THE 
 
 ORDEAL; 
 
 A NOVEL.
 
 - Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive 
 
 in 2009 witii funding from 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/ordealnovel01lond
 
 THE 
 
 ORDEAL; 
 
 A NOVEL, 
 
 -" Even thus two friends conderan'd, 
 
 Embrace, and kiss, and take ten thousand leaves; 
 
 Leather a hundred times to part than die. 
 
 Vet now farewell ; and farewell life with thee I" 
 
 SHAKSPEARB. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 ^ LONDON: 
 
 FRINTED FOR GALE, CURTIS, AND FENNER ; AND G. AND 
 S. ROBINSON, PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 SOLD ALSO BY 
 
 MMTcdie and Co., and G. R. Clarke, Edinburgh; Smith and Son, Gla.grow; 
 and M. Keene, and J. Cumminjr, Dublini 
 
 1813.
 
 V.I 
 
 THE ORDEAL, 
 
 CHAP. I. 
 
 ^I'nE first rays of Aurora streaked witJi 
 refulgent light the azure skies, and waked 
 every thing to life and joy* In the breast 
 of the pious, they excited gratitude at being 
 once more permitted to behold them, and 
 
 Y adoration of that Creator, who thus be- 
 S5 nignly seemed to smile upon his works. The 
 
 :\ young and the happy hailed the bright lumi- 
 nary with enthusiasm, as the sublimest work 
 
 ">- of the creation ; nay, the indifferent looked 
 
 "4 VOL. I. A
 
 ^ THE ORDEAL. 
 
 up to it with admiration. In majestic splen- 
 dour it rose to shine upon the just and the 
 unjust, on the happy and the wretched. Yes, 
 on the wretched ; for it shone on thee, poor 
 Laura ! and waked thee from temporary 
 oblivion, to feel, with redoubled force, the 
 anguish that for a moment had been calmed. 
 Laura awoke, and shuddered with horror, 
 for her arm rested on the clay-cold brow of 
 her departed mother ! She gazed with hope- 
 less despondency on the altered features of 
 her beloved parent. The iron hand of grief 
 had weighed heavily on her, exhausted her 
 strength, annihilated her ideas. Deep sleep 
 hung on her ; but it was like the sleep of 
 death, the lethargy of despair. 
 
 No hope remained ! with hope fled anxi- 
 ety. Laura's wild tumultuous feelings had 
 subsided, her distracted fears and doubts 
 were hushed to rest ; for her heart was the 
 residence of deep and certain woe. Oh ye 
 who have lost a bosom friend, a revered pa-
 
 THE ORDEAL. 3 
 
 rent, an affectionate guide, mourn over the 
 youthful Laura ! You can guess her feelings, 
 but who can paint them ! She had lost every 
 thing ; her mother was her only friend. With 
 her every feeling of aflfection, every sensation 
 of happiness, was connected. In Lady Mer- 
 lon was centered all the thoughts and wishes 
 of her daughter, and Lady Merton was no 
 more ! Shaking off the corporeal ties of mor- 
 tality, her soul had obeyed the call of its 
 Creator, and left the form it had animated 
 and beautified an uninformed and senseless 
 mass. The chee^ so lately painted with 
 health and cheerfulness, was sunk and co- 
 lourless ; the eyes, that sparkled with viva- 
 city and meaning, dull and sightless ; and 
 even the voice of her darling child failed to 
 warm a heart whose pulsations were for ever 
 stilled by the icy hand of death. Laura 
 knelt by the bed-side in a state of abstract 
 misery. She had thought till she had lost 
 the powers of reflection ; all that she could 
 A 2
 
 4 *rHE ORDEAL. 
 
 how do was to suffer. Her good old nurse, 
 who had been a faithful servant to Lady 
 Merton, dreaded the consequence of her 
 watching" all night by her mother, and came 
 to entreat her to take some rest. Laura 
 suffered herself to be led out of the chamber 
 of death, and followed her conductress al- 
 most unconsciously. The voice of the in- 
 fant Emma sounded in her ear : she started 
 with a sudden sensation of fresh anguish, 
 and exclaimed within herself, " Poor child ! 
 what will become of thee ?" 
 
 Emma was a dependant on the charity 
 of Lady Merton. At six months old she 
 had been received into her house in conse- 
 quence of the earnest intreaties of Laura. 
 Various were the conjectures formed respec- 
 ting this lovely infant ; but nothing was 
 known with certainty, and curiosity gradu- 
 ally died away. Miss Merton had reared 
 her with an affection almost maternal ; but 
 at this moment her mind was too much ab-
 
 THB ORDEAL, 5 
 
 sorbed in grief to admit an emotion so sooth- 
 ing as tenderness ; and she quickened her 
 pace to avoid the child. When she reached 
 her own room, she sat down and crossed her 
 arms in silent apathy. In vain the weeping 
 nurse endeavoured to rouse her; Laura heard 
 her not. " It is seven o'clock," said the old 
 woman, striking a watch that lay on the 
 table. Laura started up, and in a tone of 
 stifled agony entreated her to remove the 
 watch. She looked wildly at it, and con- 
 tinued, " It was heir's ! it still goes, but she ! 
 — Oh ! my God, give me strength." She 
 left the room precipitately in search of she 
 knew not what, and wandered about until 
 fatigue forced her to lie down. She arose 
 with clearer, but not less painful feelings ; 
 and prepared to address her father. It was 
 seven years since she had beheld that father. 
 Sir James Merton was in the prime of life. 
 He had been early married, and was sepa- 
 rated from his "wife shortly after the birth 
 A S
 
 t? THE ORDEAL. 
 
 of Laura. He had seen her but once since 
 that period ; and his cold and even harsh 
 manner tended rather to alarm than to con- 
 ciliate a naturally timid child. She had oc- 
 casionally written to him on the subject of 
 the allowance her mother sometimes found 
 difficulty in obtaining ; but his answers were 
 so little affectionate, and so laconic, that she 
 never ventured to address him on any other. 
 Her hand shook, her tears blotted out what 
 she wrote ; and she was on the point of 
 abandoning the attempt in despair, and beg- 
 ging the good vicar, Mr Harcourt, to write 
 for her ; but fearing to be thought disre- 
 spectful towards her father, she recalled her 
 sinking spirits, and hastily wrote the melan- 
 choly fact without any comment ; adding 
 only an enquiry, of what was now to become 
 of herself. Not the slightest tincture of an- 
 xiety mingled with this demand : all things 
 were now alike to her. For herself she 
 cared not ; but for the little Emma she
 
 THE ORDEAL. 7 
 
 trembled. If the Harcourts would not re- 
 ceive her, she knew not where to place 
 her. Fortescue indeed (Mr Harcourt's son) 
 loved the child, and would have persuaded 
 his mother to take care of her ; but Fortes- 
 cue was absent ! The good Harcourts quickly 
 penetrated her uneasiness, and as quickly 
 relieved it, by a promise of protection to her 
 young charge ; and Laura, gratefully weep- 
 ing her thanks, deposited the lovely Emma 
 with her kind friends at the vicarage.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 CHAP. IL 
 
 A FORTNIGHT had elapsed since the death of 
 Lady Merton ; and Laura's mind had begun 
 to recover from the despondency that at 
 first had overcome it. She had followed 
 her mother to the grave with a sort of des- 
 perate resolution ; but when she saw the 
 coffin slowly lowered into the earth, — when 
 she felt, that she had for the last time be- 
 held the remains of one so loved, so revered, 
 -—her soul seemed to descend with the corpse 
 of her mother ; and she sunk senseless in 
 the arms of the old nurse. On her return
 
 THE ORDEAL. 9 
 
 home, she was roused to exertion by the 
 orders necessary to be given. She would 
 have thought it sacrilege to allow any one 
 to touch what had belonged to her mother. 
 In looking over her papers, a little packet 
 met her eye, on which was written, " For 
 my beloved Laura, when I am no more." 
 Laura seized it eagerly ; she trembled vio- 
 lently ; she had not courage to open it. 
 She gazed on it, until, blinded by her tears, 
 she pressed it to her lips, and was yet un- 
 decided what to do ; when she was inform- 
 ed a person from her father wished to speak 
 to her. She hastily locked the parcel in 
 her desk, and, summoning all her fortitude, 
 descended to receive the stranger. 
 
 Mr Lockie was Sir James's attorney. 
 He was a middle-aged man, his features 
 harsh, his mind unpolished, but his heart 
 was not bad. He had a daughter of Lau- 
 ra's age, and he feit interested for her, 
 >vhen he heard that J^ady Mercon was no
 
 10 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 more. Finding, however, that Sir James 
 not only intended to make his daughter a 
 handsome allowance, but to place her at 
 the head of his house in town, Mr Lockie's 
 compassion gradually decl-eased ; and know- 
 ing himself to be the bearer of good news, 
 he advanced to Laura with a smile, and 
 presented her with a note from Sir James. 
 It was short, and merely stated his having 
 sent his attorney to settle her mother's 
 affairs, and left it to her option, whether 
 she would proceed to London immediately, 
 or remain for the present at Merton Hall. 
 As coming from her father, Laura was an- 
 xious to show every civility and attention to 
 her guest; but it was an exertion she found 
 it difficult to make. Mr Lockie's smile had 
 involuntarily closed her heart against him ; 
 and when, to divert her melancholy, he 
 talked of the gay scenes of London in which 
 she would shortly partake, it was in vain 
 that she attempted something like a reply.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 11 
 
 Mistaking her emotion for pride, Lockie 
 sunk into sullen taciturnity, and it was to 
 the infinite relief of both that dinner was 
 announced. But all Laura's courage was 
 insufficient when she entered the dining- 
 room for the first time since her mother's 
 death. She made an effort to approach the 
 table, but her limbs refused to support her ; 
 she staggered to a chair, and covering her 
 face with her handkerchief, sobbed aloud. 
 Totally at a loss to comprehend her, Lockie 
 stood the picture of surprise. In a few mi* 
 nutes she was enough recovered to apologise 
 to her astonished guest ; and when, in a 
 low and tremulous voice, she informed him, 
 that the last time she had dined there, it 
 was with her departed mother, his surprise 
 gave way to compassion ; and he so ear- 
 nestly entreated her to retire to her room, 
 and try to compose her spirits, that she rea- 
 dily assented. At her departure, Lockie 
 fell into a train of reflections on the singu-
 
 12 THE ORDBAL. 
 
 larity of her behaviour. That she should 
 be out of spirits was natural ; but that, a 
 fortnight after her mother's death, she 
 should give way to such excessive emotion 
 on so trivial an occasion, was unaccount- 
 able. The power that inanimate objects 
 have to recal the most painful ideas, was 
 far beyond his comprehension ; and though 
 he pitied her, he could not help mentally 
 observing, that " Miss Merton was a very 
 strange girl." Far different were Laura's 
 reflections. In the solitude of her chamber, 
 she recalled every word, every look of her 
 sainted mother ; she dwelt fondly on every 
 expression of affection she had uttered to- 
 wards her, and firmly resolved to treasure 
 up in her mind every admonition she had 
 ever received. At length, determining no 
 farther to indulge her feelings, she tried to 
 reason away her agitation. With an op- 
 pressed heart and throbbing head, she es- 
 sayed to employ herself, but in vain. How
 
 THE ORDEAL, 1$ 
 
 inadequate are reason and philosophy to the 
 task of consoling the wretched I They do 
 but mock the mourner. It is religion alone 
 can pour a balm into the wounded heart ; 
 and by giving us to know the hand that 
 strikes, can thereby enable us to support 
 the blow. Under its cheering influence, shq 
 made another effort to compose herself^; and 
 becoming more calm, she resolved to seek 
 her old nurse, who was confined with a cold 
 to her room ; and taking a light, proceeded 
 to her apartment. In crossing a passage, 
 her taper was extinguished by a sudden 
 gust of wind from a window that had been 
 left open. She advanced to shut it, and in^ 
 voluntarily shuddered. It was one of thosq 
 windy and starless nights, when the moon 
 now and then, escaping from the flying 
 clouds that pass over it, casts a bright but 
 partial light on the surrounding objects. 
 At that moment it was half seen, and its 
 remaining beams shone full on a plain white
 
 14 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 monument, over which the sad cypress 
 mournfully waved its dark and frowning 
 branches. The heart of Laura was chilled, 
 for it was the grave of her mother ! 
 
 Mr Lockie, giving up the idea of seeing 
 any thing more of Miss Merton for that 
 evening, determined to amuse himself with 
 exploring the house, and entered the gal- 
 lery at this moment, when the door, esca- 
 ping from his hand, the wind closed it with 
 a violence that made Laura start. *' Miss 
 Merton here !" ejaculated the surprised at- 
 torney, as he advanced to the window with 
 apologies for having alarmed her. Laura 
 replied with her usual sweetness, and add- 
 ed, " You have probably missed your way 
 to your apartment ; I will conduct you to 
 it, for doubtless this must be a mournful 
 sight even to a stranger." She sighed deep- 
 ly5 as she pointed to the churchyard and 
 its most striking object. Lockie was affect^ 
 ed ; he pitied her sufferings, though he con^-
 
 THE ORDEAL 15 
 
 sidered them to be much heightened by ro- 
 mance and solitude. Wishing, therefore, 
 to call off her attention from the mournful 
 scene, he expressed much curiosity to see 
 some fine* pictures Lady Merton had col- 
 lected. Glad of a subject of conversation, 
 Laura led the way to the gallery, where her 
 mother had delighted to arrange drawings 
 and paintings in every style. Opposite the 
 door was a striking likeness of Lady Mer- 
 ton herself, a whole length picture, with 
 the infant Laura kneeling at her feet. The 
 rest were family-pictures, or copies from 
 great masters. Eeyond the gallery was a 
 small boudoir, entirely full of miniatures, 
 each of which having some sort of history 
 belonging to it, Laura stopped opposite to 
 them to relate it. Mr Lockie observed 
 one picture of an exquisitely beautiful young 
 woman, which Laura seemed carefully to 
 avoid speaking of; though, to induce her to 
 do so, he frequently called her attention tQ
 
 16 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 the pictures of her father and brother, be- 
 tween which hung the miniature in ques- 
 tion. Finding, however, a direct enquiry 
 to be the only means of procuring informa- 
 tion, he began by admiring the lady, "Did 
 you know her ?" demanded he- *' Yes I did. 
 Sir," replied Laura : — " We will proceed." 
 " Pardon me," returned he ; " but I must ex- 
 amine this, if you will give me leave." So 
 saying, he unfastened the. picture ; and ac- 
 cidentally touching a spring, it flew open, 
 and discovered a braid of hair, with the 
 initials C. B. engraven under it. Laura 
 eagerly took the picture from Mr Lockie ; 
 and closjng it, said, " I must return this to 
 the owner, for it was only lent to me." " As 
 you know the lady, resumed the attorney, 
 and are in possession of her picture, you of 
 course know her name." " Her name," return- 
 ed Laura, "cannot be known to you ; and, 
 as she has been now dead these three years, 
 it is useless to expect it." " She appears
 
 THE ORDEAL. I7 
 
 very beautiful, and has an intelligent coun- 
 tenance," added Lockie, with a look of cu- 
 riosity. I^aura appeared much agitated, 
 and simply replied, " She was indeed beau- 
 tiful and amiable, and above all, unfortu- 
 nate/' On quitting the gallery, Miss Mer- 
 ton informed JMr Lockie, that much as she 
 would have wished to remain a little longer 
 in a spot rendered dear by early habits and 
 associations, and sacred by the recollection 
 of her mother's loved presence, she would 
 wave all those feelings, and hasten to meet 
 her only surviving parent, since he was rea- 
 dy to receive her^ - ** Should you then be 
 ready to proceed to-morrow to London," 
 continued she, " I will follow my father's 
 directions, and accompany you. My little 
 Emma is now an inmate at the vicarage, 
 and I am therefore no longer wanted here.'* 
 Laura's voice trembled, and the last words 
 nearly died away upon her lips : Forcing, 
 however, an appearance of cheerfulness, she
 
 18 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 changed the subject of conversation ; and 
 shortly after retiring for the night, she be- 
 gan the preparations for her journey with a 
 mind harassed and worn out by the varie- 
 ty of emotions she had that day sustained.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 19 
 
 CHAP. JIL 
 
 1 HE grey dawn of morning had hardly 
 rendered objects discernible, when Laura, 
 softly unbarring the house-door, proceeded 
 to take a last farewel of the little space of 
 earth so often watered by her tears, and 
 which covered the remains of her beloved 
 mother. Silently did she bend over this 
 consecrated spot ; and as she leaned her 
 aching head on the cold marble, a feeling of 
 deep despondency stole over her, and for 
 the first time her sorrow became selfish. 
 " And must I," thought she, " quit the place
 
 20 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 where yet thy dear shade hovers ? Here I 
 might think I heard thy soothing voice, or 
 met thy sympathising glance ; but when I 
 go hence, as it were, to a land of strangers, 
 who will ever love, will ever understand 
 thy Laura ? I am alone in the world, for- 
 lorn and wretched. Ob, my mother, that 
 I had died with thee !" Laura rose with a 
 franctic gesture ; and flinging the long hair 
 off her face, her eye fell with surprise on 
 the venerable figure of her old friend, the 
 pastor of the village. He was standing at 
 a little distance, earnestly gazing at her. 
 Laura's eye fell beneath his expressive look, 
 and instinctively she extended her hands 
 towards him, as if to implore forgiveness. 
 The pastor approached; and, kneeling be- 
 fore the tomb, **• Let us pray," said he, 
 " for the happiness of thy mother :" And 
 as the good old man, in a low, but impres- 
 sive voice, offered up to the throne of 
 mercy the spontaneous effusions of an hum-
 
 THE ORDEAL. S^l 
 
 ble and an upright heart, Laura shook off 
 every despondent feeling", to join with heart- 
 felt devotion in prayer foi^her sainted mo- 
 ther. The venerable speaker paused for a 
 moment, and Laura continued lost in me- 
 ditation ; when, raising his eyes, and ele- 
 vating his voice, he exclaimed^ " Deign, 
 oh Omnipotent ! to pardon this erring child ; 
 forgive her repinings ; strengthen her with 
 thy grace, that she may bear the pain thou 
 seest fit to inflict, with the courage and hu- 
 mility of a Christian." From the bottom 
 of her heart, Laura uttered an Amen ; and, 
 turning to her kind friend, entreated his 
 pardon for the despondency she had betray- 
 ed. *^ I know," added she, " that, instructed 
 as I have been from my earliest youth by 
 you, and by her who is now no more, in 
 every branch of my duty, I am far more 
 culpable than any other would be in yield- 
 ing to selfish sorrow, and impious repi- 
 nings ; yet when you hear that, in a few
 
 22 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 hours, I quit this place, and abandon the 
 grave of my mother, perhaps for ever, you 
 may possibly feel more lenient towards your 
 weak and miserable child." Tears silently 
 chaced each other down the pallid cheeks 
 of the fair mourner as she concluded ; but 
 checking them, she enquired of the bene- 
 volent pastor, what induced him thus early 
 to leave his home ? "I am not come from 
 home, my dear child, said he ; I have spent 
 the night in prayer by the sick-bed of poor 
 Martha. I staid until all was over ; and 
 finding I could no longer be of any use, I 
 was proceeding homewards, when I caught 
 a glimpse of you. I did not wish to inter- 
 rupt your meditations ; but perceiving, by 
 your countenance and manner, more of de- 
 spair than piety, I thought it would have 
 been wrong to leave you." — " You are in^ 
 deed my guardian angel," exclaimed the 
 penitent and grateful Laura. — An approach- 
 ing step arrested their attention. — The pas-
 
 THE ORDEAL. 23 
 
 tor turned, and beheld his daughter, the 
 young and blooming Maria. The ever- 
 smiling girl ran to welcome her parent. " I 
 was just going in search of you," exclaimed 
 she : ** I dreaded your remaining so long in 
 that damp hut. How did you leave poor 
 Martha ? I fear there is no hope."—" None 
 "fen earth, my dear girl ; but every hope in 
 Heaven."—" Alas, poor Martha !" said the 
 lively Maria, who, comprehending the full 
 force of her father's words, turned aside to 
 conceal a starting tear. " Oli ! do not pity 
 her, my child," cried the venerable man : 
 " How many kings and conquerors are 
 there, who, at their last moments, would 
 gladly exchange with poor Martha ? The 
 life she had spent innocently she rendered 
 up cheerfully ! To the last, the smile of 
 peace and content hovered round her lips !" 
 Maria, who never dwelt longer than she 
 could help on a subject she deemed melan- 
 choly, after a short pause, enquired of Lau-
 
 24? THE ORDEAt. 
 
 ra the reason of her travelling dress, and 
 heard, with equal surprise and concern, of 
 her precipitate departure ; not that Maria 
 had" any violent affection for Laura, but 
 she had known her all her life ; and habits 
 of intimacy produce a cordiality which very 
 young people are apt to mistake for friend- 
 ship. Thus we go on from one illusion to 
 another, always fancying the last is reality, 
 until, arrived at the closing scene, we find 
 we have been dreaming life away, and we 
 think with regret how much wiser and bet- 
 ter we might have been. " I must away, 
 my friends," at last exclaimed the youthful 
 mourner. " I am easy with regard to my 
 loved Emma, for your benevolent mother 
 has promised to befriend her ; and your bro- 
 ther Fortescue always loved her. Might I 
 hope, dearest Maria, that you would take 
 my place near this sweet infant, I should 
 be almost happy." The deep sigh that es- 
 caped her, as her eye fell on the new-made
 
 THE ORDEAL. ^^ 
 
 grave, contradicted the assertion, and seem- 
 ed to say, " Happiness is buried there." 
 Maria paused for a moment ; her features 
 became almost pensive. *' Laura," she at 
 last said thoughtfully, " I like not to make 
 promises without being certain of my poAver 
 to perform them. Emma shall be my con- 
 stant companion ; and I will take care to 
 preserve her from bodily harm : This I will 
 promise most willingly ; but here I must 
 stop. Sensible as I am of the great import- 
 ance of education, I should, in my attempts 
 to bend the youthful mind of Emma to re- 
 flection, grow melancholy myself ; and when 
 our spirits are depressed, existence loses its 
 charms. Emma, however, my dear friend," 
 added Maria, smiling, " is not likely to be 
 the worse for my selfishness, as my brother 
 will soon return, who, you know, is too en- 
 thusiastically fond of this child to allow 
 her mind to remain uncultured : besides, 
 good soil requires less care ; and if we all 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 26 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 contribute, however little, towards her edu- 
 cation, I have no doubt of her becoming in 
 time a prodigy."—" A thousand thanks for 
 your kind promises, my dear Maria. I do 
 not wish you to be a slave to my lovely pro- 
 tegee. Example instructs better than pre- 
 cept. Emma, therefore, residing with you 
 and your excellent parents, will, I am cer- 
 tain, become every thing I could wish." 
 Laura tenderly embraced Maria. " And 
 now adieu, my dear friends ! We shall 
 meet some time or other, I hope," added 
 she faintly. " God bless you !" returned 
 Maria, " we shall often hear from you, I 
 trust ;" and waving her hand, she hastily 
 took the arm of her father, and turned away. 
 " Why, my dear Maria," said he, " did you 
 not offer to assist Laura ? She must be ful- 
 ly employed, and you would by this means 
 have seen more of her."—" Had Laura had 
 none to assist her, I would have volunteered 
 being of use," retorted Maria hastily ; " but
 
 THE ORDEAL. "-^ / 
 
 as that is not the case, and I am not one 
 of those who prefer crying to laughing, 
 I do not see why I am to condemn myself 
 to the horrors of a lingering farewel for 
 the sake of mere ceremony." The venera- 
 ble Harcourt did not approve of this reason- 
 ing, yet partially he sought to excuse it; 
 " Well/' thought he, " this is only seeing 
 things in another point of view ; she may 
 be right." But though he excused, he could 
 not adopt her ideas ; and immediately after 
 breakfast took the road to Merton Hall. 
 He found Laura with Mr Lockie ; and al- 
 though the tears trickled down her pale 
 cheek, a ray of pleasure played round her 
 features, as she put into his hand a letter 
 she had just received from her brother. 
 " Here, my dear Sir," said she, " I know 
 you will rejoice with me at the contents of 
 this." Mr Harcourt read as follows. 
 
 " My dear Sister, — I am but just landed, 
 and should have proceeded immediately to 
 B 2
 
 2S THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Merton Hall, had not my father required 
 my presence in London. How my heart 
 bled for you when I heard the sad news ! 
 Bear up, my dear Laura, and hasten to 
 meet your affectionate brother, 
 
 Edward Merton." 
 
 *• Of my brother," proceeded Laura, " I 
 know nothing, but from his letters to my 
 mother, and from his picture, which has a 
 look of that dear mother, and has prepared 
 me to love him ; his kind wish of coming 
 to me immediately on his return home 
 was quite unexpected, and I am most 
 grateful for it." 
 
 Every thing now being finally arranged, 
 and the carriage at the door, Laura begged 
 Mr Lockie to get in, saying, she would 
 meet him at the foot of the hill by a short 
 cut. She repressed her emotion, and re- 
 strain^ed her tears, unwilling to agitate the 
 little Emma ; but her heart bled as she 
 {)ressed the lovely child to her bosom, and 
 inwardly she accused herself of abandoning
 
 THE ORDEAL. 29 
 
 SO sacred a trust reposed in her by a dying 
 parent. In every thing did Laura now dis- 
 cern sorrow, because her soul was over- 
 whehiied with gloom. Her way led through 
 the churchyard; and as she passed the 
 grave, she espied a daisy growing on the 
 turf,— -the first flower since it had been clo- 
 sed up. " A present from my mother !" ex- 
 claimed Laura ; and devoutly gathering the 
 flower, she placed it in a small gold locket, 
 which she constantly vvore, Mr Harcourt, 
 affected, silently embraced her. They soon 
 reached the carriage :— Tears stood in their 
 eyes : — Both were unable to articulate. 
 When the vehicle that contained his loved 
 pupil receded from his view, the good 
 man, quite overcome, mentally exclaimed, 
 " Heaven bless thee, sweet child ! At my 
 age, I dare not hope to see thee again ; but 
 God's will be done !" And devoutly raising 
 his eyes to heaven, his tears ceased to flow, 
 and his countenance resumed its usual pla- 
 cid and benevolent expression.
 
 30 THE ORDEAL 
 
 CHAP. IV. 
 
 A s Laura was thus rapidly leaving behind 
 her all she felt interested for, Mr Lockie 
 was proportionally looking forward with 
 pleasure to return to all he regarded ; and 
 as Laura's spirits sunk, his appeared elated ; 
 his taciturnity disappeared ; and Laura had 
 not reason to repent keeping up the conver- 
 sation : She found him well informed upon 
 many subjects, 'and well meaning upon all, 
 and began to look upon him with respect 
 and confidence. It was ten o'clock at night 
 when they entered the metropolis ; and as
 
 THE ORDEAL. 31 
 
 the carriage stopped at Sir James Merton's, 
 in Portman Square, Laura's whole frame 
 trembled. Half a dozen servants appeared 
 at the door, who replied to Mr Lockie, 
 (for Laura was too much agitated to speak), 
 that their master and his son, not expecting 
 them until the following day, were not in 
 town, but every thing was prepared for the 
 reception of Miss Merton. Lockie good- 
 naturedly offered to take Laura home with 
 him, not wishing to leave her alone in a 
 strange house ; but she was too much fa- 
 tigued to be able to encounter company un- 
 known to her. Bidding him, therefore, 
 good night, with a heart somewhat less de- 
 pressed, she entered the gay mansion that 
 was now to be her home. A few minutes 
 after Laura had reached the room appoint- 
 ed for her, and was preparing to unpack 
 her trunk, the door opened, and a woman 
 entered so elegantly attired, that Laura for 
 a moment surveyed her in silent astonish-
 
 S2 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 ment and doubt. This lady, however, pro- 
 ving to be no other than a woman hired by 
 Sir James to attend upon his daughter, she 
 willingly gave up to her the arrangement of 
 her clothes, and wished to resign herself to 
 reflection and meditation ; but this the lo- 
 quacious waiting-maid was by no means wil- 
 ling to agree to. She began with the most 
 tender enquiries after her health, — made 
 comments on every articlie of dress as she 
 took it out of the trunk, — descanted on her 
 own superior talents in the millinery and 
 every other line ; — and having exhausted 
 these topics, and, surprised at the little in- 
 terest Laura seemed to take in them, was 
 preparing to change the subject, and to 
 give the whole history of the family-ar- 
 rangements, when her lady, whose patience 
 was quite tired out, dismissed her, and re- 
 flected with some degree of discomfort on 
 this first specimen of London manners. 
 Weightier concerns, however, banished the
 
 THE ORDEAL. S3 
 
 well dressed Abigail and her conversation 
 from the mind of Laura :— Feeling little in- 
 clined to sleep, she determined to dedicate 
 part of the night to the perusal of the 
 packet her mother had directed to her, and 
 which the sudden arrival of Mr Lockie had 
 prevented her from opening. Had she not 
 expected her father home on the following* 
 day, she would have delayed it ; but, from 
 the idea that the contents of this parcel 
 would give her some insight into the charac- 
 ter of her father, which it was now become 
 highly necessary for her to know, she de- 
 termined to read it instantly. She took it 
 from her desk ;— her hand trembled as she 
 broke the seal ; for the fingers that had 
 sealed it were cold and inanimate ! the spi- 
 rit that had dictated the lines she was a- 
 bout to read had flown !— And whither ? Oh 
 whither ? — To that country " from whose 
 bourne no traveller returns." Conquering, 
 at last, the feelings which her mother's hand-
 
 3i THE ORDEAL. 
 
 writing" gave rise to, Laura opened the par- 
 cel, which contained several sheets of paper. 
 In the envelope were written these words : 
 " My beloved child, I wrote the inclosed 
 account of my life long since, not in the 
 vain idea that any thing wonderful had be- 
 fallen me, nor that my sufferings had been 
 greater than what have fallen to the lot of 
 of others ; but becalise, having committed 
 great faults and greater imprudences, I 
 wished my life to serve as a warning to my 
 child, and to furnish you with some know- 
 ledge of your father's character, as, in case 
 of my death, you will probably reside with 
 him. Farewell, my dear Laura ! I am too 
 weak to write longer. I am leaving you, 
 my child ; but it is only for a little while : 
 Take courage, then, and remember the last 
 advice of thy mother,-'-her last precept,-— 
 Be Immble.— Adieu. 
 
