing." 
 
 I found afterwards I was not the only per- 
 son who suspected Tom Giles of knowing 
 more about the matter than he acknowledged : 
 there was a very strong feeling against him ; 
 for, besides being a most profligate man and 
 notorious drunkard, his manners were so proud 
 and overbearing as to excite universal dislike. 
 
 A few days after this tragic event, he mar- 
 ried a rich farmer's daughter, and he brought 
 her home to his mother's cottage on the very 
 day when the remains of Alice Grey were in- 
 terred. The melancholy procession passed by 
 his garden-gate at the moment he and his wife 
 were entering the house. Some said that he 
 turned pale at the sight ; others declared they 
 heard him laugh and tell his bride, " There 
 goes a heart I broke for you.*"
 
 256 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 The old dame attended the funeral of the 
 last, the loveliest, the youngest, of her nume- 
 rous descendants, and she returned alone to her 
 solitary cottage on the green. My dear bro- 
 ther tried to prevail on her to come to the 
 Vicarage, and Matilda and I joined our en- 
 treaties U> his, but they were of no avail ; she 
 said she was perfectly content, and should be 
 more cheerful and at ease among her own bees 
 and flowers, and she was resolved to be a 
 burden to no one during the remainder of her 
 days in this world. I, however, insisted on 
 sending a nice little girl, an orphan, for whom 
 I felt much interest, to live with her, and to 
 this, after some difficulty, she consented. 
 
 A short time after this, she received a letter 
 from poor George, which was calculated to 
 make any one happy, who felt any interest for 
 him. The tone of it was not only resigned but 
 cheerful. He gave a lively description of all 
 he saw and had read during the leisure months 
 of the voyage; he observed how many people
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 257 
 
 were going to that very place for mere pleasure 
 or curiosity — many who were tired of the old 
 world and hoped to find happiness in that new 
 country. He concluded by desiring his affec- 
 tionate love to Alice, who he supposed was 
 now married ; his ardent prayer was, that her 
 life might be happy with the man she prefer- 
 red, and that Giles might love her with an 
 affection as strong and enduring as that which 
 he had felt for her. 
 
 Alas ! this kind message arrived too late ; 
 Alice could no longer hear these touching 
 words of peace and forgiveness from the man 
 whom she had so deeply injured.
 
 258 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Hence, viper thoughts, that coil around my mind — 
 
 Reality's dark dream ! 
 I turn from you, and listen to the wind, 
 Which long has raved unnoticed. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 When Vere had announced his intention of 
 returning, with all possible speed, to fulfil his 
 engagement with Matilda, he was perfectly 
 sincere. He fully intended to hasten home to 
 marry her, who, alas ! was no longer the dearest 
 object of his love : he had struggled hard with 
 passion, and he had strenuously endeavoured 
 to banish Geraldine's fascinating image from 
 his heart. To think of Matilda — to remember 
 all her real worth — to rekindle the dying spark 
 of first love in his fickle bosom, was now his
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 259 
 
 sole endeavour ; for to marry Matilda, when 
 his best affections were engrossed by another, 
 was an injustice to her, the idea of which was 
 insupportable. Yet how could he, so proud, 
 so sensitive, ever submit to confess he was 
 changed ? It was impossible. 
 
 These reflections, and the severe conflict he 
 endured, drove him into a state bordering on 
 madness. It was fortunate Lord Henry Leslie 
 had, as he himself observed, spirits enough 
 for two : he enjoyed everything : if the wind 
 blew fresh, and the swelling canvass threatened 
 to bear down the light yacht into the yawning 
 waves of a tempestuous ocean, he was in de- 
 light at the excitement of danger and diffi- 
 culty ; or, if they were becalmed near the 
 sloping shore of some beautiful Greek island, 
 he would equally enjoy the enchanting serenity 
 of the scene. He would sit for hours gazing on 
 the earth and sky, talking to his friend, laugh- 
 ing at his own jokes, and listening to his own 
 song.
 
 260 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Vere, though sadly inattentive to his com- 
 panion's rattling discourse, was not insensible 
 to the beautiful scenes through which they 
 passed. Whenever he beheld a prospect of 
 peculiar enchantment, when the brilliant rays 
 of the evening sun illuminated the lonely shore 
 of some green island, casting a mellow tint on 
 the groves of dark orange and cypress trees, 
 gilding the white villas and tall cupolas with 
 a hue of softness and repose, he would gaze 
 and admire, and ask himself the sad ques- 
 tion — Was there no more joy for him in so 
 fair a world? where all breathed peace, was he 
 alone doomed to eternal misery ? Did not the 
 same sun cast a gladdening ray on him, as 
 well as on those peasants returning from their 
 day of toil ? and whose handsome countenances 
 betokened perfect happiness— and those beauti- 
 ful Greek girls, tripping along with baskets of 
 clustering grapes on their slender arms, sing- 
 ing snatches of some air, wild and beautiful as
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 261 
 
 the mountains from whence they come. Oh ! 
 how like Geraldine, in their light step and 
 graceful turn of their small heads ! But could 
 nought but Geraldine in this teeming world 
 afford happiness? Where were those visions 
 of fame which once floated so enchantingly 
 before his eager gaze ? Was he become in- 
 different to the applause of men ? 
 
 The reader may ask — Does the idea of being 
 his country'^s support and idol no longer charm ? 
 Are all the mighty energies of a mind formed 
 to lead, to rule, to command, for ever gone ? 
 It is but too true ; all other hopes, wishes, and 
 feelings, were extinguished by love. 
 
 There were moments when he would rebel 
 at the stern decrees of fate ; others, when, for- 
 getting the innumerable obstacles in his path, 
 he would fancy Geraldine loved him, and 
 proudly say, " She shall be mine. Why 
 should the happiness of two people be sacrificed 
 to prejudice?" They were born for each
 
 262 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 Other; every feeling, every idea harmonised. 
 No being in the wide world could enter into the 
 delicate shades of his character but Geraldine. 
 
 As he left England before her approaching 
 marriage was announced, he never once con- 
 templated the possibility of that event having 
 taken place; and sometimes he hoped tiiat 
 something, he knew not what, would occur to 
 prevent his own marriage with Matilda. That 
 Geraldine loved him was a blissful idea, which, 
 like a beautiful rainbow, illumined his clouded 
 thoughts ; and accompanied by her beloved 
 image, he would mount far above the world 
 and all its cares and vexations, climbing with 
 rapturous tread that bow of hope — that bow 
 so vivid with harmonious colouring, which leads 
 indeed to heaven ; but which, like other hopes — 
 bright but deceitful emblems — conduct those 
 who follow its brilliant track to earth again. 
 
 Visions of joy are pleasant, even though 
 we know they never can be realized ; and amid 
 the consciousness that we are suffering our
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 26S 
 
 imagination to stray to the confines of Para- 
 dise, only to be driven by the flaming sword 
 of disappointment far back into the wilderness 
 of earthly realities. But this indulgence is 
 fatal; for the longer we allow our thoughts 
 to hover in those forbidden regions, the more 
 our inevitable destiny becomes intolerable, and 
 our enchanting dreams are at last followed by 
 utter despair. 
 
 Thus it was with Vere : after each airy 
 flight of hope the abyss of misery which 
 awaited him appeared more dark and gloomy; 
 and at the end of three months he was farther 
 than ever from the object for which he had 
 made that long voyage, and he felt it was im- 
 possible to return. But what excuse could 
 he give for not fulfilling his engagement? 
 Thousands of plans were devised and rejected, 
 till in utter despair he would long to cast 
 himself into the sea to end his wretched ex- 
 istence — to drown thought, that demon from 
 which he could not fly.
 
 264 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 He reached Constantinople, and there found 
 a letter from Matilda. It was written with 
 all the simple, the pure affection, the humble, 
 confiding love, of her nature. Its artless ex- 
 pression of deep feeling, springing from a heart 
 wholly engrossed by a first and ardent love, 
 was far more touching than lines of eloquence 
 traced by the pen of genius but where the 
 spirit of love is wanting ; for Matilda, after 
 her God, lived but for Vere alone. No study 
 — none of the varied pursuits of modern educa- 
 cation, could dispel the one idea from her 
 mind. No ambition — no desire of excellence 
 in any one pursuit disturbed his loved image 
 from her heart. 
 
 Vere was convinced of this ; he saw he was 
 everything to her ; he felt that even Geraldine, 
 with all her powerful feelings and brilliant 
 qualities, would never love with the same con- 
 fiding tenderness, the same womanly adoration. 
 No ! Geraldine was a being of higher order ; so 
 immeasurably superior, he was sure she could
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 265 
 
 never find an object worthy of engrossing the 
 whole energies of her exalted mind ; one that 
 could wake into life the hitherto dormant 
 passion of that enthusiastic nature, still less 
 could she ever love him. Thus it is, that real 
 love creates such diffidence, and invests the ob- 
 ject of its adoration with such immense su- 
 periority ; divesting self of every merit, it 
 clothes the beloved one with redoubled splen- 
 dour, and in the excess of fond idolatry raises 
 it far above its own attainment. 
 
 Vere dwelt with pleasure on Matilda's letter ; 
 again and again he perused it, till by degrees 
 he became more contented with his lot. Few 
 are insensible to the pleasure of being loved — 
 of knowing that in this wide world they are 
 the first, the only thought — all the world to 
 one fond breast. It flatters that vanity which 
 unsuccessful love has wounded, and soothes a 
 heart seared by disappointment. 
 
 Lord Henry Leslie, at last, consented to sail 
 homewards ; to please his friend, he gave up 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 266 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 the tour which he had intended to have made 
 in Palestine ; for, under a rough exterior, he 
 possessed a feeling heart, and he could not 
 endure the idea of abandoning his friend at 
 a moment when he saw all was not right. 
 He strongly suspected Yere had more cause 
 for sorrow than he chose to acknowledge.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 267 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 Sweet, music, cease ! Bright eyes, all beaming 
 With light, that makes me mad, — ah, close ! 
 
 Give back my colder, calmer dreaming, — 
 Give back my dull, dark, old repose. 
 
 Barry Cornw^all. 
 
