L I E) RARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 or ILLINOIS 
 
 823 
 •B2T5c 
 
 V. \
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 BY 
 
 LADY BARRETT LENNARD. 
 
 My fondest — faintest — latest accents hear — 
 Grief for the dead not Virtue can reprove ; 
 
 Then give me all I ever ask'd — a tear, 
 
 The first — last — sole reward of so much love ! " 
 
 The Corsair. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, PUBLISHERS, 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1867. 
 
 TIk right of Translation w reserved.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PRINTED BY M^VCDONALD AND TUGWELL, BLENKEJM HOUSE. 
 
 BLENHEIM STREET, OXFORD STREET.
 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " Oh ! that I less could fear to lose this being 
 Which, like a snow-ball in my coward hand, 
 The more 'tis grasped the faster melts away." 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 "AH! Patty, Patty, I feel stifled !— I 
 
 ! can't breathe in this house !" said a 
 
 young lady to her companion, who was 
 
 sometliing between a servant and friend, as 
 
 , she threw open the window, and was 
 
 ^ covered immediately by a shower of smuts, 
 
 which came in with the accession of cold 
 
 J air, which it would have been a compliment 
 
 ] to have called fresh. " Pshaw !" she said, 
 
 looking at the tips of her fingers, which 
 
 were blackened by the accumulation of soot 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 ^ CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 on the window-ledge — " now I will go up- 
 stairs and wash my hands. How careless 
 and dirty the housemaid must be !" 
 
 " I saw her clean the window-ledge my- 
 self this morning," said Patty ; " the smuts 
 come again directly if you open the win- 
 dow, and if you don't open it, they still 
 come, but in less quantity. Let me get 
 some water and soap and a towel for your 
 hands ; you ought not to go up and down 
 stairs in your situation." 
 
 " Yes, I ought. The doctor says I must 
 take exercise, and where I am to get it, 
 unless in the house, I don't know. Fancy 
 taking an airing through Aldermanbury in 
 the month of August ! However, it is as 
 bad for you as for me, for I have a husband 
 for whom I bear it, and you only stay here 
 from love of me." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am — all the same, I thought 
 before I came that London was a grand
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 6 
 
 place, and that I sliould see all kinds of 
 fine sights ; but somehow this little court 
 kind of a place is very dull — the grass is 
 nearly black, and the leaves of the trees, 
 that would like to turn yellow, some of 
 them, if they could, are all as if they had 
 been painted "vvith soot," and Patty sighed 
 to think of the gamekeeper's lodge in the 
 wilderness in which she had been born and 
 bred in the West country. " Must Mr. 
 Rivers always live here ?" she added, after 
 a pause. . 
 
 " I suppose so ; the lease of the house is 
 for fourteen years, I believe ; and oh ! 
 Patty, I shall die ! — I know I shall in this 
 horrid place. I cannot live here !" and she 
 threw herself on Patty's shoulder, and wept 
 hysterically. 
 
 " I wish master would come home," said 
 Patty ; " but it's not more than five o'clock, 
 
 b2
 
 4 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 and he won't be liere till six. How the 
 sun does glare do^vn through those dirty- 
 white curtains, only put up clean a fortnight 
 ago, they say !" 
 
 Patty took some eau-de-Cologne from the 
 scent-bottle, and wiped the young lady's 
 brow. They had come up from a small 
 town m Cornwall a few days before, and 
 had found a house taken by the father of 
 Mr. Rivers, newly " swept and garnished," 
 and with every requirement of comfort, and 
 even luxury, in the opinion of the old 
 merchant, who knew not the habits of the 
 wild bird for whom he had pro\ided this 
 cage, in which she seemed disposed to beat 
 herself to death. 
 
 The walls of the small drawing-room 
 were prettily covered ^dth a Pompeian 
 pattern, in different shades of distemper ; 
 but her husband's guests had leant their 
 heads, plentifully bedewed with Macassar
 
 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 5 
 
 oil, against it, and left circular stains, wliicli 
 the young wife had vainly attempted to 
 rectify. It took away all her pleasure in the 
 small drawing-room. The same marks of 
 personal adornment and selfishness as to its 
 results were shown on the pretty chintz fur- 
 niture of the sofas and easy-chairs. The 
 young men had smoked, too, in the dining- 
 room, and the oily vapour hung about the 
 curtains, leaving the most loathsome of 
 smells — that of stale tobacco. It required all 
 Lilian Rivers' devotion to her husband to 
 make her silent under her accumulation of 
 small vexations. Her mother-in-law had 
 selected the nurse who was to attend her, 
 and this wrinkled beldam, with the ugly 
 gleam of her black eyes, reminded Lilian, 
 she told Patty, of the Witch of Endor, in 
 her uncle's picture-Bible ; for Lilian was the 
 orphan niece of a clergyman in a small 
 Cornish village.
 
 b CONSTANCE EIYERS. 
 
 The fatlier of Mr. Rivers was a hop-mer- 
 chant, residing in Castle Square, but the 
 chance of making a large sum by a couio de 
 main had tempted him to take some shares 
 in a Cornish mine. The necessity of having 
 his interests properly represented, had in- 
 duced him to send his son Edward to take 
 the management of the mine for a few 
 months, with the consent of the other share- 
 holders ; and, while thus engaged, Edward 
 had loved and married the penniless daugh- 
 ter of a deceased Navy captain, telling his 
 family of the transaction when it was con- 
 cluded. His father was indignant, but was 
 too much mixed up with his son in business 
 transactions to say all he thought, and too 
 dependent on Edward's energy and skill; 
 so he made the best of it, and took a small 
 house in Saint Helen Square, Alderman- 
 bury, whilst he remained in Castle Square. 
 As Saint Helen Square was considered
 
 COXSTAXCE RIVERS. 7 
 
 genteel compared with Castle Square, Mrs. 
 Rivers, the motlier-in-law, grudged the 
 small residence to her new daughter, and 
 hated her after the usual fashion with which 
 mothers-in-law generally detest then* sons' 
 wives. 
 
 The poor young lady was sufficiently de- 
 pressed by the new circumstances in which 
 she was placed. In Cornwall she had 
 found in Edward Rivers a devoted lover 
 and a fond husband. He used to watch for 
 her coming in the morning, as he prepared 
 to walk over the breezy cliff to the mine — 
 wdiither he went daily for his business. The 
 house inhabited by her uncle, the clerg}^- 
 man, with whom she resided, was situated 
 on the bank of a clear and rapid river, 
 narrow enough to be spanned by an old 
 grey bridge of freestone. This parsonage 
 was but a low cottage, but it was smothered 
 with roses, myrtles, and verbenas — very
 
 8 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 pretty, Edward used to think Lilian looked, 
 when framed, as it were, in this doorway of 
 flowers. The parson was old and poor, and 
 had no wealth with which to endow his 
 orphan niece, so when he found that Edward 
 Rivers was in earnest in his Avooing, he 
 gave liim every encouragement to win his 
 bride. 
 
 When Edward found it necessary to re- 
 turn to London, they had been ten months 
 married, during which time they had con- 
 tinued to reside w^ith the old uncle of the 
 bride. Lilian, therefore, on taking posses- 
 sion of her London house, then wanted 
 only a few weeks of her confinement, and 
 under these circumstances, at all times so 
 disadvantageous to both spirits, health, and 
 appearance, she made the acquaintance of 
 her husband's family. 
 
 The ten months which had elapsed since 
 Lilian's marriage had sufficed to jDrove that
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 9 
 
 lovers and husbands have different standards 
 of merit. Her young, sweet, fresh hfe, her 
 clean light dresses, and unartificial manners, 
 had captivated the London-bred man ; but 
 as the period arrived when she was to be in- 
 troduced to his family, he began, uncon- 
 sciously to himself, to judge her by tlieir 
 standard, rather than by that which his love 
 had set up before he married her. Lilian 
 could hem, seam, and back-stitch, but she 
 knew nothing of Poonah painting, or imita- 
 tions of Japan work — which his sisters 
 executed ^\dth success. She sang with a 
 sweet clear voice in the village choir, but 
 knew nothing of instrumental music, and 
 had scarcely ever seen a piano ; whilst his 
 sisters executed duets in a style which cer- 
 tainly produced a stunning effect. In his 
 father's house meals were matters of grave 
 importance, and to eat at any but the pre- 
 scribed hom^s was considered a sm against
 
 10 CONSTANCE RI\T]T?S. 
 
 good taste. Lilian liad been accustomed to 
 dine on an apple and a piece of bread, and 
 as neither required cooking, slie took both 
 as hunger dictated. 
 
 In the few miserable days passed with 
 her husband's family, each member seemed 
 determined to mortify and oppress her to 
 the amount of their small powers — and grief 
 unspeakable ! Edward did not seem to take 
 Lilian's part. There is an mherent convic- 
 tion in a man's mind that his own family 
 are ''the Avise of the earth," and that the 
 precepts mculcated in his childhood cannot 
 err. When he falls in love these houshold 
 deities totter slightly, but only to establish 
 themselves more firmly in the new home. 
 Clever must be that wife who, seeming to 
 bow down and worship these strange gods, 
 contrives in her feigned devotion to topple 
 them down, and place others of her own 
 construction in their place.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 11 
 
 Regular days had regular joints appro- 
 priated to tliem, and Lilian, Avliose fevered 
 moutli loathed the Avine and beer, and 
 Thames water, on asking timidly, at lunch- 
 eon, for some fruit, which was not on the 
 table, Avas told with a sneer that — 
 
 " Their family only ate fruit at the right 
 time — at dessert." 
 
 The mother-in-law was sure that Edward's 
 pocket could never stand a white dress 
 every day. 
 
 " Wliy, do you know, Mrs. Edward, what 
 those white dresses cost to wash ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " No ? you seem to know nothing. 
 Wliy, eighteenpence each ! You had better 
 ask Ned to buy you something dark and 
 serviceable. I suppose you have no money 
 of yom* own — that young woman, yom* maid, 
 can make it. / never had a maid till my 
 daughters grew up."
 
 12 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Lilian explained, in a faltering tone, that 
 Patty was only to stay Avith lier as a com- 
 panion, till — till baby is born, and perhaps 
 after as a nurse. 
 
 " r shall want a nurse," she added, more 
 boldly. 
 
 " Great nonsense to count your chicken 
 before it is hatched," said Mrs. Rivers. 
 " Better have left her in Cornwall. Where 
 are you going to put me^ I should like to 
 know, for of course I shall stay with you to 
 witness the birth of Ned's first child — a 
 motherless girl, too," added the pompous 
 lady, taking great credit to herself for the 
 tenderness of her maternal feelings, whilst 
 Lilian, perfectly overwhelmed by this new 
 misfortune, could not utter a word of the 
 thanks required of her. She shrank from 
 the repellent, vulgar, and harsh woman, 
 who asserted her clahn, at the hour of the 
 young wife's greatest suffering and possibly
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 13 
 
 peril, to be with her ; and Lihan could not 
 help a lurking ^vish that her Edward had 
 been motherless as well as herself. 
 
 We will now return to where we left her 
 with Patty bathing her forehead. This young 
 person reminded her that her master would 
 be back soon, and would expect to find her 
 dressed for dinner. She knew that the ex- 
 pectation of seeing hun would do more than 
 an}^hing else to still her sobs. 
 
 Patty took her to her room, and smooth- 
 ed her hair, and put on her a clean muslin 
 dress, not having the fear of the mother-in- 
 law before her eyes ; and then the young 
 wife stationed herself at the drawing-room 
 window, from whence she could watch the 
 entrance into the court called a garden, 
 which, lighted by a gas lamp, revealed 
 clearly the few persons who passed in. 
 Tliere she stood, leaning her head against 
 the glass, till Patty, who Imgered near, re-
 
 14 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 minded lier that she would have a du-ty 
 mark where her brow had touched it. She 
 withdrew her forehead with a gesture of 
 impatience, and tried to rub it clean with 
 her handkerchief, but London dirt seems 
 greasy, and only spreads by friction. Patty 
 got a towel and wiped it off — just in time, 
 for Lilian had perceived her father-in-law 
 turn in imder the glare of the lamp, and, 
 forgetting everything but the sudden dread 
 that something might have happened to 
 Edward, which his father had come to 
 announce, she ran downstairs, and through 
 the passage to the front door, which she 
 opened for Mr. Rivers, just as he was about 
 to knock, and his astonishment was un- 
 bounded at seeing his daughter-in-law in the 
 place of the footman. 
 
 " What !— Mrs. Edward !— how could 
 you do such an unusual — such an improper 
 thing? Open the door yourself! Wliat
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 15 
 
 does your husband keep tliat boy for ? " 
 The door of her uncle's house had 
 scarcely ever been fastened, and in the 
 summer it stood open ; in the winter Lilian 
 or her uncle thought it no shame to welcome 
 their visitors on the threshold, and, hearing 
 or seeing coming footsteps, to open the door 
 themselves. So that Lilian did not see her 
 impropriety in so dark an aspect as it ap- 
 peared to her father-in-law ; but she liked 
 him best of her new relations, for from him 
 she had received the only greeting which 
 had any cordiality m it on her first arrival 
 in Castle Square ; so she said she was 
 " very sorry — very, indeed. She would 
 not open the door to him again, and " (with 
 a spice of roguery) " would take care that 
 he should be kept waiting in the court 
 rather than distress him thus in future." 
 He grumbled out his message then from 
 her husband, which was an excuse for not
 
 16 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 
 
 dining with her, as the people m Castle 
 Square wanted him to meet some friends of 
 theirs. Lilian said " very well " with a 
 sinking heart, for she felt the snub of 
 exclusion, though she should have declined 
 the dinner had she been asked. 
 
 Mr. Rivers then left her, and she rung 
 the bell for the awkward lad in livery, who 
 had six weeks before rejoiced in a muffin 
 cap and long petticoats at a charity-school, 
 to open the door for the departing mer- 
 chant. Then, drearily enough, she sat down 
 to her dinner, giving herself the consolation 
 of Patty's company and talking of the vil- 
 lage they had left, and wondering whether 
 the uncle of one was taking his supper of 
 gruel, and the father of the other his cider 
 posset. At eleven o'clock Lilian again took 
 her stand at the drawing-room window, to 
 watch for her husband's return.
 
 17 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " Poor particle of sand, in nature's hour-glass, 
 Falling unnoticed 'midst its myriad fellows ; 
 Poor plaything ! sought by youth to make his time pass, 
 Dropt from the hand as manhood's judgment mellows ; 
 Few are the tears that grace thy parting hour. 
 And hurrying life resumes its wonted power." 
 
 E. B. L. 
 
 rPHE lie at continued to be oppressive, and 
 Lilian felt ill and faint, when her hus- 
 band at length arrived, at a quarter to 
 twelve. He found her agitated and de- 
 pressed. Tlie old nurse proposed to send 
 for the surgeon ; and Edward, with the idea 
 that he was pouring balm into the afflicted 
 breast of his wife, assured her that he had 
 " sent for his mother," which he knew 
 '' would be a comfort to her." 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Patty, though ordered away by everyone 
 but Lilian, who clung to her hand, persisted 
 in remaining with her friend and mistress. 
 After many hours of pain and peril, a deli- 
 cate infant was born, whose sex brought 
 disappointment to the father, as he had 
 hoped for a boy. 
 
 " Give me the child," said the mother's 
 feeble voice, stretching weak arms from the 
 coverlet. She had heard a few words of 
 grumbling, and could have wept, had she. 
 not been too weak, at the thought that 
 her infant was un welcomed. Weaker she 
 was becoming every moment; but with 
 the first stirring of maternal love came an 
 intense desire for life. 
 
 " Am I worse than is usual ?" she said, 
 grasping the hand of the surgeon, as he put 
 liis finger on her pulse. " Do you think I 
 shall live or — die ?" she continued, with a 
 great effort, as if the pronunciation of the
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 19 
 
 word would bring about tlie fact, and with 
 a terrible eagerness in her eyes which were 
 fixed on his face. 
 
 The doctor was a pious man — Low Church. 
 
 "There is no sa}dng," said he, looking up 
 to the ceiling, " how far the arm of the 
 Lord may be stretched out to pluck you 
 from the depth of hell." 
 
 *' Oh ! I know what that means," she 
 said, tossing his hand away impatiently. " I 
 am dying ! — send for Edward ! — oh ! Patty, I 
 am dying ! — the arm of the Lord ! — I can't 
 expect a miracle ! — Edivard !" she gasped, 
 holding him by his curls, as she drew him 
 towards her, "send the child into the 
 country — she can't breathe here. Oh ! 
 Patty, promise you will take the child back 
 to Cornwall — Edward will pay you." 
 
 " My dearest, why this ?" 
 
 " Because I'm d}ing fast. I heard him 
 tell the nurse I should not be alive in two 
 
 c2
 
 20 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 hours. I should so hke to hve, for the poor 
 baby's sake !" 
 
 " You Avill Hve — you shall live !" said 
 Edward; "send for Doctor Victory — tell 
 him to come directly. Lie still and com- 
 pose yourself; you will get over this faint- 
 ness presently." 
 
 Lilian lay still, and Edward called the 
 surgeon, and heard from him the confirma- 
 tion of Lilian's convictions — she was sinking. 
 
 " Can nothing be done ?" 
 
 "Nothing, but a little stimulant now and 
 then." 
 
 A message now came from downstairs — 
 Miss Rivers wanted to speak to her brother ; 
 she was engaged to be married to a young 
 clergyman of high Puseyitish notions, who had 
 suggested the propriety of reading prayers 
 by the dying woman, but who could not 
 conscientiously do so, without first being 
 made aware of her religious impressions. 
 
 I
 
 CONSTANCE RIA^ERS. 21 
 
 " Surely you do not wisli your wife to go 
 out of the world like a heathen," said the 
 energetic sister; "who knows to what 
 future punishment your criminal indifference 
 may bring her?" 
 
 "I'm not indifferent, Maria; but, really, 
 if poor Lilian must die " 
 
 " Better that she should fall asleep in the 
 Lord," rejoined Miss Rivers. 
 
 Thus urged, Edward went on tip-toe to 
 the bed-side of his wife, and saw her sad 
 blue pinched face, and her colourless hand 
 placed over the little red arm of the newly- 
 born infant. Edward stooped over her, and 
 said, 
 
 " Lilian, give me some assurance of your 
 hopes in futurity." 
 
 LiHan opened her heavy eyes with imper- 
 fect perception. 
 
 " Open the window," she said faintly — " I 
 can't breathe !"
 
 22 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 " Give her her death of cold !" said the 
 nurse. 
 
 " What ! ojDen the window !" exclaimed 
 her mother-in-law ; " and she only brought 
 to bed a few hours !" 
 
 Patty threw open both windows, and the 
 draught of air revived for an instant the 
 dying girl. The nurse and Mrs. Rivers 
 hastened to shut them again; and, during 
 the unseemly scuffle which ensued, Edward 
 repeated his question, and the clerg}Tnan 
 stretched out his neck to catch the answer. 
 It was unsatisfactory, for some favourite lines 
 from Cato, often quoted by her uncle, hung 
 upon Lilian's lips, and she repeated them 
 now — 
 
 " The wide, the unbounded prospect is before me, 
 But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it." 
 
 " She is wandering," said Edward; " better 
 not disturb her." 
 
 The clergyman read the prayers for the
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 23 
 
 dying, till interrupted by tlie final convul- 
 sions — and the child was an orphan ! Truly, 
 like those of a celebrated hero of fiction, her 
 misfortunes began before she was born. 
 
 Mrs. Rivers, Avho had retired from the 
 room in dudgeon, after her passage of arms 
 with Patty, was awaiting the termination 
 of the domestic tragedy upstairs in company 
 with her daughter. 
 
 " She can't last long," said the mother-in- 
 law. '' I wonder if Edward will expect 
 me to take charge of that puling baby ?" 
 
 "I'm sure / should not," rejoined the 
 daughter, " whether he expected it or not. 
 A pretty thing, indeed, to give up one of 
 our rooms for a nursery — and to give you 
 and papa a squalling brat to disturb you in 
 your old age." 
 
 "Well as to that^ Jane, I'm not so very 
 old ', not but what a child, and a fresh 
 nursery, and all the trouble of a nurse, and
 
 24 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 always a separate fire, must be a great vexa- 
 tion." 
 
 "I wonder whether Edward will keep 
 this house, or let the remainder of the 
 lease ?" said Jane, with a floating thought 
 that her future husband might get it a 
 bargain from her brother under the circum- 
 stances. 
 
 " 'Tis all over, mum," said the nurse, 
 putting her head in at the door. " I've giv 
 the babe some gruel, and a drop of Dalby's 
 in it to set it to sleep, so we may have a 
 little peace, when we've laid out that poor 
 thing upstairs, which we is going to do now, 
 me and my helper." 
 
 "Where's Mr. Edward?" 
 
 " He's a-shut hisself up in his dressing- 
 room, and won't speak to no one." 
 
 " I think we will go home, Jane. We 
 shall get something to eat comfortable, and 
 Edward can come and speak to us in the
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 25 
 
 evening, when no one can see him, as it 
 would not be right to be seen out before 
 she is buried. Monstrous provoking, to be 
 sure, that Mrs. Edward should go to die 
 just now, this dreadful hot weather, just 
 when you've got set up with summer clothes 
 — a fine expense to go into mourning, too !" 
 
 "Well, ma, better she should die now, 
 than when she had half a dozen children to 
 plague us. I think we must forgive her the 
 season of the year, all the more as I don't 
 suppose she wished to die." 
 
 " No business to go and get married, that 
 IknoA\;of!" said the logical lady. "And 
 whilst she did die, 'twould have been a 
 mercy if she had taken that weakly child 
 with her. Just as I wanted to go to Rams- 
 gate, too, with you girls. And now I sup- 
 pose your father won't let us go till after 
 the funeral." 
 
 Edward, having wept away the first vio-
 
 26 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 lence of his sorrow, on emerging from his 
 dressing-room, heard sobs, and looking into 
 the chamber of death, saw Patty, with the 
 infant in her arms, trying to hush it to sleep, 
 to which the dose of Dalby's had not yet 
 been sufficiently potent to consign it. 
 
 "What is to be done with this child?" 
 was the question the father asked himself 
 
 " You seemed very fond of Mrs. Edward 
 Rivers," he said, addressing Patty. A fresh 
 burst of weeping was the reply. "Would 
 it suit you to remain with me, and take 
 charge of the child ?" 
 
 " Oh ! sir, I could not live here. I've 
 never felt able to breathe since I came up." 
 
 " Would you take the infant back to your 
 own home ?" 
 
 " You see, sir, I should not mind the 
 trouble for her that is gone, but I have 
 father at home, and a child makes a differ- 
 ence ; there's the fires, and then babes will
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 27 
 
 cry, and aggravate the men, just as they 
 want a good night's rest." 
 
 " I should pay you what is right, and 
 enough to satisfy your father," and the 
 young merchant ran over in his mind the 
 various expenses. "If I keep the child 
 there is the board of the nurse, £25, wages 
 £10 more, beer and washing £4 (£39) — 
 washing done cheaper in the country. If I 
 give her £50 a year to keep the child, and 
 provide its clothes, I shall do handsomely, 
 and not lose anything ; there will be a 
 constant fire in the nursery if it stays here 
 — that will momit up to £11 in the course 
 of the year." 
 
 It was agreed, therefore, that Patty 
 should write and suggest this arrangement 
 to her father. 
 
 " The child must be brought up by hand, 
 of course — a wet nurse would be an absm^d 
 expense," said the fatlier.
 
 28 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 "But if," said the careful Patty, "the 
 babe should pine away, and be likely to 
 die " 
 
 " Pooh ! nonsense ! — that will not die !" 
 he answered, unpatiently, and, sotto voce, 
 " had it been a boy, now, there might have 
 been some good in its li\TJig." 
 
 A week after, and the poor young wife 
 was consigned to Kensal Green Cemetery, 
 and Patty and the infant were sent off to 
 Cornwall, where both were forgotten by 
 the Rivers family, excepting when the 
 period of half-yearly payments reminded 
 Edward of his loving folly, as he now 
 considered it, and made him utter muttered 
 curses on its fruits — why did she not die ? — 
 she was always reported by Patty to be 
 " delicate." 
 
 Edward Rivers had not given up the 
 lease of liis house. He wiped his eyes, and 
 used them to look about liim, and ultimate-
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 29 
 
 ly fixed them on the coarse features of the 
 only daughter of a diysalter, whose father 
 was supposed to be enormously wealthy. 
 Edward was rather disappomted at finding 
 that £5,000 was all that liis future father- 
 in-law was willing to pay down on the 
 marriage ; but he had gone too far to re- 
 tract, and, besides, he lived in hopes of 
 better thmgs in the future ; so Miss Cheek 
 was, before six months had elapsed, estab- 
 lished as mistress of the cook and house- 
 maid and ci-devant muffin cap in Saint 
 Helen Square, and exerted her newly- 
 acquired authority in refurnishing and 
 restoring her rooms, and by dint of anti- 
 macassars, and a nimble tongue, she 
 banished deforming stams from the drawing 
 room, and the smokers themselves to 
 Edward's back room, or " study," as it was 
 called. Two little Rivers' gMs came like 
 olive branches to bless their parents round
 
 30 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 their table, and every year the £50 to 
 Lihan's child was more and more be- 
 grudged. 
 
 Eighteen years had elapsed since we in- 
 troduced Edward Rivers and his young wife 
 to the reader. Eighteen years passed in 
 successful scheming in toiling for wealth, 
 with varied fortune, but ever advancing in 
 position and consequence, had exalted hun 
 from Saint Helen Square to a handsome 
 house in Hanover Square, and a seat in Par- 
 liament, as representative for the Borough of 
 
 M . Eighteen years had preserved to him 
 
 also two daughters, now aged seventeen and 
 sixteen. Constance, the neglected child of his 
 lost Lilian, had been left undisturbed in the 
 possession of Patty Penrose, the game- 
 keepers daughter. Patty had been exalted, 
 too, in her way, and had been promoted to 
 be housekeeper in " the great house," as it 
 was called, where, as the possessor was not
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 31 
 
 in the habit of residing, Patty, or Mrs. Pen- 
 rose, as she was called, kept her young 
 charge, with great satisfaction to herself, for 
 the child was first an amusement, and then 
 a companion. The sum of fifty pounds was 
 mulct to pay for Constance's slender ward- 
 robe ; for Mr. Rivers had given a supple- 
 mentary five pounds occasionally, with such 
 unwillingness, that Patty preferred doing the 
 best with her small allowance, to makhig 
 any additional claim. 
 
 The tie of love between her and her 
 charge could have but one termination, and 
 that was hastening on. Constance's great- 
 uncle had been dead for some years ; but Mr. 
 Rivers one day received a letter from a 
 strano^er, who si^jned himself Rector of Saint 
 Eye, the village where Lilian had dwelt, 
 informing Mr. Rivers that the worthy wo- 
 man who had had the charge of his daughter 
 was at the point of death, and was very
 
 32 CONST^VXCE RIVEKS. 
 
 anxious that he should come or send for 
 " her dear child," as she called the young 
 lady, as soon as " the breath was out of her 
 body," for otherwise the poor thing would 
 be "so lonesome." 
 
 This appeal from an educated man, and a 
 gentleman — a man in his own sphere of life 
 — could not be disregarded by one who was 
 careful to pay the tithe of mint and anise 
 and cummin, whereby to obtain " the praise 
 of men." 
 
 Mr. Rivers put himself into the train on 
 the South Western Railway, and arrived at 
 Boscobel, or "the great house," as it was 
 called, late in the evening. The porter ad- 
 mitted him, and a female servant preceded 
 him on tiptoe to the room where Patty had 
 ceased to breathe. There was the stark 
 thing lying on the bed — the head and face 
 in shadow, and at the foot, with her head 
 bowed on her clasped hands, knelt a slender
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. S3 
 
 figure, whicli instinct told him it was Con- 
 stance. The noise of his approach, though 
 slight, aroused her, and she arose and stood 
 upright, seemingly defiant, in her grief, of any 
 interruption. Years seemed obliterated be- 
 fore the rocking brain of the father. Memory 
 recalled a slight extended figure, and Patty 
 sobbing over his infant. Now it seemed as 
 if his late wife stood living before him, and 
 Patty had taken her place on the bed of 
 death. Though Edward recognised his 
 daughter from her resemblance to his de- 
 ceased wife, she had no such land-mark to 
 guide her. He was to her but an unwelcome 
 witness of her desolation. 
 
 "I am Mr. Rivers — your father, my 
 dear." 
 
 " Mr. Rivers — my father !" repeated Con- 
 stance, slowly, after the speaker, as if trying 
 to attach some meanmg to the word. He 
 advanced and held out his hand, and, stoop- 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 ing forward, kissed lier brow. This salute 
 she suffered, but did not return ; and, sitting 
 doAvn by the side of the bed, she covered 
 her eyes with her hands, and sobbed con- 
 vulsively. 
 
 "" I have lost all the love I ever had," 
 would have been the words of her feel- 
 ings. 
 
 " I wonder how long that girl means to 
 sit crying there?" was her father's idea. 
 " My dear Constance, I have come down, with 
 much inconvenience to myself, to fetch you, 
 and I hope you will be ready to return 
 home with me to-morrow mornmg." 
 
 Constance arose from her seat. 
 
 " No — I will not return with you to-mor- 
 row — I will not leave her till — oh ! mother, 
 mother !" she cried, ilinghig herself on the 
 corpse, '^ what can I do without you !" 
 
 " You wish to remain till after the fune- 
 ral?" said her father. ^' Well, perhaps 'tis
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 35 
 
 natural, but by no means compulsatory, as 
 she was no relation in blood. However, 
 my dear, we won't begin witli a difference 
 of opinion ; I will go down and remain at 
 tbe little inn, and you will see tliat all is 
 done, as soon as it decently can be accom- 
 plished. I don't see the necessity for mourn- 
 ing." 
 
 " I do," said Constance. 
 
 " But if you wish it very much," said the 
 father, takmg no notice of the interruption, 
 " you may get what you please at the shop, 
 and send in the bill to me," and Edward 
 walked out of the room as if he had said a 
 generous thing. 
 
 d2
 
 36 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 He ever spoke, and wrote just as he ought, 
 But never reached one high or generous thought." 
 
 Pope. 
 
 IIR. RIVERS, as I have stated, walked 
 away witli an air of satisfaction in his 
 countenance, resulting from the conscious- 
 ness that he should be considered a generous 
 man by his daughter, and the few people 
 who smTOunded her. He went to the small 
 hotel and ordered his dinner and bed, for 
 he would not have Uked liis juxtaposition 
 with death, could he have obtained either, 
 at Boscobel. He awoke on the following 
 morning with a feeling of irritation against 
 Constance, for being the cause of his detention
 
 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 37 
 
 in Cornwall ; and a tliouglit passed through 
 his mind, whether he might obtain any re- 
 spectable person to escort his daughter to 
 London, leaving her to follow him. Then 
 through his mercantile brain ran quick cal- 
 culations of the double expense imposed by 
 such a course, and he hesitated al30ut adopt- 
 ing it. Perhaps some townswoman might 
 be going up, and would take charge of Con- 
 stance without any difficulty — at any event 
 he might make inquiries. 
 
 After his breakfast he strolled out, and 
 unconsciously took the 'old famihar road to- 
 wards the bridge, which stood opposite to 
 what he and Lilian had called " the bower 
 of roses by Bendemeer's stream." He 
 leaned over the grey stone parapet, and 
 looked at the glancing waters which had so 
 often reflected his form and Lilian's. Half 
 covered by yellow and white lichen were 
 her initials, which on one idle summer even-
 
 38 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 ing he had hollowed out by repeated strokes 
 of his knife. He turned towards the cot- 
 tage, and felt that he longed for the wel- 
 come he had once received within that 
 lowly porch. The verbena had climbed 
 higher, the roses and honeysuckle, and the 
 star-like blooms of the myrtle passed the 
 upper widows and adorned the thatch ; 
 but strange footsteps passed in and out, and 
 looks which gave no response to his. His 
 dream of a life passed with Lilian had been 
 broken as completely as the bubble blown 
 by the child, gorgeous in rainbow colours, 
 subsides into common soap and water at the 
 touch of his finger. 
 
