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HOPES AND FEAES ;
SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A SPINSTER.
HOPES MD FEAES;
OK,
SCENES FROM THE LIFE OF A SPINSTER.
BY THE AUTHOR OF 'THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE,'
' HEARTSEASE » ETC.
This is the calm of the autumnal eve.
The Baptistebt.
IN T¥0 VOLUilES.
VOL. I.
LONDON:
JOHN W. PARKER AND SON, WEST STRAND.
i860.
\The right of Translation it reserved.']
LONDON :
SATI1L AND EDWABDS, PBINTEBS,
CHaXDOS stkeet.
Kj
s
HOPES AND FEARS,
PART I.
o
2
^>
CHAPTER I.
."^ Who ought to go then and who ought to stay?
Where do you draw an obvious border line ? —
Cecil and Mary.
dJf/jP^teiMONG the numerous steeples counted
i'flw f rom the waters of the Thames, in the
heart of the City, and grudged by
modern economy as cumberers of the
soil of Mammon, may be remarked an
abortive little dingy cupola, surmounting
two large round eyes which have evi-
dently stared over the adjacent roofs ever since the Fire
that began at Pie Corner and ended in Pudding Lane.
Strange that the like should have been esteemed the
highest walk of architecture, and yet Honora Charle-
cote well remembered the days when St. Wulstan's was
her boast, so large, so clean, so light, so Grecian, so far
surpassing damp old Hiltonbury Church. That was
at an age when her enthusiasm found indiscriminate
food in whatever had a hold upon her affections, the
nearer her heart being of course the more admirable in
itself, and it would be difficult to say which she loved the
most ardently, her city home in Woolstone-lane, or
Hiltonbury Holt, the old family seat, where her father
was a welcome guest whenever his constitution re-
VOL. I. b
2 HOPES AND FEARS.
quired relaxation from the severe toils of a London
rector.
Woolstone-lane was a locality that sorely tried the
coachmen of Mrs. Charlecote's West-end connexions,
situate as it was on the very banks of the Thames, and
containing little save offices and warehouses, in the
midst of which stood Honora's home. It was not the
rectory, but had been inherited from City relations,
and it antedated the Fire, so that it was one of the
most perfect remnants of the glories of the merchant
princes of ancient London. It had a court to itself,
shut in by high walls, and paved with round-headed
stones, with gangways of flags in mercy to the feet ;
the front was faced with hewn squares after the pattern
of Somerset House, with the like ponderous sashes,
and on a smaller scale, the Louis XIY. pediment,
apparently designed for the nesting-place of swallows
and sparrows. Within was a hall, pannelled with
fragrant softly-tinted cedar wood, festooned with ex-
quisite garlands of fruit and flowers, carved by Gibbons
himself, with all his peculiarities of rounded form and
delicate edge. The staircase and floor were of white
stone, tinted on sunny days with reflections from the
windows' three medallions of yellow and white glass,
where Solomon, in golden mantle and crowned turban,
commanded the division of a stout lusty child hanging
by one leg ; superintended the erection of a temple
worthy of Haarlem ; or graciously welcomed a recoil-
ing stumpy Vrow of a Queen of Sheba, with golden
hair all down her back.
The river aspect of the house had come to perfection
at the Elizabethan period, and was sculptured in every
available nook with the chevron and three arrows of
the Fletchers' Company, and a merchant's mark, like
a figure of four with a curly tail. Here were the oriel
windows of the best rooms, looking out on a grass plat,
small enough in country eyes, but most extensive for
the situation, with straight gravelled walks, and low
lilac and laburnum trees, that came into profuse
HOPES AND FEARS. 3
"blossom long before their country cousins, but which,
like the crocuses and snowdrops of the flower borders,
had better be looked at than touched by such as
dreaded sooty fingers. These shrubs veiled the garden
from the great river thoroughfare, to which it sloped
down, still showing traces of the handsome stone steps
and balustrade that once had formed the access of the
gold-chained alderman to his sumptuous barge.
Along those paths paced, book in hand, a tall, well-
grown maiden, of good straight features, and clear, pale
skin, with eyes and rich luxuriant hair of the same
colour, a peculiarly bright shade of auburn, such as
painters of old had loved, and Owen Sandbrook called
golden, while Hurnfrey Charlecote would declare he
was always glad to see Honor's carrots.
Alore than thirty years ago, personal teaching at a
London parish school or personal visiting of the poor
was less common than at present, but Honora had been
bred up to be helpful, and she had newly come in from
a diligent afternoon of looking at the needlework, and
hearing Crossman's Catechism, and Sellon's abridge-
ment from a demurely dressed race of little girls in tall
white caps, bibs and tuckers, and very stout indigo
blue frocks. She had been working hard at the en-
deavour to make the little Cockneys, who had never
seen a single ear of wheat, enter into Joseph's dreams,
and was rather weary of their town sharpness coupled
with their indifference and want of imagination, where
any nature, save human nature, was concerned. 'I
will bring an ear of Hiltonbury wheat home with me
— some of the best girls shall see me sow it, and I
will take them to watch it growing up — the blade,
the ear, the full corn in the ear — poor dears, if they
only had a Hiltonbury to give them some tastes that are
not all for this hot, busy, eager world ! If I could
only see one with her lap full of blue bells ; but though
in this land of Cockaigne of ours, one does not actually
pick up gold and silver, I am afraid they are our
flowers, and the only ones we esteem worth the picking;
b2
4 HOPES AND FEARS.
and like old Mr. Sandbrook, we neither understand
nor esteem those whose aims are otherwise ! Oh !
Owen, Owen, may you only not be withheld from your
glorious career ! May you show this hard, money-
getting world that you do really, as well as only in
word, esteem one soul to be reclaimed above all the
wealth that can be laid at your feet ! The nephew
and heir of the great Firm voluntarily surrendering
consideration, ease, riches, unbounded luxury for the
sake of the heathen — choosing a wigwam instead of
a West End palace ; parched maize rather than the
banquet; the backwoods instead of the luxurious park;
the Red Indian rather than the club and the theatre ;
to be a despised minister rather than a magnate of this
great city ; nay, or to take his place among the influ-
ential men of the land. What has this worn, weary
old civilization to offer like the joy of sitting beneath
one of the glorious aspiring pines of America, gazing
out on the blue waters of her limpid inland seas, in
her fresh pure air, with the simple children of the
forest round him, their princely forms in attitudes of
attention, their dark soft liquid eyes fixed upon him,
as he tells them ' Your Great Spirit, Him whom ye
ignorantly worship, Him declare I unto you,' and then,
some glorious old chief bows his stately head, and throws
aside his marks of superstition. ' I believe,' he says,
and the hearts of all bend with him ; and Owen leads
them to the lake, and baptizes them, and it is another
St. Sacrament ! Oh ! that is what it is to have noble-
ness enough truly to overcome the world, truly to turn
one's back upon pleasures and honours — what are they
to such as this V
So mused Honora Charlecote, and then ran indoors,
w r ith bounding step, to her Schiller, and her hero-
worship of Max Piccolomini, to write notes for her
mother, and practise for her father the song that was
to refresh him for the evening.
Nothing remarkable! ~No; there was nothing re-
markable in Honor, she was neither more nor less than
HOPES AND FEARS. 5
an average woman of the higher type. Refinement and
gentleness, a strong appreciation of excellence, and a
love of duty, had all been brought out by an admirable
education, and by a home devoted to unselfish exertion,
varied by intellectual pleasures. Other influences — de-
cidedly traceable in her musings — had shaped her prin-
ciples and enthusiasms on those of an ardent Oxonian
of the early years of William IV. ; and so bred up, so
led by circumstances, Honora, with her abilities, high
cultivation, and tolerable sense, was a fair specimen of
what any young lady might be, appearing perhaps
somewhat in advance of her contemporaries, but rather
from her training than from intrinsic force of character.
The qualities of womanhood well developed, were so
entirely the staple of her composition, that there is
little to describe in her. Was not she one made to
learn ; to lean ; to admire ; to support ; to enhance
every joy; to soften every sorrow of the object of her
devotion 1
Another picture from Honora Charlecote's life. It
is about half after six, on a bright autumnal morning ;
and, rising nearly due east, out of a dark pine-crowned
hill, the sun casts his slanting beams over an undulat-
ing country, clothed in grey mist of tints differing with
the distance, the farther hills confounded with the sky,
the nearer dimly traced in purple, and the valleys
between indicated by the whiter, woollier vapours that
rise from their streams, a goodly land of fertile field and
rich wood, cradled on the bosoms of those soft hills.
Nestled among the woods, clothing its hollows on
almost every side, rises a low hill, with a species of
table land on the top, scattered over with large thorns
and scraggy oaks that cast their shadows over the pale
buff bents of the short soft grass of the gravelly soil.
Looking southward is a low, irregular, oldfashioned
house, with two tall gable ends like eyebrows, and the
lesser gable of a porch between them, all covered with
large chequers of black timber, filled up with cream-
6 HOPES AND FEAES.
coloured cement. A straight path leads from the porch
between beds of scarlet geraniums, their luxuriant
horse-shoe leaves weighed down with wet, and china
asters, a drop in every quilling, to an oldfashioned
sundial, and beside that dial stands Honora Charlecote,
gazing joyously out on the bright morning, and trying
for the hundredth time to make the shadow of that
green old finger point to the same figure as the hand of
her watch.
'Oh! down, down, there's a good dog, Fly; you'll
knock me down! Vixen, poor little doggie, pray!
Look at your paws,' as a blue greyhound and rough
black terrier came springing joyously upon her, brush-
ing away the silver dew from the shaven lawn.
' Down, down, lie down, dogs !' and with an obstre-
perous bound, Fly flew to the new comer, a young man
in the robust strength of eight-and-twenty, of stalwart
frame, very broad in the chest and shoulders, careless,
homely, though perfectly gentlemanlike bearing, and
hale, hearty, sunburnt face. It was such a look and
such an arm as would win the most timid to his side
in certainty of tenderness and protection, and the fond
voice gave the same sense of power and of kindness, as
he called out ' Holloa, Honor, there you are ! Not
given up the old fashion V
' Not till you give me up, Humfrey,' she said, as she
eagerly laid her neatly gloved fiugers in the grasp of
the great, broad, horny palm, ' or at least till you take
your gun.'
' So you are not grown wiser V
1 Nor ever will be.'
1 Every woman ought to learn to saddle a horse and
fire off a gun.'
' Yes, against the civil war squires are always ex-
pecting. You shall teach me when the time comes.'
1 You'll never see that time, nor any other, if you go
out in those thin boots. I'll fetch Sarah's clogs; I
suppose you have not a reasonable pair in the world.'
' My boots are quite thick, thank you.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 7
1 Brown paper !' And indeed they were a contrast
to his mighrty nailed soles, and long, nntanned buskins,
nor did they greatly resemble the heavy, country-made
galoshes which, with an elder brother's authority, he
forced her to put on, observing that nothing so com-
pletely evinced the Londoner as her obstinacy in never
having a pair of shoes that could keep anything out.
1 And where are you going f
'To Hay ward's farm. Is that too far for you? He
wants an abatement of his rent for some improvements,
and I want to judge what they may be worth.'
I Hayward's — oh, not a bit too far !' and holding up
her skirts, she picked her way as daintily as her weighty
chaussure would permit, along the narrow green foot-
way that crossed the expanse of dewy turf in which the
dogs careered, getting their noses covered with flakes
of thick gossamer, cemented together by dew. Fly
scraped it off with a delicate forepaw, Yixen rolled
over, and doubly entangled it in her rugged coat.
Humfrey Charlecote strode on before his companion
with his hands in his pockets, and beginning to whistle,
but pausing to observe, over his shoulder, ' A sweet
day for getting up the roots ! You're not getting wet,
I hope 1 ?'
I I couldn't through this rhinoceros hide, thank you.
How exquisitely the mist is curling up, and showing
the church-spire in the valley.'
I And I suppose you have been reading all manner
of books?'
I I think the best was a great history of France.'
' France P he repeated in a contemptuous John Bull
tone.
' Ay, don't be disdainful j France was the centre of
chivalry in the old time.'
1 Better have been the centre of honesty.'
1 And so it was in the time of St. Louis and his
crusade. Do you know it, Humfrey?'
'Eh?'
That was full permission. Ever since Honora had
8 HOPES AND FEAKS.
been able to combine a narration, Humfrey had been
the recipient, though she seldom knew whether he
attended, and from her babyhood upwards had been
quite contented with trotting in the wake of his long
strides, pouring out her ardent fancies, now and then
getting an answer, but more often going on like a little
singing bird, through the midst of his avocations, and
quite complacent under his interruptions of calls to his
dogs, directions to his labourers, and warnings to her
to mind her feet and not her chatter. In the full
stream of crusaders, he led her down one of the multi-
tude of by-paths cleared out in the hazel coppice for
sporting; here leading up a rising ground whence the
tops of the trees might be overlooked, some necked
with gold, some blushing into crimson, and beyond
them the needle point of the village spire, the vane
flashing back the sun ; there bending into a ravine,
marshy at the bottom, and nourishing the lady fern,
then again crossing glades, where the rabbits darted
across the path, and the battle of Damietta was broken
into by stern orders to Fly to come to heel, and the
eating of the nuts which Humfrey pulled down from
the branches, and held up to his cousin with superior
good nature.
' A Mameluke rushed in with a scimitar streaming
with blood, and '
' Take care ; do you want help over this fence V
1 Not I, thank you — And said he had just murdered
the king '
* Vic ! ah ! take your nose out of that. Here was
a crop, Nora.'
' What was it?'
'You don't mean that you don't know wheat
stubble ? '
' I remember it was to be wheat.'
1 Red wheat, the finest we ever had in this land; not
a bit beaten down, and the colour perfectly beautiful
before harvest ; it used to put me in mind of your hair.
A load to the acre ; a fair specimen of the effect of
HOPES AND FEARS. 9
drainage. Do you remember what a swamp it
was?'
1 1 remember the beautiful loose-strifes that used to
grow in that corner.'
1 Ah ! we have made an end of that trumpery.'
' You savage old Humfrey — beauties that they were.'
1 What had they to do with my cornfields ? A place
for everything and everything in its place — French
kings and all. What was this one doing wool gather-
ing in Egypt \ '
'Don't you understand, it had become the point for
the blow at the Saracen power. Where was 1 1 Oh,
the Mameluke justified the murder, and wanted St.
Louis to be king, but '
I Ha ! a fine covey, I only miss two out of them.
These carrots, how their leaves are turned — that ought
not to be.'
Honora could not believe that anything ought not
to be that was as beautiful as the varied rosy tints
of the hectic beauty of the exquisitely shaped and
delicately pinked foliage of the field carrots, and with
her cousin's assistance she soon had a large bouquet
where no two leaves were alike, their hues ranging from
the deepest purple or crimson to the palest yellow, or
clear scarlet, like seaweed, through every intermediate
variety of purple edged with green, green picked out
with red or yellow, or vice versd, in never ending
brilliancy, such as Humfrey almost seemed to appre-
ciate, as he said, ' Well, you have something as pretty as
your weeds, eh, Honor V
I I can't quite give up mourning for my dear long
purples.'
1 All very well by the river, but there's no beauty in
things out of place, like your Louis in Egypt — well,
what was the end of this predicament V
So Humfrey had really heard, and been interested !
With such encouragement, Honora proceeded swim-
mingly, and had nearly arrived at her hero's ransom,
through nearly a mile of field paths, only occasionally in-
10 HOPES AND FEARS.
terrupted by grunts from her auditor at farming not
like his own, when crossing a narrow foot bridge
across a clear stream, they stood before a farm-house,
timbered and chimneyed much like the Holt, but with
new sashes displacing the old lattice.
' Oh ! Humfrey, how could you bring me to see
such havoc 1 I never suspected you would allow it.'
'It was without asking leave; an attention to his
bride ; and now they want an abatement for improve-
ments ! Whew ! '
' You should fine him for the damage he has done !
' I can't be hard on him, he is more or less of an ass,
and a good sort of fellow, very good to his labourers ;
he drove Jem Hurd to the infirmary himself, when
he broke his arm. No, he is not a man to be hard
upon.'
' You can't be hard on any one. Now that window
really irritates my mind.'
' Now Sarah walked down to call on the bride, and
came home full of admiration at the place being so
lightsome and cheerful. Which of you two ladies am
I to believe V
1 You ought to make it a duty to improve the general
taste ! Why don't you build a model farm-house, and
let me make the design V
1 Ay, when I want one that nobody can live in. Come,
it will be breakfast time.'
' Are not you going to have an interview 1 '
1 No, I only wanted to take a survey of the altera-
tions ; two windows, smart door, iron fence, pulled
down old barn, talks of another. Hm !'
' So he will get his reduction 1 '
1 If he builds the barn. I shall try to see his wife,
she has not been brought up to farming, and whether
they get on or not, all depends on the way she may
take it up. What are you looking at 1 '
1 That lovely wreath of Traveller's Joy.'
' Do you want it ¥
1 No, thank you, it is too beautiful where it is.'
HOPES AXD FEARS. 11
* There is a piece, going from tree to tree, by the
Hiltonbuiy Gate, as thick as my arm ; I just saved it
when "West was going to cut it down with the copse
wood.'
'Well, you really are improving at last !'
1 1 thought you would never let me hear the last of
it, besides there was a thrush's nest in it.'
By and by the cousins arrived at a field where
Humfrey's portly short horns were coming forth after
their milking, under the pilotage of an old white-
headed man, bent nearly double, uncovering his head
as the squire touched his hat in response, and shouted,
' Good morning.'
' If you please, sir,' said the old man, trying to erect
himself, ' I wanted to speak to you.'
'Well.'
e If you please, sir, chimney smokes so as a body
can scarce bide in the house, and the blacks come
down terrible.'
'Wants sweeping,' roared Humfrey, into his deaf
ears.
' Have swep it, sir ; old woman's been up with her
broom.'
' Old woman hasn't been high enough. Send Jack
up outside with a rope and a bunch of furze, and let
her stand at bottom.'
' That's it, sir !' cried the old man, with a triumphant
snap of the fingers over his shoulder. ' Thank ye !'
' Here's Miss Honor, John ;' and Honora came for-
ward, her gravity somewhat shaken by the domestic
offices of the old woman.
'I'm glad to see you still able to bring out the
cows, John. Here's my favourite Daisy as tame as
ever.'
' Anan !' and he looked at his master for explanation
from the stronger and more familiar voice. ' I be deaf,
you see, ma'am.'
1 Miss Honor i3 glad to see Daisy as tame as ever,*
shouted Humfrey.
12 HOPES AND FEARS.
'Ay! ay!' maundered on the old man; 'she
ain't done no good of late, and Mr. West and I — us
wanted to have fatted her this winter, but the squire,
he wouldn't hear on it, because Miss Honor was such
a terrible one for her. Says I, when I hears 'em say
so, we shall have another dinner on the la-an, and the
last was when the old squire was married, thirty-live
years ago, come Michaelmas.'
Honora was much disposed to laugh at this freak of
the old man's fancy, but to her surprise Humfrey
coloured up, and looked so much out of countenance
that a question darted through her mind whether he
could have any such step in contemplation, and she
began to review the young ladies of the neighbourhood,
and to decide on each in turn that it would be intoler-
able to see her as Humfrey 's wife ; more at home at
the Holt than herself. She had ample time for con-
templation, for he had become very silent, and once or
twice the presumptuous idea crossed her that he might
be actually about to make her some confidence, but
when he at length spoke, very near the house, it was
only to say, ' Honor, I wanted to ask you if you think
your father would wish me to ask young Sandbrook here 1 ?'
' Oh ! thank you, I am sure he would be glad. You
know poor Owen has nowhere to go, since his uncle has
behaved so shamefully.'
' It must have been a great mortification '
' To Owen 1 Of course it was, to be so cast off for
his noble purpose.'
' I was thinking of old Mr. Sandbrook '
' Old wretch ! I've no patience with him ! '
' Just as he has brought this nephew up and hopes
to make him useful, and rest some of his cares upon
him in his old age, to find him flying off upon this
fresh course, and disappointing all his hopes.'
' But it is such a high and grand course, he ought to
have rejoiced in it, and Owen is not his son.'
' A man of his age, brought up as he has been, can
hardly be expected to enter into Owen's views.'
HOPES AND FEARS. ]3
' Of course not. It is all sordid and mean, he
cannot even understand the missionary spirit of resign-
ing all. As Owen says, half the Scripture must be
hyperbole to him, and so he is beginning Owen's per-
secution already.'
It was one of Humfrey's provoking qualities that
no amount of eloquence would ever draw a word of
condemnation from him, he would praise readily
enough, but censure was very rare with him, and
extenuation was always his first impulse, so the more
Honora railed at Mr. Sandbrook's interference with
his nephew's plans, the less satisfaction she received
from him. She seemed to think that in order to
admire Owen as he deserved, his uncle must be pro-
portionably reviled, and though Humfrey did not
imply a word save in commendation of the young
missionary's devotion, she went in-doors feeling almost
injured at his not understanding it ; but Honora's
petulance was a very bright, sunny piquancy, and she
only appeared the more glowing and animated for it
■when she presented herself at the breakfast table, with
a preposterous country appetite.
Afterwards she filled a vase very tastefully with her
varieties of leaves, and enjoyed taking in her cousin
Sarah, who admired the leaves greatly while she
thought they came from Mrs. Mervyn's hot-house ; but
when she found they were the product of her own
furrows, voted them coarse, ugly, withered things, such
as only the simplicity of a Londoner could bring into
civilized society. So Honora stood over her gorgeous
feathery bouquet, not knowing whether to laugh or to
be scornful, till Humfrey, taking up the vase, inquired,
' May I have it for my study V
1 Oh ! yes, and welcome,' said Honora, laughing, and
shaking her glowing tresses at him ; 'I am thankful to
any one who stands up for carrots.'
Good-natured Humfrey, thought she, it is all that
I may not be mortified; but after all it is not those
very good-natured people who best appreciate lofty
14 HOPES AND FEARS.
actions. He is inviting Owen Sandbrook more because
he thinks it would please papa, and because he com-
passionates him in his solitary lodgings, than because
he feels the force of his glorious self-sacrifice.
The northern slope of the Holt was clothed with fir
plantations, intersected with narrow paths, which gave
admission to the depths of their lonely woodland palace,
supported on rudely straight columns, dark save for
the snowy exuding gum, roofed in by aspiring beam-
like arms, bearing aloft their long tufts of dark blue
green foliage, floored by the smooth, slippery, russet
needle leaves as they fell, and perfumed by the peculiar
fresh smell of turpentine. It was a still and lonely
place, the very sounds making the silence more audible
(if such an expression may be used), the wind whispering
like the rippling waves of the sea in the tops of the
pines, here and there the cry of a bird, or far, far away,
the tinkle of the sheep bell, or the tone of the church
clock, and of movement there was almost as little, only
the huge horse ants soberly wending along their' high-
ways to their tall hillock thatched with pine leaves, or
the squirrel in the ruddy, russet livery of the scene,
racing from tree to tree, or sitting up with his feathery
tail erect to extract with his delicate paws the seed
from the base of the fir cone scale. Squirrels there
lived to a good old age, till their plumy tails had
turned white, for the squire's one fault in the eyes of
keepers and gardeners was that he was soft-hearted
towards ' the varmint.'
A Canadian forest on a small scale, an extremely
miniature scale indeed, but still Canadian forests are
of pine, and the Holt plantation was fir, and firs were
pines, and it was a lonely musing place, and so on one
of the stillest, clearest days of ' St. Luke's little
summer,' the last afternoon of her visit at the Holt,
there stood Honora, leaning against a tree stem, deep,
deep, very deep in a vision of the primeval woodlands
of the West, their red inhabitants, and the white man
HOPES AND FEARS. 15
who should carry the true, glad tidiugs westward,
westward, ever from east to west. Did she know how
completely her whole spirit and soul were surrendered
to the worship of that devotion 1 Worship ? Yes,
the word is advisedly used ; Honora had once given
her spirit in homage to Schiller's self-sacrificing Max,
the same heart-whole veneration was now rendered to
the young missionary, multiplied tenfold by the hero
being in a tangible, visible shape, and not by any
means inclined to thwart or disdain the allegiance of
the golden-haired girl. Nay, as family connexions
frequently meeting, they had acted upon each other's
minds more than either knew, even when the hour of
parting had come, and words had been spoken which
gave Honora something more to cherish in the image
of Owen Sandbrook than even the hero and saint.
There then she stood and dreamt, pensive and saddened
indeed, but with a melancholy trenching very nearly
on happiness in the intensity of its admiration, and
the vague ennobling future of devoted usefulness in
which her heart already claimed to share, as her
person might in some far away period on which she
could not dwell.
A sound approached, a firm footstep, falling with
strong elasticity and such regular cadences, that it
seemed to chime in with the pine-tree music, and did
not startle her till it came so near that there was dis-
tinctive character to be discerned in the tread, and then
with a strange, new shyness, she would have slipped
away, but she had been seen, and Humfrey, with his
timber race in his hand, appeared on the path, exclaim-
ing, ' Ah, Honor, is it you come out to meet me, like
old times ? You have been so much taken up with
your friend Master Owen that I have scarcely seen
you of late.'
Honor did not move away, but she blushed deeply
as she said, ' I am afraid I did not come to meet you,
Humfrey.'
1 No 1 What, you came for the sake of a brown
16 HOPES AND FEARS.
study? I wish I had known you were not busy, for I
have been round all the woods marking timber.'
' Ah !' said she, rousing herself with some effort, ' I
wonder how many trees I should have saved from
the slaughter. Did you go and condemn any of my
pets?'
' Not that I know of,' said Humfrey. ' I have
touched nothing near the house.'
1 Not even the old beech that was scathed with
lightning 1 You know papa says that is the touch-
stone of influence ; Sarah and Mr. West both against
me,' laughed Honora, quite restored to her natural
manner and confiding ease.
' The beech is likely to stand as long as you wish it,'
said Humfrey, with an unaccustomed sort of matter-of-
fact gravity, which surprised and startled her, so as to
make her bethink herself whether she could have
behaved ill about it, been saucy to Sarah, or the like.
' Thank you,' she said ; ' have I made a fuss V
'No, Honor,' he said, with deliberate kindness,
shutting u}} his knife, and putting it into his pocket ;
1 only I believe it is time we should come to an under-
standing.'
More than ever did she expect one of his kind re-
monstrances, and she looked up at him in expectation,
and ready for defence, but his broad, sunburnt coun-
tenance looked marvellously heated, and he paused ere
he spoke.
' I find I can't spare you, Honora, you had better
stay at the Holt for good.' Her cheeks flamed, and
her heart galloped, but she could not let herself under-
stand.
' Honor, you are old enough now, and I do not
think you need fear. It is almost your home already,
and I believe I can make you happy, with the blessing
of God ' He paused, but as she could not frame
an answer in her consternation, continued, ' Perhaps I
should not have spoken so suddenly, but I thought you
would not mind me ; I should like to have had one
HOPES AND FEARS. 17
word from my little Honor before I go to your father,
but don't if you had rather not.'
' O don't go to papa, please don't,' she cried, ' it
would only make him sorry.'
Humfrey stood as if under an unexpected shock.
' Oh ! how came you to think of it V she said in her
distress ; ' I never did, and it can never be — I am so
sorry !'
1 Very well, my dear, do not grieve about it,' said
Humfrey, only bent on soothing her ; ' I dare say you
are quite right, you are used to people in London much
more suitable to you than a stupid, homely fellow like
me, and it was a foolish fancy to think it might be
otherwise. Don't cry, Honor dear, I can't bear
that !'
1 O Humfrey, only understand, please ! You are
the very dearest person in the world to me after papa
and mamma ; and as to fine London people, oh no, in-
deed ! But '
'It is Owen Sandbrook ; I understand,' said Hum-
frey, gravely.
She made no denial.
1 But Honor,' he anxiously exclaimed, ' you are not
going out in this wild way among the backwoods, it
would break your mother s heart ; and he is not fit to
take care of you. I mean he cannot think of it now.'
' no, no, I could not leave papa and mamma ; but
some time or other '
1 Is this arranged ? Does your father know it V
1 Humfrey, of course !'
1 Then it is an engagement V
1 No,' said Honora, sadly ; ' papa said I was too
young, and he wished I had heard nothing about it.
We are to go on as if nothing had happened, and I
know they think we shall forget all about it ! As if
we could ! Not that I wish it to be different. I know
it would be wicked to desert papa and mamma while
she is so unwell. The truth is, Humfrey,' and her
voice sank, ' that it cannot be while they live'
VOL. i. o
18 HOPES AND EEAES.
' My poor little Honor !' lie said, in a tone of the
most unselfish compassion.
She had entirely forgotten his novel aspect, and only
thought of him as the kindest friend to whom she
could open her heart.
' Don't pity me,' she said in exultation ; ' think what
it is to be his choice. Would I have him give up his
aims, and settle down in the loveliest village in Eng-
land 1 No, indeed, for then it would not be Owen !
I am happier in the thought of him than I could be
with everything present to eDJoy.'
1 1 hope you will continue to find it so/ he said, re-
pressing a sigh.
' I should be ashamed of myself if I did not,' she
continued with glistening eyes. ' Should not I have
patience to wait while he is at his real glorious labour %
And as to home, that's not altered, only better and
brighter for the definite hope and aim that will go
through everything, and make me feel all I do a pre-
paration.'
' Yes, you know him well,' said Humfrey ; 'you saw
him constantly when he was at Westminster.'
' yes, and always ! Why, Humfrey, it is my great
glory and pleasure to feel that he formed me ! When
he went to Oxford, he brought me home all the
thoughts that have been my better life. All my dearest
books we read together, and what used to look dry
and cold, gained light and life after he touched it.'
' Yes, I see.'
His tone reminded her of what had passed, and she
said, timidly, ' I forgot ! I ought not ! I have vexed
you, Humfrey.'
' No,' he said, in his full tender voice ; ' I see that
it was vain to think of competing with one of so much
higher claims. If he goes on in the course he has
chosen, yours will have been a noble choice, Honor ;
and I believe,' he added, with a sweetness of smile that
almost made her forgive the if, ( that you are one to be-
HOPES AND FEARS. 19
better pleased so than with more ordinary happiness.
I have no doubt it is all right.'
' Dear Humfrey, you are so good !' she said, struck
with his kind resignation, and utter absence of acerbity
in his disappointment.
1 Forget this, Honora,' he said, as they were coming
to the end of the pine wood ; ' let us be as we were
before.'
Honora gladly promised, and excepting for her
wonder at such a step on the part of the cousin whose
plaything and pet she had hitherto been, she had no
temptation to change her manner. She loved him as
much as ever, but only as a kind elder brother, and she
was glad hat he was wise enough to see his immeasur-
able inferiority to the young missionary. It was a
wonderful thing, and she was sorry for his disappoint-
ment ; but after all, he took it so quietly that she did
not think it could have hurt him much. It was only
that he wanted to keep his pet in the country. He
was not capable of love like Owen Sandbrook's. *
Years passed on. Rumour had bestowed Mr. Charle-
cote of Hiltonbury on every lady within twenty miles,
but still in vain. His mother was dead, his sister
married to an old college fellow, who had waited half
a life time for a living, but still he kept house alone.
And open house it was, with a dinner table ever
expanding for chance guests, strawberry or syllabub
feasts half the summer, and Christmas feasts extending
wide on either side of the twelve days. Every one
who wanted a holiday was free of the Holt ; young
sportsmen tried their inexperienced guns under the
squire's patient eye; and mammas disposed of their
children for weeks together, to enjoy the run of the
house and garden, and rides according to age, on pony,
donkey, or Mr. Charlecote. No festivity in the neigh-
bourhood was complete without his sunshiny presence;
he was wanted wherever there was any family event ;
c2
20 HOPES AND FEARS.
and was godfather, guardian, friend, and adviser of
all. Every one looked on him as a sort of exclusive
property, yet he had room in his heart for all. As a
magistrate, he was equally indispensable in county
government, and a charity must be undeserving indeed
that had not Humfrey Charlecote, Esq., on the com-
mittee. In his own parish he was a beneficent mo-
narch ; on his own estate a mighty farmer, owning
that his relaxation and delight were his turnips, his
bullocks, and machines ; and so content with them,
and with his guests, that Honora never recollected
that walk in the pine woods without deciding that to
have monopolized him would have been an injury to
the public, and perhaps less for his happiness than this
free, open-hearted bachelor life. Seldom did she recal
that scene to mind, for she had never been by it ren-
dered less able to trust to him as her friend and pro-
tector, and she stood in need of his services and his
comfort, when her father's death had left him the
nearest relative, w^ho could advise or transact business
for her and her mother. Then, indeed, she leant on
him as on the kindest and most helpful of brothers.
Mrs. Charlecote was too much acclimatized to the
city to be willing to give up her old residence, and
Honor not only loved it fondly, but could not bear to
withdraw from the local charities where her tasks had
hitherto lain ; and "Woolstone-lane, therefore, continued
their home, though the summer and autumn usually
took them out of London.
Such was the change in Honora's outward life. How
was it with that inmost shrine where dwelt her heart
and soul ? A copious letter writer, Owen Sandbrook's
correspondence never failed to find its way to her,
though they did not stand on such terms as to write
to one another j and in those letters she lived, doing
her day's work with cheerful brightness, and seldom
seeming pre-occupied, but imagination, heart, and soul
were Avith his mission.
Very indignant was she when the authorities, instead
HOPES AND FEARS. 21
of sending him to the interesting children of the forests,
thought proper to waste him on mere colonists, some
of them Yankee, some Presbyterian Scots. He was
asked insolent, nasal questions, his goods were coolly
treated as common property, and it was intimated to
him on all hands that as Englishman he was little in
their eyes, as clergyman less, as gentleman least of all.
Was this what he had sacrificed everything for ?
By dint of strong complaints and entreaties, after he
had quarrelled with most of his flock, he accomplished
an exchange into a district where red men formed the
chief of his charge ; and Honora was happy, and
watched for histories of noble braves, gallant hunters,
and meek-eyed squaws.