 In the month of September, Vere and his 
 friend sailed from Constantinople with a breeze 
 which promised to waft them quickly to Eng- 
 land. This breeze, like most favourable gales, 
 was not of long continuance — a storm from the 
 north drove them far from their course towards 
 the coast of Africa. The sea raged with such 
 fury that every instant they expected the frail 
 yacht would be ingulphed in the deep. The 
 wind increased towards evening, and at night 
 it blew so violently, that they all gave them- 
 
 n2
 
 ^68 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 selves up for lost ; particularly as they had been 
 driven so far out of their course that they knew 
 nothing of the rocks, sands, or other dangers 
 which might surround them. Occasional flashes 
 of forked lightning disclosed the horrors of 
 the scene, and rendered the surrounding dark- 
 ness more terrific. During one flash, more vivid 
 and of longer duration than the rest, they 
 fancied a rock or land was near. 
 
 All hands were then employed in endeavour- 
 ing to change the course and avert the threat- 
 ened danger. They strove with the desperate 
 energy of despair, but death seemed inevitable : 
 the lightning, which was incessant, showed 
 distinctly a gigantic mass of rock ahead. All 
 efforts seemed unavailing; the tremendous 
 waves carried the vessel nearer and nearer the 
 dreaded spot. 
 
 There is something in the sure, the inevi- 
 table approach of death, which completely 
 changes the whole tenor of our feelings, and 
 love, the most powerful of all, shrinks with
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 269 
 
 dismay from the stern aspect of the destroyer. 
 We feel, while on the verge of eternity — and 
 who is so hardened as not at such a moment 
 to look beyond the grave ? — how utterly value- 
 less are all the objects of our dearest earthly 
 wishes ; even those for which we would have 
 parted with life itself. 
 
 This was the first moment Vere felt he had 
 acted wrong. There was within his heart a 
 principle even stronger than love ; and that 
 death he had so often invoked, now that it 
 seemed inevitable, startled and dismayed his 
 unprepared mind. But this was no time for 
 regret or reproach, — throwing himself on his 
 knees, he asked for pardon. The next instant 
 a tremendous crash was heard — the vessel 
 struck, and all were buried in the waves. 
 
 What followed, Vere never knew. When 
 consciousness returned, he found himself on a 
 narrow bed in a low hut. The light of day 
 penetrated but feebly through a small high 
 window, and discovered the figure of an old
 
 ^0 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 woman, with dark features and turbaned 
 head. She was sitting crouching down near 
 the fire, stirring the contents of a pot on the 
 burning embers. In vain he spoke, in vain 
 he inquired how long he had been there — what 
 had become of his companions ? the old hag 
 only answered by a grim smile, and made him 
 a sign to sleep again. He had only a confused 
 recollection of what followed ; whether he was 
 really ill, or whether for some strange purpose 
 the woman dosed him with narcotics, he could 
 not determine. For some time he was not 
 sufficiently recovered to leave his bed, and 
 during this time he reflected deeply on all his 
 past life. He remembered what a dreadful 
 impression the prospect of inevitable death had 
 made upon his mind; he felt that his life, his 
 existence hitherto, if not sinful, had been both 
 useless and selfish. Everything now conspired 
 to afford him time and repose for the indul- 
 gence of these salutary thoughts. He had no 
 books nor anything to divert his attention.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. £71 
 
 The old woman and a young boy were the 
 only human beings he had seen since the 
 shipwreck ; he understood nothing of their lan- 
 guage, so was he never molested by their con- 
 versation. The sky was all he saw through 
 the narrow high window ; and as no light ever 
 appeared when the door was open, he sup- 
 posed that the room in which he lay was ap- 
 proached through some dark cave or passage. 
 After a few days, a stranger entered the room, 
 whom he heard the woman call Abdalla, and 
 who examined Vere attentively. His aspect was 
 most unprepossessing ; and the small piercing 
 eye, almost concealed by a heavy black brow, 
 could only be discovered by the sort of ma- 
 licious twinkle and fiery spark it occasionally 
 emitted. 
 
 Vere, who had at first hoped the stranger 
 might understand his complaints, and assist his 
 endeavours to break from his sleepy prison, 
 soon became convinced he had nothing to hope 
 for in that quarter. In vain did Vere in the
 
 272 GERALD INE MORTON. 
 
 lingua franca endeavour to appeal to his gene- 
 rosity, and promised a large ransom should be 
 paid if he would allow him to proceed unmo- 
 lested on his journey : the man either could 
 not or would not comprehend his meaning. 
 
 He made Vere rise from his bed, who, 
 however, was so much weakened that he could 
 scarcely stand. On seeing this, a violent al- 
 tercation arose between the man and woman. 
 She tried to make Vere walk across the room, 
 as if to give the stranger a proof of his agility. 
 Vere, who was most anxious to leave his prison, 
 exerted all his energies, and succeeded in con- 
 vincing Abdalla of his strength : Abdalla then 
 took from beneath the folds of his dress a purse, 
 and throwing it on the ground, led Vere out of 
 the room. 
 
 They traversed a long sort of cave, the narrow 
 mouth of which commanded one of the most 
 lovely views he had ever beheld. It was near 
 the summit of a high mountain, and they slowly
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 213 
 
 descended a narrow steep path, which occa- 
 sionally wound through dark ravines, where 
 the high rocks rose to a gigantic height on 
 each side. Sometimes by the side of a rushing 
 torrent, then emerging again to the mountain's 
 side, the eye ranged over avast tract of country, 
 beautifully diversified by woods, mountains, 
 and distant towns, where the white mosques, 
 with their picturesque minarets, appeared 
 amid groves of palms and pomegranate trees ; 
 and nearer, innumerable villas, with their ter- 
 raced roofs, fountains, porticos, and luxurious 
 gardens. 
 
 All these beauties were illumined by the 
 bright morning sun ; and they stood out in 
 strong relief, clearly defined in that bright 
 southern atmosphere, which gives such dis- 
 tinctness even to the most remote objects : in 
 the far distance the sparkling sea bounded the 
 horizon with a zone of silver. Vere sighed at 
 the sight, for it brought to his recollection his 
 
 n5 .
 
 274f GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 lost companions, over whom, perhaps, that same 
 tranquil sea had for ever closed. Before he 
 had nearly reached the plain, he became totally 
 unable to walk farther, and sank exhausted on 
 the ground. 
 
 Abdalla tried every means, even blows, to 
 make him advance, but in vain. Vere hoped 
 he would get out of patience and abandon him 
 to his fate ; a thought which, miserable as he 
 was, filled him with delight. But Abdalla 
 had no such intention ; he quickly sat down on 
 his crossed-legs, took out his pipe and tinder- 
 box, and commenced smoking. When he con- 
 sidered Vere sufficiently recovered to resume 
 the journey, he proceeded to deal sundry blows 
 on the tired frame of his captive ; still, how- 
 ever, without the desired effect of making him 
 move. He then took a rope from under his 
 tunic, and having tied Vere's hands firmly 
 together, and fastened him by the waist to a 
 tree, with a countenance of furious anger, left 
 him.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 275 
 
 Two hours elapsed before any human being 
 approached ; though in the village beneath Vere 
 could see white turbans and flowing robes, 
 which indicated a large Moorish population. 
 Sometimes the graceful forms of women ap- 
 peared among the shrubs and flowers of the 
 lovely gardens. At last the sound of footsteps 
 were heard, and soon, winding up the steep 
 rocky path, a cavalcade was seen advancing. 
 It consisted of three females, riding on mules, 
 attended by their slaves. 
 
 As the place was lonely, they had partly 
 thrown aside their veils, and Vere saw their 
 pretty cheerful faces, and heard the sound of 
 their merry voices and hearty laugh long 
 before they perceived him. When they did 
 so, two of them hastily resumed their veils; but 
 the third, who was far younger, and more 
 beautiful than the others, seemed either reluc- 
 tant to conceal her charms, or anxious to take 
 a more clear view of Vere, and did not draw
 
 276 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 her veil over her face till she was close to the 
 tree to which he was bound. 
 
 Vere, by this means, had time to see the 
 blood mount to her brown cheek, and to wit- 
 ness the beautiful and varied expression of her 
 large eyes before they were cast to the ground ; 
 then, as if ashamed at having so far outstripped 
 the bounds of eastern modesty, she turned hasti- 
 ly towards her companions, drew down her veil, 
 and spoke some words in a tone of exquisite 
 gentleness, but with the air and manner of one 
 accustomed to command. 
 
 Two slaves then unbound Vere, who tried 
 by gestures to testify his gratitude to the lovely 
 young creature. She was then proceeding up 
 the path, when, as if remembering something, 
 she turned quickly round, and asked him in 
 the lingua franca if he was not a stranger in 
 the country. Vere detailed his adveritures, to 
 which, he thought, she listened with much in- 
 terest, if he might judge by the deep, earnest
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 277 
 
 expression of one eye, which her veil did not 
 conceal, and from the pensive and graceful 
 manner in which she leaned her head on her 
 delicate hand. Long after Vere had finish- 
 ed, she remained in the same attitude, which, 
 at once voluptuous and modest, can only 
 be seen in those countries where women, un- 
 fettered by the restraints imposed by fashion 
 on their movements, can give way to the na- 
 tural grace of beauty and ease. 
 
 Her companions, who did not seem to enjoy 
 so much the interruption to their excursion, 
 said some words, which caused her to start ; 
 she replied to them, and a sort of dispute fol- 
 lowed, which Vere did not understand ; but he 
 judged from their gestures that he was the 
 subject of debate. 
 
 This time, however, the lady seemed obliged 
 to submit to the advice or wishes of her attend- 
 ants. She cast one last look at Vere, and its 
 tearful melancholy expression was a sad con-
 
 278 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 trast to the merry smiles which had beamed in 
 her countenance a few minutes before: the 
 cavalcade then proceeded up the mountain 
 and he was left alone. 
 
 Vere was utterly at a loss what course to 
 pursue. He felt that his strength was scarcely 
 equal to reach the village, and as it was proba- 
 ble that Abdalla had gone there, he thought 
 it would not be prudent to bend his steps in 
 that direction. His first object, however, 
 should be to hasten away from the place where 
 he now was, lest Abdalla should return ; but 
 this was not an easy undertaking, for the path 
 was bounded by a high wall of rock on one 
 side, and a steep precipice of immense depth 
 on the other. 
 
 Whilst he was considering what measures to 
 adopt, and examining the precipice to try and 
 discern some fissure in the rocks, wTiere he 
 might at least find temporary concealment, he 
 saw his captor approaching with two other men,
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 279 
 
 bearing between them a sort of litter. To fly 
 would now be useless, to elude them impossi- 
 ble, and he therefore resolved to submit quiet- 
 ly to his fate. Abdalla looked with surprise at 
 the broken ropes, but did not inflict that 
 punishment which Vere had expected. They 
 then placed him in the litter, and proceeded 
 down the path. In about an hour they reach- 
 ed the village beneath, and entered a low and 
 mean-looking dwelling : around a square open 
 court were several dark-looking rooms or 
 rather cells, into one of which Vere was taken, 
 deposited on some straw, and chained to the 
 ground. There was no window in this dreary 
 abode, and but a faint ray of light found its 
 way through the broken door by which he had 
 entered. 
 