 " Ah ! well, I was but a boy then, and a 
 fool, of course — I have more sense and ex- 
 perience now, and know what it is to look 
 after the main chance. This poor girl will be 
 a terrible log — very beautiful, though — get 
 lier off my hands as soon as I can — the
 
 CONSTANCE EIYEES. 39 
 
 women won't give her much peace, nor me 
 either, so long as she is in the house. I was 
 a fool to marry so young; but, then, one 
 cannot always be wise — other people may be 
 foolish too," said he, thinking of Constance's 
 beauty; and his memory wandered to a weal- 
 thy alderman of his acquaintance, who might 
 like a young wife as lovely as Constance, 
 and he made a memorandum to ask him to 
 dinner so soon as he got home. It was true 
 that he was coarse in person, and weak in 
 intellect, but he was a good connection in 
 the mercantile world. Constance ought to 
 be glad of such a wealthy match. 
 
 Men seem to think that their sex should 
 have a monopoly m acts of folly as regards 
 matrimony. Constance's inclinations, or the 
 reverse, should not be consulted. 
 
 Letters which arrived by the afternoon 
 post, following him from London, determined 
 him to return mthout waiting for Constance ;
 
 40 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 SO lie called on her, and informed her of the 
 necessity, and promised her to send his foot- 
 man to escort her to London. She saw that 
 she was expected to be grateful, and ex- 
 pressed due thanks. She had no love for 
 her father, for she felt little gratitude for 
 the bare gift of existence, which had not 
 been a happy one ; or for the grudged allow- 
 ance, which had scarcely repaid her foster- 
 mother for her board and clothing. Her 
 heart seemed scared when that kind woman 
 was laid in the earth ; and Constance, on the day 
 following, was placed in a first-class carriage 
 by the grave London footman, who took his 
 place in the second class.
 
 41 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Love seizes us suddenly, without giving us warning, 
 and our disposition or our weakness favours the surprise — 
 one look at, one glance from the fair determines us." 
 
 La Bruyere. 
 
 pONSTANCE travelled alone for some time. 
 She had followed her incliuation in or- 
 dering deep mourning, and her beautiful face 
 was concealed by a thick crape veil, which, 
 heing thrown back so as to be doubled, hung 
 down and concealed all but the rounded 
 chin. So long as the daylight continued, 
 Constance was content; but as it grew towards 
 twilight, she became nervous, and when the 
 footman, on the stopping of the train at one 
 of the stations, came and silently touched 
 his hat, to mquire if she wanted anything,
 
 42 CONSTAXCE KIVERS. 
 
 she leant towards him, and said tremu- 
 lously — 
 
 " James, are there plenty of people in 
 your carriage ?" 
 
 " Yes, miss — plenty." 
 
 " Oh ! James, I should like to go there 
 too." 
 
 " Could not be thought of, miss — ^master 
 would never get over it." 
 
 His daughter travelling second class in- 
 deed! 
 
 " Oh ! James, could you not come and 
 sit here, I'm so afraid ?" 
 
 James was an elderly man, bound to a 
 wife who was carefully secreted from his 
 master s knowledge ; but he simpered at this 
 proposition — 
 
 " No, miss, it cannot be — 'tis against na- 
 ture that a footman should travel Avith Ms 
 yoimg misses. I've took my ticket second 
 class, and master won't pay it if I change it."
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 43 
 
 He looked at the otlier first-class carriages, 
 but tliey were full. "You won't take no 
 harm," he continued, patronizingly — " I'll 
 look to ye whenever the train stops." 
 
 So Constance sat down again, flushed and 
 mortified at having made a proposition which 
 had been considered absurd, if not improper. 
 
 At the next station a gentleman got in. 
 The train had only stopped a few minutes, 
 and it was too dark for him to distinguish 
 anything but a heap of black in the further 
 corner. He did not trouble himself to find 
 out the sex of the other occupant of the 
 carriage, but arranged his wrapper comfort- 
 ably. 
 
 " Man or woman, I wonder ?" were his 
 thoughts. " If a man, I may smoke ; if a 
 woman, I need not know her sex, and being 
 alone she probably won't complain." 
 
 So he lit his cigar. At the next station the 
 gas flmig its sudden light on every object
 
 44 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 clearly. C ons tance had shrunk into the furthest 
 corner, trying to diminish her size, and hung 
 her head to conceal the small portion of her 
 face which might possibly peep out. A 
 mortal terror possessed her. Her compan- 
 ion, in the meantime, observed her figure, 
 slender, and youthful, and shrinkmg. The 
 gentleman — for society accorded him that 
 rank — was tall and well-built. His fair hair 
 curled in waves of soft gold over his rather 
 depressed forehead. His whiskers were long 
 and red, as was his moustache, which half- 
 cealed a projecting sensual mouth, thick- 
 lipped and large. His eyes, originally blue, 
 were partly closed by their tumid lids, which, 
 as well as the blood-shot eyeballs, bespoke 
 indulgence, if not intemperance. He was 
 about thirty-five years of age. He took out 
 his Bradshaw. " Half an hour before we 
 reach the next station — plenty of time to 
 begin, and make an acquaintance."
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 45 
 
 And lie arose, and leaving his place, seated 
 himself by the side of his companion, from 
 whom no compartment in the carriage 
 separated him. Some little time afterwards, 
 a gentleman asleep in the next carriage 
 heard somethmg knocking agauist the win- 
 dow, and letting it down caught the end of 
 a parasol, and heard piercing cries for 
 " Help ! help !" from a female voice. The 
 lady, for it was Constance, was leaiung out of 
 the carriage mndow, so as to be in danger of 
 falling. The gentleman shouted to the 
 guard, but with no chance of being heard. 
 Then he climbed out of the window of his 
 carriage, and stepped along the l*edge till he 
 reached her. 
 
 " What is it ? What is hurting you ?" 
 " Oh ! help !" repeated the girl, giving no 
 explanation ; but the gentleman heard brutal 
 oaths from the other occupant of the car- 
 riage. " Take me out !" said Constance,
 
 46 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 breathlessly. "Let me stand wliere you are!" 
 
 " Better not — better wait — the train is 
 slackening its speed — it will stop in a few 
 minutes." 
 
 Constance leant lierlieadon the gentleman's 
 arm heavily. She had fainted. Now the 
 offender was on the side of the carriage 
 nearest to the platform; when the train 
 stopped, he called a porter, and, stepping out, 
 was lost in the darkness, whilst Constance's 
 new acquaintance was busy in supporting 
 her and calling for assistance. He was on 
 the side of the carriage furthest from the 
 platform, and he could get no one near 
 him, and feared that Lily would fall and 
 hurt herself if he let her go. 
 
 At length he dropped her gently, and ran 
 along the ledge of the carriages till he 
 rounded the last, and climbing on to the 
 platform gave an alarm — 
 
 " Lady ill !"
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 47 
 
 " Whicli carriage, sir?" said a porter indif- 
 ferently ; " train only waits three and half 
 minutes here, sir — better get in — fresh air 
 will revive the lady." 
 
 The gentleman ran on ; he had counted 
 the carriages, and found Constance lying 
 where he had dropped her. He sprang 
 in, the door was slammed by the porter, 
 and the journey continued, giving Constance 
 every advantage of " fresh air " from the 
 velocity of the train, and mth this time 
 a man of honour and humanity as her 
 companion. 
 
 Sir Eustace Yorke — for so he was called — 
 raised Constance up, untied the strings of her 
 bonnet, seated her by his side, and turned 
 her pale face to meet the wind. Her bonnet, 
 thus released, fell off, and her rich dark 
 hair fell dishevelled on her shoulders and 
 bosom. Blue shadows surrounded her lids, 
 her nostrils looked pmched and contracted,
 
 48 CONSTANCE EIVEES. 
 
 her mouth slightly open and colourless, yet 
 the form of the oval face was perfect, and 
 the eyelashes, thickly fringing the purple 
 lids, dark as death. 
 
 Sir Eustace was a soldier, and had often 
 pressed his fingers on the fluttering pulse of 
 a wounded or sinking comrade, but had 
 never before manipulated so delicate a 
 wrist. She lay with her head supported on 
 his breast, as she recovered her senses 
 slowly, and fixed her eyes with vagTie terror 
 on his, when they renewed their speculation. 
 Then she mthdrew herself with instinctive 
 modesty from his supporting arm, and sunk 
 back in the carriage. 
 
 " That scomidrel ! — I wish I could have 
 caught him," he exclaimed, impetuously. 
 " Should you recognize him if you saw him 
 again ? Could you swear to his person ?" 
 
 Sir Eustace had seen no one, but from 
 Constance's cries, and from the oaths he had
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 49 
 
 heard, lie knew tliat a man had been the 
 aggressor. 
 
 " No, I do not know him — I could not 
 swear to him! " sobbed Constance, who was not 
 speaking truth, and knew it ; but her school 
 of morality had not been a strict one, and 
 when a lie was more convenient than the 
 truth, she lied ; but the look of earnestness 
 in the face of her companion made her 
 ashamed of the falsehood — " besides," she 
 stammered, " I should not like — if I could 
 identify hun — in a court of justice — it would 
 be so — shocking !" and a beautiful flush 
 arose over her lovely face, and pleaded for 
 forbearance. 
 
 " I can understand your reluctance," said 
 her companion ; " but really such ruffians 
 ought to be punished, and the natural 
 objection Avhich a modest woman has to 
 make such a charge ought not to defeat 
 the ends of justice. But surely you are too 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 young and too " — " beautiful " was the word 
 on his tongue, but he changed it into " too 
 helpless to travel alone." 
 
 " My father's footman is somewhere in 
 the train — in a second-class carriage," said 
 Constance, hurriedly ; and she was glad that 
 her new friend should think that she was 
 cared for by some one. 
 
 " Not much use there," said her new 
 acquaintance ; " but it is a comfort that you 
 are safe, and recovering. Do you expect 
 any friends to meet you at the terminus, or 
 IB this useful footman to escort you home ?" 
 
 "■ I don't know," said Constance. "I have 
 never been in my father's house since I was 
 a week old." 
 
 And then she told Sir Eustace how she 
 had hved with her foster-mother in an old 
 country-seat in Cornwall, and how dreary 
 she felt at the death of her protectress. 
 This she said simply, in answer to questions
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 51 
 
 put by Sir Eustace. She seemed to have 
 no idea of enlisting his sympathies, nor to 
 care particularly for the interest his manner 
 showed in the narration. She seemed pos- 
 sessed by a settled sorrow, which gave a 
 plaintive expression to those downcast and 
 deeply-shadowed blue eyes. 
 
 The train stopped at length, and the de- 
 mand for the tickets indicated that they 
 were near the end of their journey. When 
 this took place, the footman came to the 
 door of the carriage, and announced that 
 his mistress's carriage had come to meet Miss 
 Rivers. 
 
 "Allow me to conduct you," said Sir 
 Eustace, and they followed the man to 
 where the carriag-e stood. The footman 
 
 o 
 
 held his arm, and Constance stepped into the 
 presence of her father's wife and her sisters- 
 in-law. 
 
 Sir Eustace gave a hurried glance at the 
 
 E 2
 
 52 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 occupants of the carriage. He saw the 
 coarse face of the mistress, and those of her 
 daughters, only less developed, and sighed 
 to think of the association to which his new 
 acquaintance would be exposed. He feared, 
 too, that they looked ill-tempered, though, 
 as he took off his hat and bowed, to pro- 
 pitiate them towards their young relative, 
 they smoothed their sullen brows as swiftly 
 as circumstances permitted, and bowed 
 graciously in return. Sir Eustace could 
 not see the termination of his acquaint- 
 ance with Constance without a struggle to 
 continue it. 
 
 " May I be permitted to call and inquire 
 after the health of Miss Rivers? Her 
 journey must have been a fatiguing one." 
 
 '• Certainly — much honoured," said Mrs. 
 Rivers, as Sir Eustace presented his card. 
 " We live at No. — , Hanover Square," said 
 Mrs. Rivers.
 
 CONSTANCE EIVEKS. 53 
 
 Sir Eustace bowed again, and with one 
 stealthy look at Constance, that last look which 
 always betrays so much,, he retreated, and 
 the carriage rolled away. With him de- 
 parted the sunshine from the face of the 
 mother and her daughters.
 
 54 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " Woe is me that I am compelled to dwell in Meleck, and 
 have my habitation among the tents of Kedar." 
 
 Psalms. 
 
 " TTOU seem to have picked up a fine 
 beau on your travels, Miss Rivers. 
 Pray did you come all tlie way from Corn- 
 wall with him ?" 
 
 Constance explained that he had only come 
 a short distance with her in the same carriage, 
 and said nothing of the circumstances that 
 had led to their acquaintance. 
 
 The females took a deliberate survey of 
 Constance's mourning. They were in mourning 
 for the deceased Mrs. Cheek, the mother of 
 Mrs. Rivers, and, as she had no money to 
 leave, the mourning was less superb than
 
 COXSTANCE RIVERS. 55 
 
 the ladies wisliecl it to be. Mr. Rivers's 
 axiom, that '' no one should mourn for those 
 who did not leave enough to purchase a 
 pocket-handkerchief to wipe away the tears 
 that should be shed," had not been com- 
 pletely, but very nearly acted on. Old 
 mourning had been made to try to look 
 ^' as good as new," in which sad attempt it 
 never succeeds, and the ladies cast surly 
 looks askant at Constance's fresh mourning, 
 which showed to advantage her slender, 
 faultless proportions, 
 
 " I wonder what she gave for her new 
 gloves, ma ?" said the youngest. 
 
 " Ask her, mum," said Miss Charlotte. 
 
 " What did you give for your gloves. 
 Miss R. ?" said the mother. 
 
 " I really do not know. My father, Mr. 
 Rivers, ordered the mourning to be sent. 
 I did not see the bill." 
 
 " Umph !" said the lady.
 
 5Q CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 " I think papa might give us new gloves. 
 I'm sure ive want them badly enough." 
 
 " Hush !" said the mother. " Pray why 
 did you order broivn-hlsick bombazeen ? I 
 believe the person for whom you are in 
 mourning was no relation. Such an affecta- 
 tion ! I'm sure blue-black would have been 
 much better !" 
 
 " My foster-mother was not indeed related 
 to me by birth, but she was the dearest 
 friend I ever had, and I loved her better 
 than anyone else in the world. There are 
 some who are ' more than km and less than 
 kind,' " said Constance, with some spirit. 
 
 " I shall inform your father. Miss Rivers, 
 of your filial feelings of love and gratitude," 
 retorted the lady. 
 
 " As you please," said Constance, inclining 
 her head. 
 
 " I suppose I shall do as I please, mtliout 
 the permission of such — " and the conclu-
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 5 7 
 
 sion was whispered iii the ears of her daugh- 
 ters, "an unpudent hussy as that T 
 
 Constance was silent during the rest of the 
 drive, seeming to look out on the various 
 shops, with their variety of attractions, but 
 she saw nothing but the housekeeper's room, 
 now untenanted, where she had passed her 
 life by Patty's side ; and the remembrance 
 'of that kind woman's tenderness made her 
 eyes fill with tears — a sign of sensibility 
 which Mrs. Rivers considered as a proof that 
 the girl was going to " knock under," as she 
 informed Miss Charlotte in a whisper. 
 
 Mr. Rivers had not returned when they 
 reached home, and Constance was sho^vn to 
 her small room at the top of the house, which 
 looked out on the leads and a wilderness of 
 smoky chimneys. She was to be sole occu- 
 pant, however, and there was comfort in 
 that. She sat down, rather out of breath 
 from the unusual ascent, for at Boscobel the
 
 58 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 old staircases were c^entlv mclinecl, with a 
 lordly disregard of tlie space required for 
 their construction. As she sat, she contem- 
 plated the washing-stand, with its small bit 
 of common soap, and its meagre supply of 
 towels. There was nothing else to look at, 
 excepthig the ugly bro^^vn and yellow stripes 
 on the paper ; but dull and unumting as was 
 the prospect, it was less so than the un- 
 friendly faces which would greet her des- 
 cent. She looked about for her portman- 
 teau, feeling that it was her only relic of 
 home now — of her lost home ; but it had not 
 been brought up, and Constance could find 
 no bell. She went down, and discovered it in 
 the hall, and, too tunid to ring for help, she 
 dragged it slowly and breathlessly to her 
 den, meeting Mrs. Elvers on the second 
 flight, who told her that she was living 
 amongst ladies noii\ and must not demean 
 herself with such servants' work.
 
 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 59 
 
 Her Avisli to be independent of lielp had 
 induced her to order her dresses to be made 
 to fasten in front, so that she had no occa- 
 sion to ask aid of the lady's-maid, whose ser- 
 vices were in constant requisition by the 
 mother and her daughters. When dressed 
 in her Ioav mourning dinner-dress, she looked 
 so brilliantly fair and so beautiful, that her 
 father started at seeing her enter the draw- 
 ing-room before dinner, and, with some 
 show of tenderness, came forward to em- 
 brace her. 
 
 This feelmc^ of admiration and nascent 
 affection was observed with rancour by Mrs. 
 Rivers, who saw Avith vexation how clumsy 
 m person, and thick and muddy in com- 
 plexion, were her o^vn guis by the side of 
 the new comer. 
 
 "You are the eldest," said her father, 
 who, after helping his Avife to fish, inquired 
 if Constance Avould eat any.
 
 60 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 "" Oh ! yes, Constance is older than we are," 
 chorused the gkls, spitefully ; " she is quite 
 welcome to the dignity of being helped 
 before us." 
 
 "Not so very old, notwithstanding," said 
 her father, good-naturedly ; " only about 
 eighteen, I think, so you need not blush for 
 your age, Miss Rivers." 
 
 Constance was blushing, but from what min- 
 gled feelings none could know. She was left 
 to eat her dinner, or to leave it uneaten, for 
 the stream of conversation was of persons of 
 whom Constance knew nothing. Not much 
 trouble hadbeen taken to cultivate Constance's 
 natural quickness of intellect, and she would 
 have been puzzled to have been required to 
 talk abstractedly, could her new relations 
 have led to such subjects ; but they could 
 not. Mr. Rivers had sought neither culti- 
 vation, intellect, nor beauty in his second 
 choice. I am not sure he was not right in
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 61 
 
 limiting liis requirements to so many thou- 
 sands in tlie tliree per cents, for on that 
 subject there could be neither disappoint- 
 ment nor delusion when the sum was once 
 ascertained.
 
 62 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " The flower transplanted to ungenial soil 
 Droops its sad head, vnth petals pale, though folded, 
 And flings weak tendrils to the biting air, 
 Craving support — no friendly branches near." 
 
 Anon. 
 
 DEADER, did you ever observe a young 
 pullet turned into a strange farmyard ? 
 It tries to walk about as if it were unno- 
 ticed, in mortal terror all tlie time of tlie 
 old bens, who sweep about with wings 
 drooping over broods of well-cared for 
 chickens — of half-grown, lively fowls, who 
 run eagerly to any slight disturbance in the 
 earth which may indicate a buried worm, 
 and give a vicious peck at the stranger as 
 tliey pass — of that stately black Spanish
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 63 
 
 bird, a spinster seemingly, and more spite- 
 ful, therefore, wlio drives the poor pullet 
 before her, and will not let her consort 
 with any member of the farmyard. If you 
 have witnessed this, you may have some 
 idea of Constance's life at George Street. 
 
 Wlien she came down to breakfast, from 
 natm-al politeness, she said, " Good morn- 
 ing " to the company generally — a piece of 
 dvihty to which no one responded. Mr, 
 Rivers had his bald head bent over the 
 Times, Mrs. Rivers was making the tea, the 
 two girls never lifted their heads from their 
 plates. One of those sickening London 
 loaves stood in the centre of the table, 
 denuded of crust at the four sides, where it 
 had been baked in juxtaposition with many 
 neighbours ; a rack of dry toast, containing 
 just enough for the company in the number 
 of slices, with the exception of Constance — thi.^ 
 made the whole of the breakfast. Constance
 
 64 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 drew the loaf towards her, seeing the toast 
 rack emptied by eager fingers, cut a small 
 slice from the mitempting block of bread, 
 but she could not eat it — it seemed like 
 trying to masticate sponge. She gave it up, 
 and drank hastily part of the weak, cream- 
 less tea served to her by her step-mother. 
 
 '' You haven't been accustomed to such 
 tea as that in Ctornwall?" — Constance bowed 
 — " made of Thames water." 
 
 Constance started, and set down the half- 
 emptied cup. 
 
 " Well ?" — interrogatively. 
 
 "You cannot mean, madam, that the tea 
 is made of water from the Thames as it is in 
 this neighbourhood ?" 
 
 " Yes, it is," said the lady — " the best 
 water in the world for making tea — so 
 soft!" 
 
 " No less than seven bodies were drawn 
 out of the river yesterday, in various stages
 
 CONSTANCE RIVEES. ^5 
 
 of decomposition," said Mr. Rivers, reading 
 from the Times, not hearing or attending to 
 the conversation going on. 
 
 Constance said nothing, but begged for a 
 little milk, emptying the remainder of the 
 tea into the slop-basin. 
 
 " You can have as much as I kept for 
 your second cup," said Mrs. Rivers ; " but 
 milk is dear in London, and what we buy, 
 dear as it is, is half water," 
 
 " None, thank you," said Constance. 
 
 Mrs. Rivers had unconsciously hit on an 
 effectual plan for preventing Constance from 
 drinking milk. Constance had been the dar- 
 ling of Patty Penrose, whose means, though 
 not abundant, had sufficed to procure shnple 
 indulgences for her adopted daughter, who 
 had been to a degree spoilt and unfitted for 
 a different mode of life. Milk, cream, fresh 
 eggs, vegetables and fruit, preserves and 
 honey, had always been abundant in her 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 
 
 Cornish home. She was a water-drinker, 
 and enjoyed the cold, fresh, sparkhng 
 draught from the deep wells at Boscobel, 
 and thought with dismay with what fluid 
 she must relieve her thirst in London. 
 
 "Wliat do you drmk at luncheon and 
 dinner ?" she asked timidly. 
 
 ^' Beer for luncheon — ^beer and wine for 
 dinner," said Mr. Rivers snappishly; "every- 
 body does !" 
 
 Constance remembered that she had an ap- 
 ple in her travelling-bag, and waited till break- 
 fast was concluded to return to her room 
 and eat it. "That crude apple that diverted 
 Eve " was probably more appetizing, and, it 
 is to be hoped, more " sweet in the mouth," 
 however bitter in digestion, to our first pa- 
 rent. Constance was still hmigry, and hoped 
 for better things at luncheon-tune ; but it 
 was not ten o'clock, and how to get through 
 the hours till one was a puzzle. Her father
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 67 
 
 relieved her from the difficulty in some de- 
 gree. 
 
 "Here are some silk handkercliiefs I 
 bought yesterday, Constance — ^let me see 
 how you can hem them," and he tossed the 
 bundle to her. 
 
 She took them cheerfully. 
 
 " Certainly, papa." When Mr. Rivers 
 had departed, she said to her mother-in-law, 
 who was standing by, " Could you be so 
 good as to give me some ingrained scarlet 
 thread or silk? I have nothing but black 
 and white reels of cotton." 
 
 Mrs. Rivers said she would inquire if her 
 maid had any — then that she would buy 
 some cotton when she went out m the car- 
 riage after luncheon. 
 
 " Is there no shop in the neighbourhood 
 where I could procure some myself, by 
 walking?" 
 
 Her mother-in-law rejoined with a sneer 
 
 f2
 
 68 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 " that ladies did not walk alone in London, 
 and that the footmen could not be spared to 
 attend her." 
 
 Thus balked, Constance carefully refolded 
 the handkerchiefs, and put them aside with a 
 sigh — she had wished to please her father 
 by hemming them before he returned from 
 the City, and she did not now know how 
 otherwise to employ herself. She strolled 
 into the drawing-room ; the youngest, Jane, 
 was seated stately at a table in the inner 
 room, with Italian grammar and dictionary 
 before her — pens, paper, ink, and a copy of 
 that sickly bygone Italian romance, " / Pro- 
 messi Sposi^ She was awaiting the arrival 
 of her Italian master. A harp was in a 
 corner of the largest drawing-room — a grand 
 piano on one side of it. Constance had 
 8een a small one at school, but her education 
 had not extended to extras^ and she knew 
 nothing about music. She put the tip of
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 69 
 
 her finger on one of the keys, but started at 
 tlie sound, as Miss Jane asked her if she 
 was " fond of music ?" 
 
 Constance did not know — she supposed 
 the singing of the charity children in church 
 could not be called music — if that was 
 music she thought it very tiresome, and if 
 the verses were to be got through as a part 
 of devotion, she did not see why they should 
 not be read, which might be done much 
 quicker, and without the irksome repetition 
 of the last line. 
 
 " Then," said Miss Jane, " I suppose you 
 do not like going to church ?" 
 
 Constance considered for a moment. 
 
 " I think I like best to sit on a stile on 
 Sunday afternoons, and look down the 
 lovely valleys, and see the people going to 
 church — the men in their smock frocks, and 
 the women in their red cloaks. Then the 
 village bells sound very like beautiful music,
 
 70 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 and sometimes a funeral train winds 
 along amongst tlie trees, the people sing- 
 ing their hymns as they go. I like those 
 somids. 
 
 Miss Jane determined to astonish her new 
 sister-in-law by a performance very different 
 from this, consisting of the execution ofViolli's 
 Concerto in G on the piano ; but the an- 
 nouncement of the Italian master put a stop 
 to the proceeding. 
 
 Constance found an illustrated volume on 
 the table, with which she amused herself. The 
 youngest girl and her mother did not appear 
 till the luncheon-bell rang. Constance was 
 very hungry, but her distaste to the bread 
 and butter was fresh in the mind. There was 
 a small triangular piece of cold rice pud- 
 ding, the bread and butter and some beer — 
 that was all. Mrs. Rivers helped herself to 
 the whole of the pudding — the girls to some 
 bread and butter.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 71 
 
 "Maylliave some cheese?" said Constance, 
 whose dislike of the viands extended to the 
 butter. 
 
 ""We never eat cheese excepting at proper 
 times," said Miss Jane, sternly. 
 
 "When is that?" said Constance, simply. 
 
 " After dinner, of course." 
 
 The footman who had escorted Constance 
 from Cornwall heard all, and felt a relenting 
 of pity towards the strange girl. 
 
 " Miss," he whispered, as Constance, unable 
 to eat, left the dining-room, " if you've got 
 sixpence to spare, I'll step out and get you 
 some biscuits." 
 
 Constance, flushedwith shame and pleasure, 
 and by the good-nature of James, made a 
 hearty, though frugal meal. After luncheon 
 a consultation was carried on in secret be- 
 tween Mrs. Rivers and her eldest daughter, 
 and it was determined to send out Constance 
 and Miss Charlotte in the carriage, whilst the
 
 72 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 other two ladies sat up dressed in the 
 drawing-room, to receive Sir Eustace Yorke, 
 if he called. 
 
 Constance did not rebel. Sir Eustace had 
 been very kmd, but it could be no great 
 pleasure to see him in the presence of those 
 who would be sure to inflict some slight, or 
 " snub," on her, which would have added 
 effect by being done or said in the presence 
 of a stranger. So the ladies arranged the 
 drawing-room in a style of elegant negli- 
 gence, which seemed to consist of piling the 
 centre table with ornaments and photo- 
 graph-books, till not an mch was left vacant. 
 Mrs. Rivers sat on a sofa on one side of the 
 fire-place, and Miss Jane on the other. 
 The two ladies spread the ample folds of 
 their dresses over the couch, and looked at 
 each other critically. 
 
 " Oh ! mamma," said Jane, " those 
 cherry ribbons in your cap — they are
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 73 
 
 really — tliey make you look — like — a house- 
 keeper !" 
 
 " Well, / tliouglit tliey was becoming," 
 said tlie lady, rather nettled; "but I'll 
 put on the pale pink, if you like." 
 
 " Grey is best, ma, for your — a — com- 
 plexion — I mean," said the dutiful daughter, 
 correcting herself. 
 
 " And as we are speaking our minds, 
 Jane," continued Mrs. Rivers, " your dress 
 is too tight in the waist; it pushes your 
 shoulders to your ears." 
 
 '' Really, mamma, it is very unpleasant to 
 tell me that now, when I can't change the 
 dress. It makes one feel so awkward to 
 be told so, just as one is expecting company, 
 and thinkmg one looks nice." 
 
 " Ah ! well ! Stephens can let it out 
 under the arms a little another time. I 
 hope the young man means to come — 'tis 
 getting on to three o'clock."
 
 74 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 
 
 She yawned, suffering under an inclina- 
 tion to an afternoon nap, but remembered 
 the new head-dress, and sat bolt up- 
 right. 
 
 " No one knows what I undergo for the 
 sake of my children, and they are not over- 
 grateful 1" she meditated. " Is Stephens 
 getting on with those handkerchiefs ?" after 
 a pause. 
 
 " Yes, to be sure, mum. I've taken care 
 that they shall be done before pa comes 
 back." 
 
 So they sat, and started at every knock 
 and ring at the bell. At length James was 
 heard ascendmg the stairs. Miss Jane's dull 
 skin flushed to a purple tint in expectation. 
 The mother assumed an air of added dig- 
 nity, when, instead of the aristocratic figure 
 of Sir Eustace, a little weedy-legged youth 
 swung himself into the room with a look 
 of good-humoured assurance, resulting from
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 75 
 
 the usually kind welcome these ladies had 
 formerly vouchsafed to him. 
 
 " Dear me ! 'tis you^ then, Mr. Mag," 
 said Jane, sinking down again into her seat, 
 from which she had risen m expectation. 
 
 "Yes, 'tis meT said the ungrammatical 
 youth. "What's up? Best silks on ! Ten 
 and six the yard, / know ! But I thought 
 you was in mourning for the old lady ?" 
 
 " My mourning," with a heav}^ sigh, " was 
 up yesterday," said Mrs. Rivers. " My dear 
 mother says in her last illness — ' Charlotte,' 
 says she, ' conform to the tunes — you've 
 dooties to society, my dear — six months is 
 plenty for you and the dear girls to mourn. 
 You must harrow your own feelings for the 
 sake of society, and mourn for me in what- 
 ever colour is fashionable.' Says I — 
 ' Mother, we will !' It hurts our feelings," 
 continued the lady, "but we do our dooty." 
 
 Mr. Theophilus Mag heard tliis account
 
 76 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 witli sundry winks and nods of approbation. 
 The winks Avere at Jane, the nods at Mrs. 
 Rivers. 
 
 " You thought / should drop in to-day," 
 said Theophilus, with a languishing look at 
 Miss Jane. 
 
 "Well! if you will have the truth," said 
 Jane, " we were expecting Sir Eustace 
 Yorke every moment." 
 
 " My eye ! he is a swell ! and no mistake — 
 that's what the dresses mean, then," said Mr. 
 Mag. " I am thick with his mother. Lady 
 Yorke. Magnificent woman ! lots of tin — 
 looks tenderly on your humble servant — 
 but no — never sell myself for filthy pelf. I 
 know where my heart's engaged." 
 
 Another wmk. 
 
 " So you know Lady Yorke ?" said Mrs. 
 Rivers, curiously. 
 
 " Intimately — hand and glove." 
 
 Mr. Theophilus Mag, after taking a five-
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 77 
 
 shillings' worth in the gallery of the opera, 
 had seen Lady Yorke step mto her carriage, 
 and inquired her name of the box-keeper. 
 A foundation sufficient for Mr. Mag's super- 
 structure. 
 
 '' How long have you known Sir Eus- 
 tace ?" 
 
 " Some time," said Jane, coming up to her 
 mother's assistance. 
 
 ^' Oh ! some time ! Indeed ! I wonder I 
 have never met him here," said the credu- 
 lous youth, who began to fear he had not 
 been asked to some " swell " parties given by 
 the Rivers. 
 
 "You shall be asked to meet him the 
 next time he dines here," said Mrs. Rivers, 
 sweetly ; for Mag Ph^e was well to do, and 
 Theophilus was his eldest son. 
 