Slowly, slowly she gathered that the picturesque
deer skins had become dirty blankets, and that the
diseased, filthy, sophisticated savages were among the
worst of the pitiable specimens of the effect of contact
with the most evil side of civilization. To them, as
Owen wrote, a missionary was only a white man who
gave no brandy, and the rest of his parishioners were
their obdurate, greedy, trading tempters ! It had been
a shame to send him to such a hopeless set, when there
were others on whom his toils would not be thrown
away. However, he should do his best.
And Honor went on expecting the wonders his best
would work, only the more struck with admiration by
hearing that the locality was a swamp of luxuriant
vegetation, and equally luxuriant fever and ague ; and
the letter he wrote thence to her mother on the news
of their loss did her more good than all Humfrey's
considerate kindness.
Next, he had had the ague, and had gone to Toronto
for change of air. Report spoke of Mr. Saudbrook as
the most popular preacher who had appeared in Toronto
for years, attracting numbers to his pulpit, and sending
them away enraptured by his power of language. How
beautiful that a man of such talents, always so much
stimulated by appreciation, should give up all this
22 HOPES AND FEARS.
most congenial scene, and devote himself to his obscure
mission !
Report said more, but Honora gave it no credit till
old Mr. Sandbrook called one morning in Woolstone-
lane, by his nephew's desire, to announce to his friends
that he had formed an engagement with Miss Charteris,
the daughter of a general officer there in command.
Honor sat out all the conversation ; and Mrs. Charle-
cote did not betray herself; though, burning with a
mother's wrath, she did nothing worse than hope they
would be happy.
Yet Honor had not dethroned the monarch of her
imagination. She reiterated to herself and to her
mother that she had no ground of complaint, that it
had been understood that the past was to be forgotten,
and that Owen was far more worthily employed than in
dwelling on them. No blame could attach to him, and
it was wise to choose one accustomed to the country and
able to carry out his plans. The personal feeling might
go, but veneration survived.
Mrs. Charlecote never rested till she had learnt all
the particulars. It was a dashing, fashionable family,
and Miss Charteris had been the gayest of the gay, till
she had been impressed by Mr. Sandbrook's ministra-
tions. From pope to lover, Honor knew how easy was
the transition ; but she zealously nursed her admiration
for the beauty, who was exchanging her gaieties for the
forest missions ; she made her mother write cordially,
and send out a pretty gift, and treated as a personal
affront all reports of the Charteris disapprobation, and
of the self-will of the young people. They were married,
and the next news that Honora heard was, that the old
general had had a fit from passion ; thirdly, came
tidings that the eldest son, a prosperous M.P., had
not only effected a reconciliation, but had obtained a
capital living for Mr. Sandbrook, not far from the
family-seat.
Mrs. Charlecote declared that her daughter should
not stay in town to meet the young couple, and
HOPES AND FEARS. 23
Honora's resistance was not so much dignity, as a
feverish spirit of opposition, which succumbed to her
sense of duty, but not without such wear and tear of
strained cheerfulness and suppressed misery, that when
at length her mother had brought her away, the
fatigue of the journey completed the work, and she
was prostrated for weeks by low fever. The blow had
fallen. He had put his hand to the plough and looked
back. Faithlessness towards herself had been passed
over unrecognised, faithlessness towards his self-conse-
cration was quite otherwise. That which had absorbed
her affections and adoration had proved an unstable,
excitable being ! Alas ! would that long ago she had
opened her eyes to the fact that it was her own lofty
spirit, not his steadfastness, which had first kept it out
of the question that the mission should be set aside for
human love. The crash of her idolatry was the greater
because it had been so highly pitched, so closely inter-
mingled with the true worship. She was long ill, the
past series of disappointments telling when her strength
was reduced; and for many a week she would lie still
and dreamy, but fretted and wearied, so as to control
herself with difficulty when in the slightest degree dis-
turbed, or called upon to move or think. When her
strength returned under her mother's tender nursing,
the sense of duty revived. She thought her youth
utterly gone, with the thinning of her hair and the
wasting of her cheeks, but her mother must be the
object of her care and solicitude, and she would exert
herself for her sake, to save her grief, and hide the
wound left by the rending away of the jewel of her
heart. So she set herself to seem to like whatever her
mother proposed, and she acted her interest so well
that insensibly it became real. After all, she was but
four-and-twenty, and the fever had served as an ex-
pression of the feeling that would have its way : she
had had a long rest, which had relieved the sense of
pent-up and restrained suffering, and vigour and
buoyancy were a part of her character ; her tone and
M HOPES AND FEARS.
manner resumed their cheerfulness, her spirits came
back, though still with the dreary feeling that the
hope and aim of life were gone, when she was left to
her own musings ; she was little changed, and went on
with daily life, contented and lively over the details,
and returning to her interest in reading, in art, poetry,
and in all good works, while her looks resumed their
brightness, and her mother congratulated herself once
more on the rounded cheek and profuse curls.
At the year's end Humfrey Charlecote renewed his
proposal. It was no small shock to find herself guilty
of his having thus long remained single, and she was
touched by his kind forbearance, but there was no
bringing herself either to love him, or to believe that
he loved her, with such love as had been her vision.
The image around which she had bound her heart-
strings came between him and her, and again she
begged his pardon, and told him she liked him too well
as he was to think of him in any other light. Again
he, with the most tender patience and humility, asked
her to forgive him for having harassed her, and be-
trayed so little chagrin that she ascribed his offer to
generous compassion at her desertion.
CHAPTER II.
He who lets his feelings run
In soft luxurious flow,
Shrinks when hard service must be done,
And faints at every woe.'
EVEN" years more, and Honora was in
mourning for her mother. She was alone
in the world, without any near or precious
claim, those clinging tendrils of her heart
rent from their oldest, surest earthly stay,
and her time left vacant from her dearest,
most constant occupation. Her impulse was to devote
herself and her fortune at once to the good work which
most engaged her imagination, but Humfrey Charlecote,
her sole relation, since heart complaint had carried off his
sister Sarah, interfered with the authority he had always
exercised over her, and insisted on her waiting one full
year before pledging herself to anything. At one-and-
thirty, with her golden hair and light figure, her deli-
cate skin and elastic step, she was still too young to
keep house in solitude, and she invited to her home a
friendless old governess of her own, sick at heart with
standing for the Governess's Institution, promising her
a daughter's care and attendance on her old age.
Gentle old Miss Wells was but too happy in her new
quarters, though she constantly averred that she knew
she should not continue there; treated as injuries to
herself all Honor's assertions of the dignity of ago and
old maidishness, and remained convinced that she
should soon see her married.
26 HOPES AND FEARS.
Honora had not seen Mr. Sandbrook since his return
from Canada, though his living was not thirty miles
from the City. There had been exchanges of calls
when he had been in London, but these had only re-
sulted in the leaving of cards ; and from various causes
she had been unable to meet him at dinner. She heard
of him, however, from their mutual connexion, old
Mrs. Sandbrook, who had made a visit at Wrapworth,
and came home stored with anecdotes of the style in
which he lived, the charms of Mrs. Sandbrook, and the
beauty of the children. As far as Honora could gather,
and very unwillingly she did so, he was leading the life of
an easy-going, well-beneficed clergyman, not neglecting
the parish, according to the requirements of the day,
indeed slightly exceeding them, very popular, good-
natured, and charitable, and in great request in a
numerous, demi-suburban neighbourhood, for all sorts
of not unclerical gaieties. The Rev. O. Sandbrook was
often to be met with in the papers, preaching every-
where and for everything, and whispers went about of
his speedy promotion to a situation of greater note.
In the seventh year of his marriage, his wife died, and
Honora was told of his overwhelming grief, how he
utterly refused all comfort or alleviation, and threw
himself with all his soul into his parish and his chil-
dren. People spoke of him as going about among the
poor from morning to night, with his little ones by his
side, shrinking from all other society, teaching them
and nursing them himself, and endeavouring to the
utmost to be as both parents in one. The youngest, a
delicate infant, soon followed her mother to the grave,
and old Mrs. Sandbrook proved herself to have no
parent's heart by being provoked with his agonizing
grief for the ' poor little sickly thing,' while it was not
in Honora's nature not to feel the more tenderly
towards the idol of her girlish days, because he was in
trouble.
It was autumn, the period when leaves fall off and
grow damp, and London birds of passage fly home to
HOPES AND FEARS. 27
their smoky nests. Honora, who had gone to Weymouth
chiefly because she saw Miss Wells would be disap-
pointed if she did otherwise ; when there, had grown
happily at home with the waves, and in talking to
the old fishermen ; but had come back because Miss
Wells thought it chilly and dreary, and pined for
London warmth and snugness. The noonday sun had
found the way in at the oriel window of the draw-
ing-room, and traced the reflection of the merchant's
mark upon the upper pane in distorted outline on the
wainscoted wall ; it smiled on the glowing tints of
Honora's hair, but seemed to die away against the
blackness of her dress, as she sat by the table, writing
letters, while opposite, in the brightness of the fire, sat
the pale, placid Miss Wells with her morning nest of
sermon books and needlework around her.
Honor yawned ; Miss Wells looked up with kind
anxiety. She knew such a yawn was equivalent to a
sigh, and that it was dreary work to settle in at home
again this first time without the mother.
Then Honor smiled, and played with her pen wiper.
* Well,' she said, ' it is comfortable to be at home again !'
' 1 hope you will soon be able to feel so, my dear,'
said the kind old governess.
1 1 mean it,' said Honor cheerfully j then sighing,
' But do you know 1 Mr. Askew wishes his curates to
visit at the asylum instead of ladies.'
Miss Wells burst out into all the indignation that
was in her mild nature. Honor not to visit at the
asylum founded chiefly by her own father !
' It is a parish affair now,' said Honor ; ' and I
believe those Miss Stones and their set have been very
troublesome. Besides, I think he means to change its
character.'
1 It is very inconsiderate of him/ said Miss Wells ;
* he ought to have consulted you.'
'Everyone loves his own charity the best,' said
Honora; ' Humfrey says endowments arc generally a
mistake, each generation had better do its own work
28 HOPES AND FEARS.
to the utmost. I wish Mr. Askew had not begun now,
it was the work I specially looked to, but I let it alone
while and he cannot be expected '
1 1 should have expected it of him though !' exclaimed
Miss Wells, ' and he ought to know better ! How have
you heard it V
' I have a note from him this morning,' said Honora ;
'he asks me Humfrey Charlecote's address; you know
he and Mr. Sandbrook are trustees/ and her voice grew
the sadder.
' If I am not much mistaken, Mr. Charlecote will
represent to him his want of consideration.'
' I think not,' said Honora ; ' I should be sorry to
make the clergyman's hard task here any harder for
the sake of my feelings. Late incumbent's daughters
are proverbially inconvenient. No, I would not stand
in the way, but it makes me feel as if my work in
St. Wulstan's were done,' and the tears dropped fast.
' Dear, dear Honora !' began the old lady, eagerly,
but her words and Honora's tears were both checked
by the sound of a bell, that bell within the court, to
which none but intimates found access.
1 Strange ! It is the thought of old times, I suppose/
said Honor, smiling, ' but I could have said that was
Owen Sandbrook's ring.'
The words were scarcely spoken, ere Mr. Sandbrook
and Captain Charteris were announced ; and there
entered a clergyman leading a little child in each hand.
How changed from the handsome, hopeful youth from
whom she had parted ! Thin, slightly bowed, grief-
stricken, and worn, she would scarcely have known
him, and as if to hide how much she felt, she bent
quickly, after shaking hands with him, to kiss the two
children, flaxen-curled creatures in white, with black
ribbons. They both shrank closer to their father.
1 Cilly, my love, Owen, my man, speak to Miss Charle-
cote/ he said, ' she is a very old friend of mine. This
is my bonny little housekeeper,' he added, ' and here's a
sturdy fellow for four years old, is not he V
HOPES AND FEARS. 29
The girl, a delicate fairy of six, barely accepted an
embrace, and clung the faster to her father, with a
gesture as though to repel all advance. The boy took
a good stare out of a pair of resolute grey eyes, with
one foot in advance, and offered both hands. Honora
would have taken him on her knee, but he retreated,
and both leant against their father as he sat, an arm
round each; after shaking hands with Miss Wells,
whom he recollected at once, and presenting his brother-
in-law, whose broad, open, sailor countenance, hardy
and weather-stained, was a great contrast to his pale,
hollow, furrowed cheeks and heavy eyes.
1 Will you tell me your name, my dear V said Honora,
feeling the children the easiest to talk to ; but the
little girl's pretty lips pouted, and she nestled nearer
to her father.
1 Her name is Lucilla,' he answered with a sigh, re-
calling that it had been his wife's name. 'We are all
somewhat of little savages,' he added, in excuse for the
child's silence. ' We have seen few strangers at Wrap-
worth of late.'
' I did not know you were in London.'
I It was a sudden measure — all my brother's doing,'
he said ; ' I am quite taken out of my own guidance.'
' I went down to Wrapworth, and found him very
unwell, quite out of order, and neglecting himself,' said
the captain ; ' so I have brought him up for advice, as
I could not make him hear reason.'
I I was afraid you were looking very ill,' said Honora,
hardly daring to glance at his changed face.
1 Can't help being ill,' returned Captain Charteris,
* running about the village in all weathers in a coat
like that, and sitting down to play with the children
in his wet things. I saw what it would come to, last
time.'
Mr. Sandbrook could not repress a cough, which told
plainly what it was come to.
. Miss Wells asked whom he intended to consult, and
there was some talk on physicians, but the subject was
30 HOPES AND FEARS.
turned off by Mr. Sanclbrook bending down to point
out to little Owen a beautiful carving of a brooding
dove on her nest, which formed the central bracket of
the fine old mantelpiece.
1 There, my man, that pretty bird has been sitting
there ever since I can remember. How like it all looks
to old times ! I could imagine myself running in from
"Westminster on a saint's day.'
' It is little altered in some things,' said Honor. The
last great change was too fresh !
1 Yes,' said Mr. Sandbrook, raising his eyes towards
her with the look that used to go so deep of old, l we
have both gone through what makes the unchangeable-
ness of these impassive things the more striking.'
' I can't see,' said the little girl, pulling his hand.
{ Let me lift you up, my dear,' said Honora ; but the
child turned her back on her, and said, ' Father.'
He rose, and was bending, at the little imperious
voice, though evidently too weak for the exertion, but
the sailor made one step forward, and pouncing on
Miss Lucilla, held her up in his arms close to the carv-
ing. The two little feet made signs of kicking, and
she said in anything but a grateful voice, 'Put me
down, Uncle Kit.'
Uncle Kit complied, and she retreated under her
papa's wing, pouting, but without another word of being
lifted, though she had been far too much occupied with
struggling to look at the dove. Meantime her brother
had followed up her request by saying, ' me,' and he
fairly put out his arms to be lifted by Miss Charlecote,
and made most friendly acquaintance with all the
curiosities of the carving. The rest of the visit was
chiefly occupied by the children, to whom their father
was eager to show all that he had admired when little
older than they were, thus displaying a perfect and
minute recollection and affection for the place, which
much gratified Honora. The little girl began to thaw
somewhat under the influence of amusement, but there
was still a curious ungraciousness towards all atten-
HOPES AND FEARS. 81
tions. She required those of her father as a right, but
shook off all others in a manner which might be either
shyness or independence j but as she was a pretty and
naturally graceful child, it had a somewhat engaging
air of caprice. They took leave, Mr. Sandbrook telling
the children to thank Miss Charlecote for being so
kind to them, which neither would do, and telling her
as he pressed her hand, that he hoped to see her again.
Honora felt as if an old page in her history had been
re-opened, but it was not the page of her idolatry, it
was that of the fall of her idol ! She did not see in
him the champion of the truth, but his presence pal-
pably showed her the excitable weakness which she
had taken for inspiration, while the sweetness and
sympathy warmed her heart towards him, and made
her feel that she had underrated his attractiveness.
His implications that he knew she sympathized with
him had touched her greatly, and then he looked so ill !
A note from old Mrs. Sandbrook begged her to
meet him at dinner the next day, and she was glad of
the opportunity of learning the doctor's verdict upon
him, though all the time she knew the meeting would
be but pain, bringing before her the disappointment not
of him, but in him.
No one was in the drawing-room but Captain
Charteris, who came and shook hands with her as if
they were old friends ; but she was somewhat amazed
at missing Mrs. Sandbrook, whose formality would
be shocked by leaving her guests in the lurch.
'Some disturbance in the nursery department, I
fancy,' said the captain ; ' those children have never
been from home, and they are rather exacting, poor
things.'
'Poor little things!' echoed Honora; then, anxious to
profit by the tele-a-lete, ' has Mr. Sandbrook seen Dr. L.V
' Yes, it is just as I apprehended. Lungs very much
affected, right one nearly gone. Nothing for it but
the Mediterranean.'
'Indeed !'
32 HOPES AND FEARS.
1 It is no wonder. Since my poor sister died he has
never taken the most moderate care of his health,
perfectly revelled in dreariness and desolateness, I be-
lieve ! He has had this cough about him ever since
the winter, when he walked up and down whole nights
with that poor child, and never would hear of any
advice till I brought him up here almost by force.'
' I am sure it was time.'
' May it be in time, that's all.'
' Italy does so much ! But what will become of the
children V
' They must go to my brother's of course. I have
told him I will see him there, but I will not have the
children ! There's not the least chance of his mend-
ing, if they are to be always lugging him about '
The captain was interrupted by the entrance of Mrs.
Sandbrook, who looked a good deal worried, though
she tried to put it aside, but on the captain sayiug,
1 I'm afraid that you have troublesome guests, ma'am,'
out it all came, how it had been discovered late in the
day that Master Owen must sleep in his papa's room,
in a crib to himself, and how she had been obliged to
send out to hire the necessary articles, subject to his
nurse's approval ; and the captain's sympathy having
opened her heart, she further informed them of the
inconvenient rout the said nurse had made about
getting new milk for them, for which Honor could
have found it in her heart to justify her, 'and poor
Owen is just as bad,' quoth the old lady ; ' I declare
those children are wearing his very life out, and yet he
will not hear of leaving them behind.'
She was interrupted by his appearance at that
moment, as usual, with a child in either hand, and a
verv sad picture it was, so mournful and spiritless
was his countenance, with the hectic tint of decay
evident on each thin cheek, and those two fair health-
ful creatures clinging to him, thoughtless of their past
loss, unconscious of that which impended. Little
Owen, after one good stare, evidently recognised a
HOPES AND FEAKS. 33
friend in Miss Charlecote, and let her seat him upon
her knee, listening to her very complacently, but
gazing very hard all the time at her, till at last,
with an experimental air, he stretched one hand and
stroked the broad golden ringlet that hung near him,
evidently to satisfy himself whether it really was hair.
Then he found his way to her watch, a pretty little one
from Geneva, with enamelled flowers at the back,
which so struck his fancy that he called out, ' Cilly,
look !' The temptation drew the little girl nearer, but
with her hands behind her back, as if bent on making
no advance to the stranger.
Honora thought her the prettiest child she had ever
seen. Small and lightly formed, there was more
symmetry in her little fairy figure than usual at her
age, and the skin was exquisitely fine and white, tinted
with a soft eglantine pink, deepening into roses on the
cheeks ; the hair was in long flaxen curls, and the eye-
lashes, so long and fair that at times they caught a
glossy light, shaded eyes of that deep blue upon that
limpid white, which is like nothing but the clear tints
of old porcelain. The features were as yet unformed,
but small and delicate, and the upright Napoleon
gesture had something peculiarly quaint and pretty in
such a soft-looking little creature. The boy was a
handsome fellow, with more solidity and sturdiness,
and Honora could scarcely continue to amuse him, as
she thought of the fathers pain in parting with two
such beings — his sole objects of affection. A moment's
wish flashed across her, but was dismissed the next
moment as a mere childish romance.
Old Mr. Sandbrook came in, and various other
guests arrived, old acquaintance to whom Owen must
be re-introduced, and he looked fagged and worn by
the time all the greetings had been exchanged and all
the remarks made on his children. When dinner was
announced, he remained to the last with them, and
did not appear in the dining-room till his uncle bad
had time to look round for him, and mutter something
VOL. I. D
34 HOPES AND FEARS.
t
discontentedly about c those brats.' The vacant chair
was beside Honora, and he was soon seated in it, but
at first he did not seem inclined to talk, and leant back,
so white and exhausted, that she thought it kinder
to leave him to himself.
When, somewhat recruited, he said in a low voice
something of his hopes that his little Cilly, as he called
her, would be less shy another time, and Honora re-
sponding heartily, he quickly fell into the parental
strain of anecdotes of the children's sayings and doings,
whence Honora collected that in his estimation
Lucilla's forte was decision and Owen's was sweetness,
and that he was completely devoted to them, nursing
and teaching them himself, and finding his whole
solace in them. Tender pity moved her strongly to-
wards him, as she listened to the evidences of the
desolateness of his home and his heavy sorrow ; and
yet it was pity alone, admiration would not revive, and
indeed, in spite of herself, her judgment would now
and then respond ' unwise,' or ' weak,' or ' why permit
this V at details of Lucilla's mutinerie. Presently she
found that his intentions were quite at variance with
those of his brother. His purpose was fixed to take
the children with him.
1 They are very young,' said Honora.
f Yes ; but their nurse is a most valuable person,
and can arrange perfectly for them, and they will
always be under my eye.'
' That was just what Captain Charteris seemed to
dread.'
'He little knows,' began Mr. Sandbrook, with a
sigh. ' Yes, I know he is most averse to it, and he is
one who always carries his point, but he will not do so
here ; he imagines that they may go to their aunt's
nursery, but,' with an added air of confidence, ' that
will never do ! '
Honora's eyes asked more.
1 In fact,' he said, as the flush of pain rose on his
cheeks, ' the Charteris children are not brought up as
HOPES AND FEARS. 35
I should wish to see mine. There are influences at
work there not suited for those whose home must be a
country parsonage, if Little Cilly has come in for
more admiration there already than is good for
her.'
1 It cannot be easy for her not to meet with that.*
1 Why, no,' said the gratified father, smiling sadly ;
'but Castle Blanch training might make the mischief
more serious. It is a gay household, and I cannot be-
lieve with Kit Charteris that the children are too
young to feel the blight of worldly influence. Do not
you think with me, Nora V he concluded in so exactly
the old words and manner as to stir the very depths of
her heart, but woe worth the change from the hopes of
youth to this premature fading into despondency,
and the implied farewell ! She did think with him
completely, and felt the more for him, as she believed
that these Charterises had led him and his wife into
the gaieties, which since her death he had forsworn
and abhorred as temptations. She thought it hard
that he should not have his children with him, and
talked of all the various facilities for taking them that
she could think of, till his face brightened under the
grateful sense of sympathy.
She did not hold the same opinion all the evening.
The two children made their appearance at dessert,
and there began by insisting on both sitting on his
knees ; Owen consented to come to her, but Lucilla
would not stir, though she put on some pretty little
coquettish airs, and made herself extremely amiable to
the gentleman who sat on her father's other hand,
making smart replies, that were repeated round the
table with much amusement.
But the ordinance of departure with the ladies was
one of which the sprite had no idea ; Honor held out her
hand for her ; Aunt Sandbrook called her ; her father
put her down; she shook her curls, and said she should
not leave father ; it was stupid up in the drawing-room,
and she hated ladies, which confession set every one
D2
36 HOPES ANiy FEARS.
laughing, so as quite to annihilate the effect of Mr.
Sandbrook's ' Yes, go, my dear.'
Finally, he took the two up-stairs himself — the
stairs which, as he had told Honora that evening, were
his greatest enemies, and he remained a long time in
their nursery, not coming down till tea was in progress.
Mrs. Sandbrook always made it herself at the great
silver urn, which had been a testimonial to her husband,
and it was not at first that she had a cup ready for
him. He looked even worse than at dinner, and
Honora was anxious to see him resting comfortably ;
but he had hardly sat down on the sofa, and taken the
cup in his hand, before a dismal childish wail was heard
from above, and at once he started up, so hastily as to
cough violently. Captain Charteris, breaking off a
conversation, came rapidly across the room just as he
was moving to the door. ' You're not going to those
imps-
Owen moved his head, and stepped forward.
' I'll settle them.'
Renewed cries met his ears. 'No a strange
place ' he said. ' I must '
He put his brother-in-law back with his hand, and
was gone. The captain could not contain his vexation,
' That's the way those brats serve him every night P
he exclaimed ; ' they will not attempt to go to sleep
without him ! Why, I've found him writing his
sermon with the boy wrapped up in blankets in his
lap ; there's no sense in it.'
After about ten minutes, during which Mr. Sand-
brook did not reappear, Captain Charteris muttered
something about going to see about him, and stayed
away a good while. When he came down, he came
and sat down by Honora, and said, ' He is going to
bed, quite done for.'
' That must be better for him than talking here.'
'Why, what do you think I found? Those in-
tolerable brats would not stop crying unless he told
them a story, and there was he with his voice quite
HOPES AND FEARS. 37
gone, coughing every two minutes, and romancing on
with some allegory about children marching on their
little paths, and playing on their little fiddles. So I
told Miss Cilly that if she cared a farthing for her
father, she would hold her tongue, and I packed her
up, and put her into her nursery. She'll mind me
when she sees I will be minded ; and as for little Owen,
nothing would satisfy him but his promising not to go
away. I saw that chap asleep before I came down, so
there's no fear of the yarn beginning again; but you
see what chance there is of his mending while those
children are at him day and night.'
1 Poor things ! they little know.'
1 One does not expect them to know, but one does
expect them to show a little rationality. It puts one
out of all patience to see him so weak. If he is en-
couraged to take them abroad, he may do so, but I
wash my hands of him. I wont be responsible for
him — let them go alone !'
Honora saw this was a reproach to her for the favour
with which she had regarded the project. She saw
that the father's weakness quite altered the case, and
her former vision flashed across her again, but she reso-
lutely put it aside for consideration, and only made the
unmeaning answer, ' It is very sad and perplexing.'
' A perplexity of his own making. As for their
not going to Castle Blanch, they were always there in
my poor sister's time a great deal more than was good
for any of them, or his parish either, as I told him
then ; and now, if he finds out that it is a worldly
household, as he calls it, why, what harm is that to do
to a couple of babies like those 1 If Mrs. Charteris
does not trouble herself much about the children,
there are governesses and nurses enough for a score !'
* I must own,' said Honora, ' that I think he is right.
Children are never too young for impressions.'
1 I'll tell you what, Miss Charlecote, the way he is
going on is enough to ruin the best children in tin:
world. That little Cilly is the most arrant little flirt
38 HOPES AND FEARS.
I ever came across ; it is like a comedy to see the
absurd little puss going on with the curate, ay, and
with every parson that comes to Wrapworth; and she
sees nothing else. Impressions ! All she wants is to
be safe shut up with a good governess, and other chil-
dren. It would do her a dozen times more good than
all his stories of good children and their rocky paths,
and boats that never sailed on any reasonable principle.'
' Poor child,' said Honora, smiling, ' she is a little
witch.'
' And,' continued the uncle, ' if he thinks it so bad
for them, he had better take the only way of saving
them from it for the future, or they will be there for
life. If he gets through this winter, it will only be by
the utmost care.'
Honora kept her project back with the less diffi-
culty, because she doubted how it would be received
by the rough captain ; but it won more and more upon
her, as she rattled home through the gas lights, and
though she knew she should learn to love the children
only to have the pang of losing them, she gladly cast
this foreboding aside as selfish, and applied herself im-
partially as she hoped to weigh the duty, but trembling
were the hands that adjusted the balance. Alone as
she stood, without a tie, was not she marked out to
take such an office of mere pity and charity 1 Could
she see the friend of her childhood forced either to
peril his life by his care of his motherless children, or
else to leave them to the influences he so justly dreaded ?
Did not the case cry out to her to follow the promptings
of her heart? Ay, but might not, said caution, her
assumption of the charge lead their father to look on
her as willing to become their mother? Oh, fie on
such selfish prudery imputing such a thought to yonder
broken-hearted, sinking widower! He had as little
room for such folly as she had inclination to find herself
on the old terms. The hero of her imagination he
could never be again, but it would be weak conscious-
ness to scruple at offering so obvious an act of com-
HOPES AND FEARS. 39
passion. She would not trust herself, she would go by
what Miss Wells said. Nevertheless she composed her
letter to Owen Sandbrook between waking and sleeping
all night, and dreamed of little creatures nestling in
her lap, and small hands playing with her hair. How
coolly she strove to speak as she described the dilemma
to the old lady, and how her heart leapt when Miss
Wells, her mind moving in the grooves traced out by
sympathy with her pupil, exclaimed, ' Poor little dears,
what a pity they should not be with you, my dear, they
would be a nice interest for you !'
Perhaps Miss Wells thought chiefly of the brighten-
ing in her child's manner, and the alert vivacity of eye
and voice such as she had not seen in her since she had
lost her mother ; but be that as it might, her words
were the very sanction so much longed for, and ere
long Honora had her writing-case before her, cogitating
over the opening address, as if her whole meaning
were implied in them.
1 My dear Owen,' came so naturally that it was too
like an attempt to recur to the old familiarity. ' My
dear Mr. Sandbrook V So formal as to be conscious !
' Dear Owen?' Yes, that was the cousinly medium, and
in diffident phrases of restrained eagerness, now seeming
too affectionate, now too cold, she offered to devote
herself to his little ones, to take a house on the coast,
and endeavour to follow out his wishes with regard to
them, her good old friend supplying her lack of ex-
perience.
With a beating heart she awaited the reply. It was
but a few lines, but all Owen was in them.
'My dear Nora — You always were an angel of
goodness. I feel your kindness more than I can
express. If my darlings were to be left at all, it
should be with you, but I cannot contemplate it.
Bless you for the thought !
1 Yours ever, 0. Sandbrook.'
She heard no more for a week, during which a dread
40 HOPES AND FEARS.
of pressing herself on him prevented her from calling
on old Mrs. Sandbrook. At last, to her surprise, she
received a visit from Captain Charteris, the person
whom she looked on as least propitious, and most
inclined to regard her as an enthusiastic silly young
lady. He was very gruff, and gave a bad account of
his patient. The little boy had been unwell, and the
exertion of nursing him had been very injurious ; the
captain was very angry with illness, child, and father.
' However,' he said, ' there's one good thing, L. has
forbidden the children's perpetually hanging on him,
sleeping in his room, and so forth. With the constitu-
tions to which they have every right, poor things, he
could not find a better way of giving them the seeds
of consumption. That settles it. Poor fellow, he has
not the heart to hinder their always pawing him, so
there's nothing for it but to separate them from him.'
* And may I have them V asked Honor, too anxious
to pick her words.
1 Why, I told him I would come and see whether
you were in earnest in your kind offer. You would
find them no sinecure.'
' It would be a great happiness,' said she, struggling
with tears that might prevent the captain from depend-
ing on her good sense, and speaking calmly and sadly ;
' I have no other claims, nothing to tie me to any
place. I am a good deal older than I look, and my
friend, Miss Wells, has been a governess. She is really
a very wise, judicious person, to whom he may quite
trust. Owen and I were children together, and I
know nothing that I should like better than to be
useful to him.'
1 Humph !' said the captain, more touched than he
liked to betray ; ' well, it seems the only thing to
which he can bear to turn !'
1 Oh !' she said, breaking off, but emotion and earnest-
ness looked glistening and trembling through every
feature.
* Very well,' said Captain Charteris, ' I'm glad, at
HOPES AND FEARS. 4-1
least, that there is some one to have pity on the poor
things ! There's my brother's wife, she doesn't say no,
but she talks of convenience and spoilt children —
Sandbrook was quite right after all ; I would not tell
him how she answered me ! Spoilt children to be sure
they are, poor things, but she might recollect they
have no mother — such a fuss as she used to make with
poor Lucilla too. Poor Lucilla, she would never have
believed that " dear Caroline" would have no better
welcome for her little ones ! Spoilt indeed ! A pre-
cious deal pleasanter children they are than any of the
lot at Castle Blanch, and better brought up too.'
The good captain's indignation had made away with
his consistency, but Honora did not owe him a grudge
for revealing that she was his pis aller, she was prone
to respect a man who showed that he despised her, and
she only cared to arrange the details. He was anxious
to carry away his charge at once, since every day of
this wear and tear of feeling was doing incalculable
harm, and she undertook to receive the children and
nurse at any time. She would write at once for a house
at some warm watering-place, and take them there as
soon as possible, and she offered to call that afternoon
to settle all with Owen.
1 Why,' said Captain Charteris, ' I hardly know. One
reason I came alone was, that I believe that little elf
of a Cilly has some notion of what is plotting against
her. You can't speak a word but that child catches
up, and she will not let her father out of her sight for
a moment !'
' Then what is to be done ? I would propose his
coming here, but the poor child would not let him go.'
1 That is the only chance. He has been forbidden
the walking with them in his arms to put them to
sleep, and we've got the boy into the nursery, and he'd
better be out of the house than hear them roaring for
him. So if you have no objection, and he is tolerable
this evening, I would bring him as soon as they are
gone to bed.'
42 HOPES AND FEARS.
Poor Owen was evidently falling under the manage-
ment of stronger hands than his own, and it could only
be hoped that it was not too late. His keeper brought
him at a little after eight that evening. There was a
look about him as if, after the last stroke that had be-
fallen him, he could feel no more, the bitterness of
death was past, his very hands looked woe-begone and
astray, without the little fingers pressing them. He
could not talk at first ; he shook Honor's hand as if he
could not bear to be grateful to her, and only the
hardest hearts could have endured to enter on the in-
tended discussion. The captain was very gentle towards
him, and talk was made on other topics, but gradually
something of the influence of the familiar scene, where
his brightest days had been passed, began to prevail.
All was like old times — the quaint old silver kettle and
lamp, the pattern of the china cups, the ruddy play of
the fire on the polished panels of the room, and he
began to revive and join in the conversation. They
spoke of Delaroche's beautiful Madonnas, one of which
was at the time to be seen at a print shop — ' Yes,' said
Mr. Sandbrook, ' and little Owen cried out as soon as
he saw it, " That lady, the lady with the flowery watch.'"