 Vere felt, however, it would not be for the 
 interest of his captor to keep him long in this 
 wretched place, and determined not to give 
 way to despondency. For some days he saw
 
 280 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 nothing of Abdalla ; his meals — that is, a 
 plate of rice and dates, and some water — were 
 brought twice a day by a young boy ; and 
 Vere, who felt his health and strength were 
 fast returning, began to get heartily tired of 
 his confinement. 
 
 One morning Abdalla again appeared, and 
 with him an old man, richly attired in flowing 
 robes of flowered silk, and wearing in his 
 leathern girdle a dagger, whose golden hilt was 
 inlaid with precious stones. Abdalla watched, 
 with much anxiety, the impression produced 
 by Vere's appearance on the simple and bene- 
 volent features of the old man. He seemed 
 satisfied with the result, and stood with his 
 arms folded in the determined cunning air of 
 one who is sure of his man, and resolved to 
 make the most of the fancies and caprice of 
 another. 
 
 The stranger said something — Abdalla shook 
 his head, — again the old man spoke; but each
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 281 
 
 time Abdalla shook his head ; and by the in- 
 creased twinkle of his eye, Vere dreaded lest 
 his exorbitancy might disgust the old man, 
 and prevent the bargain he was making. At 
 last something was said which seemed to give 
 satisfaction to both : the strancrer drew out 
 his purse, and Vere's chains were removed. 
 
 Two black slaves then appeared, who led 
 Vere between them out of the house, and 
 through the village to a villa, about a mile 
 distant. They entered its beautiful porticos 
 and passed through two courts, or rather gar- 
 dens, full of flowers, to which the fountains 
 playing in the centre, and the ornamental 
 buildings around, gave an air of eastern gran- 
 deur which enchanted Vere. 
 
 This enchantment was not, however, doom- 
 ed to be of long duration ; for they took him 
 into a small room in the third court, placed 
 and firmly riveted a heavy chain round both 
 his ancles, and conducted him into a large
 
 282 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 room, which, from its appearance, and the 
 kid that was roasting by a large fire, Vere 
 supposed was the kitchen. 
 
 Several unveiled women were employed in 
 kneading cakes, grinding corn in a small hand- 
 mill, and squeezing lemon-juice into butter 
 and honey. They all suspended these occu- 
 pations for a moment to gaze at Vere. 
 
 The oldest among them was attired in a 
 magnificent dress : jewels in great profusion 
 appeared on different parts of her person, which 
 once might have been handsome before it 
 yielded to the influence of time ; but now the 
 bracelets, anklets, and necklaces, hung as if 
 encumbering the form they could no longer 
 adorn. A large ruby, set in diamonds, was 
 suspended from her sharp aquiline nose, and 
 ponderous drops of the same form weighed 
 down her ears. 
 
 After regarding Vere with much attention, 
 she turned him several times round, and ex-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 283 
 
 amined his shoulders and arms with the eye 
 and touch of one accustomed to pass judg- 
 ment upon the muscular strength of the hu- 
 man form. She then gave some orders to the 
 black slaves, who took Vere through a large 
 garden into a field ; and after making him un- 
 derstand, by signs, that he was to dig some 
 ground to which they pointed, they left him 
 and went away. 
 
 The place was surrounded by a high wall, 
 and Vere, seeing there was no chance of escape, 
 submitted quietly to his fate, and commenced 
 his task. After sunset one of the slaves re- 
 turned, and conducted him to a small room 
 adjoining the kitchen, and fastening one end 
 of his heavy chain to a groove in the wall, left 
 him to enjoy as much repose as a heap of 
 straw would afford. 
 
 Vere had tasted nothing since the morning ; 
 and after the fatigues he had endured, the 
 cravings of hunger, still further increased by
 
 284f GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 savoury fumes which came from the kitchen, 
 became very painful : tired as he was, it was 
 impossible to sleep ; and he therefore endea- 
 voured, by making a noise with his chains, to 
 excite attention, but all in vain. It was now 
 quite dark; and at last, the stillness which 
 reigned in the house made him begin to fear 
 that all the family had retired to rest. Soon a 
 strain of lovely music broke upon his ear, and 
 roused him from the uncomfortable sleep into 
 which he was at length sinking. It seemed to 
 proceed from a room over head, and from some 
 instrument like a lute or guitar, accompanied 
 by a woman's voice. The air was wild and 
 melancholy, and the effect it produced on such 
 an enthusiastic admirer of music as Vere, was 
 most pleasing. The voice, too, recalled Geral- 
 dine's forcibly to his mind. There was in it the 
 same originality of tone and depth of feeling 
 which quite enchanted, and caused him to forget 
 all his miseries, his heavy chains, hard bed, 
 starvation, and slavery.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 285 
 
 ' After it was ended, Vere listened, and the 
 echo lingered upon his mind with that pleas- 
 ing impression which so often survives long 
 after the sweet sounds which have caused it 
 have died away. In hopes of causing the 
 strains to break forth again, he sang a beau- 
 tiful Sicilian air : some time elapsed, but at 
 last the voice, like a true nightingale, respon- 
 ed. It was tremulous, and the singer seemed 
 scarcely able to finish. 
 
 The words of this song were in the lingua 
 franca. Hope dawned into his mind at the 
 sound ; and delighted at the prospect of ex- 
 citing sympathy, he tried to put in verse the 
 history of his misfortunes. 
 
 Before he had finished, a noise was heard 
 above as of many footsteps : then all was 
 silent ; and Vere was obliged again to compose 
 himself to sleep, and his dreams were a strange 
 compound of lovely music, roasted kids, 
 kneaded cakes, clanking chains, earrings, and 
 jet black eyes.
 
 286 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 In the morning he was awoke by one of the 
 slaves, who brought him a most welcome barley- 
 cake, and then forced him to resume in the 
 field the digging operation of the preceding 
 day. Towards evening he fancied he heard at 
 a distance the tones of a lute ; the spade was 
 soon abandoned, and he went towards the 
 garden whence the sounds proceeded : as he 
 approached they became more distinct. It was 
 the same lovely voice which had before so en- 
 chanted him, and, how strange ! what he now 
 heard was his own Sicilian air of the previous 
 night. Her quick ear must have caught it from 
 him, as it was not likely the soft airs of Sicily 
 should have reached a girl in a remote village 
 of Barbary. 
 
 Vere endeavoured to open the garden gate, 
 but found it had been locked by the black 
 slave. He examined the wall, to see if there 
 was any possibility of scaling it. It was high, 
 and his chain was a sad drawback to such an
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. ^87 
 
 attempt, — besides, where would be the use ? 
 Was he sure of finding a friend in the fair 
 unknown ? Would her heart prove as kind as 
 her voice was soft and melodious ? 
 
 There was, however, an air of romance in all 
 this whole scene, which, to an ardent imagina- 
 tion like Vere's, was highly attractive. He 
 had often thought of that lovely girl who had 
 a week before taken compassion on his fettered 
 state, and there was something in the songstress** 
 voice which recalled her image most forcibly 
 to his mind. I fear it must be confessed he 
 was more disappointed at finding the door 
 locked and the wall unscalable than Matilda 
 would have wished. 
 
 The song ceased, and Vere taking up the 
 first wild air she had so beautifully warbled, 
 adapted some words to it in lingua franca, ex- 
 pressing his admiration of her talent, and his 
 wish to see her. I cannot but condemn this 
 thoughtlessness which prompted Vere to utter
 
 S88 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 such a wish in a country where he well knew 
 no woman could be seen except by her husband 
 or brother ; but his curiosity was so much 
 excited as to make him forget and disregard 
 every prudent consideration. 
 
 This time it was not destined to be gratified : 
 he heard the sound of several voices, as if in 
 violent altercation ; but no more melodious 
 strains reached his ear. 
 
 Night came, and with it the black slave. 
 The moon was just rising as he passed through 
 the garden, and by its beams he saw two white 
 figures gliding among a grove of palm-trees. 
 He was moving towards them, when the slave, 
 with some sharp blows, brought him back to 
 reason and the right path. That night he for- 
 tunately got some supper, and his sleep was 
 interfered with by no musical sounds ; but the 
 black eves and brown cheek haunted his 
 dreams. 
 
 The next morning, in again crossing the
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 289 
 
 garden, he saw at a distance several veiled 
 forms, and recognised in the tallest the old 
 jewelled woman he had seen in the kitchen. He 
 determined this time to approach them in spite 
 of the slave ; for he was anxious at least to en- 
 deavour to make some friends, as he had been 
 much disappointed at not again seeing the be- 
 nevolent-looking old man, who he supposed was 
 the master of the house, and from whose kind- 
 ness he had hoped to gain his freedom. He 
 ran so fast towards the women that the slave 
 could not overtake him : but, instead of wait- 
 ing for his approach, they all fled away as fast 
 as their legs could carry them, and were soon 
 lost among the thick grove of orange-trees. 
 
 How strange and provoking that he should 
 be thus kept from all communication with any 
 who could understand him. However, there 
 was no use in repining; and he resumed his 
 spade, of which not having made so much use 
 yesterday as the slave had wished, he received 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 290 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 several severe blows for his idleness. I think 
 this punishment was of some use to remind 
 Vere that he should not lose his time, or 
 waste his thoughts on singing damsels : be- 
 sides, he was much disappointed at not seeing 
 among the women any form at all like that of 
 the black houri of his dreams ; and he wisely 
 tried to persuade himself that it did not follow 
 that a beautiful voice must necessarily belong 
 to a fair face ; and that, after aU, the singer 
 might be as ugly as one of the ladies he had 
 seen in the kitchen. 
 
 All these reflections were very satisfactory in 
 dispelling his romantic dream, as long as he 
 did not hear the magic sounds, which was the 
 case for many days. But then he began to 
 get heartily tired of his monotonous and 
 laborious life, and longed for any adventure 
 which might amuse or interest his restless 
 mind. 
 
 One evening, as the sun was sinking behind
 
 G£&ALI>iX£ MORTON. 291 
 
 the moontaiiis, be again heard the Sicilian air ; 
 but it was so faint that he thought the sound 
 ooold not come from the garden: again he 
 sang, and again he was responded to; but 
 when the son set and the short twilight ended, 
 the mdodioQs tones entirrij ceased. 
 