 M. Merton."
 
 THE ORDEAL. 35 
 
 The date of this, although recent, was 
 yet some time before Laura thought her 
 mother in danger. " Ah !" exclaimed she, 
 as the tears covered her pale cheeks, " at 
 the time she wrote this she felt herself 
 dying !— And I was happy !— Unconscious of 
 the misery that awaited me, I looked gai- 
 ly and presumptuously forward to a fortune 
 that I fancied all my own How vain are 
 our hopes,— our wishes, — our expectations !" 
 Laura hung her head despondingly. When 
 her eye glanced upon the latter part of her 
 mother's letter-—" I am leaving you, but 
 it is only for a little while," — " This hope, 
 this expectation at least, is not vain," ea- 
 gerly exclaimed the reanimated Laura, as 
 she pressed the paper to her lips ; " we 
 shall meet again !" Comforted, and almost 
 pleased, she collected the scattered leaves 
 of her mother's history, and, arranging them 
 according to their numbers, with anxious 
 rapidity ran over their contents.
 
 S6 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 HISTORY OF LADY MERTON. 
 
 When I was but an infant, my mother 
 died of a consumption, a complaint which I 
 have heard attributed to her dancing immo- 
 derately one night, and exposing herself to 
 the air immediately afterwards, from the 
 too prevalent idea, that it is needless to 
 take care of people who are well. I was 
 sent to school at two years old, where i re- 
 mained until I was fourteen. There I was 
 taught to do every thing but think. My 
 father had desired I might have every 
 fashionable master ; and having been at 
 great expence for my education, at a time 
 when it was not so much the mania as it
 
 THE ORDEAL. SI 
 
 has since become, he looked forward to my 
 being something very superior. With all 
 these accomplishments and instructions, the 
 only thing that was absolutely indispensa- 
 ble, religion, was never once thought of ; at 
 least it was mentioned in so cursory a man- 
 ner, that I attached little consequence to it, 
 and should certainly have been much em- 
 barrassed if any one had asked me what 
 were my tenets, or if I had any ? These 
 troublesome questions, however, having ne- 
 ver been put to me, naturally full of life 
 and spirits, and little prone to reflection, I 
 never put them to myself; but heedlessly 
 ran on my course, ignorant of its value, and 
 unmindful of it;s end. 
 
 A romantic young woman, of good fami- 
 ly, whom my father took into the house as 
 something between a governess and a com- 
 panion, finished an .education that was deem- 
 ed perfect ! Thus does the world judge : 
 And yet, to obtain its favour, its admira-^ 
 tion, what do we not sacrifice ?
 
 38 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 At seventeen I was presented. This was 
 the signal for plunging me into every spe- 
 cies of fashionable dissipation. I really did 
 not breathe the first year, and was in a spe- 
 cies of intoxication the whole time. The 
 fever of novelty being over, I became ex- 
 hausted and spiritless ; consumed with en- 
 nui, I thought myself ill, and applied to the 
 most celebrated physicians, who declared I 
 laboured under a strong nervous affection ; 
 and Cheltenham was recommended, (upon 
 what principle I could never comprehend, 
 unless to serve as an excuse for their want of 
 skill.) Thither my indulgent father took 
 me, accompanied by Miss Porter, the lady 
 who had %o 'perfectly finished my education. 
 
 " It was here I became acquainted with 
 Mr Harcourt, who had accompanied his dy- 
 ing mother to Cheltenham. As our esta- 
 blbhment was upon, a much larger scale 
 than hers, and as we had besides the advan- 
 tage of a garden, we had it in our power to
 
 THE ORDEAL. 39 
 
 supply the invalid with many comforts and 
 delicacies ; and I spent some hours each day 
 with her. She died ; and my father, who 
 had become much attached to Harcourt, 
 made use of every argument to induce him 
 to take up his abode with us, and finally 
 prevailed. Harcourt was at this time about 
 thirty-seven. — engaging in his appearance, 
 —polished in his manners, — mild, yet firm 
 in his temper ; and possessed of a highly 
 cultivated understanding. He certainly had 
 faults, and among them was a violent spi- 
 rit, which fortunately was not easily irrita- 
 ted, but when once raised, it was yet more 
 difficult to quell ; an indifference to the 
 opinion of others, bordering on disdain, 
 with a shade of incredulity as to the virtues 
 of those around him, which was to himself 
 productive of much uneasiness, by increa- 
 sing his contempt of his fellow-creatures ; 
 a feeling which can never be pleasant, and 
 which, when properly considered, we hav^
 
 40 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 vindoiibtedly no right to entertain. But to 
 return : I gradually became much attached 
 to Harcourt ; which, considering the great 
 difference of our tastes and habits, might 
 appear extraordinary, if you did not take 
 into the account the distressing circumstan- 
 ces under which he became our guest, which 
 naturally excited my compassion and atten- 
 tion towards him. I was not indeed capa- 
 ble of judging of his intrinsic worth, or fully 
 understanding and appreciating his charac- 
 ter, until long afterwards ; but my affec- 
 tion sobered me. I began to think ; and, 
 left to myself and Harcourt, I might per- 
 haps have thought to some purpose, had 
 not my evil genius, in the shape of Miss 
 Porter, interfered with all my wise plans, 
 and, assisted by my own unstable character 
 and wild imagination, rendered me one of 
 the most unenviable of created beings. My 
 romantic head had, with the assistance of 
 Miss Porter, devised and invented thousands
 
 THE ORDEAL. 41 
 
 of reasons why my father could never ap- 
 prove of my marrying Harcourt. I was 
 not blind to his affection for me, and wil- 
 lingly ascribed his silence to his dread of of- 
 fending my parent. All the histories I had 
 ever read of ambitious fathers sacrificing 
 their children for gold now occurred to me ; 
 and determining not to be so sacrificed, I 
 looked forward with delight to the time 
 when Harcourt would give me an opportu- 
 nity of putting my spirit and disinterested 
 affection for him to the proof. 
 
 This fine romance, which I should never 
 have been capable of composing without 
 aid, occupied all my thoughts ; and when 
 Miss Porter sometimes objected to Harcourt 
 as too cold a lover, I never failed, in his 
 defence, to remark, that if any part of what 
 we thought was true, he was surely acting 
 a most honourable part, not to attempt 
 gaining my affections. 
 
 Cheltenham having, as my father obser-
 
 42 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 ved, perfectly restored my health, we re- 
 turned to town. I parted from Harcourt 
 with much emotion ; and although he said 
 nothing particular, I was delighted to ob- 
 serve that he felt on the occasion as I wished. 
 We had been in London about three 
 weeks, when Mr Merton made proposals of 
 marriage to me while going down a dance. 
 I was really so thunderstruck at the senti- 
 ments he expressed, and the place he had 
 fixed upon to express them in, that for a 
 moment I was unable to answer, for all 
 presence of mind had forsaken me. How- 
 ever, I at last replied, " I would consider ;" 
 thus unwittingly giving him more encourage- 
 ment than I intended. I readily perceived 
 tJiis in his countenance ; and all I said to 
 do away the impression seemed but to make 
 it stronger. Provoked with his vanity, and 
 gratified at my conquest of one of the most 
 fashionable young men about town, I return- 
 ed home with mingled feelings of pleasure
 
 THE ORDEAL 4S 
 
 and regret, and hastily flew to let Miss Por- 
 ter participate in them. 
 
 The next day Mr Merton called. He 
 found only Miss Porter at home ; of whom 
 having (as I afterwards discovered) made 
 a friend, he left a very tender message for 
 me, which perhaps she fabricated, and took 
 his leave. 
 
 The following day I was to go to a mas- 
 querade. While finally adjusting my dress, 
 which was that of a priestess of the sun, I 
 heard a knock at my door. Supposing it 
 to be my father, I desired the person to 
 come in, and did not raise my head from 
 my work. My companion, however, being 
 more curious, looked up, and, with an ex- 
 clamation of surprise, uttered the name of 
 Harcourt. I turned round, and beheld 
 standing by me, w ith an air more serious 
 than common, the person my thoughts had 
 been fixed on. He begged half an hour's 
 conversation with me ; and taking my haudj
 
 4'i THE ORDEAL. 
 
 led me to my boudoir, which was next my 
 room. Dreading", and yet wishing to know 
 what he meant to say, my colour went and 
 came. I trembled violently, and had not 
 courage to speak. Perceiving my confusion, 
 he would have deferred his conversation ; 
 but I eagerly demanded an explanation. 
 For a moment he paused ; then seating 
 himself by me, he took my cold hand, and, ^ 
 in the sweet and simple language of since- 
 rity and truth, declared his affection. His 
 voice was music to my soul, and I still lis- 
 tened long after he had ceased to speak; 
 but, asi suppose, witli no very forbidding 
 aspect ; for after a few moments silence he 
 repeated my name in a low and tender ac- 
 cent. I was electrified ; for ever since I 
 had known him, he had called me only JNliss 
 Lindsay. 
 
 I cannot express what I felt, when, for 
 the first time, he pronounced my name ! 
 I was like one intoxicated. I had no words.
 
 THE OilDEAL. 45 
 
 but I was too very a v/oman to be destitute 
 of tears. When I became a little calmer, I 
 raised my head from Harcourt's shoulder, 
 and timidly asked him, " what could be 
 done to gain the consent of my father ?" 
 " Done !" returned he, smiling : *' All he 
 has to do, will be to give us his blessing as 
 speedily as possible." " What do you mean ?'* 
 exclaimed I. " My meaning is pretty clear," 
 he replied. " Lord Alverstone has been 
 kind enough to wish me well, and will, I 
 am sure, be happy to find I have been heard 
 so much more favourably than I dared to 
 hope." Astonishment kept me mute for a 
 moment. " Is it possible," exclaimed I 
 at last, " that my father should give his 
 consent ? And why, if he has, have you, 
 who profess to have loved me so long, de- 
 layed saying so . " " You know, my dear 
 ^^ ria," said he, " that I am particular, 
 y particular. I knew indeed, from the 
 first moment I saw you, that 1 loved you ;
 
 46 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 but it is only lately that 1 have known it 
 was wise to love you. Since your return to 
 the metropolis, I have watched over you. 
 Although unseen, I have followed you, a- 
 like to the gay haunts of the rich, and the 
 more improving residence of the desolate 
 poor. Everywhere did the look of affection, 
 and the voice of admiration, follow you ! 
 Grateful for the former, and despising the 
 latter, you kept straight forward, and ap- 
 peared so little attached to the follies of 
 fashion and dissipation, that I at last ven- 
 tured to hope you would not disdain a 
 plain country house as your home, and a 
 plainer clergyman for your inmate. Was I 
 wrong, Maria?" 
 
 Oh that I had answered then, my dear 
 child ; what trouble would your mother have 
 spared herself? But my adverse fate will- 
 ed it otherwise. 
 
 Miss Porter entered, and announced din- 
 ner. A lady and gentleman dined with us ;
 
 THE ORDEAL. *' 
 
 and not one word more could Harcourt find 
 an opportunity to say to me. Our company 
 were engaged to a party in the evenmg a. 
 
 well as Harcourt; who, knowmgthat I was 
 .oing to a masquerade, accepted a seat m 
 theircarriage-.andlsawhimnomoreun- 
 
 tiU some years afterwards, when I went to 
 call upon his wife, and to introduce my hus- 
 
 hand ! , , i i „ 
 
 You, my dear Laura, will probably lay 
 down this paper in astonishment and con- 
 sternation at reading this last sentence ! 
 You whom I have laboured to bring up so 
 as to subject all your feelings to religion, 
 and all your actions to sober reason, will 
 not comprehend, will not (I trust) recognise 
 your mother in such absurd and inconsist- 
 ent conduct as my pen is now tracmg! Re- 
 gard not this as her liistory ; for indeed the 
 wife of Sir James Merton, and the mother 
 of Laura, are distinct and separate charac- 
 ters froiu the romantic, giddy, and volatile 
 Maria Lindsay.
 
 "^^ THE ORDEAL. 
 
 My father retired to his study when the 
 carriage drove from the door, desiring only 
 to see Miss Porter and myself when we 
 were dressed, and to be particularly careful 
 not to keep Lady Du Forfait (who was to 
 call for us) waiting. 
 
 I retired to dress; but even the beautiful 
 robes of the priestess of the sun, on which 
 I had so lately gazed with delight, had no 
 power to attract my attention. Seated be- 
 fore the glass without seeing myself, I suf- 
 fered the coifeur to settle my hair to his 
 fancy; and even after he was gone, I nei- 
 ther moved from my seat, nor attended to 
 the earnest questions of my maid respect- 
 ing the ornaments, between which her own 
 choice was divided ;-when Miss Porter en- 
 tered, « arrayed for conquest." I started 
 from my reverie at her approach: She 
 looked at me for a moment ; and then, de- 
 siring the maid to leave the room, seated 
 herself by me ; and began, in a tone of
 
 THE ORDEAL. 49 
 
 mingled affection and compassion — a speech 
 which I shall ever remember, for it was in- 
 deed the sealing of my fate. 
 
 " My dear Maria need not inform me of 
 the state of her mind at present. I can 
 readily judge what my sweet child must 
 feel, as the illusions she has long delighted 
 to cherish vanish for ever before her asto- 
 nished gaze ; and still more at the indigna- 
 tion with which her spirit must rise at the 
 base plot that has this day been laid open 
 to her view. Poor Maria ! To be thrown 
 into the arms of a man almost old enough 
 to be her father, who loves in her the for- 
 tune, and the consequence he shall gain by 
 her ! To have her fate sealed and signed, 
 ere she herself sees the net in which she 
 is to be caught ! At least," added she, 
 changing her tone to bitter irony, " you 
 have some obligations to Harcourt, who has 
 been candid enough to inform you of Lord 
 Alverstone's good wishes, or rather of the 
 vou I. c
 
 50 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 cool deliberate manner in which he has been 
 so long planning away the happiness and 
 liberty of his only child !" She paused ; 
 and I, trying to recover my scattered 
 thoughts, enquired how she knew what 
 had passed between Harcourt and myself? 
 " By no magic or sorcery, my dear child, 
 I assure you," returned she, laughing : 
 " You did indeed go into the next room, 
 but it was lost labour, for you forgot to 
 shut the door ; and as I never stirred from 
 where you left me, I must have been deaf 
 not to have heard all that was said, and 
 more than deaf, and blind too,'* she added 
 in a grave tone, " not to draw from it 
 the obvious conclusions. Indeed, I confess, 
 my dear Maria, I never was more surprised 
 than at beholding you, naturally so firm and 
 so perfectly mistress of yourself, dissolve 
 into tears in the arras of this man at the 
 first hint of his affection. — And ivhat an 
 affection, ye powers ! Why, it would have
 
 THE ORDEAL. 51 
 
 been cold to a woman who had been ten years 
 his wife, and had not only passed the me- 
 ridian of life, but who never possessed any 
 charms, the remembrance of which could 
 plead for more tenderness from her insensi- 
 ble husband !— Maria, Maria ! do yourself 
 more justice," cried she, eagerly drawing me 
 towards a mirror which reflected my whole 
 figure, on which the artful hand of my com- 
 panion had, during this conversation, been 
 tastefully arranging the beautiful and grace- 
 ful drapery which composed my dress. 
 " Are you, in the prime bloom of youth 
 and beauty, to become a sacrifice to that 
 cold insenirible philosopher Harcourt?" — 
 " But," returned I, almost breathless with 
 agitation, " he does love me in his way." 
 " And is his way your's ?" said she, turn- 
 ing her penetrating eyes full upon me. As 
 the child trembles under the frown of its 
 nurse, so did I, from habit and weakness, 
 shrink from the piercing glance of her, 
 c 2
 
 .^ THK ORDHAL. 
 
 whose look had long been my law. I co- 
 vered mv face to hide tears which I was 
 ashamed of. Had the most dreadful misfor- 
 tune befallen me, I could not have mourn- 
 ed over my sad fate with more heartfelt sor- 
 row, and listless despondency. I fancied 
 Harcourt had never loved me ; and bitterly 
 did I reproach myself for the partiality I 
 yet felt for him. With an aching and be- 
 wildered head, I suffered Miss Porter to 
 conduct me to the carriage. With difficulty 
 I stammered out a few words to my chape- 
 ron Lady Di ; and, once arrived among the 
 motley group, I sought out some lonely 
 corner, where, unobserved, I might arrange 
 my scattered ideas, and reflect on a con- 
 versation that had distracted me. 
 
 Never were my thoughts farther from 
 the New World, the court of the Theas, 
 or the Temple of the Sun. I felt my total 
 incapacity to play my part, and cordially 
 wished myself, and all the mad people, who 
 seemed assembled for the sole purpose of
 
 THE ORDEAL. 53 
 
 tormenting me, at the most remote corner 
 of the globe. 
 
 Finding all my attempts at quiet and 
 meditation totally vain, with a kind of des- 
 perate resolution, I determined to mix with 
 the gay throng, and endeavour to forget 
 myself for the remainder of the evening. 
 
 I was soon addressed by a Peruvian 
 chieftain, who repeated the fine sentiments 
 of Rolla with much energy, lie called me 
 Cora ; and I, without having intended to 
 assume her character, readily answered as 
 such. We were presently joined -by a Spa- 
 niard as Alonzo. I attended silently to 
 his violent love ; and as I listened, thought 
 how readily its language was thus lavished 
 on a mask ! I sighed at the idea, that my 
 romantic notion of affection had been de- 
 stroyed, and that perhaps this love, which 
 all talked of, no one felt, a creature of the 
 imagination, a mere chimera of the brain ! 
 Ah ! what then shall I believe, thought I ? 
 c 8
 
 54! THE ORDEAL. 
 
 I turned in silence from my Alonzo ; but to 
 escape him was impossible. Wearied, at 
 last, of his importunities, I told him, that 
 the excellence of his memory was to be en- 
 vied, as his lesson was long ; and yet he ap- 
 peared to be perfect. " Ah !" exclaimed 
 he in his natural voice, (which I now dis- 
 covered to be Mr Merton's), " the lesson of 
 love which Miss Lindsay teaches can never 
 be forgotten ; and have not I learned to my 
 sorrow, that it is a language she will only 
 suffer behind a mask ?" 
 
 The precise words of this conversation 
 have faded from my memory ;— the conse- 
 quences are not to be forgotten. He per- 
 suaded me to elope with him ; and that very 
 night, in the dress of a priestess of the Sun, 
 I set out to Gretna Green. Wonder at the 
 Infatuation of your mother, my dear Laura, 
 for I have not ceased wondering yet ! I have 
 but a confused recollection of my reasons ; 
 but the principal one was a wish to show
 
 THE ORDEAL. 55 
 
 spirit to Harcourt, whose conduct I thought 
 was base and treacherous. Miss Porter's 
 eloquence, joined to her knowledge of my 
 character, did more than half the work. I 
 desired her to break my flight to my father, 
 as I had not courage to write to him. In a 
 week's time I solicited my pardon in per- 
 son, and obtained it with little difficulty 
 from the most indulgent of human beings. 
 
 Miss Porter came to reside with me im- 
 mediately on my return to town ; but I soon 
 found that your father, and not your mother, 
 was the attraction. I bore this for a time 
 with patience ; but her insolence at last knew 
 no bounds ; and, uncertain what could be 
 done, I asked advice of a sister of my hus- 
 band's, a most amiable girl, whose constant 
 bad health had prevented her from ever en- 
 tering into the world ; and who, from not 
 lieing seen, was soon totally forgotten by 
 her relations. Possessed of a strong mind 
 and acute penetration, meek piety was her
 
 56 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 most striking excellence. A gentler being, 
 and at the same time one who owed her 
 sweetness less to mere easiness of character, 
 could no where be seen. 
 
 She was not spared me long ; but while 
 she did live, she was to me as a guardian 
 angel. She sowed in my heart the first 
 seeds of religion ; opened to me a new life ; 
 and, through the mercy of Providence, was 
 the means of assuring to me a peace, of 
 which no sorrow has had the power to de- 
 prive me. Although to her principles I 
 owe all I have since known of happiness, 
 yet was my task at first painful and severe. 
 
 The path to Heaven, indeed, appeared 
 to me then a steep and thorny one ; for 
 what had I not to unlearn ? What did I not 
 suffer, on seeing my conduct in its true 
 light ? With a thoughtlessness little short 
 of madness, I had united myself for ever 
 on this side the grave to a man who, so far 
 from being religious, for aught I knew, pos-
 
 THE ORDEAL. ^1 
 
 sessed not even common morality and ho- 
 nour. — And could I dare to look for happi- 
 ness ? I stood aghast at my own temerity 
 and unpardonable presumption ; and with a 
 spirit bowed to the earth, I received the 
 trials that I encountered as punishments 
 too light for my offence. 
 
 My kind sister-in-law, heard with sorrow 
 and regret, though unmingled with surprise, 
 the empire Miss Porter had gained over 
 your father. " It is very natural," said she ; 
 *^ your former friend is young, beautiful, 
 and fascinating ; but unless she is more than 
 commonly clever, her influence will not last 
 long ; though, while it does last, it will be 
 unbounded.' I maintained, that I did not 
 think it so natural ; for I was younger than 
 Miss Porter, and had usually been reckoned 
 handsomer ; and therefore thought my influ- 
 ence ought at least to balance her's. " You 
 are indeed very young," returned she, " to 
 talk of the influence of a wife balancing that
 
 ^^ THE ORDEAL. 
 
 of a mistress ; believe me, if it fails to annihi- 
 late it, it is itself annihilated; do not however 
 despair, it is only for a moment."— "Miss Por- 
 ter, perhaps, is only for a moment ; but she 
 may have twenty successor^"'-" Very pos- 
 sibly," answered she, " but you will succeed 
 in the end, if you behave with gentle firm- 
 ness. Do not annoy him* with ia^ttentions, 
 (which, as he will feel he does not merit, 
 will only serve to irritate him,) but let them 
 be reserved for his friends ; make your house 
 agreeable to them and. to him ; and above all, 
 avoid all appearance of acting a part ; for how 
 should a man feel confidence in an actress ?'* 
 She then proposed to me, to come and spend 
 a few days with her in the country, leaving 
 at home a note for Miss Porter, inclosed in 
 a blank cover to Mr Merton. This note 
 cost me some trouble, as I wished it to be 
 equally devoid of all harshness, as of any 
 affectation of mildness; and in fact it merely 
 said, that when I heard she had quitted
 
 THE ORDEAL. 59 
 
 Hiy house, I should return to it. All was 
 done as agreed upon, and I joined my sister 
 Laura in the country ; struggling under a 
 depression of spirits which I was unable to 
 shake off. 
 
 She congratulated me upon having gone 
 so far ; but I complained that the worst yet 
 remained. " If my house is left (of which I 
 do not feel certain,) I have, on my return, to 
 meet my husband as if nothing had hap- 
 pened, and to affect gaiety and good humour, 
 which I cannot feeL" " Why, my dear 
 Maria," returned she, " will you persist in 
 making out a dreadful case of a few un- 
 pleasant occurrences ? It is possible to affect 
 gaiety for a certain time, but good humour 
 is far more difficult to support. It is not by 
 appearing mild and cheerful, but by really 
 being so, that you have a chance of happi- 
 ness ; and how can you fail of being so, if 
 you follow the precept of our great Lawgiver, 
 and ^ ' are in charity with all men.' In
 
 OtI THE ORDEAL. 
 
 general, the assuming a character is quite 
 as difficult as the acquiring it ; the world 
 may benefit by the appearance, but it is only 
 the reality that can be a comfort to you." 
 
 In a few days I received six pages of 
 abuse from Miss Porter ; who informed me, 
 that she had removed to a far handsomer 
 house than mine, where she could doubly 
 enjoy the society of her dear Merton, unex- 
 posed to the mean jealousies of a child, who 
 could have no right to the heart of her hus- 
 band, inasmuch as all she had of heart, was 
 in the possession of another. 
 
 Mr Merton and I met, with a little em- 
 barrassment on his part, and the most per- 
 fect calmness on mine ; we avoided, as if by 
 mutual consent, any topic that might bring 
 Miss Porter to our thoughts ; and although 
 I had occasionally the mortification of meet- 
 ing her in a better appointed carriage and 
 gayer liveries than mine, I led upon the 
 whole a quiet comfortable life. I was much
 
 THE ORDEAL. &1 
 
 with my father and sister-in-law ; and only 
 went out occasionally to keep up the society 
 a-t my own house. 
 
 Things were in this state, when one 
 morning my husband came in to breakfast 
 with the newspaper in his hand, and a coun- 
 tenance, the expression of which I could not 
 quite understand. " Good or bad news?" 
 said I carelessly. " You shall judg'e for your- 
 self," answered he—" Yesterday was mar- 
 ried, at the parish-church at Manse Bridge, 
 the Reverend Henry Harcourt, to Mrs For- 
 tescue, widow of the late George Fortescue, 
 Esq. of Downam Bray." Your father ceased 
 to read ; and, regarding me with a scruti- 
 nizing look, seemed to await, with some- 
 thing like satisfaction, the agitation, he had 
 expected. But such only as have never ac- 
 quired the habit of self-examination, can be 
 the slaves of unexpected occurrences, and 
 the victims of sudden emotion. 
 
 I felt a suffocation and oppression, which
 
 62 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 for the moment prevented my speaking ; 
 but I reached out my hand for the paper, 
 and having read over the paragraph, I re- 
 turned it to Mr Merton ; observing, ** that 
 there was nothing so unaccountable as mar- 
 riages. " And what makes you," asked he 
 emphatically, " think this mai'riage so un- 
 accountable ?" " Because," answered I with 
 perfect simplicity, " I know Harcourt well ; 
 and he was so ill used by a woman he loved, 
 not long ago, that I should have thought 
 his natural caution would have been in- 
 creased so much by it, that he would hardly 
 have ventured to marry so soon." " Did 
 you know the lady who used him so ill ?" 
 said my husband. There is certainly no- 
 thing so trying to a fair and open spirit 
 as indirect questions. For a moment I was 
 irritated ; but I remembered that I had no 
 right to feel so ; and I mildly answered 
 your father, " Whatever you want to know, 
 ask honestly and fairly, and I v/ill certainly
 
 THE ORDEAL. 63 
 
 answer you, for I have no secrets ; but it is 
 impossible to answer directly an indirect 
 question." Mr Merton stammered, hesi- 
 tated, and at last said, " will you promise 
 me to answer truly and candidly one ques- 
 tion ?" " As many as you please," said I 
 laughing ; " but had you not better send 
 for a secretary to write down my answer to 
 this momentous enquiry ?" " Then tell," 
 he impatiently rejoined, '• have you ever 
 seen Harcourt since your marriage ?" Shock- 
 ed, surprised, and hu^ibfed, I shrunk back, 
 blushing for my husband, more than for 
 myself. Turning towards him, after a mo- 
 mentary pause, I said, " Merton, I forgive 
 you ; because I believe, not only that you 
 do not feel how far you degrade me by 
 such a question, but likewise that you 
 have been persuaded to put it to me. Now 
 let me ask you a question. Is it noble, is it 
 manly, thus to permit yourself to be an in- 
 strument, in the hands of your mistress, to
 
 64 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 insult vour wife ?" " I did not know,'' 
 muttered he sullenly, " that you was ad- 
 dicted to preaching, or I should never have 
 condescended to converse with you as a 
 reasonable creature. In what is my ques- 
 tion shocking and singular ? Do I not know 
 that you loved, nay, perhaps, that you now 
 love Harcourt — that you never loved me ? 
 What am I to expect from so inconsistent a 
 creature— from a woman who marries out 
 of pique ?" " I will answer all these ques- 
 tions," said I calmy ; " I will tell you, that 
 from a woman who marries one man, loving 
 another, and still continuing to love him, 
 you can expect nothing short of ridicule 
 and dishonour to yourself, disgrace and 
 infamy to her ; that from a creature so 
 inconsistent, you cannot hope for even tem- 
 porary peace ; and, finally, that from a wo- 
 man who marries solely out of pique, you 
 can expect only hatred. I have answered 
 all your questions ; and it now remains for
 
 THE ORDEAL. 65 
 
 you to decide, whether your wife is such a 
 woman !" " No ! No ! she is not ;" ex- 
 claimed my husband, who expecting a bad 
 defence, interlarded with tears and abuse, 
 was thrown quite ofi' his guard by my an- 
 swer, and not over anxious to believe, 
 what at the instigation of Miss Porter he 
 had himself asserted. 
 
 From that day my rival was dismissed 
 with a pension; but not until long afterwards 
 was she finally erased from the mind of my 
 husband. It was in vain he sought in me 
 the wit, vivacity, and warmth of manner, 
 he was accustomed to meet in Clara Porter. 
 Dissatisfied with myself, I had not spirits 
 to shine ; and although I might please a 
 few, I captivated none. 
 