Honora smiled. It was an allusion to the old jests
upon her auburn locks, ' a greater compliment to her
than to Delaroche,' she said ; ' I saw that he was ex-
tremely curious to ascertain what my carrots were
made of
' Do you know, Nora, I never saw more than one
person with such hair as yours,' said Owen, with more
animation, ' and oddly enough her name turned out to
be Charlecote.'
' Impossible ! Humfrey and I are the only Charle-
cotes left that I know of ! Where could it have been V
' It was at Toronto. I must confess that I was struck
by the brilliant hair in chapel. Afterwards I met her
once or twice. She was a Canadian born, and had just
married a settler, whose name I can't remember, but
HOPES AND FEARS. 43
her maiden name had certainly been Charlecote ; I re-
membered it because of the coincidence.'
1 Very curious ; I did not know there had been any
Charlecotes but ourselves.'
' And Humfrey Charlecote has never married V
1 Never.'
What made Owen raise his eyes at that moment,
just so that she met them ; and why did that dreadful
uncontrollable crimson heat come mounting up over
cheeks and temples, tingling and spreading into her
very neck, just because it was the most hateful thing
that could happen ? And he saw it. She knew he did
so, for he dropped his eyes at once, and there was an
absolute silence, which she broke in desperation, by an
incoherent attempt to say something, and that ended
by blundering into the tender subject — the children;
she found she had been talking about the place to
which she thought of taking them, a quiet spot on the
northern coast of Somersetshire.
He could bear the pang a little better now, and
assented, and the ice once broken, there were so many
details and injunctions that lay near his heart that the
conversation never flagged. He had great reliance on
their nurse, and they were healthy children, so that
there was not much instruction as regarded the care of
their little persons; but he had a great deal to say
about the books they were to be taught from, the hymns
they were to learn, and the exact management required
by Lucilla's peculiar temper and decided will. The
theory was so perfect and so beautifully wise that
Honora sat by in reverence, fearing her power of carry-
ing it out ; and Captain Charteris listened with a shade
of satire on his face, and at last broke out with a very
odd grunt, as if he did not think this quite what he
had seen at Wrapworth parsonage.
Mr. Sandbrook coloured, and checked himself. Then,
after a pause, he said in a very different tone, ' Perhaps
so, Kit. It is only too easy to talk. Nora knows that
44 HOPES AND FEARS.
there is a long way between my intentions and my
practice.'
The humble dejection of that tone touched her more
than she had been touched since he had wrung her
hand, long, long ago.
1 Well,' said the captain, perceiving only that he had
given pain, ' I will say this for your monkeys, they do
know what is right at least ; they have heard the arti-
cles of war, which I don't fancy the other lot ever did.
As to the discipline, humph ! It is much of a much-
ness, and I'm not sure but it is not the best at the
castle.'
'The children are different at home,' said Owen,
quietly ; ' but,' he added, with the same sad humility,
'I dare say they will be much the better for the
change ; I know '
But he broke off, and put his hand before his eyes.
Honora hoped she should not be left alone with him,
but somehow it did happen. The captain went to
bring the carriage into the court, and get all imagi-
nable wraps before trusting him out in the air, and
Miss Wells disappeared, probably intending kindness.
Of course neither spoke, till the captain was almost
come back. Then Owen rose from where he had been
sitting listlessly, leaning back, and slowly said, ' Nora,
we did not think it would end thus when I put
my hand to the plough. I am glad to have been here
again. I had not remembered what I used to be. I
do not ask you to forgive me. You are doing so, re-
turning me good for — shall I say evil V
Honor could not speak or look, she drooped her head,
and her hair veiled her ; she held out her hand as the
captain came in, and felt it pressed with a feverish,
eager grasp, and a murmured blessing.
Honora did not see Mr. Sandbrook again, but Cap-
tain Charteris made an incursion on her the next day
to ask if she could receive the children on the ensuing
morning. He had arranged to set off before daybreak,
embarking for Ostend before the children were up, so
HOPES AND FEARS. 45
as to spare the actual parting, and Honora undertook
to fetch them home in the course of the day. He had
hoped to avoid their knowing of the impending sepa-
ration, but he could only prevail so far as to extract a
promise that they should not know when it was to
take place. Their father had told them of their desti-
nation and his own as they sat on his bed in the morn-
ing before he rose, and apparently it had gone off better
than could have been expected ; little Owen did not
seem to understand, and his sister was a child who
never shed tears.
The day came, and Honora awoke to some awe at
the responsibility, but with a yearning supplied, a
vacancy filled up. For at least six months she should
be as a mother, and a parent's prayers could hardly
have been more earnest.
She had not long been drest, when a hasty peal was
heard at the bell, and no sooner was the door opened
than in hurried Captain Charteris, breathless, and bear-
ing a large plaid bundle, with tangled flaxen locks
drooping at one end, and at the other rigid white legs,
socks trodden down, one shoe wanting.
He deposited it, and there stood the eldest child, her
chin buried in her neck, her fingers digging fast into
their own palms, her eyes gleaming fiercely at him
under the pent-house she had made of her brows.
' There's an introduction !' he said, panting for
breath. ' Found her in time — the Strand — laid flat on
back seat, under all the plaids and bags — her father
put up his feet and found her — we drove to the lane —
I ran down with her — not a moment — can't stay, good
by, little Cilly goose, to think she could go that figure !'
He advanced to kiss her, but she lifted up her
shoulder between him and her face, much as a pugna-
cious pigeon flaps its wing, and he retreated.
' Wiser not, may be ! Look here,' as Honora hurried
after him into the hall to ask after the patient ; ' if
you have a bit of sticking plaster, he had better not
see this.'
46 HOPES AND FEARS.
Lucilla had made her little pearls of teeth meet in
the fleshy part of his palm.
Honora recoiled, shocked, producing the plaster from
her pocket in an instant.
' Little vixen,' he said, half laughing ; l but I was
thankful to her for neither kicking nor struggling P
' Poor child !' said Honora, ' perhaps it was as much
agony as passion !'
He shrugged his shoulders as he held out his hand
for her operations, then hastily thanking her and
wishing her good by, rushed off again, as the astonished
Miss Wells appeared on the stairs. Honor shrank
from telling her what wounds had been received, she
thought the gentle lady would never get over such a
proceeding, and, in fact, she herself felt somewhat as if
she had undertaken the charge of a little wild cat, and
quite uncertain what the young lady might do next.
On entering the breakfast-room, they found her sunk
down all in a heap, where her uncle had set her down,
her elbows on a low footstool, and her head leaning on
them, the eyes still gazing askance from under the
brows, but all the energy and life gone from the little
dejected figure.
' Poor child ! Dear little thing — wont you come
to me ¥ She stirred not.
Miss Wells advanced, but the child's only motion
was to shake her frock at her, as if to keep her off;
Honora, really afraid of the consequences of touching
her, whispered that they would leave her to herself a
little. The silver kettle came in and tea was made.
' Lucilla, my dear, the servants are coming in to
prayers.'
She did not offer to move, and still Honora let her
alone, and she remained in the same attitude while the
psalm was read, but afterwards there was a little ap-
proximation to kneeling in her position.
1 Lucilla, dear child, you had better come to break-
fast ' Only another defying glance.
Miss Wells, with what Honor thought defective
HOPES AND FEARS. 47
judgment, made pointed commendations of the tea, the
butter and honey, but they had no effect ; Honora,
though her heart ached for the wrench the poor child
had undergone, thought it best to affect indifference,
gave a hint of the kind, and scrupulously avoided
looking round at her, till breakfast was finished. When
she did so, she no longer met the wary defiant gleam of
the blue eyes, they were fast shut, the head had sunk
on the arms, and the long breathings of sleep heaved
the little frame. ' Poor little dear !' as Miss Wells
might well exclaim, she had kept herself wakeful the
whole night that her father might not go without her
knowledge. And how pretty she looked in that little
black frock, so ill and hastily put on, one round white
shoulder quite out of it, and the long flaxen locks
showing their silky fineness as they hung dispersed
and tangled, the pinky flush of sleep upon the little
face pillowed on the rosy pair of arms, and with a
white unstockinged leg doubled under her. Poor
child, there was more of the angel than the tiger-cat
in her aspect now, and they had tears in their eyes,
and moved softly lest they should startle her from
her rest.
But wakened she must be. Honora was afraid of
displeasing her domestic vizier, and rendering him for
ever unpropitious to her little guests if she deferred
his removal of the breakfast things beyond a reasonable
hour. How was the awaking to be managed ? Fright,
tears, passion, what change would come when the poor
little maid must awake to her grief? Honora would
never have expected so poetical a flight from her good
old governess as the suggestion, ' Play to her ;' but
she took it eagerly, and going to the disused piano,
which stood in the room, began a low, soft air. The
little sleeper stirred, presently raised her head, shook
her hair off her ears, and after a moment, to their
surprise, her first word was ' Mamma !' Honora was
pausing, but the child said, ' Go on,' and sat for a few
moments, as though recovering herself, then rose and
48 HOPES AND FEARS.
came forward slowly, standing at last close to Honora.
There was a pause, and she said, ' Mamma did that.'
Never was a sound more welcome ! Honora dared
to do what she had longed for so much, put an
arm round the little creature, and draw her nearer,
nor did Lucilla resist, she only said, 'Wont you
go on V
1 1 can make prettier music in the other room, my
dear ; we will go there, only you've had no breakfast.
You must be very hungry.'
Lucilla turned round, saw a nice little roll cut into
slices, and remembered that she was hungry; and
presently she was consuming it so prosperously under
Miss Wells's superintendence, that Honor ventured
out to endeavour to retard Jones's desire to ' take
away,' by giving him orders about the carriage, and
then to attend to her other household affairs. By the
time they were ended she found that Miss Wells had
brought the child into the drawing-room, where she
had at once detected the piano, and looking up at
Honora said eagerly, ' Now then !' And Honora
fulfilled her promise, while the child stood by softened
and gratified, until it was time to propose fetching
little Owen, 'your little brother — you will like to
have him here.'
1 1 want my father,' said Lucilla, in a determined
voice, as if nothing else were to satisfy her.
' Poor child, I know you do ; I am so sorry for you,
my dear little woman, but you see the doctors think
papa is more likely to get better if he has not you to
take care of !'
1 1 did not want my father to take care of me] said
the little lady, proudly ; ' I take care of father, I
always make his tea, and warm his slippers, and bring
him his coffee in the morning. And uncle Kit never
will put his gloves for him and warm his handkerchief !
Oh ! what will he do 1 I can't bear it.'
The violent grief so long kept back was coming now,
but not freely ; the little girl threw herself on the
HOPES A&D FEARS. 49
floor, and in a tumult of despair and passion went on,
hurrying out her words, ' It's very hard ! It's all
Uncle Kit's doing! I hate him! Yes, I do.' And
she rolled over and over in her frenzy of feeling.
' My dear ! my dear !' cried Honora, kneeling by
her, ' this will never do ! Papa would be veiy much
grieved to see his little girl so naughty. Don't you
know how your uncle only wants to do him good, and
to make him get well.'
' Then why didn't he take me?' said Lucilla, gather-
ing herself up, and speaking sullenly.
1 Perhaps he thought you gave papa trouble, and
tired him.'
' Yes, that's it, and it's not fair,' cried the poor child
again ; ' why couldn't he tell me % I didn't know papa
was ill ! he never told me so, nor Mr. Pendy either ;
or, how I would have nursed him ! I wanted to do
so much for him ; I wouldn't have asked him to tell
me stories, nor nothing ! No ! And now they wont
let me take care of him f and she cried bitterly.
' Yes,' said good, gentle Miss Wells, thinking more
of present comfort than of the too possible future;
* but you will go back to take care of him some day,
my dear. When the spring comes papa will come back
to his little girl.'
Spring ! It was a long way off to a mind of six
years old, but it made Lucilla look more amiably at
Miss W^ells.
1 And suppose,' proceeded that good lady, ' you were
to learn to be as good and helpful a little girl as can
be while he is gone, and then nobody will wish to keep
you from him. How surprised he would be !'
1 And then shall we go home V said Lucilla.
Miss Wells uttered a somewhat rash assurance to
that effect, and the child came near her, pacitied and
satisfied by the scheme of delightful goodness and pro-
gress to be made in order to please her father — as she
always called him. Honor looked on, thankful for
the management that was subduing and consoling the
VOL. I. E
50 HOPES AND FEARS.
poor little maid, and yet unable to participate in it,
for though the kind old lady spoke in all sincerity, it
was impossible to Honora to stifle a lurking fear that
the hopes built on the prospect of his return had but
a hollow foundation.
However, it attracted Lucilla to Miss Wells, so that
Honora did not fear leaving her on going to bring
home little Owen. The carriage which had conveyed
the travellers, had brought back news of his sister's dis-
covery and capture, and Honora found Mrs. Sandbrook
much shocked at the enormity of the proceeding, and
inclined to pity Honora for having charge of the most
outrageous children she had ever seen. A very long
letter had been left for her by their father, rehearsing
all he had before given of directions, and dwelling still
more on some others, but then apparently repenting of
laying down the law, he ended by entreating her to
use her own judgment, believe in his perfect confidence,
and gratitude beyond expression for most unmerited
kindness.
Little Owen, she heard, had made the house re-
sound with cries when his father was nowhere to be
found, but his nurse had quieted him, and he came
running to Honora with an open, confiding face. ' Are
you the lady ? And will you take me to Cilly and the
sea 1 And may I have a whale V
Though Honora did not venture on promising him
a tame whale in the Bristol Channel, she had him
clinging to her in a moment, eager to set off, to go to
Cilly, and the dove he had seen at her house. ' It's a
nasty house here — I want to come away,' he said,
running backwards and forwards between her and the
window to look at the horses, while nurse's interminable
boxes were being carried down.
The troubles really seemed quite forgotten ; the boy
sat on her knee and chattered all the way to Woolstone-
lane, and there he and Lucilla flew upon each other
with very pretty childish joy; the sister doing the
HOPES AND FEARS. 51
honours of the house in right of having been a little
longer an inmate. Nurse caught her, and dressed and
combed her, shoed her and sashed her, so that she
came down to dinner less picturesque, but more re-
spectable than at her first appearance that morning,
and except for the wonderful daintiness of both
children, dinner went off very well.
All did go well till night, and then Owen's woes
began. Oh ! what a piteous sobbing lamentation was
it! ' Daddy, daddy !' not to be consoled, not to be
soothed, awakening his sister to the same sad cry,
stilled only by exhaustion and sleepiness.
Poor little fellow ! Night after night it was the
same. Morning found him a happy, bright child, full
of engaging ways and innocent sayings, and quite
satisfied with ' Cousin Honor,' but bedtime always
brought back the same wailing. Nurse, a tidy, brisk
personage, with a sensible, deferential tone to her
superiors, and a caressing one to the children, tried in
vain assurances of papa's soon coming back; nay, it
might be feared that she held out that going to sleep
would bring the morrow when he was to come ; but even
this delusive promise failed ; the present was all ; and
Cousin Honor herself was only not daddy, though she
nursed him, and rocked him in her arms, and fondled
him, and told stories or sung his lullaby with nightly
tenderness, till the last sobs had quivered into the
smooth heavings of sleep.
Might only sea air and exercise act as a soporific !
That was a better chance than the new promise which
Honora was vexed to find nurse holding out to poor
little Owen, that if he would be a good boy, he was
going to papa. She was puzzled how to act towards a
person not exactly under her authority, but she took
courage to speak about these false promises, and found
her remonstrance received in good part; indeed, nurse
used to talk at much length of the children in a manner
that implied great affection for them, coupled with a
e2
52 HOPES AND FEARS.
sense that ft would be an excellent thing for them to
be in such judicious hands. Honora always came
away from nurse in good humour with herself.
The locality she had chosen was a sheltered village
on the north coast of Somerset, just where Exmoor
began to give grandeur to the outline in the rear, and
in front the Welsh hills wore different tints of
purple or grey, according to the promise of weather,
Lundy Isle and the two lesser ones serving as the
most prominent objects, as they rose from Well,
well ! Honor counted herself as a Somersetshire
woman, and could not brook hearing much about the
hue of the Bristol Channel. At any rate, just here it
had been so kind as to wash up a small strip of pure
white sand, fit for any amount of digging, for her
children ; and though Sandbeach was watering-place
enough to have the lodging-houses, butchers and bakers,
so indispensable to the London mind, it was not so
much in vogue as to be overrun by fine ladies, spoiling
the children by admiring their beauty. So said Miss
Charlecote in her prudence — but was not she just as
jealous as nurse that people should turn round a second
time to look at those lovely little faces ?
That was a very happy charge to her and her good
old governess, with some drawbacks, indeed, but not
such as to distress her over much. The chief was at
first Owen's nightly sorrows, his daily idleness over
lessons, Lucilla's pride, and the exceeding daintiness of
both children, which made their meals a constant
vexation and trouble. But what was this compared
with the charm of their dependence on her, and of
hearing that newly-invented pet name, ' Sweet Honey/
invoked in every little concern that touched them 1
It was little Owen's name for her. He was her
special favourite — there was no concealing it. Lucilla
did not need her as much, and was of a vigorous, inde-
pendent nature, that would stand alone to the utmost.
Owen gave his affection spontaneously ; if Lucilla's
was won, it must be at unawares. She was living in
HOPES AND FEARS. 53
and for her absent father now, and had nothing to
spare for any one else, or if she had, Miss Wells, who
had the less claim on her, was preferred to Cousin
Honor. ' Father,' was almost her religion ; though
well taught, and unusually forward in religious know-
ledge, as far as Honora dared to augur, no motive save
her love for him had a substantive existence, as touch-
ing her feelings or ruling her actions. For him she
said her prayers and learnt her hymns ; for him she
consented to learn to hem handkerchiefs ; for him were
those crooked letters for ever being written ; nay, at
the thought of his displeasure alone could her tears be
made to flow when she was naughty; and for him she
endeavoured to be less fanciful at dinner, as soon as
her mind had grasped the perception that her not
eating what was set before her might really hinder him
from always having her with him. She was fairly
manageable, with very high spirits, and not at all a
silly or helpless child ; but though she obeyed Miss
Charlecote, it was only as obeying her father through
her, and his constant letters kept up the strong influ-
ence. In her most gracious moods, she was always
telling her little brother histories of what they should
do when they got home to father and Mr. Prendergast ;
but to Chven, absence made a much greater difference.
Though he still cried at night, his ' Sweet Honey ' was
what he wanted, and with her caressing him, he only
•dreaded her leaving him. He lavished his pretty en-
dearments upon her, and missed no one when he held
her hand or sat in her lap, stroking her curls, and ex-
changing a good deal of fondling. He liked his hymns,
and enjoyed Scripture stories, making remarks that
caused her to reverence him ; and though backward,
idle, and sometimes very passionate, his was exactly the
legitimate character for a child, such as she could deal
with and love. She was as complete a slave to the two
little ones as their father could have been ; all her
habits were made to conform to their welfare and
pleasure, and very happy she was, but the discipline
54 HOPES AND FEARS.
was more decided than they had been used to ; there
were habits to be formed, and others to be broken, and
she was not weak enough not to act up to her duty in
this respect, even though her heart was winding round
that sunny-faced boy as fast as it had ever clung to his
father. The new Owen Sand brook, with his innocent
earnestness, and the spiritual light in his eyes, should
fulfil all her dreams !
Christmas had passed J Mr. Sandbrook had begun
to write to his children about seeing them soon;
Lucilla's slow hemming was stimulated by the hope of
soon making her present ; and Honora was marvelling
at her own selfishness in dreading the moment when
the little ones would be no longer hers ; when a hurried
note of preparation came from Captain Charteris. A
slight imprudence had renewed all the mischief, and
his patient was lying speechless under a violent attack
of inflammation. Another letter, and all was over.
A shock indeed ! but in Honora's eyes, Owen Sand-
brook had become chiefly the children's father, and
their future was what concerned her most. How should
she bear to part with her darlings for ever, and to
know them brought up in the way that was not good,
and which their father dreaded, and when their orphan-
hood made her doubly tender over them 1
To little Owen it was chiefly that papa was gone
f up there' whither all his hymns and allegories
pointed, and at his age, all that he did not actually see
was much on a par ; the hope of meeting had been too
distant for the extinction of it to affect him very
nearly, and he only understood enough to prompt the
prettiest and most touching sayings, wondering about
the doings of papa, mamma, and little baby among the
angels, with as much reality as he had formerly talked
of papa among the French.
Lucilla heard with more comprehension, but her gay
temper seemed to revolt against having sorrow forced
on her. She would not listen and would not think;
her spirits seemed higher than ever, and Honora
HOPES AND FEARS. 55
almost concluded that either she did not feel at all, or
that the moment of separation had exhausted all. Her
character made Honora especially regret her destiny ;
it was one only too congenial to the weeds that were
more likely to be implanted, than plucked up, at Castle
Blanch. Captain Charteris had written to say that he,
and probably his brother, should come to Sandbeach to
relieve Miss Charlecote from the care of the children,
and she prized each day while she still had those dear
little voices about the house.
' Sweet Honey,' said Lucilla, who had been standing
by the window, apparently watching the rain, ' do
Uncle Charteris and Uncle Kit want us to go away
from you V
'I am very much afraid they do, my dear.'
I Nurse said, if you would ask them, we might stay,'
said Lucilla, tracing the course of a drop with her
finger.
'If asking would do any good, my dear,' sighed
Honor ; ' but I don't think nurse knows. You see,
you belong to your uncles now.'
I I wont belong to Uncle Charteris !' cried Lucilla,
passionately. ' I wont go to Castle Blanch ! They
were all cross to me ; Ratia teased me, and father said
it was all their fault I was naughty, and he would
never take me there again ! Don't let Uncle Kit go
and take me there !' and she clung to her friend, as
if the recollection of Uncle Kit's victory by main force
hung about her still.
1 1 wont, I wont, my child, if I can help it ; but it
will all be as your dear father may have fixed it, and
whatever he wishes I know that his little girl will do.'
Many a dim hope did Honora revolve, and more
than ever did she feel as if a piece of her heart would
be taken away, for the orphans fastened themselves upon
her, and little Owen stroked her face, and said naughty
Uncle Kit should not take them away. She found from
the children and nurse that about a year ago, just after
the loss of the baby, there had been a most unsuccessful
5G HOPES AND FEARS.
visit at Castle Blanch ; father and little ones had been
equally miserable there in the separation of the large
establishment, and Lucilla had been domineeringly
petted by her youngest cousin, Horatia, who chose to
regard her as a baby, and coerced her by bodily force,
such as was intolerable to so highspirited a child, who
was a little woman at home. She had resisted and
fallen into dire disgrace, and it was almost with horror
that she regarded the place and the cousinhood. Nurse
appeared to have some private disgust of her own, as
well as to have much resented her children's being
convicted of naughtiness, and she spoke strongly in con-
fidence to Honora of the ungodly ways of the whole
household, declaring that after the advantages she had
enjoyed with her dear master, she could not bear to
live there, though she might — yes, she must be with
the dear children just at first, and she ventured to
express strong wishes for their remaining in their
present home, where they had been so much im-
proved.
The captain came alone. He walked in from the
inn just before luncheon, with a wearied, sad look
about him, as if he had suffered a good deal j he spoke
quietly and slowly, and when the children came in, he
took them up in his arms and kissed them very
tenderly. Lucilla submitted more placably than
Honor expected, but the moment they were set down
they sprang to their friend, and held by her dress.
Then came the meal, which passed off with small
efforts at making talk, but with nothing memorable
except the captain's exclamation at the end — ' Well,
that's the first time I ever dined with you children
without a fuss about the meat. Why, Cilly, I hardly
know you.'
' I think the appetites are better for the sea air,'
said Honor, not that she did not think it a great
achievement.
' I'm afraid it has been a troublesome charge,' said
the captain, laying his hand on his niece's shoulder,
HOPES AND FEARS. 57
which she at once removed, as disavowing his right
in her.
1 Oh ! it has made me so happy/ said Honor, hardly
trusting her voice ; ' I don't know how to yield it
Those understanding eyes of Lucilla's were drinking
in each word, but Uncle Kit ruthlessly said — ' There,
it's your walking time, children ; you go out now.'
Honora followed up his words with her orders, and
Lucilla obeyed, only casting another wistful look, as if
she knew her fate hung in the scales. It was showing
tact such as could hardly have been expected from the
little impetuous termagant, and was the best plead-
ing for her cause, for her uncle's first observation
was — ' A wonder ! Six months back, there would have
been an explosion !'
' I am glad you think them improved.'
* Civilized beings, not plagues. You have been very
good to them;' and as she intimated her own pleasure
in them, he continued — ' It will be better for them at
Castle Blanch to have been a little broken in ; the
change from his indulgence would have been terrible.'
'If it were possible to leave them with me, I should
be so happy,' at length gasped Honora, meeting an
inquiring dart from the captain's eyes, as he only made
an interrogative sound, as though to give himself time
to think, and she proceeded in broken sentences — ' If
their uncle and aunt did not so very much wish for
them — perhaps — I could — '
1 Well,' said Captain Charteris, apparently so little
aided by his thoughts as to see no hope of overcoming
his perplexity without expressing it, ' the truth is
that, though I had not meant to say anything of it,
for I think relations should come first, I believe poor
Sandbrook would have preferred it.' And while her
colour deepened, and she locked her trembling fingers
together to keep them still, he went on. ' Yes ! you
can't think how often I called myself a dozen fools for
having parted him from his children ! Never held up
58 HOPES AND PEAKS.
his head again ! I could get him to take interest in
nothing — every child he saw he was only comparing
to one or other of them. After the year turned, and
he talked of coming home, he was more cheerful ; but
strangely enough, for those last days at Hyeres, though
he seemed better, his spirits sank unaccountably, and
he would talk more of the poor little thing that he lost
than of these ! Then he had a letter from you which
set him sighing, and wishing they could always have
such care ! Altogether, I thought to divert him by
taking him on that expedition, but Well, I've
been provoked with him many a time, but there was
more of the real thing in him than in the rest of us,
and I feel as if the best part of our family were gone.'
i And this was all % He was too ill to say much after-
wards V
' Couldn't speak when he rang in the morning ! AVas
gone by that time next day. Now,' added the captain,
after a silence, I tell you candidly that my feeling is
that the ordinary course is right. I think Charles
ought to take the children, and the children ought to
be with Charles.'
1 If you think so ' began Honor, with failing
hopes.
1 At the same time,' continued he, ' I don't think
they'll be so happy or so well cared for as by you, and
knowing poor Owen's wishes, I should not feel justi-
fied in taking them away, since you are so good as to
offer to keep them.'
Honor eagerly declared herself much obliged, then
thought it sounded ironical.
' Unless,' he proceeded, ' Charles should strongly feel
it his duty to take them home, in which case '
1 Oh, of course I could say nothing.'
1 Very well, then we'll leave it to his decision.'
So it remained, and in trembling Honora awaited
the answer. It was in her favour that he was ap-
pointed to a ship, since he was thus excluded from
exercising any supervision over them at Castle Blanch,
HOPES AND FEARS. 59
and shortly after, letters arrived gratefully acceding
to her request. Family arrangements and an intended
journey made her proposal doubly welcome, for the
present at least, and Mrs. Charteris was full of polite
thanks.
Poor little waifs and strays ! No one else wanted
them, but with her at least they had a haven of refuge,
and she loved them the more ardently for their forlorn
condition. Her own as they had never before been !
and if the tenure were uncertain, she prized it doubly,
even though, by a strange fatality, she had never had
so much trouble and vexation with them as arose at
once on their being made over to her ! When all was
settled, doubt over, and the routine life begun, Lucilla
evidently felt the blank of her vanished hopes, and
became fretful and captious, weary of things in general,
and without sufficient motive to control her natural
taste for the variety of naughtiness ! Honor had not
undertaken the easiest of tasks, but she neither shrank
from her enterprise nor ceased to love the fiery little
flighty sprite, the pleasing torment of her life — she
loved her only less than that model of childish sweet-
ness, her little Owen.
'Lucy, dear child, don't take your brother there.
Owen, dear, come back, don't you see the mud ? you'll
sink in.'
' I'm only getting a dear little crab, Sweet Honey,'
and the four little feet went deeper and deeper into the
black mud.
1 1 can't have it done ! come back, children, I desire,
directly.'
The boy would have turned, but his sister had hold
of his hand. ' Owen, there he is! I'll have him,' and
as the crab scuttled sidelong after the retreating tide,
on plunged the children.
' Lucy, come here!' cried the unfortunate old hen,
as her ducklings took to the black amphibious mass,
but not a whit did Lucilla heed. In the ardour of the
GO HOPES AND FEARS.
chase, on she went, unheeding, leaving her brother
sticking half way, where having once stopped, he began
to find it difficult to withdraw his feet, and fairly-
screamed to ' Sweet Honey' for help. His progress
was not beyond what a few long vigorous steps of hers
could come up with, but deeply and blackly did she
sink, and when she had lifted her truant out of his two
holes, the increased weight made her go ankle deep at
the first tread, and just at the same moment a loud
shriek proclaimed that Lucilla, in her final assault on
the crab, had fallen flat on a yielding surface, where
each effort to rise sank her deeper, and Honora almost
was expecting in her distress to see her disappear
altogether, ere the treacherous mud would allow her
to come to the rescue. But in that instant of utmost
need, ere she could set down the little boy, a gentle-
man, with long-legged strides, had crossed the inter-
vening space, and was bearing back the young lady
from her mud bath. She raised her eyes to thank him.
' Humfrey !' she exclaimed.
' Honor ! so it was you, was it ? I'd no notion of
it !' as he placed on her feet the little maiden, en-
crusted with mud from head to foot, while the rest of
the party were all apparently cased in dark buskins of
the same.
1 Come to see me and my children V she said. ' I am
ashamed you should find us under such circumstances !
though I don't know what would have become of us
otherwise. No, Lucy, you are too- disobedient for any
one to take notice of you yet — you must go straight
home, and be cleaned, and not speak to Mr. Charlecote
till you are quite good. Little Owen, here he is — he
was quite led into it. But how good of you to come,
Humfrey ; where are you V
1 At the hotel — I had a mind to come and see how
you were getting on, and I'd had rather more than
usual to do of late, so I thought I would take a
holiday.'
They walked on talking for some seconds, when })re-
HOPES AND FEAES. 61
sently as the squire's hand hung down, a little soft one
stole into it, and made him exclaim with a start, ' I
thought it was Ponto's nose !'
But though very fond of children, he took up his
hand, and did not make the slightest response to the
sly overture of the small coquette, the effect as Honor
well knew of opposition quite as much as of her strong
turn for gentlemen. She pouted a little, and then
marched on with 'don't care' determination, while
Humfrey and Honora began to talk over Hiltonbury
affairs, but were soon interrupted by Owen, who, accus-
tomed to all her attention, did not understand her
being occupied by any one else. ' Honey, Honeypots/
and a pull at her hand when she did not immediately
attend, ' why don't the little crabs get black legs like
mine V
1 Because they only go where they ought,' was the
extremely moral reply of the Squire. ' Little boys
aren't meant to walk in black mud.'
* The shrimp boys do go in the mud,' shrewdly
pleaded Owen, setting Honor off laughing at Humfrey's
discomfited look of diversion.
1 It wont do to generalize,' she said, merrily. ' Owen
must be content to regard crabs and shrimp boys as
privileged individuals.'
Owen demanded whether when he was big he might
be a shrimp boy, and a good deal of fraternization had
taken place between him and Mr. Charlecote before
the cottage was reached.
It was a very happy day to Honora; there was a
repose and trust to be felt in Humfrey's company, such
as she had not experienced since she had lost her
parents, and the home sense of kindred was very
precious. Only women whose chief prop is gone, can
tell the value of one who is still near enough to disap-
prove without ceremony.
The anxiety that Honor felt to prove to her cousin
that it was not a bit of romantic folly to have assumed
her present charge, was worth more than all the free-
G2 HOPES AND FEARS.
dom of action in the world. How much she wanted the
children to show off to advantage ! how desirous she
was that he should not think her injudicious ! yes, and
how eager to see him pleased with their pretty looks !
Lucilla came down cleaned, curled, and pardoned,
and certainly a heart must have been much less tender
than Humfrey Charlecote's not to be touched by the
aspect of those two little fair waxen-looking beings in
the deepest mourning of orphanhood. He was not
slow in making advances towards them, but the maiden
had been affronted, and chose to be slyly shy and
retiring, retreating to the other side of Miss Wells,
and there becoming intent upon her story-book, though
many a gleam through her eyelashes betrayed furtive
glances at the stranger whom Owen was monopolizing.
And then she let herself be drawn out, with the
drollest mixture of arch demureness and gracious
caprice. Honora had never before seen her with a
gentleman, and to be courted was evidently as con-
genial an element to her as to a reigning beauty. She
was perfectly irresistible to manhood, and there was
no doubt, ere the evening was over, that Humfrey
thought her one of the prettiest little girls he had ever
seen.
He remained a week at Sandbeach, lodging at the
inn, but spending most of his time with Honor. He
owned that he had been unwell, and there certainly
was a degree of lassitude about him, though Honor
suspected that his real motive in coming was brotherly
kindness and desire to see whether she were suffering
much from the death of Owen Sandbrook. Having
come, he seemed not to know how to go away. He was
too fond of children to become weary of their petty
exactions, and they both had a sort of passion for him ;
he built castles for them on the beach, presided over
their rides, took them out boating, and made them
fabulously happy. Lucilla had not been so good for
weeks, and the least symptom of an outbreak was at
once put down by his good-natured ' No, no !' The
HOPES AND FEARS. 63
evenings at the cottage with Honora and Miss Wells,
music and bright talk, were evidently very refreshing
to him, and he put off his departure from day to day,
till an inexorable matter of county business forced him
off.
Not till the day was imminent, did the cousins quit
the easy surface of holiday leisure talk. They had been
together to the late evening service, and were walking
home, when Honora began abruptly, ' Humfrey, I wish
you would not object to the children giving me pet
names.'
' I did not know that I had shown any objection.'
' As if you did not impressively say Miss Charlecote
on every occasion when you mention me to them.'
' Well, and is not it more respectful V
1 That's not what I want. Where the natural tie is
wanting, one should do everything to make up for it.'