 The next evening, about the same hour, 
 the music commenced, and this time it was 
 nearer than ever, and seemed to come from 
 a sort ci paTilion at one end of the high 
 walL 
 
 Vere had often remarked this beautiful little 
 building of Moorish ardiitecture, which, from 
 being more decorated, and diffloing &om the 
 adjoining TiHa, he fancied was the remains of 
 some ancient palace. It was fike a large orial 
 window ; and the high dome and graceful taper- 
 ing pinnacle were supported by twdve beauti> 
 f uIIt carved serpentine pillars of red marble, 
 the lower part, which projected far bejond the 
 wall, tapered downwards in the same shape as
 
 ^2 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 the dome; it was of white marble, and orna- 
 mented with arabesques. 
 
 Vere could see that the ceiling was richly 
 decorated with a profusion of ornaments upon 
 a ground of gold. He approached as softly 
 as his heavy chains would permit ; but in spite 
 of all his care they made so much noise that he 
 feared it would scare away the lovely singer ; 
 for that she was lovely he had now quite made 
 up his mind. He could see a white veiled 
 head through the balustrades of the pavilion, 
 and, to his delight, the clanking chains did not 
 cause the music to cease : on the contrary, the 
 songstress proceeded in a more wild and lovely 
 strain than ever. 
 
 This time Vere prudently determined not to 
 sing, lest her attendants should again be angry, 
 as he fancied they were before. His forbear- 
 ance was rewarded, for she continued to sing 
 till it was quite dark : however, he had seen 
 nothing more than her flowing veil ; and at
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 293 
 
 last the slave came and forced him to his lonely 
 cell. 
 
 That night a beautiful dream, and of which 
 Geraldine was the heroine, came to embellish 
 his slumbers. She visited his prison attired 
 in a Moorish dress. The tresses of her long 
 hair, plaited and interwoven with pearls, hung 
 down to her feet. With a bashful, yet tender 
 look, she stooped and unfastened the chains 
 from his feet; then he entered with her into 
 an ivory car, drawn by some of those beautiful 
 imaginary birds that he had read of in Eastern 
 romances, and the vivid and gorgeous colours 
 of whose plumage he had so much admired. 
 They sang some old favourite songs, while 
 passing through lovely scenery, and the voices 
 of their conducting birds joined in a sort of 
 silvery accompaniment. 
 
 They then crossed over the smooth surface 
 of a lake and reached a small island. The 
 birds were all transformed into Moorish girls,
 
 294f GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 lovely, and dark-eyed, as the one he had seen 
 on the mountain — and then voices and music 
 came like that wild melody the mysterious 
 stranger had first warbled. 
 
 They gathered a wreath of flowers more 
 lovely than any he had ever seen, and he placed 
 it on Geraldine's head : she smiled on him, as 
 she had done that last happy — miserable day 
 they met at the duke'*s breakfast, and she suf- 
 fered him to kiss her fair brow and clasp her 
 in his arms. 
 
 Suddenly, with a tremendous sound, all the 
 lovely scene vanished ; — all was dark, and in 
 vain he grasped at the fair image, who had 
 returned his embrace with passionate ardour. 
 The heavy chains drew him away, and in the 
 effort he awoke. 
 
 The black slave and barley- cake painfully 
 reminded him where he was. All that day the 
 enchanting idea that Geraldine loved him ho- 
 vered over his mind, like a continuation of that 
 blissful dream — indeed there was so much in
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 295 
 
 the glowing and voluptuous climate which 
 harmonised more perfectly with Geraldine's 
 image than Matilda's, that I cannot wonder, 
 amid these beautiful ruins of ancient refine- 
 ment, and where he heard the tones of a voice 
 so like hers, that he thought more of her than 
 he wished. 
 
 In the evening the music was again heard, 
 and two figures were seen moving within the 
 balustrades of the pavilion ; soon, however, one 
 of them went away, and Vere again began to 
 sing some words he had composed during the 
 monotonous hours of the day, in which he 
 again expressed his wish to see the songstress. 
 
 There was no answer; but he fancied the 
 white figure above trembled. In a few minutes 
 her hand was raised and extended over the 
 balcony, and a bunch of beautiful flowers fell 
 at his feet. Concealed within he found a 
 paper, on which were written these words in 
 lingua franca. 
 
 " You have twice expressed a wish to see
 
 296 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 me ; — know you not that death would be the 
 consequence if we were discovered ? I care not 
 for this, if you are equally courageous. — To- 
 morrow evening, when you see a white hand- 
 kerchief tied to the red pillars of this build- 
 ing, you will find the garden-door unlocked ; 
 follow a narrow path to the left through the 
 orange-grove, pass under the vaulted ruins of 
 the old palace till you come to a small stair- 
 case, which will conduct you here.^ZuLiMA." 
 
 All this seemed very romantic, and delight- 
 ful ; but Vere sometimes feared the adventure 
 was assuming too real a character ; however, it 
 would appear like cowardice if he did not obey : 
 besides, his curiosity was not only excited by 
 the lady, but he longed to see the interior of 
 that beautiful little building. He was ex- 
 tremely fond of antiquities, and the passing 
 through the ruins of an ancient Moorish palace 
 was in itself a sufficient inducement to make 
 him venture.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 297 
 
 He scarcely slept that night, and on the 
 morrow so little work was done, that he anti- 
 cipated some more heavy blows from the black 
 task-master Hassan. As the day advanced, his 
 agitation became most violent ; it seemed as if 
 evening would never come. At last, the sinking 
 sun shone through the slender serpentine pillars 
 of the pavilion, and the general shadow cast 
 by that beautiful airy building extended far 
 across the green field. Soon, like a golden 
 ball, the declining orb was seen through the 
 carved balustrade, and the pinnacled dome 
 and whole outline of the building were darkly 
 portrayed on the shining perpendicular rocks 
 of the neighbouring mountain. 
 
 Vere looked in expectation of the signal till 
 his eyes were nearly dazzled, and then turning 
 them for relief towards the mountain, he ad- 
 mired the graceful shadow of the edifice. Soon 
 the fairy lines were broken by some intercept- 
 ing object ; — the reflection of a figure appeared.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 He turned, and saw a white handkerchief wav- 
 ing in the evening breeze. The garden-gate 
 was unlocked ; he passed through the dark 
 orange-grove along the narrow path, and came 
 to the Moorish ruins : here he paused, so en- 
 chanted with the scene that he almost forgot 
 the Zulima who was waiting above ; courts, 
 fountains, mosaic pavements, porticos of seve- 
 ral stories in height, the pillars of which were 
 of different coloured marble, all appeared be- 
 fore his delighted eye in such rich profusion, 
 he scarcely knew which to admire most. He 
 doubted whether the far-famed Alhambra could 
 be more beautiful than this : but before he had 
 half enjoyed the lovely scene, the notes of 
 a guitar reminded him of the winding stair- 
 case. 
 
 He passed through the vaulted chambers as 
 he had been directed ; and after groping about 
 among fallen columns, grotesque work,' and 
 broken capitals, in comparative darkness, he
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 299 
 
 came to where a ray of brilliant light streamed 
 down through the staircase; — he mounted, and 
 after winding round several times, entered a 
 narrow, roofless passage, the walls of which 
 were covered with beautifully painted ara- 
 besques. 
 
 At the end of this was the pavilion, and he 
 beheld the veiled figure seated on a low otto- 
 man of rich flowered silk, with a guitar in her 
 hand ; another instant, and he was within the 
 fairy building, and close to the mysterious ob- 
 ject who had so powerfully excited and in- 
 flamed his imagination. 
 
 Here I must leave him to the enjoyment of 
 her society and return to other climes, having 
 perhaps lingered too long in those lands of 
 ancient romance and modern barbarism. 
 
 VOL. I. 06
 
 300 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Oh, thou wild Fancy, check thy wing ! no more 
 Those thin white flakes, those purple clouds, explore. 
 
 Coleridge. 
 
 The following winter at Rome was unusu- 
 ally gay. The Castlefords, Lady Julia Mor- 
 ton, and a host of English visiters, added the 
 charm of their society to the attractions of that 
 favoured city. Geraldine was in appearance 
 the gayest of all ; she had full scope for the 
 display of her extraordinary talents. Those 
 who heard her sing and recite verses aW iui- 
 provviso could hardly be convinced that she was 
 not a daughter of the land ; and it seemed im- 
 possible the pencil of any but an Italian could 
 so rival Raphael, Titian, and Correggio. 
 
 Lord Castleford was, if possible, a more
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 301 
 
 devoted and adoring husband than he had 
 been a lover, and Lady Julia sometimes wrote, 
 exulting triumphantly over my fears and evil 
 presentiments about the domestic happiness of 
 her children. Their mutual affection was uni- 
 versally observed ; and the Italians said, " it 
 was only Geraldine's great love for her hus- 
 band which made them believe she was Eng- 
 lish." 
 
 The delightful climate had quite restored her 
 health; and as she and Lord Castlefordwere 
 both such enthusiastic admirers of scenery, an- 
 tiquities, and painting ; and could so well enjoy 
 all the innumerable mental feasts which Italy 
 affords, they resolved to spend the summer near 
 Naples, where they proposed to remove after 
 the Holy Week. Everything was arranged, 
 and they were to start on the morrow ; when 
 Lord Castleford received a letter from his 
 aunt, Lady Diana Lisle, informing him of the 
 serious illness of his only sister. She had 
 been suffering for some time, but no imme- 
 
 VOL. I. P
 
 202 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 diate danger had been apprehended, and she 
 now expressed an ardent wish to see him before 
 she died. 
 
 Poor Lord Castleford, who loved his beau- 
 tiful and only sister with more than a brother's 
 affection, was in a state of distraction at this 
 melancholy intelligence. What was to be 
 done ? He did not like to carry Geraldine off 
 and travel night and day that he might reach 
 England in time, though she kindly offered to 
 do so ; and yet what misery to part with his 
 adored wife ! He was compelled, however 
 painful the alternative, to decide on the latter 
 course, as Lady Julia was strongly averse to 
 her daughter undergoing the fatigue of such a 
 rapid journey. 
 
 With many tears and mutual promises of 
 thinking, &c. incessantly of each other, and 
 those sort of things which people in" such in- 
 teresting circumstances usually do, they sepa- 
 rated. Lord Castleford started for England; 
 and his young wife, who really felt sincere grief
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 303 
 
 at this first parting from a husband she loved 
 more and more every day, and who had begun 
 to imagine that her constant efforts had been 
 successful and that she was now quite in love, 
 was confirmed in the idea by the sorrow and 
 pain this separation caused. 
 