 The birth of your brother Edward, my 
 resolution to nurse him,, and the opinion of 
 medical people, that he would thrive only 
 in country air, (for he was remarkably de
 
 66 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 licate), naturally separated me from Mr 
 Merton for some time. 
 
 Lord Alverstone took a pretty cottage 
 for me and my child within a walk of my 
 dear sister-in-law ; and most delightfully 
 did a twelvemonth of my life pass away, 
 without any other mixture of bitter than 
 occasional accounts of the extravagant style 
 my husband was living in ; which I knew 
 he could not long support. How blessed, 
 how gracious, is the ignorance of futurity ! 
 By this merciful darkness, we enjoy tlie 
 present ; and although we may give an 
 anxious sigh to what is to come, few are so 
 wilfully bent on being miserable, as to an- 
 ticipate evils, for which there appears no 
 sort of foundation. I saw not the storm that 
 hung over me, and I went on rejoicing. 
 
 I had just weaned my boy, and was pre- 
 paring to return to London, with some 
 »faint hopes of persuading my husband to 
 diminish his expences, when the evening
 
 THE ORDEAL. ^7 
 
 before that fixed on for my departure, 
 Laura wrote me a line to say, she had 
 been more than usually ill, the last two 
 days, and wished to see me. On enter- 
 ing the room, where she lay on the 
 sopha, I was shocked at the alteration so 
 short a time had produced. " I ought to 
 apologize, my dear friend," said she, " for 
 sending so abruptly for you, and then hav- 
 ing nothing to say ; but the plain truth is, 
 I had meant to say something, which I 
 have since considered as better unsaid. You 
 must pardon me this useless trouble." I 
 was so completely stunned by her appear- 
 ance, her peculiar manner, and singular 
 speech, that I stood silent and bewildered 
 before her. At last, approaching, I said, 
 -* I do not propose remaining long in town ; 
 we shall meet again, and"—" Yes, my sister, 
 we shall meet again ; I hope so, I believe 
 so !" And with meek confidence she raised 
 her mild blue eyes to Heaven, as to th^
 
 68 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 place we were to meet in. — I tried to sup- 
 press my agitation ; I started indifferent 
 topics, but we cannot long play a part be- 
 fore those we love ; I hung my head, and 
 blessed the darkness^ that concealed my 
 tears. 
 
 With difficulty she arose. " Give me 
 your arm, my dear Maria, we will go to 
 your favourite bower." It was situated on 
 an eminence, and commanded a most exten- 
 sive view of the surrounding country. She 
 paused at the foot. " I cannot ascend ; I 
 shall ascend no more," said she, in the same 
 mild and even tone with which she was 
 accustomed to speak of daily occurrences. 
 I shuddered convulsively. " Let us rest 
 a while here. And now, Maria, I have a re- 
 quest to make, which I trust you will com- 
 ply with." " Any thing, every thing," an- 
 swered I eagerly. " You know not per- 
 haps, that a large family-mansion will one 
 day belong to my brother, which it is pro- 
 
 i
 
 THE ORDEAL. 69 
 
 bable you may inhabit : if you do, only pro- 
 mise me you will never make any enquiries 
 concerning its former inhabitants, or indeed 
 of any of your husband's family. — Promise 
 me!" 
 
 I gazed with astonishment on her pale 
 face, on which the silver moon-beams play- 
 ed ; and which I had been used to see so 
 calm, so unruffled, so celestial ! It was 
 convulsed with contending emotions ; and 
 her deep-toned voice, expressive of the wild'- 
 est horror, sunk far into my heart. 
 
 " I promise you," said i solemnly. " 'Tis 
 well," returned she faintly. " I would now 
 reach home, bat I fear I have not strength. 
 This air is delightful — I will enjoy it a little 
 longer — Sing me one of Handel's songs ; and 
 you shall then call the maid to carry me in.'^ 
 I obeyed, although my voice trembled with 
 emotion. She listened with devout atten- 
 tion ; then crossed her hands on her bosom, 
 and prayed in a low, but distinct voice. She
 
 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 ceased ; and resting her head on my shoul- 
 der, " Farewell, my precious sister," whis- 
 pered she, " when I rejoice at my release^ 
 you will not surely repine." 
 
 She made an effort to draw a ring from 
 her finger, but could not— She essayed to 
 speak, but the voice died on her lips. She 
 feebly pressed my hand, and the next mo- 
 ment sunk lifeless in my arms. 
 
 I will not attempt to express what I suf- 
 fered at this almost sudden dissolution of 
 my much loved sister. When I had mourn- 
 ed two days over her grave, my father re- 
 presented to me the propriety of my break- 
 ing the mournful intelligence to my hus- 
 band, who had a great regard, and still 
 greater admiration, for the amiable Laura. 
 With a heart ill at ease, and a spirit strug- 
 gling to recover so great a shock, I com- 
 menced my journey to town, where fresh 
 sorrows awaited me. I found my door 
 closed against me. Giving up all idea of
 
 THE ORDEAL. 7l 
 
 gaining admittance, I drove to an hotel> 
 where this seeming mystery was elucidated, 
 by the information that my husband was 
 in prison, and every thing belonging to him 
 seized and secured. 
 
 I will spare you, my Laura, the detail of 
 the various circumstances which brought 
 your father into so disagreeable a predica- 
 ment. Thoughtlessness and good nature 
 were the principal causes. Too proud to 
 apply to my father, and too honourable to 
 attempt silencing his creditors by promises 
 which he knew he was unable to perform, 
 he merely attempted to procure bail. Hav- 
 ing failed in his first attempt, irritated and 
 vexed, he quietly took up his abode in the 
 King's Bench, where he was not a little 
 surprised at seeing me and the infant Ed- 
 ward three days after his confinement. 
 
 Immediately on his release, my father 
 had sufficient interest to get him sent 
 abroad in an official capacity, where he
 
 72 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 remained four years. I accompanied him 
 to the sea-port town from whence he sailed. 
 We were invited to a grand dinner there ; 
 which being soon tired of, I agreed with my 
 party, which was large, to go to a public 
 ball, where every body else seemed to be 
 going. My husband entered into the plan 
 with alacrity. Imagine, my dear child, 
 what I felt on entering the ball-room, when 
 the first person my eye rested on was-.— 
 Harcourt ! I was leaning on my husband's 
 arm, and for a moment felt inclined to stop ; 
 in the next, however, I smiled at myself, as 
 I caught a glimpse of my pale wan counte- 
 nance, where deep lines of sorsow added at 
 least twenty years to my age. As 1 ex- 
 pected, I passed Harcourt without his in 
 the least recollecting me. The tears of 
 selfish regret started to my eyes, as I be- 
 held that countenance which had so often 
 beamed with affectionate delight, directed 
 towards me, with no other expression than 
 
 1
 
 THE ORDEAL. 7S 
 
 cold unconcern, and frigid indifference. Mr 
 Merton had this moment perceived Har- 
 court ; and, hastily looking at me, said in a 
 tone of surprise, " Does he not remember 
 you ?" Before I could answer, a lady, gaily 
 tapping my husband's shoulder with her 
 fan, exclaimed, " And so I hear all the 
 ladies are to put on mourning, for the gay 
 and gallant Merton is deserting them." Al- 
 though much embarrassed, he answered in 
 the same strain ; and after a little more 
 conversation, she turned abruptly to me, 
 and slightly bowing, " Mrs Merton I sup- 
 pose? And as you are so rude as not to 
 have introduced me, I must needs introduce 
 myself." Mr Merton stammered out some 
 unintelligible name ; and I being much 
 pleased with the ease of the lady's manners, 
 and charmed with her peculiarly benevolent 
 countenance, readily accepted her arm, and 
 was proceeding to the card-room, when as 
 I passed my husband, he whispered, « She 
 VOL. I. D -
 
 7* THE ORDEAL. 
 
 is Harcourt's wife." Although much sur- 
 prised at so singular a coincidence, I felt 
 rather glad than sorry at having met her. 
 I exerted my almost forgotten powers of 
 entertainment, and had the satisfaction to 
 perceive I succeeded in pleasing her. 
 
 in the midst of an interesting conversa- 
 tion, Harcourt approached. " My dear 
 Ellen," said he, " it is time for us to go." 
 " Well then," said she, starting up, " good 
 night Mr Merton ; I hope this is not the 
 last time we shall meet, and that you will 
 permit me to wait on you to morrow " " I 
 shall be much honoured, my dear ma'am, 
 and still more gratified, if you can prevail 
 on your husband to accompany you. Do 
 not say," said I eagerly to him, " that you 
 will not come. Mr Harcourt, I knew, 
 
 could never refuse to pardon " " I have 
 
 nothing to pardon to Mrs Merton," said he, 
 considerably agitated, and bowing low to 
 hide his disturbed countenance : ^' Not any
 
 THE ORDEAL. 75 
 
 thing to Mrs Merton, but a great deal to 
 Maria Lindsay," replied I ; " and I had 
 hoped that I could have persuaded this lady 
 to intercede for me." " Truly, good peo- 
 ple," exclaimed Mrs Harcourt, " I cannot 
 divine what you are quarrelling about. I 
 should never have suspected either of you 
 of a turn that way ; but, be it as it will, 
 henceforth I command all discord to cease 
 between people so well calculated to under- 
 stand each other. Having ordered peace, I 
 will now enquire the terms and conditions. 
 What say you, Mrs Merton ?" " I make 
 no terms ; but I could wish your husband 
 would extend a little of that mercy and 
 compassion to me which he never refuses to 
 others." Harcourt was too much disturbed 
 to attempt a reply ; but, gently pressing 
 my hand to his lips, quitted us abruptly. 
 In a few minutes he returned with Merton ; 
 the latter of whom informing us our car- 
 riages were ready, offering his arm to Mrs 
 D 2
 
 76 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Harcourt, I fell to the lot of her husband. 
 He, however, far from advancing to assist 
 me, moved not from the spot where Merton 
 left him. For a moment, I believed that 
 traces of former resentment kept him thus 
 irresolute ; but, examining his countenance, 
 I could perceive nothing but violent agita- 
 tion. I know not how it was, whether 
 from the power of sympathy, or some hid- 
 den cause ; but, after one glance at his dis- 
 turbed appearance, I, who had been so calm 
 and cool before, suddenly became as much 
 confused as himself. An acute pain darted 
 through my bewildered brain ; and I hastily 
 pulled a veil, which constituted part of my 
 head-dress, over my face, to hide my burn- 
 ing cheeks. The transient hectic vanished, 
 and left me paler and weaker than before. 
 Overpowered, I clung to a chair for sup- 
 port. Harcourt sprung forward; and in 
 that tender voice, which I had only heard
 
 THE ORDEAL. 11 
 
 once before, exclaimed, '' Maria, you are 
 ill !" 
 
 Oh, my Laura, how shall I explain to 
 you what I suffered at that moment ! iThe 
 delight of that tone which sunk to my 
 heart— the agonising reflection, that my 
 pleasure was criminal— and the horror of 
 finding myself such a weak guilty thing- 
 were sensations that crowded upon me with 
 a rapidity that nearly stunned me ; but, 
 frail and inconsistent beings as we are, we 
 have yet all of us sufficient energy of soul 
 to reject that which is evil, and cling to 
 that which is right. On a virtuous, and, a- 
 bove all, a religious mind, the most unex- 
 pected and sudden occurrences, the most 
 trying incidents, have power but for a mo- 
 ment ; the succeeding one clears the mist 
 before our eyes, and our path is no longer 
 dubious. Merely momentary was the agi- 
 tation that shook my exhausted frame. My 
 eye had sunk beneath the expressive glance 
 D 3
 
 18 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 of Harcourt; but immediately recollection 
 returned : I raised them, and, looking calmly 
 on him, I instantly perceived that the first 
 word he uttered would sink him in my es^ 
 teem ; and, eager to prevent it, I took his 
 arm, and, in as firm a tone as I could as- 
 sume, said, " We shall lose my husband 
 and IMrs Harcourt, if we delay joining 
 them." Mechanically he followed the way 
 I conducted : he seemed to have lost the 
 power of speech ; and, without waiting to 
 hand me into my carriage, he darted into 
 his own, and drove off. 
 
 The following morning Mrs Harcourt 
 called on me, and apologised for her hus- 
 band's absence, on the plea of a headach, 
 •' which," added she, smiling, " I suppose 
 is owing to his gaiety last night : He is 
 not in the habit of sitting up at balls, and 
 I do not wonder he should suffer from it." 
 
 While Mrs Harcourt continued the con- 
 versation with my husband, I remained im-
 
 THE ORDEAL. 79 
 
 mersed in thought. I considered, that if 
 Harcourt and I so much dreaded to meet in 
 my husband's presence, I must for ever give 
 up all idea of seeing him in his absence ; 
 ever of opinion, that we increase danger by 
 flying from it, and that what we have per- 
 suaded ourselves we cannot do, really in the 
 end becomes impossible. I determined on 
 breaking at once the spell which seemed to 
 fascinate Harcourt, and restore his calm- 
 ness by my own. According to my plan, 
 I sent him no message, treated his headach 
 lightly, and promising Mrs Harcourt to call 
 in on her Some day, without fixing a time, 
 conversed on indifferent subjects till she 
 left us. My husband went in the evening 
 to a large party given for him, and conse- 
 quently from which he could not escape ; 
 and, pursuant to the resolution I had form- 
 ed in the morning, I took my child in my 
 arms ; and casting, for the first time, a look 
 of pleasure on my care-worn countenance,
 
 80 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 I bent my steps to Harcourt's lodging. I 
 found with them only a brother of Mrs 
 Harcourt's ; and apologising for my unex- 
 pected visit, on the plea of my husband's 
 absence, looking at Harcourt, 1 added, 
 " and I was likewise very anxious to intro- 
 duce my little one to you, and, as so old a 
 friend, you are bound to admire my child." 
 I led the little Edward towards him as I 
 spoke. He was silent for a moment ; then, 
 taking him on his knee, attentively exami- 
 ned his features. At last he said, " I do 
 not think him like you :"— " I hope not," 
 answered J, " I do not wish my boy to be 
 like what I tuas, certainly not what I am. 
 I flatter myself he is like his father." — 
 ** Like his father," faintly repeated Har- 
 court, still gazing intently on the child, 
 though evidently without perceiving him. 
 In a few minutes he recovered himself, and 
 tried to amuse the child ; while I, establish- 
 ing myself at the table by Mrs Harcourt's
 
 THE ORDEAL. 81 
 
 side, entered into an interesting discussion 
 on the merits of green and black tea. 
 
 In the course of the evening the piano- 
 forte was opened, and I was called upon to 
 play : I declined. " What," said Harcourt, 
 " you have not given up so delightful a ta- 
 lent, have you ?" ** Not quite," answer- 
 ed I ; " but I have been out of the way of 
 music lately ; and, believe me, my dear 
 friend, a wife and a mother does not find 
 much time for practising music ; and Mer- 
 ton not caring about it, has made me less 
 anxious to keep it up." This was true; 
 but I would have sung to any one but him. 
 I dreaded meeting with those songs we 
 had formerly sung together ; I likewise 
 beared the tone of my voice might be 
 as much altered as my face ; and, though 
 willing to brave danger when I thought 
 myself called upon to do so, I had no idea 
 of running headlong into it, and inflicting 
 on myself or him a more difficult task than
 
 82 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 was absolutely requisite. My endeavours 
 succeeded ; and in a few short weeks we re- 
 garded each otiier with a degree of recipro- 
 cal coldness and apathy which sometimes 
 even astonished myself. 
 
 Thus rapidly was that passion erased 
 from our hearts, and almost from our me- 
 mories, which, as an excuse for yielding to, 
 we are pleased to call irresistible— eternal. 
 Are we not sufficiently weak and fallible, 
 without improving on our instability, by 
 deceiving ourselves, and by a sophistry as 
 ingenious as it is dangerous? 
 
 My husband sailed. — Swiftly a year glided 
 past ; but its close was embittered by the 
 heaviest misfortune which can pierce the 
 heart. My father died ! Yet had I one con- 
 solation even under this severe stroke. I had 
 30 long considered myself in a declining 
 state, that I could not but be grateful my 
 father did not survive me, as I was well 
 aware, such was his affection for me, he
 
 THE ORDEAL. 88 
 
 could not have recovered my death. He 
 was advanced in years ; and, in proportion 
 as we see our friends falling from us, by 
 death, absence, or change, we become more 
 dearly attached to the remaining few. I 
 know this is not the general opinion with 
 regard to the feelings of age ; but I am per- 
 suaded we calumniate it much. Of this I 
 am certain, that no man in the morn of 
 life could be freer from selfishness, more 
 open to every generous feeling, and more 
 enthusiastically attached to his friends, than 
 my father. I was indeed spoiled by such a 
 parent. Accustomed to his munificent and 
 liberal spirit, his noble mind, and affection- 
 ate heart, I was willing to grace all men I 
 met with some of either his splendid or his 
 endearing qualities. How great was my 
 error ! How bitter my disappointment ! 
 
 I retired into the country, and devoted 
 myself solely to my darling boy, whom I 
 loved ! Oh ! my Laura, need I tell you how
 
 84f THE ORDEAL. 
 
 much ?— When the first shock of my father's 
 death was over, and the fresh pure air I 
 inhaled had somewhat braced my unstrung 
 nerves, I listened with transport to the 
 lisping prattle of my beloved child ; I watch- 
 ed each new idea with avidity, and fondly 
 persuaded myself he was to become a pro- 
 digy in mind, as he was already beauteous 
 in outward form. 
 
 I was yet young, and by my father had 
 been left the means considerably to increase 
 my sphere of usefulness. Delighted to imi- 
 tate the bounty of Heaven, my hand was 
 ever open to the indigent, and my heart to 
 the afflicted. In thus becoming an humble 
 instrument of good in the hands of Provi- 
 dence, in rearing my child, I was conscious 
 I did not live in vain, and my heart bound- 
 ed with joy and gratitude at the cheering 
 idea. 
 
 Rising with elastic spring from the pres- 
 sure of sorrows, over which time had cast
 
 THE ORDEAL. 86 
 
 his softening tint, I recovered once more 
 the enthusiasm, the gaiety, and almost the 
 imagination of youth ; and though I might 
 to strangers have appeared less cheerful than 
 I had been as Maria Lindsay, it was only 
 because I was less giddy : for my spirits, ari- 
 sing from a real sensation of happiness, and 
 unbounded gratitude to that Being who so 
 kindly showered down his benefits on his 
 unworthy creature, were both more even, 
 and more likely to last, than those which 
 are the mere effervescence of youth and 
 health. 
 
 At the expiration of four years my hus- 
 band returned; and I. who by tracing his 
 features in my boy's face, had at last ar- 
 rived at persuading myself I loved him, 
 prepared with no small degree of pleasure 
 and agitation to meet him after such an 
 absence. 
 
 Merton was not a little delighted, and 
 surprised at seeing me. Quiet, happiness,
 
 86 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 and pure air, had restored all the beauty 1 
 ever had to boast of ; and the pale, wan, 
 spiritless skeleton he had left, was changed 
 to a face blooming with health, and a coun- 
 tenance beaming with happiness. Charmed 
 with the little Edward, half in love with 
 me, and, grateful for the care I had taken 
 of his affairs since my father's death, he 
 acceded to my wish of residing in the coun- 
 try ; and was, for some time, the most at- 
 tentive and affectionate of husbands, and I 
 the most delighted and grateful of wives. 
 
 He soon, however, grew tired of a domes- 
 tic and retired life ; and, taking advantage 
 of a fall from my horse, which caused the 
 premature birth of a little boy, insisted on 
 my going to town for advice, both for my- 
 self and infant. 
 
 To London then we went, where my 
 poor little one died in a few weeks ; and, 
 though I had scarcely ventured to expect 
 its life from the moment of its birth, yet
 
 THE ORDEAL. 8*5^ 
 
 its l^st cry pierced my heart, rung in my 
 ears, and followed me to the gayest scenes ! 
 So much did it depress me, that I began to 
 tremble for my Edward, though in perfect 
 health at the time. One would have thought, 
 from my sudden anxiety about him, that 
 until I lost my babe, I had no conception 
 that children could die. 
 
 Indeed, though we constantly repeat, that 
 life is uncertain, and that w^e daily and 
 hourly see that it is so ; we can so little per^ 
 suade ourselves, tliat the fresh and bloom- 
 ing child, that is to-day playing before us, 
 full of life and spirits, may, before the mor- 
 row's dawn, become the very reverse of all 
 we behold ; and that, stiff, cold, and inani- 
 mate, its active and beautiful body is be- 
 come the prey of worms, and its more 
 beautiful and noble soul gone ! — we know 
 not whither ! These ideas, I say, are so far 
 from occurring naturally to the mind, that 
 instead of thinking it (as indeed it is) a
 
 8S THE ORDEAL. 
 
 miracle that we live, we are far more tempt- 
 ed to consider it as one that we die ; and, 
 refusing to hear the awful voice of dissolu- 
 tion, that sounds so audibly through all the 
 works of creation, we prepare ourselves to 
 feel with double poignancy, and often with 
 bitter disappointment, every stroke that the 
 hand of death deals around us. 
 
 We had been some months in town, when 
 my husband received one morning at break- 
 fast some letters that seemed to affect him 
 very much. Having perused them, he crush- 
 ed them together, and was going to put 
 them in his pocket, when, as if suddenly 
 recollecting himself, he read them over 
 again, and tearing them in very small 
 pieces, carefully put every bit in the fire. 
 I 'confess my curiosity was much raised ; 
 but I thought of my sister, and was silent. 
 At dinner, your father said, " Maria, you 
 must get your mourning ready ; my father 
 is dead ; and I go to-morrow to take pos-
 
 THE ORDEAL. 89 
 
 session of the estate he has left me." " Your 
 father !" I replied in astonishment, " I did 
 
 not know " He interrrupted me: " What 
 
 was the use of troubling you ? we were at 
 variance — and — and— it was a very painful 
 subject to me." 
 
 The little likelihood of my husband in- 
 heriting the estate of a father with whom 
 he had quarrelled, struck me forcibly ; and 
 I was shocked on looking up, and perceiv- 
 ing the extreme agitation visible in his 
 countenance, I shuddered as I recalled 
 the look, the tone, of my dying sister ; and 
 trembled at a mystery I had promised not 
 to endeavour to fathom. 
 
 Sir James (as your father now became) 
 was a good while absent ; and when he re- 
 turned, he was gloomy, reserved, and even 
 peevish. For some time he sedulously 
 shunned me, fearful of questions he would 
 not like to answer ; and when he lost his 
 apprehension on that ^core, he seemed as
 
 90 THE ORDEAL 
 
 much piqued at my want of curiosity (con- 
 struing it into want of interest in his con- 
 cerns) as he had before dreaded its exist- 
 ence. He lost all pleasure in my society, 
 and was scarcely at home ; even his affec- 
 tion for Edward seemed diminished. I am 
 convinced he never for one moment ceased 
 to be interested for him ; but his artless 
 prattle no longer amused, because it was no 
 longer nev/ : he thought his caresses more 
 willingly bestowed on one, who always de- 
 lighted to receive them ; and would at times 
 appear to envy me the affection of my child. 
 I was however willing to attribute all to my 
 present abode and mode of life ; once fairly 
 established in the country, I hoped again 
 to enjoy the comforts of home, and the calm 
 of a domestic life. 
 
 When town began to empty, I Hinted at 
 a return to our country house ; but how 
 great was my disappointment, when I found 
 it was sold ! Sir James, however, informed
 
 THE ORDEAL. 91 
 
 me, that later in the season he intended go- 
 ing down to his paternal seat, " where,'* 
 added he, " I hope to have employment in 
 pulling down and modernizing ; and I can 
 assure you the inside of the house requires 
 all your ingenuity to make it tolerable, for 
 it is preciously dull at present." As I knew 
 he never thought the country cheerful, I 
 was not dismayed by this account, and ra- 
 ther rejoiced that there was something for 
 him to do. 
 
 At last the time of our leaving town ar- 
 rived ; and I set off in the full persuasion 
 that I should again be happy. When we 
 were eighty miles from town, the carriage 
 broke down ; and while it was repairing, 
 my husband called to Edward to walk with 
 him. I joined him, in spite of his persua- 
 sions to the contrary. We proceeded silent- 
 ly on for about half a mile, when Sir James 
 said, " You like children, Maria ; so you
 
 92 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 will not object to seeing the child of a friend 
 of mine, who lives near." His manner 
 appeared embarrassed, and I almost regret- 
 ted having accompanied him ; it was, how- 
 ever, too late to object ; and simply ex- 
 pressing my love for children to be indeed 
 very strong, we proceeded without farther 
 comments. 
 
 We at last entered a sort of farm-house, 
 where we were received by an elderly woriian, 
 a perfect pattern of neatness. Sir James en- 
 quired for Miss Blair ; and as he spoke, the 
 loveliest child that I ever beheld in my life 
 burst into the room. She started at the 
 sight of strangers, but was soon induced to 
 advance. I took the sun-burnt beauty in 
 my arms ; and as I threw back the golden 
 ringlets that shaded her rosy cheeks, I en- 
 quired her name. " It is Clara," timidly 
 answered the child. Her name, her voice, 
 her look, were like a flash of light to me.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 9S 
 
 1 guessed the whole ; and I bent over her 
 to conceal the tears which the sudden recol- 
 lection of former times caused to flow. The 
 child shrunk abashed, terrified at the em- 
 brace of a stranger. " Do not be afraid of 
 me, my love," said I ; " i love your father 
 much, and once I loved your mother dearly ; 
 so you see I have some right to love you." 
 " My father ! my mother !" repeated the 
 child in a tone of sensibility, yet with a look 
 of distrust. I pressed her to my bosom, and 
 in a low voice said to Sir James, " Let her 
 be ours !" " You are too good," he answer- 
 ed in an agitated voice ; " but it cannot be." 
 " Cannot be ! Why not ?" " I have sworn, 
 solemnly sworn, not to let her come to us 
 while her mother lives. She said it was im- 
 possible you could ever love her child." " It 
 is rather singular," replied J, after a short 
 pause, " that, intimate as we were, we 
 should so little have understood our respec-
 
 94f THE ORDEAL, 
 
 live characters ; but we certainly never did 
 know each other." " How," said my hus- 
 band ►with energy, " could your pure and 
 guileless spirit ever penetrate her artful and 
 vindictive one ? or, how could so deceitful 
 a creature, as the mother of this poor inno- 
 cent, ever believe in the truth and rectitude 
 of another ? 
 
 Time stole on, and we were forced to 
 leave the cottage. 1 had no token of re- 
 membrance to give the interesting child 
 but a necklace of very small pearl, which, 
 as the safest mode of bringing with me, I 
 had put round my neck : The clasp that 
 fastened it had been the gift of a juvenile 
 friend, and the words, " antes muerta que 
 mutada" were set in pearl in it. Without 
 thrs circun^stance, I should probably have 
 forgotten the gift altogether, had not the 
 sight of a necklace exactly similar recalled 
 it to my recollection. You must remember
 
 THE ORDEAL. 9^ 
 
 having the trinket I speak of, as it was in 
 your hands I saw it ; and when I enquired 
 how you came by it, you said it had belong- 
 ed to the mother of Emma. I can scarcely 
 think it can be the same, because I cannot 
 comprehend how the mother of our little 
 charge could come by it. This you may 
 be able to make out better than I, as you 
 know the child's parents. As I had pro- 
 mised you never to mention them, I did 
 not feel at liberty to pursue the subject; 
 and whether Emma's necklace is indeed the 
 identical one I gave your sister, or not, I 
 cannot ascertain. 
 
 But to return. — Our journey terminated 
 without difficulty or danger ; and we arri- 
 ved late at night at this very house, though 
 it was then far more gloomy and com- 
 fortless than it now is, principally from its 
 being in a ruined state, and only partly in- 
 habited, but in some degree from another
 
 D6 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 dreadful cause, which it yet makes me 
 shudder to name ! 
 
 Strictly conforming to the promise I had 
 given my sister Laura, to make no enquiries 
 relative to the late inhabitant, I might still 
 have continued happy ; but in the quiver of 
 misfortune another sorrow remained, which, 
 like most of the others, was aimed at me 
 by the cruel unerring hand of Clara Porter. 
 She retained a sort of affection for my hus- 
 band ; and, though at that time under the 
 protection of Lord De Bosco, who was ex- 
 cessively jealous, she contrived to escape 
 his vigilance, and follow us secretly to Mer- 
 ton Hall. She there learned, what was 
 hardly suspected in the world, and really 
 known by very few of the family, the cause 
 of the late Baronet's retirement from active 
 life, and seclusion in the family mansion, 
 unattended even by his daughter. Laura, 
 my child, arm yourself with fortitude !-"the 
 cause was insanity ! — Your grandfather was 
 
 1
 
 THE ORDEAL. 9Y 
 
 a maniac !— For years, this unfortunate 
 being was (Confined in his own house — chain- 
 ed by his own servants — and taught to 
 tremble under the lash of a mercenary 
 guard. 
 
 The extreme melancholy that took pos- 
 session of Sir James on our arrival ; the 
 perfect solitude and silence that reigned 
 around us, together with the season of the 
 year, (the latter end of Autumn ;) all con- 
 spired with the uncomfortable state of my 
 health to depress me considerably. 
 