 Jane, in the meantime, was uneasy lest the 
 new acquamtance should come whilst Mr. 
 Mag remained, and every sound at the front
 
 78 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 door made her turn sick with apprehension. 
 She looked with disgust at the conspicuously 
 gigantic stripe in each leg of his gay trou- 
 sers; at his canary waistcoat, and purple and 
 crimson tie. He was a very short man, and, 
 seemingly fearful of being overlooked in 
 the world, he tried to compel attention to 
 liis person by a tasteless mixture of colours, 
 to add importance to a turned-up nose and 
 freckled face. 
 
 Still, had he been content to remain 
 tranquil, and sit in the shadowed part of 
 the drawing-room, it might not have been 
 so bad ; but Jane feared that Sir Eustace 
 should hear discussed before her the last 
 news about Anonpnas, and their arrange- 
 ments, with which fi-ji conversation Theo- 
 philus was in the habit of regaling her mo- 
 ther and herself, interspersed with boasts of 
 being intimate with those worthy ladies 
 liimself.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 79 
 
 Jane got up, and moved uneasily about 
 tlie room, in order to give their guest a hint 
 to depart ; but he was too determined to have 
 an introduction to Sir Eustace, to trouble 
 himself to see her efforts to get rid of 
 him. 
 
 At length she observed to Mrs. Rivers 
 that it was getting late, and she thought Sir 
 Eustace had probably been prevented com- 
 ing then. With a lucky inspiration of genius, 
 she added — 
 
 " I should so like you to have met, Mr. 
 Mag, for as you know Lady Yorke so well, 
 it would have been so pleasant to have 
 something for you to talk to him about." 
 
 Mr. Mag heard, and started — 
 
 " He was so sorry — he had just remem- 
 bered an engagement^ — must say ta ta. Come 
 again soon," looking lovingly at Jane, whose 
 face he nearly touched with his own in shak- 
 ing hands with her. Then, with a leave-
 
 80 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 
 
 taking scarcely less tender to Mrs. Rivers, 
 he departed. Both ladies heaved a sigh of 
 relief, and readjusted their silk folds to catch 
 the light becomingly, but in vain. Sir Eus- 
 tace did not come. 
 
 Constance found her companion silent, and 
 as she had not much to observe, their conver- 
 sation was confined to monosyllables. She 
 had her veil doubled over her face as usual ; 
 but from under its fold she looked out on 
 the stream of carriages and equestrians pass- 
 ing, till she was weary of the crowd of faces, 
 amongst whom she knew no one. The car- 
 riage was open, and she was half wishmg that 
 the order "turn," so unceasingly given, might 
 be changed for " home," when a delicate 
 gloved hand was placed on the window, and 
 a voice which Constance recognised " hoped 
 she had recovered the — " he hesitated — 
 " fatigues of her journey." 
 
 She flushed, and answered hurriedly, with
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 81 
 
 a glance at her companion, that she was 
 " quite well ;" and then thinking she was 
 ungracious, she added that she could not be 
 sufficiently grateful for his kindness during 
 the period of her travelling in his company. 
 She looked again quickly at Miss Charlotte, 
 and Sir Eustace understood that she ^vished 
 nothing to be said of the incident which had 
 brought them together. With quick tact 
 he understood that she would be more easy 
 with her new relations if they were propiti- 
 ated ; and, after an eloquent look at Con- 
 stance's beautiful face, he went round to the 
 other side of the carriage, and made some 
 trivial observations to- Miss Charlotte, which 
 dehghted her so highly, that Constance feared 
 she would writhe herself, snake-like, out of 
 her seat, and nearly out of the carriage. 
 
 After riding by their side for a few 
 minutes. Sir Eustace consulted the small 
 Brequet in his waistcoat-pocket, and with a 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 polite but hurried bow galloped off. 
 
 His attentions to Miss Charlotte had 
 " driven the black dog from her shoulders," 
 and she began to be very communicative to 
 Constance. 
 
 " Lor, Constance, do you know they will 
 be ready to bust themselves at home about 
 us!" 
 
 " Indeed !" said Constance, who did not 
 quite understand a prophecy so awful. 
 
 " Why, don't you see ivhy we was sent 
 out ?" 
 
 ''No." 
 
 "Well, you are jolly green, or pretend 
 to be. Why, that they should have Sir 
 Eustace all to themselves when he called ; 
 and now he's seen us^ I daresay he won't 
 call — sure not to call to-day. It makes 
 me ready to hop out of the carriage with 
 joy to think how done they will be. Ain't 
 lie a stunner, though 1 — quite the cheese —
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 83 
 
 those gloves must a'been three-and-six or 
 four shillings a pair, unless he bought a 
 dozen at a time, and then he got 'um 
 cheaper — and, lor ! isn't he handsome !" 
 
 Constance smiled faintly, and said she had 
 not observed him much. 
 
 " Come, come," said the lively girl, " none 
 of your ' mock modesty ' for me, upper crust 
 of all impidence — most gals look at a hand- 
 some man when they get the chance, and 
 you must have had a good 'un. Dismal dull, 
 ain't you, with us at No. 36 ? Mamma 
 wants to get Jane married, and that's why 
 she's so cross that you're come home. Lor' 
 love you, / know, though they think I don't 
 understand." 
 
 " I'm sure I did not want to come," said 
 Constance, with a quiver of her lip. 
 
 " 'Spose not," said Charlotte — " ^ no place 
 like home,' the song says ; many places 
 more agreeable, I should say." 
 
 g2
 
 84 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 " I find 'tis hard," said Constance, "to be 
 in a lionse where no one speaks to me," 
 and she stopped, for she was afraid of 
 weeping. 
 
 "Well, I'll take to you fast enough when 
 we are out of the way of the rest ; but I 
 should catch toko if I went with you against 
 the rest, you know." 
 
 " Catch what ?" said Constance, thinking 
 it was some infectious complaint. 
 
 " Oh ! you're so stupid — you never un- 
 derstand anything — get a blowing up, I 
 mean." 
 
 " Pray don't expose yourself to any un- 
 pleasantness on my account," rejoined Con- 
 stance. 
 
 " I am not thinking of doing so," said the 
 young lady; "but if you wish for a quiet 
 life, you had better say nothing of having 
 seen Sir Eustace — I shall not mention 
 it.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 85 
 
 "I suppose tliey will not inquire," sug- 
 gested Constance. 
 
 " Don't matter — no is as easy to say as 
 yes," said tlie veracious damsel. 
 
 That evening Mrs. Rivers brought the 
 handkerchiefs to her husband, as he was 
 dressing for dinner, all neatly hemmed and 
 marked. 
 
 ^' Did Constance do these?" he inquired, 
 pleased at the attention to his wishes. 
 
 ''' No^ Mr. Rivers," said his lady, impres- 
 sively; ''I reminded Miss Rivers of your 
 wishes, but she made so many excuses about 
 having no cotton to hem them, that I allowed 
 Jane to do them. Dear child ! she has been 
 at work all day to get them done, whilst 
 Miss Constance has been gadding about in 
 the park." 
 
 Mr. Rivers looked vexed, but said nothing. 
 After dinner he observed to Constance that 
 he "was sorry she had not hemmed his hand-
 
 86 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 
 
 kerchiefs — she seemed to have thought it 
 too much trouble to please him in such a 
 trifle." 
 
 " Indeed^ sir, I should have done it with 
 pleasure, but I had no cotton." 
 
 " Well, well, least said soonest mended," 
 said he ; " they are done now, by some one 
 more eager to oblige me." 
 
 Constance was silent, too certain of not 
 receiving justice in the presence of her step- 
 mother, but she waited till the ladies had 
 retired to the drawing-room, and then, 
 steahng down softly, she retm-ned to the 
 table, where they had left Mr. Rivers, who 
 was composed for his evening nap. Con- 
 stance, too impetuous to seek for a more fit- 
 ting thne, rushed up, and throwing her arms 
 round his neck, burst into a torrent of tears 
 and words, sobbed out inarticulately. 
 
 " God bless my soul !" cried the sleeping
 
 CONSTAXCE KIVERS. 87 
 
 merdiant, starting up — " not — not bank- 
 rupt ?'' 
 
 " Oh ! papa, forgive me — it is only Con- 
 stance. I only want to talk about myself." 
 
 " Pshaw !" said Mr. Rivers, ashamed of 
 having revealed his secret terror. " I hate 
 to have my quiet nap disturbed, girl. I 
 don't get too much peace — what is it ?'' 
 
 He spoke in an irritable tone, and Con- 
 stance grew nearly unintelligible in her grief 
 and terror lest she should offend. 
 
 " Indeed, papa, I wanted to do the hand- 
 kerchiefs for you, but Mrs. Rivers said I 
 could not have any coloured cotton ; and I 
 wanted to go out and get some, but she 
 said ladies did not walk alone, and I could 
 not have the footman to walk, and — and I 
 bought some cotton as I came from driving 
 to do them," and she drew the reels from 
 her pocket ; and " oh ! papa, I'm all alone
 
 88 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 in the world ! — if you do not love me, and 
 stand up for me, what can I do ?'' and Con- 
 stance flung her arms round her father's neck, 
 and wept bitterly. 
 
 " Hush ! hush ! my dear — that will do. 
 There, sit down, there's a good girl. I am 
 a busy man — no tune for nonsense, and I 
 want to be quiet when I get home ; you 
 must try to be well with your mother." 
 
 ^' Step-mother," interposed Constance. 
 
 " Well " (testily), " your step-mother, 
 then, and your step-sisters. You see you 
 are but one out of three, and your poor 
 mother wished you to live in the country 
 with Patty, so I daresay you all feel strange 
 together. You should think, my dear, that 
 if you feel strange with them, it ain't plea- 
 sant to have another person they don't 
 know come into the family, to be one of 
 them, whether they like it or not." 
 
 " Might I not go and live away some-
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 89 
 
 where, if tliey don't like me ?" sobbed Con- 
 stance — " in lodgings, perhaps/' 
 
 " No," said her father — " you have been 
 away too much ; if you had always lived 
 here this disagreeable feelmg would proba- 
 bly have died off by this time. Make the 
 best of it, Constance — remember your father 
 will do you justice." 
 
 But a person who would do justice must 
 be free from influences, and a man whose 
 hours of leisure are spent Avith a woman of 
 low cunnmg and malice is warped mentally, 
 and consequently Constance's life was a 
 wearing one.
 
 90 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " O Father, I hear the sound of guns — 
 
 O say what may it be ? 
 Some ship in distress that cannot live 
 
 In such an angry sea. 
 ****** 
 
 " And ever the fitful gusts between 
 A sound came from the land — 
 It was the sound of the tramphng surf 
 On the rocks and the hard sea sand. 
 The breakers were right beneath her bows, 
 
 She drifts a dreary wreck, 
 And a whooping billow sweeps the crew 
 Like icicles from the deck." 
 
 Longfellow. 
 
 CJOME time before my story begins, in the 
 dusk of an autumn evening, a lady and 
 gentleman were at an obscure village in 
 Cornwall, wliitlier tliey had gone for the 
 sake of its seclusion. They had been six
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 91 
 
 years married, but had felt no decline of 
 their first attachment. He was a rising 
 barrister, who rejoiced now in leaving 
 behmd him all the perplexed thoughts con- 
 nected with his profession, which, as he 
 sometimes said, he placed upon a shelf 
 with his law papers, and gave hhnself up 
 for the few weeks of the vacation to light 
 readings, and the society of his wife and 
 child. 
 
 The latter was a boy of five years old, 
 who at the time I relate was drawing 
 through the door which led to the bed-room 
 a towel horse, attached to a piece of twme. 
 He had tied two pieces of ribbon of equal 
 lengths to the side of the horse, and brought 
 it in triumphantly with the announcement, 
 " This is my horse — why, it is a horse !" 
 (seeing a smile on the face of his parents), 
 " I heard nurse call it a horse to-day." The 
 towel horse in question had a double bar at
 
 92 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 the top, and the child was about to mount 
 astride, when his father remonstrated. 
 
 " Don't you see that the horse will tip 
 over if you put your foot in the stirrup ?" 
 
 " Not if you hold this one on the other 
 side, as John does when you get on yow 
 horse," retorted the boy. 
 
 " If you ride that horse," said his mother, 
 " you will break your head." 
 
 " Is not my head my own head, and may 
 I not break it if I like ?" said the child ap- 
 pealingly to his father. 
 
 "The law, my boy, decides that a man 
 has no right to break his own head — it is 
 considered an offence against the laws of 
 society — unless he hazards his life to save 
 that of another." 
 
 " When I am a man I'll break the law, 
 and my head too, if I like." 
 
 " Very true ; wait till then," said his 
 mother. " If you cannot ride, you can
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 93 
 
 drive your horse by sitting on the arm of 
 the sofa." 
 
 The boy accepted the compromise, and 
 played till his nm-se came to put hhn to 
 bed. 
 
 '' You have said frequently that you never 
 saw a storm which could be fau-ly called a 
 storm on the coast, Myra — I think you are 
 satisfied now," said her husband, leaning his 
 forehead against the wuidow-pane. ''Hark! 
 how the sea dashes on the rocks ! — men are 
 staggering in the face of the wind — there 
 are no women or children out — they could 
 not stand without support ; the seaweed is 
 blown up in heaps against the houses in the 
 village — the tamarisks broken off are swept 
 round in circles with sticks and leaves torn 
 from the stunted trees." 
 
 " The waves look grand at a distance !" 
 said Myra ; " how I should like to be on 
 the jetty — close to them, yet safe !"
 
 94 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 " Close to them, certainly ; but I am not 
 so clear about tlie safety," said her husband. 
 " The storm is increasing." 
 
 " It must be high water," said Myra, 
 "judging by the line to which the waves 
 have reached." 
 
 Her husband looked at his pocket-book. 
 
 " It wants yet an hour of the right time. 
 Hark ! what was that dull sound ?" 
 
 "I heard nothing." 
 
 " Yes, there must be something — look at 
 the fishermen running towards the sea !" 
 
 " Oh ! Edward, let us go out and see the 
 storm from the jetty !" 
 
 He looked at her. 
 
 " Tie your hair tight under a handkerchief 
 — a hat or bonnet would be blown off — put 
 on your yachting jacket, and we will try to 
 reach the jetty. Crossing the village will 
 probably be the worst part — we shall pro- 
 bably be blown a good distance inland."
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 95 
 
 On descending tlie stairs one of the ser- 
 vants entreated them to go out at the back 
 of the house — it would be more sheltered 
 for them; and besides, if the front door 
 were once opened, the difficulty of shuttmg 
 it again would be great. 
 
 Before they reached the jetty, Myra was 
 drenched by the spray which was driven in 
 from the crests of the waves. It was situ- 
 ated at the opposite side of the cove from 
 that on which their small house stood, and 
 they had had to reach it by going circuit- 
 ously round the head of the valley — Myra 
 bemg so light that her husband feared the 
 wind would lift her off her feet had she 
 attempted to cross at once. 
 
 The Httle village of Cove Cross was sup- 
 posed to have derived its name from a 
 crucifix rudely sculptured in grey stone, 
 which, raised on a lofty pedestal, had once 
 surmounted the highest rock of one of the
 
 96 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 crescents of a bay on the north coast of 
 Cornwall. The Cross was now partly over- 
 thro'wn, but the remains made a picturesque 
 object, clustered over, as it frequently was, 
 by the sea-gulls, who seemed, by their 
 melancholy cries, as they congregated there, 
 to moan over the ship-wrecked dead, of 
 whose fate they only could have told the tale. 
 The cliffs thus surmounted were high, dark, 
 and rugged; and the beach, from which they 
 rose almost precipitately, was composed 
 partly of yellow sand and partly of grey 
 pebbles. 
 
 To give some protection to the few vessels 
 which the hope of traffic drew to Cove 
 Cross, a jetty had been thrown out on one 
 side of the bay, between which and the 
 dark hollow cliff they might ride at anchor 
 with comparative safety. This pier, project- 
 ing some considerable way into the sea, rose 
 high above it, and constituted in fine weather
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 97 
 
 Myra's favourite walk. The side next tlie 
 basin was unprotected by rails, but on that 
 next the open sea they rose breast high, 
 and extended about halfway along the pier. 
 To these Edward supported M}T:a, and 
 placed her where she could cling to them 
 whilst she contemplated the sublime scene 
 before her. The sky was dark, and showed 
 the crests of the billows more ghastly white. 
 Evening, too, had closed in, and in the 
 fissures of the ragged clouds the moon 
 poured forth a tremulous light, suddenly 
 sho^vn, and as capriciously withdrawn, as 
 the blast hurried masses of black vapour 
 over the wild sky. In one of these inter- 
 vals of light, a small vessel was seen drivhig 
 before the gale, and Myra heard agam the 
 dull sound of the minute-gun which had 
 attracted her attention before she left the 
 house, but the sequence of which she 
 had lost in their inland circuitous walk. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 This warning knell had collected crowds 
 near the edge of the waves, which had 
 beaten high above their unsual boundary, 
 the beach, making that which was usually 
 firm footing a boiling bed of water. A few 
 men were on the pier. 
 
 " There it is again !" said an old sailor, as 
 the minute-gun once more boomed across 
 the tempest. " Poor fellows ! they are 
 wanting a pilot. The de'il a bit of a pilot 
 will they get to-night !" 
 
 "Can nothmg be done for them?" said 
 Edward, anxiously. " Will they be driven 
 on the shore ?" 
 
 " Nothing but God's will can save them," 
 said the veteran, removing his quid indiffer- 
 ently from one side of his mouth to the 
 other. " As she is driving now, she will 
 strike on the Cow and Calf, and if she 
 escapes them, she may run on to the 
 sunk rocks on the beach, nearer shore, 
 
 I
 
 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 99 
 
 and go to pieces. That's the best chance 
 for the men. The ship must go, any 
 way." 
 
 "The Cow and Calf " were two isolated 
 rocks of different sizes, the largest of which 
 seemed to bear some resemblance to the 
 animal after which it had been named. Myra 
 shuddered, and clung closer to her husband's 
 arm. The sea washed over the greatest part 
 of the pier, and boiled and eddied over into 
 the dark mass of waters in the basm which 
 looked more terrible to M}T:a from the ab- 
 sence of foam. The waves were so gigantic, 
 black, and sullen as they rose and fell as 
 high as the jetty, and threatened to rise 
 above it. 
 
 " Let us go back, dear!" she said. 
 
 But just then a sound was heard, in the 
 pauses of the wind, from the men on the 
 beach. A mingled cry, and yell, and 
 
 groan — 
 
 h2
 
 100 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 " She's struck ! — slie's struck." 
 
 And then tlie sudden ^' sli-ss ! " tliat men 
 make when holdmg their breath. 
 
 " Any ropes ?" asked Edward. 
 
 The men on the jetty pomted to several 
 coils. 
 
 "Bless you!" they shouted (for nothmg 
 under a shout could be heard), " ropes are 
 no use now — see how the waves curl under 
 — a man washed m would have his life 
 beaten out of him before he could catch 
 hold of a rope. BeHke you don't know these 
 parts, sir." 
 
 The tumbhng billows shook the solid 
 masonry of the pier. Edward clasped hi^ 
 wife round the waist. 
 
 " We can do no good, my love. I will 
 take you home, and come out again when 
 you are safe in bed." 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, I cannot go in yet !" she 
 exclauned: which meant — I cannot have you
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 101 
 
 out here, whilst I am under shelter — "let 
 me stay." 
 
 So they stayed. 
 
 The moon shhiing; out now showed the 
 vessel dismasted, and struck on the isolated 
 rock in the distance. The rising and falling 
 waters glimmermg in her rags, were black- 
 ened by pieces of the mast, spars, and what 
 seemed, alas ! to be human beings struggluig 
 with death in those sufFocatmg billows. 
 Several pieces were washed towards the 
 shore, and to these men seemed to be 
 clinguig. 
 
 " The tide is still advancing," said Edward, 
 " surely if, when they approach nearer, and 
 a strong man went in mth a rope round 
 him, he might aid one of those poor fellows, 
 spent as they are from their efforts for life." 
 An ah-h-h ! was the only answer from the 
 men. One was a stoutly-built fellow, of about 
 twenty-eight or thirty years of age. "See!
 
 102 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 see!" said Edward, seizing liis arm and 
 pointing. "There is one on the top of 
 that wave — he is striking out bravely !" 
 
 " Wait till he comes to the breakers near 
 shore," replied the man. 
 
 " I'll give you thirty pounds — fifty pounds, 
 if you will go in with this rope round your 
 body. Your mates and I will hold it, and 
 draw you both out." 
 
 The man shook off his hand. 
 
 " 'All that a man hath mil he give for his 
 life,' the Scripture says," replied the man, 
 who was a Wesley an. " Money would be 
 no use to me if my head was dashed to 
 a pap agamst them rocks." 
 
 '' 'Praps the gen'leman would like to go 
 hisself,"said the elder man, with a semblance 
 of simplicity. 
 
 Myra hung heavily on Edward's arm at 
 this scoffing proposition. The poor fellow 
 swam on boldly till he came to the in-shore
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 103 
 
 breakers. One of these took liim as if he 
 had been a lump of seaweed, and curled 
 hhn into its depths, from which, if he emerged, 
 it was to be tossed, as lifeless as the weed, 
 back on the far billows. 
 
 "Ah! tliis is dreadful!" exclaimed Ed- 
 ward, and as he spoke the waves bore on- 
 ward a floating spar, to which something 
 white was clinging or tied. " It is a woman 
 or child," cried he, as the face gleamed in 
 the moonlight, when the wave lifted high 
 its helpless burden. 
 
 The tide carried the spar past the point 
 of the jetty, and, as all watched the quiver- 
 ing speck with bated breath, it was lifted 
 over the point of the pier, and buried for 
 an instant in the dark waters of the basm. 
 After a pause it rose to the surface, and was 
 severed from the spar. The fair young face 
 of a girl glimmered for an instant in the 
 moonlight, and the arms beat the waves
 
 104 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 
 
 helplessly, seeming to seek for the friendly- 
 spar which had hitherto supported her. 
 
 "Myra, I must go," said Edward, hurriedly. 
 " Help ! A rope !" he shouted, flinging off 
 his coat and waistcoat, and Myra's circling 
 arms. 
 
 After it was knotted round his waist, he 
 sprung head-foremost mto the deep black 
 boiling waves, towards where the white 
 object gleamed a moment on their surface. 
 Myra sunk on her knees and prayed. She 
 dared not look on that awful caldron m 
 which was engulfed her earthly happiness. 
 A deep groan from the sailors made her 
 open her eyes with horror. They held in 
 their hands the broken end of the rope. 
 How could any swiimner escape from that 
 frightful pit of waters without aid — the steep 
 cliff on one side, the smooth sides of the 
 pier on the other? M}Ta gazed mth di- 
 lated lids on that scene of horror ; but
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 105 
 
 never again rose to the surface the body of 
 her husband, or the white figure he had 
 tried to rescue. To die -with him was her 
 only thought. She flung herself forward, 
 but the old sailor had her m his amis. 
 
 " Avast, there ! — there's death enough for 
 one day in the week !" 
 
 And grasping her insensible form, he 
 carried her back to her home, where her 
 pitying servants undressed her, and placed 
 her by the side of her sleeping boy.
 
 106 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 " Some bold adventurers disdain, 
 The limits of their little reign, 
 And miknown regions dare descry." 
 
 TTTHEN Myra Yorke recovered from the 
 first stupor of lier grief, she turned 
 for consolation to the handsome spirited 
 child, who was all that was left to her of her 
 former happiness. Scarcely twenty-four 
 years old, in the plenitude of her youth and 
 beauty, she was sought by many suitors, 
 who were rejected mth the unpatience of a 
 grief which became indignation at the 
 supposition that any one could take the 
 place of her lost love. All her thoughts, 
 all her aspirations, all her affections were 
 
 I
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 107 
 
 now centred in the boy. A weak mother 
 might have tried to ally him to her occupa- 
 tions and amusements ; Lady Yorke at- 
 tempted the more difficult task of identify- 
 ing herself with his. 
 
 A Catholic gentleman once avowed to his 
 confessor some grave fault. The penance 
 imposed was that for two days he should 
 imitate every action of his little son, aged 
 four. It seemed easy in anticipation, but 
 before the end of the second day the weary 
 father succumbed under the unwonted 
 fatigue. 
 
 Perhaps Lady Yorke's devotion to her 
 boy was greater, or had the charm of choice, 
 for she never wearied of her labour of love. 
 She played cricket untiringly, and put up 
 with the company of young children of his 
 OAvn age, joining in all their sports, with 
 dishevelled hair and torn dresses, to the 
 despair of the maid and the astonishment of
 
 108 CCNSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 other parents. She clishked all children but 
 her own boy, yet for his sake she made her- 
 self so agreeable that they all but worshipped 
 the beautiful lady who was so kind to them. 
 She knew Eustace must go to school if he 
 was ever to be possessed of the manly cha- 
 racter which she coveted for him ; for with 
 the best intentions, and with the greatest 
 energy to carry them out, she did not sup- 
 pose that she singly could take the place of 
 the five hmidred boys of different ages, 
 with whom he would be placed in juxta- 
 position at Eton, or Winchester, or Harrow. 
 But there was one preparation she could 
 make — she could teach him a little herself 
 before they were separated ; and, knowing 
 nothing of Latin or Greek, she began with 
 a competent master the study of both lan- 
 guages, that Avhatever little she might con- 
 vey to him might have the merit of cor- 
 rectness.
 
 CONSTANCE EIVEKS. 109 
 
 When, at eiglit years, little Eustace went 
 to a preparatory school for Wmchester, he 
 knew enough to raise hmiself speedily to the 
 top of the classes in wliich he had been 
 placed; and the good grounding he had 
 received from his mother he carried on 
 through life, especially in geography and 
 arithmetic — vulgar studies, considered below 
 the dignity of the higher forms of public 
 schools. 
 
 Little Eustace was content to use his 
 amount of knowledge, Avithout strivmg to 
 increase it. He knew enough to get on 
 "svithout effort, and spent all the more time 
 in the playground. Twice a week he knew 
 that his mother expected to hear from Ihm, 
 and no temptation of play even induced him 
 to neglect this duty. 
 
 His attention to his studies was respect- 
 able; but his disregard for his own safety 
 was a constant source of contention between
 
 110 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 himself and those under whose charge he 
 was placed. If any daring feat was to be 
 performed, little Yorke was always ready — 
 sometimes he clmibed the highest elm-trees, 
 and clung like a monkey to some slender 
 topmost bough, which, too frail to support 
 him without risk, twisted and bent under 
 his weight ; sometimes he was lowered over 
 tlie face of a cliff, by a rope, to look for 
 eggs in the interstices of the rocks. 
 
 These exploits were not accompanied 
 without intense nervous trepidation on the 
 part of Eustace — a feeling not unusual in 
 higlily organized natures. On one occasion 
 he was playing with a kitten, when a dog, 
 who was equally the terror of the child and 
 the cat, sprung into the room and rushed at 
 the cat. Puss struggled and scratched, as 
 terrified pussies will struggle and scratch, 
 and Eustace got on a chair, and thence to a 
 table, holding the kitten above his head.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. Ill 
 
 and screaming violently for help. The dog 
 barked and looked^ and Avas very formidable ; 
 but though white ivith terror, the boy never 
 thought of abandoning his pet. 
 
 M}Ta observed his pale face and chatter- 
 ing teeth, and her heart sunk mthin her. 
 
 " Will my boy be a coAvard ?" was the 
 thought that passed through her brain. 
 
 She knew not then that the highest order 
 of couraQ;e is to see dano;er in all its bear- 
 ings, and yet to surmount the dread of it. 
 The following is the copy of a letter 
 addressed by Eustace to his mother, when 
 he was about ten years of age : — 
 
 " Dear Mamma, 
 
 ^' I am sorry to say I have been 
 flogged for climbing, which I call a beastly 
 shame. It was old Bandy, the second 
 master, who peached. I mean to be even 
 with him. Please to send me two more
 
 112 CONSTANCE EIVEKS. 
 
 balls such as you made for me — a good bit 
 of cork in tlie middle, then India rubber, 
 then lamb's wool, or Berlin is better, some 
 good kid over the whole. Make them 
 yourself — the ones Richardson made are 
 not quite round. I want you to invite 
 Ward Secundus and Edwards this Christ- 
 mas, that we may have some jolly skating. 
 I broke Dobree's watch, and please pay for 
 it, ten shillings ; you must stop my allow- 
 ance for four weeks, and that will square it. 
 The flogging wasn't so bad to feel, so don't 
 fret. Your ever affectionate son, 
 
 " Eustace Yorke." 
 
 The master wrote thus : — 
 
 " Madam, 
 
 " I regret to state that I have been 
 compelled to mflict corporal punishment on 
 your son. Being confined to the sick-room 
 for a sore throat, he climbed by a pipe out-
 
 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 113 
 
 side tlie window to the lead gutter that 
 goes round the roof, to which he clung by 
 his hands, and, placing his feet against 
 the wall, made the circuit of the house, 
 only restmg them occasionally on the mul- 
 lions of the windows. Thus he was seen 
 by Mr. Barder, the second master, who had 
 sufficient presence of mind to utter no 
 exclamation, and your son returned to the 
 sick-room, by the same means he had used 
 to escape from it. You will perceive, 
 madam, that regard to his future safety 
 called for the punishment I have considered 
 it my duty to inflict, and which, I am happy 
 to inform you, he bore in a manner which 
 gave me a high opinion of his courage. I 
 have the honour to remain, &c., &c." 
 
 Lady Yorke's answer was as follows : — 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " I never interfere with the discipline 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 of your school, but it seems to me that you 
 had better have followed a Royal example, 
 and given Master Yorke a patent for his 
 exploit — (alluding to Charles 11. having 
 given a man a patent for climbing outside 
 to the top of St. Paul's). I have the hon- 
 our, &c., 
 
 " Myra Yorke." 
 
 On the followuig Sunday several boys 
 were confined to the sick-room, and Eus- 
 tace meditated revenge. There was a 
 paved courtyard, through which the whole 
 school passed to that part of the building 
 appropriated to divine service, wliich had 
 no other exit. In the com-tyard were 
 several taps of water connected with a large 
 reservoir, for the use of the school. The 
 descent into the yard was by several steps, 
 so that it was in shape and depth like an 
 empty tank.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 115 
 
 As soon as the folks were all safe in 
 church, whither the head master was most 
 strict in sending all his household, Master 
 Eustace crept down and set all the taps 
 running. The service was a long one — the 
 preacher more than usually eloquent or 
 prosy, and before the congregation were 
 released, the walk through which they had 
 to pass was nearly three feet deep in water. 
 The young gentlemen from the windows of 
 the sick-room were ready to expire with 
 laughter to see the master holding up his 
 silk robes — the dismay of his portly lady, 
 and that of all the young ladies, and most 
 of all the odd gait of " old Bandy," the se- 
 cond master. 
 
 But like the " mkth and laughter " fol- 
 lowed by " sermons and soda-water the day 
 after," on the next day came vengeance. 
 All the boys who had been absent from 
 chapel were threatened with flogging, unless 
 
 i2
 
 116 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 
 
 tliey gave up the name of the culprit. 
 
 Each boy assured Yorke that he would 
 never "peach," and told hun to hold his 
 tongue ; but Yorke walked firmly up to the 
 head master, and proclamied himself the 
 offender. 
 
 The fiiult could not be overlooked ; and 
 Yorke, his shoulders still sore and inflamed 
 from the recent castigation, was subjected 
 to punishment so severe, that the matron 
 turned sick and fainted when she attempted 
 to remove the bloody shirt from the raw 
 surface to which it had adhered. 
 
 Lady Yorke a few days after received the 
 following letter, anonymous : — 
 
 "Madam, 
 
 " Your son has been cruelly 
 punished for a bo}dsh trick ; you had better 
 see him yourself 
 
 "Your UnivNOWN Friend."
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 117 
 
 Myra was walking up and down the room 
 in painful perplexity, after she had received 
 this, when the servant announced Master 
 Yorke, and the boy entered, lame, and 
 stoopmg forward as if in pain, with a hectic 
 colour on his poor little face. 
 
 Myra sprung towards him and threw her 
 arms round him ; but he shrank aside with a 
 little cry — the touch, though gentle, was 
 more than he could bear. 
 
 " 'Tis all right now," said he feebly, see- 
 ing his mother turn very pale. " I should 
 like to go to bed — I've run away — you see, 
 I thought I'd had enough of it." 
 