 On that day a letter from Matilda arrived ; 
 but Geraldine's anxiety and grief at her hus- 
 band's departure prevented her reading it. In 
 the evening, however, when tired of crying, 
 she began to seek for something to divert her 
 thoughts, and she opened the letter. It was 
 but ill calculated to raise her spirits, being 
 written in a tone of deep despondence : no in- 
 telligence had come from Vere, and hope was 
 almost extinguished in poor Matilda'*s breast. 
 
 Geraldine, who since her marriage had main- 
 tained a strict guard on her thoughts, never 
 allowed her usually ungovernable imagination to 
 wander for an instant towards Vere. This plan 
 had so far succeeded in extinguishing her love, 
 that she now contemplated his probable death 
 
 p 2
 
 304 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 with comparatively slight emotion, and thought 
 of him without that overwhelming sorrow such 
 intelligence would once have occasioned. All 
 the regret she felt was on Matilda's account. 
 I must here express my conviction that Geral- 
 dine would not have succeeded in banishing so 
 soon from her heart every trace of what she 
 afterwards confessed to me had been so vio- 
 lent a passion, had not her endeavours been 
 assisted by the persuasion that Vere loved her 
 not. This idea assisted her in gaining the 
 victory over a heart whose feelings were too 
 powerful to be vanquished by principle alone, 
 and pride infused energy sufficient to restrain 
 the rovings of an imagination which nature 
 and habitual indulgence had rendered so un- 
 governable. 
 
 How seldom do we know all the secret mo- 
 tives of our own hearts, or how many minor 
 wheels are ever at work invisibly and insen- 
 sibly, occasioning the main spring of all our 
 actions to change its course ! But that spring
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 305 
 
 never stops : our characters alter as we ad- 
 vance in life — we become either better or 
 worse. Yet, often years pass by, and we travel 
 far before we discover the cause which first 
 directed our steps in the broad road of sin, or 
 up the steep narrow path of virtue. 
 
 Geraldine thought that friendship for Ma- 
 tilda—for Castleford, was the sole motive which 
 had prompted her conduct for the last six 
 months : she was both surprised and gratified 
 at her own success, and was therefore happy. 
 
 On the following day Geraldine and her 
 mother started for Naples. Lord Castleford 
 had cautioned them to take guards at Terracina, 
 many travellers having been plundered that 
 winter by the banditti. Geraldine laughed at 
 his fears, but promised to do as he wished. 
 
 When they arrived there, they found all the 
 guards had gone that morning with the car- 
 riages that had preceded them on the road, 
 and were not yet returned. Everybody knows 
 the inn at Terracina is not an inviting one:
 
 306 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 moreover, Geraldine had set her heart upon 
 sleeping at her dear beautiful Mola di Gaeta ; 
 and whatever she had set her heart upon she 
 was sure to do. 
 
 The innkeeper at the former place tried in 
 vain to impress on their minds the madness of 
 proceeding at a late hour without guards, and 
 at first refused to risk his horses and drivers. 
 
 It was only the preceding week, he said, 
 that one post-boy had been wounded and ano- 
 ther murdered by the banditti, and the horses 
 carried off. This sounded rather awful, and 
 Lady Julia began to tremble ; but, accustomed 
 to obey her daughter in everything, she allow- 
 ed her now to settle the matter with the inn- 
 keeper : horses were brought, and they continu- 
 ed their journey. 
 
 About an hour after they had left .Terracina 
 
 > 
 
 and were slowly ascending, they heard shots 
 fired at a distance. Lady Julia and all the 
 rest of the party, except Geraldine, were for 
 returning at once to Terracina ; indeed, there
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 307 
 
 was no choice, for the post-boys refused to 
 advance a step further. The carriage accord- 
 ingly was turned and proceeded down the hill 
 at a rapid pace; when suddenly a party of 
 men rushed from behind a rock, seized the 
 horses' bridles, and holding their pistols to the 
 drivers' heads, obliged them again to turn about 
 and proceed up the mountain. 
 
 Lady Julia fainted ; and poor Geraldine re- 
 proached herself most bitterly for having so 
 foolishly risked all their lives. But she was not 
 like most courageous young ladies, who, when 
 the moment of real danger arrives, lose all pre- 
 sence of mind. While she administered sal- 
 volatile and other restoratives to her mother, 
 she was resolving in her mind what course to 
 pursue at this difficult juncture; for she had 
 no idea of being taken and perhaps murdered 
 by the ruffians without exerting her powerful 
 energies to save herself and party. 
 
 I had often heard her say, she was sure the 
 same description of feelings actuated people of
 
 308 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 every class and rank ; that we are as likely to 
 find innate vice and cruelty among the highly- 
 cultivated and refined, as in the fiercest sa- 
 vages ; and that often in the breast of the lat- 
 ter there dwells the kindest and most compas- 
 sionate qualities under a rough exterior. On 
 this impression she now acted. As they pro- 
 ceeded up the hill, she attentively examined 
 the fierce countenances of the banditti ; and 
 having fixed on one less savage than the rest, 
 and in whose dark eye she thought there lurk- 
 ed a spark of fun and humour, she let down 
 the window and beckoned him to approach. 
 He came, and she began with a laughing face 
 to express her thanks to him and his com- 
 panions for having accomplished what she 
 could not ; forcing her drivers to take her 
 against their will to Mola di Gaeta, where she 
 had all through determined to sleep that night. 
 She was now sure lori onesti signori would 
 conduct her party there in safety, and they 
 should be well rewarded for their trouble.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 309 
 
 " Dormiranno nel Castello di San Martino,""' 
 
 said another of the gang, whose superior air of 
 command and ferocity of look showed him to 
 be the leader. 
 
 She then addressed him with the same un- 
 daunted cheerful countenance ; altering, how- 
 ever, the style of her discourse to what she 
 thought would accord better with his temper. 
 His surprise at her strange and fearless con- 
 duct was such that he listened in a sort of 
 surly admiration. Geraldine saw that he was 
 deeply struck, at all events, with her beauty ; 
 for an instant she trembled, and there was a 
 slight quiver in her lip. She turned round and 
 whispered a few words in German to her cou- 
 rier on the box beliind. 
 
 Lady Julia had recovered from her faint, 
 but fear rendered her almost insensible to all 
 that passed. Geraldine now and then spoke 
 to her words of comfort and hope, while she 
 continued also to try and excite the bandit's 
 attention and interest. 
 
 p5
 
 310 GERALDINE xMORTON. 
 
 In about half an hour they came up to ano- 
 ther party of robbers. A carriage lay over- 
 turned on the road, near which were the bodies 
 of three men. It was an appalling spectacle. 
 The banditti, to whom Geraldine was talking 
 so frequently, looked attentively in her face, as 
 if to see if that sight would not at last excite 
 her fears : she divined their thoughts. 
 
 " Ah, non ho paura," she said with a smile. 
 " I am sure you will not treat us as those men 
 have the other travellers. I can divine people's 
 thoughts, and I can foresee what is to happen 
 in futurity," she continued with a solemn air. 
 " I know that you will do us no harm — no, not 
 to one of our party. I will tell the fortunes, 
 too, of each of you, signori, if you like ; but 
 hearken and consider well what I am about to 
 say : if you escort us safe to Mola, you shall 
 have five thousand scudi — and that is a larger 
 sum than you have gained for many a month. 
 But know," she added, lowering her voice and 
 speaking in a deep mysterious tone, — '* know
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 311 
 
 that your fate is involved in ours. By the 
 powers of divining I possess, I read in the 
 dark lines of futurity, that so surely as you do 
 us the slightest injury, will your blackening 
 corpses hang in the Castle of St. Angelo, before 
 the full moon again silvers yon shining sea/' 
 
 She said this with an air so commanding, 
 and with such a look of inspiration, that the 
 bandits looked at each other in surprise and 
 awe. The chief, however, gazed at the bodies 
 near the overturned carriage, which they were 
 fast approaching, and shook his head. 
 
 '' Non, non," he said : " quel che e fatto e 
 fatto." 
 
 Geraldine again spoke something to the Ger- 
 man courier unperceived by the bandits, who 
 were now occupied in talking eagerly to their 
 companions and clearing the other fallen car- 
 riage of its contents. She observed that se- 
 veral of the latter were wounded, and therefore 
 concluded they had been engaged with some 
 of the guard.
 
 312 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 The German courier contrived, whilst the 
 robbers were occupied as before mentioned, to 
 unfasten one of the horses from his own car- 
 riage, and mounting it, he dashed out of the 
 road and disappeared before the banditti were 
 aware of his departure. They, however, soon 
 missed him and the horse; but as none had 
 perceived what direction he had taken, pursuit 
 was useless. 
 
 Josephine and Mrs. Stubbs, the two maids, 
 were in hysterics, and continued to squall and 
 cry in spite of Geraldine"'s entreaties and me- 
 naces. The other carriage lay now completely 
 ransacked, and the contents placed on mules, 
 and despatched with the wounded bandits up 
 the mountain. The remaining ten approach- 
 ed Lady Castleford's barouche with murderous 
 and determined looks. 
 
 This was a trying moment, and Geraldine felt 
 that she would need the utmost coolness and 
 determination. She appealed in eloquent and 
 impressive language to those better feelings for
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 313 
 
 which she still continued to give them credit. 
 She was sure, she said, tTiey would not be so 
 cowardly as to harm four helpless women. 
 " You are fond of music," she added, ** I 
 know you are, and perhaps have never heard 
 a guitar ; I am considered the best singer in 
 Italy, — listen to me ; I will sing you a beau- 
 tiful air, and then we will give you all the 
 money we have ; and I am sure you will allow 
 us to proceed to Gaeta." 
 
 One of the bandits smiled at her strange 
 confidence. 
 
 " Ah, there ! I know you love a song," 
 she added, catching eagerly at this favourable 
 symptom ; *' I said you were honesti signori 
 from the first, and I am never deceived." 
 
 Some appeared to hesitate, as if they wished 
 to comply with her wishes ; but the chief and 
 four others of the most ferocious paid no at- 
 tention to h^r words, but proceeded to unload 
 the carriage. 
 
 Geraldine heeded them not, but taking out
 
 314 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 her guitar, began singing an air, the words of 
 which being a sort of minstrel's story, she 
 thought might interest some of the gentler 
 natures among them. 
 