 One day. Sir James being absent from 
 home, I yielded to your brother's entreaties 
 to take a walk ; and guarding myself as well 
 as possible from the external cold, I pro- 
 ceeded to explore paths where no human 
 step was discernible, and which for years 
 had been left to neglect and decay. The 
 keen north wind fanned xmheeded the rosy 
 cheek of my darling Edward: at peace 
 within, no outward circumstance had power 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 98 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 to sink his youthful spirits. With the ac- 
 tivity of the fawn, he pursued the showers 
 of falling leaves which the sudden gusts of 
 wind carried before him ; or, half climbing 
 the stupendous hills around us, would point 
 out to me the trembling goat peeping from 
 their tops, astonished at the sound of gaiety! 
 Almost exhausted with my walk, I leaned 
 against the shattered remnant of a once 
 magnificent oak tree, and waved to my boy 
 to pursue his walk while I rested. I had 
 just recovered my breath, and was debat- 
 ing whether I should bend my steps home- 
 wards, when, on the hill immediately fa- 
 cing me, I perceived a female figure above 
 the common height, whose rapid pace and 
 wild manner inspired me with momentary 
 terror ; her long black hair, falling loose on 
 her shoulders, formed a striking contrast 
 to a quantity of white muslin drapery, 
 which the high wind blew about her in a
 
 THE ORDEAI/. ^^ 
 
 manner which might have led one to suppose 
 she was flying. 
 
 I should instantly have fled, but terror H 
 for my child withheld me. I rapidly ad- 
 vanced, and raising my voice to its highest jj 
 pitch called to Edward. The mountains 
 re-echoed the name ; but my boy heard ^ 
 not ! — With mingled dread and anxiety I i 
 repeated the call. My voice struck the ear ' 
 of the object of my alarm, and, with a loud 
 shrill scream, she hastened towards me. I 
 grasped a branch of a tree which the wind 
 had torn off, and waited her approach with 
 desperate calmness ; my fear, however, gave 
 way to surprise and indignation, when I 
 recognized — Clara Porter ! — " Have I then 
 fdund thee ?" exclaimed she, in a voice hol- 
 low and discordant. I gazed upon her with 
 wonder ; she was so changed, that I ahnost 
 pitied her ; and mildly answered, " For 
 what could you seek me ?" — " To make 
 yon as wretched as myself I — Have not you 
 E 2
 
 100 THE OBDEAL. 
 
 turned me out of your house? — deprived 
 me of a heart that was all my own ; and 
 do you expect mercy from me ?" — " I do not 
 ask it," said I haughtily ; " nor shall have 
 it." Perceiving Edward advancing, I has- 
 tily turned from her to avoid all farther 
 conversation. Roughly seizing my arm, she 
 exclaimed, " You shall not leave me until 
 you have heard all ! Know, that I have 
 followed you down here, in hopes to be re- 
 conciled to your husband. This moment 
 has he left me ; left me with scorn ! and 
 dearly shall you both rue the day when / 
 was despised ! In that dreary mansion, 
 where for so many years the shriek of mad- 
 ness and the rattling of chains alone have 
 been heard, may you witness the ravages 
 of insanity on your husband and your 
 child !— May you—" 
 
 I heard no more ; my affrighted senses 
 abandoned me, and I sunk senseless at the 
 feet of my inhuman persecutor.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 101 
 
 When once more I recovered the sense 
 of suffering, I found myself at home ; Sir 
 James hanging over me with looks of terror 
 and concern, my Edward crying, as if his 
 heart would break ; and a crowd M ser- 
 vants, whose countenances expressed dif- 
 ferent degrees of sorrow, fear, and wonder, 
 surrounding the couch whereon I lay. I 
 had not strength to speak, tut put my hand 
 in my pocket, in search of some salts ; I 
 drew out with them a slip of paper, on 
 which my eye glanced ; and recognising the- 
 -hand writing of Clara Porter, I tried to 
 read it, and found these words were writ- 
 ten with a pencil : " Sir Edward died ra- 
 ving, and in manacles ; and, as a boy, your 
 husband shewed many symptoms of insani- 
 ty. When you read this, I shall be revenged, 
 •even should your children escape ! — C. P." 
 
 I sprung forward, to burn the paper, but 
 my strength failed me ; and again I found 
 a transient refuge in insensibility. Sir James 
 E S
 
 102 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 saw the paper, and a brain-fever was the 
 consequence. 
 
 Even at this distance of time, my dear 
 Laura, I have not strength to give you the 
 particulars of what I endured, during six 
 weeks after, while I watched by your fa- 
 ther's bed-side, scarce venturing to pray for 
 the return of his health, lest his reason might 
 not return with it. During his ravings, he 
 called often on his departed sister; and I ga- 
 thered from them, tha,t when Sir Edward's 
 ^r^^dftil Hialaf^y had gained its height, 
 Laura became an object of peculiar detes- 
 tation to him ! I know that she re&ided with 
 her elder sister, Mrs Murray, until her 
 death ; when she purchased that cottage, 
 where she expired. 
 
 When Sir James recovered bis strength 
 and his faculties, and when I had no longer 
 any immedi^e cause for exertion— iri short, 
 when I had time for reflection, I became 
 more wretched than I can express. I had.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 103 
 
 received a blow, the violence of which stun- 
 ned me; and there were times when my 
 mind was so disordered, my senses so be- 
 wildered, that I scarce knew those around 
 me, and persuaded myself that I was in- 
 sane, and was to be confined for the rest of 
 my life at Merton-Hall. 
 
 As I grew calmer and more settled, I 
 conceived the idea, that you, my child, at 
 that time within a few weeks of your birth, 
 might be afflicted with this horrible disease. 
 The agony of this reflection, which, however, 
 I hugged as if it were delightful, and never 
 suffered to pass my lips, was beyond any 
 thing dreadful. Had any one at this time 
 told me I had not an hour to live ; how 
 should I have blessed him for the joyful 
 tidings ! — Of all my sufferings, none were 
 equal to the dread, little short of distrac- 
 tion, of hearing your first cry. This intense 
 anxiety of anticipation, though ever pre- 
 sent, would yet at times shoot through my
 
 104 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 fevered brain with redoubled force and 
 poignancy ; I would then start from my 
 chair, with the wildness of delirium, and 
 nature, exhausted, would seek relief in in- 
 sensibility. 
 
 At last, your birth put a period to this 
 dreadful suspense; but for many weeks after 
 my life was despaired of. 
 
 It was a great while before I came to a 
 clear recollection of all that had happened 
 to me for the last three months ; and when 
 my mind became somewhat invigorated, I 
 ventured to ask after my Edward. I still 
 could not trust myself to enquire about my 
 babe ; for though I wished not to hear of 
 its death, I dreaded to hear of its exist- 
 ence. 
 
 Extreme weakness kept me many months 
 ^ prisoner in my room ; during which time 
 your father attended me with affectionate 
 solicitude ; and, observing the perfect resto- 
 ration of his understanding, which was
 
 THE ORDEAL. 105 
 
 indeed in a much better state than my 
 own, I began to hope for my Edward. As 
 I still never named you, your father for- 
 bore leading to the subject, for fear of 
 agitating me, and even ordered Edward 
 never to hint at your existence before me. 
 This induced me to suppose you dead ; and 
 having wept your loss in secret, I com- 
 forted myself with the reflection, how 
 Hiuch worse it might have been, I was not 
 undeceived until you was six months old ; 
 at which time you gave more than ordi- 
 nary signs of intelligence ; all of which I 
 watched with an anxiety, which none but 
 a mother fearing what I feared can under^ 
 stand. 
 
 As soon as I was perfectly re-establislied, 
 I became anxious to leave a place where 
 I had suffered so much ; and Sir James 
 required no pressing on the subject. In- 
 deed, had it been in his power, he would 
 instantly have sold Merton-Hall ; but as
 
 10& THE ORDEALo 
 
 it was an entailed estate, he was obliged, 
 bawever unwillingly, to keep it. 
 
 On our arrival in town, I told Sir James, 
 ^ That so far from the late distressing cir- 
 cumstance having diminished my regard 
 for him, his kindness and attention to me, 
 during so long and tedious an illness, had 
 served but to endear him more to me ; that 
 if my remaining in his house, and continu- 
 ing its mistress, was any gratification to 
 him, I should never think of quitting it ; 
 but that, at the same time, I must inform 
 him, that I should consider it a crime to 
 hazard the possibility of entailing misery 
 and insanity on unfortunate innocents, who 
 might yet be born ; that I could never be 
 totally free from apprehension, with respect 
 to Edward and you ; but that in such a 
 case, I had at least nothing to reproach 
 myself with, as I was ignorant of the 
 dreadful malady being in the family ; and 
 that* his sister luaura, having desired me
 
 THE ORDEAL 107 
 
 most solemnly never to enquire about any 
 of them, I should in all probability have al- 
 ways remained so, but for Clara Porter. 
 
 Your father heard me with great patience, 
 and, simply sapng, " You will, I hope, my 
 dear Maria, think better of it," left me to 
 myself. To tell you all I suffered at this^ 
 unfortunate period of my life would fill 
 volumes. I wish not to write my feelings 
 unnecessarily ; some of them you can readi- 
 ly divine, and others I could not explain. 
 
 Sir James and I never quarrelled ; he is 
 naturally good tempered, and I was anxious 
 to lead from all subjects on which we might 
 not agree. But as time passed slowly and 
 painfully over our heads, we became gra- 
 dually more estranged from each other. 
 My resolution was formed upon principle, 
 and was not to be broken through. 1 en- 
 dured the loss of my husband's society, of 
 his confidence, with many a heartfelt, yet 
 silent pang.
 
 108 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 At last this unhappy system was carried 
 so far that we rarely or ever met even at 
 meals. I thought it unfair to turn my hus- 
 band out of his house ; and perceiving mat- 
 ters growing rather worse than better, I pe- 
 titioned for leave to retire to Merton-HalL 
 I thought that, by naming this place, I 
 should sufficiently prove that I was not 
 seeking my own comfort. 
 
 This request, however, produced the 
 most violent altercation I had ever the mis- 
 fortune to witness. I cannot dwell on this 
 excruciating scene : — We parted ! 
 
 Bitter were the tears I shed at this sepa- 
 ration, although at that time I had no idea 
 it was to be an eternal one. You was per- 
 mitted to accompany your unfortunate mo- 
 ther ; and my darling Edward, who was at 
 school, was to spend some part of his holi- 
 days at Merton-Hall. Of this indulgence, 
 however, I was gradually abridged. It is
 
 THE ORDEAL. 10& 
 
 MOW tliree years since I have been blessed 
 in beholding him, and then enjoyed his so- 
 ciety but for a few hours. You was at that 
 time on a visit to Mrs Hornby, and it was 
 impossible to send for you in time. Your 
 recollection of him must be faint. He is 
 now on his way home, and it will not be 
 long ere you meet, more fortunate than 
 your dying mother ! Yet I ought not, I 
 will not complain. I have been spared to 
 do my duty to you ; to see you crown my 
 fondest wishes, realise my brightest antici- 
 pations. To have parted from you, and 
 dragged out a lingering existence alone a- 
 mongst these dreary mountains, would have 
 been dreadful ; and yet I would certainly 
 have done it. You should no longer have 
 been buried in solitude, living in a world of 
 your own creation. When I am gone, you 
 will be the sole property of your father. 
 He will love you the better for your affec- 
 tions will be undivided, I am become use-
 
 110 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 less, and ought therefore to rejoice in lea- 
 ving you, 
 
 TheJbUoiving sentence was tvriiten i»ith pale ink, 
 and in as unsteady a hand as the note at the beginning 
 of the packet. 
 
 On reading this over, I perceive I have 
 forgotten to account for your father's visit 
 here seven years ago. A few months pre- 
 vious to that circumstance, I heard acci- 
 dentally that Sir James was dangerously ilL 
 Much alarmed, I sent you to Mrs Hornby's, 
 and set off for London immediately. 
 
 On my arrival, I saw Mr Lockie, his at- 
 torney, who told me he had been very un* 
 well, but was considerably better. 
 
 Although my apprehensions were thus 
 allayed, I thought, as I was there, I would 
 see him, if he did not object to it. I wrote 
 him a note to that effect ; and am at a loss 
 to account for his decided and harsh refusal. 
 Certainly at no time is unkindness so se*
 
 THE ORDEAL. Ill 
 
 verely felt as at the very moment whe» we 
 are giving a proof of affection. 
 
 I left town vexed and irritated. Al- 
 though I concealed my feelings, the good- 
 hearted Lockie saw I suffered ; and I have 
 reason to believe it was in consequence of 
 his representation that your father came 
 down to Merton-Hall. He asked for you, 
 and sent me up his card. I should have 
 done better to have received him without 
 any comment ; but I felt sore at the so re- 
 cent instance of his indifference, and there- 
 fore wrote on it with a pencil, " Maria 
 will he delighted to see her husband ; but 
 Lady Merton begs to decline all visits of 
 mere ceremony." Whether he dreaded re- 
 proaches, or was affronted at this, I know 
 not, but he left the house without seeing 
 me.
 
 112 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Above an hour had elapsed since Laura 
 had finished her mother's papers; yet her 
 eyes still remained fixed on them, and un- 
 consciously ran over and over again the last 
 few sentences, although her mind had cea- 
 sed to .take in their meaning. She stirred 
 not from her seat, but remained, as it were, 
 stunned, by the miseries of a mother so de- 
 servedly dear, and at once bewildered and 
 overcome by the variety of new ideas that 
 rapidly darted across a mind already weak- 
 ened and exhausted by the irrecoverable 
 loss she had so recently sustained. 
 
 She was startled from her reverie hy the 
 hoarse voice of the watchman murmuring 
 the hour. It was past four. Laura went 
 to the window, in hopes that a little air 
 might refresh her.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 115 
 
 The season of the year was advanced, 
 and every thing as yet remained shrouded 
 in darkness ; the rain beat against the win- 
 dow with mournful monotony ; the lamps 
 were partly extinguished ; the confined and 
 smoaky air, so unlike the pure breezes of 
 her native mountains, tended more to de- 
 press than to exhilarate ; and the sorrowful 
 watcher, but too well prepared by internal 
 disquietude to yield to outward circumstan- 
 ces of discomfort, tufned from a scene, as 
 unwelcome as it was new, with a shudder- 
 ing and oppressed heart. 
 
 She closed the window, and was prepa- 
 ring to lay her wearied limbs to rest, al- 
 though with but little hope of obtaining it, 
 when a bustle in the street, before so quiet/ 
 induced her to look out. The noise pro- 
 ceeded from a cavalcade of carriages return- 
 ing from a crowded rout in the neighbour- 
 hood.
 
 114f THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Laura had never seen above a dozen car- 
 riages in her life ; but her mind was too 
 much absorbed in sad reflections to allow 
 of the sensation of wonder. With a divided 
 attention she gazed on the brilliant equi- 
 pages, the endless variety of dress, of which 
 she caught an occasional glimpse from the 
 pale glare of the flambeaux and lamps, and 
 the still more interesting succession of faces 
 and countenances. " These people are cer- 
 tainly very wise," thought she, " to invent 
 ^nusements ; for if they had none, they 
 must inevitably die of ennui in such a dismal 
 suffocating place. Oh !" exclaimed she a- 
 loud, " how can any one wish to come 
 here ? Yet it is not the place," she added 
 after a momentary pause, while tears for 
 the first time inundated her pale cheeks, 
 and extinguished the wildness of her feve- 
 red eye, " Oh no, it is not the place, but 
 the people we are with ! If she were here !" 
 A momentary enthusiasm lighted up her
 
 THE ORDEAL. 115 
 
 pallid countenance, and called the faint 
 hectic to her cold and livid cheek. She 
 clasped her hands, and looked up, almost 
 as if she had expected the spirit of her mo- 
 ther to descend ; — the transient blaze was 
 quenched in a flood of sorrow : " Selfish, 
 ungrateful, unfeeling that I am !" murmured 
 she in inarticulated accents. " Omnipotent, 
 Almighty Father," she continued in a firm 
 
 I voice, " / am weak, but thou art strong ! 
 
 I I am sinful and erring, but thou art long- 
 suffering, and of great mercy !" 
 
 Laura continued to utter a heart-felt 
 prayer. Peace and confidence once mor^ 
 smoothed the contracted brow of the sor-^ 
 
 I rowing orphan. With renewed strength 
 and spirits she gathered up the scattered 
 
 I papers of her mother's sad story, and depo- 
 siting them in her desk, hastened to resign 
 
 I herself to the sleep she so much needed
 
 lia THE ORDEAL. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 Sir James and his son not returning the 
 following day, Laura had sufficient time to 
 examine the house, which was in a style 
 very different from any thing she had ever 
 seen. Merton-Hall was a magnificent 
 gloomy piece of gothic architecture, the 
 furniture a strange mixture of the costly 
 antique and the light modern ; which lat- 
 ter having been introduced by Lady Mor- 
 ton, was particularly plain. The long ave- 
 nues, stately trees, and frowning hills, all 
 tended to make it in every respect the re-
 
 THE ORDEAL. 11 Y 
 
 verse of her present abode. The disorder 
 and want of arrangement, apparent in eve- 
 ry part of her father's house, formed like- 
 wise a striking contrast to the extreme re- 
 gularity and precision of her former home. 
 She established herself in the library, which^ 
 to her great delight, was well filled ; but' 
 from many of the books which she now took 
 down, she observed with regret that no cu- 
 rious hand had removed the dust and cob- 
 |R'ebs for years, and that they had every ap- 
 pearance of having been long considered as 
 mere ornament. In the more accessible 
 shelves, however, there was such evident 
 confusion, that, concluding them to be more 
 ivoured, she was tempted to examine them ; 
 3ut was disappointed in finding nought but 
 A.nnual Registers, Barn's Justice, a few re- 
 news, political tracts, and odd volumes of 
 rarious French novels, most of them of the 
 German school ; the affectedly sentimental 
 tone of which shocked the pure taste of
 
 118 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Laura, as much as their immorality revolt- 
 ed every more decided feeling and prin- 
 ciple. 
 
 The day clearing up, she became anxious 
 to walk out, but dreaded exploring the dirty 
 and wet streets alone. Seeing, however, 
 people walking in the square opposite, she' 
 ventured to enquire how she was to gaiil 
 admittance : The servant produced a keyi 
 and prepared to attend his young mistres^ 
 to the gate. 
 
 Unacquainted with the London custom, 
 Laura felt grateful to him for his unexpect- 
 ed attention ; and telling him he need not 
 yeturn for her, entered the square. As she 
 closed £he gate after her, and looked at the 
 railings which encircled this imitation of a 
 shrubbery, she felt very much as if she was 
 inclosing herself in a i rison. 
 
 Other thoughts, however, soon occupy- 
 ing her, she ceased to wonder at her limited 
 walk, or gaze at the dull streets, whic! 

 
 THE ORDEAL. 119 
 
 were more than usually deserted. The 
 square, which was a fashionable promenade, 
 gradually filled with well dressed people, 
 who, all knowing each other by sight at 
 least, wondered not a little at the appear- 
 ance of a solitary stranger. 
 
 The commanding figure of Laura, her 
 deep mourning, the long black crape, 
 and waving plumes, which, half concealing 
 her interesting face, added to the paleness 
 of the rest, could not fail to render her re- 
 markable. It was asserted she was a fo- 
 reigner ; and one lady declared she was an 
 ItaSlian, and that she would address her in 
 that language. Just as she was preparing 
 to convince herself, a child, who was play- 
 ing in the square, flying across, fell at the 
 feet of Laura : she raised, and carried him 
 in her arms to a seat, and tried every 
 means to pacify him, for he was screaming 
 violently. In a moment every one was ga- 
 thered round them ; the terrified nurse la-
 
 120 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 vishing every tender epithet on the roaring 
 boy, and encr easing his alarm by her own. 
 Perceiving this, Miss JNIerton suddenly cea- 
 sed soothing ; and addressing him in a more 
 commanding tone, said, she would leave 
 him, if he went on crying — the child con- 
 tinued in rather a lower key ; she put him 
 down, still supporting him. " You see," said 
 she, "you are not hurt; why, you will never 
 be a man if you cry so." The boy stopped, 
 and looked up in her face, as if anxious to 
 jomprehend her. Seeing she had arrested 
 his attention, with a smiling countenance, 
 and more encouraging voice, she went on, 
 *^ You should leave tears to girls ; a brave 
 boy is ashamed of crying, and tjou will 
 never cry again, I am sure ; will you ?" 
 " No," said the child, dashing away his 
 tears with his hand, and returning Laura's 
 kiss. " Remember this, and be a man next 
 time you fall ;" and waving her hand to 
 him, she entered the opposite path without 
 
 5
 
 THE ORDEAL. J2l 
 
 itiaking any enquiry about who the boy 
 belonged to ; and indeed forgot his exist- 
 ence the moment she could no longer be of 
 any use. 
 
 " I wonder who she can be ?" exclaimed 
 one of the group. " She is not a foreigner 
 you see." " But she is vastly proud I see,'* 
 answered her sister. " Did you observe that 
 she never spoke to the nurse, or seemed 
 to notice any of us, but walked off with 
 the dignified air that amused me at first 
 sight."—" She was very good to the child^ 
 however," said a young girl, who had been 
 much interested by her melancholy dress 
 and appearance. " She is altogether a very 
 striking woman," observed an elderly gen- 
 tlewoman. " Striking !" repeated the first 
 speaker, with malicious emphasis, " yes, 
 that is exactly the right word for her." 
 Laughing at her own wit, the lady turned 
 away just as Laura entered her father's 
 house. The envious party quickly descried 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 122 ^ THK ORDEAL, 
 
 her ; but none of them knowing Sir James 
 had a daughter, wearied themselves in vain 
 conjectures ; and resolving to discover if 
 possible who she was, they soon dispersed. 
 
 In the evening, Mr Lockie called upon 
 her with his daughter, a fine unaffected 
 girl, who, disliking Sir James, was prede- 
 termined to like his daughter, to whom 
 she had persuaded herself he had behaved 
 harshly. Mr Lockie being much engaged, 
 left the young ladies together, promising 
 to call and take his Sophy home. 
 
 At his departure, Laura began expres- 
 sing her thanks to Miss Lockie for her at- 
 tention. "It is very good of you indeed, 
 to leave your mother to come and see a 
 stranger." Sophy looked up in her com- 
 panion's face, to ascertain whether she was 
 in earnest ; for it certainly was the last 
 thing that ever would have occurred to 
 her, that it was a sacrifice to leave her 
 mother. Indeed, to do poor Sophy Lockie
 
 THE ORDEAL. 123 
 
 justice, few, who had the misfortune to 
 know Mrs Lockie, had not formed the same 
 opinion. Quickly, however, perceiving by 
 the calm seriousness of Laura's manner, 
 and the deep sigh that unconsciously esca- 
 ped her, that she perfectly felt what she 
 said, she simply answered, that " her mo- 
 ther would have accompanied her, but that 
 she seldom went out at night ; and that 
 Mr Lockie was too busy in the morning 
 to come with them." Observing her ex- 
 treme dejection, the good natured girl 
 went on with a sprightly conversation ; to 
 which, however, Laura lent but a forced 
 attention ; for the voice of gaiety was still 
 discordant to her ear, and painful to her 
 heart. 
 
 Willing to interest her, Sophy named 
 Edward. " Since you have not seen your 
 brother for so long a period," said she, " I 
 will venture to say you will be much de- 
 lighted. I never saw any one so much 
 F 2
 
 12i THE ORDEAL. 
 
 improved in so short a time. He lias such 
 excellent spirits, that I make no doubt of 
 his enlivening you shortly. Laura smiled 
 languidly. " I dare say, that is what you 
 think I never had ; but I assure you, I luas 
 the wildest chrid imaginable ; Hay, do not 
 look so incredulous, the highest spirits will 
 sometimes flag, and the gayest heart will 
 often ache."-—" True," returned her now 
 serious companion ; " we must all suffer 
 sometimes ; but we may diminish or increase 
 our sufferings, as we give way to or struggle 
 with them."—'* I believe that is the case with 
 most suflerings," rejoined Laura ; *•' but 
 there are some under w4iich we must 
 bend, momentarily bend, as our only chance 
 of one day rising above them. Most provi- 
 dentially is it ordained, that there is no 
 grief that cannot be assuaged by the Ic- 
 nient hand of time. The friendly waters 
 of oblivion dash over our life, hourly ef- 
 facing slight impressions, and diminishing
 
 THE ORDEAL. 125 
 
 the very deepest. Yet is the draught still 
 sometimes bitter, — oh, hoiu bitter ! but the 
 V ery bitterest is soon at an end. Even when 
 bereaved of all other comfort, we know- 
 that nothing can to^— that the time is sho)i; 
 and it were surely then most ungrateful 
 to sorrow as if we were bereft of all hope." 
 She turned with a countenance beaming 
 enthusiasm on her attentive and astonished 
 auditor ; who, shuddering at the very reflec- 
 tions which exhilarated the soul of Laura, 
 scarce ventured to glance at the animated 
 face of the fair mourner, lit up with a 
 celestial expression, far above the compre- 
 hension of the unreflecting Sophy. 
 
 As Mr Lockie went home with his 
 daughter, he asked what she thought of 
 Miss Merton. '^ She is a beautiful enthu- 
 siast, I think," replied Sophy, " and quite 
 out of her element in London, where no- 
 body will understand her, any more than 
 if she were to converse in her native Welch. 
 F 3
 
 12S THE ORDEAL. 
 
 However, I am really very sorry for her ; 
 for she has a tone of repressed sorrow 
 that goes to one's heart, and her melan- 
 choly is so devoid of sternness, that she 
 should sit for a picture of resignation ; 
 but that melancholy is so excessive, that 
 I never can be persuaded that the death 
 of Lady Merton is its only cause." The 
 very same idea struck me," exclaimed 
 Lockie ; " some love-story, I doubt, is at 
 the bottom of these pale cheeks and heavy 
 sighs ; some Welch mountaineer has taken 
 advantage of her romantic, strayed, and 
 liv-ely imagination. I dare say, he has 
 persuaded her that he is descended from 
 the Welch kings ; and in truth Miss Mer- 
 ton would make a fine queen, — so proud ! so 
 majestic !" Sophy smiled at the rapid ro- 
 mance her father had been composing ; he 
 was so little in t4ie habit of seeing what 
 was not placed precisely before him, that 
 it was not surprising his first attempt at
 
 THE ORDEAL. 1S7 
 
 penetration should have been clumsy and 
 ridiculous. 
 
 The following morning Sophy called by 
 appointment on Laura, to take her a some- 
 what more extensive walk than the one 
 she had gone the preceding day. The 
 sorrowing girl exerted herself to meet the 
 kindness of her good humoured companion. 
 The harmless wit and pleasing vivacity of 
 Sophy cheered her ; and, mutually pleased, 
 they pursued their walk to the beautiful 
 gardens of Kensington. Fatigued, they 
 seated themselves on the lovely bank of 
 the water that winds through this enchant- 
 ed spot, where solitude seems to reign tri- 
 umphant. Laura bent over the clear pla- 
 cid river ; and as she unconsciously gazed 
 on its glassy surface and verdant marge, 
 thought of her own dear lake, from v/hose 
 borders rose abrupt, in ail the grandeur of 
 unctiltivatcd nature, her beloved native 
 mountains ! She thought of the little skiff she
 
 128 THE ORDEAL, 
 
 had so often guided across it — she thought; 
 of the wild chant of the mountaineers — she 
 thought — Ah ! need I say of what she 
 thought, who had left all she loved ! who 
 had abandoned her own country, and the 
 grave of her mother ! — As she silently pur- 
 sued her reverie ; her gay companion ex- 
 amined her countenance, which brought to 
 her mind a line in one of our best modern 
 poets, 
 
 -I have seen 
 
 A fair sad girl, mild, suftering, and serene \ 
 
 Sophy dwelt on the idea—she remembered 
 this sad girl had lost her lover, and came 
 to weep over his tomb ; and she half adopt- 
 ed her father's idea- 
 
 When they got back to Portman Square, 
 the servant informed them Mr Merton was 
 returned, and Sir James expected every 
 minute, Laura was delighted that her
 
 THE ORDEAL. 129 
 
 brother came alone. Taking Sophy's arm, 
 she hastily entered the saloon, and could 
 have fallen at his feet on beholding the 
 resemblance of her sainted mother. She 
 sprung forward, and would have spoken, 
 but his voice had already reached her heart, 
 and stopped its pulsation ; for it was the 
 well known tone that had so often made 
 it beat with pleasure, but which, alas ! was 
 now hushed in the silent grave ! Edward 
 supported his half fainting sister in his 
 arms ; he gently soothed her ; his affection- 
 ate expressions overpowered her ; she wept 
 convulsively for a few minutes ; then, laying 
 her hand on his mouth, entreated him not 
 to speak : " That voice is too like her's i" 
 she articulated with difficulty, and hid her 
 face in his bosom. Her extreme agitation 
 wrung the heart of the afi'ectionate Edward, 
 and brought the unbidden tear to the eyes 
 pf the thoughtless Sophy, who, judging her 
 presence to be unrequired, and respecting
 
 ISO THE ORDEAL. 
 
 their grief, stole unperceived out of the 
 room. 
 
 " I am ashamed of this weakness, at 
 last," said Laura, with assumed firmness ; 
 *' I distress you, my brother;" and as she 
 spoke, she forcibly drew the black crape 
 over her face, to conceal the struggles of 
 her countenance—" Speak to me, my Ed- 
 ward, I can hear you now.'' —He did speak ; 
 and, her first emotion over, their conver- 
 sation became interesting, and mournfully 
 delightful. 
 