 Myra put him to bed, and applied some 
 simple remedies to the burning skin, when 
 he fell asleep with his hand in hers and a 
 smile on his parted lips. When he awoke, 
 he told her how the boys had said "it was 
 an awful shame ;" and the youngest ones 
 had clubbed then* shillings and sixpences to
 
 118 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 pay his journey as far as they could. He had 
 expended all this, and had walked the rest 
 of the way without any food except what 
 the turnip-fields had supplied. 
 
 Full of pity and indignation as Myra felt, 
 she was at the same time much puzzled as 
 to Eustace's future career. To send him 
 back was not to be thought of, yet she per- 
 ceived that he would enter Winchester at a 
 disadvantage with this exploit attached to 
 his name. Eustace decided the matter for 
 himself. 
 
 " Mamma, I wish to go to sea !" 
 
 Poor M}Ta ! She had decided in her 
 own mind that her son should take the 
 highest university honours, as his father had 
 done. 
 
 " I had hoped, Eustace," she began quiet- 
 ly and hesitatmgly, " that you would have 
 distinguished yourself at the university, as
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 119 
 
 your father did. I cannot tell you how much 
 I have wished it." 
 
 " Oh ! mother !" said the boy, with a look 
 of distress. "I do so hate Latin and 
 Greek !" 
 
 " Yet you have done very well, judging 
 from your place in your class." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! because I knew you wished it; 
 but it was hard work, and Edward and De 
 Vere could beat me if they tried, and I do 
 so long to go into the Navy !" 
 
 "Supposing, "said his mother, "I could get 
 you a nomination, you would have a severe 
 examination to undergo before you could 
 be considered eligible as a naval cadet. An 
 examination m which all your recent studies 
 would be useless, and m which arithmetic 
 would be one of the chief things needed ; 
 and of that, excepting the little taught you 
 before you went to school, you know, I sus- 
 pect, nothing."
 
 120 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 " I could learn," said the boy, gathering 
 fresh hope from her eyes. 
 
 And MjTSi gave up her cherished aspira- 
 tions in deference to his wish.
 
 121 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 " A valiant son springs from a valiant sire, 
 Their race by mettle sprightly courses prove, 
 Nor can the warlike eagle's active sire 
 Degenerate to form the timorous dove. 
 
 But education can the genius raise, 
 And wise instruction native virtues aid. 
 Nobility without them is disgrace, 
 And honour is by vice to shame betrayed." 
 
 Lylleton. 
 
 A LL Myra's energies were directed to ob- 
 tain a nomination for lier son, and this 
 she had mterest enough to obtain. Then 
 he was to be prepared for his examination, 
 and the poor lady who had in her youth 
 declared that the rule of three was utterly 
 incomprehensible, and that she could not 
 miderstand it, and had flung aside the book
 
 122 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 on arithmetic to rush to the less intricate 
 study of thorough bass, now found that a 
 strong will to instruct Eustace, made much 
 clear to her which had appeared inextri- 
 cable confusion. 
 
 Tlie boy worked also. Every morning at 
 six o'clock he was at his books, and he 
 seemed in danger of diminishing his mental 
 power by the too great tension of his brain. 
 From the little dresshig-room which her 
 darling occupied, the mother could hear 
 muttered exclamations, questions asked 
 eagerly, and answered decidedly as to num- 
 bers and results, all proceeding from the 
 busy head of her boy, whose mental facul- 
 ties could not rest even in sleep. 
 
 A month before the final examination, 
 Myra sent her boy to Portsmouth to finish 
 his studies. He had not been there more 
 than a few days when he returned. The 
 house of the instructor was dirty, and the
 
 CONSTAXCE RIVERS. 123 
 
 man and his wife drank gin, he said, and lie 
 could not stay there. 
 
 " But do not vex yourself, mother. I will 
 go back if you insist upon it ; but really I 
 know quite as much as is necessary." 
 
 " Of that you cannot judge, Eustace. You 
 must go back." 
 
 " Very well, mother." 
 
 He left the house at once, and travelled 
 day and night. When he reached Ports- 
 mouth, he wrote to his mother to say that 
 he should not wait for the March examma- 
 tion; but go in at once — on the next day, in 
 fact. To this he had made up his mind 
 when he left home. M}Ta was too far 
 away to be able to stop what she considered 
 so suicidal an act, so she could only await 
 the result of the examination in intense 
 anxiety. 
 
 " It was over," Eustace announced. " I did 
 a good many of the questions. I think I
 
 124 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 must have passed. When I was coming out 
 I saw Captam Waters, who said he knew 
 papa. I begged him to tell you whether I 
 was a sheep or a goat — for so they call the 
 boys who come out from examination. He 
 said he would tell you as soon as it was 
 allowed, so I hope you will hear soon." 
 
 The next post brought a letter from the 
 worthy captain. 
 
 "Dear Madam, 
 
 "Do not alarm yourself — ^your 
 son has passed a brilliant examination. He 
 will have a month's leave before he joins the 
 'Victory.'" 
 
 Myra breathed a long sigh of relief on 
 reading tliis; and soon Eustace returned 
 \srith a beaming face, to fight his scholastic 
 battles over again. Myra, in rejoicing with 
 him, forgot the determination to act on his 
 own responsibihty, that had given her so
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 125 
 
 much anxiety. After all, lie had calculated 
 well, and the end crowned the deed. 
 
 How the mother's eyes sparkled when she 
 saw hnn first m his uniform ! How beau- 
 tiful she thought him ! — whilst he cared no- 
 thmg for his looks, but was occupied in 
 "vviping the least possible suspicion of dim- 
 ness from his new dirk. How he loved this 
 small dagger ! — covered it with silver paper, 
 and then "vvith his silk handkerchief, and 
 placed it under his pillow at night. 
 
 As the month drew to its conclusion, Myra 
 applied for an extension of leave, fruitlessly. 
 Sir Eustace Yorke, naval cadet, was ordered 
 to join the " Britannia," about to proceed to 
 the Mediterranean, at the expiation of his 
 leave. 
 
 Thus, at the age of fourteen, Eustace left 
 his mother's care, and, without any kind 
 relative to accompany him, proceeded to 
 Plymouth to join his ship. He was full of
 
 126 CONSTANCE RRT^RS. 
 
 exultation and hope. He could not know 
 how dreary the house seemed wliich echoed 
 no more to his bounding footstep. M}Ta 
 was left to her loneliness, and love for the 
 dead, and anxieties for the livhig. 
 
 When Eustace became a member of the 
 midshipmen's mess, he thought himself sur- 
 rounded by imps of darkness. The oaths and 
 execrations, the filthy talkmg, the gambling 
 and drinking, filled him with inexpressible 
 loathing. He was bullied by the older mid- 
 shipmen, and sneered at by those of his OAvn 
 age. 
 
 There was one hm fellow amongst the 
 youngsters who hated the gentlemanlike 
 boy, who was of better blood and higher 
 rank than himself He was the King of the 
 Cockpit, from his strength and age. Eustace 
 was always eager for letters from his mother, 
 and his anxiety to be first when the bag 
 was opened, and the shade of disappoint-
 
 CONSTANCE EIVEES. 127 
 
 ment wliicli clouded liis brow wlien, wliicli 
 rarely happened, tliere was none for liim, 
 was observed and commented on by his com- 
 panions, and especially by liis arch-enemy 
 Jackson. 
 
 ''They say that your letter was left at the 
 post-office, bemg insufficiently stamped," he 
 said. " I'm going on shore, shall I get it for 
 you?" 
 
 " I shall be much obliged." 
 
 " Then give me some money." 
 
 " There is half-a-cro\vn — I have no smaller 
 change." 
 
 "All right," he said, with a wink at the rest. 
 
 And Eustace tried to wait patiently till 
 the return of the boat, to get news from 
 Lady Yorke. 
 
 "The letter!" he cried eagerly, seeing 
 Jackson's head appearmg up the ship's side. 
 
 " The letter !- — what letter ?" said Jackson, 
 who had been drinkmg freely; "you don't
 
 128 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 think tliat I cared to call for your accursed 
 trumpery letter !" 
 
 " You promised," replied Eustace, with a 
 choking voice. 
 
 " Promised, be d d !" 
 
 ''Where's the half-crown I gave you to 
 pay for it ?" exclaimed Eustace, eager to find 
 some legitimate cause of anger. 
 
 "Oh!" with a drunken leer, "it slipped 
 out of my pocket somehow." 
 
 " You are not a gentleman," said Eustace, 
 " and I will not lower myself to your level 
 by talking to you." 
 
 They had arrived below by this time. 
 
 ' ' No gentleman ! " shouted Jackson. ' ' Take 
 that !" and he struck the boy a ringing blow 
 on the side of the head. 
 
 Eustace reeled, but gathering himself up, 
 he rushed at his assailant, and sent his small 
 fist against his face Avith such good- will that 
 the blood spouted from his nose.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVEES. ' 129 
 
 " A ring! a ring!" the midshipmen shouted. 
 " Let us have some fun. Three to one on 
 Jackson ! Go it, Yorke ! That's right, give 
 it to him again !" " Fair play !" " Give them 
 room ! Give Yorke room 1" " Old fellow, 
 you've shipped too much port-wine. 'Tis 
 spouting out at your figure-head. Go it, 
 Yorke ! Go it, little one ! Two to one on 
 Jackson !" '' Done !" 
 
 Eustace could only hope to succeed by 
 avoiding the blows which Jackson, in his 
 blmd fury, aimed at him. He was too drunk 
 to aun them aright, or Eustace would have 
 been lying senseless at his feet before many 
 minutes were over. As it was, the un- 
 usual exertion coming on his previous de- 
 bauch, and the increased movement of the 
 vessel, which rolled and pitched with the 
 rising wind, disturbed his stomach, and be- 
 wildered his brain. He saw not two 
 Thebes, but two Yorkes — three, four, an in- 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 • CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 credible number of small fiends in the shape 
 of Yorke. He struck in the wrong place, 
 and hit his hands against the rude furniture 
 of the midshipmen's berth, and ultimately 
 sunk, by wine and sleep oppressed, finished 
 by a telling blow on his right eye, which 
 Eustace darted in and gave hmi just as he 
 was sinking, 
 
 "Yorke! Yorke!" they shouted, "well 
 done, Yorke ! Have a glass of grog, old 
 fellow! Just for once, to celebrate your 
 victory !" 
 
 " My head aches so much," said the boy. 
 " ril lie down in my hammock till the first 
 watch." 
 
 This victory determined his companions 
 that Yorke was not a muff — a mammy's boy, 
 as he had been called. A cuxumstance that 
 occurred before long increased their dislike 
 towards him, but made him feared. This 
 slight small boy was a thorn in their flesh in
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 131 
 
 a way whicli they little expected. The 
 mess accounts had to be inspected and signed 
 by every member of it, and then passed up 
 for the signature of the post-captain. The 
 purser brought round the long paper of 
 items, and when each midshipman had ap- 
 pended his signature, it was brought to 
 Eustace, as being the youngest officer, and 
 the one who had last joined. 
 
 " If you please, young gentleman, to put 
 your name here," said Mr. Martin, the 
 purser. 
 
 ^'For what purpose? What does ray 
 signing it mean ?" 
 
 "Means that it's all right." 
 
 " Then if you will give me the paper, I 
 will look over it, and add it up." 
 
 " Well, if I ever heard such a thing in 
 my life !" exclaimed Mr. Martin. " What ! 
 doubt my honour, sir ?" in a voice of thun- 
 der. 
 
 k2
 
 132 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 " I know notliing against your honour at 
 present, but you would know something 
 against mine if I put my name to a paper, 
 as a proof of its correctness, when I am ig- 
 norant of its contents. Besides, I am by no 
 means convinced of its being correct, for I 
 see twelve dozen oranges charged here, and 
 I have not seen one on board excepting 
 tiiose I bought for myself." 
 
 " Oranges is bottled stout," whispered a 
 low voice, which was not intended for Eus- 
 tace's ear, but which reached him neverthe- 
 less. 
 
 " Oh ! oranges is bottled stout — very 
 well, I don't drink bottled stout, and I de- 
 cline to pay for any. I shall not put my 
 name to this paper. You may take up the 
 signatures — I shall not add mine ; but I 
 shall say nothing about it, unless I am asked." 
 
 " What a young infernal nuisance this is 
 amongst gentlemen !" exclaimed Mr. Martin.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 133 
 
 " He deserves to be tarred and feathered, 
 and to have his nose painted green !" 
 
 Now this estimate of Eustace's deserving 
 did not alter the fact of his refusal to sign 
 the paper. 
 
 " You will be sent to Coventry, young 
 sir," said Jackson. 
 
 "That will depend on the Captain's 
 orders, probably," replied Yorke. " If he 
 sends me there, it will be time enoucrh for 
 me to thmk of going, and to pack up my 
 carpet-bag." 
 
 " Cheeky young scoundrel !" 
 
 Mr. Martin retired discomfited, and de- 
 termined to send the Hst to the Captam 
 without any further effort to obtain Yorke's 
 signature. The Commander received it and 
 presented it to the Captain without observ- 
 ing the absence of the one name. The eye 
 of the Captam mechanically counted the 
 number of names.
 
 134 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 " Twenty- two midsliipmen — one mate — 
 makes twenty-three; there should be twenty- 
 three middies and one mate — twenty-four. 
 How is this ? Whose name is absent ?" 
 
 " That of the last young gentleman who 
 joined." 
 
 "Let me see — Yorke, I think — yes, 
 Yorke. Tell Mr. Yorke to come hither." 
 
 " Sir Eustace Yorke, middy," suggested 
 the Commander. " Has no father." 
 
 " A pity ; those young prigs with handles 
 to their names are so conceited." 
 
 Eustace entered, standing at the door till 
 summoned to the table where the post- 
 captain was perusing the list. 
 
 "Pray, sir, will you tell me why you 
 have refused to add your signature to that 
 of the other gentlemen who have signed ?" 
 
 " Because, sir, I do not believe the items 
 in the account are correct." 
 
 " How do you mean, sir ?"
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 135 
 
 " I "have to pay my share of twelve dozen 
 oranges, set down in that bill. I am very 
 fond of oranges," said Eustace ruefully. "I 
 understand that oranges mean bottled stout. 
 I don't drink beer or porter, and I had 
 rather not pay for it." 
 
 " You may go now, sir," said the Captain 
 in a changed voice, looking troubled at the 
 Commander, when Eustace had left the Ad- 
 miral's cabin. 
 
 The Commander looked disturbedly at 
 the list. 
 
 "There is foul play here — somewhere, 
 sir," said he ; " and this youngster has put 
 his foot into it." 
 
 An investigation took place, and Mr. 
 Martin was found to have cheated on his 
 own accoimt to the amount of £250, for 
 which he was debtor to the mess, whilst an 
 understanding had existed between the 
 midshipmen and himself, by which he had
 
 136 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 charged them an enormous amount for 
 legitimate articles, which stood in the lists 
 for spirits, wine, and cigars, and bottled ale 
 and porter. Thus he had transgressed the 
 rules of the service, and swindled the mess, 
 and the detection of these peculations was 
 due to the firmness and decision of a boy of 
 fourteen. There are few such at so early 
 an age, but though unusual, the facts were 
 as the writer has related.
 
 137 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " But, Douglas, can I thee forget ? — 
 
 Worthy the name, brave, tender, true, 
 Unmindful of thyself, and yet 
 To others giving more than due. 
 
 " I saw thee full of eager thought 
 Attentive mark the coming shot ; 
 I looked again, and it had wrought 
 Its cruel doom, and thou wert not. 
 
 " And in the roaring battery 
 
 How strangely quiet was thy rest — 
 How beautiful thy shrouded eye — 
 How tranquil thy unheaving breast !" 
 
 Helen Carr. 
 
 I7USTACE had spent two years on board 
 the Britannia in the Mediterranean — 
 the voice of war echoed through those 
 hitherto tranquil shores. The grand old 
 vessel sailed majestically into the unknown 
 waters of the Black Sea, and a few days
 
 138 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 later Eustace, with straining eyeballs and 
 beating heart, saw from the masthead the 
 Zouaves swarming up the steep of the 
 Alma. The war had begun in earnest, and 
 now the ships were required to contribute 
 their quota of men and officers to the de- 
 fence of the land forces. All were eager to 
 go, but when the eyes of the captain fell on 
 the anxious, pleading expression in the face 
 of the noble-looking boy who had come on 
 deck to put forward his claim, he smiled 
 such a smile of sadness as is given to the 
 ardour of youth which to the aged can 
 never return. 
 
 On the afternoon the captain thus 
 addressed Lady Yorke — 
 
 " Madam, 
 
 ^' I think it right to inform your 
 ladyship that, officers and men having been 
 required from Her Majesty's fleet for the
 
 CONSTANCE RIVEKS. 139 
 
 increase and protection of tlie land forces, 
 I have nominated your son, Sir Eustace 
 Yorke, as one of those to be employed in 
 this service. In thus doing I have acted 
 for him as I should have done for a son of 
 my own, had I had the fortune to possess 
 one. I remain, madam, your obedient 
 servant, 
 
 " Jasper Carew." 
 
 Lady Yorke received the intelligence with 
 sickness of heart. 
 
 " He is all I have," she thought ; but she 
 knew that his life must be poured out like 
 water, if needed, for the duties of his pro- 
 fession. She rephed — 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " Wliatever may be the result of my 
 son's being employed on active service on 
 shore, I beg to offer you my best thanks for 
 the opportunity you have given him of
 
 140 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 distinguishing himself. Your obedient ser- 
 vant, 
 
 " Myra Yorke." 
 
 From the first of October in that autumn 
 to the 18th, the sailors were employed in 
 transporting ammunition and guns to the 
 front. Very happy and very busy was 
 Eustace, though, being the youngest, he 
 was used as an errand-boy, and sent about 
 in all directions, whilst others enjoyed 
 sleep and food. At first he hurried to 
 perform his tasks, but finding that they 
 sprung up like the armed teeth of Deuca- 
 lion whilst his back was turned, and that 
 each completed duty did but bring another 
 in its rear, he abated his ardour, and 
 amused himself in the beautiful gardens and 
 luscious vineyards that had as yet suffered 
 not from strange footsteps or rifling hands. 
 Thus, when the commander of the Britanyiia
 
 CONSTANCE RIVEKS. 141 
 
 came to a granary, of wliicli the key had 
 been carried forward six miles by the party 
 in front, he desired young Yorke to go on 
 and get it ; Avhilst Eustace, running forward 
 till out of sight, turned aside to a neigh- 
 bouring garden, and flinging himself on 
 some mossy turf under a vine which clung 
 to the overshadowing tree that sheltered 
 him, and supported its purple clusters of 
 grapes, avoided the heat of the mid-day 
 sun, and enjoyed abundance of magnificent 
 fruit — grapes, melons, plums, pears, and 
 figs. 
 
 I regret that my hero should have been 
 so very unheroic ; but he was but mortal, 
 after all. The weather was hot, the order 
 was an absurd one, and the Commander was 
 unreasonable in having required the service. 
 
 Before Eustace had been absent an hour 
 Commander Aberdeen calculated that Eus- 
 tace could not be back for four of those
 
 142 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 divisions of time, and did what he had better 
 have done at first — broke the lock of the 
 door and fed his horses. In the evening, 
 when the party moved to the front, passing 
 by the scene of Yorke's festivity, he strolled 
 out demurely and joined them, as if he had 
 just returned. Had any question been asked, 
 he was prepared to answer with the truth ; 
 but all were intent on the work in hand, 
 and none regarded him. His zeal, his de- 
 votion to his real duties, his reckless gal- 
 lantry, brought him to the notice of that 
 noble sailor who inherited the genius of his 
 father, with the personal beauty of his 
 mother, the charms of whose person still 
 linger on the canvas where the pencil of 
 Laurence strove to immortalize them. The 
 statesmanship of the one, the delicate beauty 
 of the other, and the gallantry of their son, 
 are already forgotten in the rush and struggle 
 of daily life.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS, 143 
 
 Eustace, on that foreign soil, saw him as 
 he was, the incarnation of all great and 
 good quahties; and the young chief sym- 
 pathised with the enthusiasm of the boy, and 
 attached him to his person. 
 
 Highly ^vrought, nervous, and sensitive as 
 was young Yorke, his first contact with" 
 death would have affected him more deeply, 
 had not fresh incidents driven the shock from 
 his mind. The battery was darkened by 
 smoke even in the blaze of that autmnn 
 afternoon — a shot flew close to his head, and 
 involuntarily he started aside ; but, in doing 
 so, he put his foot on the naked heaving 
 chest of a man, mortally wounded. He 
 looked down, and recognised the captain of 
 the main-top, a sailor whom he knew and 
 liked. He withdrew his foot, greatly 
 shocked, and, in doing so, trampled on 
 another d}TJig man. After that he stood 
 firmlv, determined to make no effort to
 
 144 CONSTANCE RIVERS: 
 
 avoid his fate, and witli something of the 
 Turkish pliilosophy, in which our soldiers 
 share, that " every bullet has its billet." 
 
 That morning he and one other youth, 
 his senior, had been ordered to remain in 
 battery, whilst the attack on Sebastopol, 
 which had begun at nine a.m., was going on ; 
 and the two youths had wept tears of rage 
 and disappointment, fearing that the work 
 would be over, and the defences of the city 
 levelled to the ground before they could 
 be permitted to see the bombardment, which 
 it nearly cracked the drum of the ear to 
 listen to. Sebastopol, all the engineers had 
 declared, could not hold out twenty-four 
 hours ; the sailors, even the least sanguine 
 of that hopeful profession, gave that noble 
 city but twelve. The two youths left alone 
 in the battery diminished the number, in 
 their imagination, to three. The senior at 
 length mounted his pony, and, assuring
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 145 
 
 Yorke tliat he would only ride to tlie top of 
 the rismg ground, "just to see what they 
 were about," disappeared, and did not re- 
 turn. Half an hour after, when Eustace 
 was clenching his fists and gnashmg his 
 teeth with impotent rage at his inactivity, 
 an order came from his chief to take all 
 available officers, men, and ammunition to 
 the front. 
 
 Often durmg the dreary days and nights 
 of the following months before Sebastopol, 
 during which time he had seen the head of 
 that young and impatient companion, whom 
 he had learned to regard as a friend, carried 
 off by a round shot, he thought frequently 
 of the weary waiting of that morning, and 
 learned to restrain his impatience. In that 
 roaring battery, where the booming of the 
 guns made any voice inaudible which was not 
 
 a shout, or a scream, young D was laid 
 
 on his back, with a sweet half-smile on his 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 placid face. He seemed to sleep, till Eus- 
 tace bent over him to raise his head, and 
 felt his hand slip over that miseen horror, 
 which his flowing hair had half concealed. 
 
 Eustace wrote short letters to his mother 
 by every mail, but it seemed a desecration 
 to the calm and tranquillity of her life to 
 recount the incidents of his. She appeared 
 to him to be a Deity, to whom only the 
 choicest fruits of the earth, and the loveliest 
 flowers of the field, should be offered, not 
 sacrifices of blood and of human victims. 
 In his hurried prayers night and morning, 
 the thought of her was ever mingled. It 
 seemed to the youth that her prayers in his 
 behalf, the prayers of one so pure and good, 
 must avail him at the Throne of Grace. 
 She, poor soul, was ever availing herself of 
 every opportunity to send box after box 
 fall of clothes and provisions to her boy, of 
 which his companions felt the benefit, and
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 147 
 
 blessed her maternal care of her son. 
 
 " "Whither are you going so fast, Yorke ?" 
 said his chief one day. 
 
 ^' To write to my mother, sir." 
 
 '' Bring me the letter when you have 
 finished it. I want to add a line to it." 
 
 Eustace blushed and obeyed. It had 
 been already written, and only aAvaited the 
 envelope, so the captain was not kept wait- 
 ing. On a half sheet was written by him a 
 few words of commendation of her son, 
 which gave Myra the most intense pleasure 
 she had ever experienced. 
 
 How M}Ta blessed the man who had so 
 judged of her boy — a stranger to her, who 
 had selected Eustace as his aid-de-camp for 
 the qualities he himself possessed. How 
 fortunate she thought her son for having an 
 example of high moral character, gentleman- 
 like bearing, and brilliant achievements in 
 his chief And she was right. Unspeak- 
 
 l2
 
 148 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 able good is produced in the minds of the 
 young by the combination of valour and 
 virtue. The blaze of the glory makes 
 virtue more attractive when seen by its 
 light. 
 
 One morning Eustace left the camp before 
 daybreak, and witnessed a sight which ma- 
 terially affected his future career. Just as 
 the sun rose above the horizon, a squadron 
 of English lancers galloped by hun in line, 
 gleaming in the new-born light, the breath 
 of their snorting chargers making a Hne of 
 mist before them. Their gallant and spirit- 
 stirring bearing flushed the cheek of the 
 youth with delight and sympathy. 
 
 " These men will have the best of it," he 
 said to himself "When Sebastopol falls, 
 cavalry will be wanted to clear the Crimea, 
 and follow up the flpng troops. I am — 
 shall be no one when I return to my ship — 
 only a midshipman — now elevated by the
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 149 
 
 notice and kindness of my chief into the 
 position of a gentleman and the society of 
 my equals. That loathsome gun-room ! It 
 will be five years nearly before I can pass 
 as a lieutenant. On board ship, even if 
 there were an action, I should be possibly 
 ordered away from the very gun I was bent 
 on firing, for other duties. Besides," he 
 added, impatiently, "there are no sea-fights 
 now — ^never will be again — those glorious 
 duels on the ocean which our grandfathers 
 fought are bygone. Were I but on a 
 horse, and the enemy in front, I think I 
 might give a good account of them, and of 
 myself too." 
 
 A few days after the notice of young 
 Yorke's gallantry by the Commander-in- 
 chief made that nobleman regret that Yorke 
 was not in the army. 
 
 " How that boy rides ! What a cavalry 
 soldier he would make !"
 
 150 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Tliis was repeated to Yorke, and his mind 
 was made up, provided he could obtain his 
 mother's permission ; but before that could 
 be thought of, stirring scenes were to break 
 the monotony wliich had gathered over the 
 Crimean campaign. 
 
 On the 18th of June, at 12.5 a.m., Eus- 
 tace was awakened by the noise of the blue- 
 jackets turning out to fall in, preparatory to 
 marching down to the battery ; and by 
 Hardy, a sailor who, knowing that Eustace 
 had been ill for some days, came to ask if 
 he could be of any assistance to him. Eus- 
 tace replied that he wanted nothing, and 
 found, from Hardy's great glee, that he had 
 been selected amongst those seamen who 
 were to be employed in carrying the scaHng- 
 ladders up to the Redan. 
 
 When Eustace stood in the open air on 
 that cold misty morning, the men were just 
 marching off to the tune of "Cheer boys,
 
 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 151 
 
 cheer f and otlier popular melodies, in tones 
 so melancholy, as to inspire the utmost de- 
 pression. His chief did his utmost, in pure 
 tenderness of heart, towards his young aide, 
 to send the boy back with unimportant mes- 
 sages, which Yorke hastened to deliver, and 
 then to return to the side of his beloved 
 captain. 
 
 At length the chief gave way — 
 
 " You are determined to stick to me, 
 Yorke, so you must take your chance." 
 
 " I desire no better," said Eustace, with a 
 kindlmg eye, which gave life to his pale 
 sunken cheeks. 
 
 A party of sappers were close to the chief, 
 and under the influence, not of sphit, but 
 of spirits, proceeded to stand up m a trench 
 only three feet deep, m which they had been 
 intended to remain concealed. They then 
 proceeded to load, and then ran do^v^l in 
 regular form, which procured for the party
 
 152 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 oaths for showing those who should have 
 been latent, and showers of grape from the 
 Russians to show they knew how to take ad- 
 vantage of the knowledge. 
 
 A few minutes after they saw the French 
 attack the Malakoff, the signal being an im- 
 mense bouquet of shells, which was exceed- 
 ingly beautiful. At length a flag was run up, 
 a flag-staif in the light gun battery, and im- 
 mediately a voice cried out, "The signal's up!" 
 when the captain jumped over the parapet, 
 followed by his officers. Their appearance 
 was greeted by the Russians with a shower 
 of shot and shell ; but seeing that the sea- 
 men were not following with the ladders, 
 the brave leader of the party sprung again 
 up on to the top of the parapet, and 
 stood there clearly marked out against the 
 morning sky, waving his sword, the no- 
 blest and gallantest figure of a man ever 
 seen.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 153 
 
 " For sliame, sailors! will you let the red- 
 coats beat you ?" 
 
 Thus addressed, every blue-jacket scram- 
 bled with the ladders over the parapet, and 
 started forward towards the Redan ; and 
 from that moment till Eustace was laid on 
 the amputation table of the hospital hut 
 he did not again see his commanding officer. 
 This gentleman's bemg severely wounded or 
 killed was considered so certain, that Eus- 
 tace and the other aide had engaged a sea- 
 man named Hardy, and two other sailors 
 of approved valour, to watch the Captain, 
 and bring him in if he fell. 
 
 They had not long to wait — before he 
 had gone forward more than half way to 
 the Redan, he was struck by a bullet in the 
 left arm, and fell back fainting ; being pos- 
 sessed by the keen sensibility he derived 
 from his father, which urged him to meet 
 death, but made him involuntarily lose
 
 154 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 sensation from pain. Thus, by tlie tliought- 
 ful provision made by his aides, he was 
 placed in safety, and attended by the sur- 
 geons, who knew the value of such a life. 
 The ball had passed through the fleshy part 
 of his arm, lea^dng the bone uninjured, and 
 the wound, barring accident, was unlikely 
 to prove dangerous. Eustace, unencum- 
 bered by his light jacket, open red shirt, 
 midshipman's cap and trousers, and armed 
 only with his sword, ran forward towards 
 the Redan, at the head of the 57th Regi- 
 ment, the men of which were falling under 
 a heavy fire like packs of cards, nor did he 
 stop till a sharp sting quivered in the palm 
 of his hand, and he felt his sword whirled 
 out of his grasp, and knocked away seve- 
 ral yards to the right. Involuntarily the 
 shock to his nerves threw him on his knees ; 
 he looked at his bleedhig hand, and then 
 scrambled to his feet, blushing at havuig
 
 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 155 
 
 dropped -for so sliglit a cause, and fearful 
 lest any one should have observed his dis- 
 comfiture. 
 
 As he picked up his sword, he saw that 
 he was far ahead of the ladders and most 
 of the soldiers, so he retraced his steps, and, 
 walking by the side of the two foremost 
 ladders, he took command of them, and en- 
 couraged and hurried on the men. About 
 half way up, Eustace saw three officers 
 crouching down in a little chalk-pit, who 
 seemed to partake of Butler's opinion, that 
 
 " He who fights and runs away, 
 Lives to fight another day." 
 
 Probably, as these were bearded men, with 
 less enthusiasm than that which glowed in the 
 breast of sixteen, they saw the hopelessness 
 of the sacrifice of life which they had been 
 called on to make. At any event, self-pre- 
 servation seemed to be their governing prin- 
 ciple ; and Eustace, restraining the exclama-
 
 156 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 tion of " cowards !" whicli struggled on his 
 lips for utterance, passed tliem in silent con- 
 tempt. 
 
 " A young fool of a blue-jacket !" said 
 one, whose name was St. Cyr. 
 
 " Hang it ! he puts us to shame, though !" 
 said another, called Lymerton. 
 
 " Never mind ; laugh those that win," re- 
 plied the first. " He won t be alive to tell 
 of us in two hours time." 
 
 When Eustace got up to the abattis, he 
 looked round on his ladders. Three men 
 were left out of the six who had started 
 with the rearmost. One old man and a 
 boy struggled on under the weight of the 
 foremost. As the veteran strained under 
 his load, with fresh efforts he cheered his 
 boy companion. 
 
 " Come along, Bill — we'll get our blasted 
 ladder up first. Never mind us, sir," he 
 continued, seeing that Eustace had taken
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 157 
 
 his place to aid in its transportation ; " you 
 are wounded ?" — seeing the blood dropping 
 from his hand. 
 
 " Only a scratch," said our hero, aiding 
 them to carry it till they reached the 
 abattis. 
 