' And you hope to do so by letting yourself be called
Honeypots !'
* More likely than by sitting up distant and 'awful
to be Miss Ckarlecoted /'
1 Whatever you might be called must become an
endearment,' said Humfrey, uttering unawares one of
the highest compliments she had ever received, ' and I
own I do not like to hear those little chits make so
free with your name.'
* For my sake, or theirs V
1 For both. There is an old saying about familiarity,
and I think you should recollect that, for the children's
own good, it is quite as needful to strengthen respect
as affection.'
1 And you think I can do that by fortifying myself
with Miss Charlecote 1 Perhaps I had better make it
Mrs. Honora Charlecote at once, and get a high cap, a
rod, and a pair of spectacles, eh? No! if they wont
respect me out of a buckram suit, depend upon it they
would find out it was a hollow one.'
Humfrey smiled. From her youth up, Honor could
generally come off in apparent triumph from an argu-
64 HOPES AND FEARS.
ment with him, but the victory was not always where
the triumph was.
'Well, Humfrey,' she said, after some pause, 'do
you think I am fit to be trusted with my two poor
children?'
There was a huskiness in his tone as he said, ' I am
sincerely glad you have the pleasure and comfort of
them.'
' I suspect there's a reservation there. But really,
Humfrey, I don't think I went out searching for the
responsibility in the way that makes it dangerous.
One uncle did not want them, and the other could not
have them, and it would have been mere barbarity in
me not to offer. Besides, their father wished ' and
her voice faltered with tears.
' No, indeed,' said Humfrey, eagerly, * I did not in
the least mean that it is not the kindest, most generous
requital,' and there he broke off, embarrassed by the
sincere word that he had uttered, but before she had
spoken an eager negative — to what she knew not — he
went on. ' And of course I don't mean that you are
not one to manage them very well, and all that — only
I hope there may not be pain in store — I should not
like those people to use you for their nursery gover-
ness, and then take the children away just as you had
set your heart upon them. Don't do that, Honor,' he
added, with an almost sad earnestness.
1 Do what ? Set my heart on them 1 Do you think
I can help loving the creatures 1 ' she said, vvith mourn-
ful playfulness, ' or that my uncertain tenure does not
make them the greater darlings V
1 There are ways of loving without setting one's
heart,' was the somewhat grave reply.
He seemed to be taking these words as equivalent
to transgressing the command that requires all our
heart, and she began quickly, ' Oh ! but I didn't mean
' then a sudden thrill crossed her whether there
might not be some truth in the accusation. Where
had erst the image of Owen Sandbrook stood 1 First
HOPES AND FEARS. G5
or second ? Where was now the image of the boy 1
She turned her words into ' Do you think I am doin<*
so — in a wrong way ?
I Honor, dear, I could not think of wrong where you
are concerned,' he said ; ' I was only afraid of your
kindness bringing you pain, if you rest your happiness
very much upon those children.'
I I see,' said Honor, smiling, relieved. ' Thank you,
Humfrey ; but you see I can't weigh out my affection
in that fashion. They will get it, the rogues !'
1 I'm not afraid, as far as the girl is concerned/ said
Humfrey. * You are strict enough with her.'
1 But how am I to be strict when poor little Owen
never does anything wrong % '
' Yes, he is a particularly sweet child.'
1 And not at all wanting in manliness,' cried Honor,
eagerly. ' So full of spirit, and yet so gentle. Oh ! he
is a child whom it is a privilege to train, and I don't
think I have spoilt him yet, do you V
1 No, I don't think you have. He is very obedient
in general.'
' Oh ! if he could be only brought up as I wish.
And I do think his innocence is too perfect a thing not
to be guarded. What a perfect clergyman he would
make ! Just fancy him devoting himself to some
parish like poor dear old St. Wulstan's — carrying his
bright sweetness into the midst of all that black Babel,
and spreading light round him ! he always says he
will be a clergyman like his papa, and I am sure he
must be marked out for it. He likes to look at the
sheep on the moors, and talk about the shepherd lead-
ing them, and I am sure the meaning goes very deep
with him.'
She was not going quite the way to show Humfrey
that her heart was not set on the boy, and she was
checked by hearing him sigh. Perhaps it was for the
disappointment he foresaw, so she said, 'Whether I
bring him up or not, don't you believe there will be a
special care over such a child V
vol. I. F
66 HOPES AND FEARS.
' There is a special care over every Christian child,
I suppose,' he said ; l and I hope it may all turn out so
as to make you happy. Here is your door, good night,
and good-by.'
' Why, are not you coming in V
1 1 think not ; I have my things to put up j I must go
early to-morrow. Thank you for a very happy week.
Good-by, Honor.' There was a shade of disappoint-
ment about his tone that she could not quite account
for. Dear old Humfrey ! Could he be ageing ? Could
he be unwell 1 Did he feel himself lonely 1 Could she
have mortified him, or displeased [him ? Honor was
not a woman of personal vanity, or a solution would
sooner have occurred to her. She knew, upon reflec-
tion, that it must have been for her sake that Humfrey
had continued single, but it was so inconvenient to think
of him in the light of an admirer, when she so much
needed him as a brother, that it had hardly ever occurred
to her to do so ; but at last it did strike her whether,
having patiently waited so long, this might not have
been a visit of experiment, and whether he might not
be disappointed to find her wrapped up in new interests
— slightly jealous, in fact, of little Owen. How good
he had been ! Where was the heart that could fail
of being touched by so long a course of forbearance
and consideration? Besides, Honor had been a
solitary woman long enough to know what it was to
stand alone. And then how well he would stand in a
father's place towards the orphans. He would never
decree her parting with them, and Captain Charteris
himself must trust him. Yet what a shame it would be
to give such a devoted heart nothing better than one
worn out, with the power of love, such as he de-
served, exhausted for ever. And yet — and yet — some-
thing very odd bounded up within her, and told her
between shame and exultation, that faithful old
Humfrey would not be discontented even with what
she had to give. Another time — a little, a very little
encouragement, and the pine wood scene would come
HOPES AND FEARS. G7
"back again, and then — her heart fainted a little — there
should be no concealment — but if she could only have
been six months married all at once !
Time went on, and Honora more than once blushed
at finding how strong a hold this possibility had taken
of her heart, when once she had begun to think of
resting upon one so kind, so good, so strong. Every per-
plexity, every care, every transaction that made her
feel her position as a single woman, brought round the
yearning to lay them all down upon him, who would
only be grateful to her for them. Every time she
wanted some one to consult, hope showed her his
face beaming sweetly on her, and home seemed to
be again opening to her, that home which might have
been hers at any time these twelve years. She quite
longed to see how glad the dear, kind fellow would be.
Perhaps maidenly shame would have belied her feel-
ings in his actual presence, perhaps she would not have
shrunk from him, and been more cold than in her un-
consciousness, but he came not ; and his absenoe
fanned the spark so tardily kindled. What if she had
delayed till too late 1 He was a man whose duty it
was to many ! he had waited till he was some years
past forty — perhaps this had been his last attempt, and
he was carrying his addresses elsewhere.
Well ! Honora believed she had tried to act rightly,
and that must be her comfort — and extremely ashamed
of herself she was, to find herself applying such a word
to her own sensations in such a case — and very much
disliking the notion of any possible lady at Hiltonbury
Holt.
CHAPTER III.
There is a reaper, his name is Death,
And with his sickle keen
He reaps the bearded grain at a breath,
And the flowers that grow between.
Longfellow.
LETTER from Humfrey ! how Honor's
heart fluttered. Would it announce an
engagement, or would it promise a visit
on which her fate would turn, or would
it be only a business letter on her
money matters ?
Angry at her own trepidation, she opened it. It
was none of all these. It told her that Mr. Saville,
his brother-in-law, was staying at the Holt with his
second wife, aud that he begged her to take advantage
of this opportunity to come to visit the old place,
adding, that he had not been well, and he wished
much to see her, if she could spare a few days to him
from her children.
Little doubt had she as to the acceptance. The mere
words ' going to Hiltonbury,' had power by force of
association to make her heart bound. She was a little
disappointed that he had not included the children; she
feared that it looked as if he were really ill ; but it
might be on account of the Savilles, or may be he had
that to say to her which oh, nonsense ! Were that
the case, Humfrey would not reverse the order of things,
and make her come to him. At any rate, the children
HOPES AND FEARS. GO
should be her first condition. And then she concen-
trated her anxieties on his most unusual confession of
having been unwell.
Humfrey's substantial person was ready to meet her
at the station, and the first glance dispelled her nervous
tremors, and calmed the tossings of her mind in the
habitual sense of trust and reliance. He thanked her
for coming, handed her into the carriage, looked after
her goods, and seated himself beside her in so com-
pletely his ordinary fashion of taking care of her, that
she forgot all her intentions of rendering their meeting
momentous. Her first inquiry was for his health, but
he put it aside with something about feeling very well
now, and he looked so healthy, only perhaps a little
more hearty and burly, that she did not think any more
of the matter, and only talked in happy desultory
scraps, now dwelling on her little Owen's charms, now
joyfully recognising familiar objects, or commenting
upon the slight changes that had taken place. One
thing, however, she observed; Humfrey did not stop the
horse at the foot of the steep hill where walking had been
a matter of course, when he had been a less solid weight
than now. ' Yes, Honor,' he said, smiling, ' one grows
less merciful as one grows old and short-breathed.'
' You growing old ! you whom I've never left off
thinking of as a promising lad, as poor old Mrs. Mervyn
used to call you.'
He turned his face towards her as if about to say
something very seriously, but apparently changing his
intention, he said, ' Poor old Mrs. Mervyn, I wonder
how she would like the changes at Beauchamp.'
1 Are the Fulmorts doing a great deal V
1 They have cpiite modernized the house, and laid
out the garden — what I should call very prettily, if it
were not for my love of the old Dutch one. They see
a great deal of company, and go on in grand style'
1 How do you get on with them V
'Oh! very well ; I have dined there two or three
times. He is a uood-natured fellow enough, and there
70 HOPES AND FEARS.
are some nice children, whom I like to meet with their
nurses in the woods. I stood proxy for the last one's
sponsor ; I could not undertake the office myself.'
' Good-natured !' exclaimed Nora. ' Why, you know
how he behaved at St. Wulstan's. No more than 5?.
a year would he ever give to any charity, though he
was making thousands by those gin-shops.'
1 Probably he thought he was doiDg very liberally.'
1 Ay, there is no hope for St. Wulstan's till people
have left off thinking a guinea their duty, and five-
very handsome ! and that Augusta Mervyn should
have gone and married our bete noire — our lord of gin-
palaces — I do think it must be on purpose for you to
melt him. I shall set you at him, Huinfrey, next
time Mr. Askew writes to me in despair, that some-
thing wont go on for lack of means. Only I must be
quite sure that you wont give the money yourself, to
spare the trouble of dunning.'
' It is not fair to take other people's duties on one-
self; besides, as you'll find, Honor, the Holt purse i&
not bottomless.'
As she would find ! This was a very odd way of
making sure of her beforehand, but she was not certain
that she did not like it. It was comfortable, and
would save much preliminary.
The woods were bursting into spring : delicate,
deeply creased leaves were joyously emerging to the
light on the birches, not yet devoid of the silvery wool
where they had been packed, the hazels were fluttering
their goslings, the palms were honey sweet with yellow
tufts, the primroses peeped out in the banks of
moss.
I Oh ! Humfrey, this is the great desire of my life
fulfilled, to see the Holt in the flush of spring !'
I I have always said you cared for the place more
than any one.' said Humfrey, evidently gratified, but
with an expression which she did not understand.
' As if I did not ! But how strangely differently
from my vision my wish has been fulfilled.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 71
' How strangely !' he repeated, with even greater
seriousness than had been in her voice.
The meadow was bright with spring grass, the cattle
grazing serenely as in old times, the garden — ah ! not
quite so gay — either it was better in autumn than in
spring, or it wanted poor Sarah's hand ; the dogs, not
the same individuals, but with much the same manners,
dancing round their master — all like, all home. No-
thing wanting, but, alas ! the good-natured, narrow-
minded old mistress of the house to fret her, and
notable Sarah to make her comfortable, and wonder at
her eccentric tastes. Ah ! and how much more was
wanting the gentle mother who did all the civility and
listening, and the father, so happy to look at green
woods, read poetry, and unbend his weary bow ! How
much more precious was the sight of the one living
remnant of those days !
They had a cheerful evening. Mr. Saville had a
great deal of old-fashioned Oxford agreeableness ; he
was very courtly, but a sensible man, with some native
fun and many college stories. After many years of
donship, his remote parish was somewhat of a solitude
to him, and intercourse with a cultivated mind was as
pleasant to him now as the sight of a lady had been in
his college days. Honor liked conversation too j and
Miss Wells, Lucilla, and Owen had been rather barren
in that respect, so there was a great deal of liveliness,
in which Humfrey took his full share ; while good
Mrs. Saville looked like what she was, her husband's
admiring housekeeper.
' Do you take early walks still, Humfrey V asked
Honor, as she bade him good night. ' If you do, I shall
be quite ready to confront the dew ;' and therewith
came a revulsion of the consciousness within. Was
this courting him 1 and to her great provocation there
arose an uncomfortable blush.
1 Thank you,' he said, with something of a mournful
tone, 'I'm afraid I'm past that, Honor. To-morrow,
after breakfast — sood ni^ht.'
72 HOPES AND FEARS.
Honor was a little alarmed by all this, and designed
a conference with the old housekeeper, Mrs. Stubbs, to
inquire into her master's health, but this was not at-
tainable that night, and she could only go to bed in
the friendly old wainscoted room, whose white and
gold carved monsters on the mantelpiece were well
nigh as familiar as the dove in Woolst one-lane ; but,
oh ! how it made her long for the mother whom she
used to kiss there.
Humfrey was brisk and cheerful as ever at breakfast,
devising what his guests would like to do for the day,
and talking of some friends whom he had asked to
meet Mr. Saville, so that all the anxieties with which
Honora had risen were dissipated, and she took her
part gaily in the talk. There was something therefore
freshly startling to her, when, on rising, Humfrey
gravely said, ' Honor, will you come into my study for
a little while V
The study had always been more of a place for guns
and fishing-tackle than for books. It was Humfrey's
usual living room when alone, and was of course full
besides of justice books, agricultural reports, acts of
parliament, piles of papers, little bags of samples of
wheat, all in the orderly disorder congenial to the male
kind. All this was as usual, but the change that
struck her was, that the large red leather lounging
chair, hitherto a receptacle for the overflowings of the
table, was now wheeled beside the fire, and near it
stood a little table with a large print Bible on it, which
she well remembered as his mother's. Humfrey set a
chair for her by the fire, and seated himself in the easy
one, leaning back a little. She had not spoken. Some-
thing in his grave preparation somewhat awed her, and
she sat upright, watching him.
' It was very kind of you to come, Honor,' he "began ;
1 more kind than you know.'
' I am sure it could be no other than a treat '
He continued, before she could go farther, ' I wished
HOPES AND FEARS. To
particularly to speak to you. I thought it might
perhaps spare you a shock.'
She looked at him with a terrified eye.
' Don't be frightened, my dear,' he said, leaning for-
ward, ' there is no occasion. Such things must come
sooner or later, and it is only that I wished to tell you
that I have been having advice for a good many un-
comfortable feelings that have troubled me lately.'
' Well f she asked, breathlessly.
1 And Dixon tells me that it is aneurism.'
Quick and fast came Honora's breath ; her hands
were clasped together ; her eyes cast about with such
a piteous, despairing expression, that he started to his
feet in a moment, exclaiming — ' Honor ! Honor dear !
don't ! there's no need. I did not think you would feel
it in this way !'
■ Feel ! what should I feel if not for you ! Oh !
Humfrey ! don't say it ! you are all that is left me —
you cannot be spared !' and as he came towards her, she
grasped his hand and clung to him, needing the support
which he gave in fear of her fainting.
1 Dear Honor, do not take it thus. 1 am very well
now — I dare say I shall be so to the last, and there
is nothing terrible to the imagination. I am very
thankful for both the preparation and the absence of
suffering. Will not you be the same V
1 Yes, you,' said Honora, sitting up again, and look-
ing up into his sincere, serene face ; ' I cannot doubt
that even this is well for you, but it is all selfishness —
just as I was beginning to feel what you are to me.'
Humfrey's face lighted up suddenly. ' Then, Honor,'
he said, evidently putting strong restraint upon his
voice, ' you could have listened to me now.'
She bowed her head — the tears were dropping very
fast.
'Thank God !' he said, as again he leant back in his
chair; and when she raised her eyes again, he sat with
his hands clasped, and a look of heavenly felicity on Lis
face, raise 1 upwards.
74 HOPES AND FEAES.
1 Oh ! Humfrey ! how thoughtlessly I have trifled
away all that might have been the happiness of your
life!'
' You never trifled with me,' he said ; ' you have
always dealt honestly and straightforwardly, and it is
best as it is. Had we been together all this time, the
parting might have been much harder. I am glad
there are so few near ties to break.'
1 Don't say so ! you, loved by every one, the tower
of strength to all that is good !'
'Hush, hush ! nonsense, Honor 1' said he, kindly. ' I
think I have tried/ he went on, gravely, ' not to fall
behind the duties of my station ; but that would be a
bad dependence, were there not something else to look
to. As to missing me, the world did very well without
me before I was born ; it will do as well when I am
gone ; and as to you, my poor Honor, we have been
very little together of late.'
1 I had you to lean on.'
I Lean on something stronger,' he said ; and as she
could not govern her bitter weeping, he went on —
1 Ah ! I am the selfish one now, to be glad of what
must make it the worse for you ; but if one thing were
wanting to make me happy, it was to know that at last
you cared for me.'
' I should be a wretch not to do so. So many years
of patience and forbearance ! Nobody could be like
you.'
I I don't see that,' said Humfrey, simply. ' While
you continued the same, I could not well turn my
mind to any one else, and I always knew I was much
too loutish for you.'
1 Now, Humfrey ! '
' Yes, there is no use in dwelling on this,' he said,
quietly. ' The reason I asked you to be kind enough
to come here, is that I do not think it well to be far
from home under the circumstances. There, don't look
frightened — they say it may very possibly not come
for several months or a year. I hope to have time to
HOPES AND EEAES. 75
put things a little in order for you, and that is one
reason I wished to see you ; I thought I could make the
beginning easier to you.'
But Honora was far too much shaken for such a turn
to the conversation ; she would not mortify him, but she
could neither listen nor understand. He, who was so
full of stalwart force, a doomed man, yet calm and
happy under his sentence ; he, only discovered to be so
fondly loved in time to give poignancy to the parting,
and yet rejoicing himself in the poor, tardy affection
that had answered his manly constancy too late ! His
very calmness and stillness cut her to the heart, and
after some ineffectual attempts to recover herself, she
was forced to take refuge in her own room. Weeping,
praying, walking restlessly about, she remained there
till luncheon time, when Humfrey himself came up to
knock at her door.
' Honor dear !' he said, ' come down — try to throw
it off — Saville does not wish his wife to be made aware
of it while she is here, lest she should be nervous. You
must not betray me — and indeed there is no reason for
being overcome. Nothing vexes me but seeing you so.
Let us enjoy your visit, pray.'
To be commanded to bear up by a strong, manly
character so much loved and trusted was perhaps the
chief support she could receive ; she felt that she must
act composure, and coming down in obedience to her
cousin, she found the power of doing so. Nay, as she
saw him so completely the bright, hospitable host,
talking to Mrs. Saville about her poultry, and carrying
on quiet jokes with Mr. Saville, she found herself
drawn away from the morning's conversation, or re-
membering it like a dream that had passed away.
They all went out together, and he was apparently as
much interested in his young wheat as ever, and even
more anxious to make her look at and appreciate crops
and cattle, speaking about them in his hearty, simple
way, as if his pleasure in them was not flagging,
perhaps because it had never been excessive. He bad
76 HOPES AND FEARS.
always sat loose to them, and thus they could please
and occupy him even when the touch of the iron hand
had made itself felt.
And again she saw him engrossed in arranging some
petty matter of business for one of the poor people ;
and when they had wandered down to the gate, pelting
the turn-out of the boys' school with a pocket full of
apples that he said he had taken up while in confer-
ence with the housekeeper, laughing and speaking
merrily as the varlets touched their caps to him, and
always turning to her for sympathy in his pleasures of
success or of good nature, as though her visit were
thorough enjoyment to him.
And so it almost was to her. The influence of the
dear old scenes was something, and his cheeriness was
a great deal more ; the peaceful present was not ha-
rassed or disturbed, and the foreboding, on which she
might not dwell, made it tiie more precious. That slow
wandering about the farm and village, and the desul-
tory remarks, the old pleasant reminiscences, the in-
quiries arid replies about the villagers and neighbours
had a quiet charm about them, as free and happy as
when, youth and child, they had frisked through the
same paths ; nay, the old scenes so brought back the
old habits that she found herself discoursing to him in
her former eager fashion upon the last historical cha-
racter who had bitten her fancy.
' My old way,' she said, catching herself up ; ' dinning
all this into your ears as usual, when you don't care.'
' Don't I V said Humfrey, with his sincere face turned
on her in all its sweetness. ' Perhaps I never showed
you how much, Honor ; and I beg your pardon, but I
would not have been without it !'
The Savilles came up, while Honor's heart was brim-
full at this compliment, and then it was all common-
place again, except for that sunset light, that rich ra-
diance of the declining day, that seemed unconsciously
to pervade all Humfrey's cheerfulness, and to give his
mirth and playfulness a solid happiness.
HOPES AND PEAKS. 77
Some mutual friends of long standing came to dinner,
and the evening was not unlike tlie last, quite as free
from gloom, and Mr. Charlecote as bright as ever, evi-
dently taking his full share in county business, and
giving his mind to it. Only Honor noted that he quietly
avoided an invitation to a very gay party which was
proposed ; and his great ally, Sir John Raymond, seemed
rather vexed with him for not taking part in some new
and expensive experiment in farming, and asked incre-
dulously whether it were true that he wished to let a
farm that he had kept for several years in his own
hands. Humfrey agreed that it was so, and said
something farther of wishing to come to terms quickly.
She guessed that this was for her sake, when she thought
all this over in her bedroom.
Such was the effect of his calmness that it had not
been a day of agitation. There was more peace than
tumult in her mind as she lay down to rest, sad, but
not analysing her sadness, and lulled by the present
into putting aside the future. So she slept quietly,
and awoke with a weight at her heart, but softened
and sustained by reverent awe and obedience towards
her cousin.
When they met, he scanned her looks with a bright,
tender glance, and smiled commendation when he de-
tected no air of sleeplessness. He talked and moved
as though his secret were one of untold bliss, and this
was not far from the truth ; for when, after breakfast,
he asked her for another interview in the study, they
were no sooner alone than he rubbed his hands together
with satisfaction, saying — ' So, Honor, you could have
had me after all !' looking at her with a broad, undis-
guised, exulting smile.
'Oh! Humfrey!'
1 Don't say it if you don't like it ; but you can't
guess the pleasure it gives me. I could hardly tell at
first what was making me so happy when I awoke this
morning.'
' I can't see how it should, ' said Honor, her eyes
78 HOPES AND FEARS.
swimming with tears, ' never to have met with any
gratitude for 1 have used you too ill — never valued,
scarcely even believed in what you lavished on poor
silly me — and now, when all is too late, you are
glad '
' Glad ! of course I am,' returned Humfrey ; ' I never
wished to obtrude my feelings on you after I knew
how it stood with you. It would have been a shame.
Your choice went far above me. For the rest, if to
find you disposed towards me at the last makes me so
happy,' and he looked at her again with beaming affec-
tion, ' how could I have borne to leave you if all had
been as I wished ? No, no, it is best as it is. You lose
nothing in position, and you are free to begin the
world again, not knocked down or crushed.'
' Don't talk so, Humfrey ! It is breaking my heart
to think that I might have been making you happy
all this time.'
'Heaven did not will it so,' said Humfrey, reve-
rently, ' and it might not have proved what we fancy.
You might not have found such a clodhopper all you
wanted, and my stupidity might have vexed you,
though now you fancy otherwise. And I have had a
very happy life — indeed I have, Honor; I never knew
the time when I could not say with all my heart, " The
lot is fallen unto me in a fair ground, yea, I have a
goodly heritage." Everybody and everything, you and
all the rest, have been very kind and friendly, and I
have never wanted for happiness. It has been all
right. You could fulfil your duty as a daughter un-
dividedly, and now I trust those children will be your
object and comfort — only, Honor, not your idols.
Perhaps it was jealousy, but I have sometimes fancied
that your tendency with their father '
1 Oh ! how often I must have given you pain.'
' I did not mean that, but, as I say, perhaps I was
no fair judge. One thing is well, the relations will be
much less likely to take them from you when you are
living here.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 79
She held up her hands in deprecation.
' Honor, dear,' he said pleadingly, yet with authority,
c pray let me talk to you. There are things which I
wish very much to say j indeed, without which, I could
hardly have asked for this indulgence. It is for your
own sake, and that of the place and people.'
• Poor place, poor people.'
He sighed, but then turned his smiling contenance
towards her again. ' No one else can care for it or
them as you do, Honor. Our " goodly heritage*' — it
was so when I had it from my father, and I don't
think it has got worse under my charge, and I want
you to do your duty by it, Honor, and hand it on the
same, whoever may come after.'
1 For your sake, Humfrey — even if I did not love it.
But '
' Yes, it is a duty,' proceeded Humfrey, gravely. ' It
may seem but a bit of earth after all, but the owner of
a property has a duty to let it do its share in produc-
ing food, or maybe in not lessening the number of plea-
sant things here below. I mean, it is as much my office
to keep my trees and woods fair to look at, as it is not
to let my land lie waste.'
She had recovered a good deal while he was moraliz-
ing, and became interested. ' I did not suspect you of
the poetical view, Humfrey,' she said.
* It is plain sense, I think,' he said, ' that to grub up
a fine tree, or a pretty bit of copse without fair reason,
only out of eagerness for gain, is a bit of selfishness.
But mind, Honor, you must not go and be romantic.
You mud have the timber marked when the trees arc
injuring each other.'
1 Ah ! I've often done it with you.'
' I wish you would come out with me to-day. I'm
going to the outwood, I could show you.'
She agreed readily, almost forgetting the where-
fore.
'And above all, Honor, you must not be romantic
about wages! It is not right by other propriel
80 HOPES AND FEAES.
nor by the people themselves. No one is ever the
better for a fancy price for his labour.'
She could almost have smiled; he was at once so
well pleased that she and his ' goodly heritage' should
belong to each other, so confident in her love and good
intentions towards it, and so doubtful of her discretion
and management. She promised with all her heart to
do her utmost to fulfil his wishes.
' After all,' he said, thoughtfully, ' the best thing for
the place — ay, and for you and every one, would be
for you to marry; but there's little chance of that, 'I
suppose, and it is of no use to distress you by mention-
ing it. I've been trying to put out of my hands
things that I don't think you will be able to manage,
but I should like you to keep up the home farm, and
you may pretty well trust to Brooks. I dare say he
will take his own way, but if you keep a reasonable
check on him, he will do very well by you. He is as
honest as the day, and very intelligent. I don't know
that any one could do better for you.'
' Oh, yes ; I will mind all he tells me.'
' Don't show that you mind him. That is the way
to spoil him. Poor fellow, he has been a good servant
to me, and so have they all. It is a thing to be very
thankful for to have had such a set of good servants.'
Honora thought, but did not say that they could
not help being good with such a master.
He went on to tell her that he had made Mr. Saville
his executor. Mr. Saville had been for many years
before leaving Oxford bursar of his college, and was a
thorough man of business, whom Humfrey had fixed
upon as the person best qualified to be an adviser and
assistant to Honora, and he only wished to know
whether she wished for any other selection, but this
was nearly overpowering her again, for since her
father's death, she had leant on no one but Humfrey
himself.
One thing more he had to say. ' You know, Honor,
this place will be entirely your own. You and I seem
HOPES AND FEARS. SI
to be the last of the Charlecotes, and even if we
-were not, there is no entail. You may found orphan
asylums with it, or leave it to poor Sandbrook's chil-
dren, just as you please.'
'Oh, I could not do that,' cried Honor, with a
sudden revulsion. Love them as she might, Owen
Sandbrook's children must not step into Humfrey
Charlecote's place. ' And, besides,' she added, ' I want
my little Owen to be a clergyman; I think he can be
what his father missed.'
' Well, you can do exactly as you think fit. Only
what I wanted to tell you is, that there may be
another branch, elder than our own. Not that this
need make the least difference, for the Holt is legally
ours. It seems that our great grandfather had an elder
son — a wild sort of fellow — the old people used to tell
stories of him. He went on, in short, till he was dis-
inherited, and went off to America. What became of
him afterwards I never could make out ; but I have
sometimes questioned how I should receive any of his
heirs if they should turn up some day. Mind you, you
need not have the slightest scruple in holding your
own. It was made over to my grandfather by will, as
1 have made it sure for you ; but I do think that when
you come to think how to dispose of it, the possibility
of the existence of these Charlecotes might be taken
into consideration.'
1 Yankee Charlecotes !' she said.
1 Never mind ; most likely nothing of the kind will
ever come in your way, and they have not the slightest
claim on you. I only threw it out, because I thought
it right just to speak of it.'
After this commencement, Humfrey, on this and
the ensuing days, made it his business to make his
cousin acquainted with the details of the management
of the estate. He took such pleasure in doing so, and
was so anxious she should comprehend, that she was
forced to give her whole attention ; and, putting all else
aside, was tranquilly happy in thus gratifying him.
VOL. I. G
82 HOPES AND FEARS.
Those orderly ranges of conscientious accounts were
no small testimony to the steady, earnest manner in
which Humfrey had set himself to his duty from his
early youth, and to a degree they were his honest pride
too — he liked to show how good years had made up
for bad years, and there was a tenderness in the way
he patted their red leather backs to make them even
on their shelves, as if they had been good friends to
him. No, they must not run into confusion.
The farms and the cottages — the friendly terms of
his intercourse, and his large-handed but well-judging
almsgiving — all revealed to her more of his solid
worth ; and the simplicity that regarded all as the
merest duty touched her more than all. Many a time
did she think of the royal Norwegian brothers, one of
whom went to tie a knot in the willows on the banks
of the Jordan, while the other remained at home to be
the blessing of his people, and from her broken idol
wanderer, she turned to worship her steadfast worker
at home, as far as his humility and homeliness made
it possible, and valued each hour with him as if each
moment were of diamond price. And he was so
calmly happy, that there was no grieving in his pre-
sence. It had been a serene life of simple fulfilment
of duty, going ever higher, and branching wider, as a
good man's standard gradually rises the longer he lives,
the one great disappointment had been borne without
sourness or repining, and the affections, deprived of the
home channel, had spread in a beneficent flood, and
blessed all around. So, though, like every sinful son
of man, sensible of many an error, many an infirmity,
still the open loving spirit was childlike enough for
that blessed sense; for that feeling which St. John
expresses as ' if our heart condemn us not, then have
we confidence towards God ;' confidence in the infinite
Merits that atone for the errors of weakness, and
occasional wanderings of will; confidence that made
the hope a sure and steadfast one, and these sentenced
weeks a land of Beulah, where Honora's tardy re-
HOPES AND FEARS. 83
sponse to his constant love could be greeted and
valued as the precious fulfilment of long-cherished
wishes, not dashed aside as giving bitterness to his
departure.
The parting was broken by a promise that Honora
should again meet the Savilles at the Holt in the
autumn. She assured herself that there was no danger
before that time, and Humfrey spoke cheerfully of
looking forward to it, and seemed to have so much to
do, and to be so well equal to doing it, that he would
not let them be concerned at leaving him alone.
To worship Humfrey was an easier thing at a dis-
tance than when beside him. Honora came back to
Sandbeach thoroughly restless and wretched, reproach-
ing herself with having wasted such constant, priceless
affection, haunted by the constant dread of each
morning's post, and longing fervently to be on the
spot. She had self-command enough not to visit her
dejection on the children, but they missed both her
spirits and her vigilance, and were more left to their
nurse ; and her chief solace was in long solitary walks,
or in evening talks with Miss Wells. Kind Miss
Wells perhaps guessed how matters stood between
the two last Charlecotes, but she hinted not her sus-
picions, and was the unwearied recipient of all Honora's
histories of his symptoms, of his cheerfulness, and his
solicitude for her. Those talks did her good, they set
the real Humfrey before her, and braced her to strive
against weakness and despondence.
And then the thought grew on her, why, since
they were so thoroughly each other's, why should
they not marry, and be together to the last? Why
should he be left to his solitude for this final year ?
why should their meetings be so prudentially chape-
roned? Suppose the disease should be lingering, bow
hard it was that she should be absent, and he left
to servants ! She could well imagine why he had
not proposed it, he was too unselfish to think
posing her to the shock, or making her a widow,
G 2
S4< HOPES AND FEARS.
but how came she never to have thought of it 1 She
stood beyond all ordinary rules — she had nothing
worldly to gain nor to lose by being his wife for these
few remaining months — it surely was her part, after the
way she had treated him, to meet him more than half-
wav — s he alone could make the proposal — she would —
she must. And oh ! if the doctors should be mistaken !
So spoke the midnight dream — oh ! how many times.
But what said cool morning 1 Propriety had risen up,
grave decorum objecting to what would shock Humfrey,
ay, and was making Honor's cheeks tingle. Yes, and
there came the question whether he would not be more
distressed than gratified — he who wished to detach
himself from all earthly ties — whether he might not be
pained and displeased at her thus clinging to him — nay,
were he even gratified, might not emotion and agitation
be fatal 1
Many, many times was all this tossed over in Honor's
mind. Often the desperate resolution was definitively
taken, and she had seen herself quietly meeting him at
dear old Hiltonbury church, with his grave sweet eyes
resting satisfied upon her as his darling. As often
had the fear of offending him, and the instinct of
woman's dignity turned her away when her heart was
beating high. That autumn visit — then she would
decide. One look as if he wished to retain her, the
least air of feebleness or depression, and she would be
determined, even if she had to waive all feminine re-
serves, and set the matter in hand herself. She thought
Mr. Saville would highly approve and assist ; and
having settled into this period for her project, she set
herself in some degree at rest, and moved and spoke
with so much more of her natural ease, that Miss
Wells was consoled about her, and knew not how
entirely heart and soul were at Hiltonbury, with such
devotion as had never even gone to the back woods.