 " My poor sister, how you must have 
 buffered 1" he exclaimed, as she concluded 
 her recital of her mother's illness and 
 death. -' Tliat I have suffered, that I da 
 suffer, is most true," answered Laura ; " yet 
 do not mourn over me ; my fate is not sin- 
 gular ; thousands and thousands drain the 
 bitter cup of life to its very dregs, while I 
 weep over one misfortune, as if I had been 
 taught that life was sweet I I ought not—
 
 THE ORDEAL. 181 
 
 do not wonder, that this state of probation, 
 this Ordeal, should be painful to pass 
 through; but I am young, and unused to 
 sorrow ; and though I may bend humbly 
 under the stroke of adversity, nay, even 
 kiss the rod, I must for the present wa- 
 ter it with my tears. Forgive me, my 
 brother I this is idle sorrow ; I will lean 
 on your firmer mind, and not disgrace your 
 kindness." 
 
 The words of Laura yet trembled on her • 
 tongue, when the door flew open, and a 
 young man entered in a travelling dress. 
 On perceiving a stranger, he would have 
 retreated, but Edward called him back. 
 His introduction was simple and affecting — 
 " my friend — my sister." '* Your friends, 
 I hope, are mine," said Laura, smiling af- 
 fectionately to Edward, as she held out her 
 hand to the embarrassed young man ; who, 
 hastily bo^\ing, said, " I will leave you 
 Miss Merton, for Sir James was not BiCiiiy
 
 132 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 paces from me when I arrived. The symi- 
 pathising look with which he spoke, as he 
 gazed on her pale face, yet wet with tears, 
 said, more forcibly than words, that she 
 should have time to recover herself previous 
 to this interview. She understood it ; and 
 drying her eyes, and shading her face by 
 pulling her bonnet over it, she looked 
 anxiously at her brother. " Will not my 
 father be angry ?" whispered she. He had 
 scarce time to re-assure her, when Sir 
 James's voice sounded in the hall. Laura 
 felt very faint ; an universal tremor seized 
 her, and she was forced to lean against the 
 marble pillar of the chimney-piece for sup- 
 port. 
 
 Her father had heard of her arrival; 
 which, being much sooner than he expected, 
 gratified him. He took her hand, therefore, 
 rather affectionately, and, saying a few kind 
 words, observed, that he must go to dress 
 for dinner. Grateful to be spared conver-
 
 THE OIIDEAL. 133 
 
 sation, Laura merely pressed her father's 
 hand to her lips, and hastily quitted the 
 apartment. 
 
 A few minutes before dinner she again 
 re-entered it ; when Sir James, leading Ed- 
 ward's friend up to her, with much state 
 and solemnity said, " Miss Merton, give 
 me leave to introduce Captain Fitz Evelin." 
 The hearts of Laura and Fitz Evelin chilled 
 at the formal courtesy and low bow they 
 were now called upon to make : they scarce 
 ventured to look tit each other ; but, percei- 
 ving Sir James watching her, Laura siim-^ 
 nioned resolution to address a few of the 
 ordinary and unmeaning phrases of society 
 to her brother's friend. 
 
 Dinner being announced, he handed her 
 out, and led her to the head of the table. 
 She stood until her father entered, and 
 timidly asked him, " if it was not his seat ?" 
 He smilingly answered, " It is your's^ my
 
 184 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 dear." Laura bowed gratefully ; and the 
 conversation soon became interesting. 
 . The wild and arrogant spirits of Edward 
 were restrained by the solemnity of Sir 
 James, and tempered by the gentle suavity 
 of Fitz Evelin. The latter engaged much 
 of Laura's attention. About a yfear younger 
 than his friend, he guided him almost un- 
 consciously in every thing he did ; his calm, 
 stead}^ manner, unostentatious information, 
 and somewhat mournful turn of thought, 
 rendered him a perfect contrast to the vola- 
 tile, frank, and brilliant Edward Merton, 
 whose character was written on his open 
 and ingenuous countenance, and whose opi- 
 nions were expressed with all the vivacity 
 and warmth of youth. Not so Fitz Evelin : 
 Wrapped in reserve, early acquainted with 
 reflection and caution, his character was 
 not to be known in a day ;--handsomer than 
 Edward, he was less striking and pleasing ; 
 ---the smile of benevolence often rested on
 
 TUE ORDEAL. 135 
 
 his countenance^ but that of hilarity seldom 
 visited it ; — his politeness was easy and dig- 
 nified, but it was cold ; — his brow was often 
 contracted and overshadowed with gloom ; 
 — he spoke slowly and deliberately, as one 
 who has acquired the art of speech by long 
 study, or who fears, that more meaning 
 may be given to his words than he intends : 
 Yet Laura read in his manner repressed 
 sensibilit}' and stifled enthusiasm ; and she 
 read rightly : — Nature intended him for a 
 very different being than education and cir- 
 cumstances had made him ;-^-nature would 
 sometimes break out, but cold reason and 
 bitter experience as often checked it. 
 
 Laura longed to be acquainted with him, 
 that she might develope the many and sin- 
 gularly inconsistent meanings that were 
 darkly and confusedly seen in his face. In 
 the evening, she asked her brother " who 
 he was ?" Half embarrassed, Edward an^ 
 swered, " Does it not satisfy you that he is
 
 1S6 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 my friend ?" " Perfectly," said she ; " but 
 still, as I suppose he has relations, I thought 
 there could be no harm in asking about 
 them." Edward was silent for a moment ; 
 and then, in an under tone, informed I^au- 
 ra, that " he did not believe Fitz Evelin 
 had any relations : If he has," he continued 
 with some confusion, " he is ashamed of 
 them, for never does he name them. I have 
 often thought it singular, that with so inti^ 
 mate a friend as myself he should be sq 
 reserved ; but the mystery in which he is 
 shrouded is impenetrable, Affectionate as 
 he is in his nature, I never heard him speak 
 of any one as if he loved them ; — his opinion 
 of human nature in general is very bad, but 
 of women it is insufferable ;— he gives them 
 credit for more understanding than is in ge- 
 neral allowed them ; but their hearts he 
 believes to be black, and their passions vior 
 lent ;— he seldom gives his opinion of them.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 137 
 
 but appears to suffer a concentrated hate, 
 an innate contempt, for them, as unnatural 
 as it is decided. In short, Fitz Evelin's 
 character is even to ?7^e a perfect enigma. 
 But peculiar as it always, and inconsistent 
 as it sometimes is, I yet have found enough 
 in him to love and admire : His intellectual 
 faculties are as excellent and wonderful as 
 the meekness with which he bears theni ; — 
 his temper is serene and benevolent ; — his 
 judgment upon most things clear and un- 
 warped ;— his heart full of generosity, phi- 
 lanthropy, and sympathy ; and many a 
 warmer and brighter feeling has he, which 
 he has accustomed himself, perhaps wisely, 
 to reason away. He was introduced to my 
 father by General Finglass, who is his guar* 
 dian. Shortly after, he went to the same 
 university with me. We became much at- 
 tached, and went the tour together. His 
 guardian says, he is a protegee of Lord Eve-
 
 188 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 lin Walpole*s ; and his name has led many 
 to suppose he is his son. However, his 
 Lordship died while we were abroad*, and 
 he did not mourn for him ; so that I am as 
 much in the dark as ever. He came home, 
 by General Finglass's orders, rather before 
 me, and got, I know not by whose interest, 
 a commission in the guards. He is at pre- 
 sent looking forward with much pleasure to 
 liis being sent abroad ; but I anticipate it 
 with very different feelings; for, besides losing 
 an affectionate friend, I have so long accus- 
 tomed myself to let Fitz Evelin think for 
 me, that I shall never know how to set a- 
 bout it myself, and shall be quite out of my 
 element without him," The forced and 
 aukward gaiety of Edward's manner, and 
 the unwilling laugh he called into his coun- 
 tenance, showed his regret to be unfeigned. 
 Laura drew her chair to the table, and the 
 conversatipix became general.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 139 
 
 Sir James had not as yet recovered from 
 his surprise at the wonderful alteration 
 seven years had made in his daughter. The 
 likeness to her mother, once so strong, could 
 now but faintly be traced in her ^mile ; — 
 her air, her manner, her voice, was pecu- 
 liarly her own. The latter indeed was ir- 
 resistible ; at once adapting itself to every 
 feeling and sentiment, it was at times 
 soothing harmony and melting sweetness ; 
 again, it would sink to deep-toned woe, or 
 rise to lofty energy. Yet Laura spoke lit- 
 tle. Early accustomed to forget herself— 
 with a mixture of humility and pride, she 
 never thought of what others miglU feel to- 
 wards her, but merely what she felt towards 
 them : She investigated their character, and 
 weighed their expressions ; but never dream- 
 ed of herself undergoing the same scrutiny. 
 Had she been ever so anxious to conceal 
 her feelings and principles, she could not
 
 140 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 have taken a surer way ; and her very ab- 
 sence of all disguise rendered her character 
 difficult to develope. 
 
 Sir James was quite unequal to the task ; 
 but unconsciously he felt towards her the 
 intuitive respect that superior understanding 
 ever excites. He was consequently kinder 
 than Laura had dared to expect ; and she 
 retired for the night with a heart consider- 
 ably relieved by the evening's conversation. 
 She had not been long in her room, when 
 she was summoned to the door by a gentle 
 tap. It was her brother : He entered soft- 
 ly. " I am sorry to disturb you, my dear 
 sister," said he ; " but I could not go to bed 
 in peace, without warning you to receive 
 coldly all advances from Lady Arabella 
 Clanville : She will wish to take you out ; 
 but I beseech you avoid it, if possible." 
 He kissed the astonished Laura, and, with- 
 out giving lier time to ask any thing about
 
 THE ORDEAL. 141 
 
 this lady, hastily left the room. Unable to 
 comprehend who Lady Arabella Clanville 
 was, or why Edward disliked her, she de- 
 termined to make particular enquiries about 
 her the following morning, and, in the mean 
 time, cease to bewilder herself about what 
 she could not understand-
 
 142 THE ORDEAL, 
 
 CHAP. VI. 
 
 FjAUra arose the next day more refreshed 
 and invigorated than she had felt for many 
 weeks. The so much dreaded interview 
 was over. She was now to begin, as it 
 were, a new life ; and, in somewhat more 
 cheerful anticipations of the future than she 
 had yet ventured to indulge, lost some of the 
 bitterness of her regret for the irreparable 
 past. Her warm heart expanded with de- 
 light towards her brother ; he appeared to 
 her as the reflection of all she had lost, and
 
 THE ORDEAL. 143 
 
 she was prepared to worship the fair sha*- 
 dow with all the enthusiasm of her nature. 
 She found her father at the breakfast table 
 not a little discomposed at the badness of his 
 coffee. Laura undertook to make some bet- 
 ter; and having succeeded, Sir James reward- 
 ed her with a kiss, and, in a tone approach- 
 ing to tenderness, observed, that she " made 
 it as well as her mother used to do.'* 
 He suppressed a sigh as he spoke ; and see- 
 ing the tears in his daughter's eyes, hastily 
 said, " I beg your pardon, my dear ; you 
 must regret her very much, for she was al- 
 ways kind to you," In a half suffocated 
 voice, the weeping girl replied, " I am sure 
 she always meant to be kind to every one.'* 
 *' AJay be so," answered Sir James ; " but 
 she sometimes took a strange way to shew 
 it. However, take her all in all, she was 
 the first woman I ever met with, and I dare 
 say has made a good girl of you. Laura 
 could not speak ;-.-she could only press her
 
 14«i THE ORDEAL. 
 
 father's hands to her quivering lips, and 
 bathe them with her tears. At last she ar- 
 ticulated with difficulty, " I hope you will 
 always find me so." Her father embraced 
 her ; and giving her a glass of water, she 
 recovered her composure and her voice suf- 
 ficiently to make the ordinary salutations to 
 her brother and Fitz Evelin, who now en- 
 tered. 
 
 Breakfast was nearly over, when the ser- 
 vant brought a note to Sir James ; who 
 having read it, said, in rather an embar^ 
 rassed tone, to his daughter, '* Laura, a 
 lady, a friend of mine, is coming to see you 
 to-day." He threw her the note ; which ha- 
 ving read, she said, " Her ladyship does 
 me too much honour." " I expect," said 
 Sir James, somewhat sternly, " that you 
 pay the utmost attention to this lady ; her 
 age and rank require it from you." " It is 
 at all times enough for me. Sir," replied 
 Laura, " to know that she is your friend.. 
 1
 
 THE ORDEAL. 145 
 
 for me to treat her accordingly ; but you 
 must excuse me, if, from the style of this 
 note, I suspected this lady not to be your 
 friend." " Lady Arabella Clanville not my 
 friend !" exclaimed her father ; " how do 
 you make that out?" " I know nothing of 
 Lady Arabella Clanville," replied Laura, 
 '^ and therefore can only judge from what 
 she herself writes ; but, if you will take the 
 trouble to read this again, you will see, 
 Jirst, that she thinks she is doing you a great 
 honour to call on your daughter, which she 
 would not think, was she your friend, let 
 her rank be what it may ; and, secondly, that 
 (relying, I suppose, on your goodness) she 
 insinuates,' that she will be able to persuade 
 you out of common sense, common feeling, 
 and common decorum ; and get you to coun- 
 tenance my going out with her, while the 
 earth is yet fresh on my mother's grave !" 
 
 Sir James's eye sunk under the awful 
 flash of his daughter's countenance, and 
 
 VOL. I, G
 
 146 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 mildly answered, " Lady Arabella meant 
 it kindly, my dear :" He took up the note, 
 and quitted the apartment, calling to his 
 son to follow him. Edward had scarce time 
 to whisper to his sister, " How i delighted I 
 am that I was beforehand with that wo- 
 man !'* and hastily left her. She continued 
 silent for a moment, trying to comprehend 
 him ; when, suddenly recollecting Fitz-Eve- 
 lin was present, she turned towards him^ 
 meaning to begin some trivial discourse, 
 when she met his eye fixed upon her, as if 
 trying to discover her thoughts. ** What 
 a severe scrutiny !" said she, half smilimg, 
 and looking fearfully grave too. " Do you 
 know I shall grow quite afraid of you, if 
 you look at me so ; which I had rather not 
 do, for I never like people I am afraid of." 
 *' I do not wish you to be afraid of me. 
 Miss Merton," said the thoughtful Fitz- 
 Evelin ; '•' but I was in truth at that mo- 
 ment doubting the propriety of a commis-
 
 THE ORDEAL. 147 
 
 sion I had undertaken from your brother. 
 I had promised him to give you an account 
 of Lady Arabella Clanville ; but I have been 
 reflecting that it is better you should act 
 from your own knowledge of her," — *' I can- 
 not wish you to tell me any thing you ob- 
 ject to," said Laura, rising haughtily; 
 *^ whatever my brother conceives it proper 
 for me to know, he will, I suppose, tell me 
 himself; and what he does not, I am per- 
 fectly indifferent about." 
 
 Fitz-Evelin arose, and, taking her hand, 
 mildly said, " Miss Merton has not, I hope, 
 forgotten that she honoured her brother's 
 friend so far as to call him her's ?" Laura 
 instantly apologized, and added, " You 
 must forgive me, for I have, until now^ been 
 a spoiled child !" A heavy sigh broke from 
 her heart, and would not be suppressed. 
 Fitz-Evelin led her to a sopha. May I 
 hope," said he, " that in naming me your 
 friend, you do not bestow on me a barren 
 (J 2
 
 14iS THE ORDEAL. 
 
 title? Will you tell me with truth and 
 confidence what your future plans are ? 
 — what your object is ? — to manage your 
 father, or to.be led by him?" " To 
 manage my father!" repeated she, with- 
 drawing her hand hastily from Fitz-Evelin ; 
 " Good heavens I what can have tempted 
 you to form such an opinion of me ? For 
 what purpose should I thus wish to reverse 
 the order of nature ?" Her companion 
 smiled at the tone of horror in which she 
 spoke. " I merely asked the question," re- 
 joined he ; " 1 by no means insinuated that 
 such would be your conduct ; but you ap- 
 pear to me so completely the child of feel- 
 ing and of nature — so bent on believing 
 every thing right— and, a])0ve all, so asto- 
 nished, so incredulous almost of what is 
 wrong, that I despair of making you com- 
 prehend the language we vulgar mortals 
 talk !"— He paused ; then continued thus : 
 '• How will you believe that Lady Arabella
 
 THE ORDEAL. 149 
 
 Clanville is a woman of the most doubtful 
 character; that her husband would have 
 divorced her, had not his particular friend 
 intreated he would not, because he should 
 then be bound in honour to marry the lady, 
 as she must be divorced on his account? 
 Since Mr Clanville's death, her conduct has 
 scarcely been more guarded, though she is 
 now arrived at an age, when, in spite of 
 paint, and adventitious aids of every kind, 
 she may fairly be said to be out of the reach 
 of calumny." — " But surely," said Laura, 
 my father does not know this." ^* Why," 
 resumed Fitz-Evelin, " should your father 
 set up for the reformer of society ? As 
 long as a woman is protected by her husband 
 she is received everywhere, and very natu- 
 rally : If he bears it patiently, it is no body's 
 business to blame the frail fair one ; who 
 knowing the necessity of keeping well with 
 the world, becomes more fascinating and 
 attractive, in proportion as she is in greater 
 G 3
 
 150 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 need of its indulgence. Such is the way 
 with Lady Arabella Clanville. I know no 
 one so agreeable, so well informed, so capa- 
 ble of taking any form she pleases, so well 
 able to show off her company as well as her- 
 self, so delicate a flatterer !" — " A flat- 
 terer !" echoed Laura somewhat incredu- 
 lously ; *' she is a woman ! How and whom 
 can she then be called upon to flatter?" 
 '* You forget," answered Fitz-Evelin, " that 
 she must flatter those women of good cha- 
 racter who condescend to appear intimate 
 with her ; and, above all, she must flatter 
 every man^ because admiration is as neces- 
 sary to her as the air she breathes ; and that 
 cannot be purchased without flattery. I 
 dare say you looked upon it as a necessary 
 consequence of beauty, and no doubt ex- 
 pected it yourself as your right ; but people 
 do not always get their right : and if you 
 go into the world, and look calmly and dis- 
 dainfully around you, you will find, that
 
 THE ORDEAL 151 
 
 neither your youth, beauty, talents, nor, 
 what is of still more consequence, your^r^ 
 appearance, will save you from neglect. 
 You may perhaps think it would not be 
 very glorious to rival such women as Lady 
 Arabella Clanville ; but still, as you can 
 have none of the advantages of society 
 without a certain portion of admiration, 
 those who live much in the world, sooner 
 or later are constrained] to court it. I see, 
 by the contempt with which you listen to 
 me, that it is not your present plan, and I 
 am not surprised ; neither shall I be so^ 
 should you change at some future time. 
 But to return to the lady you are to see 
 to-day : — I must inform you she has acquired 
 an influence over Sir James, which is, from 
 habit, getting stronger every day. It was 
 this that Edward wished to tell you, but he 
 was aware Sir James would prevent it if 
 possible ; for my friend has too little pru- 
 dence ever to conceal his dislike to any one ;
 
 152 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 and your father very naturally wished you 
 not to be prejudiced against a person he ad- 
 mires." 
 
 Fitz-Evelin had hurried over the last 
 phrases with considerable rapidity. He 
 now stopped ; but did not venture to look at 
 Laura, whose feelings he guessed at. Find- 
 ing, however, that she continued silent, he 
 took her hand, and gently asked her, " what 
 she decided on ?" Laura started ; " I am 
 quickly decided," said she at last : *^ Either 
 I must shake off this woman, or yield to 
 her ; the latter I certainly will not do ; the 
 former, perhaps, is more than I can do. I 
 was considering, however, what course it 
 would be best to take to weaken her influ- 
 ence over my father ; and I perceive I must 
 trace out a line of conduct, and rigidly ad- 
 here to it ; for it is seldom that any thing 
 is effected in ordinary life by one bold 
 stroke ; only the constant repetition of mi- 
 nute and almost imperceptible efforts can
 
 THE ORDEAL. 153 
 
 prove successful. Water will wear away 
 a stone, if it do but fall long enough ; to 
 time, therefore, I trust ; to the goodness of 
 my father's heart ; and to my having it in 
 my power to be more constantly useful to 
 him than Lady Arabella Clanville can be. 
 I am speaking openly to you," continued 
 she, raising her head from her hand, and 
 regarding him with a languid and mournful 
 smile, " more openly even than I would 
 speak to my brother ; for he has neither 
 prudence nor foresight : — but then, to 
 make up for it, his friend has more than a 
 double share of both — not to mention a lit- 
 tle affectation of coldness, which, however, 
 having discovered to be mere affectation, I 
 will not quarrel with." — ** Oh !" exclaimed 
 Fitz-Evelin, with a voice and look foreign 
 from his usual manner, " if you did but 
 know how necessary that affectation, as you 
 call it, has been to me ! if you could see 
 how wise it is to get rid of feelings, which.
 
 154t THE ORDEAL. 
 
 when indulged, only make us wretched !" 
 " True," replied she gently, ^^ if we could 
 get rid of them ; but all we can do is to 
 counteract one feeling by another ; for, 
 though we may think we have torn them 
 up by the roots, and suffer all the pain of 
 doing it, yet they will constantly sprout up 
 again, and baffle all our ingenuity." " Do 
 you not think experience will render* us 
 callous?'* asked Fitz-Evelin. " Not at 
 our age, I think," answered Laura : " It 
 is right to learn to repress our feelings, 
 for self-controul is a necessary virtue ; 
 but it is ridiculous to attempt to eradicate 
 them ; for, if we succeeded, we should be 
 not only unamiable, but unhappy.'' Fitz- 
 Evelin smiled affectionately. " I began 
 this conversation," said he, " with a view 
 to guide you ; and you have ended it by 
 guiding me. If you can so quickly manage 
 me, who have hitherto thought myself un- 
 manageable, how can my volatile friend
 
 THE ORDEAL. 155 
 
 escape ? I will not displease you, by add- 
 ing another to your list ; but I think I may 
 with safety foretel the downfal of Lady 
 Arabella Clanville." Laura sighed heavily. 
 She perceived that she was indeed preparing 
 to manage her father. It is true his weak- 
 ness made it necessary, but she revolted 
 from such an idea ; and, with a pardonable 
 sophistry, she persuaded herself, that her 
 object was not to interfere with his amuse- 
 ments, but to add to them : " And, after 
 all," thought she, *' is it not to his own 
 honour, that his daughter should be of more 
 consequence than such a woman as Lady 
 Arabella Clanville T Sad at heart, she a- 
 rose, and, bowing to Fitz Evelin, retired 
 to her own room, where, for a time, she 
 gave herself up to reflections the most de- 
 pressing. Quickly, however, perceiving 
 their l)ad effect, she determined to shake 
 them off. " I can do nothing,' said she 
 mentallv, " until I have seen this woman.
 
 156 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Fitz-Evelin is severe, and may have repre- 
 sented her worse than she is ; at all events, 
 as she is no longer young, I cannot believe 
 her to be so very formidable.'" 
 
 Laura had recourse to a book, to divert 
 her thoughts from the subject that engross- 
 ed them ; but it was in vain that, with the 
 utmost perseverance, she read over and 
 over again the same sentence ; her wander- 
 ing mind would not be fixed to its import. 
 She then took up her pen to address her 
 little Emma ; and, as she thought of the 
 delight with which her darling protegee 
 would receive it, a momentary ray of plea- 
 sure irradiated her pale countenance. 
 
 When she had finished her letter, she be- 
 gan arranging the contents of her desk, and 
 burning some useless papers. At the very 
 bottom she discovered a sealed letter, 
 directed to her mother, which had arrived 
 the day before her death, and had been 
 throwiv carelessly by, as Lady Merton was
 
 THE ORDEAL. 157 
 
 too weak to hear of any thing at the time. 
 Laura was unconscious of possessing it, but 
 felt tempted to peruse it, ere she delivered 
 it to the flames : With trembling fingers 
 she broke the seal ; but what was her sur- 
 prise when, looking at the signature, she 
 beheld the name of Clara Porter ! 
 
 It was some minutes before she could 
 gather courage to read it. What new mis- 
 chief did this fiend intend for my angelic 
 mother ? thought she, as she revolved in 
 her mind all the miseries she had heaped 
 upon her. " Now" she exclaimed with a 
 passionate burst of tears, " she is beyond 
 your malice ! * where the wicked cease from 
 troubling, and where the weary are at rest." 
 
 She covered her face with her hands, as 
 if to shut out that world her mother had 
 left— that light she no longer saw ! Then, 
 with recovered composure, she took up the 
 letter. It was as follows :
 
 158 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 " When you receive this, you may re- 
 joice ; for your bitterest enemy will be no 
 more ! Yet I know you, Maria ! and be- 
 lieve that you will rather weep over her 
 sufferings, than enjoy her death. — Keep, 
 keep your useless compassion, your humi- 
 liating forgiveness, I want them not ; they 
 cannot bring comfort to such a mind as 
 mine ! I write but to perform one piece of 
 justice ere I quit this world for ever ! 
 
 " Know, Maria, that you are avenged — 
 amply revenged ! for every pang you have 
 felt, / have suffered two-fold ; for what 
 have been your sorrows compared to mine ? 
 You have not the agonies of disappointed 
 love ; for you never loved Merton as I 
 loved him ; you have never been despised 
 by him as I have been ; you have never 
 shrunk abashed at a stray glance from an 
 acquaintance, on whom you once looked 
 down with all the pride of superior beauty 
 and talents. You have never, Oh, dreadful
 
 THE ORDEAL. 159 
 
 to relate ! trembled under the admonishing 
 frown of your own child ! 
 
 " But of what avail will the recapitulation 
 of all I have undergone be to you ? Had I 
 been able to render you ten thousand times 
 more wretched than I have done, still, 
 compared to me, you would have been 
 supremely happy. You have been weak, 
 but / have been wicked. Amid the wreck 
 of all your pleasing prospects, you still 
 might indulge Hope ; and, if the traitress 
 fled you on the earth, you might pursue her 
 higher. For me there is none, here or here- 
 after I I can hope but for annihilation ! 
 Oh ! may my spirit be indeed extinguished, 
 never more to animate this mouldering 
 clay ! 
 
 " My brain catches fire — I dare not pur- 
 sue these dreadful ideas, whichperhaps give 
 you comfort. Happy, happy Maria ! oh that 
 I could change with you but for one mo- 
 ment I That I could drink deep of the wa-
 
 160 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 ters of oblivion, and efface at once my 
 wrongs and my remorse ! I began this let- 
 ter with a feeling of pity towards you ; but 
 my own sorrows have usurped it. 
 
 " What transient grief has all my rage and 
 malice excited in you ? Separated from a 
 husband who never appreciated you as he 
 ought, you spend a calm and useful life 
 in a solitude you love. Every thing you 
 meet hails you with joy, respect, and gra- 
 titude. You can smile with self-approba- 
 tion, as you gaze on the little Emma, the 
 offspring of your bounty and generosity ; 
 and with rapturous delight, as you mark 
 the beautiful figure and superior mind of 
 your daughter. Your cheek, too, may flush 
 with all a mother's pride, as you hear the 
 warm praises of your Edward. Beloved 
 and respected do you live ; honoured and 
 mourned will you die. Affection and regret 
 will moisten your grave with tears ; and 
 you will still live in the hearts of your chil-
 
 THE ORDEAL. 161 
 
 dren, in the prayers of the poor. — While I ! 
 Oh, sad reverse I have wept with gloomy 
 sorrow over the untimely grave of a beau- 
 tiful girl, for whose sake I denied myself 
 the name of her mother, and from whose 
 lips I never heard an expression of affec- 
 tion ; nay, I have lived to be treated with 
 forced attention and cold civility by a son 
 I doat on ; but in whose virtues I dare not 
 glory, for are they not a constant reproach 
 to me ? 
 
 " I have marked the blush of bitter shame 
 cloud his manly and noble brow, and I 
 have felt that it was for me he blushed ! 
 Even now that with anxious care and so- 
 licitude he watches the fast expiring flame 
 of life — no tenderness mixes with his sor- 
 row — I see him pray, but it is not for my 
 recovery — it is for pardon for my sins ! 
 Even when he listens to the awful mandate 
 of the physicians, it is not with tears of
 
 162 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 filial affection, but with the wild look of 
 anxiety and horror, to see a being so un- 
 prepared hanging on the verge of eter- 
 nity ! 
 
 " And now, Maria, are you not avenged ? 
 Will not you too pray for me ? 
 
 " I can no more — I have been long writing 
 this — The dread hour fast approaches ; and 
 already my dazzled sight scarce distin- 
 guishes my unfortunate son. — Oh, Maria! I 
 once loved you — a little mercy now, and in 
 the shades of death I will bless you !" 
 
 Clara Porter. 
 
 Laura perused this last letter of the 
 guilty destroyer of her mother's peace with 
 a sort of shuddering compassion. Again 
 she read it, and dwelt on the mention of 
 her son with more than bare curiosity. She 
 thought she could trace in it the character 
 of Fitz-Evelin. " His contempt for women 
 is now easily accounted for," thought she,
 
 THE ORDEAL* 165 
 
 *' as well as his want of affection for his 
 parents, since he must have despised the 
 one, and probably knew little of the other." 
 
 Her reflections were interrupted by a 
 knock at her door. She went to it. " Lady 
 Arabella Clanville is below. Ma'am," said 
 the servant. Laura instantly locked her 
 desk, and descended. 
 