 On arrirag there all the men lay down, 
 and Eustace followed then" example, for he 
 saw plainly that, unless reinforcements 
 arrived, nothing could be accomplished. 
 On lookmg round he could perceive only 
 about four, or, at most, live hundred Eng- 
 lishmen, whilst two thousand five hundred 
 to three thousand Russians were kneeling 
 on the parapet, fom- deep, and picking off 
 the enemy in a manner painfully metho- 
 dical. 
 
 Just as Eustace lay do^vll an engineer 
 officer asked him where the captain was, 
 and on the boy's replying that he did not 
 know, the officer ran off to try and find
 
 158 CONSTANCE RIVEKS. 
 
 liim, but fell dead before he had proceeded 
 many steps. 
 
 For the mformation of my fair friends, I 
 must explain that an abattis is formed of 
 felled trees, with their branches presented 
 towards the enemy. Presently an officer 
 sprang to his feet, weary, probably, of inac- 
 tion, and, breakmg off a branch, waved it 
 over his head. It fell on Eustace from his 
 helpless hand as he sank again to the earth, 
 pierced by a dozen bullets. A young ser- 
 geant now jumped up, and, with a consider- 
 able amount of brogue, asked the men to 
 follow him in mounting the abattis ; but 
 meeting with no response, he waxed 
 angry, and said he would order the men to 
 follow him, and shoot the first who refused. 
 He was about eighteen or nineteen, and 
 had probably been promoted for some act 
 of valour at the Alma or Inkermann. 
 Finding they were still silent, he command-
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 159 
 
 ed one man near liim to follow, and seeiiifx 
 the veteran smile, his only response, at the 
 impossibility of the task, he raised his piece 
 to shoot him, and in the act of raising it 
 fell himself in a death-struggle. 
 
 Just after the death of the young ser- 
 geant, an officer, who was lying next to 
 Eustace, was hit in the bowels, and, rolling 
 over in the extremity of his agony, he 
 shrieked out — 
 
 " Oh ! my God ! — oh ! my mother ! — my 
 mother !" 
 
 Striking out his feet in convulsions of 
 torture, his struggles and exclamations 
 called the attention of the Russians to the 
 group, and brought down upon it an extra 
 share of bullets ; but there was no help for 
 it — ^110 shelter from them — and Eustace, 
 inexpressibly affected by the words uttered 
 by the dying man, moved out of his way to 
 give him space to expire. In doing this the
 
 160 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 boy raised himself on his right arm to look 
 through the branches of the abattis, shading 
 his eyes with his left hand, and instantly 
 received a horrible shock in the left arm, 
 which dropped him amongst the dead that 
 surromided him, and made him roll over 
 their bodies. 
 
 " My arm is broken," he thought ; and 
 though movement increased the agony, he 
 was unable to stop his involuntary rotation. 
 The pain became more and more acute as 
 sensibility returned after its being stunned 
 in the injured part, of which suffering any 
 one may judge who has struck even slightly 
 what is called vulgarly the funny-bone of 
 the elbow. After a few minutes the agony 
 was lost in insensibility. A sergeant soon 
 after shook Eustace by the shoulder, say- 
 ing— 
 
 " I say, mate, if you're able to get up, you 
 had better go."
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 161 
 
 "Whither?" said Eustace, opening his 
 eyes. 
 
 " Oh ! I beg pardon, sir, I did not see 
 you were an officer ; but if you can move, 
 you had better go, for you ^vill be bayo- 
 netted if you stay here. All our men are 
 
 retiring." 
 
 Eustace thanked his friend for his warn- 
 ing, and scrambled to his feet. He looked 
 for his companions, and saw wliat seemed 
 to be the last of them going in ; and, pick- 
 ing up his cap, mechanically he walked to- 
 wards the British batteries, passing the old 
 man and the boy lying dead by the side of 
 their scaling ladder. 
 
 On the night of the 17th, a ditch had 
 been dug towards the Redan, about half- 
 way up from the quarries. From want of 
 time to complete it, this was only a common 
 ditch, three feet deep. Had the attack 
 been delayed a few days, it would probably 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 have been converted into a regular ap- 
 proach. Into this shelter several of the 
 retreating men had jumped ; for, by running 
 with the body bent forward, they were in a 
 great degree hidden from the Russians, for 
 the grass on either side was between two or 
 three feet high, so that it afforded a good 
 cover. Eustace, not yet full grown, thinking 
 it would make a sufficient concealment for 
 him, jumped down into it, thereby giving 
 his arm an awkward shake. But, on 
 moving towards the British camp, dreadful 
 screams proceeded from numbers of wounded 
 men, who, having been stricken in going 
 up to the Redan, had crawled into the ditch 
 for shelter, and now announced their agony, 
 as the increasing stream of fugitives trampled 
 over their wounded and mutilated limbs. 
 
 With some difficulty Eustace scrambled up 
 the side, every fresh exertion forcing the 
 otherwise dripping blood into a stream ; but
 
 CONSTANCE EIYEES. 163 
 
 he had rather suffer than niflict suffering, 
 and he had soon reason to congratulate him- 
 self on his humanity. 
 
 He had not left the ditch three minutes, 
 before the Russians, who had observed the 
 long line of heads passing through it, trained 
 three guns of grape and canister for the 
 ditch, and swept down all the line of heads, 
 the men all falling over each other, as bent 
 cards placed in line to please a child, when 
 one is propelled forward by the touch of his 
 dunpled finger. 
 
 Eustace walked on slowly, untouched, 
 though the bullets and grape tore up the 
 earth over which he passed. He had felt 
 ill and exhausted before he started, and 
 now he was sick and faint from pain and 
 loss of blood, and it needed all the images 
 of his home, and of his mother s miserable 
 anxiety, to urge him to hasten on to pre- 
 
 M 2
 
 164 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 serve a life to wliicli he was becoming in- 
 dilFerent. 
 
 " Apathy of limb, the dull beginning 
 Of the cold staggering race which Death was winning," 
 
 was stealing over him. 
 
 But he had nearly reached the trench 
 from which that gallant party had started 
 in the dawn, and he crossed over to where 
 the continued stream of men passing had 
 worn down a passage through the parapet, 
 when a young soldier of the Rifles leapt out 
 of the ditch already spoken of, and, eager 
 to obtam shelter, brushed rudely by the 
 boy's wounded arm, saying impatiently, 
 
 " Move on, sir !" 
 
 Eustace replied by a curse, and the man 
 ran up the worn parapet with his musket at 
 the trail, to which Eustace, seizing it by the 
 butt-end, held on, that he might be dragged up 
 the little ascent. The rifleman turned angrily 
 to see what occasioned the unusual weight,
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 165 
 
 when a round shot, passing over the right 
 shoulder of Eustace, struck the soldier, and 
 cut him in two. 
 
 Eustace stepped over his body, and was 
 in comparative safety. 
 
 Just before this last step, however, he 
 turned to look behind him — a feeling of 
 nationality overriding pain, weariness, and 
 sickness. They had failed. Had the French 
 succeeded any better? Yorke was trying 
 to satisfy himself on this point, with an in- 
 difference to his own life which in future 
 years seemed incredible, when he remem- 
 bered that, being the sole living creature 
 on the parapet, he made the only mark 
 for the Russian bullets. He was re- 
 called to the fact by the exclamations of an 
 Irish regiment within the parapet. 
 
 " Jump ! jump ! Lord bless your innocent 
 heart ! don't you see 'tis yer precious self 
 they're firing at ?"
 
 166 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 
 
 "How can I jump?" said the youth, 
 pointmg to liis dangling arm, not fancying 
 the jar to that helpless limb by a sudden 
 descent of ten feet. 
 
 Two officers of the Guards ran forward to 
 help him, and one of them took hun down 
 in his arms as if he had been an mfant. 
 
 They held water to his parched lips, and 
 pressed on hun brandy, which he declined. 
 They wanted also to take him to their own 
 doctor ; but Eustace, thanking them in the 
 few faint words he could manage to utter, 
 walked on towards the sailors' camp. 
 
 On his way towards the right Lancaster 
 gun, towards which he was proceeding, he 
 overtook a blue-jacket who had lost two 
 fingers and a thumb, and was tearing his 
 shirt to bandage the stumps. As Yorke went 
 forward he was greeted by the following 
 exclamations — 
 
 ''Look there, Bill ! there's a go ! A poor
 
 CONSTANCE BIVERS. 167 
 
 little boy wounded, who ought to have been 
 at home with his mother !" 
 
 " What a shame ! 'Tis but a babe !" 
 
 Clement, a surgeon, who examined his 
 arm, said it must be amputated at once. 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 " Because you have a large ball in the 
 elbow-joint." 
 
 " If so, could I bend my arm ?" 
 
 " Certainly not." 
 
 Eustace, at the expense of exquisite 
 agony to the Avounded part, bent liis arm. 
 And the surgeon looked astonished, and 
 offered to extract the ball ; but Yorke de- 
 clined, wishing to reach liis OAvn naval medical 
 staff. 
 
 Shortly after, an officer, seeing his state 
 of exhaustion, procured a stretcher, on which 
 Eustace was carried into camp, not without 
 more perils, for a round shot tore up the 
 ground under the feet of the bearers. The
 
 168 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 blue-jacket now overtook the stretcher, 
 minus his fingers and the tail of his shirt, 
 and ran by the side of Eustace, chatting in 
 a most cheerful manner ; but in changing 
 arms the men dropped their burden, and 
 Eustace, falling on the wounded arm, fainted 
 from the pain. As he recovered he heard 
 the exclamations previously made by the 
 Irish regiment in the batteries repeated by 
 a party of Highlanders. 
 
 When he reached the side of the amputa- 
 tion table, he found the blue-jacket already 
 on it, who talked in a firm, unshaken voice, 
 whilst the surgeons took from their sockets 
 the remains of his thumb and two fingers. 
 Then it was Yorke's turn ; and the doctors 
 were all for amputating the arm above the 
 elbow joint, all but one, who, being luckily 
 the senior, had more weight. A ball over 
 five ounces in weight was found unbedded 
 in the shattered bones, just below the elbow
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 169 
 
 joint, and his arm was saved. Wiiilst lie 
 was yet on tlie table, his gallant, tender- 
 hearted young chief, having his arm in a 
 sling, came to look after his boy aide-de- 
 camp. He listened with incredulity at first 
 to the account Eustace gave of his having 
 been up to the Redan, believing, from the 
 flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes of his aide, 
 that he spoke under the influence of delirium. 
 It seemed impossible that Yorke could 
 have lived through such a storm of shell 
 and shot, had he passed through so much 
 space in a position so exposed. 
 
 "0 God! thou strength of my health!" 
 said Eustace, reverently. ''Thou hast 
 covered my head in the day of battle :" and 
 if there was a shadow of presumption in the 
 thought, let it be forgiven, for the feeling 
 of perfect reliance on this aid has ever 
 nerved the hearts of our warriors to their 
 noblest exertions.
 
 170 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 So soon as liis arm was bound up, and he 
 was carried to his hut, he asked for writing- 
 paper, and wrote in pencil to his mother a 
 few illegible Imes. 
 
 " It was not much of a wound — he should 
 soon be well enough to go back to the 
 battery." 
 
 The messmate who had found the ma- 
 terials retouched the words, that Lady 
 Yorke might know what they were meant 
 to convey; and then Yorke turned away and 
 slept the deep sleep of exhaustion, till 
 nature, busy to repair the damage done by 
 the bullet, set up inflammation, attended by 
 burning pain in the wounded arm, making 
 Eustace restless and sleepless. After a few 
 days he was sent to the Naval Hospital at 
 Therapia, where he spent a fortnight of rest 
 and enjoyment in the society of his cultivated 
 and intellectual chief, who was also 
 
 " Waxing well of his deep wound."
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 171 
 
 But in a few days the patients showed 
 that, however dehghtful might be the wilder- 
 ness of sweets that surrounded them in that 
 paradise of nature, an air more bracing was 
 necessary to restore them to perfect health. 
 
 Shortly after, Lady Yorke heard from the 
 captain of the Britannia that her son's pas- 
 sage home had been taken in H. M. S. 
 Leviathan; and after telling her on Avhat date 
 the vessel was likely to be at Portsmouth, 
 he stated that the surgeon had suggested that 
 some efficient person should be on the spot 
 to receive Sir Eustace Yorke, as his debility 
 was great, and, in addition to this, that his 
 wounded arm rendered hun very helpless. 
 The letter concluded with some well-de- 
 served commendation of the conduct and 
 gallantry of her son. 
 
 How fast Myra's heart beat on reading 
 this letter ! How eagerly she counted the 
 days till the Leviathan might be expected
 
 172 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 at Portsmouth. ! There were a few feeble 
 lines from Eustace : 
 
 "I am coming home, my dear mother. 
 You will soon make me well and strong. 
 ^' Your loving son, 
 
 "Eustace." 
 
 M}Ta wore these tremulous lines on her 
 bosom. Probably she might have loved her 
 son had he been a coward, and steeped in 
 infamy, but now she was proud of her de- 
 votion to the noble youth whom all united 
 to commend. 
 
 She would not travel down till the day 
 before that on which there was a probability 
 of the arrival of the vessel. She was shy 
 of exhibiting her anxieties in the presence 
 of strangers. To travel at all was an effort 
 to one who rarely left lionie. She had a 
 half-consciousness that her confidential maid 
 had no love for Eustace, and no sympathy
 
 CONSTANCE RIVEKS. 173 
 
 in her mistress's trouble — that she was jealous 
 of a devotion in which she had no part ; so 
 Lady Yorke left her at home, and took her 
 footman only with her. 
 
 On reaching Portsmouth, she was glad to 
 retire to her bedroom. ^' The Old Ship " 
 was full of company, for others besides her- 
 self had beloved ones on the ocean, who 
 were to be welcomed to their native land. 
 The sea at high tide seemed to lave the 
 walls of the houses under Myra's bedroom 
 window, but there was no distant prospect 
 of the ocean from it. That was then of 
 little consequence. Tlie Leviathan at the 
 earliest could not arrive till the morrow. 
 
 When the sun rose Myra arose also ; she 
 would breakfast early — that would be some- 
 thing to do. That meal hurried over, she 
 dressed herself in her veiled bonnet, and 
 went out attended by her servant, " to look 
 at the fortifications" ostensibly — in reality
 
 1 74 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 
 
 to gaze ^vitli inquiring eyes on the dizzy 
 expanse of rocking water, demanding the 
 vessel that bore her absent son. 
 
 Involuntarily her memory presented to 
 her nmid the touching lines ascribed by the 
 poet Bowles to the bereaved monarch Abba 
 Thule— 
 
 " I climb the highest cliff, I hear the sound 
 Of dashing waves — I gaze intent around — 
 I mark the sun wliich orient lifts his head, 
 I mark the sea's lone rule beneath him spread ; 
 But not a spec can my far-seeing eye, 
 A shadow on the tossing waves descry. 
 That I might weep tears of dehght and say, 
 It is the bark that bore my child away." 
 
 She grew tired of the presence of her ser- 
 vant, and dismissed him ; and then seated 
 herself on the edge of the bastion, and 
 looked into the distant horizon till her 
 senses reeled from the prolonged effort. 
 She got over her shyness so far as to ad- 
 dress the old sailors who loitered about 
 with glasses at their eye, \vith the sweetest
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 175 
 
 of smiles, and the gentlest of tones — when 
 did they think the Leviathan would arrive ? 
 
 " Maybe you expect somebody who's 
 aboard ?" 
 
 " Yes — oh ! yes. My son — he is ill — 
 wounded." 
 
 " Very like — very like." 
 
 " But when do you think — " and here her 
 voice became tremulous — '^ the vessel will 
 come?" 
 
 " May be to-night — may be to-morrow — 
 can't say." 
 
 ''Then she is not out there now? — not 
 one of those four vessels we see in the dis- 
 tance ?" 
 
 " Lord bless you, no !" Then looking at 
 her with profound contempt — " why, don't 
 you know her when you see her ?" 
 
 Myra was obliged to confess her ignor- 
 ance. In truth, excepting that some ships 
 were larger than others, and some emitted
 
 176 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Steam, which the others did not, she thought 
 they looked all alike. She tried to buy a 
 more favourable opinion from the old salt 
 by the donation of a shilling to purchase 
 tobacco, which so wrought on him, that he 
 promised, if she came again to-morrow, to 
 let her look out of his glass, and then per- 
 haps she might see the vessel she wanted. 
 
 Myra lingered till the sun sank below the 
 level sea, and no ships could be seen through 
 the soft mist which enveloped the horizon. 
 Then she went to the hotel, and contem- 
 plated two very tall wax lights in two con- 
 sumptive-looking silver candlesticks, with 
 small beading round the sockets for orna- 
 ment, which candles had replaced the moulds 
 first provided by the landlord, when he 
 found from the footman that his mistress 
 was " my Lady ;" a jug without a spout, or 
 rather with the dilapidated remains of one, 
 was hastily abstracted from the side-board.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 177 
 
 and replaced by a new one meant to repre- 
 sent china — tlie result of the same mtelli- 
 gence, whilst ten per cent, was also added to 
 the items of her ladyship's bill. 
 
 She could not rest — she could not settle 
 herself to any occupation. She thought 
 with Gray — 
 
 " My lonely sorrow melts no heart but mine, 
 And in my breast the imperfect joys expire." 
 
 At length she went to bed, and, wearied of 
 having walked about unconsciously all day, 
 she slept for some hours. 
 
 The wind rose and the waves lashed the 
 shuigles under her window. She dreamed 
 that the Leviathan was labouring in a heav}^ 
 sea— was wrecked — going to pieces — a voice 
 seemed to cry " All lost !" 
 
 She started up in cold terror, to find that 
 the wind was blowing a hurricane. 
 
 " Oh ! what can I do? — how can I get to 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 
 
 him ! All, me ! I have no help — no comfort 
 — ^no one to speak to !" 
 
 The draught of cold air flared the night 
 light ; and she arose and lighted her candle 
 — she could not place her head on the pillow 
 whilst such a turmoil was going on out- 
 side. 
 
 " Oh ! my Eustace !" and she sank on her 
 knees by the side of the bed, and wept and 
 prayed urgent tender supplications for the 
 safety of her boy. Every fresh burst of the 
 tempest shook her agitated breast. She ex- 
 tinguished the lights, in the vain hope of be- 
 ing able to see the sky and the water. She 
 opened the door of her room, and stole 
 softly along the passages, till she came to a 
 window that she knew would command the 
 horizon, when there was light sufliicient to 
 reveal it. It was two o'clock when she was 
 awakened by the storm — she lingered about 
 till half-past five.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 179 
 
 " Half-past five, sir ! Time to get up — 
 half-past five !" said a waiter, knocking at 
 the door of one of the sleepers ; then, seeing 
 Myra's pale anxious face, who was stealing 
 away, rather ashamed of being detected in 
 her watching — " Leviathan there, ma'am — 
 there, m the ofiing ; came in in the night — 
 too rough to come any nearer at present — 
 be in in the course of the day, ma'am." 
 
 " Are you 5wr^ P" said Myra tremulously 
 — " are you quite sure ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes ! — know the vessel quite well. 
 Seen her scores of times. There she is," 
 pointing her out to Myi'a. " Thank you, 
 ma'am," pocketing the fiNQ shillings Myra 
 placed in his hands. 
 
 She went to her room, and kneeling 
 where her tears had not yet had time to 
 dry on the counterpane, she poured out such 
 ejaculations of gratitude and thanksgiving as 
 seldom emanate from mortal bosoms. Those 
 
 n2
 
 180 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 
 
 who return to give thanks are but as one to 
 nine. 
 
 M}a*a could now give her hour to sleep, 
 and when she had rested she breakfasted 
 and went forth to the beach. She must see 
 her boy. She could not wait. She found 
 the old salt. 
 
 "Would you like to look through the 
 glass, mum ?" 
 
 Myra never could see through a telescope, 
 but she consented to try, as the sailor seemed 
 to wish it. 
 
 " There she lays. A fine vessel, mum !" 
 
 " I want a boat to go out to her," said 
 Myra, decidedly made bold by her sense of 
 happiness. 
 
 "A boat to go out to her? 'Tis foul 
 weather, and 'tisn't everybody would like it. 
 You see, mmu, 'tisn't over-safe ; but we 
 seamen don't stop for that often. Isn't 
 your ladyship timorous yourself?" added he.
 
 CONSTANCE " RIVERS. 181 
 
 " Well, then, I'll make the best bargain I 
 can for you." 
 
 In a few minutes he returned to Lady 
 Yorke, and announced that he had engaged 
 a boat and a couple of men, besides him- 
 self, for three guineas. Had he said ten, 
 Myra would willingly have paid it. 
 
 They placed Myra in the boat, and 
 wrapped a spare sail round her to defend 
 her from the spray, and pushed off from 
 land. I Avill not give my heroine too much 
 credit for courage, nor deny that she some- 
 what repented having hazarded the lives of 
 three brave men besides her own in her 
 impatience to see her son. 
 
 In the midst of the boiling waves, whirled 
 on thek crests, or sinkhig down into their 
 troughs, the sailors began to express their 
 doubts as to whether they should ever make 
 the vessel. Myra said nothing. She did 
 not moan nor scream. She fixed her eves
 
 182 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 on the scarcely perceptible form of the 
 Leviathan^ and wept silently to think what 
 Eustace would suffer if she were not alive to 
 welcome liim home ; but this grief was not 
 to weigh on his young heart. The side of 
 the vessel was reached, and Myra, terrified 
 by the dancing about of the little cockle- 
 shell of a boat she was leaving, clung to a 
 rope on the ship's side, and clambered up 
 like a cat, thankful to cling to something so 
 large and comparatively firm. An officer 
 advanced, bowing, to mqmre her commands. 
 She mentioned the name of her son, and 
 AN'as conducted below to the cabin, in which 
 the officers were seated at their breakfasts. 
 
 " My son, Sir Eustace Yorke !" said poor 
 Myra, flushing, for she had grown shy again 
 in a crowd of strangers. 
 
 "I am coming, my mother, presently," 
 said a quiet voice from one of the cabins. 
 
 Myra went quickly towards it.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 183 
 
 " I cannot speak to you yet. Tlie surgeon 
 is dressing my arm. Please to go back to 
 the table. You wall not like to see it." 
 
 Myra obeyed. 
 
 At length, the many yards of bandage 
 being properly applied, Eustace walked de- 
 liberately out of the cabin to where Lady 
 Yorke stood, feeling awkward, at the table. 
 
 " How do you do ?" he said, quietly, and 
 just brushed her forehead with his lips. 
 
 Tliis was the meeting between mother 
 and son, after two years and eight months' 
 absence. Nothing could have been colder 
 than the salutation, yet both were satisfied : 
 the boy with the mother's love, that had 
 come through peril to welcome him home ; 
 the mother exulting in the improvement she 
 observed in his person and manner. He 
 had left her a boy — ardent and ingenuous. 
 He had returned to her, made manly by 
 the scenes through which he had passed.
 
 184 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Whilst his contemporaries at public schools 
 struggled through the difficulties of the 
 Greek tragedies, he had been an actor in 
 real ones, and these had left marks of 
 thought and determination on his young 
 brow. 
 
 Thus were mother and son re-united. 
 Lady Yorke waited till the storm had 
 abated, and the angry waves were stilled, 
 before she went on shore. Very proud and 
 very happy she was on carrying her son 
 home. The inhabitants of the village, and 
 the tenants on the estate, wished to give 
 Eustace a triumphant reception ; but neither 
 the mother nor her boy had any taste for 
 such demonstrations, and kept the day of 
 their return a secret. 
 
 Sir Eustace Yorke had been returned by 
 all his commanding officers as worthy of 
 obtaining the Victoria Cross, and his name 
 was put down on the Admiralty list accord-
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 185 
 
 ingly, next to that of his gallant chief 
 captain. 
 
 The mother and her son wandered about 
 in the park and gardens in the evening. 
 For a week or ten days Eustace was content 
 to " rest and be thankful ;" but the activity 
 of his mind revolted from prolonged inac- 
 tion. He Avished to gain his mother's con- 
 sent to his favourite scheme for leaving the 
 Nav}^ ; but he recoiled from the idea of the 
 pain he felt it would give her — all her in- 
 terests seemed naval now ; for his sake she 
 reverenced it as a profession, and admired 
 the character of its men and officers. One 
 sunset evening, however, when he leaned on 
 her arm, for he was still feeble, she asked 
 the question so often put by loving lips, and 
 so seldom answered truly, 
 
 " Of what are you thinking ?" 
 
 Without venturing to look at her, he re- 
 plied.
 
 186 CONSTANCE ri\t:rs. 
 
 " Mother, of leaving the Nav}^ !" 
 
 " Of leaving the Navy ! Oh! Eustace! — 
 the profession you sought for so ardently, in 
 which you have distinguished yourself so 
 nobly, in which your career has been so 
 brilliant! Oh! Eustace, you have disap- 
 pointed me cruelly !" 
 
 " You have scarcely a right, to say that, 
 my mother, I think," the boy replied. '^ Re- 
 member, the service m which I was said to 
 have distinguished myself was the land ser- 
 vice. Had I been on board, I could have 
 had but small opportunity of doing so." 
 
 He then recapitulated all the reasons for 
 his wishing to enter a cavalry regiment; 
 and his mother ended by consenting to aid 
 him in their fulfilment. 
 
 Tlien Eustace visited his friend and chief, 
 and learnt from him the value of a culti- 
 vated mind. He was eager to hurry home, 
 and begin self-imposed tasks. The scholar-
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 187 
 
 ship which had been so distasteful to him as 
 a boy, now asserted its importance in his 
 mmd. Every morning at half-past five he 
 would be found with his Yirgil and diction- 
 ary before him, studpng till the breakfast- 
 bell called hun to where Lady Yorke read 
 prayers to the household at eight o'clock. 
 Excepting a mad gallop for two hours every 
 day over .every available fence round his 
 estate, he spent the whole day, and part of 
 the night, in reading Latin. He had set 
 himself a task to accomplish, and by chaining 
 his attention thereunto, he avoided, in some 
 degree, the sickening alternation of hopes 
 and fears about the chances of getting a 
 commission. 
 
 The kind-hearted Commander-in-chief had 
 sunk under strategic disappointments; but 
 a letter he had written to Eustace re- 
 mained, and its production at the Horse 
 Guards was followed by his obtaining a
 
 188 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 promise of a commission in the cavalry. 
 Eight months, however, elapsed before Eus- 
 tace could leave his home. The shattered 
 bone continued to exfoliate from his arm, 
 and his health suffered from the continued 
 anguish of his wound. In the meantime, he 
 obtained permission from the Admiralty to 
 leave the Navy ; and, as a result, when their 
 list of those for whom the Victoria Cross 
 was destined came out, the name of Sir 
 Eustace Yorke was found to have been 
 struck out. 
 
 Myra's indignation knew no bounds. 
 That of Eustace was more silent and self- 
 contained. 
 
 " They may withhold it, but I'll have the 
 Victoria Cross in spite of them, before I die!" 
 he muttered below his breath. 
 
 Before he joined his regiment, the th 
 
 Dragoons, he, having conquered his Yir- 
 gilean difficulties, expressed his determina-
 
 CONSTANCE ri\t:rs. 189 
 
 tion to begin Greek again. He liad recog- 
 nised the meaning of some of that sonorous 
 language, whilst listening to the chanting of 
 the priests in the monastery of Saint George, 
 and he took up some of his neglected Greek 
 choruses mth satisfaction. Soon after he 
 joined his regunent in the west of 
 England, and found himself at seventeen 
 and six months a cornet mthout a friend in 
 the army. 
 
 In his regiment there were men of higher 
 rank, of greater wealth, than Eustace ; but 
 though most of the young officers were 
 senior to Yorke, in character they were 
 essentially school-boys without a head-master, 
 and thought the grave young cornet a fit 
 subject for the Avitless horse-play in which 
 these enfranchised children thought it manly 
 to indulge. The experience of Eustace in 
 the saturnalia of the midshipmen's society 
 was sufficient to assure him that any remon-
 
 190 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 strance was vain. He attempted not to stem 
 the cm^rent. He simply withdrew him- 
 self from it. 
 
 He had joined before his miiform ar- 
 rived ; but on his first appearance with his 
 medals, his companions were silenced. They 
 knew not before but that he had just left 
 school. Eustace had never spoken of him- 
 self When, a few nights before, Eustace 
 had retired to rest, but had not taken off 
 his clothes, a riotous party, believing the 
 youth was not alone, proceeded, after a 
 vain attempt to turn the handle of the door, 
 to break in a panel, wdien they found Yorke 
 reading quietly a chapter of the Bible, which 
 he had done every night since he had 
 been under fire. The point of the jest 
 was lost, and they turned away disap- 
 pointed. 
 
 ^' You will have a cigar ?" said one, one 
 day.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 191 
 
 '' Thank you, I don't smoke." 
 
 ''Why do you not?" 
 
 " Because I don't choose to do so." 
 
 " You do not diink either ?" 
 
 " Certainly not — for the same reason." 
 
 " Nor play billiards ?" 
 
 " Not for money." 
 
 "Nor bet?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 " What a muff you must be !" 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "There's no making anything out of this 
 fellow," they agreed. " He don't seem to 
 care for chaff,'' 
 
 It was a happy day when Eustace re- 
 ceived his orders to sail for the Crimea 
 again. He found time to return, and take a 
 hurried farewell of his mother. 
 
 " Eustace !" said she, seeing him placing 
 a volume beside the Bible in his port- 
 manteau. " Wliat a strange juxtaposition!"
 
 192 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 It was " Night and Morning." 
 
 " Yes, but for that book, my mother, I 
 should not have won your approbation as I 
 have done." 
 
 He turned to a part of the volume which 
 opened by itself, and showed Lady Yorke 
 the page in which the gifted author de- 
 scribes the qualities of Philip Mordant's 
 character. 
 
 "With all his passions, he held licentious- 
 ness in disdain; with all his ambition for 
 the power of wealth, he despised its luxury. 
 Simple, masculine, severe, abstemious, he 
 was of that mould in which in earlier times 
 the successful men of action have been 
 
 cast." 
 
 He left her. 
 
 " Hers was the grief, the gloom, 
 The tearful eye, that followed far 
 The fast retreating plume." 
 
 He had been so charming — so intelligent
 
 CONSTANCE KIVEKS. 193 
 
 a companion, so gentlemanlike in his defer- 
 ence to lier as a woman — so devoted to her 
 as a son, that the house seemed more than 
 ever empty when his footsteps no longer 
 echoed through the old hall. 
 
 He was detained at Scutari, instead of 
 going on to the Crimea. A fire took place 
 in the barracks, and, in consequence of this 
 accident, the ofiicer on duty was required to 
 visit the outposts every evening. As a rule, 
 the officer was content to visit the two near- 
 est, when, with a clear conscience, he could 
 say he had "visited the outposts," two 
 making a plural number ; but Eustace could 
 not consent to act such an evasion. When 
 his turn came, he went the round of the 
 whole, twice crossing the Turkish cemetery, 
 ! which, from its slightly covered dead, was 
 pestilential at all times, but mostly so during 
 the moist vapours of night, in which no sound 
 was audible but the melancholy bowlings of 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 194 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 dogs, answering each other from their feasts 
 on the exhumed bodies. 
 
 Very dreary were these nightly walks, as 
 Eustace, with his sword drawn, paced alone 
 the silent camp; sometimes stumbling over 
 unknoAvn obstacles, sometimes gazing on the 
 moonbeams, which threw long lines of light 
 on the mighty trunks of the massive cy- 
 presses, and revealed the weird and gro- 
 tesque-looking monuments of turbaned stone, 
 which seemed to possess a semi-vitality — 
 some bowing, as if in mockery, others lean- 
 ing their heads together, as if in consulta- 
 tion, and others again flung prostrate on 
 the moss and scanty herbage. Through the 
 centre of the burying-ground, which was 
 more than three miles in length, passed a 
 broad, open space, left to admit of the pas- 
 sage of the arabas, which deposited the 
 bodies of the faithful dead. Cypresses, 
 tall as Preadamite creations, stood silent
 
 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 195 
 
 sentinels on each side of the road, flanking 
 the unkno^vn depths of the cemetery. As 
 Eustace turned on reaching the summit of 
 the gentle acclivity, and looked back, the 
 ground seemed white with broken and dis- 
 graced monuments — overthrown records of 
 the lost and dead ; uncared for as those de- 
 posed idols we look back on — those broken 
 projects and forgotten hopes that occupied 
 our past life. 
 