To meet the Savilles at Hiltonbury in the autumn !
Yes — Honor met Mr. Saville, but not as she had in-
tended. By that time the stroke had fallen, just as
HOPES AXD FEARS. 85
she had become habituated to the expectation, just as
her promised visit had assumed a degree of proximity,
and her heart was beating at the prospect of the
results.
Humfrey had been scarcely ailing all the summer, he
had gone about his occupations with his usual cheerful-
ness, and had taken part in all the village festivals
as genially as ever. Only close observers could have
noticed a slackness towards new undertakings, a
gradual putting off of old ones, a training of those,
dependent on his counsel, to go alone, a preference for
being alone in the evening, a greater habit of stillness
and contemplation.
September had come, and he had merrily sent off
two happy boy-sportsmen with the keeper, seeing them
over the first field himself, and leaning against the gate,
as he sent them away in convulsions of laughing at his
droll auguries. The second was a Sunday, a lovely
day of clear deep blue sky, and rich sunshine laughing
upon the full wealth of harvest fields — part fallen
before the hand of the reaper, part waving in their
ripe glowing beauty, to which he loved to liken
Honora's hair — part in noble redundant shocks of
corn in full season. Brooks used afterwards to tell
how he overtook the squire slowly strolling to church
on that beauteous autumnal morning, and how he
paused to remark on the glory of the harvest, and to
add, ' Keep the big barn clear, Brooks — let us have
all the women and children in for the supper this time
— and I say — send the spotted heifer down to-morrow
to old Boycotts, instead of his cow that died. With
such a crop as this, one can stand something. And,'
said Brooks, ' Thank God for it ! was as plain written
on his face as ever I saw !'
It was the first Sunday in the month, and there was
full service. Hiltonbury church had one of those
old-fashioned altar-mils which form three sides of a
square, and where it was the custom that at the words
1 Draw near with faith,' the earliest communicants
86 HOPES AND FEARS.
should advance to the rail and remain till their place
was wanted by others, and that the last should not
return to their seats till the service was concluded.
Mr. Charlecote had for many years been always the
first parishioner to walk slowly up the matted aisle,
and kneel beside the wall, under the cumbrous old
tables of Commandments. There, on this day, he
knelt as usual, and harvest labours tending to thin the
number of communicants, the same who came up first
remained to the end, joined their voices in the Eucha-
ristic Lord's Prayer and Angelic Hymn, and bowed
their heads at the blessing of the peace that passeth
all understanding.
It was not till the rest were moving away, that
the vicar and his clerk remarked that the squire had
not risen. Another look, and it was plain that he
had sunk somewhat forward on his folded arms, and
was only supported by the rail and the wall. The
vicar hastily summoned the village doctor, who had
not yet left the church. They lifted him, and laid
him along on the cushioned step where he had been
kneeling, but motion and breath were gone, the strong
arms were helpless, and the colour had left the open
face. Taken at once from the heavenly Feast on
earth to the glory above, could this be called sudden
death !
There he lay on the altar step, with hands crossed
on his breast, and perfectly blessed repose on his manly
countenance, sweetened and ennobled in its stillness,
and in every lineament bearing the impress of that
Holy Spirit of love who had made it a meet temple.
What an unpremeditated lying in state was that ! as
by ones and twos, beneath the clergyman's eye, the
villagers stole in with slowly, heavily falling tread to
gaze in silent awe on their best friend, some sobbing
and weeping beyond control, others with grave, almost
stolid tranquillity, or the murmured ' He was a gentle-
man,' which, in a poor man's mouth, means l he was a
just man and patient, the friend of the weak and poor.'
HOPES AND FEARS. S7
His farmers and his own labourers put their shoulders
to bear him once more to his own house, through his
half-gathered crops —
The hand of the reaper
Takes the ears that are hoary 7
But the voice of the weeper
Wails manhood in glory.
No, bewail him not. It was glory, indeed, but the
glory of early autumn, the garnering of the shock of
corn in full season. It was well done of the vicar
that a few long, full-grained ears of wheat were all
that was laid upon his breast in his coffin.
There Honora saw them. The vicar, Mr. Hender-
son, had written to her at once, as Humfrey had long
ago charged him to do, enclosing a letter that he had
left with him for the purpose, a tender, soothing fare-
well, and an avowal such as he could never have spoken
of the blessing that his attachment to her had been, in
drawing his mind from the narrowness to which he
might have been liable, and in elevating the tone of
his views and opinions.
She knew what he meant — it was what he had
caught from her youthful enthusiasm, second-hand
from Owen Sandbrook. Oh ! what vivid, vigorous
truth not to have been weakened in the transit through
two such natures, but to have done its work in the
strong, practical mind able and candid enough to adopt
it even thus filtered !
There were a few words of affectionate commenda-
tion of his people and his land into her keeping, and a
parting blessing ; and, lastly, written as a postscript —
with a blot as if it had been written with hesitation —
' Little children, keep yourselves from idols !'
It was not bitter weeping. It was rather the sense
of utter vacancy and hopelessness, with but one fixed
purpose — that she would see his face again, and be the
nearest to him when he was laid in the grave. She
hastily wrote to the housekeeper and to the clergyman
that she was coming, and Miss Wells's kind oppo.^ition
SS HOPES AND FEARS.
only gave her just wilfulness and determination enough
to keep her spirit from sinking.
So she travelled alone, and came to Hiltonbury in
the sunset, as the ' last long wains ' were slowly bearing
their loads of wheat into the farmyard, the waggoners
walking dejectedly beside them. Mr. Saville had come
before her, and was at the door to receive her. She
could not very well bear the presence of any one,
nor the talk of cold-blooded arrangements. It seemed
to keep away the dreamy living with Humfrey, and
was far more dreary than the feeling of desolateness,
and when they treated her as mistress of the house
that was too intolerable. And yet it was worth some-
thing, too, to be the one to authorize that harvest
supper in the big barn, in the confidence that it would
be anything but revelry. Every one felt that the day
was indeed a Harvest Home.
The funeral, according to his expressed wishes, was
like those of the farmers of the parish ; the coffin borne
by his own labourers in their white round frocks ;
and the labourers were the expected guests for
whom provision was made, but far and wide from all
the country round, though harvest was at the height,
came farmers and squires, poor men and rich, from the
peer and county member down to the poor travelling
hawker — all had met the sunny sympathy of that smile,
all had been aided and befriended, all felt as if a prop,
a castle of strength were gone.
Charlecotes innumerable rested in the chancel, and
the last heir of the line was laid beneath the same flag
where he had been placed on that last Sunday, the spot
where Honor might kneel for many more, meeting him
in spirit at the feast, and looking to the time when the
cry should be, ' Put ye in the sickle, for the harvest is
come.'
But ere she could look in thorough hope for that
time, another page of Honor's life must be turned, and
an alloy, as yet unknown to herself, must be purged
from her heart. The last gleam of her youthful sun-
HOPES AND FEARS. 89
shine had faded with Humfrey ; but youth is but a
fraction of human existence, and there were further
phases to be gone through and lessons to be learnt ;
although she was feeling as if all were over with her in
this world, and neither hope, love, nor protection were
left her, nor any interest save cherishing Humfrey
Charlecote's memory, as she sat designing the brass
tablet which was to record his name and age in old
English illuminated letters, surrounded by a border of
ears of corn and grapes.
CHAPTER IV.
The glittering grass, with dewstars bright,
Is all astir with twinkling light ;
What pity that such fair array
In one brief hour should melt away.
Rev. T. "Whytehead.
te3>^ ftyBerg HIS is a stroke of good luck !' said Mr.
• Charteris. ' We must not, on any ac-
count, remove the Sandbrook children
from Miss Charlecote ; she has no re-
lations, and will certainly make the
boy her heir.'
1 She will marry !' said his wife. ' Some fashionable
preacher will swallow her red hair. She is just at the
age for it !'
1 Less likely when she has the children to occupy
her.'
' Well, you'll have them thrown on your hands yet !'
' The chance is worth trying for, though ! I would
not interfere with her on any account.'
1 Oh, no, nor I ! but I pity the children.'
'There, Master Owen, be a good boy, and don't
worry. Don't you see, I'm putting up your things to
go home.'
' Home 1' the light glittered in Lucilla's eyes. 'Is it
Wrap worth, nursey f
' Dear me, Miss, not Wrapworth. That's given away,
you know ; but it's to Hiltonbury you are going — such
a grand place, which if Master Owen is only a dear
good boy, will all belong to him one of these days.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 91
4 Will there be a pony to ride on Y asked Owen.
' Oh, yes — if you'll only let those stockings alone —
there'll be ponies, and carriages, and horses, and every-
thing a gentleman can have, and all for my own dear
little Master Owen !'
1 1 don't want to go to Hiltonbury,' said Lucilla ; ' I
want to go home to the river and the boat, and see Mr.
Prendergast and the black cow.'
1 I'll give you a black cow, Cilly,' said Owen, strut-
ting about. * Is Hiltonbury bigger than the Castle V
' Oh, ever so big, Master Owen ; such acres of wood,
Mr. Jones says, and all your dear cousin's, and sure to
be your own in time. What a great gentleman you
will be, to be sure, dining thirty gentlefolks twice a
■week, as they say poor Mr. Charlecote did, and driving
four fine horses to your carriage like a gentleman. And
then you wont forget poor old nursey-pursey.'
' Oh, no, nurse ; I'll give you a ride in my carriage !'
Honora in her listless state had let Mr. Saville think
for her, and passively obeyed him when he sent her
back to Sandbeach to wind up her affairs there, while
he finished off the valuations and other painful busi-
ness at the Holt, in which she could be of little use,
since all she desired was to keep everything as it was.
She was anxious to return as soon as possible, so as to
take up the reins before there had been time for the
relaxation to be felt, the only chance she felt of her
being able to fulfil his charge. The removal, the bustle,
the talking things over with Miss Wells, and the sight
of the children did much to restore her, and her old
friend rejoiced to see that necessary occupation was
tending to make her time pass more cheerfully than
she perhaps knew.
As to the dear old City dwelling : it might have
fetched an immense price, but only to become a ware-
house, a measure that would have seemed to Honor
little short of sacrilege. To let it, in such a locality
was impossible, so it must remain unavailable capital,
9:3 HOPES AND FEARS.
and Honora decided on leaving her old housekeeper
therein, with a respectable married niece, who would
inhabit the lower regions, and keep the other rooms in
order, for an occasional stay in London. She would
have been sorry to cut herself off from a month of
London in the spring, and the house might farther be
useful to friends who did not object to the situation;
or could be lent now and then to a curate; and she
could well afford to keep it up, so she thought herself
justified in following her inclination, and went up for
three mournful days of settling matters there, and
packing books and ornaments till the rooms looked so
dismantled that she could not think how to face them
again.
It was the beginning of October when she met Miss
Wells, children, and luggage at the station, and fairly
was on her way to her home. She tried to call it so,
as a duty to Humfrey, but it gave her a pang every
time, and in effect she felt far less at home than when
he and Sarah had stood in the doorway to greet the
arrivals. She had purposely fixed an hour when it
would be dark, so that she might receive no painful wel-
come; she wished no one to greet her, she had rather
they were mourning for their master. She had more
than once shocked Miss Wells by declaring heiresses to
be a mistake ; and yet, as she always owned, she could
not have borne for any one else to have had the Holt.
Fortunately for her, the children were sleepy, and
were rather in a mazy state when lifted out and set on
their legs in the wainscoted hall, and she sent them
at once, with nurse to the cheerful room that Humfrey's
little visitors had saved from becoming disused. Miss
Wells's fond vigilance was a little oppressive, but she
gently freed herself from it, and opened the study
door. She had begged that as little change as possible
might be made ; and there stood, as she had last seen
them, the large leathern chair, the little table, the big
Bible, and in it the little faded marker she had herself
constructed for his twenty-first birthday, when her
HOPES AXD FEARS. 93
powers of making presents had not equalled her will.
Yet what costly gift could have fulfilled its mission
like that one? She opened the heavy book at the
place. It was at the first lesson for the last day of his
life, the end of the prophet Hosea, and the first words
her eyes fell upon were the glorious prophecy — ' I will
redeem them from death, I will ransom them from the
power of the grave.' Her heart beat high, and she
stood half musing, half reading: 'They that dwell
under His shadow shall return ; they shall revive as
the corn, and grow as the vine.' How gentle and
refreshing the cadence ! A longing rose up in her to
apply those latter words more closely, by placing them
on his tablet ; she did not think they would shock his
humility, a consideration which had withheld her from
choosing other passages of which she always thought
in connexion with him. Another verse, and she read :
' Ephraim shall say, What have I to do any more with
idols?'
It brought back the postscript. Kind Humfrey
must have seen strong cause before he gave any reproof,
least of all to her, and she could take his word that
the fault had been there. She felt certain of it when
she thought of her early devotion to Owen Sandbrook,
and the utter blank caused by his defection. Nay, she
believed she had begun to idolize Humfrey himself, but
now, at her age, chastened, desponding, with nothing
before her save the lonely life of an heiress old maid,
counting no tie of blood with any being, what had she
to engross her affections from the true Object? Alas !
Honora's heart was not feeling that Object sufficient !
Conscientious, earnest, truly loving goodness, and all
connected with it ; striving as a faithful, dutiful woman
to walk rightly, still the personal love and trust were
not yet come. Spent as they had been upon props of
earth, when these were taken away the tendrils hung
down drearily, unemployed, not fastening on the true
support.
Not that she did not kneel beside that little table,
94 HOPES AND FEARS.
as in a shrine, and entreat earnestly for strength and
judgment to do her duty faithfully in her new station,
so that Hunifrey's charge might be fulfilled, and his
people might not suffer ; and this done, and her homage
paid to his empty throne, she was better able to satisfy
her motherly friend by her deportment for the remain-
der of the evening, and to reply to the welcome of the
weeping Mrs. Stubbs. By one of Huinfrey's wise acts
of foresight, his faithful servant, Reeves, had been pro-
vided for as the master of the Union, whither it was
certain he would carry the same milk of human kind-
ness as had been so plentiful at Hiltonbury, and the
Holt was thus left free for Honora's Mr. Jones, with-
out fear of clashing, though he was divided between
pride in his young lady's ownership of a ' landed estate/
and his own dislike to a country residence.
Honora did not sleep soundly. The place was too
new, and yet too familiar, and the rattling of the win-
dows, the roaring of the wind in the chimney, and the
creaking of the vane, without absolutely wakening her,
kept her hearing alive continually, weaving the noises
into some harassing dream that Humfrey's voice was
calling to her, and hindrances always keeping her from
him ; and then of Lucilla and Owen in some imminent
peril, whence she shrieked to him to save them, and
then remembered he would stretch out his hand no
more.
Sounder sleep came at last, towards morning, and
far later than her usual hour she was wakened by a
drumming upon her door, and the boy and girl dashed
in, radiant with excitement at the novelty of the place.
' Sweet Honey ! Sweet Honey dear, do get up and see.
There's a rocking-horse at the end of the passage.'
1 And there's a real pony out in the field.' ' There are
cows.' ' There's a goat and a little kid, and I want to
play with it, and I may, for it is all mine and yours.'
< All yours ! Owen, boy,' repeated Honora, sitting
up in surprise.
' Nursey said it was all to be Owen's,' said Lucilla.
HOPES AXD FEARS. 95
1 And she said I should be as grand a gentleman as
poor Mr. Charlecote or uncle Charteris,' proceeded
Owen, ' and that I should go out hunting in a red
coat, on a beautiful horse ; but I want to have the kid
now, please Sweet Honey.'
'Nurse does not know anything about it,' said
Honora, much annoyed that such an idea should have
been suggested in such a manner. ' I thought my
little Owen wished for better things — I thought he was
to be like his papa, and try to be a good shepherd,
praising God and helping people to do right.'
' But can't I wear a red coat too V said Owen, wist-
fully.
1 No, my dear ; clergymen don't go out hunting ; or
how could they teach the poor little children f
' Then I wont be a clergyman.'
This was an inconvenient and most undesirable turn ;
but Honor's first object must be to put the right of
heirship out of the little head, and she at once began —
' Nurse must have made a mistake, my dear; this place
is your home, and will be always so, I hope, while it is
mine, but it must not be your own, and you must not
think it will. My little boy must work for himself
and other people, and that's better than having houses
and lands given to him.'
Those words touched the pride in Lucilla's compo-
sition, and she exclaimed — ' I'll work too;' but the self-
consequence of proprietorship had affected her brother
more strongly, and he repeated, meditatively, 'Jones
said, not mine while she was alive. Jones was
cross.'
There might not be much in the words, child us he
was, but there was something in his manner of eyeing
her which gave her acute, unbearable pain — a look as
if she stood in his way and crossed his importance. It
was but a baby fit of temper, but she was in no frame
to regard it calmly, and with an alteration of counte-
nance that went to his heart, she exclaimed — ' Can that
be my little Owen, talking as if he wanted his cousin
96 HOPES AND FEARS.
Honor dead and out of the way ? We had better never
have come here if you are to leave off loving me.'
Quick to be infected by emotion, the child's arms
were at once round her neck, and he was sobbing out
that he loved his Sweet Honey better than anything ;
nurse was naughty ; Jones was naughty ; he wouldn't
hunt, he wouldn't wear a red coat, he would teach little
children just like lambs, he would be like dear papa ;
anything the poor little fellow could think of he poured
out with kisses and entreaties to know if he were
naughty still ; while his sister, after her usual fashion
on such occasions, began to race up and down the room
with paroxysms, sometimes of stamping, sometimes of
something like laughter.
Some minutes passed before Honora could compose
herself, or soothe the boy, by her assurances that he
was not to blame, only those who put things in his
head that he could not understand ; and it was not till
after much tender fondling that she had calmed him
enough for his morning devotions. No sooner were
these over than he looked up and said, while the tears
still glazed his cheeks, ' Sweet Honey, I'll tell nurse
and Mr. Jones that I'm on pilgrimage to the Eastern
land, and I'll not turn into by-ways after red coats and
little kids to vex you.'
Whether Owen quite separated fact from allegory
might have been doubtful to a more prosaic mind than
Honora's, but he had brought this dreamy strain with
him from his father, and she thought it one of his
great charms. She had been obliged to leave him to
himself much more than usual of late, and she fervently
resolved to devote herself with double energy to watch-
ing over him, and eradicating any weeds that might
have been sown during her temporary inattention. He
clung so fast to her hand, and was so much delighted
to have her with him again, so often repeating that
she must not go away again, that the genuineness of
his affection could not be doubted, and probably he
would only retain an impression of having been led to
HOPES AND FEARS. 97
say something very shocking, and the alarm to his sen-
sitive conscience would hinder him from ever even
trying to remember what it was.
She spoke, however, to Nurse, telling her that the
subject must never be mentioned to the children, since
it was by no means desirable for them, and besides
she had no intention of the kind. She wished it to be
distinctly understood that Master Owen was not to be
looked upon as her heir.
' Very true, ma'am, it is too soon to be talking of
such things yet, and I must say, I was as sorry as pos-
sible to find that the child had had it named to him.
People will talk, you see, Miss Charlecote, though I
am sure so young a lady as you are '
' That has nothing to do with it,' said Honora ; ' I
consider nothing so bad for a child as to be brought
up to expectations to which he has no right, when he
is sure to have to provide for himself. I beg that if
you hear the subject entered on again in the children's
presence, you will put a stop to it.'
' Certainly, ma'am ; their poor dear papa never
would have wished them to be occupied with earthly
things of that sort. As I often said, there never was
such an unworldly gentleman ; he never would have
known if there were a sixpence in the house, nor a
joint in the larder, if there had not been cook and me
to care for him. I often said to cook — '•' Well for him
that he has honest people about him." '
Honora likewise spoke to Jones, her private retainer.
He smiled scorn of the accusation, and answered her
as the child he had known in frocks. ' Yes, ma'am, I
did tell the young gentleman to hold his tongue, for it
never would be his in your lifetime, nor after, in my
judgment.'
' Why, certainly, it does seem early days to speak of
such a matter,' said Honora, sadly.
' It is unaccountable what people will not put in
children's heads," said Jones, sagely ; 'not but what he
is a nice quiet young gentleman, and gives very little
VOL. I. H
98 HOPES AND PEAKS.
trouble, but they might let that alone. Miss Honora,
when will it be convenient to you to take my account
of the plate 1 ?'
She felt pretty well convinced that Jones had only
resented the whole on her account, and that it was not
he who had put the notion into the boy's head. As to
Nurse, she was far from equally clear. Doubts of
Nurse's sincerity had long been growing upon her, and
she was in the uncomfortable position of being able to
bear neither to think of the children's intercourse with
any one tainted with falsehood, nor to dismiss a person
implicitly trusted by their father. She could only
decide that the first detected act of untruth should be
the turning point.
Meantime, painful as was many an association,
Honor did not find her position so dreary or so oppres-
sive as she had anticipated. She had a great deal to
do, and the tracks had been duly made out for her by
her cousin. Mr. Saville, or Humfrey's old friend, Sir
John Raymond, were always ready to help her in great
matters, and Brooks was an excellent dictatorial deputy
in small ones. Her real love for country life, for live
animals, and, above all, the power of doing good, all
found scope. Humfrey's charge gave her a sense of
a fulfilled duty ; and mournful and broken-spirited as
she believed herself, if Humfrey could have looked at
her as she scrupulously made entries in his book,
rode out with the children to try to look knowing
at the crops, or sat by the fire in the evening with his
dogs at her feet, telling stories to the children, he
would not have feared too much for his Honor.
Living or dead, the love of Humfrey could hardly help
being a spring of peace and happiness ; and the con-
sciousness of it had been too brief, and the tie never
close enough, to lead to a state of crushed spirits. The
many little tender observances that she paid to him
were a source of mournful sweetness rather than of
heartrending.
It was a quietly but fully occupied life, with a
EOPES AND FEARS. 99
certain severity towards her own comforts, and libe-
rality towards those of other people, which had always
been a part of her character, ever since Owen Sand-
brook had read sermons with her on self-denial. If
Miss Wells had a fire in her bedroom forced upon her,
Miss Charlecote had none, and hurried down in the
bleak winter morning in shawl and gloves to Hum-
frey's great Bible, and then to his account books and
her business letters. She was fresh with cold when she
met the children for their early reading. And then —
but it was not soon that she learnt to bear that, though
she had gone through the like before, she had to read
the household devotions, where every petition seemed to
be lacking the manly tone to give it fulness and force.
Breakfast followed, the silver kettle making it home-
like, the children chattering, Miss Wells smiling, letters
coming in to perplex or to clear up perplexities, amuse
or cheer. The children were then turned out for an
hour's hoop-driving on the gravel drive, horse-chesnut
picking, or whatever might not be mischief, while
Honora was conferring w 7 ith Jones or with Brooks,
and receiving her orders for the day. Next followed
letter writing, then lessons in general, a real en-
joyment, unless Lucilla happened to have picked up a
fit of perverseness — some reading to them, or rational-
izing of play — the early dinner — the subsequent expe-
dition with them, either walking or riding — for Brooks
had soon found ponies for them, and they were gallant
little riders. Honor would not give up the old pony,
long since trained for her by Humfrey, though, maybe,
that was her most undutiful proceeding towards him,
as he would certainly have told her that the creature
was shaky on the legs. So at last it tumbled down
with her, but without any damage, save a hole in her
skirt, and a dreadful crying-fit of little Owen, who was
frightened out of his wits. She owned that it must be
degraded to light cart work, and mounted an animal
which Hiltonbury agreed to be more worthy of her.
Coming in, the children played; she either did her
H 2
100 HOPES AND FEARS.
business or found leisure for reading j then came tea
time, then the reading of a story book to the children,
and when they were disposed of, of something mildly
moral and instructive to suit Miss Wells's taste.
The neighbourhood all mourned Mr. Charlecote as a
personal loss, and could hardly help regarding any suc-
cessor as their enemy. Miss Charlecote had been
just enough known in her girlish days not to make her
popular in a commonplace neighbourhood ; the ladies
had criticised her hair and her genius, and the gentle-
men had been puzzled by her searching questions into
their county antiquities, and obliged to own themselves
unaware of a Roman milestone propping their bailiff's
pigstye, or of the spur of a champion of one of the
Eoses being hung over their family pew. But when
Mr. Henderson and the Raymonds reported pleasantly
of her, and when once or twice she had been seen
cantering down the lanes, or shopping in Elverslope,
and had exchanged a bow with a familiar face, the
gentlemen took to declaring that the heiress was an
uncommonly fine woman after all, and the ladies
became possessed with the perception that it was high
time to call upon Miss Charlecote — what could she be
doing with those two children ?
So there were calls, which Honor duly returned, and
then came invitations, but, to Miss Wells's great
annoyance, Honor decided against these. It was not
self-denial, but she thought it suitable. She did not
love the round of county gaieties, and in her position
she did not think them a duty. Retirement seemed
to befit the widowhood, which she felt so entirely that
when Miss Wells once drove her into disclaiming all
possibility of marrying, she called it ' marrying again.'
When Miss Wells urged the inexpedience of abso-
lute seclusion, she said she would continue to make
morning calls, and she hoped in time to have friends of
her own to stay with her ; she might ask the Ray-
monds, or some of the quiet, clerical families (the real
elite, be it observed) to spend a day or drink tea, but the
HOPES AND FEARS. 101
dinner and ball life was too utterly incongruous for an
elderly heiress. When it came to the elderly heiress
poor Miss Wells was always shut up in utter despair
— she who thought her bright-locked darling only
grew handsomer each day of her pride of womanhood.
The brass which Honora had chosen for her cousin's
memorial was slow in being executed, and summer
days had come in before it was sent to Hiltonbury.
She walked down, a good deal agitated, to ascertain
whether it were being rightly managed, but, to her
great annoyance, found that the church having been
left open, so many idle people were standing about that
she could not bear to mingle with them. Had it been
only the Holt vassalage, either their feeling would have
been one with her own, or they would have made way
for her, but there were some pert nursery maids gaping
about with the children from Beauchamp, whence the
heads of the family had been absent all the winter and
spring, leaving various nurses and governesses in
charge. Honora could not encounter their eyes, and
went to the vicarage to send Mr. Henderson, and find-
ing him absent, walked over sundry fields in a vain
search for Brooks. Rain came on so violently as to
wet her considerably, and, to her exceeding mortifica-
tion, she was obliged to relinquish her superintendence,
either in person or by deputy.
However, when she awoke early and saw the sun
laughing through the shining drops, she decided on
going down ere the curious world was astir, to see
what had been done. It was not far from six, when
she let herself out at the porch, and very like a morn-
ing with Humfrey, with the tremulous glistening of
every spray, and the steamy fragrance rising wherever
the sun touched the grass, that seemed almost to grow
visibly. The woods were ringing with the songs of
birds, circle beyond circle, and there was something in
the exuberant merriment of those blackbirds and
thrushes that would not let her be Bad, though they
had been Humfrey's special glory. The thought of
102 HOPES AND FEARS.
such pleasures did not seem out of keeping. The lane-
was overhung with bushes ; the banks, a whole wealth
of ferns, climbing plants, tall grasses, and nettles, had
not yet felt the sun and were dank and dreary, so she
hurried on, and arriving at the clerk's door, knocked
and opened. He was gone to his work, and sounds
above showed the wife to be engaged on the toilette of
the younger branches. She called out that she had
come for the keys of the church, and seeing them on
the dresser, abstracted them, bidding the good woman
give herself no trouble.
She paused under the porch, and ere fitting the
heavy key to the lock, felt that strange pressure and
emotion of the heart that even if it be sorrow is also
an exquisite sensation. If it were mournful that the
one last office she could render to Humfrey was over,
it was precious to her to be the only one who had a
right to pay it, the one whom he had loved best upon
earth, round whom she liked to believe that he still
might be often hovering — whom he might welcome by
and by. Here was the place for communion with him,
the spot which had, indeed, been to him none other
than the gate of Heaven.
Yet, will it be believed ? Not one look did Honora
cast at Humfrey Charlecote's monument that morning.
With both hands she turned the reluctant bolts of
the lock, and pushed open the nail-studded door. She
slowly advanced along the uneven floor of the aisle,
and had just reached the chancel arch, when something
suddenly stirred, making her start violently. It was
still, and after a pause she again advanced, but her
heart gave a sudden throb, and a strange chill of awe
rushed over her as she beheld a little white face over
the altar rail, the chin resting on a pair of folded
hands, the dark eyes fixed in a strange, dreamy,
spiritual expression of awe.
The shock was but for a moment, the next the
blood rallied to her heart, and she told herself that
Humfrey would say, that either the state of her
HOPES AND FEARS. 103
spirits had produced an illusion, or else that some
child had been left here by accident. She advanced,
but as she did so the two hands were stretched out
and locked together as in an agony, and the childish,
feeble voice cried out, ' Oh ! if you're an angel, please
don't frighten me ; I'll be very good.'
Honora was in a pale, soft, grey dress, that caught
the light in a rosy glow from the east window, and
her golden hair was hanging in radiant masses beneath
her straw bonnet, but she could not appreciate the
angelic impression she made on the child, who had
been tried so long by such a captivity. 'My poor
child,' she said, ' I am no angel ; I am only Miss
Charlecote. I'm afraid you have been shut up here ;*
and, coming nearer, she perceived that it was a boy of
about seven years old, well dressed, though his gar-
ments were disordered. He stood up as she came
near, but he was trembling all over, and as she drew
him into her bosom, and put her arms round him, she
found him quivering with icy cold.
' Poor little fellow,' she said, rocking him, as she sat
on the step and folded her shawl round him, 'have
you been here all night ? How cold you are ; I must
take you home, my dear. What is your name V
' I'm Robert Mervyn Fulmort,' said the little boy,
clinging to her. ' We came in to see Mr. Charlecote's
monument put up, and I suppose they forgot me. I
waked up, and everybody was gone, and the door was
locked. Oh ! please,' he gasped, ' take me out. I don't
want to cry.'
She thought it best to take him at once into the
cheerful sunlight, but it did not yet yield the warmth
that he needed ; and all her soothing words could
not check the nervous tremor, though he held her so
tight that it seemed as if he would never let her go.
' You shall come home with me, my dear little boy ;
you shall have some breakfast, and then I will take you
safe home to Beauchamp.'
' Oh, if you please I' said the boy, gratefully.
104 HOPES AND FEARS.
Exercise was thawing liis numbed limbs, and his
eyes brightened.
1 Whom were you with 1 ?' she asked. 'Who could have
forgotten you ¥
* I came with Lieschen and Nurse and the babies.
The others went out with Mademoiselle.'
1 And you went to sleep V
1 Yes ; I liked to see the mason go chip, chip, and I
wanted to see them fit the thing in. I got into that
great pew, to see better ; and I made myself a nest,
but at last they were all gone.'
1 And what did you do, then 1 Were you afraid f
1 I didn't know what to do. I ran all about to see
if I could look out at a window, but I couldn't.'
< Did you try to call V
1 Wouldn't it have been naughty V said the boy ;
and then, with an impulse of honest truthfulness, ' I
did try once ; but do you know, there was another
voice came back again, and I thought that die Geistern
wachten sick auf?
1 The what V
'Die Geistern das Lieschen sagt in die Gewolben
wohnenl said little Robert, evidently quite unconscious
whether he spoke German or English.
' So you could not call for the echo. Well, did you
not think of the bells V
I Yes ; but, oh ! the door was shut ; and then, I'll
tell you — but don't tell Mervyn — I did cry.'
' Indeed, I don't wonder. It must have been very
lonely.'
' I didn't like it,' said Robert, shivering ; and getting
to his German again, he described 'das Gewitter 9
beating on the panes, with wind and whirling leaves,
and the unearthly noises of the creaking vane. The
terror of the lonely, supperless child was dreadful
to think of; and she begged to know what he could
have done as it grew dark.
I I got to Mr. Charlecote,' said Robert — an answer
that thrilled her all over. ' I said I'd be always very
HOPES AND FEARS. 105
good, if he would take care of me, and not let them
frighten me. And so I did go to sleep.'
' I'm sure Mr. Charlecote would, my dear little man,'
began Honora, then checked by remembering what he
would have said. ' But didn't you think of One more
sure to take care of you than Mr. Charlecote V
1 Lieschen talks of der Lieber Gott] said the little
boy. ' We said our prayers in the nursery, but Mervyn
says only babies do.'
1 Mervyn is terribly wrong, then,' said Honora,
shuddering. ' Oh ! Robert, Mr. Charlecote never got
up nor went to bed without asking the good God to
take care of him, and make him good.'
I Was that why he was so good ?' asked Robert.
* Indeed it was,' said she, fervently ; ' nobody can be
good without it. I hope my little friend will never
miss his prayers again, for they are the only way to be
manly and afraid of nothing but doing wrong, as he
was.'
I I wont miss them,' said Robert, eagerly ; then,
with a sudden, puzzled look — ' Did he send you V
'Who?'
' Mr. Charlecote.'
1 Why — how should . . . . 1 What made you think so V
' I — why, once in the night I woke up ; and oh !
it was so dark, and there were such noises, such rattling
and roarings ; and then'it came all white — white light
— all the window-bars and all so plain upon the wall ;
and then came — bending, bending over — a great grey
darkness — oh ! so horrible ! — and went away, and
came back.'
' The shadow of the trees, swaying in the moon-
light.'
• Was it? I thought it was the Xebel Wittwen neckten
mir, and then the Erlkonun'j-tochter. Wissen tie —
and oh ! I did scream once ; and then, somehow, it
grew rpiietly darker ; and I thought Mr. Charlecote
had me folded up so warm on his horse's back, and that
we rode ever so far; and they stretched out their
106 HOPES AND FEARS.
long white arms, and could not get me ; but somehow
he set me down on a cold stone, and said, " Wait here,
Robin, and I'll send her to lead you." And then came
a creaking, and there were you.'