 Whether the lovely tones of her melodious 
 voice would have softened their savage breasts 
 can never be known. Before the song was 
 ended, a party of horsemen were heard at a 
 short distance, and a cloud of dust was seen 
 coming down the hill. The banditti, aware 
 that their numbers were now not sufficient to 
 contend against the guards, secured the few 
 things they had taken from the carriage and 
 fled. 
 
 Now that all the powerful excitement of 
 danger was over, Geraldine dropped her guitar, 
 threw her arms round her mother's neck, and 
 burst into tears. She felt quite exhausted, 
 and was obliged to have recourse to those 
 restoratives which in the moment of immi- 
 nent danger she had administered to her 
 mother.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 315 
 
 Lady Julia and the maids were still so 
 nervous, they could do nothing but tremble 
 and cry. The former was scarcely conscious 
 of what was passing, except that she now felt 
 all danger was over, and that they owed the 
 preservation of their lives to her daughter's 
 strange courage and beautiful voice ; and she 
 persisted ever after in thinking and saying that 
 Geraldine's music had so softened and touched 
 their rough hearts as to make them desist from 
 plunder. 
 
 I cannot quite agree with her in opinion, 
 that any music or persuasive language, — no, 
 not even the lovely Geraldine's, — produced 
 such an effect ; though the surprise which it 
 excited among them probably retarded their 
 proceedings, and so perplexed some that they 
 gave no assistance to the less susceptible in 
 plundering the carriage. Thus, time was al- 
 lowed for the troops to arrive for which Geral- 
 dine had despatched the courier.
 
 316 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 .... Quand la d^licatesse des contours, la puret^ 
 virginale des lignes, I'elegance et la souplesse des formes, 
 r^vMent ^ I'oeil cette voluptueuse sensibility de I'etre ne 
 pour aimer, et m^lent tellement I'ame et les sens, qu'on 
 ne salt, en regardant, si Ton sent ou si Ton admire ; alors 
 la beaute est complete, et I'on approuve a son aspect cette 
 complete satisfaction des sens et du coeur, cette harmonic 
 de jouissance qui n'est pas ce que nous appeions I'amour, 
 mais qui est I'amour de Tintelligence, I'amour de I'artiste, 
 I'amour du g^nie pour une oeuvre parfaite. 
 
 De la Martine. 
 
 We left Vere just as he had attained the 
 object of his ardent desire — an interview with 
 Zulima in the old Moorish pavilion. Her 
 veil was down, but at his request it was with- 
 drawn, and he beheld, — oh, horror ! — an old 
 and frightful African woman, with small eyes, 
 thin hooked nose, and a thick-lipped mouth,
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 317 
 
 which extended nearly as far as her gigantic 
 ear. Oh ! what a dreadful end to all his lovely 
 visions ! In disgust, he turned away, and view- 
 ed the interior of the building, which he al- 
 most feared would disappoint him as much. 
 The "fair dame" seemed greatly hurt at his 
 neglect, and by striking the chords of her 
 guitar endeavoured to attract his attention. 
 
 Poor Vere was then in a sad state of per- 
 plexity what course to pursue. He saw, by 
 the fiery expression of the woman's eyes, that 
 she was extremely angry at his indifference. He 
 then fortunately remembered that, in spite of 
 her ugliness, she had a beautiful voice ; and 
 he requested her to gratify his ears with some 
 of her beautiful songs. This seemed still far- 
 ther to irritate her: she exclaimed in pas- 
 sionate accents, " Ah, I see now ! it was only 
 for the sake of a pretty voice you sought 
 this interview ! Know then that you shall 
 never hear that voice again, — it is for ever 
 silent, broken like this guitar." And, casting
 
 318 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 the instrument furiously over the balustrade, 
 it fell far down amid the ruins below: a long 
 silence ensued, then arose a distant sound of 
 many voices. " There,"" said the enraged wo- 
 man, " there they come, and we shall both 
 die ; but I care not, if I first see you expire/' 
 
 The voices now approached nearer — they 
 were heard mounting the stairs, crossing the 
 passage, and the pavilion was soon filled with 
 men, women, and black slaves : all was tumult 
 and confusion. But above all those angry 
 threatening sounds, Vere heard a piercing 
 shriek in the adjoining passage, and just as 
 the slaves were going to seize him, a beau- 
 tiful unveiled figure, the very same he had 
 seen on the mountain, rushed in and threw 
 herself between him and the slaves, and then 
 fell on her knees at the feet of the tall elderly 
 woman covered with jewels whom Vere had 
 seen in the kitchen upon the first day of his 
 arrival, and who, from a slight resemblance in 
 their features, he now suspected was her mother.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 819 
 
 What the lovely creature said, Vere could not 
 understand ; but, from her supplicating tone 
 and energetic gestures, he knew that she was 
 imploring that his life might be spared. 
 
 As she proceeded, the angry looks which 
 the haughty woman had cast alternately at 
 him and the ugly uncouth personage who had 
 caused all this misfortune were transferred 
 from the latter to the kneeling beauty at her 
 feet. At last, a new suspicion seemed, to come 
 into her mind ; she appeared quite furious, and 
 with her large bony hand struck the delicate 
 girl to the ground. 
 
 Vere, impelled by gratitude, admiration, and 
 pity, was going to raise the unfortunate vic- 
 tim ; but his arms were arrested by two black 
 slaves. They held him to the ground, while 
 a third proceeded to inflict the bastinado 
 on the soles of his feet. The pain was tre- 
 mendous; but his own severe suffering did not 
 prevent him from bending anxious looks on the 
 poor girl, who lay in a death-like swoon on
 
 320 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 the marble floor. Her mother^ — if indeed so 
 cruel a creature could claim that tender re- 
 lationship — seemed quite indifferent to her fate ; 
 while the dreadful woman with thick lips and 
 large ears gloated with savage delight on the 
 sufferings of both and seemed to fear nothing 
 for herself. 
 
 The pain inflicted on Vere's feet was soon 
 so intense, that he became faint, and could hear 
 or see nothing. 
 
 The sun had set, and the short twilight was 
 nearly over, when they carried Vere to a low 
 dark prison beneath the old palace, and left 
 him on the cold damp ground. Oh, how he 
 longed for the heap of straw at which he had 
 before so bitterly complained ! His feet were 
 reduced to such a state, he feared that even 
 if his life was spared he should never be able 
 to stand on them again. His reflections too 
 were most painful; for what misery his fatal 
 curiosity had entailed on himself and that 
 beautiful creature ! He was convinced the
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 321 
 
 other must have deceived him ; her tones were 
 so harsh and rough, it would be impossible for 
 her to sing. No ! that lovely voice certainly 
 belonged to those large black eyes which had 
 so often haunted his sleeping and waking 
 hours. Was she ZuHma, and had she written 
 that note ? were questions he longed to solve. 
 He could not avoid suspecting that the other 
 woman had discovered Zulima's plan, and 
 maliciously found some means to prevent the 
 fulfilment of her engagement whilst intending 
 to profit by it herself. Otherwise, why was 
 the interesting girl so anxious to save his life ? 
 and that she must have accused herself of some- 
 thing, was clear from the extreme anger of 
 her mother. 
 
 In the midst of all his misery, he could not 
 be insensible to the pleasure of having excited 
 so much interest in the dear girPs heart. So 
 contending are sometimes the passions which 
 agitate our breasts, that we find unexpected 
 happiness in our greatest misery — or, as Zulima
 
 322 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 would perhaps say, a sweet spring of joy in the 
 midst of a sea of woe. The night passed, but 
 no beam of cheering day penetrated into Vere''s 
 dreary abode, and he began to think this was 
 to be his tomb. The dreadful idea, so pecu- 
 liarly repugnant to the human mind, that of 
 being buried alive, came to overwhelm Vere 
 with its terrors. No death appeared so horri- 
 ble as that of lingering, dark, lonely starva- 
 tion, while all he loved best on earth were far 
 away and would be for ever ignorant of his 
 fate. 
 
 Hours passed on, and at last he resigned him- 
 self as well as he could to his inevitable des- 
 tiny. This was the second time since leaving 
 England that death had appeared inevitable. 
 Had he made as much use of prolonged life as 
 he might .'' was he more fit to appear before 
 his Maker now than when the raging sea had 
 threatened to engulph him ? Alas, no ! and 
 this, I fear, is ever the case : we are regardless 
 of repeated warnings, and unless we become
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 32S 
 
 totally and entirely reformed creatures, each 
 successive summons is sure to find us in a worse 
 and more unprepared condition than before. 
 The longer we live in this world, the more do 
 we love it ; even when repeated disappoint- 
 ments and misfortunes ought to render it less 
 attractive, we cling to it — to the wreck of all 
 our joys — with more tenacity than ever. 
 
 Vere endeavoured to make his peace with 
 God, — he tried to pray ; but when the thoughts 
 and affections are not habitually turned towards 
 the next world, sensitive minds feel a sort of 
 shame in applying for assistance in their dis- 
 tress to the great Being they have slighted in 
 the days of prosperity. His senses too soon 
 became weakened, and he fell into a sort of 
 stupor. 
 
 How long this lasted, he could not tell. He 
 was roused to consciousness by a slight noise ; 
 it becarne louder, a sudden gleam of light ap- 
 peared, but his eyes were so dazzled, he could 
 see nothing. There was a sound, as if some-
 
 324 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 thing was deposited on the floor near him : 
 then, all was darkness again. He groped with 
 his hands around, and found a dish containing 
 food, and a small jar of water. It had just ar- 
 rived in time to save his life, and he gave fer- 
 vent thanks to God for this providential relief. 
 
 The darkness, the loneliness of his situa- 
 tion, the pain he suffered, were all forgotten in 
 the grateful moments of returning hope; some 
 hours of refreshing sleep followed, and he 
 awoke with a feeling of renewed strength. He 
 tried to stand on his feet, but without success, 
 and then endeavoured to crawl towards the 
 place whence the light had appeared, and 
 where now a small faint blue line was visible. 
 The chains which were fixed in a ring to the 
 floor prevented this attempt. 
 
 All hope of escape was then gone ; but the 
 cheering reflection that he was not entirely 
 abandoned enabled him to bear this dark im- 
 prisonment with more fortitude. 
 