 After one of these visits, Eustace sickened 
 of t}^hus fever. He was taken delirious to 
 the hospital. The doctors gave but small 
 hope of his recovery. The captain of his 
 troop, who loved the boy for his modesty, 
 his gallant deeds, and his attention to his 
 duties, pitied the anguish of his mother, 
 when he pictured her agony at receiving the 
 probable news of the death of her son, 
 if she remained uninformed of his illness, 
 and wrote to break the intelligence which 
 
 o 2
 
 196 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 the next mail would probably bring her. 
 
 She received the letter, and two hours 
 after was on her way to Marseilles, to take 
 the packet for Constantinople. She might 
 not arrive m time to see him alive ; but 
 there was a chance, a possibility of reaching 
 him. A courier attended her through 
 France ; but, on going on board the steamer, 
 she dismissed him, believing that at Scutari 
 he would be more than useless. 
 
 Arrived there, the kindness of the lady- 
 superintendent procured her admission to 
 the hospital in which Eustace was lying. 
 She was shown into the room, where there 
 was but one bed occupied, and she perceived 
 not her son, and turned away disappointed. 
 As she was leaving the room, a faint voice 
 exclaimed — ''Mother!" She returned, and 
 knelt by the side of her boy, so changed 
 that she had not recognised him, save by his 
 voice.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 197 
 
 The recognition on his part had been but 
 momentary. His mind wandered again to 
 the busy past, where his active energies had 
 occupied him in strange contrast to the 
 helplessness of his present state, and to the 
 more perfect repose to which his young 
 life seemed to be hurrying. 
 
 " Ha ! fools ! what are you staring at ? 
 Did you never see a dead man before ? 
 Take it away! — to the hospital, if he lives — if 
 not, fling it aside to the rear — we must 
 work this gun. How those active fellows 
 swarm up the Alma heights ! They should 
 have been sailors — not Zouaves. 
 
 " This is the Mamelon — they sit in a circle 
 and converse in whispers. No French 
 vivacity. They are picked off one by one 
 as they sit. Anoflicer is looking on something 
 covered with a military cloak. It was his 
 friend ten minutes since !" 
 
 Then the youth tried to hum the "Zouave
 
 198 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 March." The air brought back the recollec- 
 tions of the time when he had heard it. 
 
 " Ha ! fine fellows ! Look at that man 
 with the tricolor flag, one hundred yards in 
 front of his comrades ! Ha ! ha I he is going 
 to drive the Russians from the MalakofF 
 single-handed ! He climbs over the abattis. 
 He fires ! Ah ! he's down ! Brave fellow ! 
 He will never rise, till the trump of doom. 
 Another raises the tricolor ! Bravo ! Grand 
 nation ! A crowd bustles round it — it waves 
 — it sinks ! The Russians trample it down !" 
 A yell arose from the parched lips of Eus- 
 tace, and Myra called the orderly to hold 
 him down on his bed, from which he was 
 struggling to rise, with the momentary 
 strength of fever. " Ha ! the French supports 
 arrive — they come from the middle ravines 
 at a quick double ! Drums and fifes playing ! 
 — Victory !" 
 
 And with a tremulous voice again he sang
 
 CONSTANCE EIVEES. 199 
 
 and tried to sliout the inspiring notes of the 
 " Zouave March." 
 
 " I'll bore holes in those lines of Russians 
 with my sixty-eight pounders," he said, below 
 his breath. Then with a shout he exclaimed, 
 " How they go down ! Like wheat in 
 harvest! So thirsty! — water ! Pah ! it smells 
 of blood ! Look, it is stained — give it me — 
 I must drink !" 
 
 Myra supported his head, and held the 
 water to his lips — which he swallowed with 
 difficulty. His tongue was dark brown, his 
 teeth and lips clogged with the terrible in- 
 dications of typhus. 
 
 Then he tried to sing — 
 
 " Says a soldier to a sailor as they were walking one day.'' 
 
 This died away into one of the saddest of 
 the negro melodies. 
 
 " Hang up the fiddle and the bow, 
 Put by the mattock and the hoe. 
 There's no more work for poor old Ned ; 
 He's gone where the good niggers go."
 
 200 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Then lie remained silent, or muttered only, 
 in a drowsy state. To watch him and count, 
 or try to count, that feeble hurrying pulse, 
 was Myra's only occupation as she sat by his 
 bed-side. But her hours of watching were 
 limited. The tribe of doctors, eight in 
 number, who visited their patients twice a 
 day, had warned the lady-superientendent 
 that Lady Yorke must not be allowed to 
 remain more than three hours during the 
 day in the room with her son. 
 
 " Her coming at all is a nuisance," they 
 said. "We shall have her sick on our 
 hands, and we have too many invalids al- 
 ready. With her anxiety and depressed 
 spirits, she will be sure to take the infec- 
 tion of typhus if she does not go out into 
 the air daily for some hours." 
 
 Myra was obedient — she was thankful to 
 be there at all ; but, on putting on her bon- 
 net and cloak to walk out, she was stopped
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 201 
 
 before she had descended the magnificent 
 marble steps of the hospital, by a message 
 from the lady-superintendent, that two sol- 
 diers were ready to attend her. She had 
 not counted on such an honour, and returned 
 to remonstrate. 
 
 '^ As you please, Lady Yorke ; but if you 
 go where you seemed to direct your steps, 
 to the cemetery, you are unlikely ever to 
 come back alive, if you go unattended. 
 Violence and murder are too common to 
 be made much account of now." 
 
 So Myra gave up her idea, and confined 
 her walk to the precincts of the hospital 
 grounds. 
 
 When in the building she could not be 
 prevented wandermg up and down the cor- 
 ridor which contamed the room where Eus- 
 tace was Ipng. She was not permitted to 
 spend the night by his side ; but she walked 
 outside, and passing and repassing to look
 
 202 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 if perchance the nurse slept by the side of 
 her charge ; and blessing the tatters in the 
 green window blinds, which, catching the 
 draughts of wind through the open arches 
 into the large interior quadrangle, allowed 
 her glimpses of her treasure — sometimes of 
 the skeleton hand — sometimes of the attenu- 
 ated face tossed restlessly on the heated 
 pillow. 
 
 Soon the \dgilance of the doctors and 
 nurses relaxed. Myra was permitted to 
 take the whole charge of her boy. He was 
 a feather-Aveight now — she could move him 
 in his bed — she hated the interference of the 
 female nurses, and preferred an orderly, 
 who slept till he was wanted, and then was 
 glad to return to the comfortable bed which 
 Myra had prepared for him. Sometimes 
 she slept also ; and Avhen Eustace showed 
 signs of recovery, she could afford to smile 
 at the indifference with which she made her
 
 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 203 
 
 toilette beliind a screen in the room with 
 the sleeping soldier ; or went to the bath, 
 where male attendants watched by the door, 
 or added hot or cold water. "Nice cus- 
 toms curtsy to great necessities." 
 
 In the early morning, after her boy had 
 passed a better night than usual, she used to 
 walk outside the en\irons of the hospital, 
 and watch the rismg of the sun over Mount 
 Olympus, which stood out grandly in its 
 covering of eternal snow, rose-tinted by the 
 morning beams, which deepened the nearer 
 hills to rich purple tints, and made the fore- 
 gromid burnished gold. 
 
 The lady longed for her quiet, genial 
 home, for its repose, its refinement. She 
 sickened of the regular Greek outline, of 
 the magnificent black eyes with their eternal 
 sparkle, of the beautiful straight noses and 
 short upper lips, A\dth their silky moustache. 
 She looked lo\dngly — such was her nation-
 
 204 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 ality — at the beds full of our sleeping sol- 
 diers, wlien she passed through their gal- 
 leries at night, and saw the rough faces, snub 
 noses, and red whiskers that spoke to her 
 of home. It was a comfort to get to her 
 boy's side, and talk to him of their return — 
 it was like heaven after those weary pacings 
 up and down the galleries, containing three 
 hundred and thirty-three feet each corridor. 
 How often she had counted them, trying 
 not to think of the chances of her son's 
 death. 
 
 At length he was permitted to leave the 
 hospital ; and, attended by his soldier-ser- 
 vant and his mother, they took their passage 
 for home, and reached it safely. 
 
 Now he was with her in her quiet home, 
 gazing out listlessly on the deep shadows of 
 the park-trees, in the glory of the summer 
 sunset. 
 
 " How beautiful !" she said, at length.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 205 
 
 " It is beautiful ! — a most beautiful piece 
 of gi^ound !" replied he, eagerly, with his 
 face lighted up mth somewhat of his old 
 enthusiasm. " And give me three hundred 
 of my own men of the , and five hun- 
 dred Cossacks coming do^vn the opposite 
 hill ! Wouldn't we make mince-meat of 
 them, that's all !" 
 
 " You would never pollute this lovely 
 home scene Avith blood and death ?" said 
 his mother. 
 
 " Pollute ! Rather say sanctify it with 
 fame for ever !" rejoined the youth. 
 
 As he grew stronger, the wish to culti- 
 vate his mind returned. He had been over- 
 whelmed mth shame, he said, when, on a 
 six hours' truce, a young Russian officer had 
 come up and addressed him in five different 
 modern languages ; but as English was not 
 one of them, he had stood dumb and help- 
 less, till his chief explained what was said to
 
 206 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 him, and interpreted his answers. He would 
 go to some family in France, and study 
 French. 
 
 Myra sighed, and let hmi go. He was to 
 return in two months, when his sick leave 
 would expire. He wrote daily, for the first 
 fortnight in English, then in French, when 
 he was compelled, by his ignorance of the 
 language, to write Avhat he could^ rather 
 than what he loould. Lady Yorke had 
 taken the precaution to mquire if Monsieur 
 
 D had daughters, and finding that the 
 
 eldest was an ugly, turned-up-nosed g\r\ of 
 twelve years, she rested m peace. But let 
 no mother, with an unmarried son of 
 eighteen, rest in peace, if the youth be a 
 baronet, and heir to a fine fortune. Mon- 
 sieur D , on recei\dng Sir Eustace Yorke, 
 
 and finding out his future wealth, sent for 
 his eldest daughter, who was a governess in 
 England. Eustace knew nothing of French,
 
 CONSTANCE RIVEKS. 207 
 
 and the tall, fine-looking young woman of 
 twenty-seven years was invaluable in teach- 
 ing him, and interpreting his English to her 
 family. She was well-mformed, too, and 
 her advantage in age, with a youth, she 
 knew how to turn to good account. An 
 English girl might have done it clumsily ; 
 a French woman understood the business 
 perfectly. 
 
 Eustace fell in love with the stately Clau- 
 dine ; but he had been brought up in rigid 
 notions of equity in pecuniary matters, and 
 as soon as he had acquired sufficient French 
 to go about at Fontainebleau, without the 
 
 accompaniment of any of Monsieur D 's 
 
 family, several of the tradesmen entreated 
 
 his interest with Monsieur D to settle 
 
 their small accounts, which had been un- 
 paid for many months. He had seen a love 
 of little luxuries in good eating and orna- 
 ments in his cherished Claudine, which now
 
 208 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 revolted his mind, accustomed as he had 
 been to the strict idea of justice imbibed 
 from his mother. He took an early oppor- 
 tunity of asking Claudine whether the allega- 
 tions of the tradesmen were correct. She 
 flushed slightly, and said she supposed so. 
 
 "Then, it seems to me, mademoiselle," 
 said Eustace, who in becoming a soldier 
 had not forgotten his naval sincerity, 
 " that you do that which is dishonest 
 in purchasing anything beyond what is ab- 
 solutely necessary for existence, till your 
 tradesmen are satisfied." 
 
 She was sure she spent " very little," 
 she replied. 
 
 "You have brandy and water every 
 night for supper, English beer for dinner ; 
 you bought a parasol yesterday, and a veil 
 the day before," said the unpitying Eustace. 
 
 " The brandy and beer were ordered by 
 the doctor for my health."
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 209 
 
 " And the parasol and veil too ?" rejoined 
 the youth. 
 
 *'Yes, for the health of my complexion. 
 My nose was becoming so burnt." 
 
 She smiled, but there was no answering 
 smile on the face of her companion. She 
 went on — 
 
 " My father has been in difficulties — but 
 we are paying off by degrees. Your salary, 
 which is paid so regularly, helps to pay oif 
 part of the bills. I see how high are your 
 principles — would I had been thus edu- 
 cated ! I will do all I can to imitate 
 you !" Sotto voce : " Intolerable prig ! Til 
 teach him how to spend his money when I 
 am Milady Yorke !" 
 
 From that hour Mademoiselle Claudine 
 drank her bottled beer and brandy and 
 water in her own room. The parasol was 
 put away, and she told Eustace she had in- 
 duced the shop-keeper to take it back. 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Eustace, sincere and trutliful himself, believed 
 all she said, and had the pleasure of think- 
 ing that he had directed a noble heart aright. 
 He felt that a sum ridiculously large was 
 
 paid to Monsieur D for his board and 
 
 tuition, and he did not choose to exceed 
 the income to which he was entitled, whilst 
 under age. 
 
 One thing was in his power — his expendi- 
 ture should be reduced to the smallest 
 Ihnits, that he might not have on his con- 
 science any indulgences on his own part, to 
 increase the sums owing to the tradesmen. 
 For the last three weeks of his stay at 
 Fontainebleau, he existed on dry toast and 
 coffee, without sugar or milk, and returned , 
 to Myra a handsome skeleton. 
 
 It was some little time before she dis- 
 covered the cause of his emaciation ; and 
 when he did mention it, it was only to have
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 211 
 
 the pleasure of praising Claudine, and prov- 
 ing how noble she was in following the 
 right path as soon as it was pointed out to 
 her. 
 
 Myra assented with her lips, and deter- 
 mmed to keep a keen look-out on the 
 future. She knew, with her shrewdness and 
 her thirty-eight years contact with woman- 
 kind, all their wonderful varieties of arti- 
 fice. 
 
 "How far is his heart entangled, I 
 wonder ?" was the question she asked her- 
 self 
 
 One morning, when Eustace was out with 
 his gun, the post brought a foreign letter 
 on thin paper, evidently crossed and re- 
 crossed — post-mark, "Fontainebleau." Poor 
 mother ! hoAV she loathed the thin, spider- 
 legs kind of handwriting ! — how she longed 
 to throw the letter into the fire ! The 
 
 p 2
 
 212 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 temptation was strong, but Myra's sense of 
 honour was stronger, and she sat down to 
 her breakfast with a sick heart. 
 
 " They correspond, then !" she said. She 
 would ask the question before she gave him 
 the letter. " Eustace," she said, with a 
 trembling voice, ''do you correspond with 
 any of the D family ?" 
 
 " No," was the prompt reply ; " Monsieur 
 
 D told me that Claudine would write 
 
 to me, and I replied that I hoped he would 
 do me the honour of addressing me him- 
 self, if any circumstance iwu^e it necessary. 
 Rut why do you ask ? Is there a letter? 
 — has she written ?" he said, his face beam- 
 ing with joy. 
 
 " Yes, here is a letter, in a woman's 
 hand." Myra would not say a lady's hand, 
 she was too angry — too angry for her 
 usual tact— she gave way to some of the 
 impetuosity of her youth. " Eustace, why
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 213 
 
 does Mademoiselle D write to you ? — 
 
 what can she have to say ?" 
 
 " How can I tell," said Eustace, looking 
 very conscious, "till I read her letter?" 
 holding out his hand for it. 
 
 " Listen, Eustace — this is an artful wo- 
 man, double your age, who wants to entrap 
 you into marriage." 
 
 Eustace felt his face flush with anger, but 
 he answered in a measured tone — 
 
 '' You are mistaken, my mother. Made- 
 moiselle D is incapable of trying to 
 
 entrap anyone." His experience in the 
 Xavy had taught him self-command. 
 
 " Eustace, I entreat you to put the letter 
 in the fire without reading it." 
 
 " Mother " — there was a long pause, then 
 
 he spoke again — " when I had been one 
 
 day working hard in the hot sun in the bat- 
 
 ! tery, moving powder and shot, Douglas 
 
 poured out a glass of something which he
 
 214 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 said was ginger-beer, and placed it to my 
 lips. I seized it greedily, for I was heated, 
 and the only water was that which the 
 ditches yielded, muddy enough, and polluted 
 often by human blood. It was not ginger- 
 beer, but champagne; and thirsty as I was, I 
 gave it back untasted, for I remembered 
 your wish that I should never drmk any- 
 thing stronger than coffee. That temptation 
 was great, but you require now a greater 
 sacrifice in deshing me not to read a letter 
 from a girl I love — the first letter I have 
 ever had from any woman; but," added he 
 with inexpressible sweetness — "but I should 
 not have been alive now, had you not 
 nursed me in that fearful hospital. Take the 
 letter, mother." 
 
 Lady Yorke took the letter, but she was 
 touched to the heart by her son's duty ; and 
 with victory came the mercy of a victor. 
 
 ^'Take it and read it yourself, my son,"
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 215 
 
 said she ; "only remember that I believe her 
 to be an artful and designing — " 
 
 "And / knoio^'' said the youth, "she is 
 incapable of — or, rather, far too elevated in 
 her principles to have any arriere peiisee. 
 We shall see," continued Eustace, trium- 
 phantly opening his letter. Like the roll of 
 Ezekiel, it was written within and without. 
 
 Eustace read eagerly. Presently his coun- 
 tenance fell ; he tore the carefully-composed 
 letter, so full of studied artlessness, into 
 twenty pieces, and flung it into the fire. 
 His face was suffused with a deep flush. 
 
 " What is it ?" 
 
 " Only, mother, that I believe you are 
 right. The first sentence was an entreaty 
 that I would never tell you the subject of 
 this letter ; and, if possible, conceal the fact 
 of my havhig received it. I do not feel 
 that I am bound, as a son, to show it to you ; 
 but I beheve you are the best of friends, and
 
 216 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 as a friend I should conceal nothing from 
 
 you. If I had read Mademoiselle D 's 
 
 letter, I could in honour never have told 
 you the subject which she desires me to con- 
 ceal. I admit at once that there seems a 
 suspicion of artifice in this request. However, 
 I have put it out of my power now," he said 
 gloomily, as he watched the last sparks 
 dying away in the shrivelled and blackened 
 paper. 
 
 " I thank you, my son," said Myra ; ^' I 
 think you will never regret this sacrifice in 
 the future." 
 
 " In the future, perhaps not. I cannot 
 say that I do not regret it now," Eustace 
 said petulantly, twitching his arm away from 
 the pressure of her hand, which she had 
 placed kindly on it. 
 
 Lady Yorke was too wise to remonstrate. 
 She was content with the result. 
 
 "That vile girl!" she exclaimed, when
 
 COXSTAXCE RIVERS. 217 
 
 she was alone, and then laughed at her own 
 violence. "After all, she is only trpng 'to 
 better herself,' as the servants say. I must 
 take care that she does it not at my ex- 
 pense." 
 
 After four days had elapsed, Eustace came 
 from the post, bearing a letter, unopened, in 
 the same writing, and mth the same post- 
 mark. This tune Mademoiselle D liad 
 
 ordered the letter to be left till called for at 
 the post. Eustace came and held it before 
 Lady Yorke, and then, ^vithout speaking, 
 after a pause, that she might see it was un- 
 opened, flung it mto the fire. He looked 
 flushed and worried, thinking no doubt that 
 it was full of tender reproaches for his 
 silence. A third letter came, Avhich shared 
 a similar fate. 
 
 " This is too much," said Eustace — " the 
 continual strife wears me out. Could you 
 not write a compluuentary letter of thanks
 
 218 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 to Monsieur D — for the trouble he has taken 
 with my French ? — for in that, at least, you 
 can have nothing to complain. I will make 
 a little excursion for a few days, and then, 
 with a quiet conscience, you may say I am 
 from home." 
 
 Lady Yorke did this, and got no letter 
 in reply. Mademoiselle Claudine seemed 
 discouraged by the silence of her lover, and 
 wrote no longer ; and then Eustace seemed 
 disappointed when, on his return, he found 
 no news had come from Fontamebleau.
 
 219 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " I feel the love I give to thee 
 
 Is like the sun's meridian glow, 
 And that which thou returnst to me 
 Its reflex from the untouched snow, — 
 
 " Or like the smile that plays upon 
 
 The warrior's lip compressed, which he 
 Turns on the page who aids him don 
 His armour's glittering panoply." 
 
 Helen Carr. 
 
 "DUT events were now to occur which 
 wrung with grief many a sylvan 
 household, and sent a thrill of un- 
 speakable horror through the whole civil- 
 ized world. Our Indian Empire was 
 shaken to its very foundations, ^Yith. that 
 which was called mutmy, but was rebellion. 
 Eustace could hardly sit still as the sheets 
 of the Times gave the intelligence of each
 
 220 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Indian mail. He wrote to Messrs. Cox and 
 Co. — was there any cliance of the be- 
 ing ordered to India ? 
 
 " None at present," was the answer. 
 
 " Mother, I am not fit for this life — rest- 
 ing at home with you, whilst our country- 
 women are outraged, then* cliildren cut 
 piecemeal, and their husbands massacred. 
 I wonder any man can stay at home, and /, 
 a soldier " 
 
 "You are right, my boy," said Myra, sadly, 
 and turning verypale — she hadbeen expecting 
 the blow daily, and it had come ; "we will 
 try if we can manage an exchange ; but oh ! 
 Eustace, you are still feeble !" and her 
 voice breaking into a sob — for though a 
 high-souled woman, she was but human, 
 after all — she added, " I have but you ; 
 and first there was the Crimea, then Scu- 
 tari, and now you want to leave me 
 again !"
 
 CONSTANCE RI\T]RS. 221 
 
 ^' I should have been a gM, mother, for 
 your sake. It is not a man's place to 
 remain by household hearths when stirring 
 deeds are to be done, and frightful crimes 
 to be avenged. Pray don't cry — I cannot 
 bear it !" he added, impatiently. 
 
 So Myra dried her tears, and kissed his 
 forehead slightly. The exhibition of her 
 emotion was unusual, and few caresses ever 
 passed between mother and son ; but pro- 
 bably there were not another mother and 
 son so devoted to each other in the world. 
 
 So to India he Avent. He left her at two 
 o'clock in the morning of the 31st of De- 
 cember. She saw his dog-cart go away into 
 the darkness, and hstening at the open door, 
 the sounds on the frosty road became less 
 and less, till through the gloom in the dis- 
 tance she heard the click of the latch of the 
 park gate, as it s^vung to after his departure 
 through it ; and then the poor lady retreated
 
 222 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 to her bed-room, leaving untasted the hot 
 coffee she had prepared for hun, and which 
 he had not had time to drink, and kneehng 
 by her bedside, she covered her face with 
 her hands, and wept and prayed by turns.
 
 223 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Oh, well for him whose will is strong — 
 He sufiFers, but he will not suffer long — 
 He suffers, but he will not suffer wrong.." 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 " ' To stand and wait' is a discipline most irksome to a 
 young and impatient spirit, eager to be up and doing." 
 
 "TTvURING tlie passage round the Cape, 
 Eustace strove to fix his attention on 
 the study of Hindostani. His head, dizzy 
 from the lurching of the vessel, reeled from 
 the effort to learn the characters of the 
 alphabet — so puzzling to the beginner. He 
 had exchanged at the last moment into the 
 
 Lancers, and joining the vessel after it 
 
 had sailed, he knew none of the officers, 
 and lacked sympathy and companionship.
 
 224 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 There seems to be an inherent determina- 
 tion in all men to bristle up against a new- 
 comer. If he be strong in his single power, 
 they band themselves against hun. If 
 timid, feeble, and retiring, they jostle him 
 about, metaphysically knock hun" over and 
 walk over hun. 
 
 The officers of Yorke's new regiment 
 voted him a prig and a bore because he 
 drank no fluid stronger than coffee, and 
 neither played cards nor betted. The 
 colonel in command of the detachment, 
 who did both, reprimanded him for having 
 joined after the vessel had sailed. He sup- 
 posed Sir Eustace Yorke, like other young 
 men, had been larMng in London till the 
 last moment, instead of ordering his outfit, 
 and makuig himself acquainted with his 
 regimental duties. Eustace contented him- 
 self with a quiet negative, and stated that 
 lie had started as soon as he had heard of
 
 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 225 
 
 liis having been exchanged into tlie 
 
 Lancers. 
 
 At the mess one of the young officers, 
 winking at the rest, as Eustace's plate was 
 passed up for some rice pudding, covered it 
 with salt before it was returned to him. 
 Eustace found it out at the first spoonful, 
 but finished it with an unmoved counten- 
 ance, and the officers, who were all eager 
 for the excitement of a row or a laugh, 
 were disappomted by the immobility of the 
 subject of the joke. They " could not make 
 Yorke out," they said. 
 
 His own sufferings from mal cle mer^ 
 which he had never quite got over whilst in 
 the Navy, did not make him unmindful of 
 those of his horses. He braved the stench 
 of their compartments daily to sponge their 
 frothy mouths with clean water, and to see 
 that all that could be done for their comfort 
 and cleanliness was done. He represented 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 the neglect witli which the rest were treated 
 to the colonel, who snubbed him for the 
 information, but acted on it. Eustace cared 
 nothing for the snub, and the horses cared 
 a great deal for their improved condition. 
 
 On rounding the Gape, Eustace, with two 
 of the officers of the — th, went on shore to 
 scale the Table Mountain. Accustomed 
 in the Crimea to extremities of heat and 
 cold, which sometimes occur in that usually 
 genial climate, Eustace prepared himself for 
 the excursion with the wisdom of experi- 
 ence. The other two went in their ordi- 
 nary attire ; consequently, one of them sank 
 down in sudden insensibility from sunstroke, 
 and his familiar friend, terrified at his own 
 possible fate, hurried on, leaving the young 
 man extended on the ground, with a purple 
 flush on his face, helpless, and apparently 
 dying. Eustace dragged the heavy and 
 inanimate body to the shade of a tree, and
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 227 
 
 loosening all the ligatures of his companion's 
 dress, he succeeded in pouring some brandy 
 down his throat, and then, filling his cap 
 from a stream hard by, he dashed the water 
 freely over his face and head. Eustace knew 
 that sunstroke produced paralysis of the 
 brain, and that brandy w^as the best remedy. 
 
 Rather anxiously, however, he watched 
 by him. It seemed brutal to leave hun, 
 yet the sacrifice of losing his passage to 
 India, where he longed to be engaged in 
 active service, was great, and he knew that 
 " time and tide stay for no man." 
 
 At length a spasm passed over the face of 
 the invalid, and Eustace watched him nar- 
 rowly, to see if it Avere for life or death. 
 The young man opened his eyes, and 
 uttered some familiar household name, 
 beUeving that, though ill, he was at home. 
 After gazing blankly at the strange foliage 
 of the tree to the shadow of which Eustace 
 
 q2
 
 228 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 had dragged him, he recalled confusedly 
 something of the past, and said, 
 
 " Where is Lymerton ?" 
 
 " Mr. Lymerton has gone forward." 
 
 " And you stayed ?" 
 
 " I don't see how I could have left you," 
 replied Eustace. 
 
 " Lymerton did — a sneak !" 
 
 " Perhaps Mr. Lymerton has gone to the 
 boat to obtain assistance ; but you had bet- 
 ter try to rise now. There, can you get 
 along leaning on me ?" 
 
 " How my head aches !" 
 
 " Yes — I fear that is inevitable, but we 
 must get along, if Ave do not wish the ship 
 to sail wdthout us." 
 
 When they had regained the beach, they 
 found that the boat had pulled oiF to a short 
 distance from the shore, to return to the 
 ship without them; but, on hearing the 
 shouts of Eustace, the crew returned and
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 229 
 
 took them into the boat, where they found 
 Lieutenant Lymerton, looking very sheepish. 
 
 " I am much obliged for your kind care 
 of me, Lymertion," said Graham; " I might 
 have been dead but for Yorke !" 
 
 " Oh ! hang it, my good fellow ! — I felt 
 very ill myself!" replied the lieutenant. 
 " ' Every one for himself, and God for us all,' 
 you know." 
 
 The account of the different treatment 
 Graham had received from the two young 
 men produced a favourable impression in 
 Yorke's favour on board the ship ; yet his 
 brother-officers could not forgive Eustace 
 the isolation caused by his determination to 
 study. 
 
 "Wliat nonsense it is, Yorke, that you 
 should go on worrying your brains with that 
 fearful stuff! — you will learn much faster 
 by leaving it alone, and taking lessons from 
 a moonshee, when you arrive in India."
 
 230 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 
 
 "You think so?" was tlie tranquil re- 
 sponse. 
 
 " Yes, of course — all sensible people think 
 so ;" and, with increasing aggravation, " I 
 can't think how a young fellow like you, 
 Avith lots of tin and all that, can go through 
 such disgusting drudgery !" 
 
 " I daresay you cannot." 
 
 " But what's the good of it ?" 
 
 " It will make all the difference when you 
 get to India, whether you are dependent on 
 others or independent." 
 
 " Oh ! but you will never be able to learn 
 enough to talk it when you arrive." 
 
 "Probably not; but I shall be on the 
 •liigh road towards the attainment of my ob- 
 ject." 
 
 " Come, let us have a game of vingt-un^ 
 
 "I know no game of cards." 
 
 "You will soon learn — 'tis easier than 
 Huidostani."
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 231 
 
 "Probably," said Eustace, drily— " I'll 
 take your word for it." 
 
 " He is a mulF, after all," said Lymerton, 
 with a sigli. " 'Tis a pity, too — he's not a 
 bad fellow !" with lofty contempt. 
 
 When they arrived at Kirkee, Eustace 
 presented a letter of introduction froin the 
 colonel of his old regiment, the — Light 
 Dragoons, to the major of his present regi- 
 ment, and in Sir William Scott he found a 
 true, and, in many respects, a congenial 
 friend. He wanted all the consolation wliich 
 this friendship could bestow, for, whilst 
 stirring deeds were transacted in Central 
 India, his regiment remained inactive at 
 Kirkee. Then, depressed by compelled 
 tranquillity, and borne down by the unac- 
 customed heat, it required all the energy 
 and determination of a powerful mind to 
 chain itself to the study of a difficult lan- 
 guage, when bodily strength was eager to
 
 232 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 exert itself in revenging tlie wTongs of his 
 countrymen and women. Time and the 
 hour runs through not only the roughest, 
 but the most tedious day. 
 
 The worst part of the mutiny was over, 
 but the leaders were still lurking in the 
 wilds of Central India — dispersed, but not 
 subdued, and ready to re-miite against 
 British authority, so soon as circumstances 
 seemed to hold out any feasible opportunity. 
 To hunt these men down seemed the legiti- 
 mate occupation of the cavalry ; and one 
 evening the colonel entered the mess-room 
 in a state of great excitement. A squadron 
 of the — Lancers, two companies of the 
 — regiment, and some hundred native sol- 
 diers, were to march at once, under the 
 command of Sir William Scott, en route for 
 Aurungabad, to pursue some marauding 
 tribes. 
 
 But where was the gallant Major ? No
 
 CONSTANCE RI\^RS. 233 
 
 one but Eustace knew in what woodland 
 recesses he had concealed himself, to indulge 
 in the destruction of a wild boar. The 
 Major had considered himself put upon with 
 regard to leave, and had taken care not to 
 be recalled before his time, by lea\dng his 
 place of retreat a secret. The Colonel 
 stamped and swore m vain. Eustace looked 
 particularly quiet and stoHd, and asked 
 whether, if the Major were found, he (Eus- 
 tace) might be one of the expedition to 
 Aurungabad. The Colonel saw a glimpse of 
 daylight dawning on his perplexities, and 
 assented ; on which Eustace took a trooper's 
 horse, and, with that unerring mstinct which 
 always seems to guide a sailor by the most 
 direct road across country, galloped thirty 
 miles at a stretch, and carried the intelli- 
 gence to his friend, whose eyes sparkled at 
 the idea of exchanguig a boar for a liimian 
 hunt.
 