* Well, little Robin, he did not quite send me ; but
it was to see his tablet that I came down this morning ;
so he brought me after all. He was my veiy dear
cousin Humfrey, and I like you for having been his
little friend. Will you be mine, too, and let me help
you, if I can 1 and if your papa and mamma give leave,
come and see me, and play with the little girl and boy
who live with me V
' Oh, yes !' cried Robert ; ' I like you.'
The alliance was sealed with a hearty kiss.
c But,' said Robert, ' you must ask Mademoiselle ;
papa and mamma are away.'
' And how was it no one ever missed you V
Robert was far less surprised at this than she was ;
for, like all children, to be left behind appeared to him
a contingency rather probable than otherwise.
He was a fine-looking boy, with dark gray, thoughtful
eyes, and a pleasant countenance ; but his nerves had
been so much shaken that he started, and seemed
ready to catch hold of her at every sound.
' What's that ¥ he cried, as a trampling came along
the alley as they entered the garden.
i Only my two little cousins,' said Honora, smiling.
' I hope you will be good friends, though perhaps Owen
is too young a playfellow. Here, Lucy, Owen — here
is a little friend for you — Robert Fulmort.'
The children came eagerly up, and Lucilla, taking
her hand, raised her face to kiss the stranger ; but
Robert did not approve of the proceeding, and held up
his head. Lucilla rose on tip-toe ; Robin did the
same. As he had the advantage of a whole year's
height, he fully succeeded in keeping out of her reach ;
and very comical was the effect. She gave it up at
last, and contented herself with asking, ' And where
do you come from V
HOPES AND FEARS. 107
1 Out of the church,' was Eobin's reply.
'Then you are very good and holy, indeed,' said
Owen, looking at him earnestly, with clasped hands.
1 No !' said Robert, gruffly.
1 Poor little man ! he was left behind, and shut up
in the church all night, without any supper,' said
Honora.
1 Shut up in the church like Goody Two-Shoes 1'
cried Lucilla, dancing about. ' Oh, what fun !'
1 Did the angels come and sing to you V asked
Owen.
1 Don't ask such stupid questions,' cried his sister.
1 Oh, I know what I'd have done ! Didn't you get up
into the pulpit V
< No !'
1 And I do so want to know if the lady and gentle-
man on the monument have their ruffs the same on
the inside, towards the wall, as outside ; and, oh ! I do
so want to get all the dust out of the folds of the lady's
ruff. I wish they'd lock me into the church, and I'd
soon get out when I was tired.'
Lucilla and Owen decidedly thought "Robin had not
profited by his opportunities, but he figured better in
an examination on his brothers and sisters. There
were seven, of whom he was the fourth — Augusta,
Juliana, and Mervyn being his elders ; Phoebe, Maria,
and Bertha, his juniors. The three seniors were under
the rule of Mademoiselle, the little ones under that of
nurse and Lieschen, and Robert stood on neutral
ground, doing lessons with Mademoiselle, whom, he said,
in unpicked language which astounded little Owen, ' he
morally hated,' and at the same time free of the
nursery, where, it appeared, that 'Phcebe was the
jolliest little fellow in the world,' and Lieschen was the
only ' good-natured body going,' and knew no end of
Md/u-cken. The boy spoke a very odd mixture of
Lieschen's German and of English, pervaded by stable
slang, and was altogether a curious study of the effects
of absentee parents ; nevertheless Honora and Lucilla
108 HOPES AND FEARS.
both took a considerable fancy to him, the latter patro-
nizing him to such a degree that she hardly allowed
him to eat the much-needed breakfast, which recalled
colour to his cheek and substance to his voice.
After much thought, Owen delivered himself of the
sentiment that ' people's papas and mammas were very
funny,' doubtless philosophizing on the inconsistency of
the class in being — some so willing, some so reluctant,
to leave their children behind them. Honor fully
agreed with him, but did not think the discussion
profitable for Robin, whom she now proposed to take
home in the pony-carriage. Lucilla, always eager for
novelty, and ardent for her new friendship, begged to
accompany her. Owen was afraid of the strangers, and
preferred Miss Wells.
Even as they set out, they found that Robert's dis-
appearance had created some sensation, for the clerk's
wife was hurrying up to ask if Miss Charlecote had the
keys, that she might satisfy the man from Beauchamp
that Master Fulmort was not in the church. At the
lodge the woman threw up her hands with joy at the
sight of the child ; and some way off, on the sward,
stood a bigger boy, who, with a loud hurrah, scoured
away towards the house as the carriage appeared.
' That's Mervyn,' said Robert ; ' he is gone to tell
them.'
Beauchamp was many degrees grander since Honor
had last visited it. The approach was entirely new.
Two fresh wings had been added, and the front was all
over scaffolds and cement, in all stages of colour, from
rich brown to permanent white. Robert explained that
nothing was so nice as to watch the workmen, and
showed Lucilla a plasterer on the topmost stage of the
scaffolding, who, he said, was the nicest man he knew,
and could sing all manner of songs.
Rather nervously Honora drove under the poles to
the hall-door, where two girls were seen in the rear
of a French woman ; and Honor felt as if Robin might
have grounds for his ' moral hatred ' when her voluble
HOPES AND FEARS. 109
transports of gratitude and affection broke forth, and
the desolation in which the loss had left them was
described. Robert edged back from her at once, and
flew to another party at the bottom of the stairs — a
very stout nurse and an uncapped, flaxen-haired
madchen, who clasped him in her arms, and cried, and
sobbed over him. As soon as he could release himself,
he caught hold of a fat little bundle, which had been
coaxing one of his legs all through Lieschen's embrace,
and dragging it forwards, cried, e Here she is — here's
Phoebe !' Phoebe, however, was shy, and cried and
fought her way back to hide her face in Lteschen's
apron ; and meantime a very odd scene took place.
School-room and nursery were evidently at most direful
war. Each wanted to justify itself lest the lady should
write to the parents ; each tried to be too grand to
seem to care, and threw all the blame on the other.
On the whole, Honor gathered that Mademoiselle
believed the boy enfantin enough to be in the nursery,
the nurses that he was in the schoolroom, and he had
not been really missed till bed-time, when each party
recriminated instead of seeking him, and neither would
allow itself to be responsible for him. Lieschen, who
alone had her suspicions where he might be, abstained
from naming them in sheer terror of Kobolden, Geistern,
corpse-candles, and what not, and had lain conjuring
up his miseries till morning. Honora did not much
care how they settled it amongst them, but tried to
make friends with the young people, who seemed to
take their brother's restoration rather coolly, and to
be chiefly occupied by staring at Lucilla. Augusta
and Juliana were self-possessed, and rather manierees,
acquitting themselves evidently to the satisfaction of
the Trench governess, and Honor, perceiving her to
be a necessary infliction, invited her and her pupils,
especially Pvobin, to spend a day in the next week at
the Holt.
The proposal was graciously accepted, and Lucilla
spent the intervening time in a tumult of excitement,
110 HOPES AND FEARS.
Nor was the day entirely unsuccessful ; Mademoiselle
behaved herself with French tact, and Miss Wells took
her off Honora's hands a good deal, leaving them free
for the children. Lu cilia, always aspiring, began a
grand whispering friendship with the two girls, and set
her little cap strongly at Mervyn, but that young
gentleman was contemptuous and bored when he found
no entertainment in Miss Charlecote's stud, and was
only to be kept placable by the bagatelle-board and the
strawberry-bed. Robert followed his lead more than
was satisfactory, but with visible predilections for the
Holt J&dies, old and young. Honor talked to him
about little Phoebe, and he lighted up and began to de-
tail her accomplishments, and to be very communica-
tive about his home vexations and pleasures, and finally,
when the children were wishing good night, he bluntly
said, ' It would be better fun to bring Lieschen and
Phoebe.'
Honor thought so too, and proposed giving the in-
vitation.
' Don't/ said Robert, ' she'd be cross ; I'll bring
them.'
And so he did. Two days after, the broad German
face and the flaxen head appeared, leading that fat ball,
Phoebe, and Robin frisking in .triumph' beside her.
Henceforth a great friendship arose between the chil-
dren. Phoebe soon lost all dread of those who petted
her, and favoured them with broad smiles and an in-
comprehensible patois. Owen made very much of her,
and pursued and imitated Robert with the devotion of
a small boy to a larger one. Lucilla devoted herself
to him for want of better game, and moreover he
plainly told her that she was the prettiest little girl
he ever saw, and laid all manner of remarkable treasures
at her feet. Miss Charlecote believed that he made
some curious confidences to her, for once Owen said, 'I
want to know why Robin hasn't a Sweet Honey to
make him good V
1 Robin has a papa and mamma, and a governess.'
HOPES AND FEARS. Ill
1 Robin was telling Lucy he wanted some one to
teach him to be good, and she said she would, but I
think she is not old enough.'
' Any one who is good is teaching others, my Owen,'
said Honor. ' We will ask in our prayers that poor
little Robin may be helped.'
When Mr. and Mrs. Fulmort came home, there was
an interchange of calls, many thanks for her kindness
to the children, and sanction of future intercourse.
Mr. Fulmort was a great distiller, who had married a
county heiress, and endeavoured to take his place
among the country squires, whom he far exceeded in
display ; and his wife, a meek, sickly person, lived a
life of slavery to the supposed exigencies of fashion.
She had always had, in her maiden days, a species of
awe of the Charlecotes' London cousin, and was now
disposed to be rather gratified by her notice of her
children. Mervyn had been disposed of at a tutor's,
and Robert was adrift for many hours of the day. As
soon as he had discovered the possibility of getting to
the Holt alone, he was frequently there, following
Honora about in her gardening and farming, as much
at home as the little Sandbrooks, sharing in their sports,
and often listening to the little books that she read
aloud to them. He was very far from being such an
angelic little mortal as Owen, with whom indeed his
sympathies were few. Once some words were caught
from him by both children, which startled Honor ex-
ceedingly, and obliged her to tell him that if ever she
found him to have repeated the like, she should forbid
his coming near them. He looked excessively sullen,
and did not come for a week, during which Lucilla was
intolerably naughty, and was twice severely punished
for using the identical expressions in defiance.
Then he came again, and behaved as if nothing had
happened, but the offence never recurred. Some time
after, when he boasted of having come away with a
lesson unlearnt, in flat disobedience to Mademoiselle,
Honor sent him straight home, though Lucilla stamp' -d
112 HOPES AND FEARS.
and danced at her in a frenzy. Another time Owen
rushed up to her in great agony at some torture that
Robin was inflicting upon a live mouse. Upon this,
Honor, full of the spirit of indignation, fairly struck
the offender sharply ou the fingers with her riding-
whip. He scowled at her, but it was only for a moment.
She held him tightly by the hand, while she sent the
gardener to put his victim out of its misery, and then
she talked to him, not sentimentally, her feelings were
too strongly stirred, but wdth all her horror of cruelty.
He muttered that Mervyn and the grooms always did
it ; but he did not hold out long — Lucilla was holding
aloof, too much horrified to come near — and finally he
burst into tears, and owned that he had never thought !
, Every now and then, such outbreaks made Honor
wonder why she let him come, perhaps to tempt her
children ; but she remembered that he and Humfrey
had been fond of one another, and she felt drawn to-
wards him, though in all prudence she resolved to
lessen the attractions of the Holt by being very strict
with all, and rather ungracious to him. Yet, strange
to say, the more regulations she made, and the more
she flashed out at his faults, the more constant w r as her
visitor, the Robin who seemed to thrive upon the veriest
crumbs of good nature.
Positively, Honora was sometimes amazed to find
what a dragon she could be upon occasion. Since she
had been brought into subordination at six or eight
years old, she had never had occasion to find out that
she had a spirit of her own, till she found herself
astonishing Jones and Brooks for taking the liberty of
having a deadly feud ; making Brooks understand that
cows were not to be sold, nor promises made to tenants,
without reference to her ; or showing a determined
marauder that Humfrey's wood was not to be preyed
upon any more than in his own time. They were very
feminine explosions to be sure, but they had their effect,
and Miss Charlecote's was a real government.
The uproar with nurse came at last, through a
HOPES AND FEARS. 113
chance discovery that she had taken Owen to a certain
forbidden house of gossip, where he had been bribed to
secrecy with bread and treacle.
Honora wrote to Mrs. Charteris for permission to
dismiss the mischievous woman, and obtained full con-
sent, and the most complete expression of confidence
and gratitude. So there ensued a month, when every
visit to the nursery seemed to be spent in tears. Nurse
was really very fond of the children, and cried over
them incessantly, only consoling herself by auguring
a brilliant future for them, when Master Owen should
reign over Hiltonbury, like the gentleman he was.
' But, nurse, Cousin Honor says I never shall — I'm to
be a clergyman like papa. She says '
Zs urse winked knowingly at the housemaid. ' Yes,
yes, my darling, no one likes to hear who is to come
after them. Don't you say nothing about it ; it ain't
becoming; but, by and by, see if it don't come so, and
if my boy ain't master here.'
' I wish I was, and then nursey would never go.'
However, nurse did go, and after some tears Owen
was consoled by promotion to the habits of an older
boy.
Lucilla was very angry, and revenged herself by
every variety of opposition in her power, all which
were put down by the strong hand. It was a matter
of necessity to keep a tight grasp on this little wilful
sprite, the most fiery morsel of engaging caprice and
naughtiness that a quiet spinster could well have lit
upon. It really sometimes seemed to Honora as if
there were scarcely a fault in the range of possibilities
that she had not committed ; and indeed a bit of good
advice generally seemed to act by contraries, and Berve
to suggest mischief. Softness and warmth of feeling
seemed to have been lost with her father ; she did not
show any particular affection towards her brother or
Honora. Perhaps she liked Miss Wells, but that might
be only opposition; nay, Honor would have been almost
thankful if she had melted at the departure of the
VOL. I. i
114 HOPES AND FEAES.
undesirable nurse, but she appeared only bard and
cross. If sbe liked any one it was Robert Fulmort,
but that was too much in the way of flirtation.
Vanity was an extremely traceable spring of action.
When nurse went, Miss Lucilla gave the household no
peace, because no one could rightly curl the long flaxen
tresses upon her shoulders, until the worry became so
intolerable that Honora, partly as penance, partly be-
cause she thought the present mode neither conducive
to tidiness nor comfort, took her scissors and trimmed
all the ringlets behind, bowl-dish fashion, as her own
carrots had figured all the days of her childhood.
Lucilla was held by Mrs. Stubbs during the opera-
tion. She did not cry or scream after she felt herself
conquered by main strength, but her blue eyes gleamed
with a strange, wild light ; she would not speak to
Miss Charlecote all the rest of the day, and Honora
doubted whether she were ever forgiven.
Another offence was the cutting down her name into
Lucy. Honor had avoided Cilly from the first ; Silly
Sandbrook would be too dreadful a sobriquet to be
allowed to attach to any one, but Lucilla resented the
change more deeply than she showed. Lucy was a
housemaid's name, she said, and Honor reproved her
for vanity, and called her so all the more. She did
not love Miss Charlecote well enough to say that Cilly
had been her father's name for her, and that he had
loved to wind the flaxen curls round his fingers.
Every new study, every new injunction cost a war-
fare, disobedience, and passionate defiance and resis-
tance on the one hand, and steady, good-tempered
firmness on the other, gradually growing a little sterm
The waves became weary of beating on the rock at
last. The fiery child was growing into a girl, and the
calm will had the mastery of her; she succumbed in-
sensibly ; and owing all her pleasures to Cousin
Honor, she grew to depend upon her, and mind,
manners, and opinions were taking their mould from
her.
CHAPTER V.
Too soon the happy child
His nook of heavenward thought must change
For life's seduciDg wild.
Christian Year.
HE simimer sun peeped through the
Venetian blinds greenly shading the
breakfast table.
Only three sides were occupied. For
more than two years past good Miss
Weljs had been lying under the shade
of Hiltonbury Church, taking with her Honora
Charlecote's last semblance of the dependence and
deference of her young ladyhood. The kind governess
had been fondly mourned, but she had not left her
child to loneliness, for the brother and sister sat on
either side, each with a particular pet — Lucilla's, a
large pointer, who kept his nose on her knee, Owen's,
a white fantailed pigeon, seldom long absent from his
shoulder, where it sat quivering and bending back-
wards its graceful head.
Lucilla, now nearly fourteen, looked younger from
the unusual smallness of her stature, and the exceed-
ing delicacy of her features and complexion, and she
would never have been imagined to be two yeam
the senior of the handsome-faced, large-limbed young
Saxon who had so far outstripped her in height : and
yet there was something in those deep blue eves, that
on a second glance proclaimed a keen intelligence as
much above her age as her appearance was below it.
i2
116 HOPES AND FEAHS.
' What's the matter 1 ' said she, rather suddenly.
1 Yes, sweetest Honey,' added the boy, ' you look
bothered. Is that rascal not paying his rent 1 '
1 No ! ' she said, ' it is a different matter entirely.
What do you think of an invitation to Castle Blanch % '
I For us all 1 ' asked Owen.
' Yes, all, to meet your uncle Christopher, the last
week in August.'
'Why can't he come here 1 ' asked Lucilla.
' I believe we must go,' said Honora. ' You
ought to know both your uncles, and they should be
consulted before Owen goes to school.'
I I wonder if they will examine me,' said Owen.
1 How they will stare to find Sweet Honey's teaching
as good as all their preparatory schools.'
' Conceited boy.'
' I'm not conceited — only in my teacher. Mr.
Henderson said I should take as good a place as
Robert Fulmort did at Winchester, after four years in
that humbugging place at Elverslope.'
' We can't go ! ' cried Lucilla. " ' It's the last week
of Itobin's holidays ! '
' Well done, Lucy ! ' and both Honor and Owen
laughed heartily.
' It is nothing to me,' said she, tossing her head,
' only I thought Cousin Honor thought it good for
him.'
' You may stay at home to do him good,' laughed
Owen ; ' I'm sure I don't want him. You are very
welcome, such a bore as he is.'
'Now, Owen.'
' Honey, dear, I do take my solemn affidavit that
I have tried my utmost to be friends with him,' said
Owen ; ' but he is such a fellow — never has the least
notion beyond Winchester routine — Latin and Greek,
cricket and football.'
1 You'll soon be a schoolboy yourself,' said Lucilla.
' Then I shan't make such an ass of myself,' returned
Owen.
HOPES AND FEARS. 117
' Robin is a very good boy, I believe,' said Honor.
' That's the worst of him ! ' cried Lucilla, running
away and clapping the door after her as she went.
'Well, I don't know,' said Owen, very seriously,
' he says he does not care about the Saints' days,
because he has no one to get him leave out.'
1 1 remember,' said Honor, with a sweet smile of
tender memory, 'when to me the merit of Saints'
days was that they were your father's holidays.'
' Yes, you'll send me to Westminster, and be always
coming to Woolstone Lane,' said Owen.
'Your uncles must decide,' she said, half mourn-
fully, half proudly ; ' you are getting to be a big boy
— past me, Oney.'
It brought her a roughly playful caress, and he
added, ' You've got the best right, I'm sure.'
' I had thought of Winchester,' she said. ' Robert
would be a friend.'
Owen made a face, and caused her to laugh, while
scandalizing her by humming, ' Not there, not there,
my child.'
' Well, be it where it may, you had better look over
your Yirgil, while I go down to my practical Georgics
with Brooks.'
Owen obeyed. He was like a spirited horse in a
leash of silk. Strong, fearless, and manly, he was still
perfectly amenable to her, and had never shown any
impatience of her rule. She had taught him entirely
herself, and both working together with a thorough
good will, she had rendered him a better classical
scholar, as all judges allowed, than most boys of the
same age, and far superior to them in general culti-
vation ; and she should be proud to convince Captain
Charteris that she had not made him the mollycoddle
that was obviously anticipated. The other relatives,
who had seen the children in their yearly visits to
London, had always expressed unqualified satisfaction,
though not advancing much in the good graces of
Lucy and Owen. But Honor thought the public
118 HOPES AND FEARS.
school ought to be left to the selection of the two
uncles, though she wished to be answerable for the
expense, both there and at the university. The pro-
vision inherited by her charges was very slender, for,
contrary to all expectation, old Mr. Sandbrook's
property had descended in another quarter, and there
was barely 5000?. between the two. To preserve this
untouched by the expenses of education was Honora's
object, and she hoped to be able to smooth their path
in life by occasional assistance, but on principle she
was determined to make them independent of her, and
she had always made it known that she regarded it as
her duty to Humfrey, that her Hiltonbury property
should be destined — if not to the apocryphal American
Charlecote — to a relation of their mutual great grand-
mother.
Cold invitations had been given and declined, but
this one was evidently in earnest, and the consideration
of the Captain decided Honora on accepting it, but
not without much murmuring from Lucilla. Caroline
and Horatia were detestable grown-up young ladies,
her aunt was horrid, Castle Blanch was the slowest
place in the world ; she should be shut up in some
abominable school-room, to do fancy-work, and never
to get a bit of fun. Even the being reminded of
Wrapworth and its associations only made her more
cross. She was of a nature to fly from thought or
feeling — she was keen to perceive, but hated reflection,
and from the very violence of her feelings, she un-
consciously abhorred any awakening of them, and
steeled herself by levity.
Her distaste only gave way in Robert's presence,
when she appeared highly gratified by the change,
certain that Castle Blanch would be charming, and
her cousin the Lifeguardsman especially so. The more
disconsolate she saw Robert, the higher rose her spirits,
and his arrival to see the party off sent her away in
open triumph, glorifying her whole cousinhood with-
out a civil word to him ; but when seated in the carriage,
HOPES AND FEARS. 119
she launched at him a drawing, the favourite work of
her leisure hours, broke into unrestrained giggling at
his grateful surprise, and, ere the wood was past, was
almost strangled with sobs.
Castle Blanch was just beyond the suburbs of
London, in complete country, but with an immense
neighbourhood, and not half-an-hour by train from
town. Honora drove all the way, to enjoy the lovely
Thames scenery to the full. They passed through
Wrapworth, and as they did so, Lucilla chattered to
the utmost, while Honora stole her hand over Owen's
and gently pressed it. He returned the squeeze with
interest, and looked up in her face with a loving smile
— mother and home were not wanting to him !
About two miles further on, and not in the same
parish, began the Castle Blanch demesne. The park
sloped down to the Thames, and was handsome, and
quite full of timber, and the mansion, as the name
imported, had been built in the height of pseudo-
Gothic, with a formidable keep-looking tower at each
corner, but the fortification below consisting of glass ;
the sham cloister, likewise glass windows, for drawing-
room, music-room, and conservatory ; and j ntting out
far in advance, a great embattled gateway, with a sham
portcullis, and doors fit to defy an army.
Three men-servants met the guests in the hall, and
Mrs. Charteris received them in the drawing-room,
with the woman-of-the-world tact that Honora parti-
cularly hated — there was always such deference to
Miss Charlecote, and such, an assumption of affection
for the children, and gratitude for her care of them,
and Miss Charlecote had not been an heiress early
enough in life for such attentions to seem matters of
course.
It was explained that there was no school-room at
present, and as a girl of Lucilla's age, who was already
a guest, joined the rest of the party at dinner, it was
proposed that she and her brother should do the same,
provided Miss Charlecote did not object. Honor was
120 HOPES AXD FEARS.
really glad of the gratification for Lucilla, and Mrs.
Charteris agreed with her before she had time to
express her opinion as to girls being kept back or
brought forward.
Honor found herself lodged in great state, in a
world of looking-glass that had perfectly scared her
poor little Hiltonbury maiden, and with a large
dressing-room, where she hoped to have seen a bed for
Lucilla, but she found that the little girl was quartered
in another story, near the cousins ; and unwilling to
imply distrust, and hating to incite obsequious com-
pliance, she did not ask for any change, but only
be<?cfed to see the room.
It was in a long passage whence doors opened every
way, and one being left ajar, sounds of laughter and
talking were heard in tones as if the young ladies were
above good breeding, in their private moments. Mrs.
Charteris said something about her daughters morning
room, and was leading the way thither, when an un-
guarded voice exclaimed — ' Rouge dragon and all,'
and a start and suppressed laughter at the entrance of
the new comers gave an air of having been caught.
Four young ladies, in clegage attitudes, were lounging
round their afternoon refection of tea. Two, Caroline
and Horatia Charteris, shook hands with Miss Charle-
cote, and kissed Lucilla, who still looked at them un-
graciously, followed Honora's example in refusing their
offer of tea, and only waiting to learn her own habita-
tion, came down to her room to be dressed for dinner,
and to criticise cousins, aunt, house and all. The
cousins were not striking — both were on a small scale,
Caroline the best looking in features and complexion,
but Horatia, the most vivacious and demonstrative,
and with an air of dash and fashion that was more
effective than beauty. Lucilla, not sensible to these
advantages, broadly declared both young ladies to be
frights, and commented so freely on them to the willing
ears of Owen, who likewise came in to go down under
sweet Honey's protection, as to call for a reproof from
HOPES AND FEARS. 121
Honora, one of whose chief labours ever was to
destroy the little lady's faith in beauty, and com-
placency in her own.
The latter sensation was strong in Honor herself.
as she walked into the room between her beautiful
pair, and contrasted Lucilla with her contemporary, a
formed and finished young lady, all plaits, ribbons, and
bracelets — not half so pleasing an object as the little
maid in her white frock, blue sash, and short wavy
hair, though maybe there was something quaint in such
simplicity, to eyes trained by fashion instead of by
good taste.
Here was Captain Charteris, just what he had been
when he went away. How different from his stately,
dull, wife-ridden elder brother. So brisk, and blunt,
and eager, quite lifting his niece off her feet, and
almost crushing her in his embrace, telling her she
was still but a hop-o'-my-thumb, and shaking hands
with his nephew with a look of scrutiny that brought
the blood to the boy's cheek.
His eyes were never off the children while he was
listening to Honora, and she perceived that what she
said went for nothing; he would form his judgment
solely by what he observed for himself.
At dinner, he was seated between Miss Charlecote
and his niece, and Honora was pleased with him for
his neglect of her and attention to his smaller neicrh-
hour, whose face soon sparkled with merriment, while
his increasing animation proved that the saucy little
woman was as usual enchanting him. Much that was
very entertaining was passing about tiger-hunting,
when at dessert, as he stretched out his arm to reach
some water for her, she exclaimed, ' Why, Uncle Kit,
you have brought away the marks ! no use to deny it,
the tigers did bite you.'
The palm of his hand certainly bore in purple
marks resembling those of a set of teeth ; and he
looked meaningly at Honora, as he quietly replied,
* Something rather like a tigress.'
122 HOPES AND FEARS.
' Then it was a bite, Uncle Kit V
'Yes,' in a put-an-end-to-it tone, which silenced
Lucilla, her tact being much more ready when con-
cerned with the nobler sex.
In the drawing-room, Mrs. Charteris's civilities kept
Honora occupied, while she saw Owen bursting with
■some request, and, when at length he succeeded in
claiming her attention, it was to tell her of his cousin's
offer to take him out shooting, and his elder uncle's
proviso that it must be with her permission. He had
gone out with the careful gamekeeper at Hiltonbury,
but this was a different matter, more trying to the
nerves of those who stayed at home. However,
Honora suspected that the uncle's opinion of her com-
petence to be trusted with Owen would be much dimi-
nished by any betrayal of womanly terrors, and she
made her only conditions that he should mind Uncle
Kit, and not go in front of the guns, otherwise he
would never be taken out again, a menace which she
judiciously thought more telling than that he would
be shot.
By and by Mr. Charteris came to discuss subjects
so interesting to her as a farmer, that it was past nine
o'clock before she looked round for her children.
Healthy as Lucilla was, her frame was so slight and
unsubstantial, and her spirits so excitable, that over-
fatigue or irregularity always told upon her strength
and temper ; for which reason Honor had issued a
decree that she should go to bed at nine, and spend
two hours of every morning in quiet employment, as a
counterbalance to the excitement of the visit.
Looking about to give the summons, Honor found
that Owen had disappeared. Unnoticed, and wearied
by the agricultural dialogue, he had hailed nine o'clock
as the moment of release, and crept off with unob-
trusive obedience, which Honor doubly prized when
she beheld his sister full of eagerness, among cousins
and gentlemen, at the racing game. Strongly impelled
to end it at once, Honor waited, however, till the little
HOPES AND FEARS. 123
white horseman had reached the goal, and just as
challenges to a fresh race were beginning, she came
forward with her needful summons.
' O, Miss Charlecote, how cruel ! ' was the universal
cry.
1 We can't spare all the life of our game P said
Charles Charteris.
'I solemnly declare we weren't betting,' cried
Horatia. ' Come, the first evening — '
1 No,' said Honor, smiling. ' I can't have her lying
awake to be good for nothing to-morrow, as she will do
if you entertain her too much.'
1 Another night then, you promise,' said Charles.
' I promise nothing but to do my best to keep her
fit to enjoy herself. Come, Lucy.'
The habit of obedience was fixed, but not the habit
of conquering annoyance, and Lucilla went off doggedly.
Honora would have accompanied her to soothe away
her troubles, but her cousin Ratia ran after her, and
Captain Charteris stood in the way, disposed to talk.
' Discipline,' he said, approvingly.
' Harsh discipline, I fear, it seemed to her, poor
child,' said Honor; 'but she is so excitable that 4 " I
must try to keep her as quiet as possible.'
' Right,' said the Captain ; ' I like to see a child a
child still. You must have had some tussles with that
little spirit.'
'A few,' she said, smiling. 'She is a very good
girl now, but it has been rather a contrast with her
brother.'
* Hal' quoth the Captain ; and mindful of the milk-
sop charge, Honora eagerly continued, ' You will soon
see what a spirit he has ! He rides very well, and is
quite fearless. I have always wished him to be with
other boys, and there are some very nice ones near us
— they think him a capital cricketer, and you should
see him run and vault.'
1 He is an active-looking chap,' his uncle granted.
1 Every one tells me he is quite able to make his
124 HOPES AND FEARS.
way at school ; I am only anxious to know which
public school you and your brother would prefer.'
< How old is he V
' Only twelve last month, though you would take
him for fifteen.'
' Twelve ; then there would be just time to send
him to Portsmouth, get him prepared for a naval cadet-
ship, then, when I go out with Sir David Horfield, I
could take him under my own eye, and make a man
of him at once.'
' Oh ! Captain Charteris,' cried Honora, aghast, ' his
whole bent is towards his father's profession.'
The Captain had very nearly whistled, unable to
conceive any lad of spirit preferring study.
1 Whatever Miss Charlecote's wishes may be, Kit,'
interposed the diplomatic elder brother, ' we only
desire to be guided by them.'
' no, indeed,' cried Honor ; ' I would not think of
such a responsibility, it can belong only to his nearer
connexions ;' then, feeling as if this were casting him
off to be pressed by the sailor the next instant, she
added, in haste — ' Only I hoped it was understood — if
you will let me — the expenses of his education need
not be considered. And if he might be with me in the
holidays,' she proceeded imploringly. ' When Captain
Charteris has seen more of him, I am sure he will
think it a pity that his talents ' and there she
stopped, shocked at finding herself insulting the navy.
1 If a boy have no turn that way, it cannot be forced
on him,' said the Captain, moodily.
Honora pitied his disappointment, wondering
whether he ascribed it to her influence, and Mr. Char-
teris blandly expressed great obligation and more com-
plete resignation of the boy than she desired; dis-
claimers ran into mere civilities, and she was thankful
to the Captain for saying, shortly, ' We'll leave it till
we have seen more of the boy.'
Breakfast was very late at Castle Blanch ; and
HOPES AND FEARS. L25
Honora expected a tranquil hour in her dressing-room
with her children, but Owen alone appeared, anxious
for the shooting, but already wearying to be at home
with his own pleasures, and indignant with everything,
especially the absence of family prayers.
The breakfast was long and desultory, and in the
midst Lucilla made her appearance with Horatia, who
was laughing and saying, 'I found this child wandering
about the park, and the little pussy cat wont tell
where she has been.'
' Poaching, of course/ responded Charles ; ' it is
what pussy cats always do till they get shot by the
keepers.'
Et ccetera, et ccetera, et ccetera, Lucilla was among
all the young people, in the full tide of fun, nonsense,
banter, and repartee of a style new to her, but in which
she was formed to excel, and there was such a black
look when Honor summoned her after the meal, as
impressed the awkwardness of enforcing authority
among nearer relations ; but it was in vain, she
was carried off to the dressing-room, and reminded of
the bargain for two hours' occupation. She murmured
something about Owen going out as he liked.
1 He came to me before breakfast ; besides, he is
a boy. What made you go out in that strange
manner ? '
There was no answer, but Honor had learnt by expe-
rience that to insist was apt to end in obtaining nothing
but acollision of wills, and she merely putout the Prayer
Books for the morning's reading of the Psalms. By
the time it was over Lucilla's fit of temper hud past,
and she leant back in her chair. ' What are you
listening to, Lucy 1 ?' said Honor, seeing her fixed eye.
1 The river,' said Lucilla, pausing with a satisfied look
to attend to the deep, regular rush. ' I couldn't think
before what it was that always seemed to be wanting,
and now I know. It came to me when I went to bed ;
it was so nice 1'
126 HOPES AND FEARS.
1 The river voice ! Yes ; it must be one of your
oldest friends,' said Honora, gratified at the softening.
* So that carried you out.'
' I couldn't help it ! I went home/ said Lucilla.
I Home 1 To Wrapworth 1 All alone V cried Honor,
kindly, but aghast.
' I couldn't help it/ again said the girl. ' The river
noise was so like everything — and I knew the way —
and I felt as if I must go before any one was up.'
' So you really went, and what did you do f
I I got over the palings our own old way, and there's
my throne still in the back of the laurels, and I popped
in on old Madge, and oh ! she was so surprised ! And
then I came on Mr. Prendergast, and he walked all
the way back with me, till he saw Ratia coming, and
then he would not go on any farther.'
' "Well, my dear, I can't blame you this time. I am
hoping myself to go to Wrapworth with you and
Owen.'
1 Ratia is going to take me out riding and in the
boat,' said Lucy, without a direct answer.