 After some hours the "sudden gleam of light
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 325 
 
 again appeared, and this time he was able to see 
 a white veiled figure softly approach and place a 
 dish on the ground. Vere endeavoured to ex- 
 press his thanks; but the figure with an im- 
 patient gesture commanded silence, and hastily 
 withdrawing, left him in darkness to wonder 
 who this could be. Was it Zulima ? no, she 
 was small and delicately formed ; whereas, this 
 kind being was tall and stately, and her air and 
 step more firm and commanding. Of one 
 thing he was quite certain : she was not the 
 horrid little, fat, large-mouthed lady of the 
 pavilion. This was a great comfort ; for it 
 would have been provoking to be indebted to 
 that dreadful creature. Perhaps this was some 
 friend whom the unfortunate Zulima had in- 
 terested in his favour : he determined, if the 
 tall lady again returned, not to let her escape 
 without giving him some information. Here, 
 then, was another romantic adventure to afford 
 the restless mind of poor Vere some interest, 
 and to revive a sensation of hope in his bosom. 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 326 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 The next day the welcome visitor again re- 
 turned ; and he conjured her so earnestly to 
 inform him of the fate of the poor girl, who he 
 feared had suffered in endeavouring to save 
 him, that she paused for a moment as if in he- 
 sitation and perplexity. 
 
 "Poor Zulima!" she said at length, to his 
 great surprise, not in lingua franca, but in good 
 Italian ; " she has indeed suffered much ; she 
 is ill — sick, I fear, unto death ; and, alas ! it 
 is all her own fault, — I cautioned her most 
 
 strongly against " 
 
 " — Against sending me the note," said Vere, 
 who saw her agitation was so great she could 
 hardly speak. 
 
 " Even so," she continued ; " for I knew 
 you came from a northern clime and were ig- 
 norant of the customs of this country, and 
 that you were not aware that desiring to see a 
 woman's face here was equivalent to a declara- 
 tion of love. I knew, by my poor mother's 
 accounts of her native land, it is not so there ;
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 327 
 
 that men, even those who are unmarried, are 
 allowed to sing and talk with our sex, and to 
 behold their naked faces." 
 
 " Then your mother was an Italian ?" said 
 Vere. 
 
 " She came from Calabria, captured by some 
 pirates, and sold as a slave. My father, who is 
 a dear good man, purchased her, and would 
 have set her at liberty again ; but she loved him, 
 and they were married. She was very happy 
 for many years, till he married a young Circas- 
 sian, Zuliraa's mother, and the latter was jeal- 
 ous of all his other wives. — But hush ! I hear 
 a sound ; let me entreat you not to make the 
 slightest noise, if you have any regard for my 
 life. FareweU !" 
 
 '-* Stay," said Vere: " I implore you, tell me, 
 is your father the kind-looking old man who 
 purchased me ? Why cannot I see him ? I 
 am sure, if he knew my history he would set 
 me at liberty ; and any ransom ^" 
 
 *' He is not here," whispered she ; " he is 
 
 q2
 
 328 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 gone upon a distant expedition : but have pa- 
 tience till he returns, and Bianca will not for- 
 get to intercede for your life and liberty." 
 
 She was gone ; but Yere thought with plea- 
 sure on her words, and her graceful and ma- 
 jestic figure dwelt so strongly in his imagi- 
 nation that he scarcely noticed the surround- 
 ing darkness. Then she appeared so kind, so 
 much interested for poor Zulima, and there 
 was a melancholy softness in her voice which 
 enchanted him. But I cannot enlarge on his 
 various reflections, and the alternate hopes and 
 fears which agitated his mind : I will merely 
 say, that Bianca returned each day and gave 
 him all the information he had so anxiously 
 wished to obtain respecting her father's house, 
 and the part of the country where he was now 
 a prisoner. Of all this he had of course been 
 hitherto ignorant. 
 
 The dungeons where he was now confined 
 were under that ruined palace which had ex-
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. S29 
 
 cited his admiration. They belonged to a 
 villa near the town of Guariano in Tripoli ; 
 and about thirty miles distant from the city of 
 that name. The owner of this was Ismael 
 Bey, a man of some wealth and consequence in 
 Guariano. He had sixteen sons : the eldest of 
 these was Bianca's own brother ; and this it was 
 which made the Circassian so jealous of their 
 poor mother, who had died the preceding year. 
 She disliked Bianca too ; but Zulima, on the 
 contrary, was extremely fond of the poor girl. 
 
 "Oh, she is more than a sister to me V said 
 Bianca after expatiating warmly in her praise. 
 " Poor thing! if Allah should spare her life, I 
 fear she will never be happy again, for she is 
 engaged to marry an Aga at Tunis ; and, alas ! 
 alas ! she can never love him. O that we had 
 never seen you on that fatal mountain ! — I 
 knew how it would be from that very mo- 
 ment !'' 
 
 Here tears and sobs choked her utterance.
 
 330 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 At last she continued, " All but Zulima think 
 you are dead ; and indeed, if I had not that 
 night most fortunately passed by the place 
 where they carried you, you must have died ; 
 for Nouradine was so incensed against you, 
 and told so many stories of your conduct to- 
 wards her, that she was resolved your life 
 should not be spared." 
 
 " Who is Nouradine," inquired Vere, " and 
 what can I have done to offend her ?" 
 
 " Nouradine,** said Bianca, " is she whom 
 you met in the pavilion, and the most ill- 
 favoured of all my father's family. Neverthe- 
 less, she cannot bear any should be admired 
 but herself. She has the highest opinion of 
 her charms, notwithstanding her having been 
 twice sent back by the two husbands my father 
 found for her, at different periods, after the 
 ceremony of removing the veil had been gone 
 through, and before the marriage was com- 
 pleted. The beautiful Zulima is the especial 
 object of her jealousy : she found out by some
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 331 
 
 means your appointment with her, and, en- 
 raged at your preference, resolved to ruin you 
 both ; — that is to say," added Bianca, " in case 
 you showed the same bad taste as the two hus- 
 bands, and declined falling in love with her. 
 Ah, that Nouradine is a sad trouble to us all 1 
 she is ever doing some mischief ; and it is so 
 strange that she always contrives to have her 
 own way, and rules her father and even the 
 Circassian more than dear Zulima, who is the 
 darling of every one in the house ! Oh, if this 
 lovely girl should now die !" 
 
 " Die !" exclaimed Vere ; " I was in hopes 
 she was better." 
 
 " Yes, her health is recovering fast ; but her 
 mind is so cast down, so desponding, her only 
 desire, her earnest wish, is to leave this world. 
 She knows that as soon as our father returns 
 he will take her to her future husband at 
 Tunis.'' 
 
 Weeks and months passed, and Vere was 
 still a prisoner. The Bey did not return. He
 
 332 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 began to get quite impatient, and conjured 
 Bianca to assist him in his escape. She sighed 
 deeply, and said it was impossible — the gar- 
 den was surrounded with high walls, and 
 besides, poor Zulima — oh no ! he must wait for 
 the return of the Bey, and then perhaps all 
 would be well. She one day asked him in 
 great agitation, if whether, supposing the Bey 
 accepted of his ransom, he would marry Zuli- 
 ma. This was a startling question. 
 
 " I do not mean,*" continued Bianca in greater 
 confusion, " after the manner of the Franks, that 
 she should be your only wife ; indeed, perhaps 
 I am wrong in asking such a thing ; and I 
 know Zulima would die if she suspected I told 
 you of her love : she would not even confess 
 it to herself for a long time after I knew it." 
 
 Vere longed to ask Bianca how she had 
 gained so much insight into the tender passion ; 
 but he prudently resolved not to get into any 
 more scrapes in a country where for every idle 
 word or expressed wish he must pay dearly.
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. SS3 
 
 But, as if Bianca read his thoughts, she said, 
 " You must think it strange how I should have 
 discovered her love : but, alas ! I know too 
 well by my dear mother's sufferings what a 
 dreadful thing it is. May Allah preserve me 
 from its torment !" 
 
 There was something resigned and mournful 
 in her attitude, almost equally expressive as if 
 her face had been visible. Vere gazed with 
 much interest on her tall majestic figure, and 
 admired the graceful manner in which she held 
 a marble vase with one hand, while her head 
 leaned on the other against the shaft of a 
 ruined pillar. Her long white robes hung 
 in picturesque folds, showing the beautifully- 
 moulded form to great advantage : its Gre- 
 cian and statue-like air was much increased by 
 the single pale gleam of light which pene- 
 trated into that dark abode. 
 
 Vere thought, if her face was as perfect as 
 her figure, the prayer to Allah was almost 
 useless, for her love would almost certainly be 
 
 q5
 
 334 GERALDINE MORTON* 
 
 returned. Some such speech was on his lips, 
 but he fortunately stopped its utterance. 
 Bianca's visits gradually became less frequent, 
 and she remained with him a shorter time. 
 But Vere did not suffer from starvation, as 
 she left always a plentiful supply of food. 
 He missed her society, however, and began to 
 be dreadfully tired of confinement. 
 
 At last, more than a week had elapsed, and 
 she did not appear. The provisions she had left 
 were nearly exhausted, and Vere's sufferings 
 from thirst began to be very great. Another 
 day, and he had eaten the last morsel : he 
 then passed two whole days without tasting 
 food, when the welcome ray of light streamed 
 into the dungeon. But, alas ! Bianca ap- 
 peared not. It was the Bey himself who ap- 
 proached Vere ; but he could scarcely recog- 
 nise in his furious countenance the same be- 
 nevolent features he had so much admired. 
 " What is this I hear, oh young man !'' said 
 he in a voice which resounded like thunder
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 335 
 
 through the vaulted building. *' You have 
 seduced the affections of my daughters^ and 
 have dared, not only to penetrate into their 
 apartment, but to raise the veils which Allah 
 has decreed should conceal their features from 
 the profane gaze of men. You have grievously 
 sinned in beguiling the heart of my Zulima, 
 the flower of my harem, its sweetest bud, 
 which, like a fragrant rose in the desert, was 
 the joy of my life, the jewel of my existence ! 
 Oh ! she was fairer than jasmin ! Her lips 
 were liice blossoms, sweet to the smell and 
 lovely to the eye ; and what is she now ? 
 Vile dog of a Christian ! Oh ! may your 
 father be burnt, may he eat dirt all the days 
 of his life ! — And as for you, whom my child 
 Bianca has kept alive here so long, — you shall 
 be torn in pieces, your cursed flesh shall be- 
 come the prey of vultures, and Zulima and 
 Bianca shall hear your dying groans !'' 
 
 In vain did Vere protest he was innocent : 
 all he said seemed only to increase the old
 
 336 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 man's rage. " I grant you till sunrise," at 
 last he exclaimed ; " so make your peace with 
 Allah ; — prepare then to answer for all the 
 mischief you have done to me and mine ; for 
 at the earliest dawn of day you die." At these 
 words he rushed in fury from the dungeon. 
 