 234 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 
 
 They returned, and by Eustace's precau- 
 tion in taking the troop horse, his two horses 
 were fresh for the inland journey. Graham, 
 who Avas of the party, had the misfortune 
 of throwing down his horse a few yards from 
 the barrack. 
 
 " You must return," was the order; and 
 Eustace, his OA\ai breast palpitating with 
 eagerness for ser^dce, pitied the disappoint- 
 ment which clouded the brow of the young 
 man. 
 
 " You shall have one of mine till you 
 can get another," he said good-naturedly ; 
 a sacrifice which a man who thoroughly 
 loves his horses, and hates to have their 
 mouths ruined by ignorant hands, can only 
 appreciate. 
 
 Tlie offer was accepted, and Graham did 
 not think Eustace quite so great a muff as he 
 had done. 
 
 Eustace's pulses bomided with delight
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 235 
 
 at the tliouglit of active service. He 
 grieved at the absurdities of our military 
 system — lie was indignant when m May, 
 one of the hottest months of India, he saw 
 his men on parade drop one by one from 
 the suffocation caused by their tight stocks, 
 and buttoned-up cloth clothes, which were 
 considered warm enough to protect them 
 from wuiter's cold on the Curragh. He 
 was but nineteen, but he thought what he 
 might accomphsh when he could obtain the 
 command of some kregular cavalry. Better, 
 he thought, to command doubtful natives, 
 well equipped for Indian warfare, than our 
 own brave fellows, rendered useless and 
 cramped by the absurd paraphernaha forced 
 on them by the authorities. 
 
 A few weeks later an opportunity offered 
 for carrying out part of his wishes, and the 
 Bombay Cavalry bemg deficient in officers, 
 he volmiteered to take charge of a squad-
 
 236 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 roil, and in different actions contrived to do 
 good service witli doubtful materials. 
 
 One of tliese encounters with tlie rebels 
 he thus described to Graham, who had been 
 left sick at Aurungabad — and whose convic- 
 tion of the muffishness of Yorke's character 
 had long since melted away before the warm 
 approbation our hero always extorted from 
 his commanding officers: — 
 
 " Dear Graham, 
 
 " I heard from that 
 
 you desired to hear what we have been do- 
 ing. I cannot promise you that you will be 
 much interested, but confinement to a sofa 
 without books or newspapers very much 
 quickens one's intellectual appetite, even for 
 dry subjects. 
 
 " We began with a long and fatiguing 
 march from Serai to the river, through 
 jungle, no one knowmg the way; and on
 
 CONSTAXCE EIVERS. 237 
 
 reaching the river banks, we found them so 
 steep that we had to cut a road down to it. 
 To have to stop and make one's own road 
 is rather irksome, and however respectable 
 the occupation of Macadam, I have no wish 
 agam to encroach on his proper vocation, 
 especially when one is, like the Earl of 
 Chatham, 
 
 ' Up, and longing to be at 'em.' 
 
 " It took all that day and the next to ac- 
 complish this, and to get over, when we 
 found that we had to ascend a mountain- 
 pass held by the inhabitants of Bundle, who, 
 being in the interests of the rebels, refused 
 to allow our progress. ' I never dispute a 
 point with one of your race,' says Stern to 
 the mule ; and I suppose our general una- 
 gmed that a dispute with the Bundlecund- 
 lers might result only m loss of time 
 without any acquisition of honour, so we
 
 238 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 plodded along tlie jungle on the river's bank, 
 and left tlie Bundlecundlers to enjoy tlie 
 honours of their Thermopylae without the 
 risk. Indeed, not having infantry, we 
 might have had, like the heroes described 
 by our bygone British poet, to have 
 
 ' Rode over cliffs that were quite perpendicular.' 
 
 " We joined Colonel L by forced 
 
 marches. It always happens that when 
 good health is important, I am always ill. 
 When the attack was made on the Redan, I 
 was suffering from a three days' attack of 
 cholera ; now I managed to injure my 
 feeble arm, which began to inflame at the 
 old wound. 
 
 " That night we had orders to march 
 north-west, but on information that the 
 rebels had encamped at Sindwaho, we 
 marched thither ; when the enemy's pickets, 
 having seen that we had only cavalry, the
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 239 
 
 infantry being a mile in the rear, retired, 
 and gave notice to the rebels, who imme- 
 diately got mider arms in a strong position 
 on a low range of hills. They had about 
 10,000 men, and four guns very well 
 placed. 
 
 " We halted for about twenty minutes, and 
 then advanced at a trot, till we drew their 
 fire. Wlien the action commenced our four 
 six-pounders were opposite to their guns, 
 supported by a troop of hussars, and the 
 Janjagobhang Irregnilars. On the left the 
 infantry were coming up a mile and a half 
 at a quick double, as they were makmg 
 for the village of Sherghotty, which lay 
 between them and the rebels. They were 
 unperceived by the enemy. On the right 
 were one squadron of the 98th Hussars, one 
 squadron of the 67th Lancers, and one and 
 a half squadron of Punjab Lancers. Be- 
 tween us and the enemv was a field of
 
 240 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Jowarry about ten or eleven feet high. 
 '' The game began by the rebels sendmg 
 a body of inftintry down to the village to 
 turn our left, whilst their cavalry came 
 down to attack our ric^ht, and a line of 
 infantry advanced on the right of our gnins, 
 and got into the field of Jowarr}^ This 
 obliged the guns to move to the left, and 
 we went to their right to draw their fire, in 
 which we succeeded perfectly to our own 
 dissatisfaction. did not quite under- 
 stand what he was to do, so I cantered over 
 to the General to ask. A romid shot, which 
 passed close to us, made my grey horse rear 
 and plunge unpleasantly. I came back 
 with the order that we were to draw all the 
 fire on ourselves, to spare the artillery ; so 
 Ave remained with about twenty impertinent 
 fellows, themselves safely concealed in the 
 Jowarry, close to us, picking us off at their 
 pleasure, and a wliite line of the enemy
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 241 
 
 about two hundred yards distant in front of 
 us, with the four guns, which the rebels, 
 unable to see our artillery, directed against 
 us. 
 
 " Several shots pitched successively in 
 front of the squadron, when presently 
 horses and men began to fall, one shot 
 killing the left troop leader and his horse, 
 and the following one front and the two rear 
 rank horses and their riders. This caused 
 considerable uneasiness in the squadron, 
 and to divert their thoughts I turned about, 
 and facing them, made them tell off as if on 
 parade. I then felt for the first time how 
 difficult it was to sit quietly with one's back 
 turned in the presence of a great danger, 
 knowing that if I fell I should not lie 
 
 " With my back to the field, and my feet to the foe," 
 
 but in a position directly the reverse. I 
 was glad when I had got them steady 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 
 
 again, and could afford to turn about, and 
 see what was going on. 
 
 " Wlien I had returned from the General, 
 
 had asked me to take the command 
 
 of the squadron, as he was so short-sighted, 
 and suffering from inflammation in the eyes. 
 The enemy^s line in front having advanced 
 a little, one of them sent a bullet over my 
 head, and hit the trumpeter behmd the rear 
 rank. 
 
 " We now tried to get our skirmishers 
 out to drive them back, but they would not 
 follow the native officers, and though I 
 
 begged leave to go, refused, finding 
 
 himself so helpless without me, on account 
 of his inflamed eyes. 
 
 " When the men came down in front of 
 
 us and fired, asked me if we should 
 
 charge. I said no. ^ Those men are the 
 other side of a nullah, and we should lose 
 our lives in it for nothing.' Lower down.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 243 
 
 the ditcli being unperceived, several of the 
 8th Hussars lost their lives in it, 
 
 " Colonel C , Bombay Lancers 
 
 — who was senior officer to the right, his left 
 resting on our Jowarry field, which covered 
 a large tract of ground — had received orders 
 from the senior in command not to attack, 
 but to avoid an engagement. When the 
 enemy's skirmishers came down, he went 
 threes right, and led off to the right rear at 
 a trot. Sir William Scott called out, but 
 Colonel C said his orders were impera- 
 tive. The enemy followed, firing, and 
 came down at charge. Sir William cried 
 out, * Orders be damned ! I won't run 
 away ! Halt, front ! Forward ! Charge !' 
 and away he went, Colonel C follow- 
 ing suit. The boldest of the enemy's 
 sowahs came across the nullah, and were 
 killed by our people ; and many of our 
 soldiers went over it, but it was so danger- 
 
 r2
 
 244 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 ous, that Sir William Scott sounded the 
 rally, and would not let his men proceed. 
 It was tliirty-five feet in width, and two 
 feet of water in it, with easy banks, but 
 with mud so soft and tenacious, that it re- 
 tained men and horses as bird-lime holds its 
 unfortunate feathered prey. Rebels, lan- 
 cers, and hussars all tumbled into it to- 
 gether, where the rebels contrived to cut 
 off the heads of the horsemen with extraor- 
 dinary rapidity. Our small force lost 
 twenty-six horses m this nullah from their 
 riders falling. 
 
 "When Scott charged, the rebels fled; only 
 about three hundred held their ground, and 
 many of these were killed. 
 
 "We were ordered off to the right, and 
 when my left flank was clear of the Jowarry 
 field, twelve men ran out of it and formed up. 
 
 was just pointing to a crowd of their 
 
 infantry who were boltinoj, and proposed to
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 245 
 
 pursue. ^ Better kill as we go/ said I, for I 
 owed my Jowarry friends a grudge. I 
 
 called to C , who commanded the left 
 
 troop — 
 
 " ' Left wheel, and cut up those men !' 
 
 ^' C 's men refused to follow him, so 
 
 I naturally went myself. 
 
 " The next thing I remember is being 
 about eighteen yards from them, and seeing 
 
 no one but , who was firing a pistol, and 
 
 one man making ready to rush at me. 
 Then came a volley, and I only recollect 
 finding myself about forty yards back — 
 about twenty men around the right division 
 of the squadron, the rest disappearing into 
 the high Jowarry, and my twelve enemies 
 standing erect and defiant. 
 
 " ' Oh, men of mine!' I exclaimed, ' whose 
 sisters are no better than they should be ! 
 Wliat do you fear ? Is this your boasted 
 regiment, which did Avonders in Persia ?'
 
 246 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 " 's old subadar pretended to spur 
 
 his liorse, holding his mouth very tight all 
 the while. I defiled all the female relations 
 of my soldiers, and cried aloud — 
 
 " ' Kali Khan ! ' 
 
 " One of them, who had his carbine ready, 
 said, ' Come on, Sahib !' 
 
 " And I really thought he meant business, 
 so I put my horse at the little group at a 
 canter. The coward went off on my left, 
 and, when fifteen yards distance, fired his 
 carbine and cantered away. It was too 
 late then to retreat, though twelve men to 
 one was an unpleasant odds ; but I kept the 
 head of the grey straight, and when I raised 
 my sword, five men raised their muskets 
 together and pointed them at my head. I 
 saw their fingers on the triggers, and ducked 
 to the left under my horse's head, so that 
 the bullets whizzed over my head, and
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 247 
 
 killed some horses and their riders behind 
 me. 
 
 " The corner man now dropped his musket, 
 and drawing a two-handed sword, rushed at 
 me. 
 
 "'Come on. Sahib! I'll fight you!' he 
 said. 
 
 " ' Not on these terms,' I replied, in his 
 own language, and turned my horse so as to 
 present to him my right side — my left arm 
 being nearly useless. He made a strong cut 
 with his sword at my leg, but I moved the 
 grey forward — (blessings on his dehcate 
 mouth !) and the rebel's sword hit the ground 
 so hard, that he overbalanced himself and 
 fell on his face. 
 
 " I could not get my sword back far 
 enough to give him a poke in the back, as I 
 longed to have done. All this time the 
 other men were pomting their muskets now
 
 248 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 at me, now at themselves, in tlie wildest 
 confusion, and all passed so speedily that an 
 instant only seemed to have elapsed after 
 my calling ' Kali Khan.' 
 
 " I remained near my enemy, who had 
 recovered his feet, and we were again en- 
 gaged. Kali, in answer to my voice, came up 
 behind and made a cut at his neck. To 
 perform this feat he had ridden through 
 the enemy, knocking them over like nine- 
 pins. 
 
 " When I said, ' ch !' in a tone of disgust 
 — for it was a splendid cut missed, Kali Khan 
 must have heard me, for he turned his 
 horse, and fairly rode mider the man's guard, 
 who, striking at the boy's head, missed it, and 
 the big sword cut through the crupper into 
 the horse's back ; but Kali gave him one on 
 the skull which made me quite easy about 
 my brave chum ; so I left him to finish 
 the man, and turned to the two alomrside.
 
 COXSTAXCE RIVERS. 249 
 
 "The three troopers were now coining up, 
 and these men threw down their arms and 
 said, ' Shoot us, Sahib !' 
 
 " I desired the troopers to do so, and 
 went after a fine fellow who was making 
 off, whom, at the beginnmg of the engage- 
 ment, I suspected to have been one of the 
 Jowarry men. 
 
 " ' I have an account to settle with you, 
 my friend,' said I ; so I set the grey after 
 him with intense satisfaction. I closed on 
 my adversary, and he halted and faced me 
 on a bit of rising ground. As I came on, 
 he clubbed his musket, but, in doing this, 
 got flurried, the bayonet catching in his cum- 
 merbund. My blood was up, and I had no 
 wish to stop the career of the grey. Just as 
 I made my rush, his ear caught the distant 
 tramp of the 8th Hussars, Avho, however, 
 were too far off to have injured him. His 
 eye glanced to his right, and at that moment
 
 250 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 my sword entered mider his left arm, raised 
 to strike me with the musket, and coming 
 out on the other side, went up to within 
 eight inches of the hiU. He sank lifeless at 
 my feet, and I went after another, and 
 another, who, dispirited, laid down their 
 arms, and whom I desired the 8th Hussars 
 to finish. 
 
 " An unconscionably long letter, old fel- 
 low, and I daresay you are as tired of read- 
 ing as I am of writing it. 
 
 "This warfare, when no prisoners are 
 taken, requires all the memory of ' the ladies 
 and the babies ' to justify it. But I see no 
 remedy — 'tis the fortune of war ; and ' those 
 who have sown the wind must reap the 
 whirhvind.' 
 
 " Dear Graham, yours truly, 
 
 " Eustace Yorke.'* 
 
 Eustace was but a youth, and with a
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 251 
 
 youth's impetuosity, tliis sometimes got him 
 into scrapes. He had this great qualifica- 
 tion for a cavalry officer — care of, and hu- 
 manity towards, his troop horses. Eustace, 
 who had given his only blanket in the 
 Crimean winter to cover his pony, was not 
 likely to have grown less thoughtful and 
 humane from three years added life. On 
 his journey up the country, he came to a 
 village, and required of the chief magistrate 
 provision for his horses ; they had come a 
 considerable distance without food. 
 
 Nothing could be more subservient and 
 cringing than the native, who was, however, 
 in the interest of the rebels, and wished to 
 gain time — " The food should be forthcom- 
 ing in an hour ; if not, the roofs should be 
 stripped of thatch for the Sahib's horses." 
 
 Eustace waited and remonstrated, from 
 eight in the morning till one in the day — 
 five hours. Then, taking the law into his
 
 252 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 own hands, he searched the village, and 
 found nearly enough food for an army, to 
 say nothing of a squadron. His horses 
 were fed ; but Eustace had a great notion 
 of retributive justice. He had the chief 
 magistrate brought out, and had three dozen 
 lashes administered to him, to his o^vn in- 
 tense satisfaction, and to the horror of all 
 true believers. Complaints came in from all 
 quarters of the brutality of that young 
 officer, Sir Eustace Yorke. The British 
 sympathisers mth the humane and much-en- 
 during Sepoys in arms were furious, and de- 
 manded a court-martial on Eustace, and that 
 he should be dismissed the service. Have a 
 magistrate flogged ! The General inquired 
 of Sir WilHam Scott, who knew nothing 
 about it, but declared himself ready to up- 
 hold his subordinate in anything he had done. 
 The General desired the culprit to call on 
 him and explain his conduct. This Eustace
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 253 
 
 did very simply, by relating tlie circum- 
 stances which had led to the punishment. 
 
 The General, in his early career, had been 
 summoned to a council of war, to decide how 
 some warlike Caffirs were to be beaten. He 
 was late in his attendance — having to make 
 his apology for seeming discourtesy, which 
 was, simply, that he had thought it best to 
 go and beat the hostile tribes first, and had 
 done so thoroughly. This was never for- 
 given by the members of the council. 
 
 A man of this stamp was not likely to 
 consider the offence of Eustace as very 
 heinous. He turned his head aside to hide 
 a smile at the young officer's keen adminis- 
 tration of justice, and asked him to dinner. 
 
 In October Eustace passed his examina- 
 tion in Hindostani with credit ; in Novem- 
 ber he was appointed Staff Officer to Colonel 
 
 S , and conducted the rapid pursuits of 
 
 the rebels. Soon after he became Brigade
 
 254 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Major to General B , commanding 
 
 Irregular Horse. 
 
 I liave no intention to describe his career 
 more closely. A man's life is one of toil, if 
 glory and distinction are to be gained. The 
 duties of Eustace compelled him not only to 
 give his time to the training of his men, to 
 the use of arms and horses, but to sit for 
 days and hours, with the thermometer at 
 108^, going over intricate accounts of claims 
 for pay, and seemingly inextricable difficul- 
 ties in bygone smns expended, and unac- 
 counted for by his predecessors — or ac- 
 counted for, but not balanced with any accu- 
 racy. Often, with weary eyes and brain, he 
 longed to throw up the whole affair, and 
 return to England. Action he longed for ; 
 but to sit for days counting up annas and 
 rupees, and striving to do justice, for which 
 he would never gain any credit, and whicli
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS, 255 
 
 could be known only to himself — this was 
 tr}dng to a youth of twenty-one ; yet this he 
 did, argumg that the consciousness of having 
 neglected a duty would disturb hini more 
 than the difficulty of its accomplishment 
 could weary him. But pleasures came 
 sometimes, rude and savage in their nature, 
 but none the less valued on that account by 
 the young soldier. It appears strange that 
 the instinct, seemingly bestowed at the crea- 
 tion, to hunt down the inferior animals for 
 the purposes of subsistence, should survive 
 so long the necessity for wliich it was 
 given. 
 
 I am sorry that my hero should have 
 thought that the summit of human happiness, 
 when living in the jungle, was a boar-hunt, 
 or, as he called it, ^'pig-sticking," thereby 
 depriving it of any halo of romance. Yet 
 I must confess the truth. No human creature
 
 256 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 is perfect. Had Eustace Yorke been nearer 
 perfection, he would have left the sounder 
 alone, and the hyena also. But I antici- 
 pate.
 
 257 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " The boar is roused, and springs amain, 
 Like lightning sudden on the warrior train, 
 Beats down the trees before him, shakes the ground, 
 The forest echoes to the crackling sound ; 
 Shout the fierce youth, and clamour ring around.'^ 
 
 Dryden. 
 
 "IS the Commandant within ?" cried out 
 Graham, as he pulled up his clever 
 little pony at Eustace Yorke's hut. (Hut it 
 might be termed, but in reality it was a tent, 
 with an outside covering of bamboo walls, 
 coated with dried grass.) 
 
 "Yes, sir," replied a boy, springing up 
 from a mat in the doorway, " but he is very 
 busy." 
 
 " Come in, Graham," shouted Yorke. 
 
 " Here, you boy, hold the pony. What ! 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Still at work, Yorke?" said Graliam, on 
 entering. "Why, you will kill yourself 
 in six montlis." 
 
 " I think not, my good fellow ; and before 
 the tune you are kind enough to allot me is 
 expired, I shall, I hope, have finished these 
 accounts, and shall be on my way to Eng- 
 land." 
 
 '*' I have come to beg you to give up to- 
 morrow to me ?" 
 
 "Impossible. I am still two thousand 
 pounds out in these wretched accounts, and 
 the man who was to have enlightened me 
 as to some of last year's pay lists is too ill 
 to remember anything." 
 
 " You don't mean to say that old Fke- 
 brand trusted the accounts to the mens 
 memories ?" 
 
 "Yes, I have to collect my information in 
 that way." 
 
 "Well, as the individual is ill, you may
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 259 
 
 as well come with me to-morrow to hunt 
 at Sadowra, for I cannot go alone, and there 
 is no one else here who ^Yill ride straight 
 enough to kill a pig." 
 
 " Very well, I will go, and will tell you 
 at dinner what the arrangements are, if, as 
 I suppose, you intend me to make them ?" 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, ail revoir^ for I must work till 
 dinner-tune." 
 
 Eustace bent down again over his table, 
 now and then addressing a word in Persian 
 to a native accountant who sat at his feet, 
 and who had watched Yorke's face with 
 some little anxiety till he had agreed to 
 Graham's proposition. Poor MosufFer Beg ! 
 he had been sitting in that same place 
 since 8 o'clock in the morning, and, 
 I wearied by the incessant toil Yorke 
 imposed on himself and all his subordi- 
 
 s2
 
 260 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 nates, looked fonvard A\dth great joy to the 
 partial holiday on the morrow. 
 
 Stimulated with the prospect, however, 
 he now brightened up, and worked willmgly 
 till Yorke's dressing-boy reminded his mas- 
 ter for the thkd tune that the dinner-hour 
 had come. Starting up, Yorke swept seve- 
 ral piles of rupees arranged on a table in 
 front of him— for he had been receiving 
 money for Government that day— into a 
 large chest, on which a sentry standing 
 ready was hnmediately placed. 
 
 " Tell your father, boy," said Yorke, '' I 
 will give him orders for to-morrow while I 
 dress." 
 
 " I am present, your Excellency," said a 
 tall handsome man, the chief of Yorke's 
 servants. 
 
 " I hunt to-morrow at Shadowra — twenty- 
 six miles, I believe; make all arrange- 
 ments."
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 261 
 
 " Good, your Excellency — there are but 
 two questions." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Will you have the ponies at six or eight 
 mile stages ?" 
 
 "Six." 
 
 " And how many beaters ?" 
 
 " Oh ! two hundred and fifty. We had 
 two hundred last time, and there were not 
 enough. You will give orders to have me 
 called at a quarter before three o'clock." 
 
 At dinner Yorke told Graham to be 
 ready at three o'clock; and then nothing 
 more was said on the subject — Graham 
 trusting implicitly to Yorke, while he 
 trusted to his servant. 
 
 At the hour ordered, Yorke's dressing- 
 boy entered the inner apartment of his 
 master's tent, and having aroused him, dis- 
 appeared to fetch some coffee which was 
 placed ready on a slow fire. Eustace was
 
 262 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 but just out of his tub when Graham entered 
 and sat do^vn to the coffee and biscuits 
 which Mahomed had placed on the table. 
 
 "Where is our first change, Yorke?" 
 
 " At Kolagomn, about six miles off." 
 
 "Wliat! have you got them all at six 
 mile stages?" 
 
 " Yes, I told my servant I wished to lose 
 no time on the road ; and now, if you have 
 done ^vith that coffee, we will be off." 
 
 As they went out and mounted, it seemed 
 impossible to ride far and fast, for the moon 
 had smik, and the stars gave but a dim 
 light. 
 
 " Go first, Yorke ; you have been there 
 once before." 
 
 lucking their ponies, they started at a 
 canter across the plain on which Loona 
 stands. Having ridden over it for a mile, 
 Eustace now struck into a small footpath, 
 and increased his pace to a gallop, which 
 
 I
 
 CONSTANCE RRTERS. 263 
 
 was mamtained till tliey had gone nearly 
 five miles, when he began a long peculiar 
 cry, which was taken up at intervals by Gra- 
 ham. 
 
 Such is the custom on all stages in India, 
 where the voice takes the use of the mail- 
 coach horn in England, and warns the 
 grooms at next posting-house to have a 
 change of horses ready. 
 
 Putting up at a small cluster of houses, 
 they were accosted by the grooms holding 
 two ponies, bridled and saddled. 
 
 " Ready, Sahib." 
 
 " Where's the next change ?" 
 
 " Kolookeera, about six and a half 
 miles." 
 
 And they started, as before, cantering 
 slowly for the first mile till the ponies reco- 
 vered their wind. How Eustace found his 
 way would seem marvellous to an English- 
 man accustomed only to roads, lanes, or
 
 264 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 well-beaten tracks. No man, however, had 
 travelled for greater distances m India by 
 night, and in n strange country, than our 
 hero, and certainly now liis experience and 
 memory showed to advantage. 
 
 The path, for it was no more, was used 
 only by bullocks, which in that part of the 
 country are the only means of transporting 
 grain or merchandise from village to village. 
 Often they galloped through streams, to the 
 imminent risk of the riders' necks, and the 
 knees of the ponies ; for, as it never oc- 
 curred to Yorke to check his pony, they 
 frequently floundered about in the holes 
 caused by the bullocks standing on the edge 
 of the streams, and stamping to rid them- 
 selves of their relentless tormentors, the 
 horse-flies. 
 
 At the fourth change the grooms offered 
 some boiling milk, which an old man had 
 prepared against the arrival of Yorke, in
 
 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 265 
 
 return for some small act of kindness, per- 
 formed when lie was last in the district. 
 
 Just as the daylight was breaking, they 
 rode up to Shadowra, a small to^vn stand- 
 ing on the bank of a winding river, and 
 surrounded by trees. Under the walls 
 some two hundred and fifty or three hun- 
 dred sliivering labourers were squatting. 
 The huntsman sprang up, and in reply to 
 Yorke's eager questions, assured him of 
 there bemg a sounder (herd) of pigs near 
 at hand. A deputy of the chief of the vil- 
 lage now appeared to announce the speedy 
 arrival of his master, but Eustace had already 
 put his beaters in motion, and sending back a 
 message to the mayor, to request him to 
 call in about four hours, he mounted the 
 favourite grey Arab which Kali Khan, the 
 orderly, had brought to Shadowra the pre- 
 vious evening, and cantered oif to join Gra- 
 ham, who, with the beaters, was moving
 
 266 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 across the plain to some isolated hills which 
 rose up a considerable height from the level 
 country on which they stood, bemg sepa- 
 rated by a broad and gentle valley, about 
 two miles broad, from a lower but more 
 extensive range. Arri\dng at the foot of 
 one of the lesser and isolated hills, the 
 beaters were formed in a crescent, and then 
 the whole advanced, Yorke and Graham 
 placing themselves in front of the forward 
 arms of the half circle. The party had ad- 
 vanced scarcely one hundred yards when 
 Graham cried, 
 
 " Look out, Yorke ! — to your right 
 front !" 
 
 On the top of a conical hill, slightly 
 separated from the highest of the isolated 
 ground, there stood one pig, as if sentry 
 over a herd. The beaters were too far 
 distant to cut him off from the highest hill, 
 and by running there he might disturb
 
 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 267 
 
 Other game, so the advancing line were 
 ordered to move on slowly, and Eustace 
 galloped up the hill to turn the pig down to 
 Graham, who remained in the valley. 
 
 On reacliing the summit, Eustace plunged 
 into some thick bushes, his horse falling 
 nearly on its head, and thereby startling 
 two sambas or large deer, which, unused to 
 the sight of a sportsman, were in no great 
 hurry to make off. Nothing could Yorke 
 see of the pig, and he Avent down to rejoin 
 Graham, passing through the line of beaters, 
 who now ascended the hill to beat the 
 bushes there thoroughly. 
 
 " Away ! — away !" shouted the beaters, 
 and Graham and Eustace, turning their 
 horses in opposite directions, rode round 
 the base of the hill, hoping that one might 
 meet the sounder. The natives, however, 
 true to their childish nature, did nothing 
 but shout "Away!" Xor could they be
 
 268 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 persuaded by entreaties or imprecations 
 to point out tlie direction. 
 
 Not meeting the sounder, Yorke and 
 Graham now ascended the hill, fearing to 
 miss them altogether, unless they could 
 once obtain a view from commanding 
 ground. Graham had the easier part of 
 the hill, and when Yorke gamed its smn- 
 mit Graham had again descended the hill, 
 and, mth a start of three hundred yards 
 of Yorke, was riding a boar, with which, 
 however, he was not on good terms. No 
 one who has not had personal experience 
 can credit the powers of speed in a boar, 
 or, still more so, in a boar sow. Unless 
 the sportsman can press them at first, a 
 boar is seldom or never killed fairly by one 
 rider. He will generally manage to escape 
 to thick cover or rocky ground. It is 
 doubtful if the pace of a boar for half a 
 mile is not superior to that of a horse ; but
 
 C0XSTA2s^CE RIVERS. 269 
 
 if both are extended for the first half-mile, 
 a bold rider, with his bamboo spear, can 
 generally account for his game. 
 
 Graham, from his bad start, could not 
 press his boar, and was galloping his horse 
 to no purpose. Yorke, as he hurried down 
 the hill, noticed that the boar selected in- 
 tended to return to the hill, and, extending 
 his horse in long gallop, he rode to cut off 
 the pig's retreat. Till he got off the rocky 
 soil on which the hill stood, the gi^ound, 
 thoudi difficult and destructive to the 
 
 o 
 
 horse's feet, was sound. Now, however, 
 Eustace was crossing a cotton-field, in the 
 black soil of which were numerous holes, 
 eaused by the puddles of water which col- 
 lected during the rainy season, and being 
 absorbed mto the earth from a circular hole, 
 about the size of a hat, and from six inches 
 t^ two feet in depth. Yorke saw his dan- 
 ger, but he saw also, about two hundred
 
 270 CONSTANCE RIVEKS. 
 
 yards in front of the boar, a thick clunip of 
 bushes, and he knew that Graham would 
 lose the pig unless it could be headed ere it 
 reached that refuge. Shouting, he kept on, 
 closing his lips, and crossing his right hand 
 with the spear, over his left hand, on to the 
 reins, while he pressed the spurs to his 
 horse's sides. The gallant grey, however, 
 felt the danger, and, by collecting itself, 
 strove to avoid it. Yorke was just measur- 
 ing with his eye the distance he had yet to 
 traverse ere he could strike the pig, when 
 his horse put his fore-feet into a hole — 
 crash ! — a complete summersault ! The 
 horse being cut only on its forehead and 
 head-quarters. Poor Yorke's felt hat was 
 crushed down flat, and his neck driven into 
 his shoulders, so that all the muscles ached 
 for a week afterwards. Staggering up, he 
 snatched at the reins, but the spear, which 
 he still grasped in his hand, seemed to have
 
 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 271 
 
 become a dozen spears ; while Ins hands 
 appeared to be incapable of grasping the 
 many sets of reins which his confused brain 
 pictured. 
 
 Graham, abandoning his pig, now rode 
 up, and ha\dng obtained a supply of water, 
 poured it on the back of Yorke's neck; 
 and the latter soon declared himself fit 
 for another run, much to the annoyance of 
 Kali Khan, the orderly, who, having now 
 arrived, showed more anxiety for his master 
 than did Graham for his friend. 
 
 Kali Khan, who was now endeavouring to 
 aid his master by pouring water on his head 
 and neck, was a model of a light cavalry 
 soldier — five feet six inches in height, small, 
 slight in build, but yet active and wiry ; 
 his weight scarcely exceeded eight stone ; 
 his features were regular, and his hair 
 straight, but the forehead higher, and eyes 
 placed wider apart than is usual amongst
 
 272 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 his brethren. Born of noble though poor 
 parents, he had been sent, dnrmg the mu- 
 tmy, to enhst as a barghie, or rider to a 
 wealthy cousin, who owned some twenty 
 horses in the regiment, under an arrange- 
 ment by which men of position contracted 
 to supply a fully-equipped and trained man 
 at arms for £2. lOs. per mensem. Kali 
 Khan had some months previously distin- 
 guished himself by his daring horsemanship, 
 and had smce been appointed as orderly to 
 Yorke, whom he now scarcely ever left. 
 That mornmg he had remained at Shadowra 
 till he had seen that Yorke's horses were 
 fed, and had then ridden on to join the hunt. 
 When Yorke had been made thoroughly 
 wet by the kind attentions of Kali Khan, 
 who pourmg water on his master's neck, 
 sent also a considerable quantity down his 
 l^ack, he arose, and declared himself quite 
 readv for another run.
 