1 You like your cousins better than you expected f
1 Bashe is famous/ was the answer, 'and so is Uncle
Kit;
' My dear, you noticed the mark on his hand/ said
Honora ; ' you do not know the cause V
' No ! Was it a shark or a mad dog Y eagerly asked
the child, slightly alarmed by her manner.
'Neither. But do not you remember his carrying
you into Woolstone Lane % I always believed you did
not know what your little teeth were doing.'
It was not received as Honora expected. Probably
the scenes of the girl's infancy had brought back asso-
ciations more strongly than she was prepared for — she
turned white, gasped, and vindictively said, ' I'm glad
of it.'
Honora, shocked, had not discovered a reply, when
Lucilla, somewhat confused at the sound of her own
words, said, ' I know — not quite that — he meant the
HOPES AND FEARS. 127
best — but, Cousin Honor, it was cruel, it was wicked,
to part my father and me ! Father — oh, the river is
going on still, but not my father !'
The excitable girl burst into a flood of passionate
tears, as though the death of her father were more
present to her than ever before j and she had never
truly missed him till she was brought in contact with
her old home. The fatigue and change, the talking
evening and restless night, had produced their effect ;
her very thoughtlessness and ordinary insouciance
rendered the rush more overwhelming when it did come,
and the weeping was almost hysterical.
It was not a propitious circumstance that Caroline
knocked at the door with some message as to the after-
noon's arrangements. Honor answered at haphazard,
standing so as to intercept the view, but aware that
the long-drawn sobs would be set down to the account
of her own tyranny, and nevertheless resolving the
more on enforcing the quiescence, the need of which
was so evident ; but the creature was volatile as well
as sensitive, and by the time the door was shut, stood
with heaving breast and undried tears, eagerly de-
manding whether her cousins wanted her.
' Not at all,' said Honora, somewhat annoyed at the
sudden transition ; ' it was only to ask if I would ride.'
' Charles was to bring the pony for me ; I must go,'
cried Lucy, with an eye like that of a greyhound in the,
leash.
' Not yet,' said Honor. 'My dear, you promised.'
' I'll never promise anything again,' was the pettish
murmur.
Poor child, these two morning hours were to her a
terrible penance, day after day. Practically, she might
have found them heavy had they been left to her own
disposal, but it was expecting overmuch from human
nature to hope that she would believe so without
experience, and her lessons were a daily irritation, an
l ^ 'parent act of tyranny, hardening her feelings against
the exactor, at the same time that the influence of
128 HOPES AND FEARS.
kindred blood drew her closer to her own family, with
a revulsion the stronger from her own former exagge-
rated dislike.
The nursery at Castle Blanch, and the cousins who
domineered over her as a plaything, had been intole-
rable to the little important companion of a grown
man, but it was far otherwise to emerge from the calm
seclusion and sober restraints of the Holt into the
gaieties of a large party, to be promoted to young
ladyhood, and treated on equal terms, save for extra
petting and attention. Instead of Robert Fulmort
alone, all the gentlemen in the house gave her flattering
notice — eye, ear, and helping hand at her disposal, and
blunt Uncle Kit himself was ten times more civil to her
than to either of her cousins. What was the use of
trying to disguise from her the witchery of her piquant
prettiness %
Her cousin Horatia had always had a great passion
for her as a beautiful little toy, and her affection, once
so trying to its object, had taken the far more agreeable
form of promoting her pleasures and sympathizing
with her vexations. Patronage from two-and-twenty
to fourteen, from a daughter of the house to a guest,
was too natural to offend, and Lucilla requited it with
vehement attachment, running after her at every
moment, confiding all her grievances, and being made
sensible of many more. Rati a, always devising de-
lights for her, took her on the river, rode with her, set
her dancing, opened the world to her, and enjoyed her
pleasures, amused by her precocious vivacity, fostering
her sauciness, extolling the wit of her audacious
speeches, and extremely resenting all poor Honora's
attempts to counteract this terrible spoiling, or to put
a check upon undesirable diversions and absolute pert-
ness. Every conscientious interference on her part was
regarded as duenna-like harshness, and her restrictions
as a grievous voke, and Lucilla made no secret that it
was so, treating her to almost unvaried ill-humour
and murmurs.
HOPES AND FEARS. 129
Little did Lucilla know, nor even Horatia, how
much of the charms that produced so much effect were
due to these very restraints, nor how the droll sauciness
and womanly airs were enhanced by the simplicity of
appearance, which embellished her far more than the
most fashionable air set off her companions. Once
Lucilla had overheard her aunt thus excusing her short
locks and simple dress — ' It is Miss Charlecote's doing.
Of course, when so much depends on her, we must
give way. Excellent person, rather peculiar, but we
are under great obligations to her. Very good property.'
No wonder that sojourn at Castle Blanch was one
of the most irksome periods of Honora's life, disap-
pointing, fretting, and tedious. There was a grievous
dearth of books and of reasonable conversation, and
both she and Owen were exceedingly at a loss for oc-
cupation, and used to sit in the boat on the river, and
heartily wish themselves at home. He had no com-
panion of his own age, and was just too young and too
enterprising to be welcome to gentlemen bent more on
amusing themselves than pleasing him. He was
roughly admonished when he spoilt sport or ran into
danger ; his cousin Charles was fitfully goodnatured,
but generally showed that he was in the way; his
uncle Kit was more brief and stern with him than
' Sweet Honey's' pupil could endure ; and Honor was
his only refuge. His dreariness was only complete
when the sedulous civilities of his aunt carried her
beyond his reach.
She could not attain a visit to Wrapworth till the
►Sunday. The carriage went in state to the parish
church in the morning, and the music and preaching
furnished subjects for persiflage at luncheon, to her
great discomfort, and the horror of Owen ; and she
thought she might venture to Wrapworth in the after-
noon. She had a longing for Owen's church, 'for auld
lang syne' — no more. Even his bark church in the
backwoods could not have rivalled Hiltonbury and the
brass.
VOL. i. K
130 HOPES AND FEARS.
Owen, true to his allegiance, joined her in good time,
but reported that his sister was gone on with Ratia.
Whereas Ratia would probably otherwise not have
gone to church at all, Honor was deprived of all satis-
faction in her annoyance, and the compensation of a
tete-a-tete with Owen over his father's memory was lost
by the unwelcome addition of Captain Charteris. The
loss signified the less as Owen's reminiscences were
never allowed to languish for want of being dug up
and revived, but she could not quite pardon the sailor
for the commonplace air his presence cast over the
walk.
The days were gone by when Mr. Sandbrook's pulpit
eloquence had rendered Wrapworth Church a Sunday
show to Castle Blanch. His successor was a cathedral
dignitary, so constantly absent that the former curate,
who had been continued on at Wrapworth, was, in the
eyes of every one, the veritable master. Poor Mr.
Prendergast — whatever were his qualifications as a
preacher — had always been regarded as a disappoint-
ment ; people had felt themselves defrauded when the
sermon fell to his share instead of that of Mr. Sand-
brook, and odious comparison had so much established
the opinion of his deficiencies, that Honora was not
surprised to see a large-limbed and rather quaint-looking
man appear in the desk, but the service was gone
through with striking reverence, and the sermon was
excellent, though homely and very plain-spoken.
The church had been cruelly mauled by churchwardens
of the last century, and a few Gothic decorations, in-
tended for the beginning of restoration, only made it
the more incongruous. The east window, of stained
glass, of a quality left far behind by the advances of
the last twenty years, bore an inscription showing that
it was a memorial, and there was a really handsome
font. Honor could trace the late rector's predilections
in a manner that carried her back twenty years, and
showed her, almost to her amusement, how her own
HOPES AXD FEARS. 131
notions and sympathies had been carried onwards with
the current of the world around her.
On coming out, she found that there might have been
more kindness in Captain Charteris than she had sus-
pected, for he kept Horatia near him, and waited for
the curate, so as to leave her at liberty and unobserved.
Her first object was that Owen should see his mother's
grave. It was beside the parsonage path, a flat stone,
fenced by a low iron border, enclosing likewise a small
flower-bed, weedy, ruinous, and forlorn. A floriated
cross, filled up with green lichen, was engraven above
the name.
Lucilla Horatia
beloved wife of the Reverend Owen Sandbrook
Rector of this parish
and only daughter
of Lieutenant-General Sir Christopher Charteris
She died November the 18th 1837
Aged 29 years.
Mary Caroline
her daughter
Born November nth 1837
Died April 14th 1838
I shall go to them, but they shall not return to me.
How like it was to poor Owen ! that necessity of
expression, and the visible presage of weakening health
so surely fulfilled ! And his Lucilla ! It was a
melancholy work to have brought home a missionary,
and secularized a parish priest ! ' Not a generous re-
flection,' thought Honora, ' at a rival's grave,' and she
turned to the boy, who had stooped to pull at some of
the bits of groundsel.
' Shall we come here in the early morning, and set it
to rights?'
'I forgot it was Sunday,' said Owen, hastily throwing
down the weed he had plucked up.
k2
132 HOPES AND FEARS.
' You were doing no harm, my dear ; but we will
not leave it in this state. Will you come with us,
Lucy?'
Lucilla had escaped, and was standing aloof at the
end of the path, and when her brother went towards
her, she turned away.
1 Come, Lucy,' he entreated, ' come into the garden
with us. We want you to tell us the old places.'
1 I'm not coming,' was all her answer, and she ran
back to the party who stood by the church door, and
began to chatter to Mr. Prendergast, over whom she
had domineered even before she could speak plain.
A silent, shy man, wrapped up in his duties, he was
mortally afraid of the Castle Blanch young ladies, and
stood ill at ease, talked down by Miss Horatia Char-
teris, bat his eye lighted into a smile as the fairy play-
thing of past years danced up to him, and began her
merry chatter, asking after every one in the parish,
and showing a perfect memory of names and faces
such as amazed him, in a child so young as she had
been at the time when she had left the parish.
Honora and Owen meantime were retracing recollec-
tions in the rectory garden, eking out the boy's four
years old memories with imaginations and moralizings,
pondering over the border whence Owen declared he
had gathered snowdrops for his mother's coffin ; and
the noble plane tree by the water-side, sacred to the
memory of Bible stories told by his father in the sum-
mer evenings —
I That tree ! ! ' laughed Lucilla, when he told her
that night as they walked upstairs to bed. ' Nobody
could sit there because of the mosquitoes. And I
should like to see the snowdrops you found in
November V
I I know there were some white flowers. Weije they
lilies of the valley for little Mary V
* It will do just as well,' said Lucilla. She knew
that she could bring either scene before her mind with
vivid distinctness, but shrinking from the pain almost
HOPES AND FEARS. 133
with horror, she only said, ' It's a pity you aren't a
Roman Catholic, Owen ; you would soon find a hole in
a rock, and say it was where a saint, with his head
under his arm, had made a footmark.'
* You are very irreverent, Lucy, and very cross be-
sides. If you would not come and tell us, what could
we do V
1 Let it alone.'
' If you don't care for dear papa and mamma, I do,'
said Owen, the tears coming into his eyes.
' I'm not going to rake it up to please Honora,' re-
turned his sister. ' If you like to go and poke with
her over places where things never happened, you
may, but she shan't meddle with my real things.'
1 You are very unkind,' was the next accusation
from Owen, much grieved and distressed, ' when she is
so good and dear, and was so fond of our dear father.'
' I know,' said Lucilla, in a tone he did not under-
stand ; then, with an air of eldership, ill-assorting with
their respective sizes, ' You are a mere child. It is all
very well for you, and you are very welcome to your
Sweet Honey.'
Owen insisted on hearing her meaning, and on her
refusal to explain, used his superior strength to put her
to sufficient torture to elicit an answer. ' Don't, Owen !
Let go ! There, then ! Why, she was in love with our
father, and nearly died of it when he married ; and
Rashe says of course she bullies me for being like my
mother.'
' She never bullies you,' cried Owen, indignantly ;
* she's much kinder to you than you deserve, and I hate
Ratia for putting it into your head, and teaching you
such nasty man's words about my own Honor.'
'Ah! you'll never be a man while you are under
her. She only wants to keep us a couple of babies for
ever — sending us to bed, and making such a figure of
me;' and Lucy relieved her feelings by five perpen-
dicular leaps into the air, like an Indianrubbcr ball, her
hair Hying out, and her eyes flashing.
134 HOPES AND FEARS.
Owen was not much astonished, for Lucy's furies
often worked off in this fashion ; but he was very angry
on Honor's account, loving her thoroughly, and per-
ceiving no offence in her affection for his father ; and
the conversation assumed a highly quarrelsome cha-
racter. It was much to the credit of masculine dis-
cretion that he refrained from reporting it when he
joined Honora in the morning's walk to Wrapworth
churchyard. Behold ! some one was beforehand with
them — even Lucilla and the curate !
The wearisome visit was drawing to a close when
Captain Charteris began — ' Well, Miss Charlecote, have
you thought over my proposal V
1 To take Owen to sea '? Indeed, I hoped you were
convinced that it would never answer.'
' So far from being so, that I see it is his best chance.
He will do no good till the priggishness is knocked
out of him.'
Honor would not trust herself to answer. Any
accusation but this might have been borne.
1 Well, well,' said the Captain, in a tone still more
provoking, it was so like hushing a petulant child, ' we
know how kind you were, and that you meant every-
thing good ; but it is not in the nature of things that
a lad alone with women should not be cock of the
walk, and nothing cures that like a month on board.'
1 He will go to school,' said Honor, convinced all
this was prejudice.
1 Ay, and come home in the holidays, lording it as
if he were master and more, like the son and heir.'
1 Indeed, Captain Charteris, you are quite mistaken ;
I have never allowed Owen to think himself in that
position. He knows perfectly well that there are
nearer claims upon me, and that Hiltonbury can never
belong to him. I have always rejoiced that it should
be so. I should not like to have the least suspicion
that there could be self-interest in his affection for me
in the time to come ; and I think it presumptuous to-
HOPES AND FEARS. 135
interfere with the course of Providence in the matter
of inheritances.'
I My good Miss Charlecote,' said the Captain, who
had looked at her with somewhat of a pitying smile,
instead of attending to her last words, ' do you imagine
that you know that boy V
I I do not know who else should,' she answered,
quivering between a disposition to tears at the harsh-
ness, and to laughter at the assumption of the stranger
uncle to see farther than herself into her darling.
'Ha?' quoth the sailor, 'slippery — slippery fellows.'
1 1 do not understand you. You do not mean to
imply that I have not his perfect confidence, or do you
think I have managed him wrongly 1 If you do, pray
tell me at once. I dare say I have.'
1 1 couldn't say so,' said Captain Charteris. ' You
are an excellent good woman, Miss Charlecote, and the
best friend the poor things have had in the world ; and
you have taught them more good than I could, I'm
sure ; but I never yet saw a woman who could be up
to a boy, any more than she could sail a ship.'
1 Very likely not,' said Honor, with a lame attempt
at a good-humoured laugh ; ' but I should be very glad
to know whether you are speaking from general expe-
rience of woman and boy, or from individual observa-
tion of the case in point.'
The Captain made a very odd, incomprehensible
little bow j and after a moment's thought, said,
1 Plainly speaking, then, I don't think you do get to
the bottom of that lad ; but there's no telling, and I
never had any turn for those smooth chaps. If a fellow
begins by being over-precise in what is of no conse-
quence, ten to one but he ends by being reckless in all
the rest.'
This last speech entirely reassured Honor, by proving
to her that the Captain was entirely actuated by pre-
judice against his nephew's gentle and courteous man-
ners and her own religious views. He did not believe
136 HOPES AND FEARS.
in the possibility of the success of such an education,
and therefore was of course insensible to Owen's mani-
fold excellences.
Thenceforth she indignantly avoided the subject, and
made no attempt to discover whether the Captain's eye,
practised in midshipmen, had made any positive obser-
vations on which to found his dissatisfaction. Wounded
by his want of gratitude, and still more hurt by his
unkind judgment of her beloved pupil, she transferred
her consultations to the more deferential uncle, who was
entirely contented with his nephew, transported with
admiration of her management, and ready to make her
a present of him with all his heart. So readily did he
accede to all that she said of schools, that the choice
was virtually left to her. Eton was rejected as a fitter
preparation for the squirearchy than the ministry ;
Winchester on account of the distaste between Owen
and young Fulmort ; and her decision was fixed in
favour of Westminster, partly for his father's sake,
partly on account of the proximity of St. Wulstan's —
such an infinite advantage, as Mr. Charteris observed.
The sailor declared that he knew nothing of schools,
and would take no part in the discussion. There had,
in truth, been high words between the brothers, each
accusing the other of going the way to ruin their
nephew, ending by the Captain's exclaiming, ' Well, I
wash my hands of it ! I can't flatter a foolish woman
into spoiling poor Lucilla's son. If I am not to do
what I think right by him, I shall get out of sight of
it all.'
1 His prospects, Kit ; how often I have told you it is
our duty to consider his prospects.'
1 Hang his prospects ! A handsome heiress under
forty ! How can you be such an ass, Charles ? He
ought to be able to make an independent fortune before
he could stand in her shoes, if he were ever to do so,
which she declares he never will. Yes, you may look
knowing if you will, but she is no such fool in some
things j and depend upon it she will make a principle
HOPES AND FEARS. 137
of leaving her property in the right channel ; and be
that as it may, I warn you that you can't do this lad a
worse mischief than by putting any such notion into
his head, if it be not there already. There's not a more
deplorable condition in the world than to be always
dangling after an estate, never knowing if it be to be
your own or not, and most likely to be disappointed at
last j and, to do Miss Charlecote justice, she is perfectly
aware of that ; and it will not be her fault if he have
any false expectations ! So, if you feed him with them,
it will all be your fault ; and that's the last I mean to
say about him.'
Captain Charteris was not aware of a colloquy in
which Owen had a share.
' This lucky fellow,' said the young Lifeguardsmau,
'he is as good as an eldest son — famous shooting
county — capital, well- timbered estate.'
' No, Charles,' said Owen, ' my cousin Honor always
says I am nothing like an eldest son, for there are
nearer relations.'
1 ha !' said Charles, with a wink of superior wisdom,
'we understand that. She knows how to keep you on
your good behaviour. Why, but for cutting you out,
I would even make up to her myself — line-looking,
comely woman, and well preserved — and only the
women quarrel with that splendid hair. Never mind,
my boy, I don't mean it. I wouldn't stand in your
light;
' As if Honor would have you /' cried Owen, in fierce
scorn.
Charles Charteris and his companions, with loud
laughter, insisted on the reasons.
'Because,' cried the boy, with flashing looks, 'she
would not be ridiculous; and you are — ' He paused,
but they held him fast, and insisted on hearing what
Charles was.
'Not a good Churchman,' he finally pronounced.
1 Yes, you may laugh at me, but Honor shan't be
laughed at.'
138 HOPES AND FEARS.
Possibly Owen's views at present were that ' not to
be a good Churchman' was synonymous with all ima-
ginable evil, and that he had put it in a delicate
manner. Whether he heard the last of it for the
rest of his visit may be imagined. And, poor boy,
though he was strong and spirited enough with his
own contemporaries, there was no dealing with the
full-fledged soldier. Nor, when conversation turned
to what ' we ' did at Hiltonbury, was it possible always
to disclaim standing in the same relation to the Holt
as did Charles to Castle Blanch ; nay, a certain im-
portance seemed to attach to such an assumption of
dignity, of which Owen was not loth to avail himself
in his disregarded condition.
PART II.
CHAPTER I.
"We hold our greyhound in our hand,
Our falcon on our glove ;
But where shall we find leash or band
For dame that loves to rove ?
Scott.
JUNE evening shed a slanting light
over the greensward of Hiltonbury
Holt, and made the western windows
glisten like diamonds, as Honora Charle-
cote slowly walked homewards to her
solitary evening meal, alone, except for
the nearly blind old pointer who laid
his grizzled muzzle upon her knees, gazing wistfully
into her face, as seating herself upon the step of the
sun-dial, she fondled his smooth, depressed black
head.
1 Poor Ponto !' she said, * we are grown old together.
Our young ones are all gone P
Grown old ? Less old in proportion than Ponto —
still in full vigour of mind and body, but old in dis-
enchantment, and not without the traces of her forty-
seven years. The auburn hair was still in rich masses
of curl ; only on close inspection were silver threads
to be detected ; the cheek was paler, the brow worn,
and the gravely handsome dress was chosen to suit
140 HOPES AND FEARS.
the representative of the Charlecotes, not with regard
to lingering youthfulness. The slow movement, sub-
dued tone, and downcast eye, had an air of habitual
dejection and patience, as though disappointment had
gone deeper, or solitude were telling more on the
spirits, than any past blow had done.
She saw the preparations for her tea going on within
the window, but ere going indoors, she took out and
re-read two letters.
The first was in the irregular decided characters
affected by young ladies in the reaction from their
grandmothers' pointed illegibilities, and bore a scroll
at the top, with the word ' Cilly,' in old English
letters of bright blue.
'Lowndes Square, June 14th.
1 My Dear Honor, — Many thanks for wishing for
your will-o'-th'-wisp again, but it is going to dance off in
another direction. Rashe and I are bound to the west
of Ireland, as soon as Charles's inauguration is over at
Castle Blanch ; an odd jumble of festivities it is to be,
but Lolly is just cockney enough to be determinedly
rural, and there's sure to be some fun to be got out of
it ; besides, I am pacified by having my special darling,
Edna Murrell, the lovely schoolmistress at Wrapworth,
to sing to them. How Mr. Calthorpe will admire her,
as long as he thinks she is Italian ! It will be hard
if I can't get a rise out of some of them ! This being
the case, I have not a moment for coming home ; but I
send some contributions for the prize-giving, some
stunning articles from the Lowther Arcade. The
gutta-percha face is for Billy Harrison, ichether in dis-
grace or not. He deserves compensation for his many
weary hours of Sunday School, and it may suggest a
new art for beguiling the time. Mind you tell him it
is from me, with my love ; and bestow the rest on all
the chief reprobates. I wish I could see them ; but
you have no loss, you know how unedifying I am.
Kiss Ponto for me, and ask Robin for his commands
HOPES AND FEARS. 141
to Connaught. I know his sulkiness will transpire
through Phoebe. Love to that dear little Cinderella,
and tell her mamma and Juliana, that if she does not
come out this winter, Mrs. Fulmort shall have no peace
and Juliana no partners. Please to look in my room for
my great nailed boots and hedging-gloves, also for the
pig's wool in the left-hand drawer of the cabinet, and
send them to me before the end of next week. Owen
would give his ears to come with us, but gentlemen
would only obstruct Irish chivalry ; I am only afraid
there is no hope of a faction fight. Mr. Saville called
yesterday, so I made him dine here, and sung him into
raptures. What a dear old Don he is !
'Your affectionate cousin, Cilly.'
The second letter stood thus : —
1 Farrance's Hotel, June 14th.
' My Dear Miss Charlecote, — I have seen Law-
rence on your business, and he will j)repare the leases
for your signature. He suggests that it might be
more satisfactory to wait, in case you should be coming
to town, so that you might have a personal meeting
with the parties ; but this will be for you to deter-
mine. I came up from College on Wednesday,
having much enjoyed my visit. Oxford is in many
respects a changed place, but as long as our old Head
remains to us, I am sure of a gratifying welcome, and
I saw many old friends. I exchanged cards with
Owen Sandbrook, but only saw him as we met in the
street, and a very fine-looking youth he is, a perfect
Hercules, and the champion of his college in all feats
of strength; likely, too, to stand well in the class list.
His costume was not what we should once have con-
sidered academical; but his is a daring set, intellectual
as well as bodily, and the clever young men of the
present day are not what they were in my time. It
is gratifying to hear how warmly and affectionately
he talks of you. I do not know how far you have
142 HOPES AND FEARS.
undertaken the supplies, but I give you a hint that a
warning on that subject might not be inappropriate,
unless they have come into some great accession of
fortune on their uncle's death. I ventured to call
upon the young lady in Lowndes Square, and was most
graciously received, and asked to dinner by the young
Mrs. Charteris. It was a most recherche dinner in the
new Italian fashion, which does not quite approve
itself to me. " Regardless of expense," seems to be
the family motto. Your pupil sings better than ever,
and knew how to keep her hold of my heart, though
I suspected her of patronizing the old parson to pique
her more brilliant admirers, whom she possesses in
plenty ; and no wonder, for she is pretty enough to
turn any man's head \ and shows to great advantage
beside her cousin, Miss Charteris. I hope you will be
able to prevent the cousins from really undertaking
the wild plan of travelling alone in Ireland, for the
sake, they say, of salmon-fishing. I should have
thought them not in earnest, but girls are as much
altered as boys from the days of my experience, and
brothers, too ; for Mr. Charteris seemed to view the
scheme very coolly ; but, as I told my friend Lucilla, I
hope you will bring her to reason. I hope your hay-
crop promises favourably.
' Yours sincerely, W. Saville.'
No wonder that these letters made loneliness more
lonely !
• Oh, that Horatia !' exclaimed she, almost aloud.
1 Oh, that Captain Charteris were available ! 3STo one
else ever had any real power with Lucy ! It was an
unlucky day when he saw that colonial young lady,
and settled down in Vancouver's Island ! And yet
how I used to wish him away, with the surly inde-
pendence he was always infusing into Owen. Want-
ing to take him out there, indeed ! And yet, and yet
— I sometimes doubt whether I did right to set my
personal influence over my dear affectionate boy so
HOPES AND FEARS. 143
much hi opposition to his uncle — Mr. Charteris was on
my side, though ! And I always took care to have it
clearly understood that it was his education alone that
I undertook. What can Mr. Saville mean 1 — The
supplies 1 Owen knows what he has to trust to, but
I can talk to him. A daring set 1 — Yes, everything
appears daring to an old-world man like Mr. Saville.
I am sure of my Owen ; with our happy home Sun-
days. I know I am his Sweet Honey still. And yet '
— then hastily turning from that dubious ' and yet' —
1 Owen is the only chance for his sister. She does
care for him ; and he will view this mad scheme in
the right light. Shall I meet him at the beginning
of the vacation, and see what he can do with Lucy 1
Mr. Saville thinks I ought to be in London, and I
think I might be useful to the Parsonses. I suppose
I must ; but it is a heart-ache to be at St. Wulstan's.
One is used to it here ; and there are the poor people,
and the farm, and the garden — yes, and those dear
nightingales — and you, poor Ponto ! One is used to
it here, but St. Wulstan's is a fresh pain, and so is
coming back. But, if it be in the way of right, and
to save poor Lucy, it must be, and it is what life is
made of. It is a ' following of the funeral ' of the
hopes that sprang up after my spring-time. Is it my
chastisement, or is it my training ? Alas ! maybe I
took those children more for myself than for duty's
sake ! May it all be for their true good in the end,
whatever it may be with me. And now I will not
dream. It is of no use save to unnerve me. Let me
go to my book. It must be a story to-night. I can-
not fix my attention yet.'
As she rose, however, her face brightened at the
sight of two advancing figures, and she went forward
to meet them.
One was a long, loosely -limbed youth of two-and-
twenty, with broad shoulders, a heavy overhanging
brow, dark grey serious eyes, and a mouth scarcely
curved, and so fast shut as to disclose hardly any lip.
144 HOPES AND FEARS.
The hair was dark and lank j the air was of ungainly
force, that had not yet found its purpose, and therefore
was not at ease ; and, but for the educated cast of coun-
tenance, he would have had a peasant look, in the brown,
homely undress garb, which to most youths of his age
would have been becoming.
With him was a girl, tall, slim, and lightly made,
though of nicely rounded figure. In height she looked
like seventeen, but her dress was more childish than
usual at that age; and the contour of her smooth
cheeks and short rounded chin, her long neck, her
happy blue eyes, fully opened like those of a child ;
her fair rosy skin and fresh simple air, might almost
have belonged to seven years old ; and there was all
the earnestness, innocence, and careless ease of child-
hood in her movements and gestures, as she sprang
forward to meet Miss Charlecote, exclaiming, ' Robin
said I might come.'
I And very right of him. You are both come to
tea?' she added, in affirmative interrogation, as she
shook hands with the young man.
' No, thank you,' he answered ; ' at least I only
brought Phcebe, having rescued her from Miss Fenni-
more's clutches. I must be at dinner. But I will
come again for her.' And he yawned wearily.
I I will drive her back ; you are tired.'
'No !' he said. ' At least the walk is one of the
few tolerable things there is. I'll come as soon as I
can escape, Phcebe. Past seven — I must go !'
1 Can't you stay ? I could find some food for you.'
1 No, thank you,' he still said ; ' I do not know
whether Mervyn will come home, and there must not
be too many empty chairs. Good-bye ! ' and he
walked off with long strides, but with stooping
shoulders, and an air of dejection almost amounting
to discontent.
1 Poor Robin ! ' said Honora, * I wish he coidd have
stayed.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 145
■ He would have liked it very much,' said Phoebe,
casting wistful glances toward him.
' What a pity he did not give notice of his intentions
at home ! '
• He never will. He particularly dislikes '
1 What ? ' as Phoebe paused and coloured.
I Saying anything to anybody,' she answered, with
a little smile. ' He cannot endure remarks.'
I I am a very sober old body for a visit to me to be
the occasion of remarks ! ' said Honor, laughing more
merrily than perhaps Robert himself could have done ;
but Phoebe answered with grave, straightforward sin-
cerity, ' Yes, but he did not know if Lucy might not
be come home.'
Honora sighed, but playfully said, ' In which case
he would have stayed ? '
1 No,' said the still grave girl, ' he would have been
still less likely to do so.'
' Ah ! the remarks would have been more pointed !
But he has brought you at any rate, and that is some-
thing ! How did he achieve it % '
' Miss Fennimore is really quite ready to be kind,'
said Phoebe, earnestly, with an air of defence, ' when-
ever we have finished all that we have to do.'
1 And when is that ? ' asked Honor, smiling.
1 Now, for once,' answered Phoebe, with a bright
arch look. ' Yes, I sometimes can j and so does Bertha
when she tries ; and, indeed, Miss Charlecote, I do
like Miss Fennimore ; she never is hard upon poor
Maria. No governess we ever had made her cry so
seldom.'
Miss Charlecote only said it was a comfort. Within
herself she hoped that, for Maria's peace and that of all
concerned, her deficiency might become an acknow-
ledged fact. She saw that the sparing Marias tears
was such a boon to Phoebe as to make her forgive all
overtasking of herself.
1 So you get on better,' she said.
1 Much better than Robin chooses to believe we do,'
VOL. I. L
146 HOPES AND FEARS.
said Phoebe, smiling ; ' perhaps it seemed hard at first,
but it is comfortable to be made to do everything
thoroughly, and to be shown a better best than we had
ever thought of. I think it ought to be a help in
doing the duty of all one's life in a thorough way.'
1 All that thou hast to do,' said Honor, smiling,
1 the weekday side of the fourth commandment.'
1 Yes, that is just the reason why I like it,' said
Phcebe, with bright gladness in her countenance.
' But is that the motive Miss Fennimore puts before
you ? ' said Honor, a little ironically.
1 She does not say so,' answered Phcebe. ' She says
that she never interferes with her pupils' religious
tenets. But, indeed, I do not think she teaches us
anything wrong, and there is always Robert to ask.'
This passed as the two ladies were entering the
house and preparing for the evening meal. The table
was placed in the bay of the open window, and looked
very inviting, the little silver tea-pot steaming beside
the two quaint china cups, the small crisp twists of
bread, the butter cool in ice-plant leaves, and some
fresh fruit blushing in a pretty basket. The Holt was
a region of Paradise to Phoebe Fulmort ; and glee
shone upon her sweet face, though it was very quiet
enjoyment, as the summer breeze played softly round
her cheeks, and danced with a merry little spiral that
had detached itself from her glossy folds of light hair.
1 How delicious ! ' she said. l How sweet the honey-
suckle is, dear old thing ! You say you have known
it all your life, and yet it is fresh as ever.'
' It is a little like you, Phoebe,' said Honor, smiling.
* What ! because it is not exactly a pretty flower?
1 Partly ; and I could tell you of a few other like-
nesses, such as your being Robert's woodbine, yet with
a sort of clinging freedom. Yes, and for the qualities
you share with the willow, ready to give thanks and
live on the least that Heaven may give.'
1 But I don't live on the least that Heaven may
give/ said Phcebe, in such wonder that Honor smiled at
HOPES AND FEARS. 147
the justice of her simile, without impressing it upon
Phcebe, only asking —
'Is the French journey fixed upon, Phcebe V
1 Yes ; they start this day fortnight.'
< They— not you ? '
' No ; there would be no room for me,' with a small
sigh.
' How can that be ? Who is going % Papa, mamma,
two sisters % '
' Mervyn,' added Phcebe, ' the courier, and the two
maids.'
' Two maids ! Impossible ! '
I It is always uncomfortable if mamma and my
sisters have only one between them,' said Phcebe, in
her tone of perfect acquiescence and conviction ; and
as her friend could not restrain a gesture of indigna-
tion, she added eagerly — ' But, indeed, it is not only
for that reason, but Miss Fennimore says I am not
formed enough to profit by foreign travel.'
* She wants you to finish Smith's Wealth of
Nations, eh 1 '
' It might be a pity to go away and lose so much
of her teaching,' said Phcebe, with persevering con-
tentment. I dare say they will go abroad again,
and perhaps I shall never have so much time for
learning. But, Miss Charlecote, is Lucilla coming
home for the Horticultural Show ? '
I I am afraid not, my dear. I think I shall go
to London to see about her, among other things. The
Charterises seem to have quite taken possession of her,
ever since she went to be her cousin Caroline's brides-
maid, and I must try to put in my claim.'
1 Ah ! Robin so much wished to have seen her/
sighed Phcebe. 'He says he cannot settle to any-
thing.'
1 Without seeing her ? ' said Honor, amused, though
not without pain.
1 Yes,' said Phcebe ; ' he has thought so much about
Lucilla.'
l2
148 .HOPES AND FEARS.