 Her Ladyship was standing by the fire 
 place, talking and laughing with Fitz-Eve- 
 lin. Sir James and his son were looking, 
 or seeming to look, out of the window, and, 
 with very difficult feelings, were both anxi- 
 ously expecting Laura. 
 
 Edward had not seen his friend since 
 breakfast ; and therefore knew not whether 
 he had spoken of Lady Arabella to his sis- 
 ter. At her first entrance, he felt per» 
 suaded Fitz-Evelin had said nothing ; but 
 he caught his eye, which seemed to say, all 
 was well.
 
 164 THE ORDEAL, 
 
 When Lady Arabella first heard of Lady 
 Merton's death and the expected arrival 
 of Miss Merton, she was at once gratified 
 and provoked. Lady Merton out of the 
 way, she looked forward to entangle Sir 
 James with a tolerable degree of certainty. 
 Laura, however, would be a great hind- 
 rance to this plan ; not that she had any 
 fears of a country girl of eighteen being 
 able or willing to counteract her, but that 
 she regarded her as a useless incumbrance. 
 To marry her speedily, then, became her 
 object ; which she thought she could effect 
 by giving her out as a great fortune ; and 
 by acquiring a sufficient degree of influence 
 over her mind to prevent her resisting. 
 
 With these ideas floating in her brain, 
 did Lady Arabella Clanville arrive in Port- 
 man Square ; determined to attach Miss 
 Merton to herself by a great shew of regard 
 and protection.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 165 
 
 Laura, however, quickly perceived her 
 aim, and took care to be always before- 
 hand with her. She anticipated her com- 
 pliments ; caressed and flattered her, but 
 with a degree of hauteur which constrained 
 the usual ease and liveliness of Lady Ara- 
 bella's manner, and forced her to play a 
 subordinate part. 
 
 It was in vain that her Ladyship at- 
 tempted to dazzle " the country girl" with 
 the glare of fashionable conversation. Lau- 
 ra suffered it graciously ; but still with 
 mild dignity kept her station ; and though 
 she decked her countenance in all the magic 
 of smiles, seemed, by her noble and lofty 
 mien, to say that it was a condescension. 
 
 Sir James (whose talent was not pene- 
 tration) could not recover from his sur- 
 prise at the manner of Lady Arabella, 
 whom he had always seen shewy, and 
 amusing to the greatest degree ; still less 
 could he analyse that of his daughter ! He
 
 166 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 could find no fault with her civility, for it 
 was excessive ; neither could he quarrel 
 with her for languor and melancholy, for 
 she considerably surpassed her visitor ^in 
 brilliant and easy elocution ; and, though 
 her cheek was yet pale, and her dark blue 
 eye no longer reflected her ardent and en- 
 thusiastic spirit, no trace of grief destroyed 
 the serene harmony of her countenance ; 
 no bitter regret saddened her melodious 
 voice ! She appeared to him as a different 
 creature ; for the first time he perceived 
 she was handsome, and thought, with no 
 small degree of satisfaction, how much 
 handsomer she would be, when the carna- 
 tion of health added life and brilliancy to 
 her complexion. 
 
 Engrossed with these thoughts, he re- 
 mained silent and unmindful of his guest ; 
 who, provoked and astonished at being 
 placed in the back ground, at the very 
 moment when she thouglit the game in
 
 THE ORDEAL. 167 
 
 her own hands, shortened a visit which 
 had been productive of so much mortifi* 
 cation and disappointment ; and hastily- 
 stringing together a few unmeaning phrases, 
 made her courtesy to Laura with feelings 
 of mingled awe, irritation, and spite, which 
 did not render her drive home particularly 
 agreeable. 
 
 " Lady Arabella Clanville was not in 
 spirits to-day," observed Sir James, as the 
 carriage drove from the door, fixing an 
 inquiring look on his daughter. " She is an 
 agreeable woman, too, I think," answered 
 Laura carelessly ; " but it is impossible to 
 know much of a person in a short formal 
 visit." — ** I never saw her formal before 
 to-day," remarked Sir James. " It did not 
 strike me that her Ladyship was particu- 
 larly formal," replied Laura ; " and she cer- 
 tainly possesses uncommon quickness, which 
 is the first advantage in society ; and then, 
 too, she has some remaim at least, of
 
 168 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 beauty, which is a great improvement to 
 wit." 
 
 Sir James bit his lip ; for this was a way 
 of praising Lady Arabella which he did 
 not like ; still, as it was praise, he knew not 
 how to reprove his daughter ; and after 
 walking discontentedly up and down the 
 room for some time, he uttered some indis- 
 tinct encomium on her Ladyship's talents and 
 good nature, and then left the apartment. 
 
 " INIy dear sister," exclaimed Edward, 
 the moment his father was out of hearing, 
 '' You have bewitched Lady Arabella 1 
 believe ; never did I see her so cold and un- 
 entertaining ; she may soon say with au- 
 thority, that her genius is curbed before 
 that of Caesar !" — " B: not too sanguine, 
 my brother," answered the now pensive girl. 
 •* To-day, it is true, I have eclipsed her ; but 
 then you should remember the unfairness 
 of the game. I knew her character, and 
 she could have no clue to mine. In the
 
 THE ORDEAL. 169 
 
 lirst moment of indignant surprise at find- 
 ing me different to what she expected, she 
 would not exert herself to oppose me ; and 
 therefore I conquered. But do not for an 
 instant imagine that she will forgive me 
 this victory. Whether my pride is real or 
 feigned, she will be equally exasperated at 
 it; and she has too much cleverness not 
 to be a dangerous enemy. However, if you 
 will be £v little more civil to her than you 
 was to-day, we may conquer in time :" So 
 saying, Laura, faintly smiling, disappeared ; 
 and, Edward turning to his friend, dwelt 
 with delight on the singular and interest- 
 ing character of his lovely sister ; while he 
 regretted, with unfeigned sorrow, the me- 
 lancholy necessity there was for such a 
 mind as her's to stoop to play a part. 
 
 The spirit of Laura, roused as it had 
 been to momentary exertion, now that the 
 cause was over, relapsed into more than 
 
 VOL. I. * H
 
 170 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 fonner depression. Dejected and listless, 
 she threw herself on a couch ; and so indif- 
 ferent did she feel about every thing", that 
 she began to wonder at the plan of expul- 
 sion she had traced out for Lady Arabella 
 Clanville. 
 
 *" What is it to me," she mentally ejacu- 
 lated, " who guides or rules the remnant of 
 my days ? Happiness is not within my 
 reach. Should I not then aim at peace? 
 Do I enter my father's house merely to 
 destroy his comfort, and banish his friends ? 
 Am I — a simple country girl, to erect my^ 
 self as the judge of propriety ? The last 
 words of my mother yet ring in my ears, 
 * Be Humble :' And what have I done ? 
 Imagined myself wiser than my father ; 
 and, assuming a character that is not my 
 own, treated his friend with the most ridi- 
 culous pride !" 
 
 Laura wept bitterly. She had endured 
 many painful and complicated feelings ; but
 
 THE ORDEAL. 171 
 
 that of self-condemnation was new to her ; 
 and, for the first time, she felt the irritation 
 of grief : her's had sometimes been wild and 
 despondent, but never before did asperity 
 mingle with it. 
 
 H 2
 
 I 72 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 CHAP. Vlt. 
 
 1 HE hour of dinner approached ; and, ex- 
 hausted and wretched, Laura descended with 
 an uncertain step to the drawing* room. 
 She met Edward on the stairs, who inform- 
 ed her, that he had just heard they all 
 dined out ; " and, though I am sorry to 
 leave you," added he, " yet I am glad you 
 should have an opportunity of being quiet 
 after your morning's exertions ; for I am 
 well aware how fatiguing they must be. 
 I hope, however, you will get accustomed to
 
 THE ORDEAL. 173 
 
 them, for perseverance is every thing."— 
 " True," answered she, as they entered the 
 room together ; " I know it is necessary to 
 success ; but I have been considering — I 
 have reflected-rl think—" Laura found 
 herself unequal to finish any one of her 
 sentences. 
 
 Edward observed her to tremble, and 
 instantly seated her : She leaned her head 
 on the arm of the chair in silence, while he 
 gazed on her woe-fraught countenance in 
 mute concern and astonishment. 
 
 Fitz-Evelin entered ; and, alarmed at the 
 sorrow so visibly expressed, anxiously en- 
 quired the cause. " I believe," whispered 
 Edward, " my sister has changed her mind 
 with respect to Lady Arabella Clanville." 
 
 Laura turned hastily towards Ijim, and, 
 in a quick low tone, asked " if he really 
 thought her right in counteracting her fa- 
 ther ? Is this my duty ?" This fearful tone 
 of enquiry shocked Edward, and affected 
 H 2
 
 174 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Fitz-Evelin : The latter mildly answered, 
 " Suffer me, my dear Miss Merton, to say, 
 you have fallen into an uncommon error,^ 
 that of reflecting too much ; your feelings 
 have got the better of your reason ; and 
 feeling can rarely be implicitly trusted to. I 
 would not at present confuse you with long 
 arguments, otherwise I might produce many 
 against virtue countenancing vice : But I 
 would only have you consider, that it is a 
 duty you owe yourself, not to submit to the 
 authority of the first person who may choose 
 to direct you, even allowing them not to 
 be so exceptionable as Lady Arabella Clan- 
 ville. 
 
 " I confess," he continued, in an agitated 
 voice, " it is dreadful to be obliged to 
 condemn a parent, even in one^s own mind ; 
 yet is it a trial we are sometimes called to ; 
 for it would be unpardonable weakness to 
 efface, for the sake of any one, that strong 
 line of right and wrong which the Om-
 
 THE ORDEAL. 175 
 
 nipotent has marked in the mind of all 
 those who will search for it. The me- 
 lancholy knowledge of good and evil, 
 we have presumptuously acquired. We 
 are therefore called upon to make our 
 choice ; and we should remember, that it is 
 not merely to the people of old that it was 
 said, ^ Separate yourselves from the un- 
 godly, and come ye out from amongst 
 them." 
 
 The features of Fitz-Evelin became al- 
 most convulsed. Laura remembered the 
 concluding sentence, " For I v/ill destroy 
 this people ;" and almost deciding in her 
 idea that he was the son of Clara Porter, 
 eagerly answered, ** We may take the be- 
 ginning of this command to ourselves ; but 
 that which regards the condemnation of 
 others, we are not called upon to apply ; 
 for ' I will have mercy, and not vengeance, 
 saith the Lord."
 
 176 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Fitz-Evelin was too much agitated to 
 remark how Laura had followed the train 
 of his feelings ; but, answering her with a 
 grateful smile, left her with her brother. 
 
 Edward seated himself in silence by his 
 sister. At last he said, " My astonish- 
 ment is greater than I can express ; for 
 years that I have known Fitz-Evelin, I 
 have believed him to possess a mind firm 
 and unshaken, repressing all softer emo* 
 tions as they arose ; and what / have been 
 tempted to consider as amiable, he has 
 despised as weak. The principle of honour 
 is the only one I ever heard him express ; 
 and I should not have been so much sur- 
 prised to hear him talk Chinese, as I was 
 this moment at his quoting from the Bible, 
 But this is not all ; you, who beheld him 
 yesterday for the first time, appear to me 
 to comprehend his feelings much better 
 than I do, who have been his friend for so 
 long. How is this ?"--" The character of
 
 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 177 
 
 Fitz-Evelin," replied Laura, " I am not as 
 yet perfectly acquainted with ; but circum- 
 stances have enabled me to gue s better 
 at his feelings and principles than you can 
 do. I believe I know his mother's history. 
 At some future time I will tell you my rea- 
 sons for thinking so ; at present I cannot » 
 because the life of the person I mean was 
 so interwoven with that of my mother, 
 that you should be acquainted with that 
 first; and, as it is a long and mournful tale, 
 you had better . defer it for some time. If 
 the lady I allude to is in fact his mother, 
 he is right to wrap himself in mystery ; and 
 bitter indeed must have been his feelings 
 who was una' le to honour his parents ! 
 She is now dead, and that very lately ; and 
 his black dress confirms me in my opi- 
 nion." 
 
 Mr Lockie entered at this moment. He 
 had heard from Sir James that Laura was 
 to be alone, and good humouredly insisted
 
 178 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 on taking her to his house ; " You cannot 
 think," added he, gaily, " how my Sophy 
 r^ves about you ; she would have called on 
 you to-day, but was afraid of being trouble- 
 some" Laura making some civil reply 
 agreed to accompany him. 
 
 She was much amused with this visit, 
 which perhaps, at any other time, might 
 have tormented her ; but all she now re- 
 quired was to be withdrawn from herself: 
 any thing new, therefore, was far more ac- 
 ceptable to her than what was merely 
 agreeable. 
 
 Sophy, ever obliging and good humoured, 
 was, however, far from sprightly or amu- 
 sing in her mother's presence. Indeed, 
 Mrs Lockie's look alone dispelled gaiety ; 
 she chilled all who approached her ; her 
 system was complaint, her occupation in- 
 vective. Laura listened patiently to her 
 lamentations ; half amused by her ludicrous 
 vulgarity and persevering murmurs*
 
 THE ORDEAL. 179 
 
 Mrs Lockie was by no means devoid of 
 information, and had much originality and 
 natural wit ; this rendered her general sa- 
 tire piquante, and not imentertaining for a 
 short time ; and Laura, accustomed to view 
 things as they were, or more frequently 
 through the medium of her own pure mind 
 and gentle nature, was both surprised and 
 diverted at beholding them in the exagge- 
 rated point of view, held up to her by her 
 grumbling new acquaintance. 
 
 Having all her life felt persuaded, that 
 it was our nature to view things on the 
 brightest side, and to be constantly expect- 
 ing more happiness than we find, she, for 
 the first time, met with a woman who 
 seemed to have more enjoyment in pain 
 than in pleasure, who dwelt with delight 
 on the recital of sufferings, and, fearful of 
 gaining a moment's ease, had recourse, not 
 merely to exaggeration, but frequently to 
 invention.
 
 180 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 The apathy of Lockie astonished her 
 almost as much as the singular character 
 of his wife : Her most bitter complaints 
 were unregarded — her most singular and 
 violent assertions unanswered. It was not 
 patience that he exercised— for that Laura 
 would have venerated him ; it was a species 
 of indifference and abstraction, which really 
 prevented him from hearing more of her 
 word» than the sound ; their sense never 
 reached either his understanding or his 
 heart. 
 
 Laura returned home so far the better 
 for her visit, as it had forced her ideas into 
 another channel. She retired early to rest, 
 and the next morning breakfasted alone 5 
 for her father, brother, and Fitz-Evelin> 
 had been out late, and did not make their 
 appearance for some time ; at last Sir 
 James came into the library to his daugh- 
 ter, and after some desultory conversation, 
 named, in an embarrassed though affectedly
 
 THE ORDEAL. . 181 
 
 careless manner, his having met Lady Ara-. 
 bella Clanville where he dined. He then re- 
 peated several compliments she had paid 
 Laura, who bowed in silent acknowledg- 
 ment. Sir James had been in hopes she 
 would have said something which would 
 have led to the subject he wished to con- 
 verse on ; but, disconcerted by her silence, 
 he walked fretfully up and down the room^ 
 not knowing where to begin. At last he 
 exclaimed abruptly, " I believe you are 
 not fond of gaiety ?" — " I never had much 
 opportunity of trying it among my native 
 mountains," answered she smilingly. " At 
 all events,'' said he peevishly, " you would 
 not be anxious to try for some time I sup^ 
 pose." — " Certainly not," replied Laura, 
 wondering whither this should lead : " I 
 should think, in this dress, no one could 
 expect it of me." Much relieved, Sir 
 James said, " Well, that is just what I 
 thought ; and so,, my dear, though I shall
 
 1^2 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 have company in the bouse shortly, I by 
 no means wish you to join them, or indeed 
 to leave your own room, until your own 
 feelings permit you so to do." 
 
 Laura was considerably staggered by 
 this indulgence : She plainly perceived the 
 banishing her to her room was a stra- 
 tagem of Lady Arabella Clanville, who ho- 
 ped to accustom Sir James to having her 
 in the same house, and yet forgetting her 
 existence. 
 
 Though she had no right to expect af- 
 fection from a father who did not know 
 her, she yet felt vexed at the ease with 
 which he dismissed her his presence for an 
 indefinite time. She paused for a moment ; 
 then, looking earnestly and affectionately 
 at her father, she told him, that " it had 
 been her most ardent wish to add to the 
 comforts of his home, and be his daughter in 
 reality as well as in name." As, however, 
 she would be prevented, by unavoidable
 
 THE ORDEAL. ISS 
 
 circumstances, from enjoying his society, 
 or contributing to his amusement for some 
 time, she hoped he would allow her to 
 spend the next four months at a friend's 
 house, who was living for her health at 
 Richmond, and consequently very retired. 
 " She is the widow of Admiral Hornby, 
 and was our neighbour in Wales." Sir 
 James readily assented ; for all the sophis- 
 try and blandishments of Lady Arabella 
 Clanville had failed to persuade him that 
 Laura would be delighted with perfect so- 
 litude, however much,^ for the present, she 
 might object to enter into company. She 
 herself was so well aware, that her resi- 
 dence at Richmond would not answer Lady 
 Arabella Clauville's plan, and so much 
 dreaded her influence to have her leave re- 
 tracted, that she fixed on the very next day 
 to quit London. 
 
 Mrs Hornby received her with much 
 kindness ; for she did not forget how often 
 her hand had smoothed her pillow, her touch-
 
 184 THE ORDEAL, 
 
 ing voice soothed her soul, and her atten- 
 tive care watched over her life,— a life ne- 
 glected by her own child ! It was not that 
 Mary Hornby was by any means devoid of 
 affection towards her mother, but she had 
 been unfortunately a spoiled child from her 
 cradle : selfishness was therefore become 
 rooted in her nature ; and though she would 
 not intentionally inflict pain, she thought 
 too little of others to be anxious of giving 
 pleasure. If, in the course of her life, she 
 ever studied any thing, it was to banish un- 
 easy feelings and reflections of every kind. 
 When, therefore, she perceived the depress- 
 ed state of her mother's spirits induced her 
 always to dwell on the dark side of every 
 subject, instead of labouring to change the 
 current of her ideas, she eagerly sought 
 the society of more juvenile and gayer com- 
 panions ; and as these were not to be met 
 with in their neighbourhood, she used all 
 her influence with Mrs Hornby to be per-
 
 THE ORDEAL. ISS 
 
 mitted to spend half her time with a distant 
 relation who resided in London. These 
 visits were often protracted to an enormous, 
 length : As long as Mary could provide 
 an excuse for herself, (and this was not 
 difficult), she deferred returning to the 
 gloomy mountains and mournful situation 
 of her mother's house. 
 
 During these often-repeated absences, 
 Laura had been in the habit of attending 
 much to the disconsolate Mrs Hornby* 
 
 One gay springs that Mary, with antici- 
 pated delight, was entering on her career 
 of dissipation, the state of her mother's 
 health became so- alarming, that Laura, 
 who had established herself in Mrs Horn- 
 by's house as her nurse, wrote her a cau^ 
 tiaus, account of her illness. Judging others 
 by Ixerself, Laura dreaded to tell her the 
 the extent of her fears ; and Mary, though 
 at first much distressed, was easily persua- 
 ded to wait another day's post. No letter
 
 186 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 eame • but Mary's friend assured her Miss 
 Merton would have written if Mrs Hornby 
 had been worse. 
 
 Accustomed ever to consider self first, 
 the thoughtless girl persuaded herself of the 
 truth of what she wished ; and aware, that 
 if she returned to Wales, she would lose 
 the season in town, she contented herself 
 with begging a constant and particular ac- 
 count of her mother from Laura ; then, ac- 
 cording to her system of banishing all un- 
 pleasant reflections, she plunged into gaiety 
 with more than accustomed eagerness. 
 
 On her return home, she was indeed mucli 
 shocked at the visible alteration in Mrs 
 Hornby's look, and for a time became her 
 constant companion ; but gradually she cea- 
 sed her attentions, which, from being unac- 
 customed, were irksome to her ; and, not 
 having courage to leave home, when her 
 presence was really so necesary, she at last 
 declared to the physician, who constantly
 
 THE ORDEAL. 187 
 
 attended Mrs Hornby, that she should die 
 as well as her mother, if they continued to 
 lead so secluded and monotonous a life. The 
 obliging disciple of Esculapius, not sorry to 
 get rid of a patient who required more 
 time and attention than medicine, recom- 
 mended the milder air of Richmond ; and 
 the despondent invalid, alike indifferent to 
 every thing, simply replied, she cared not 
 whether she was buried at Richmond or in 
 Lanwelay. 
 
 The journey had exhausted Mrs Horn- 
 by's bodily strength so much as to render 
 her unable to leave her couch ; but her 
 mind, long used to the same mournful ob- 
 jects, was enlivened by change of scene ; and 
 Laura, who had ever considered her as the 
 most melancholy being in existence, saw, 
 with surprise, that she was now rather 
 more cheerful than herself. 
 
 Mary did not welcome their sorrowing- 
 guest with the same delight that Mrs Horn-
 
 18^ THE ORDEAL. 
 
 by expressed ; on the contrary, when she 
 saw pleasure sparkle in her mother's eyes 
 at the prospect of the length of time Laura 
 was to be with them, she turned from her 
 with a feeling little short of dislike. 
 
 The decided affection shown by Mrs 
 Hornby for this amiable girl excited JMary's 
 jealousy ; a feeling which was not a little 
 augmented by a consciousness of inferiority 
 in herself, as well as by the praises that all 
 who knew Lady Merton and Laura delight- 
 ed to shower on them. 
 
 Mary, although not faultless, was at 
 least sincere. She received her visitor, 
 therefore, with good nature as well as civi- 
 lity, but without any show of a regard she 
 did not feel ; and Laura turned from the 
 heartless attentions of the daughter to the 
 affectionate smile of the mother, upon whose 
 beautiful, although faded countenance, she 
 read with sorrow the symptoms of fast-ap- 
 proaching decay. She glanced with fearful
 
 THE ORDEAL. 1§9 
 
 apprehension over her emaciated form ; and, 
 resting her tearful eye on Mary, whom, in 
 imagination, she already saw bending over 
 the grave of her mother, the bitter sigh 
 of compassion and recollection rose from 
 her heart, and spread a yet deeper shade of 
 sorrow over her pallid face. Mrs Hornby, 
 ever alive to feelings of pain, guessed at 
 her thoughts ; but, too weak to ventare to 
 indulge strong emotion, she merely kissed 
 the fair cheek of her sympathising friend, 
 and, by her silent tear and smile of anguish 
 alone, told her, she knew the source whence 
 sprung her sadness. 
 
 Laura was soon quietly established at 
 Richmond, and became as necessary to 
 Mary as to Mrs Hornby. The former 
 could now indulge her passion for diversion, 
 and leave her mother to Laura's care with- 
 out self-reproach ; while the latter, doating 
 on Mary, and delighted to see her amused ; 
 yet keenly felt what a blank it would be in
 
 190 ^^E OKDEAL. 
 
 her existence, if she were to be deprived of 
 her only constant companion and indefati- 
 gable nurse. 
 
 Sir James, Edward, and Titz-Evelin, con- 
 stantly rode over, together or separately, 
 to see Laura ; and Mrs Hornby's affection- 
 ate praises of her fair guest tended to keep 
 the balance even in Sir James's mind, and 
 guard him against the insinuations of Lady 
 Arabella Clanville. 
 
 While Laura was thus devoting her time 
 to her sick friend^ and Mary was eagerly 
 snatching at every passing amusement, the 
 ardent volatile Edward seemed to enjoy no- 
 thing in town, and only recovered his spi- 
 rits when a ride or drive to Richmond was 
 proposed. Fitz-Evelin, the cautious discri- 
 minating Fitz-Evelin, discovered that Lau- 
 ra was not the only attraction at Mrs 
 Hornby's cottage, and marked with regret 
 the deep impression that Mary's beauty had 
 made on his friend. Indeed it was scarcely
 
 THE ORDEAL, 191 
 
 possible to view so lovely a creature with 
 indifference. Nature and art had contrived 
 to deck her with every fascinating quality. 
 The dazzling brightness of her hazel eye, 
 her fair and glossy hair, which, with re- 
 dundant profusion and studied negligence^ 
 fell in silken ringlets over her shoulders> 
 exquisitely formed, and which no envious 
 drapery concealed from the admiring gaze ; 
 the vivid carnation that mantled on her 
 cheek, and added lustre to her piercing eyes ; 
 — all this was nothing, compared to a grace, 
 peculiarly her own, accompanying every 
 motion, and adding a witchery to her beau- 
 ty, which rendered her an object not to be 
 beheld with impunity by the young of the 
 other sex. An acute physiognomist might 
 perhaps have discovered, in certain lines 
 and muscles about her moutli, a lurking 
 expression of evil, undefined, yet striking^ 
 and which destroyed the sweetness of her 
 countenance ; as he might sometimes catch
 
 192 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 a hovering, fleeting somethrtng^ playing round 
 her ruby lips, which detracted alike from 
 its innocence and its simplicity. But Ed- 
 ward was no physiognomist ; a passionate 
 admirer of grace and beauty, he dreamed 
 not that any perfection could be denied the 
 attractive Mary ; or rather, he thought not 
 of her perfections ; he saw that her face, her 
 form, was faultless ; and, with all the en- 
 thusiasm and wildness of youth, he wor- 
 shipped the fair idol before him, without 
 bestowing a thought on its perishable na- 
 ture. 
 
 Laura marked with dismay the violence 
 of her brother's passion ; he became estran- 
 ged from her, and uncertain in his temper. 
 He wxll knew he could never hope for his 
 father's consent to his marrying a woman 
 destitute alike of rank and fortune. He 
 saw that Laura did not approve of his love ; 
 and that Fitz-Evelin, though he carefully 
 concealed his opinion, looked the same con- 
 1
 
 THE ORDEAL. 193 
 
 tempt for Mary that he felt for all women, 
 Laura excepted. How frequently, as walk- 
 ing with Mary, he pressed her yielding form 
 to his beating heart, and felt her balmy 
 breath fan his cheek, and vowed she should 
 be his, in spite of every obstacle? But 
 when, enraptured, he listened to the sim- 
 ple ballad she would sometimes sing to him, 
 and gaze, with a sentiment approaching to 
 adoration, on her beautiful figure, or follow 
 with his eye her snowy arm sweeping the 
 strings of her harp ; — all difficulties vanish- 
 ed ;— -all reflection was at an end. — He saw 
 only Mary ! and to see and to adore were 
 to him synonymous terms. Mary was a 
 Avoman, and therefore she saw her con- 
 quest ; — she was a weak woman, and there- 
 fore she enjoyed it. She answered her lo- 
 ver's ardent looks with smiles of sweetness ; 
 but vanity, not love, dictated them ; for 
 the heart of Mary had long been the prey 
 of a cold and systematic libertine. Yet^ 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 194 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 though she was indifferent to Edward, she 
 was piqued at Laura's anxiety respecting' 
 him, and thought, with envious satisfac^ 
 tion, that this faultless pattern, that had 
 so frequently been held up for her admira- 
 tion and imitation, was mercenary ; a vice 
 deservedly ranked with the lowest and the 
 meanest*
 
 THE ORDEAL. 195 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 AIrs Hornby's increased ill health at last 
 wholly confined her to her room, which 
 Laura seldom quitted. 
 
 Mary had left them for a short time, to 
 pay a wedding-visit to an acquaintance ; 
 and Edward, deprived of her society, and 
 displeased with himself whenever he had 
 time to think, trifled and lounged away his 
 time in London, without ever going near 
 Richmond. Fitz-Evelin, unwilling to appear, 
 by his actions, to reproach his friend, like- 
 wise gave up visiting Laura, on the plea of 
 I 2
 
 196 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 her being so much engaged with Mrs Horn- 
 by, that she was to be seen but for a mo- 
 ment ; and Edward, grateful to his friend 
 for thus countenancing his neglect of his 
 sister, suffered himself to be guided by him, 
 and avoided those excesses which otherwise, 
 in the irritated and feverish state of his 
 mind, he would certainly have plunged 
 into. 
 
 Laura was too much interested for her 
 brother, and too anxious that he should 
 lose, in change of scene, all thoughts of 
 the blooming Mary, to mark with displea- 
 sure his total neglect of her. Indeed, self 
 never occurred to Laura, unless forced upon 
 her by some singular and unexpected cir- 
 cumstance. She had been used to affection 
 alike fervent and steady, and her aching 
 spirit would yet sometimes yearn after it ; 
 but she hastily repressed those feelings as 
 they arose, and recalled to mind, that in
 
 TTHE ORDEAL. 197 
 
 the grave of her mother was buried all her 
 hope of happiness. 
 
 Sometimes, indeed, she would exclaim 
 mentally, " Oh ! if my mother had been 
 less perfect,— if I had loved her less entire- 
 ly, less devotedly, — then would not this 
 bruised heart have wasted its last energies 
 on her grave ; then might I have looked 
 forward to attaching myself to so7nething, 
 to cheer my long pilgrimage : but now, 
 affection is dead within me ; and my whole 
 life will be but a^tate of torpor ; — the future 
 to me is a blank." 
 
 Starting with a strong feeling of self- 
 condemnation from these reflections, she 
 would accuse herself of discontent, and be- 
 wail her weakness in mourning over what 
 rather ought to afford her satisfaction. 
 