 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 273 
 
 The cliief of the beaters, Budge Lai by 
 name, a tall, straight-featured Hmdoo, with 
 a squeaking voice, now approached and in- 
 formed the Englishmen that he understood, 
 in the next hill, Avhich stood many feet 
 higher than that from which the somider of 
 pigs had been started, a tiger had been seen 
 of late. He believed it to be a panther, but 
 could not state for certain. 
 
 " Shall we go, Graham ?" said Yorke. 
 
 " Oh! yes, we may as well see what the 
 beast is?" 
 
 " Well ! suppose it is a tiger ?" 
 
 " Oh ! then, if he don't bolt, we will. 
 I hardly like the chance, but I suppose we 
 must go." 
 
 Yorke and Graham now placed them- 
 selves on the slope of the hill, about three 
 hundred yards from the summit, while 
 Budge Lai, having formed the beaters in a 
 long line, ascended the opposite side, his 
 
 VOL. I. T
 
 274 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 men making as much noise as possible, to 
 induce the animal to break cover. It could 
 hardly remain, for the dm made by the wild 
 shouts of the natives, aided by a dozen tom- 
 toms, or drums, and pipes, was sufficient to 
 alarm any animal, however savage. 
 
 Eustace had scarcely chosen his spot, 
 when he saw the furze bushes about a hun- 
 dred and fifty yards from liun pushed aside, 
 and out came a large animal. Seeing the 
 horsemen, it retreated again, as Eustace 
 beckoned Graham to approach. 
 
 As Graham came on at a gallop the 
 animal once more appeared, and Graham 
 having his horse in motion obtained a start of 
 Eustace, and charged. It was a large hyena. 
 Coming down a steep hill, Avith its bristles 
 erect, the falling off of its hind quarters, 
 which m captivity gives it such a mean ap- 
 pearance, was not to be seen. Eustace 
 shouted to be careful, though he himself
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 275 
 
 urged on his liorse to take part in tlie fray. 
 Graliam had missed his first stroke, and 
 now Yorke did the same. 
 
 The beaters had emerged on the crest of 
 the hill, and by their presence and tom-toms 
 deterred the hyena from again returning to 
 his lair, and they added to the excitement 
 by their shouts to the horsemen. Kali Khan 
 now tried his hand, but the hyena, though 
 seldom in front of the horses, doubled as 
 skilfully as a hare before greyhounds. 
 
 At a short distance lay the line of hills before 
 mentioned. For these the hyena pointed, and 
 once there it would have been safe. Each 
 time, however, it attempted to cross the 
 intervening valley, three reckless horsemen 
 charged home, and barely missed the hyena 
 with the points of their light bamboo 
 spears. 
 
 Ten minutes had now elapsed, and the 
 horses, first goaded into a furious gallop, 
 
 t2
 
 276 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 and then swerved, or pulled up on tlieir 
 haunches, were covered with a lather of 
 foam. Yorke saw that the hyena, already- 
 some hundred yards nearer than before to 
 its point of safety, was wearing them out, 
 and that, unless they could disable it at once, 
 the creature would escape. Kali Khan now 
 approached for a charge, and having again 
 escaped the spear, the hyena cantered along 
 on the slopes of the conical hill. Yorke 
 rode about fifty yards above it in a parallel 
 line. When he had gone some two hun- 
 dred yards, having settled his rems, and 
 gathered his horse well together, he sud- 
 denly turned at right angles down the hill. 
 Urged on by the spurs, the gallant grey 
 flew down, and with every stride gained on 
 the hyena, which had turned down when 
 Eustace did so. Graham and the orderly 
 reined in their horses to watch the result. 
 "Three strides more, and Yorke must be
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 277 
 
 on him !" muttered Graham, not without a 
 certain amount of jealousy in his mind. 
 
 Yorke now dropped the point of his spear, 
 and the hyena, as if by instmct, doubled 
 short to the left. Too late ! In the act of 
 turning, Yorke's spear entered its ribs. 
 With a supple wrist the horseman eased his 
 hold of the spear, and the hyena fell off it 
 as the horse galloped on. When Yorke 
 turned the grey — and he had sped on two 
 hundred yards ere he could do so — he be- 
 held the hyena cantermg oif, as if nothing 
 had happened to it. 
 
 " Why, Graham, that beast is like Snar- 
 leyow !" cried Eustace, as he joined in the 
 chase. 
 
 The hyena, now weakened by his wound, 
 had nearly gained the lower slopes of the 
 ridge of hills. Leaving to the other the 
 chances of killing him, Eustace rode up to 
 turn it from the hills. In this he succeeded.
 
 278 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 and now, having been once forced away 
 from its refuge, the animal ]o^t its head 
 straight for the open plains. For two miles 
 the chase continued at a rapid pace. 
 
 Every sportsman in England must have 
 remarked how silent a select field becomes 
 when hounds are racing across a difficult 
 country. Not a word was said now but by 
 Yorke, who, seeing that Kali Khan's horse 
 was freshest (as well he might be, carrying 
 three stone weight less than the other two), 
 occasionally urged on his orderly with some 
 kindly expres.sion, as he only used when 
 excited. Kali Khan, devotedly attached to 
 his Colonel, and proud of his esteem, made 
 every effort to press the hyena, while Yorke 
 saved his horse for half a mile. 
 
 At the entrance of a village the hyena 
 turned, and Yorke, by making a turn inside, 
 very nearly struck him. Putting his head 
 straight for the open again, the hyena
 
 CONSTANCE RIVEKS. 279 
 
 started as fresh, apparently, as at first. 
 Kali Khan's horse began to show signs of 
 distress, and Yorke once more passed to the 
 front. Graham had dropped behind before 
 the village was reached, and Kali Khan 
 was now reduced to a slow trot. Yorke 
 began to fear that his horse also might be 
 beaten off, for though the grey held on, yet 
 it was evidently his breeding only which 
 enabled hun to answer to his master's calls 
 on his streno^th and endurance. 
 
 " Half a mile further," muttered Yorke, 
 " and I must kill the hyena or lose him." 
 
 Suddenly the animal disappeared under 
 ground. Pulling up, Yorke saw that it had 
 crept into a hollow, or natural drain, with 
 a fissure at both ends. The hole was not 
 unlike those into which all English sports- 
 men have seen a fox creep. The open drain 
 under a gateway. 
 
 Jmnping off his horse, Yorke put his
 
 280 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 
 
 crushed solar hat on the spear's point, and 
 tried to shout for his orderly. No sound, 
 however, could he make for two or three 
 minutes, so parched was his throat. 
 
 In five minutes, to his great joy, he saw 
 Kali Kahn appearing, and shortly afterwards 
 Graham came up. A short consultation was 
 held, and it was decided that Yorke should 
 first walk up on one side, while Graham 
 approached on the other, and Kali Khan 
 was to assist either that might most need 
 his help. Yorke now approached with his 
 spear firmly grasped. 
 
 Standmg close over the hyena, he drove 
 the point of the spear into the anhnal's back, 
 but was jerked backwards as the hyena, 
 starting up, charged Graham. Planted some 
 two feet above the animal, Graham, with the 
 point of his spear held low down, stood 
 firm. With a hoarse cry the hyena sprang 
 at hmi, but only to impale itself on the
 
 CONSTANCE KIVERS. 281 
 
 spear ; while Eustace Yorke and the orderly 
 put it out of its pain. 
 
 They then turned back* for Shadowra. 
 Well pleased Avith their sport, they found 
 additional reason to be satisfied on their 
 return. Yorke's chief servant, Mahomed, 
 had pitched the tent on the banks of the 
 stream, and under the shade of a mango 
 grove. Two water-carriers, with bullocks 
 laden with water, rendered cold by the 
 evaporation through the leather in which 
 it was carried, stood ready. 
 
 Pulling off their clothes, our heroes sat in 
 turn on a wooden platter, and over them 
 each bullock's load was let fall. A well- 
 cooked breakfast having been served, the 
 amil, or chief man of the village, was received; 
 and Yorke, ha\dng touched the rupee offered 
 as tribute money, sent the old man away, 
 happy at the gentleman's civility. The beat- ' 
 ers were then paid in Yorke's presence;
 
 282 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 a very necessary precaution, as otherwise 
 they never receive more than half the sum 
 which the sportemen pay, the other half 
 being intercepted by the chief men amongst 
 them. 
 
 " Will you come out again, Yorke ?" 
 said Graham when they had looked at the 
 horses. 
 
 '' No — ^my head aches, and I must write 
 some letters." 
 
 " Well, I'll go and see a deer caught, and 
 will be back before you want to start." 
 
 ^'The amil said he had a cheetah. Be 
 back by four o'clock, please." 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 Yorke settled down to some correspond- 
 ence on business matters, and wrote steadily 
 till Graham returned. 
 
 " Any sport ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! we got two. We had the 
 cheetah in a bullock-cart, and by placing me
 
 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 283 
 
 behind it, tlie cart was put witliiii one hun- 
 dred yards or so of a herd of deer. The 
 cheetah's keeper then unshpped a hood from 
 off the animal's head, and it was a beautiful 
 sight to Avatch the cunning of the creature. 
 He dropped quietly to the ground, and 
 crawled on, crouching till within some fifty 
 yards of its prey, when it sprang forward. 
 Though the deer saw it and started, it was 
 too late ; for the cheetah got as far in one 
 bound as did the deer m three, and it was 
 soon pulled down. I saw two failures, the 
 cheetah being discovered while still distant, 
 and he seemed to be good only for eighty 
 yards or so." 
 
 They then mounted, and rode home to the 
 station, leaving Kali Khan to come in with 
 the horses, and establishment.
 
 284 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " A pine, 
 
 Rock -rooted, stretched athwart the vacancy — 
 Its STsdnging boughs to each inconstant blast 
 Yielding one only response ; at each pause, 
 In most famihar cadence with the blast, 
 The thunder and the hiss of homeless streams 
 Mingling its solemn song, whilst the broad river, 
 Foaming and hurrying o'er its rugged path, 
 Fell into that unmeasurable void. 
 Scattering its waters to the passing wind." 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 " VOU will have to go to a cooler climate 
 to recover, or you must return at 
 once to Europe," was tlie dictum of tlie 
 regimental doctor who attended Eustace for 
 sunstroke ; and in a few days Sir Eustace 
 Yorke, accompanied by his favourite ser- 
 vant, departed for the Himalayas. His first 
 desire was to go and recover his health
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 285 
 
 sufficiently to return to his duties ; but 
 insensibly lie became affected with delight 
 at witnessing the most sublime and beautiful 
 scenes in which nature unites all her 
 charms of fertility and grace — all her gran- 
 deur of form and structure. 
 
 On the southern side of these peerless 
 hills Eustace ascended by degrees, and, 
 eager to escape from the stifling air of the 
 plains, he was not satisfied till, at the end 
 of several days' journeys, he had reached to 
 the height where his willing feet sank into 
 snow, and the pine and the juniper formed 
 with shrubby rhododendrons the only 
 vegetation. His naturally fine constitution 
 rallied rapidly under that tonic of cold 
 weather ; and then he descended into a 
 more temperate region, for in that won- 
 drous locality the difference of half a day's 
 journey was the change of barrenness to 
 luxuriant vegetation.
 
 286 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 His tent was pitched at length in a 
 spot where nature lavished her utmost 
 abundance of fruit and flowers around him 
 and at his feet. In the distance snow peak 
 after peak stretched away in blended 
 beauty, telling clear against the azure sky ; 
 whilst from each summit, shining like 
 frosted silver, leaped innumerable sparkling 
 rills, catchmg the sunbeams till they glitter- 
 ed like diamonds in the young light, and 
 bounded onwards, till they united in the 
 floods of the majestic Indus. 
 
 Sir Eustace and his servant fixed their 
 habitation on the Pin Pingal. Other peaks 
 arose near them, with their coronets of 
 pine. The camels browsed freely, released 
 from their load. The simple fare which 
 sufficed the Hindoo and his master was 
 stored away in the tent in which the camp 
 bed of Eustace had been placed. Ordi- 
 narily, a cloak and a bed of leaves was
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 287 
 
 deemed by that youth to be sufficient, but 
 he was to be considered an invalid, and 
 treated accordingly, the doctor had said. 
 
 For the first few days the landscape 
 offered sufficient charms for contemplation. 
 It seemed such a pity, too, to burn the 
 wood of the beautiful rhododendrons, such 
 as were cultivated with such care in his 
 mother's, or, rather, in his own grounds. 
 Tlien it was strange to lie on the herbage, 
 and by drawing a stragglmg branch towards 
 him, to eat his fill of wild grapes, or in 
 walking, to move carefully, lest he should 
 crush a melon, or trample do^vo. groups of 
 pine-apples. GeTaniums, in all their varie- 
 ties, made a fragrant carpet for his feet, 
 more odorous from their pressure ; and the 
 tangles of different kinds of convohoili and 
 clematis hung in festoons from the branches 
 above him. 
 
 When he was weary of contemplating the
 
 288 CONST AJ^CE RIVERS. 
 
 exuberance of nature's bounties which grew 
 near him, he directed his telescope to the 
 neighbouring peaks, which, notwithstanding 
 the salubrity of the climate, seemed almost 
 solitary. On one acclivity only there were 
 signs of human life. A herd of cows seem- 
 ed to be attended by a majestic-looking 
 woman, who emerged from a cavern in the 
 side of the mountain, which seemed to 
 serve as her habitation. Eustace watched 
 her idly as she drove one by one aside, and 
 tethered and milked each of them. He was 
 seized with a desire to possess some of this in- 
 nocent and nutritious beverage, and was about 
 to call Kali Khan, and send him to the cow- 
 keeper for that purpose, when he remem- 
 bered that, though seemingly so near, he 
 was in reality by time five or six hours 
 distant from 
 
 " The lowing mothers of the milking herd," 
 
 and would have as much difficulty in reach-
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 289 
 
 ing them, as the inhabitant of a high tower 
 in a fortified castle to join his companion at 
 the opposite end. 
 
 But he was feeling comparatively well 
 and strong ; and, with a natural sense of 
 justice, thought that if he wanted the milk, 
 he might as well encounter the fatigues of 
 the descent of his own mountain, and the 
 ascent of the opposite one. Besides, he had 
 a little squeamish dread lest the dark lips 
 of his attendant should take a toll from the 
 delicious fluid before it reached his own. 
 He would not have grudged the milk ; but 
 even his three years' roughing under canvas 
 had not entirely destroyed what our Ameri- 
 can brothers would designate " his par- 
 ticularities." So he started on his descent, 
 and, flushed and weary with the hot air 
 which greeted hmi at the foot of the moun- 
 tain, he toiled up the side of the other, some- 
 times walking, sometimes clinging by the 
 
 VOL. I. U
 
 290 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 rope-like stems of vines and creeping shrubs, 
 over the rocks which diversified the sur- 
 face. He stopped occasionally to rest, and 
 to drink of the innumerable rills which 
 sparkled down the mountain side, and was 
 more than half tempted to be content with 
 the cool blessing which then laved his 
 parched lips, and leave the cows to them- 
 selves. But it was unlike the Anglo-Saxon 
 character of our hero to leave unfinished 
 any object he had contemplated accomplish- 
 ing. It was not for the sake of the milk, so 
 much as that he did not like to be beaten, 
 that he persevered. Had he turned back, 
 he would have escaped many hours of suf- 
 fering. 
 
 At length he attained the platform on 
 which the quiet herd of cows were grazing, 
 or ruminating under the trees ; but he found 
 that his eye had been deceived by the dis- 
 tance as to the locality. He had fancied
 
 CONSTANCE RIVEES. 291 
 
 the cavern to be on a level with the plat- 
 form ; now he found that it was raised be- 
 hind it by the form of the mountain, and 
 that there Avas a deep ravine, full of dashing, 
 sparkling water, between the habitation of 
 the cow-keeper and the place where her 
 cows were pastured. As he raised himself by 
 degrees, and wearily, to the level of the 
 green herbage, he saw, amidst that scene 
 of vegetable luxuriance, the most beautiful 
 girl he had ever beheld. She seemed to be 
 about fifteen, and was slender and graceful, 
 as are Eastern women at that early age. 
 Her skin was fair, and her colour delicate ; 
 whilst her eyes were black and lustrous, and 
 her glossy black hair was knotted at the 
 back of her head. She held some bird of 
 brilliant plumage on her finger, apparently of 
 the parrot tribe, towards which her attention 
 was directed. Her drapery was white as snow, 
 excepting a scarlet scarf tied loosely round 
 
 u2
 
 292 CONSTANCE RIVEKS. 
 
 lier waist. In tlie East white seems ever 
 whiter, and colours more intense, than in our 
 cloudy atmosphere. As Eustace advanced 
 towards her, she was seized with a sudden 
 panic, and darted away to the verge of the 
 ravine. He followed her, calling out in her 
 native language to her to return ; but, to his 
 horror, she disappeared, and the impression 
 that she had fallen into the foaming torrent 
 made pale the cheeks that had glowed with 
 exercise and recovered health. When he 
 reached the spot where he had lost her, she 
 was half way across the stream, bounding 
 from one large fragment of rock to another, 
 sprinkled with the spray which rose from each 
 stony impediment to the headstrong waters ; 
 and looking back as she splashed through 
 the further edge of the stream, where it 
 was shallower, she laughed at the disap- 
 pointed look, blended with wonder, in 
 the countenance of the European who so
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 293 
 
 steadfastly regarded her. Breathlessly she 
 climbed mto her lair, and rolled herself up 
 in a tiger skin, out of which Eustace still 
 saw the gleam of her semi-savage eyes. 
 
 " Not much chance of my getting any 
 milk, unless I turn milkman for the occa- 
 sion," thought the young man; but as he 
 spoke, the woman whom he had seen by 
 the help of his glass came from the interior 
 of the cave, and Eustace, raising his voice to 
 be heard above the rushing waters, told her 
 why he had come, and requested her to 
 supply him with milk. 
 
 She left the verge of the cascade, and he 
 presently saw her crossing it where the 
 passage was easier, because higher up the 
 stream, where it was narrower, and where 
 a fallen pine-tree made a natural bridge, 
 and in a short time she strode down to the 
 place where he was standing. 
 
 Eustace could converse easily in most of
 
 294 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 the native dialects. The knowledge which 
 could be gained by attrition Avith his fellow 
 men was acquired by Eustace with much 
 greater facility than when it must be gleaned 
 from books. His intellect was brightened 
 by the fresh air and bright sunshine, and he 
 had taken pleasm^e in committmg to memory 
 not only the bald sentences wliich were 
 necerssary for the purposes of common life, 
 but the idioms known for the most part 
 only to natives themselves. 
 
 As the woman came towards him, he 
 thought he had never seen a more repulsive 
 countenance, surmounting a more gigantic 
 frame. There was a wild kind of beauty in 
 the flash of her dark eyes, but her face 
 Avas Avrinkled and weather-beaten, and the 
 lower part of it coarse and sensual. She 
 came forward to the Sahib salaaming rever- 
 ently, and asked what his excellency would 
 please to want. She had not only milk.
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 295 
 
 but cheese, whicli tlie Saliib might delight in. 
 
 Eustace sat clown whilst she milked one 
 of the cows, and enjoyed the meal which 
 she prepared for him, having returned to 
 her cave for some chupatties. She was 
 urgent that he should purchase a cheese, 
 but Eustace rather objected to the trouble 
 of carrying it for the delectation of Kali 
 Khan, as he was not himself a cheese eater. 
 The woman settled the matter herself She 
 would bring him milk and cheese the next 
 day. 
 
 " But the distance !" 
 
 " The Sahib will pay well !" she said, with 
 another salaam. 
 
 Eustace laughed, and agreed to her de- 
 mands, which, though they seemed to her 
 excessive, appeared to the young man to be 
 not unreasonable. 
 
 He hazarded a question about the girl 
 he had seen. "Her daughter?" "Yes.
 
 296 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 She was a widow. This 3^oung virgin was 
 her only child. Should she compel her to 
 return and speak to the Sahib?" Eustace 
 replied in the negative, but the wily Asiatic 
 saw the wistful look in the eyes which the 
 lips contradicted, and drew her own con- 
 clusions. 
 
 It is seldom that Englishmen, however 
 strict in their moral conduct in England, 
 preserve the same rule of life in India, 
 where license is so general. It is difficult 
 to persuade the young not to take the goods 
 the gods — i.e. the Indian gods — provide them, 
 where the enervating influences of climate 
 weaken the hand which would restrain the 
 career of passion. 
 
 Eustace had already felt the charms too 
 seducing of those lithe and glo^ving beauties. 
 Perhaps the Anglo-Saxon feeling that they 
 were of a race inferior to his own insensibly 
 diminished the deference he felt inclined to
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 297 
 
 pay to every woman whose skin bore the 
 same tmt as that of his countrywomen. Yet, 
 notwithstanding this, the seclusion and fair- 
 ness of the young Asiatic, and the innocent 
 and timid air with which she had regarded 
 him, so unhke the voluptuous invitation 
 which shone in the eyes of many of her 
 countr}^women, stirred the heart of the young 
 man with a feeling very like love. 
 
 With the impetuosity of his character in 
 everything which he desired, the wish was 
 commensurate with the strength of a will 
 that had hitherto overborne all obstacles. 
 All his thoughts were now fixed on this 
 mountain maiden. How well she fitted the 
 scenery amidst which she was placed, so 
 beautiful yet so wild; surrrunded by all 
 the grandeur as well as the luxuriance of 
 nature. Did Eve look thus, he wondered. 
 Eve herself could not be more beautiful 
 than Lvla.
 
 298 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 Like a European mother looking out for 
 her daughter, the conscience of Eustace in- 
 terrogated hmi — ''What are your inten- 
 tions? Would you ruin the innocence 
 which you adinire and reverence ?" He 
 answered faintly — "Disgrace is not here what 
 it would be to an English girl." " Would you 
 take her to your refined home ? — would 
 you present her to Lady Yorke as your 
 wife ?" A half smile flitted across the face 
 of Eustace at the thought of the incongruity. 
 Lyla in an English dress — in a corset and 
 crinoline ! — those beautifully rounded feet 
 pinched into a pair of Balmoral boots ! He 
 sighed, and grew angry Avith himself, A\dth 
 Lyla, with all the world. And then, for it 
 was early morning, and the sun was just 
 beginning to dart his golden lines over the 
 summit of the gleaming snowdrops, he took 
 his telescope and directed it to the spot 
 where Lyla and her mother resided.
 
 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 299 
 
 She was not there — not in sight yet ; still 
 he could picture to his imagination — how 
 beautiful ! — a fragrant flower, tinted with 
 delicate hues, half hidden in the long dewy 
 grass of her native mountains, in these sweet 
 and glimmering hours of early morning. 
 A wild bird of gorgeous plumage, untamed 
 to the touch of her captor. Thus fancy 
 painted her to Eustace. He did not, could 
 not picture her as partakuig of the nature of 
 her mother — with the wild passions of a 
 tiger, with the creeping venom of a ser- 
 pent advancing with sinuous movement on 
 its prey. 
 
 As he agam directed his glass to the side 
 of the mountain where she dwelt, he saw 
 her come forth from the cavern, and descend 
 it, keeping by the verge of the torrent. At 
 the side of the base the waters bubbled and 
 eddied into a smooth pond, of unknown 
 depth. She reached its margin, and began
 
 300 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 to flins^ off her crimson scarf and snowv 
 shawl. 
 
 Eustace dropped his glass — to continue 
 to observe her would have been profana- 
 tion. He turned away and tried to think of 
 the landscape — of the snow mountains, of 
 their comparative heights ; of the sources of 
 the mighty rivers flowing from these snow- 
 capped peaks — of the strange vegetation 
 which was spread around him. He had 
 brought no books excepting his Bible. He 
 opened it to distract his mind from the 
 thoughts of the young milk-gkl. The leaves 
 separated at that beautiful pastoral poem 
 called the " Song of Solomon." Its exqui- 
 site tenderness had never before so vibrated 
 through the frame of the young Englishman. 
 The scenery resembled that of which the 
 regal Poet sang. Lyla might pass for the 
 bride, were she less timid. How lovely she 
 had appeared in her graceful drapery — a
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 301 
 
 vesture of needlework, a small worked 
 cap, from which flowed on each side the 
 muslin folds which floated over those 
 rounded arms and graceful shoulders. 
 
 Involuntarily he quoted, " my dove ! 
 thou art m the cleft of the rock, in the secret 
 places of the stairs. Let me see thy coun- 
 tenance — let me hear thy voice, for sweet is 
 thy voice, and thy countenance is comely." 
 
 Of the comeliness of her countenance he 
 could well judge, but of her voice he had 
 heard no spoken word, only her coocooing 
 to the bird she held. She was perfect in 
 face and figure — perfect in all her adjuncts. 
 
 The dashing cascade with its clear waters 
 seemed typical of her purity, the springing 
 flowers of her fresh youth, the wild birds of 
 her untamed nature. 
 
 He returned to his couch and slept, to 
 dream that he saw her crossing the moun- 
 tain stream, only to be overwhelmed in its
 
 302 CONSTANCE EIVERS. 
 
 waters. He awoke, to see lier standing at 
 the door of his tent, with downcast eyes 
 and grave graceful movement, holding in 
 her hands a basket covered with vine leaves, 
 on which reposed a honeycomb. Without 
 raisino^ her lustrous eves, she uttered her 
 little speech, evidently conned before. She 
 had brought the sahib some honey as a gift; 
 her mother had accompanied her to bring 
 the milk and cheese. 
 
 The practised eye of Eustace saw that 
 more care had been taken m her adornment 
 now than when he had seen her accident- 
 ally. She had twined some white lilies in 
 the braids of her shining black hair ; and a 
 blue scarf, with the ends embroidered with 
 gold, was twisted with the crimson one she 
 had previously worn. 
 
 He arose from his bed, on which he had 
 been reposing in his dressing-gown, and 
 courteously took the honey from her hands,
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 303 
 
 inviting "her to be seated on the box wbicli 
 served as a chair ; but she pointed to her 
 mother, Avho was standing at a short dis- 
 tance, keeping her beautiful charge in view, 
 and making a low salaam, she returned to 
 her companion, leaving a flush of pleasure 
 on the cheek of Eustace, and a trepidation 
 in his heart. If our hero could suddenly 
 have heard of the neighbourhood of one or 
 two rebel chiefs, who might be pursued, and 
 taken alive or dead — had he received 
 information of the vicinity of a boar, a lion, 
 or tiger, the image of the lovely Lyla might 
 have faded from his mind, "like the baseless 
 fabric of a vision." 
 
 But no such fortunate circumstance oc- 
 curred to save our hero from temptation 
 and sorrow. He had no book, as I have 
 before observed, but his Bible, and in that 
 the pastoral images kept awake the thoughts 
 of the young Asiatic. He had no occupation
 
 304 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 except that of walking and climbing, 
 and visions of Lyla accompanied him al- 
 ways. 
 
 On the following morning her mother 
 brought the milk, unaccompanied by her 
 daughter ; and the subtile woman, watching 
 the countenance of Eustace, as she stood at 
 his tent door, saw that he glanced impatiently 
 past her to see if she were accompanied. 
 He asked no questions, however, and she 
 was so far disappointed. Eustace, after 
 deshing Kali Khan to pay her for the milk, 
 dismissed her. 
 
 His glass revealed to him the figure of 
 Lyla, reclinmg under one of the trees near 
 the torrent, seemingly employed in weaving 
 grasses, dyed with different colours, into 
 bracelets and armlets. Some hours later he 
 saw her mother retmiiing to her, and saw 
 Lyla rise suddenly and bound towards her. 
 They seemed to be talking eagerly, and as
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 305 
 
 both turned and looked at his tent, he be- 
 lieved they spoke of him. 
 
 Later in the evening he observed Lyla 
 descending the hill alone. One of the 
 calves seemed to have strayed, as he saw 
 the mother pointing to the herd, and seem- 
 ingly counting them. Probably she was too 
 tired from her morning walk to seek it her- 
 self. Eustace had seen the creature feeding 
 lower down the declivity than the rest of 
 the cattle in the morning, and guessed which 
 way it had taken. 
 
 The temptation to assist Lyla in her search 
 was irresistible. He overlooked the pro- 
 bability that the calf Avould be found and 
 driven back before he could reach the 
 young girl ; and taking his gun, as a reason 
 for his departure to Kali Khan, he descended 
 with such speed as to make him breathless. 
 Occasionally he looked at the opposite moun- 
 tain, and tracked Lyla by the flutter of her 
 
 VOL. I. X
 
 306 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 white drapery, even where she was partly 
 hidden by the branches, opake with dense 
 foliage. Presently she seated herself, seem- 
 ingly weary with her fruitless search, and 
 Eustace advanced towards her silently, re- 
 membering how she had fled from him on 
 a former occasion. He was Avithin a few 
 yards of her, still unperceived, for the grass, 
 with its feathery tops and gigantic stems, 
 concealed his approach. She was singing in 
 a loAV monotonous voice, with great sweetness 
 and passion, the words of which the follow- 
 ing is a translation : — 
 
 " The phantom of my love came in my slumber. 
 ' Phantom of slumber ! who,' I said, '■ has sent thee?' 
 * He who in sleep no earthly bonds encumber. 
 He whose fond watchings only can content thee.' " 
 
 She stopped, and Eustace was about to ad- 
 vance, when she sang again : — 
 
 " In the deep darkness came to me my lover. 
 
 I stood in reverence till he sat him down. 
 ' Thou com'st at midnight the fenced city over ; 
 
 Fear'st thou the watchmen in the silent tower ?'
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 307 
 
 ' I feared at first, but breathless, passion-tost, 
 All fear save that of losing thee was lost." " 
 
 Eustace put aside the foliage and ap- 
 proached her. She gave a startled cry, and 
 would have fled ; but the young man sprang 
 forward and seized her arm, on which she 
 screamed, with a expression of bodily pain 
 so acute that he let her go, and she sank 
 down, cowering, with shrinking form and 
 uplifted eyes, like a hound fearing the lash. 
 
 " I did not mean to hurt you; why do you 
 fear me ?" said Eustace. 
 
 " I know not, Saliib." 
 
 " Why did you shriek so loudly when I 
 touched you?" 
 
 She did not reply otherwise than by 
 baring her arm, and sho^\dng it to be black 
 with bruises, seemingly inflicted with a large 
 bamboo cane, as, in some parts, where the 
 stick was jointed, the womid was deepest. 
 
 " Who can — who dared to do this ?"
 
 308 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 
 
 said the young man, anger flashing from 
 his eyes. 
 
 "You pity me, Sahib?" 
 
 " Pity you ! — I burn Avith indignation. 
 Who did it?" 
 
 " My mother, because the cows strayed 
 — she often beats me." 
 
 " Your mother ! — can a woman, and a 
 mother, strike thus ?" 
 
 " I must go — she will beat me again — I 
 cannot find the calf Sometunes I fear so 
 much, that I think of the deep water at the 
 bottom of the torrent." 
 
 " I can find your calf for you, poor child, 
 this time — I saw the direction in which it 
 went. Stay here till I find it." 
 
 " Let your slave go with you. Sahib." 
 
 They went together — both young, both 
 cast in nature's finest mould ; 
 
 " For valour he, and manly beauty formed ; 
 For softness she, and fair attractive grace."
 
 CONSTANCE RIVERS. 309 
 
 Eustace would liave offered to assist her 
 over the craggy ground, but she bounded 
 over every inipedhnent Hke a gazelle. Eus- 
 tace was tempted to repeat some Imes which 
 he had met in his studies of Eastern litera- 
 ture — 
 
 " Small is tliine age, O beautiful gazelle. 
 Thy mother's breast thy food till lately gave ; 
 Didst thou descend to drink the sparkling well. 
 Or crop the lilies bordering its wave ? 
 
 On me those wild and brilliant glances play, 
 So mutable in Ught, so tender, shy ; 
 Irresolute thy timid footsteps stay, 
 Thy servant pleads — rejected he must flie.'' 
 
 When the calf was found and driven 
 nearly to his home, Eustace left the young 
 girl. He had a horror of seeing the mother 
 who could tlius barbarously treat lier un- 
 offending child. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY MACDONALD AND TUGWbLL, BLENHEIM HOUSE