 Again death seemed inevitable ; but Vere 
 had been so often providentially delivered when 
 all hope appeared gone, that he almost ex- 
 pected some unforeseen event would arise to 
 extricate him from this danger also. How- 
 ever, the anticipation of to-morrow was by no 
 means pleasant ; and when he saw the narrow 
 blue line of distant light vanish, the pain- 
 ful reflection that this was the last time he 
 should ever behold even that faint indication 
 of the glorious sunset without, smote heavily 
 on his heart. Of course, sleep was banished 
 from his weary eyes, and he kept them fixed 
 on that spot where the dawn of day should 
 appear. 
 
 It seemed that morning could scarcely
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 337 
 
 have arrived, when the light became again 
 visible. Alas ! how much shorter did the 
 hours of that night seem than those he passed 
 whilst waiting for Zulima's signal ! But, how 
 strange ! the light again disappeared, and he 
 heard a rumbling, distant noise. Could these 
 be the approaching footsteps of his execution- 
 ers ? So soon ? It was almost incredible. 
 
 •■' That ray must have been a flash of light- 
 ning," thought he; — but no, it again appear- 
 ed ; and he now observed that it was not the 
 blue light of day, but the red angry glare of 
 fire. Again a noise was heard, as of many 
 horses passing over his prison, — the light in- 
 creased ; a sudden thought occurred to Vere 
 that the building was on fire; he hoped that 
 the flying inmates might take pity and release 
 him — anything would be better than to be 
 burned alive in his prison. He called loudly 
 for assistance; for some time the noise con- 
 tinued, but no one replied to his cries. Louder 
 and louder he called ; the tumult overhead
 
 338 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 increased, then all passed away, and Vere 
 ceased to hope. 
 
 An hour elapsed — all was silent, but the red 
 line was still visible: it became suddenly larger; 
 a fiery gleam burst into the dark abode, and a 
 turbaned figure rushing into the cavern broke 
 Vere*s chains and dragged him into the outer air. 
 The villa, and indeed the entire village, seemed 
 on fire ; and the brilliant glare of light showed 
 Vere that his captor, or deliverer, for he knew 
 not which to consider him, was not attired like 
 the natives of Tripoli: his simple white vest- 
 ment, the yellow handkerchief bound round 
 his head, and the long lance he carried, de- 
 noted him to be an Arab chief. Several other 
 Arabs approached them, and Vere was placed 
 behind one on a swift Arabian horse. In a 
 few minutes they were at some distance from 
 the burning ruins, and began to ascend the 
 chain of mountains which enclose on two sides 
 the town of Guariano. 
 
 The night was extremely dark, but their path
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 339 
 
 was for some time illuminated by the confla- 
 gration ; and as they slowly wound up the 
 steep path, Vere could hear the shrieks and 
 groans of those who were perishing beneath, 
 either among the falling walls of their own 
 dwellings, or by the merciless hand of Arabian 
 marauders, — those savage plunderers, who, if 
 they had time, seldom failed to kill all that 
 were not of sufficient value for them to carry oiF, 
 About sunrise they reached the summit of 
 the mountain, and Vere had the delight of 
 again beholding that beautiful view which had 
 so enchanted him when emerging from the old 
 woman's cave. When they had crossed the 
 highest pass, another of a different character 
 broke upon his sight. In the far distance, the 
 sun rose from the bosom of the Great Desert 
 of Soudah as if from a sea of gold, while 
 nearer two ranges of gigantic mountains, with 
 their sharp rocky summits of every shape, 
 stretched far along the plain : the sides of some 
 were clothed with dark green orange and slender
 
 340 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 palm trees ; others, more precipitious, could 
 only furnish a sustenance for the light olives 
 or stately cedars which were scattered in wild 
 profusion amid the dark purple rocks. 
 
 The party, consisting of several hundreds, 
 halted at the bottom of the mountain to rest 
 their horses and swallow a hasty meal. Vere 
 surveyed the picturesque groups and enjoyed 
 the novelty of this strange scene ; but his at- 
 tention was soon arrested and every feeling 
 excited by discovering among the captives 
 Ismael Bey and his daughter Zulima. The 
 latter was without her veil, which had pro- 
 bably been torn oiF in the scuffle : he was 
 shocked to see the sad alteration in the poor 
 girl's appearance, and miserable to think that 
 he was the cause. Her cheeks were thin and 
 pale; and those large eyes, whose laughing 
 expression he had so much admired, had lost 
 all their lustre, and gazed around with a deject- 
 ed and indifferent air which was most heart- 
 rending to witness. Suddenly they met Vere's
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 341 
 
 and for a moment glowed with their former 
 splendour, while her cheeks were tinged with 
 a beautiful rosy hue, like that cast by the 
 setting sun over evening clouds just before 
 the darkening shades of night for ever veils 
 them from the gaze. 
 
 Alas ! poor Zulima's sunny look passed 
 away as soon, overshadowed by the darkness 
 of despair, and, ashamed that feelings she 
 could not conceal should be witnessed by so 
 many eyes, she buried her face in her hands. 
 Her father was sitting near her on the ground, 
 looking the very picture of woe : his suffer- 
 ings were too great to allow him to notice the 
 emotion of his daughter, for he was thinking 
 of the dreadful death of her heroic mother, 
 who had perished before his eyes whilst en- 
 deavouring to defend his villa from the ma- 
 rauders, and died pierced by their murderous 
 scimitars, her body being left to be consumed 
 by the devouring flames. This too had been 
 the fate of Bianca — the gentle, the fair daugh-
 
 342 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 ter of his first love. Oh ! how bitterly did he 
 now upbraid himself for having on the pre- 
 ceding night denied her earnest request, and, 
 giving way to feelings of anger, having caused 
 her to be imprisoned, for saving the white 
 slave's life ! 
 
 IsmaePs nature was so kind and humane, 
 that it was only when extremely provoked 
 by such an occurrence as the seduction — so 
 Nouradine called it — of his beloved Zulima 
 that his passions were kindled. All was now 
 absorbed by intense grief: two of his sons 
 had also perished, and the rest were made 
 captives, — all his goods plundered, and no 
 hope of ransom remained ; he and his daughter 
 were sitting on the ground, and before them 
 was a dish of dates which the Arabs had 
 placed there, but which they were far too 
 miserable to touch. 
 
 Vere remarked the sorrowful countenances 
 of the sufferers, and, prompted by a desire to 
 alleviate so much misery, he approached the
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 343 
 
 spot. At first the old man did not recognise 
 him ; and Zulima, fearful that her father's 
 wrath might again break forth, and unwilling 
 to witness it, turned her head the other way. 
 
 Vere spoke, and the chief looked at him 
 attentively. An expression of anger gleamed 
 on his features, and he felt instinctively for his 
 sword ; but he felt in vain ; and this brought 
 again to mind what he had an instant for- 
 gotten — his captive state and all his misfor- 
 tunes. With a broken look softened by de- 
 spair he said, 
 
 *' Young man, Allah saw fit to spare thy 
 life, and to take that of my wives and children. 
 Triumph not in the hour of thy prosperity over 
 the fallen fortunes of him who would have 
 destroyed thee. I was wrong, I acknowledge — 
 my anger was unjust; for, by thy countenance, 
 I see thou art innocent, and perhaps Allah, 
 to punish me for wishing to kill thee, has in- 
 flicted all this woe. Tell me, Zulima, child of 
 my heart, only flower which has been spared
 
 344 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 of all my blooming harem, was Nouradine 
 right when she said he sought to win thy 
 affections ?" 
 
 *' No, no," said the sobbing girl ; " I alone 
 
 am to blame — he never " But her confusion 
 
 was so great, she could not continue ; and 
 Vere, to save her from further embarrassment, 
 explained to the old man all the occurrence, 
 and acknowledged his error in having sought 
 for an interview contrary to the customs of the 
 country. He then asked Ismael Bey if there 
 would be any chance of the Arabs accepting a 
 ransom. 
 
 " Certainly," said he ; " this is their chief 
 reason for carrying off so many prisoners. If 
 thou canst procure gold, thou may est return to 
 thy native land. Alas ! we must remain among 
 these barbarians ! I shall be compelled to see 
 my sons slaves, and my daughter — my Zu- 
 lima " 
 
 Grief choked the poor man's utterance,
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 345 
 
 and he pressed his helpless child to his throb- 
 bing bosom as if to shield her. This unfor- 
 tunately attracted the attention of some of the 
 barbarians, and hastened the catastrophe the 
 wretched father was so anxious to avert. 
 
 Zulima, though sadly altered, was still beau- 
 tiful. The comparatively fair complexion she 
 had inherited from her Circassian mother was 
 extremely attractive to the Arabs ; and her 
 figure, unlike that of the natives of Tripoli, 
 was shght and delicate. There was, too, that 
 air of refinement and modesty in her whole 
 person, to the charm of which the wildest ma- 
 rauder is never insensible; and this, perhaps, 
 is more appreciated among barbarians, from 
 its forming a great contrast to their own 
 rough and lawless natures. 
 
 A violent dispute ensued among the chiefs ; 
 and Vere could divine, by their gestures, that 
 Zulima was the cause. He felt most anxious 
 for the poor girl, who had suffered so much on
 
 346 GERALDINE MORTON. 
 
 his account, and could not help calling to mind 
 her beautiful voice, and the delight its har- 
 monious tones had afforded him, cheering the 
 tedious hours of his long captivity, and 
 awakening an interest so new and so engross- 
 ing in his mind, that the banishment from his 
 native land and beloved friends had appeared 
 less dreary. 
 
 So strongly were Veres's feelings of gratitude 
 and affection excited by the gentle Zulima, 
 that he was loth to take any steps for obtain- 
 ing his freedom if he must leave her in the 
 hands of those rude barbarians. But then, 
 supposing she was ransomed, what could he do 
 with her ? It would be cruel to abandon hev 
 when he could not avoid seeing she loved him 
 with all the devotion of her tender nature. 
 
 Whilst he was occupied with these perplex- 
 ing thoughts, the chiefs had at last come to a 
 compromise, and Vere saw the wretched girl 
 carried off by the most ferocious of all that
 
 GERALDINE MORTON. 347 
 
 cruel band. He heard her piercing shrieks, 
 and saw the look of agony and despair she cast 
 towards her despairing father and on himself. 
 Oh, those dark tearful eyes spoke volumes ! he 
 could not misunderstand their meaning. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.
 
 LONDON : 
 PRINTED BY SAMUEL BENTLEY, 
 
 Dorset Street, Fleet Street.
 
 
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