 " Since we must all leave this world," 
 
 she would add, " the fewer ties we have in 
 
 it the better ; the more our kindness and 
 
 our affections are scattered among the 
 
 I 3
 
 J 98 THE ORBEAl.. 
 
 whole human race, without sufferhig any 
 one individual to engross it entirely, the 
 greater will be the extent of our benevo- 
 lence, the less our anxiety and our disap- 
 pointment. While we remain here below, 
 we may, and ought, to give our mind oc- 
 casionally to its fleeting concerns ; but our 
 heart should surely never be fixed on beings 
 imperfect as ourselves, equally inconsistent 
 and variable. To be devoted to that which 
 we are sure of leaving, even if it does not 
 leave us, is certainly the height of folly." 
 
 Sucli was the reasoning of Laura, but 
 such were not her feelings ; what her mind 
 approved, her heart rejected ; and when 
 she had finished her reflections, she invo- 
 luntarily sighed to find them so clear, so 
 conclusive T 
 
 Much time, however, she never gave 
 to intense thought ; she i^emembered what 
 Lady Merton used to say, when she saw ^ 
 her in a fit of abstraction : ^' Too much
 
 THE ORDEAL. 199 
 
 consideration is fully as dangerous as too 
 little ; the human mind loves to wander in 
 a labyrinth, to perplex and bewilder itself 
 with its own imaginations. Those who see 
 too far, are no wiser than those who do 
 not see far enough. Let us, my Laura, 
 leave to the stronger mind of man abstract 
 speculation and abstruse study ; they are 
 not made for us ; they make us neither 
 more agreeable, nor more useful, nor more 
 happy. Let us beware of reasoning away 
 our faculties, and of pursuing a subject so 
 far, that we no longer see it, but through 
 the distorted medium of our own imagina- 
 tions." 
 
 A fortnight had elapsed since Laura had 
 seen or heard of any one in Portman Square ; 
 when she was called down one morning to 
 Sir James, who, without speaking, put a 
 letter into her hands. It was from an 
 officer in Spain ; and gave a most lament- 
 able account of an action which had lately
 
 200 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 taken place. He ended with these words, 
 " I cannot enumerate all who have perish- 
 ed, and have only time to add, of all those 
 who have fallen, none is more deservedly 
 lamented than your poor nephew, George 
 Murray." 
 
 Laura was much shocked : She did not 
 remember much of Murray ; but his memory 
 had been endeared to her by the affection- 
 ate terms in which Lady Merton often 
 spoke of him. 
 
 He was the son of an elder sister of Sir 
 James, who died before her brother's mar- 
 riage, leaving George in his cradle : His 
 father was killed in a duel when he was 
 but six years old ; and the child was left 
 to the guardianship of his paternal and 
 maternal uncles. With the former he re- 
 sided, but he occasionally visited the latter ; 
 whose easiness of disposition, and fondness 
 for his sister's offspring, induced him to 
 treat young Murray with a degree of in-
 
 THE ORDEAL. 201 
 
 dulgence he rarely met with from his more 
 austere and rigid guardian. 
 
 On Lady Merton he doated ; took Ed- 
 ward under his protection, and constantly 
 called him his brother ; and at the birth of 
 Laura could scarcely ever be persuaded to 
 leave her cradle. 
 
 Having entered the army, he went very 
 young abroad, but kept up a constant cor- 
 respondence with his " dear aunt." Edward 
 had informed him of her death, and was 
 daily expecting an answer, when this letter 
 reached them. 
 
 Laura read it over frequently before sl«3 
 could summon resolution enough to speak. 
 ** Of the few people," thought she, " who 
 loved my mother, one is already gone I 
 happier than I who remain to mourn." She 
 returned the letter ; and, without venturing 
 to raise her eyes, said, " It is distressing, 
 without doubt, to see the young, the ami- 
 able, and the brave, perish before us ; yet,
 
 f02 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 in this instance, we may be comforted by 
 the reflection, that he has no parents to 
 lament his loss.'* " Poor dear boy !" said 
 Sir James, seating himself without attend-^ 
 ing to her, " he was the finest fellow that 
 ever wore a sword ; and sacrificed in that 
 damned country !" He paused ; then in an 
 under voice added, " Maria would have felt 
 his death severely !" 
 
 There was a something in the unusual 
 tone of tenderness in which lie spoke, that 
 affected and astonished Laura ; that he 
 should be capable of feeling sorrow for 
 Lady Merton's sufferings, when he had 
 been accessary to so many of them himselfj^ 
 was beyond her comprehension. 
 
 She had yet to learn, that there are 
 people who, while they think they are 
 privileged to torment an individual them- 
 selves, do not the less resent a feather being 
 added to the load from any other quarter. 
 This monopolizing spirit of inflicting in-.
 
 THE ORDEAL. SOS 
 
 juries peculiarly belongs to women, who 
 will even guard, with the strictest vigilance, 
 from foreign attacks those over whom they 
 exert the most determined tyranny. 
 
 Sir James dwelt with affectionate mi- 
 nuteness on the amiable qualities of his 
 poor nephew ; and at last inquired of Lau- 
 ra, if there was not at Merton-Hall a pic- 
 ture of him ? " There was a picture there,** 
 answered she ; ** but as it was my mother'i 
 painting, I ventured to remove it, and have 
 it with me."—*" Well, my dear," said Sir 
 James, " I do not want you to part with 
 any thing of her doing, but it can be copied, 
 I suppose." 
 
 No more was said on the subject ; and 
 when her father was gone, Laura went in 
 search of the picture.— The beauty of Mur- 
 ray was not so much that of features us of 
 expression— it was noble, commanding, and 
 serene-'-there was a fire in the eye which 
 marked the hero, and a conciliating smile
 
 204> THE ORDEAL. 
 
 which harmonised the life of the counte- 
 nance, and stamped it with the character 
 of affection and amiability. 
 
 Laura gazed on it until she was blinded 
 by her tears. " And is all this gone ?" 
 she exclaimed ; *' disfigured and inanimate ; 
 does no trace of this varied and strong ex- 
 pression remain ? Even this fragile paint- 
 ing is more durable than the hand that 
 traced it- -than the figure it represents !" 
 
 As she continued to examine the picture, 
 she discovered at the back some lines in 
 Italian, written by Lady Merton in praise 
 of Murray, with a half expressed wish that 
 she might one day see him the husband of 
 Laura. 
 
 This writing disconcerted her consider- 
 ably ; She would have thought it sacrilege 
 to destroy any thing written by her mother, 
 and yet to put it into the hands of any 
 person her father might select to copy the 
 picture, annoyed her very much. She, at
 
 THE ORDEAL. 205 
 
 last, determined to paint one herself; and, 
 if her father thought it like, the original 
 would remain with her. 
 
 She instantly began her task, and pur- 
 sued it with avidity. Already the likeness 
 was striking and favourable ; and Laura, 
 anxious to make it an acceptable present 
 to Sir James, had let in at the back of the 
 picture some hair of Murray's, which was 
 in a locket that had belonged to her mo- 
 ther. She worked his initials over it in 
 pearls ; and one moment flattering herself 
 she had succeeded, at another, dreading her 
 father would not be satisfied with it, she 
 spent an anxious week, which passed, how- 
 ever, more rapidly than usual. 
 
 She was putting the finishing stroke to 
 her performance, with a disturbed heart 
 and trembling hand, when Edward hastily 
 broke into the room, and, with a wild ex- 
 pression of delight, exclaimed, " Murray 
 lives I"
 
 206 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 Laura had started from her chair on her 
 brother's unexpected entrance ; and was 
 so stunned by this information, and its 
 abruptness, that she was near fainting. 
 She clung to the back of the sopha, trying 
 to recover herself, while Eward was rapidly 
 and almost incoherently relating the cir^ 
 cumstances of Murray's resuscitation. 
 
 He at last produced a letter ; and Laura, 
 awakening to reflection, recognised the 
 hand writing her mother had so often gazed 
 on with pleasure. Having restored a little 
 more order among her ideas, she seated 
 herself by her brother, and listened with 
 pleasure to the account Murray himself 
 gave of his escape from the jaws of deathj» 
 and of a French prison. 
 
 He was left for dead on the field, and 
 was carried off in the cart on the following 
 morning. One of the women who had 
 assembled for the purpose of plunder dis- 
 covered that he still breathed ; and though
 
 THE ORDEAL. 207 
 
 she found considerable difficulty in being 
 listened to by any one, amidst the tumult 
 and disorder of a retreating army, her loud 
 clamours at last prevailed, and reached the 
 ears of an officer, a particular friend of 
 Murray's. It was thought that he could 
 not stand the necessary removal ; but to 
 leave him was impossible, as his life would 
 have been even less secure in the hands of 
 the barbarous Spaniards than in those of 
 the French. As there was no alternative, 
 Murray's friend could only use his interest 
 to have every {K)ssible care taken of him ; 
 and, contrary to the expectation of every 
 one, and the decided opinion of the sur- 
 geons, Murray reached Lisbon alive. 
 
 The person who had written the account 
 of his death had left the army before the 
 body had been examined; and having seen 
 it extended among many others as dead, 
 did not entertain a doubt of the fact. Se^ 
 parated from those who had the immedi-
 
 208 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 ate charge of Murray, and having no con> 
 munication but of an official nature with 
 those interested for him, he did not dis- 
 cover his mistake until he had written to 
 England. Many circumstances had delayed 
 his letter, so that Murray's reached Edward 
 very shortly after it. 
 
 He concluded by saying, he had leave to 
 return home in consequence of the state of 
 his health, which incapacitated him for the 
 present for active service. 
 
 " I hear," added Edward, " that the sick 
 and wounded from Portugal are daily ex- 
 pected at Portsmouth ; so that it will not 
 be long before we see him. I trust he has 
 not received my letter, in this present weak 
 state, as the shock might injure him much." 
 Laura sighed, but remained silent. 
 
 Aware that he had touched a tender 
 string, Edward turned abruptly to other 
 subjects. He examined the picture, and 
 expressed himself certain of the pleasure
 
 THE ORDEAL. 209 
 
 with which Sir James would receive it. He 
 then left her, with compliments for Mrs 
 Hornby, not daring to trust himself with 
 the loved name that faultered in his lips, 
 though he had been long tracing it with 
 his sister's brushes, which lay on the table. 
 
 Laura perceived, with more than usual 
 regret, the wandering of his thoughts. She 
 had hoped much from absence; she had de- 
 pended on the very violence of his passion 
 for its extinction ; and she grieved to see, 
 that even the joyful news of Murray's re- 
 turn could not banish the fascinating Mary 
 for one moment from his mind. 
 
 The next time she saw Fitz Evelin, she 
 asked him, if he " thought it possible that 
 Sir James would ever consent to their mar- 
 riage ?" In a tone of surprise, he asked '' if 
 she wished it ?" Laura hesitated for a mo- 
 ment ; and then said, " If you ask me if 
 Mary Hornby is the person I should have 
 fixed upon for my sister, I can readily and
 
 210 THE 0»DEAL. 
 
 decidedly assure you she is not ; at the 
 same time, as Edward is to marry her, and 
 not I, I should think his taste would be 
 of most consequence to consult." — " I da 
 not agree with you," answered Fitz-Evelin 
 calmly: " Edward shall not marry Miss 
 Hornby, if I can prevent it. I know he 
 would be miserable with such a woman : 
 I might as soon expect happiness in marry- 
 ing a Circassian slave." — " But what might 
 not suit you may please my brother^" re- 
 turned Laura. 
 
 " If," retorted Fitz-Bvelin, in a tone of 
 peculiar severity, " Mary Hornliy had 
 been only a fool, her extreme beauty, 
 for the present, and habit, joined to Ed- 
 ward's good temper, for the future, might 
 have saved him from real unliappiness ; he 
 might then have reconciled himself, with 
 a good grace, to what was inevitable, and 
 have been comforted with the idea that 
 he was better off than many of .his friends.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 211 
 
 But the case is far otherwise. Beauty, 
 sprightliness, and that species of wit which, 
 when she is old and wrinkled, will no long- 
 er be called so, are her sole advantages. 
 The line of right and wrong is so faintly 
 marked in her mind, that she becomes the 
 creature of impulse. In so variable and va- 
 cillating a being, it is impossible to place 
 any confidence ; her principles are so un- 
 determined, and she is possessed of so little 
 steadiness, that I should doubt of her ad- 
 hering to them, even were they stronger. 
 You will say, * she is young and unreflect- 
 ing ; a husband whom she loves will be able 
 to influence and guide her.' 
 
 " Now, I own, I have ever considered 
 such reflections as mere sophistry ; but al- 
 lowing that she may always continue to love 
 your brother, and remain unchangeable for 
 the first time in her life, she wants the firstj 
 and most decided ingredient to all happiness, 
 without which no powers of intellect or su^
 
 212 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 blimity of genius are capable of procuring 
 domestic comfort, — good temper. 
 
 " It is not mere violence that I complain 
 of, bad as that is ; it is a degree of peevish- 
 ness and irritability, ever ready to break 
 through her winning smiles on the most 
 trifling occasion. Flattery, it is true, can 
 put her in good humour at any time ; but 
 a husband has neither the inclination nor 
 the power always to flatter. The slave of 
 admiration, when Edward ceases to express 
 it as ardently as he now does, she will seek 
 it from others. 
 
 " When a woman is once tempted to do 
 this, her taste becomes depraved ; it is no 
 longer the praise of those she likes which 
 she is contented with ;— it is the voice of 
 numbers that charms her. And is this a 
 wife for Edward?" — " Certainly not," re- 
 plied Laura. " But what right have we 
 to controul him ? And, even if we suc- 
 eeed^ may he not make a still more unpro*^
 
 THE ORDEAL 21S 
 
 mising match ? I know no positive harm 
 of Mary ; she is neither irascible, ill- 
 natured, nor deceitful. We cannot expect 
 a perfect woman to be created for him; 
 and though I should regret, on many ac- 
 counts, his marrying her, I cannot conceive 
 myself authorised to make any attempt to 
 prevent it." 
 
 " Singular creature 1" exclaimed Fitz- 
 Evelin, " How unfit are you for the world 
 you are to live in I — never exerting the ener- 
 gy of your lofty mind but for the most lau- 
 dable purposes ! Pardon me, my dear Miss 
 Merton, for having so ill known you : for 
 having confounded you with the rest of 
 your sex I I thought the love of dominion 
 was inseparable in a female mind from su- 
 perior talents ! I saw you possessing every 
 means of influencing and swaying others ; 
 and, having the power, I could not imagine 
 you could want the inclination !"
 
 214 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 " Wh^t a satire upon poor women !" said 
 Laura, smiling languidly. " Veiled as it is 
 under complimeats to me, I cannot but con- 
 demn such unwarrantable severity. That 
 the love of power is one of the first princi- 
 ples of the human mind, I believe ;— that 
 women should be particularly anxious to 
 acquire it, is not wonderful, when we con« 
 sider the few advantages and privileges 
 they enjoy naturally, the superiority which 
 the men arrogate to themselves, and the 
 disposition of so many men, who, if they 
 are not governed, will themselves reign de- 
 spotically. Still I do think, that, in spite 
 of the toil and pains with which women ac- 
 quire power, they in general use it with 
 more moderation than men. They are a 
 more generous animal ; and as they are the 
 weakest, they have far more merit in their 
 generosity. It is easy for the successful 
 and the powerful to be magnanimous."
 
 THE GRDKAL. 21^ 
 
 " You must nevertheless permit me to 
 think," replied Fitz-Evelin, " that there 
 are few women of your superior understand- 
 ing who do not almost insensibly (perhaps) 
 rule Others. Is it really possible that you 
 prefer tame submission and obedience ? 
 Were you never ambitious enough to be in- 
 duced to manage those around you ?"--- 
 Laura looked up with noble simplicity, and 
 smiling at the fixed gaze of her companion, 
 answered meekly, " I trust I have not lived 
 so much in vain, as to be ignorant of thie 
 relative duties of man and woman. Dis- 
 tinctly are they traced by the hand of Na- 
 ture, and powerfully enforced by the voice 
 of Religion. You may call submission 
 tame, and docility ignoble ; but these are 
 mere figures of speech : — to a pious mind, 
 that which we know to be right, to be 
 our duty, will ever appear both respectable 
 and noble, in spite of the sneers of those
 
 216 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 who have not the good fortune to appre- 
 ciate things at their true value. 
 
 " Let me not, however, arrogate any 
 merit to myself; what I would now, I trust, 
 do from principle, I should formerly have 
 done from feeling. 
 
 " Circumstances induced me to form, at 
 a very early period of life, opinions of men 
 in general very far from advantageous. I 
 despised them indeed most thoroughly. I 
 was wrong ; for we are not permitted to 
 entertain such feelings towards our fellow- 
 creatures. I could not contain my indig- 
 nation, when I found that, instead of being 
 our friends and protectors, as I concluded 
 they were bound to be, we had nothing but 
 indifference or contempt to expect from the 
 generality ; persecution, cruelty, and mean- 
 ness, in particular instances. 
 
 " With these ideas I turned from all 
 with disgust, and shrunk with dislike and 
 dread from those capable of injuring me.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 217 
 
 When I have heard of a gentle and amiable 
 woman ruling a disagreeable tempered bus- 
 band, far from admiring her abilities, I 
 have wondered at her condescension in sub- 
 mitting to be the tamer of a wild beast ; 
 and have thought, that if she had a turn 
 that way, it would be a far more interesting 
 occupation to have undertaken the manage- 
 ment of a lion, for that is both a noble and 
 a faithful animal. Time, and more mature 
 reflection, have convinced me we are more 
 upon a par than I at first imagined. These, 
 I believe, are necessary evils. According 
 to the present state of society, nothing can 
 be obtained or acquired without them. A 
 woman, destitute of all protection, whether 
 of a father, a brother, or a husband, is 
 worse than a blank; — alone, amidst thou- 
 sands, she shrinks from evils, which are 
 not even perceivable to less helpless beings : 
 Obliged to cling to something, she cannot 
 even attain that something. 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 218 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 *^ If, then, a poor unfortuiiate woman 
 marries a brute, she must manage him for 
 his sake as well as her own ;— and arduous 
 indeed is her task ; — most deserving of com- 
 passion, even if she does not possess those 
 fine feelings which are the cause of misery 
 to so many ! I do not wish to justify the 
 system of ruling; it is indeed sometimes 
 necessary ; but it is nev€r necessary to put 
 cfurselves in situations which require it. I 
 would only affirm, that this disposition is 
 not our nature, but is forced on us by cir- 
 cumstances. 
 
 " However, as women are not perfect 
 any more than men, I can easily perceive, 
 that one who has been called upon early in 
 life to take the reins in her own hands, 
 will never be inclined to resign them; and, 
 having found it conducive to her comfort to 
 manage one person, will not object to ex- 
 tend her sway far and near. No habit is 
 so diffi^Gult to overcome as that of command.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 219 
 
 An empire that can be kept is seldom given 
 up ; a throne that, at any risk, can be pre- 
 served, is rarely abandoned. Few there 
 are who have reached half way up a moun- 
 tain, without being eager to gain the summit] 
 though they may have passed day after day 
 at its foot without the smallest inclination 
 to ascend. 
 
 " But I see that you are not to be con- 
 vinced, and that you will remain persuaded, 
 that ' to govern* is the first object of a 
 woman's life, — an innate principle, which is 
 increased or limited according as the means 
 of acquiring empires are given her." 
 
 Fitz-Evelin smiled at her observation. 
 He did not like to assent to it ; and yet he 
 hated to differ from Laura, on whose mild 
 impressive accents persuasion ever huDg, 
 and whose strongly-marked countenance 
 and meaning eye gave far more weight 
 than words to her arguments. 
 K 2
 
 220 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 The deep lines of reflection, chastened 
 by sorrow, and sublimed by piety, which 
 marked her commanding brow, were sweet- 
 ly tempered by a dark blue eye, expressive 
 alike of celestial purity, universal benevo- 
 lence, and noble candour. Ever striking 
 and interesting, the beholder thought not 
 if she was handsome, if her features were 
 regular, or her complexion brilliant ; she 
 fascinated all who had a soul, and she plea- 
 sed even those who had none. She possess- 
 ed the peculiar and happy talent of making 
 others forgive her superiority ; for, even 
 while the blaze of genius illumined her 
 countenance, her heavenly smile interceded 
 for her, and the gentle urbanity of her 
 manners effaced the remembrance of the 
 passing transgression. Such was Laura, 
 even now when her spirits were sunk in de- 
 jection, and her soul saddened by mournful 
 retrospections.
 
 THE ORDEAL. ^21 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 The time fixed upon for Laura's return to 
 town had now arrived. 
 
 Mrs Hornby yet lived ; and having got 
 through the winter, some faint hopes were 
 entertained of her lasting the summer. She 
 bade adieu to her young friend and affection- 
 ate nurse with unfeigned regret. Gladly 
 would she have entreated Sir James for per- 
 mission to protract her visit ; but even ill- 
 ness could not make Mrs Hornby selfish ; 
 and she felt, that it was of such material 
 consequence that no more time should be 
 K 3
 
 222 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 lost in Laura's establishing herself decidedly 
 in her father's house, that she would not 
 even hint the wish which was uppermost in 
 her heart. 
 
 With a mind harassed and depressed, 
 Laura drove rapidly from a house, under 
 whose hospitable roof she had so often lis- 
 tened to the soothing voice of affection; 
 where she could talk of her adored mother 
 to one who really understood her ; where 
 she felt that she was useful. Once more 
 she was thrown on the world spiritless and 
 helpless ; but although the fact gave her a 
 cold chill as she pursued hier golit^ry jour- 
 ney, she never stopped to consider of h^r 
 own distresses ; the sorrows of others alone 
 engrossed her thoughts ; she wept over the 
 few comforts of her dying friend ; she 
 mourned with sympathetic energy the an- 
 guish that would soon embitter the life of 
 Majry — the desolate, unprotected state in 
 which $he would shortly b^p left : She saw
 
 THE ORDEAL. 223 
 
 all the danger of her beauty and levity ; 
 and pitied her the more, because she well 
 knew that, flying from reflection, and 
 shrinking from the anticipiation of evil as 
 she did, by being unprepared, she would 
 feel with redoubled poignancy every afflic- 
 tion. 
 
 While thus she cast an anxious glance to 
 the future, and looked back with silent but 
 heartfelt woe to the past, the observation 
 of her favourite poet occurred to her, 
 
 ** 'Tis man alone can joy descry. 
 With forward and reverted eye ;*' 
 
 and she could not help mentally exclaiming, 
 *^ Surely it was sorrow that he meant." 
 
 Arrived in Portman Square, she was ra- 
 ther surprised to hear no one was at home. 
 Not, however, suffering herself to pause 
 on the feelings it excited, she dressed for 
 dinner, and waited her father's return in
 
 224 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 the library : She waited, however, in vain. 
 Edward was in the country with Fitz-Eve- 
 lin ; and Sir James's absence was owing to 
 a manoeuvre of Lady Arabella Clanville, 
 who, having learned that Laura was to re- 
 turn on that day, contrived, during the 
 whole of the morning and evening, so to 
 engage and hamper him, that he had it not 
 in his power to return home. She enjoyed 
 Laura's embarrassment at finding herself 
 alone, and formed plan after plan to pro- 
 voke and humble her. 
 
 Laura was indeed vexed, but not embar- 
 rassed. Satisfied that her father's house 
 ought to be her home, however circumstan- 
 ces might prevent her enjoying perfect ease 
 and comfort in it, she directed every thing 
 in so firm and gentle a manner, that no one 
 thought of counteracting her ; and she met 
 with implicit and ready obedience from 
 every servant in the house, her own maid 
 < xcepted. This woman had been a maid of
 
 THE ORDEAL. 225 
 
 Lady Arabella Clanville's, who had not been 
 sparing in her instructions to her during 
 her mistress's absence at Richmond. 
 
 Of this Laura had no conception ; but 
 she saw that she was a smart pert girl, and 
 thought that her eternal chatter and imper- 
 tinent observations could not be counter- 
 balanced by any talents she might possess 
 in the important article of dress. She there- 
 fore coolly informed her, the morning after 
 her return, that she had no farther need for 
 her services ; and she quitted the room be- 
 fore the astonished Abigail had recovered 
 from her surprise. 
 
 Numbers of people, who wished to be 
 civil to Sir James, or who had been former- 
 ly acquainted with his wife, and were cu- 
 rious to see a girl brought up by her in the 
 mountains of Wales, had left their names 
 in Portman-Square. 
 
 Laura reviewed the tickets with surprise,, 
 not unmingled with alarm, as she contem-
 
 2^6 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 ptot^d tUe f<?rMii<}able number of strangers 
 hj. whom she felt, as it were, in a moment 
 surrounded. She had hea^d Lady Merton 
 speak of the extraordinary mixture of so- 
 ciety, and the extreme difficulty of finding 
 people who were really proper to go out 
 with. 
 
 Satisfied that Lady Arabella was certain- 
 ly not a proper person, she became anxious 
 to know something of those who had called 
 on her. Accordingly she wrote a note to 
 Sophia Lockie, begging she would bring 
 her work, and sit with her that morning. 
 The good-humoured girl readily complied, 
 and as readily told her all she knew of her 
 visitors. 
 
 This, however, was not much ; for the 
 Lockies lived in a totally different set; 
 and the extent, therefore, of Sophy's know- 
 ledge of any of these people was, that one 
 woman was rich, another fashionable, and 
 a third beautiful. She, however, relieved
 
 THE ORDEAL. 227 
 
 Laura extremely, by telling her, she need 
 not call herself on any body ; and even if 
 she did, she would not find one in twenty 
 at home. She was both astonished and 
 charmed at the ease with which visiting 
 was carried on; and, far from ridiculing 
 the mock ceremony of sending cards half 
 over the town by the footman, she thought 
 with delight how much time was saved, and 
 admired the good sense of the people who 
 first threw all the trouble of visiting on 
 their servants. 
 
 In the mean while, Mrs Mophett (the 
 discharged lady's-maid) had posted off to 
 Lady Arabella with the news of her dis- 
 missal. Her Ladyship was astonished; 
 but desired the enraged Abigail would in- 
 sist on a month's wages or warning, in or- 
 der that she might have time to look about 
 her, and perhaps induce Sir James to inter- 
 pose his authority to retain her.
 
 228 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 •* I will make it answer to you, my good 
 Mophett," added Lady Arabella with a win- 
 ning simile, and slipping a still more win- 
 ning douceur into her unreluctant hand. 
 " You must sooth this proud spirit, and, 
 by assuming a more respectful carriage, try 
 to please the haughty Welch girl. I had 
 rather not come to a rupture with her, for 
 she has relations whom I would not offend." 
 
 The appeased Mophett departed to play 
 her part \ but Laura liked her feigned hu- 
 mility as little as she had approved her 
 garrulity and curiosity ; and having sum- 
 moned the housekeeper to enquire at what 
 rate she was hired,, paid her the addi- 
 tional month's wages in her presence, and 
 dismissed her ; observing, that she " never 
 kept servants whom she had once dischar- 
 ged." 
 
 Mophett, however, concealed her indig- 
 nation ; and believing Lady Arabella Clan- 
 ville's sole plan in wishing her to live witk
 
 THE ORDEAL, S29 
 
 Miss^ Merton, was because the wages were 
 high, and the place easy ; in short, that her 
 Ladyship had her good in view, principally, 
 if not entirely, thought she would act 
 agreeably to her wishes, by trying every 
 thing to retain her place. 
 
 She, therefore, determined to see Sir 
 James herself ; and accordingly, in the even- 
 ing, begged to speak to him. 
 
 He was at that moment in the middle of 
 a game of backgammon with Laura. 
 
 He was extremely fond of it ; and was 
 not a little pleased to find his daughter so 
 great a proficient in his favourite diversion. 
 Provoked, therefore, at the summons, and 
 still more angry when he found he was 
 called upon for no other purpose than to 
 hear the whining complaints of a lady's 
 maid, who had not even a pretty face to 
 recommend her to his notice ; he turned 
 quickly on his heel^ exclaiming, " Don't 
 trouble me— I don't care for it— it is no
 
 230 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 concern of mine ; — and, returning to the 
 drawing-room, he observed, as he rattled 
 the dice, " So, Laura, you and your maid 
 have been quarrelling I find ; what did you 
 fall out about ?" — " Quarrelling ! my dear 
 sir," answered she ; " 1 hope 1 do not quar- 
 rel with any one; and I certainly should 
 not begin with a servant." — " What then 
 was all that history, which indeed I had 
 neither leisure nor patience to attend to, 
 but which Mrs Mophett was so very anxi^ 
 ous that I should hear ?" — " Indeed, Sir, I 
 do not know," said Laura colouring with 
 indignation ; " I have discharged her, be- 
 cause she did not suit me ; and because 
 indeed I have no use for a maid, and think 
 state servants always breed confusion in a 
 family ; but I did not say a word to her 
 that she could be affronted at ; and I really 
 think if she had been angry, she might have 
 complained to me instead of tormenting 
 you. You must give me leave to ring, to
 
 THE ORDEAL. 231 
 
 desire she may not remain here any longer, 
 or she will be telling me to-morrow that 
 I have no business to discharge my own ser- 
 vant." 
 
 Sir James smiled at the earnestness of 
 her manner. He was himself of so easy a 
 disposition, that he could at any time be 
 bullied into keeping a servant ; and as he 
 had often found the inconvenience of this 
 plan, he was inwardly charmed to find it 
 was not his daughter's ; he therefore suf- 
 fered her to give her orders, and even en- 
 forced them, by saying to the butler, ** Do 
 get rid of her as soon as you can, for I hate 
 a squabbling woman." They then resumed 
 their game ; and Mrs Mophett was quickly 
 forgotten. 
 
 Thus was Lady Arabella Clanville's first 
 plan defeated, unconsciously on the part of 
 Laura ; who, though she wondered at the 
 conduct of the maid, was too little inter- 
 ested in it to attempt investigating her
 
 232 I'HE ORDEAl. 
 
 motives ; satisfied with having got rid of a 
 person who annoyed her. 
 
 When Lady Arabella Clanville discover- |{ 
 ed the total failure of her plans, she was 
 enraged, but not disheartened. Accustom- J 
 ed to succeed in whatever she undertook, * 
 and well aware that success depends much 
 more on trifles than people are apt to ima- 
 gine, she determined to let none such 
 escape her. 
 
 It so happened, that a friend of hers had 
 just lost a favourite cook ; and bitter indeed 
 was the loss to her I This person her 
 scheming Ladyship resolved to replace by 
 Sir James's. Now Sir James was an epi- 
 cure : — he had besides numberless fancies 
 on the material subject of sending up a 
 dinner, which his own cook fell in with ad- 
 mirably ; and he had often declared he 
 could never eat his dinner in comfort, if 
 this admirable servant left him.
 
 THE bRDEAL. QSS 
 
 The old joke of servants being attached 
 to their masters never imposed on Lady 
 Arabella. She sent for this cook ; and re- 
 presenting* to him, how much his place 
 would be injured by the arrival of Miss 
 Merton, who had learnt in the country to 
 look into domestic concerns more than any 
 lady in London could have either leisure or 
 inclination for, she offered him a much 
 larger salary, together with numberless per- 
 quisites, in the service of her friend. The 
 cook having a comfortable place with Sir 
 James, at first declined ; but her Lady- 
 ship had so completely the art of persua* 
 sion, that is to say, she so clearly demon- 
 strated to him that it was his interest to 
 close with her proposals, that she finally 
 prevailed. 
 
 Let it not be imagined that this was a 
 slight victory ; it shook the power of Laura 
 to its very foundations.
 
 234? THE ORDEAL. 
 
 To those who cannot enter into the mis- 
 ery of game being over roasted, or tendrons 
 not being stewed tender, it would appear 
 incredible to relate the various trials to 
 which the temper of Sir James was put, 
 and the real misery that it produced. In 
 the bitterness of his sorrow he complained 
 to Lady Arabella Clanville, who listened 
 with much apparent sympathy to his dis- 
 tresses, though she inwardly despised the 
 man, so much of whose happiness depended 
 
 on Ills COOK. Olitr lost iiu ujjpuxnaiuy ui 
 
 insinuating, that Laura could not under- 
 stand those things ; that no servant would 
 remain with him, to be directed by a 
 country girl, who could not know the 
 customs of London ; and, by various hints 
 and innuendos, made him infer, that Lady 
 Arabella, although too polite to say it, had 
 discovered his daughter to be so violent 
 and tyrannical, as to be unequal to the ar» 
 duous task of ruling a family.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 2S^ 
 
 One day, as Sir James returned from his 
 morning lounge in Brooke Street, worked 
 up by her Ladyship to the most dismal an- 
 ticipations of all his future comfort being 
 destroyed by the baneful presence of his 
 daughter, he found her in the library, so 
 intent on a volume before her that she heard 
 him not enter. 
 
 Sir James approached cautiously ; and, 
 leaning over her chair, saw that her mind was 
 wrapped in the discoveries of the immortal 
 Newton ; and peevishly ejaculated, '* Ifi 
 the heavens I Miss Merton ; why, you are 
 out of the reach of us earthly beings; if 
 your pursuits were lower, they might be 
 more useful." 
 
 The sneer and frown that contended for 
 pre-eminence in his countenance surprised 
 and vexed Laura, who, meekly closing the 
 book, replied, " If it is a study you dislike, 
 my dear Sir, it is soon relinquished." — " It 
 is not much good your learning things, if
 
 236 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 you can get them out of your head so soon," 
 continued he in the same strain ; " but, for 
 my part, I never could conceive the use oi 
 study for a girl, except to make her fancy 
 herself as clever as men, and induce her to 
 neglect the real duties and employments of 
 women." 
 
 Much longer did Sir James ring the 
 changes on the misfortune of a rational 
 education ; while his daughter patiently 
 listened, or, when called upon, mildly an- 
 swered. 
 
 This provoked him still more ; for, being 
 in the humour to deraisonner, he was out of 
 patience at the little effect it produced; 
 and determining to vex her, with all the 
 meanness of a little mind, he threw the 
 faults of her education on her mother. This 
 was indeed a chord which vibrated with 
 agonising discord through every nerve ; the 
 meekness and the firmness of Laura alike 
 vanished, and outraged feeling painted hev 
 
 1
 
 THE ORDEAL. 287 
 
 iheek with the hectic of indignation. Yet 
 ihe forgot not that a parent spoke ; and 
 owered her eyes, lest their expression 
 night displease him, for her heart burned 
 vithin her. A few scalding tears escaped 
 rom under her fringed lashes, and were 
 [uickly dried up as they rolled over her 
 )uming cheek. 
 
 Sir James had by this time fretted him- 
 lelf into a rage, a thing which rarely oc- 
 curred to him ; and, for that very reason, 
 )erhaps, he was the more outrageous. Sub- 
 lued, and almost terrified, Laura leaned on 
 Jie table in breathless agitation ; too much 
 )ewildered to investigate the cause of this 
 )ainful scene, and almost expecting that he 
 vould order her to leave the house. 
 
 At this moment the door opened, and 
 Lady Arabella Clanville was announced ! 
 H[er presence instantly restored Laura to 
 ill her wonted resolution and energy ; she 
 idvanced to meet her^ and, though she
 
 288 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 spoke failitly from recent emotion, she ut 
 tered somie unmeaning phrases with a smit 
 ing countenance. 
 
 Sir James, however, had not quite sc 
 much self-command ; and, after some preli- 
 minary complaints, made Lady Arabella 
 umpire between his daughter and him. 
 
 Auspicious did this moment seem to hei 
 Ladyship's power ! but, before she had time 
 to speak, Laura addressed her father, " As 
 I never ca'n apped from your decisions. Sir, 
 an umpire between us must be unnecessary. 
 Most ready am I to yield to all your wishes, 
 be they what they may; but with the 
 decisions of my visitors, I can have no- 
 thing to do ; and I have too high an opi- 
 nion of Lady Arabell i's good sense, as well 
 as her good nature, not to feel how dis- 
 tressing the office must be to h«r. I would 
 riot, therefore, lose a moment in relieving' 
 your Ladyship on that score, as well as 
 apologising for the very awkward reception
 
 THE ORBiEAL. 239 
 
 I have been obliged to give you. I must 
 trust to your goodness for excusing me. 
 I will not tax your politeness so far as to 
 permit you to lengthen your visit at pre- 
 sent ; but if you would honour us to-mor- 
 row, by partaking of a family dinner, we 
 should be most happy to see you. My 
 brother, and Captain Fitz-Evelin will be 
 returned then ; and I rather expect my 
 cousin Murray, whom I am very anxious to 
 introduce to your Ladyship." 
 
 Laura had rung the bell as she began 
 speaking. The servant at this moment ap- 
 peared. " Lady Arabella's carriage," said 
 she ; and on being informed it was ready, 
 she curtsied to her, and advanced towards 
 the door, her Ladyship mechanically fol- 
 lowing her, while she continued the con- 
 versation about Murray to the head of the 
 stairs. 
 
 As Lady Arabella's figure slowly receded 
 from her view, her ideas became more con-
 
 240 THE ORDfiAL. 
 
 fused, and her head more oppressed ; the 
 necessity for exertion no longer remained, 
 and, faint and giddy, she ciung to the ban- 
 nisters for support. At last, making a des- 
 perate effort, she flew to her father, whose 
 irritation had given way to suUen gloom, 
 and left no means untried to discover the 
 cause of his displeasuse. 
 
 But Sir James was obstinately silent ; 
 half repenting the vexation he had given 
 his unoffending daughter, and not a little 
 dreading, that some particle of the spirit 
 that had expelled Lady Arabella the house 
 might be shewn to him. 
 
 But he knew not Laura. Ever acting 
 on principle, if she knew her emotions to 
 be unjustifiable by those severe laws she 
 had laid down for herself, she did not con- 
 ceal, but she essayed to quell them. She 
 could suffer in silence ; not that she scorned 
 complaint, but that she really thought it a
 
 THE ORDEAL. 241 
 
 weakness to allow her feelings to be seen, 
 and a misfortune to possess them. She 
 likewise knew, that their indulgence weak- 
 ened and relaxed the mind, and destroy- 
 ed that self-possession which she most la- 
 boured to acquire. 
 
 Repressed anguish will for the moment 
 prey on the heart, and cast an air of lan- 
 guor on the countenance, but it sinks not 
 to the grave : for where is that sorrow, the 
 keen edge of which is not blunted by con- 
 stant intercourse with the world, or even 
 merely by the soothing hand of time ? The 
 sharp arrow of adversity and disappoint- 
 ment will pierce the least susceptible 
 heart — the bitterness of regret will sad- 
 den and depress the liveliest spirit ; — but 
 momentary is their influence. Tran- 
 sient is the existence of man — and tran- 
 sient also are his feelings ! In his vanity, 
 (that main spring of all our actions,) 
 must we search for the reason of that sacred 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 242 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 character of eternal duration, which he 
 would affix to his sorrow. 
 
 It is a compliment to our sensibility, to 
 say, " we must suffer for ever ;" it is (un- 
 consciously perhaps) assuming the exalted 
 character of resignation. And how few of 
 us deserve it !— 
 
 But such was not the noble spirit of 
 Laura. She refused not to be comforted — 
 she thought not of exacting sympathy ; — 
 but grateful for every remaining blessing, 
 looking up with unshaken and affectionate 
 reliance to that Great First Cause, who 
 ruleth all things right ; she would smile 
 with a breaking heart, and inwardly ac- 
 cuse herself of falling short of that perfect 
 love, which would have inspired her with 
 perfect content ! 
 
 Perhaps the standard of her morals was 
 above the reach of mortal man ; but, in 
 fixing it thus high, she had always to look 
 upward, undistracted by the inconsistencies
 
 THE ORDEAL. 243 
 
 and errors of the inhabitants of the earth. 
 Their useless distinctions — their vain cere- 
 monies — their idle satires, disturbed her 
 not ; for she was far above them. For, 
 steadily fixed to that one point to cast a 
 look below her, she perceived not how su- 
 perior she was ; and thus easily acquired all 
 the grace of humility. . 
 
 Alone she stood, towering in native gran- 
 deur ; unappreciated indeed, (for few can ap- 
 preciate svich a character), but also unex- 
 posed to the many crosses and perplexities 
 which distress a worldly mind. 
 
 And let it not be thought that she had 
 fewer enjoyments. No ; they were only 
 purer — more sublime— more certain of du- 
 ration !
 
 *24i THE ORDEA 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 1 HE arrival of Murray changed the face 
 of things. Sir James was transported ;— 
 Edward wild with joy ;— and even the 
 thoughtftd Fitz-Evelin seemed to partake 
 of the general happiness. Laura alone ap- 
 peared to suffer. 
 
 The presence of her cousin recalled too 
 forcibly the memory of the past ; the tones 
 of his voice went to her heart, and again 
 she wept at the thought that they could not 
 reach the ear of her departed mother !
 
 THE ORDEAL. 245 
 
 Far different was the impression she made 
 on iV^irray. The child that he had once 
 fondly caressed, in the short space of a few 
 years had started into the elegant and majes- 
 tic woman, from whose noble and lofty de- 
 meanour he would have shrank awed and 
 abashed, but for the mild benevolence of 
 her countenance— the interesting softness 
 of her manner— and the peculiar gentleness 
 of her address. 
 
 He did not gaze on her with a mere cold 
 and senseless admiration, but his heart was 
 touched by her unassuming air of deep sor- 
 row ; while his every feeling was fascin- 
 ated by the eij^pressive glance of her eye, 
 and the magic of her smile. He talked of 
 her angelic mother ; and mingled his tears 
 with her's at the recital of her death. 
 
 There was not in the character of Mur- 
 ray that levity which so strongly marked 
 that of Edward ; the mind of Laura, there- 
 L 3
 
 246 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 fore, more readily assimilated with his. She 
 saw he had feeling— she knew that Lady 
 Merton had loved him ; — and, with the 
 rapid imagination of a woman, she lavishly 
 bestowed on him every attribute of perfec- 
 tion ! 
 
 It would seem that nature has in vain 
 bestowed on women, almost exclusively, the 
 talent of penetration ; so apt are they to 
 form their judgment of individuals, whether 
 good or bad, by one circumstance, and that 
 often an accidental one ! 
 
 Lady Arabella was forgotten until she 
 appeared ; and one glance at the counte- 
 nances around her, conveyed to her this 
 mortifying fact. 
 
 Sir James's satisfaction was complete 
 when he discovered that his dinner was as 
 good as in the time of his favourite cook ; 
 and willing to make up to his daughter for 
 the scene of the preceding day, he was 
 more affectionate than ever to her.
 
 THE ORDEAL. 247 
 
 Fully proportionate to his gratification 
 was the disappointment and spite of Lady- 
 Arabella, who, losing all temper at finding 
 herself a person of no consequence in the 
 very house she had determined to rule, lost 
 all her wonted brilliancy and powers of 
 pleasing ; and, feeling that she was a mere 
 foil to Laura, pleaded a long engagement, 
 and hastened away the moment the ladies 
 left the room. 
 
 Many and various were her manoeuvres 
 afterwards to torment Laura, whom she 
 now mortally hated ; and even when con- 
 vinced that they were in fact useless, she 
 continued to harass her from mere spite. 
 But they had not even the effect of ruffling 
 the temper of her she persecuted ; for they 
 escaped her observation. 
 
 Lady Arabella was -not more successful 
 in the aspersions she cast on her character 
 in public. Her anecdotes of the pride and 
 pedantry of the Welsh girl were indeed
 
 248 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 listened to, for they were ill-natured, and 
 therefore, of course, entertaining ; nay, they 
 were repeated with all the additions and 
 improvements that stories of that nature 
 ,usually acquire in travelling" round the 
 town ; but no one, not even the retailers, 
 attached the smallest credit to them. The 
 world is more clear-sighted than it is 
 supposed to be ; people are rarely deceiv- 
 ed, but they often find it their interest to 
 appear so. 
 
 The public curiosity was raised to the 
 highest pitch ; and Miss Merton's entrance 
 into high life produced as great a sensation 
 as if she had been a native of Greece or 
 Persia ! 
 
 Such was the crowd that pressed around 
 
 her on her first appearance at D House, 
 
 that had she even possessed the wonderful 
 advantages of a foreign dress and accent, 
 she would scarce have occasioned a greater
 
 THE ORDEAL. 249 
 
 squeeze, or put more fashionables in danger 
 of suffocation. 
 
 Unfortunately Laura was too little ini- 
 tiated into the manners and customs of 
 tJiose around her, to perceive the effect she 
 produced. Occupied in examining others, 
 and forgetting herself, if she overheard an en- 
 comium, or perceived the attention of many- 
 directed towards her, she naturally attri- 
 buted it to admiration of the beautiful 
 Duchess on whose arm she leant, and whose 
 graceful hospitality delighted her. And 
 she was indeed formed to charm the young 
 and the susceptible ; for beauty, grace, ta- 
 lents, and sAveetness, were so peculiarly 
 her's, that they seemed to sit awkwardly 
 on any other. Laura was completely fas- 
 cinated by her ; and wondered not that such 
 a woman should be the idoL of fashion, the 
 admiration of all who approached her. 
 
 A few days after the return of Murray, 
 the three young men made a party out of
 
 250 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 town ; and Sir James proposed to his daugh* 
 ter to take the opportunity of driving to 
 Richmond to see Mrs Hornby. Laura most 
 readily assented ; for the accounts from 
 Mary of the increased debility of her mo- 
 ther made her very anxious. 
 
 When they reached Richmond, she was 
 not a little alarmed to perceive the cottage 
 shut up, and apparently uninhabited. 
 
 Unable to gain admittance, they drove to 
 the inn, and were much shocked to learn that 
 Mrs Hornby died, almost suddenly, two days 
 before ; that she had been placed in a coffin 
 twelve hours after her death, but not 
 buried ; for Mary had disappeared the fol- 
 lowing morning, leaving a note for the mi- 
 nister of the parish, with money to pay the 
 necessary expences. 
 
 Laura was excessively overcome by this 
 sudden intelligence, and more distressed 
 even at the uncertain fate of the unfortu- 
 nate Mary than at the death of one whom
 
 THE ORDEAL. 251 
 
 she had so long given up as beyond the 
 reach of recovery. She mentioned to her 
 father her wish of following her to the 
 grave, as her daughter had abandoned her 
 lifeless remains ; but Sir James would not 
 bear of it. '•' You can do her no good, 
 poor woman," said he ; " and you will not 
 in this case gratify the feelings of any sur- 
 viving friend, but merely depress your own 
 spirits by the melancholy office." 
 
 Laura silently acquiesced ; but she in- 
 wardly ejaculated, " It would be gratify- 
 ing to my own !" 
 
 She thought it ungrateful thus to aban- 
 don to strangers all that now remained of 
 an affectionate and steady friend ; then 
 with that sudden burst of enthusiasm, which 
 only a lofty mind is capable of, she exclaim- 
 ed, " but she acquits me !" and as she gazed 
 on the clear azure sky, her mind pene- 
 trated beyond the regions of space, and 
 her rapt spirit almost seemed to behold the
 
 252 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 aerial form of her whose departure she 
 mourned ! 
 
 During her residence at Richmond, Lau- 
 ra had become well acquainted with the 
 clergyman, Mr Mante, who had been in 
 the constant habit of attending Mrs Horn- 
 by. To his house she drove, to make every 
 enquiry respecting Mary. He received her 
 kindly, but was unable to give any further 
 account of her than by producing her note. 
 It was this : 
 
 " Dear Sir, 
 ** When we last parted I was too much 
 distressed and agitated to speak to you, or 
 even to think of any thing but the heavy 
 loss I had sustained. I can no longer re- 
 main here ;— every room is odious to me, 
 every face hateful.— I go then, for that last 
 dreadful scene would distract me. —My fate 
 is now in my own hands — I am dependant 
 on no one— shall distress no one.— My kind
 
 THE ORDEAL. 253 
 
 friend, I fear to ask your parting blessing". 
 If you knew all, you would not give it me ! 
 Yet am not I a free agent, accountable to 
 none but myself for my actions ? and if I 
 think them justifiable ? — but you would not, 
 I know I I enclose you more money than I 
 think will defray the necessary expences. 
 God for ever bless you and your gentle 
 sister, prays the unfortunate 
 
 Mary." 
 
 As Laura perused the almost illegible 
 scrawl of this misjudging girl, a sudden 
 chill crept through her frame ; she covered 
 her face with her hands, and sighed heavily. 
 She could not repress the idea that Ed- 
 ward might have been accessary to the de- 
 parture of Mary ; and one moment dread- 
 ing he had married her, at another almost 
 hoping, for her sake, that he had, she sat 
 lost in painful reflections, until she was 
 roused by the gentle voice of Miss Mante,
 
 254 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 " I fear," said she, " the worst for our poor 
 friend ; her mind has evidently been warp- 
 ed ; but whether by some specious deceiver, 
 or merely by the contagious influence of 
 books, I have not the means of determi- 
 ning." 
 
 Laura had not courage to answer. She 
 shuddered at the idea, that this specious 
 deceiver was in all probability her brother ! 
 yet she concealed her suspicions ; and sim- 
 ply assuring Miss Mante, that no pains on 
 her part should be omitted to discover and 
 protect the unfortunate Mary, she express- 
 ed her anxiety to know whether indeed 
 money enough had been transmitted to Mr 
 Mante to answer every call. " She was 
 my mother's friend," pursued Laura in a 
 faultering voice ; " and I could wish—" Miss 
 Mante immediately interrupted her; and 
 seizing her hand, in the unaffected tone of 
 sympathy and feeling, entreated she would 
 make herself easy on that score. " I my-
 
 THE ORDEAL. 255 
 
 self," added the benevolent girl, " will 
 supply the place of our poor friend, and foU 
 low to the grave the remains of one who, 
 ere now, knows how many hearts will ac- 
 company me ! My brother will omit no 
 respect to her memory ; and, so far from 
 using the money enclosed to him by the 
 poor orphan, will keep it for her, to be re- 
 turned, if ever we meet, which I will not 
 despair of our doing." 
 
 A sudden glow warmed and dilated the 
 heart of Laura ;- her expressive eye glanced 
 all the approbation she felt ; and her heart 
 was raised in adoration and gratitude to 
 God, that she had met with beings capable 
 of imitating his most glorious attribute of 
 benevolence and charity. 
 
 Sir James was in a hurry to be gone; 
 and summoning his daughter, she departed, 
 impressed with feelings of regard and admi- 
 ration for the vicar and his amiable sister ; 
 and nourishing a faint hope that Mary
 
 256 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 might yet be saved. Under this idea, she 
 thought the most likely means to discover 
 her would be to take Edward by surprise. 
 
 She accordingly went to his room im- 
 mediately on his return home ; and, af- 
 ter some general conversation, turned ab- 
 ruptly to him, and, laying her hand on his 
 arm, in a low impressive voice, asked, 
 " Where is Mary ?"--" Ah, sister," answer- 
 ed he seriously, " you would, I perceive, 
 accuse me of inconstancy ; but believe me, 
 I have not forgotten that fascinating girl. 
 Would that I could 1" 
 
 Laura kept her eye steadily fixed on him ; 
 but no fluctuation of his countenance con- 
 firmed her suspicions. " Pardon me, my 
 dear Edward," said she, after a momentary 
 pause, "for having for an instant suspect- 
 ed you of a base unmanly action, vv^hich, in 
 your cooler moments, I am well aware no 
 one would so decidedly condemn. But the 
 mysterious disappearance of Miss Hornby, so 
 suddenly after her mother's death, led me to
 
 THE ORDEAL. 2.57 
 
 suppose — " " Disappearance of Miss Horn- 
 by !— her mother's death ! Why, for God's 
 sake, Laura, what do you mean?" The 
 tone of alarm in which he spoke, the anxi- 
 ous surprise which marked all his features, 
 satisfied his sister that he was indeed igno- 
 rant of the abode of Mary ; biit at the same 
 moment, losing all hope of tracing her, and 
 imagining her surrounded by yet greater 
 difficulties and dangers than she at first 
 thought of, her wonted firmness forsook 
 her, and, sinking on a chair, she burst in- 
 to tears. 
 
 As soon as she was able to give her bro- 
 ther a full account of her morning's excur- 
 sion, the impetuous Edward would instant- 
 ly have flown off in pursuit of IMary, he 
 knew not whither ; but Laura, reminding 
 him it was getting dark, and that they had 
 no clue whatever to lead to a discovery, 
 persuaded him to defer his excursions to 
 the following morning. She again apolo-
 
 258 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 gised for the suspicions she had entertained 
 of him ; but he instantly stopped her. " I 
 am far more guilty than you imagined," 
 said he in a hurried confused manner : " I 
 would have stolen Mary from her mother, and 
 overwhelmed two people in misery ! Fitz- 
 Evelin saved me ; but left to myself, I should 
 have been a greater wretch even than you 
 supposed me." 
 
 Laura bent forward to kiss the contract- 
 ed brow of her brother. There is a charm 
 so irresistible in candour, that in the eye of 
 a fellow-mortal it would wipe off the remem- 
 brance of almost any transgression. Yet 
 let us not wonder that it is not oftener met 
 with ; it is only interesting when practised 
 in the spirit of humiliation and contrition ; 
 and from such painful feelings who would 
 not shrink? 
 
 Day succeeded to day, but brought n« 
 news of the fair fugitive.
 
 THE ORDEAL 259 
 
 Exhausted, disappointed, and miserable, 
 Edward at last gave up his wild and fa- 
 tiguing journeys. His violent spirits for- 
 sook him ; he smiled languidly at the efforts 
 that were made to cheer him, and appa- 
 rently listened to the conversation of his 
 friends, but he heard them not ; and his 
 vague indefinite answers and abstracted air 
 would often betray the wandering of his 
 mind. In silence he brooded over the mys- 
 tery that enveloped the unfortunate Mary ; 
 while his anxious sister dwelt with the most 
 painful apprehensions on his changed ap- 
 pearance, and sought in vain, on his pallid 
 and dejected countenance, some traces of 
 the brilliant beauty and wild enthusiasm 
 which once so strongly marked it. 
 
 Uncertainty kept alive expectation. Ed- 
 ward's mind seemed gradually to sink into 
 the most benumbing torpor, from which he 
 was only for a moment roused by a degree
 
 260 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 of nervous irritability, which brought on a 
 low fever. 
 
 Anxiety and dismay was visible in every 
 face. i\jurray never left him ; while Fitz- 
 Evelin scarce ever called, and then but for 
 a moment. Sir James could not help se- 
 cretly condemning this apparent inatten- 
 tion ; but Laura did him justice ; and though 
 she knew not the cause of his absence, she 
 was satisfied that he must be right. 
 
 She was one morning working in her 
 brother's room, while Murray sung to him, 
 when a note was brought to her. She well 
 knew the hand ; and hastily tearing it open, 
 read, 
 
 " Dearest Miss Merton, 
 ** I am not permitted to v/rite, and indeed 
 can scarce hold a pen ; but come to me, 
 and I will give you news of Mary. 
 
 H. FITZ-EVELIN."
 
 THE ORDEAL. 261 
 
 Deliglited as she was at the prospect of 
 finding Mary, she yet could not overlook the 
 singularity ^ofFitz-Evelin's request ; and, as- 
 sured that it must have proceeded from his 
 hurry and confusion, she took the opportu- 
 nity of her father's entrance ; and engaging 
 the attention of the invalid, to commission 
 Murray to go and take Fitz-Evelin's direc- 
 tions, as well as to see why he did not come 
 himself, when he had such comfortable 
 news to communicate. 
 
 Murray obeyed with alacrity ; and was 
 much shocked to find, on arriving at Fitz- 
 Evelin's lodgings, that he was confined to 
 his bed with a raging fever. At that mo- 
 ment he slept, in consequence of some opi- 
 ates that had been administered ; and Mur- 
 ray merely left a line to say he had been 
 to enquire after him, and would call again 
 in the evening. He did so ; and found him 
 out of danger, although reduced to a most 
 deplorable state of weakness.
 
 262 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 He had, ever since Edward's decided ill- 
 ness, devoted himself to the search of Mary ; 
 — he had left no means untried to discover 
 any traces of her ; — he had spared no fa- 
 tigue, mental and bodily ; — often denied 
 himself the necessary refreshment of sleep, 
 in pursuit of some wild plan, which he 
 vainly hoped was to restore his friend to 
 life and happiness ! 
 
 All the repressed Enthusiasm of his cha- 
 racter now shone forth ; that acute sensibi- 
 lity, which he strove to conceal even from 
 himself, was given full scope to ; and, like 
 some long pent up stream, having at last 
 found a vent, rushed onward with an im- 
 petuous force, which threatened to over- 
 whelm all before it, till, exhausted with its 
 own rapidity, it suddenly ceased. 
 
 Murray found him feeble in body and 
 depressed in mind. He apologised for the 
 trouble he had given Laura, and acknow- 
 ledged, that he was too ill to reflect at the
 
 THE ORDEAL. 263 
 
 moment he wrote ; and that having seen 
 Mary, he thought only of apprising Edward 
 of it in the most gentle way, and conse- 
 quently applied to Miss Merton. 
 
 Fatigued with the exertion of speaking, 
 Fitz-Evelin paused ; and Murray, fearful 
 of disturbing him, remained likewise silent. 
 At last he said, " Is there any chance of 
 Edward being able to see Mary ? Where 
 does she live ?" Fitz-Evelin feebly raised 
 his head, and, in an agitated tone, replied, 
 " To answer this to my poor friend is 
 what I most dread. I have indeed found 
 her I but alas, too late for his comfort I 
 Now he would not himself wish to marry 
 her ; and it will be bitter indeed to tell 
 him, '* You must in future despise her you 
 have so well loved!" Fitz-Evelin's voice 
 faultered ; and he sunk back on his pillow. 
 
 Murray gazed at him with unfeigned 
 astonishment ; for the language of intense 
 feeling and acute sympathy were foreign to
 
 264 THE ORDEAL. 
 
 his heart. He had sincerely grieved for Ed- 
 ward, for he could comprehend, at least in 
 part, his distress : When with him, his 
 manner was gentle, his voice soothing ; 
 but the sufferings of his friends never cross- 
 ed him in the hour of merriment, or em- 
 bittered to him the cup of pleasure ; and 
 no answering feeling in his breast told him 
 what that suffering was which bleached 
 the cheek and contracted the brow of Fitz- 
 Evelin. 
 
 So little do we comprehend one another ! 
 and when, indeed, a congenial mind is 
 found, and when with fond enthusiasm we 
 twine around it, and begin to dream of 
 happiness,— the icy grasp of death sepa- 
 rates ! the scene closes ! the curtain drops ! 
 and we are again alone upon the stage of 
 life. Then we droop, we murmur ; and we 
 forget that this is an hour of trial, an ap- 
 pointed Ordeal, 
 
 END OF VOLUME FIRST. 
 
 John Brcwh, Printer, Edinburgh.