' And he tells you 1 '
1 Yes,' in a voice expressing of course ; while the
frank, clear eyes turned full on Miss Oharlecote with
such honest seriousness, that she thought Phoebe's
charm as a confidante might be this absence of
romantic consciousness ; and she knew of old that
when Robert wanted her opinion or counsel, he spared
his own embarrassment by seeking it through his
favourite sister. Miss Charlecote's influence had done
as much for Robert, as he had done for Phoebe, and
Phoebe had become his medium of communication
with her in all matters of near and delicate interest.
She was not surprised when the maiden proceeded —
' Papa wants Robin to attend to the office while he
is away.'
1 Indeed ! Does Robin like it 1 '
1 He would not mind it for a time ; but papa wants
him, besides, to take to the business in earnest. You
know, my great-uncle, Robert Mervyn, left Robert all
his fortune, quite in his own hands ; and papa says
that if he were to put that into the distillery it would
do the business great good, and that Robert would be
one of the richest men in England in ten years' time.'
' But that would be a complete change in his views,'
exclaimed Honor, unable to conceal her disapproval
and consternation.
' Just so/ answered Phoebe ; ' and that is the reason
why he wants to see Lucy. She always declared that
she could not bear people in business, and we always
thought of him as likely to be a clergyman ; but, on
• the other hand, she has become used to London society,
and it is only by his joining in the distillery that he
could give her what she is accustomed to, and that is
.the reason he is anxious to see her.'
' So Lucy is to decide his fate/ said Honora. ' I am
almost sorry to hear it. Surely, he has never spoken
to her.'
( He never does speak/ said Phoebe, with the calm
gravity of simplicity which was like a halo of dignity.
HOPES AND FEARS. 140
' There is no need of speaking. Lucilla knows how he
feels as well as she knows that she breathes the air.'
And regards it as little, perhaps, thought Honor,
sadly. ' Poor Robin ! ' she said ; ' I suppose he had
better get his mind settled : but indeed it is a fearful
responsibility for my poor foolish Lucy — ' and but for
the fear of grieving Phcebe, she would have added,
that such a purpose as that of entering Holy Orders
ought not to have been made dependent upon the fancy
of a girl. Possibly her expression betrayed her senti-
ments, for Phcebe answered—' There can be no doubt
that Lucy will set him at rest. I am certain that she
would be shocked at the notion that her tastes were
making him doubt whether to be a clergyman.'
' I hope so ! I trust so ! ' said Honora, almost
mournfully. ' It may be very good for her, as I
believe it is for every woman of any soundness, to be
taught that her follies tell upon man's greater aims
and purposes. It may be wholesome for her and a
check, but '
Phcebe wondered that her friend paused and looked
so sad.
1 Oh! Phcebe,' said Honora, after a moment's silence,
speaking fervently, 'if you can in any way do so,
warn your brother against making an idol ! Let
nothing come between him and the direct devotion of
will and affection to the Higher Service. If he decide
on the one or the other, let it be from duty, not with
test to anything else. I do not suppose it is of any
use to warn him,' she added, with the tears in her eyes.
1 Every one sets the whole soul upon some one object,
not the right, and then comes the shipwreck.'
' Dear Robin ! ' said Phoebe. ' He is so good ! I
am sure he always thinks first of what is right. But
I think I see what you mean. If he undertake
the business, it should be as a matter of obedience to
papa, not to keep Lucy in the great world. And,
indeed, I do not think my father does care much, only
he would like the additional capital ; and Robert is so
150 HOPES AND FEARS.
much more steady than Mervyn, that lie would be
more useful. Perhaps it would make him more im-
portant at home ; no one there has any interest in
common with him ; and I think that moves him a
little ; but, after all, those do not seem reasons for not
giving himself to God's service," she finished, reverently
and considerately.
1 No, indeed ! ' cried Miss Charlecote.
'Then you think he ought not to change his mind?'
I You have thought so all along,' smiled Honor.
<I did not like it,' said Phoebe, ' but I did not
know if I were right. I did tell him that I really
believed Lucy would think the more highly of him if
he settled for himself without reference to her.'
' You did ! You were a capital little adviser,
Phoebe ! A woman worthy to be loved at all had
always rather be set second instead of first : —
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honour more.
That is the true spirit, and I am glad you judged Lucy
to be capable of it. Keep your brother up to that,
and all may be well !'
I I believe Hobert knows it all the time,' said Phoebe.
' He always is right at the bottom ; but his feelings get
so much tried that he does not know how to bear it !
I hope Lucy will be kind to him if they meet in
London, for he has been so much harassed that he
wants some comfort from her. If she would only be
in earnest ! '
' Does he go to London, at all events V
f He has promised to attend to the office in Great
Whit ting ton-street for a month, by way of experi-
ment.'
' I'll tell you what, Phoebe,' cried Honora, radiantly,
' you and I will go too ! You shall come with me to
Woolstone-lane, and Pobin shall be with us every day ;
and we will try and make this silly Lucy into a ra-
tional being.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 151
e Oh ! Miss Charlecote, thank you — thank you.' The
quiet girl's face and neck were all one crimson glow of
delight.
* If you can sleep in a little brown cupboard of a
room in the very core of the City's heart.'
1 Delightful ! I have so wished to see that house.
Owen has told me such things about it. Oh, thank
you, Miss Charlecote !'
1 Have you ever seen anything in London V
' Never. We hardly ever go with the rest ; and if
we do, we only walk in the square. What a holiday it
will be !'
* We will see everything, and do it justice. I'll get
an order for the print -room at the British Museum.
I dare say Robin never saw it either ; and what a
treat it will be to take you to the Egyptian Gallery 1'
cried Honora, excited into looking at the expedition
in the light of a party of pleasure, as she saw happiness
beaming in the young face opposite.
They built up their schemes in the open window,
pausing to listen to the nightingales, who, having
ceased for two hours, apparently for supper, were now
in full song, echoing each other in all the woods of
Hiltonbury, casting over it a network of sweet melody.
Honora was inclined to regret leaving them in their
glory j but Phoebe, with the world before her, was too
honest to profess poetry which she did not feel.
Nightingales were all very well in their place, but the
first real sight of London was more.
The lamp came in, and Phcebe held out her hands
for something to do, and was instantly provided with
a child's frock, while Miss Charlecote read to her one
of Fouques shorter tales by way of supplying the
element of chivalrous imagination which was wanting
in the Beauchamp system of education.
So warm was the evening, that the window remained
open, until Ponto erected his crest as a footfall came
steadily along, nearer and nearer. Uplifting one of
his pendant lips, he gave a low growl through his
152 HOPES AND FEARS.
blunted teeth, and listened again ; but apparently
satisfied that the step was familiar, he replaced his
head on hiscrossed paws,and presently Robert Fulmort's
head and the upper part of his person, in correct
evening costume, were thrust in at the window, the
moonlight making his face look very white, as he said,
' Come, Phcebe, make haste ; it is very late.'
1 Is it V cried Phcebe, springing up ; 'I thought I
had only been here an hour.'
1 Three, at least,' said Robert, yawning ; ' six by
my feelings. I could not get away, for Mr. Crabbe
stayed to dinner ; Mervyn absented himself, and my
father went to sleep.'
1 Robin, only think, Miss Charlecote is so kind as to
say she will take me to London !'
' It is very kind,' said Robert, warmly, his weary
face and voice suddenly relieved.
' I shall be delighted to have a companion,' said
Honora ; 'and I reckon upon you, too, Robin, when-
ever you can spare time from your work. Come in,
and let us talk it over.'
' Thank you, I can't. The dragon will fall on Phcebe
if I keep her out too late. Be quick, Phcebe.'
While his sister went to fetch her hat, he put his
elbows on the sill, and leaning into the room, said,
1 Thank you again ; it will be a wonderful treat to
her, and she has never had one in her life !'
' I was in hopes she would have gone to Germany.'
' It is perfectly abominable ! It is all the others'
doing ! They know no one would look at them a
secoDd time if anything so much younger and pleasanter
was by ! They think her coming out would make
them look older. I know it would make them look
crosser.'
Laughing was the only way to treat this tirade,
knowing, as Honor did, that there was but too much
truth in it. She said, however, ' Yet one could hardly
wish Phcebe other than she is. The rosebud keeps its
charm longer in the shade.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 153
' 1 like justice/ quoth Robert.
1 And,' she continued, ' I really think that she is
much benefited by this formidable governess. Accuracy
and solidity and clearness of head are worth culti-
vating.'
* Nasty latitudinarian piece of machinery,' said
Robert, with his fingers over his mouth, like a sulky
child.
1 May be so ; but you guard Phoebe, and she guards
Eertha ; and whatever your sense of injustice may be,
this surely is a better school for her than gaieties as yet.'
1 It will be a more intolerable shame than ever if
they will not let her go with you.'
' Too intolerable to be expected,' smiled Honora.
1 1 shall come and beg for her to-morrow, and I do not
believe I shall be disappointed.'
She spoke with the security of one not in the habit
of having her patronage obstructed by relations ; and
Phcebe coming down with renewed thanks, the brother
and sister started on their way home in the moonlight —
the one plodding on moodily, the other unable to re-
press her glee, bounding on in a succession of little
skips, and pirouetting round to clap her hands, and
exclaim, 'Oh ! Robin, is it not delightful ¥
' If they will let you go,' said he, too desponding for
hope.
' Do you think they will not f said Phoebe, with
slower and graver steps. ' Do you really think so ?
But, no ! It can't lead to coming out ; and I know
they like me to be happy when it interferes with
nobody.'
'Great generosity,' said Robert, drily.
1 Oh, but Robin, you know elder ones come first.'
1 A truth we are not likely to forget,' said Robert.
' I wish my uncle had been sensible of it. That legacy
of his stands between Mervyn and me, and will never
do me any good.'
'I don't understand,' said Phcebe; 'Mervyn has
always been completely the eldest son.'
154 HOPES AND FEARS.
* Ay,' returned Robert, ' and with the tastes of an
eldest son. His allowance does not suffice for them,
and he does not like to see me independent. If my
uncle had only been contented to let us share and share
alike, then my father would have had no interest in
drawing me into the precious gin and brandy manu-
facture.'
1 You did not think he meant to make it a matter of
obedience,' said Phoebe.
' No ; he could hardly do that after the way he has
brought me up, and what we have been taught all our
lives about liberty of the individual, absence of control,
and the like jargon.'
1 Then you are not obliged V
He made no answer, and they walked on in silence
across the silvery lawn, the maythoms shining out like
flaked towers of snow in the moonlight, and casting
abyss-like shadows, the sky of the most deep and in-
tense blue, and the carols of the nightingales ringing
around them. Robert paused when he had passed
through the gate leading into the dark path down hill
through the wood, and setting his elbows on it, leant
over it, and looked back at the still and beautiful scene,
in all the white mystery of moonlight, enhanced by
the white-blossomed trees and the soft outlines of
slumbering sheep. One of the birds, in a bush close to
them, began prolonging its drawn-in notes in a con-
tinuous prelude, then breaking forth into a varied
complex warbling, so wondrous that there was no
moving till the creature paused.
It seemed to have been a song of peace to Robert,
for he gave a long but much softer sigh, and pushed
back his hat, saying, ' All good things dwell on the
Holt side of the boundary.'
* A sort of Sunday world,' said Phoebe.
* Yes ; after this wood one is in another atmo-
sphere.'
* Yet you have carried your cares there, poor Robin.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 155
* So one does into Sunday, but to get another light
thrown on them. The Holt has been the blessing of
my life — of both our lives, Phcebe.'
She responded with all her heart. 'Yes, it has
made everything happier, at home and everywhere else.
I never can think why Lucilla is not more fond of it.'
1 You are mistaken,' exclaimed Robert ; ' she loves
no place so well ; but you don't consider what claims
her relations have upon her. That cousin Horatia, to
whom she is so much attached, losing both her parents,
how could she do otherwise than be with her V
1 Miss Charteris does not seem to be in great trouble
now,' said Phcebe.
< You do not consider ; you have never seen grief,
and you do not know how much more a sympathizing
friend is needed when the world supposes the sorrow
to be over, and ordinary habits to be resumed.'
Phoebe was willing to believe him right, though
considering that Horatia Charteris lived with her
brother and his wife, she could hardly be as lonely as
Miss Charlecote.
1 We shall see Lucy in London,' she said.
Robert again sighed heavily. ' Then it will be over,'
he said. ' Did you say anything there F he pursued,
as they plunged into the dark shadows of the woodland
path, more congenial to the subject than the light.
1 Yes, I did,' said Phcebe.
1 And she thought me a weak, unworthy wretch
for ever dreaming of swerving from my original path.'
1 No !' said Phcebe, ' not if it were your duty.'
1 I tell you, Phcebe, it is as much my duty to con-
sult Lucilla's happiness as if any words had passed
between us. I have never pledged myself to take
Orders. It has been only a wish, not a vocation j and
if she have become averse to the prospect of a quiet
country life, it would not be treating her fairly not to
give her the choice of comparative wealth, though
procured by means her family might despise.'
156 HOPES AND FEARS.
' Yes, I knew you would put right and duty first ;
and I suppose by doing so you make it certain to end
rightly, one way or other.'
'A very few years, and I could realize as much as
this Calthorpe, the millionaire, whom they talk, of as
being so often at the Charterises.'
' It will not be so,' said Phoebe. ' I know what she
will say ;' and as Robert looked anxiously at her, she
continued —
' She will say she never dreamt of your being turned
from anything so great by any fancies she has seemed to
have. She will say so more strongly, for you know
her father was a clergyman, and Miss Charlecote
brought her up.'
Phoebe's certainty made Robert catch something of
her hopes.
1 In that case,' he said, ' matters might be soon
settled. This fortune of mine would be no misfortune
then ; and probably, Phcebe, my sisters would have no
objection to your being happy with us.'
1 As soon as you could get a curacy ! Oh, how de-
lightful ! and Maria and Bertha would come too.'
Robert held his peace, not certain whether Lucilla
would consider Maria an embellishment to his ideal
parsonage ; but they talked on with cheerful schemes
while descending through the wood, unlocking a gate
that formed the boundary between the Holt and the
Beauchamp properties, crossing a field or two, and then
coming out into the park. Presently they were in
sight of the house, rising darkly before them, with
many lights shining in the windows behind the blinds.
1 They are all gone upstairs !' said Phcebe, dismayed.
' How late it must be !'
1 There's a light in the smoking-room,' said Robert ;
1 we can get in that way.'
1 No, no ! Mervyn may have some one with him.
Come in quietly by the servants' entrance.'
No danger that people would not be on foot there !
As the brother and sister moved along the long stone
HOPES AND FEARS. 157
passage, fringed with labelled bells, one open door
showed two weary maidens still toiling over the plates
of the late dinner; and another, standing ajar, revealed
various men-servants regaling themselves ; and words
and tones caught Robert's ear making his brow lower
with sudden pain.
Phoebe was proceeding to mount the stone stairs,
when a rustling and chattering, as of maids descend-
ing, caused her and her brother to stand aside to
make way, and down came a pair of heads and candles
together over a green bandbox, and then voices in
vulgar tones half suppressed. ' I couldn't venture it,
not with Miss Juliana — but Miss Fulmort — she never
looks over her bills, nor knows what is in her drawers
— I told her it was faded, when she had never worn it
once
And tittering, they passed by the brother and sister,
who were still unseen, but Robert heaved a sigh and
murmured, ' Miserable work !' somewhat to his sister's
surprise, for to her the great ill-regulated household was
an unquestioned institution, and she did not expect him
to bestow so much compassion on Augusta's discarded
bonnet. At the top of the steps they opened a door,
and entered a great wide hall. All was exceedingly
still. A gas-light was burning over the fire-place, but
the corners were in gloom, and the coats and cloaks
looked like human figures in the distance. Phoebe
waited while Robert lighted her candle for her. Albeit
she was not nervous, she started when a door was sharply
pushed open, and another figure appeared ; but it was
nothing worse than her brother Mervyn, in easy cos-
tume, and redolent of tobacco.
About three years older than Robert, he was more
neatly though not so strongly made, shorter, and with
more regular features, but much less countenance. If
the younger brother had a worn and dejected aspect,
the elder, except in moments of excitement, looked
bored. It was as if Robert really had the advan
of him in knowing what to be out of spirits about.
158 HOPES AND FEARS.
' Oh ! it's you, is it ¥ said he, coining forward with a
sauntering, scuffling movement in his slippers. * You
larking, Phoebe 1 What next V
' I have been drinking tea with Miss Charlecote,' ex-
plained Phoebe.
Mervyn slightly shrugged his shoulders, murmuring
something about ' Lively pastime.'
' I could not fetch her sooner,' said Robert, ' for my
father went to sleep, and no one chose to be at the
pains of entertaining Crabbe.'
1 Ay — a prevision of his staying to dinner made me
stay and dine with the — th mess. Very sagacious —
eh, Phoebe V said he, turning, as if he liked to look into
her fresh face.
1 Too sagacious,' said she, smiling; 'for you left him all
to Robert.'
Manner and look expressed that this was a matter
of no concern, and he said ungraciously : ' Nobody de-
tained Robert, it was his own concern.'
1 Respect to my father and his guests,' said Robert,
with downright gravity that gave it the effect of a
reproach.
Mervyn only raised his shoulders up to his ears in
contempt, took up his candle, and wished Phoebe good
night.
Poor Mervyn Fulmort ! Discontent had been his
life-long comrade. He detested his father's occupation
as galling to family pride, yet was greedy both of the
profits and the management. He hated county busi-
ness and country life, yet chafed at not having the
control of his mother's estate, and grumbled at all his
father's measures. ' What should an old distiller know
of landed property V In fact he saw the same diffe-
rence between himself and his father as did the un-
gracious Plantagenet between the son of a Count and
the son of a King : and for want of Provencal trou-
badours with whom to rebel,' he supplied their place by
the turf and the billiard-table. At present he was ex-
piating some heavy debts by a forced residence with
HOPES AND FEARS. 159
his parents, and unwilling attention to the office, a
most distasteful position, which he never attempted to
improve, and which permitted him both the tedium of
idleness and complaints against all the employment to
which he was necessitated.
The ill-managed brothers were just nearly enough of
an age for rivalry, and had never loved one another
even as children. Robert's steadiness had been made
a reproach to Mervyn, and his grave, rather surly
character had never been conciliating. The indepen-
dence left to the younger brother by their mother's
relative was grudged by the elder as an injury to him-
self, and it was one of the misfortunes of Beauchamp
that the two sons had never been upon happy terms
together. Indeed, save that Robert's right principles
and silent habits hindered him from readily giving or
taking offence, there might have been positive outbreaks
of a very unbrotherly nature.
CHAPTER II.
Enough of science and of art
Close up those ban-en leaves !
Come forth, and bring with you a heart
That watches and receives.
"Wordsworth.
ALF-PAST five, Miss Phoebe.'
' Thank you ;' and before her eyes
were open, Phoebe was on the floor.
Six was the regulation hour. Syste-
matic education had discovered that
half an hour was the maximum
allowable for morning toilette, and at half-past six the
young ladies must present themselves in the school-
room.
The Bible, Prayer Book, and ' Daily Meditations'
could have been seldom touched, had not Phoebe, ever
since Bobert had impressed on her the duty of such
constant study, made an arrangement for gaining an
extra half-hour. Cold mornings and youthful sleepi-
ness had received a daily defeat ; and, mayhap, it was
such a course of victory that made her frank eyes so
blithesome, and her step so free and light.
That bright scheme, too, shone before her, as such a
secret of glad hope, that, knowing how uncertain were
her chances of pleasure, she prayed that she might not
set her heart on it. It was no trifle to her, and her
simple spirit ventured to lay her wishes before her
loving Father in Heaven, and entreat that she might
HOPES AND FEARS. 1G1
not be denied, if it were right for her and would, be
better for Robert ; or, if not, that she might be good
under the disappointment.
Her orisons sent her forth all brightness, with her
small head raised like that of a young fawn, her fresh
lips parted by an incipient smile of hope, and her cheeks
in a rosy glow of health, a very Hebe, as Mr. Saville
had once called her.
Such a morning face as hers was not always met by
Miss Fennimore, who, herself able to exist on five
hours' sleep, had no mercy on that of her pupils ; and
she rewarded Phoebe's smiling good-morrow with ' This
is better than I expected, you returned home so late.'
1 Robert could not come for me early,' said Phoebe.
' How did you spend the evening V
' Miss Charlecote read aloud to me. It was a de-
lightful German story.'
1 Miss Charlecote is a very well-informed person, and
I am glad the time was not absolutely lost. I hope
you observed the condensation of the vapours on your
way home.'
1 Robert was talking to me, and the nightingales were
singing.'
1 It is a pity,' said Miss Fennimore, not unkindly,
1 that you should not cultivate the habit of observation.
Women can seldom theorize, but they should always
observe facts, as these are the very groundwork of dis-
covery, and such a rare opportunity as a walk at night
should not be neglected.'
It was no use to plead that this was all very
well when there was no brother Robert with his
destiny in the scales, so Phoebe made a meek assent,
and moved to the piano, suppressing a sigh, as Miss
Fennimore set olf on a domiciliary visit to the other
sisters.
Mr. Fulmort liked his establishment to prove his
consequence, and to the old family mansion of the
Mervyns he had added a whole wing for the educational
department. Above, there was a passage, with pretty
VOL. I. M
162 HOPES AND FEARS.
little bed-rooms openiDg from it ; below there were
two good-sized rooms, with their own door opening into
the garden. The elder ones had long ago deserted it,
and so completely shut off was it from the rest of the
house, that the governess and her pupils were as
secluded as though in a separate dwelling. The school-
room was no repulsive-looking abode ; it was furnished
almost well enough for a drawing-room ; and only the
easels, globes, and desks, the crayon studies on the walls,
and a formidable time-table, showed its real destination.
The window looked out into a square parterre, shut in
with tall laurel hedges, and filled with the gayest and
sweetest blossoms. It was Mrs. Fulmort's garden for
cut flowers ; supplying the bouquets that decked her
tables, or were carried to wither at balls ; and there
were three long, narrow beds, that Phcebe and her
younger sisters still called theirs, and loved with the
pride of property ; but, indeed, the bright carpeting of
the whole garden was something especially their own,
rejoicing their eyes, and unvalued by the rest of the
house. On the like liberal scale were the salaries of
the educators. Governesses were judged according to
their demands ; and the highest bidder was supposed
to understand her own claims best. Miss Fennimore
was a finishing governess of the highest order, thinking
it an insult to be offered a pupil below her teens, or to
lose one till nearly beyond them ; nor was she far from
being the treasure that Mrs. Fulmort pronounced her,
in gratitude for the absence of all the explosions pro-
duced by the various imperfections of her predecessors.
A highly able woman, and perfectly sincere, she
possessed the qualities of a ruler, and had long expe-
rience in the art. Her discipline was perfect in ma-
chinery, and her instructions admirably complete. No
one could look at her keen, sensible, self-possessed
countenance, her decided mouth, ever busy hands, and
unpretending but well-chosen style of dress, without
seeing that her energy and intelligence were of a high
order ; and there was principle likewise, though no
HOPES AND FEARS. 163
one ever quite penetrated to the foundation of it.
Certainly she was not an irreligious person ; she con-
formed, as she said, to the habits of each family she
lived with, and she highly estimated moral perfections.
Now and then a degree of scorn, for the narrowness of
dogma, would appear in reading history, but in general
she was understood to have opinions which she did not
obtrude.
As a teacher, she was excellent ; but her own strong
conformation prevented her from understanding that
young girls were incapable of such tension of intellect
as an enthusiastic scholar of forty-two, and that what
was sport to her was toil to a mind unaccustomed to
constant attention. Change of labour is not rest,
unless it be through gratification of the will. Her very
best pupil she had killed. Finding a very sharp sword,
in a very frail scabbard, she had whetted the one, and
worn down the other, by every stimulus in her power,
till a jury of physicians might have found her guilty
of manslaughter; but perfectly unconscious of her own
agency in causing the atrophy, her dear Anna Webster
lived foremost in her affections, the model for every
subsequent pupil. She seldom remained more than
two years in a family. Sometimes the young brains
were over-excited ; more often they fell into a dreary
state of drilled diligence ; but she was too much ab-
sorbed in the studies to look close into the human
beings, and marvelled when the fathers and mothers
were blind enough to part with her on the plea of
health and need of change.
On the whole, she had never liked any of her
charges since the renowned Anna Webster so well as
Phcebe Fulmort ; although her abilities did not rise
above the ' very fair,' and she was «apt to be bewildered
in metaphysics and political economy j but then she
had none of the eccentricities of will and temper of
Miss Fennimore's clever girls, nor was she like most,
good-humoured ones, recklessly iTWOucicmte, Her only
drawback, in the governess's eyes, was that she never
M 2
164 HOPES AND FEARS.
seemed desirous of going beyond what was daily re-
quired of her — each study was a duty, and not a sub-
ject of zeal.
Presently Miss Fennimore came back, followed by
the two sisters, neither of them in the best of tempers.
Maria, a stout, clumsily made girl of fifteen, had the
same complexion and open eyes as Phoebe, but her
colouring was muddled, the gaze full-orbed and vacant,
and the lips, always pouting, were just now swelled
with the vexation that filled her prominent eyelids
with tears. Bertha, two years younger, looked as if
nature had designed her for a boy, and the change into
a girl was not yet decided. She, too, was very like
Maria ; but Maria's open nostrils were in her a droll
retrousse, pnggish little nose ; her chin had a boyish
squareness and decision, her round cheeks had two
comical dimples, her eyes were either stretched in de-
fiance or narrowed up with fuu, and a slight cast in
one gave a peculiar archness and character to her face ;
her skin, face, hands, and all, were uniformly pinky ;
her hair in such obstinate yellow curls, that it was to
be hoped, for her sake, that the fashion of being crepe
might continue. The brow lowered in petulance ; and,
as she kissed Phoebe, she muttered in her ear a vitu-
peration of the governess in schoolroom patois; then
began tossing the lesson-books in the air and catching
them again, as a preliminary to finding the places,
thus drawing on herself a reproof in German. French
and German were alternately spoken in lesson hours
by Phoebe and Bertha, who had lived with foreign ser-
vants from infancy ; but poor Maria had not the
faculty of keeping the tongues distinct, and corrections
only terrified her into confusion worse confounded,
until Miss Fennimore had in despair decided that
English was the best alternative.
Phoebe practised vigorously. Aware that nothing
pleasant was passing, and that, be it what it might,
she could do no good, she was glad to stop her ears
with her music, until eight o'clock brought a pause in
HOPES AND FEARS. 165
the shape of breakfast. Formerly the schoolroom
party had joined the family meal, but since the two
elder girls had been out, and Mervyn's friends had
been often in the house, it had been decided that the
home circle was too numerous ; and what had once
been the play-room was allotted to be the eating-room
of the younger ones, without passing the red door, on
the other side of which lay the world.
Breakfast was announced by the schoolroom maid,
and Miss Fennirnore rose. No sooner was her back
turned, than Bertha indulged in a tremendous writh-
ing yawn, wriggling in her chair, and clenching both
fat fists, as she threatened with each, at her governess's
retreating figure, so ludicrously, that Phoebe smiled
while she shook her head, and an explosive giggle
came from Maria, causing the lady to turn and behold
Miss Bertha demure as ever, and a look of disconsolate
weariness fast settling down on each of the two young
faces. The unbroken routine pressed heavily at those
fit moments for family greetings and for relaxation,
and even Phcebe would gladly have been spared the
German account of the Holt and of Miss Charlecote's
book, for which she was called upon. Bertha mean-
while, to whom waggishness was existence, was carry-
ing on a silent drama on her plate, her roll being a
quarry, and her knife the workmen attacking it. Now
she undermined, now acted an explosion, with uplifted
eyebrows and an indicated ' puff ! ' with her lips, with
constant dumb-show directed to Maria, who, without
half understanding, was in a constant suppressed titter,
sometimes concealed by her pocket-handkerchief.
Quick as Miss Fennirnore was, and often as she
frowned on Maria's outbreaks, she never could detect
their provocative. Over-restraint and want of sym-
pathy were direct instruction in unscrupulous slyness
of amusement. A sentence of displeasure on Maria's
ill-mannered folly was in the act of again filling her,
eyes with tears, when there was a knock at the door
and all the faces beamed with glad expectation.
166 HOPES AND FEARS.
It was Robert. This was the time of day when he
knew Miss Fennimore could best tolerate him, and he
seldom failed to make his appearance on his way
down-stairs, the only one of the privileged race who
was a wonted object on this side the baize door.
Phoebe thought he looked more cheerful, and indeed
gravity could hardly have withstood Bertha's face, as
she gave a mischievous tweak to his hair behind, under
colour of putting her arm round his neck.
I "Well, Curlylocks, how much mischief did you do
yesterday?'
' I'd no spirits for mischief,' she answered, with
mock piti fulness, twinkling up her eyes, and rubbing
them with her knuckles as if she were crying. ' You
barbarous wretch, taking Phoebe to feast on straw-
berries and cream with Miss Charlecote, and leaving
poor me to poke in that stupid drawing-room, with
nothing to do but to count the scollops of mamma's
flounce !'
' It is your turn. Will Miss Fennimore kindly let
you have a walk with me this evening?'
' And me,' said Maria.
'You, of course. May I come for them at five
o'clock?'
I I can hardly tell what to say about Maria. I do
not like to disappoint her, but she knows that nothing
displeases me so much as that ill-mannered habit of
giggling,' said Miss Fennimore, not without concern.
Merciful as to Maria's attainments, she was strict as to
her manners, and was striving to teach her self-
restraint enough to be unobtrusive.
Poor Maria's eyes were glassy with tears, her chest
heaved with sobs, and she broke out, ' O pray, Miss
Fennimore, O pray !' while all the others interceded
for her ; and Bertha, well knowing that it was all her
fault, avoided the humiliation of a confession, by the
apparent generosity of exclaiming, * Take us both to-
morrow instead, Robin.'
Robert's journey was, however, fixed for that day,
HOPES AND FEARS. 167
and on this plea, licence was given for the walk.
Phoebe smiled congratulation, but Maria was slow in
cheering up ; and when, on returning to the school-
room, the three sisters were left alone together for a
few moments, she pressed up to Phoebe's side, and said,
' Phcebe, I've not said my prayers. Do you think any-
thing will happen to me]'
Her awfully mysterious tone set Bertha laughing.
1 Yes. Maria, all the cows in the park will run at you,'
she was beginning, when the grave rebuke of Phoebe's
eyes cut her short.
'How was it, my dear?' asked Phcebe, tenderly
fondling her sister.
'I was so sleepy, and Bertha would blow soap
bubbles in her hands while we were washing, and
then Miss Fennimore came, and I've been naughty
now, and I know I shall go on, and then Robin wont
take me.'
1 1 will ask Miss Fennimore to let you go to your
room, dearest,' said Phcebe. ' You must not play again
in dressing time, for there's nothing so sad as to miss
our prayers. You are a good girl to care so much.
Had you time for yours, Bertha V
' Oh, plenty ! ' with a toss of her curly head. 'I don't
take ages about things, like Maria.''
1 Prayers cannot be hurried,' said Phcebe, looking
distressed, and she was about to remind Bertha to
whom she spoke in prayer, when the child cut her
short by the exclamation, ' Nonsense, Maria, about
being naughty. You know I always make you laugh
when I please, and that has more to do with it than
saying your prayers, I fancy.'
• Perhaps,' said Phcebe, very sadly, ' if you had said
yours more in earnest, my poor Bertha, you would
either not have made Maria laugh, or would not have
left her to bear all the blame.'
'Why do you call me poor?' exclaimed Bertha,
with a half-offended, half-diverted look.
* Because I wish so much that you knew better,
163 HOPES AND FEARS.
or that I could help you better,' said Phoebe,
gently.
There Miss Fenniniore entered, displeased at the
English sounds, and at finding them all, as she thought,
loitering. Phoebe explained Maria's omission, and
Miss Fenniniore allowed her five minutes in her
own room, saying that this must not become a pre-
cedent, though she did not wish to oppress her con-
science.
Bertha's eyes glittered with a certain triumph, as
she saw that Miss Fennimore was of her mind, and
anticipated no consequences from the neglect, but only
made the concession as to a superstition. Without
disbelief, the child trained only to reason, and quick
to detect fallacy, was blind to all that was not material.
And how was the spiritual to be brought before her 1
Phcebe might well sigh, as she sat down to her
abstract of Schlegel's Lectures. ' If any one would
but teach them/ she thought ; ' but there is no time
at all, and I myself do not know half so much of those
things as one of Miss Charlecote's lowest classes.'
Phcebe was a little mistaken. An earnest mind
taught how to learn, with access to the Bible and
Prayer Book, could gain more from these fountain-
heads than any external teaching could impart ; and
she could carry her difficulties to Robert. Still it was
out of her power to assist her sisters. Surveillance
and driving absolutely left no space free from Miss
Fennimore's requirements ; and all that there was to
train those young ones in faith, was the manner in
which it lived and worked in her. Nor of this effect
could she be conscious.
As to dreams or repinings, or even listening to her
hopes and fears for her project of pleasure, they were
excluded by the concentrated attention that Miss
Fennimore's system enforced. Time and capacity were
so much on the stretch, that the habit of doing what
she was doing, and nothing else, had become second
nature to the docile and duteous girl ; and she had
HOPES AND FEARS. 109
become little sensible to interruptions ; so she went on
with her German, her Greek, and her algebra, scarcely
hearing the repetitions of the lessons, or the counting
as Miss Fennimore presided over Maria's practice, a
bit of drudgery detested by the governess, but neces-
sarily persevered in, for Maria loved music, and had
just voice and ear sufficient to render this single
accomplishment not hopeless, but a certain want of
power of sustained effort made her always break
down at the moment she seemed to be doing best.
Former governesses had lost patience, but Miss Fenni-
more had early given up the case, and never scolded
her for her failures ; she made her attempt less, and
she was improving more, and shedding fewer tears
than under any former dynasty. Even a stern
dominion is better for the subjects than an uncertain
and weak one ; regularity gives a sense of reliance,
and constant occupation leaves so little time for being
naughty, that Bertha herself was getting into training,
and on the present day her lessons were exemplary,
always with a view to the promised walk with her
brother, one of the greatest pleasures ever enjoyed by
the denizens of the west wing.
Phoebe's pleasure was less certain, and less dependent
on her merits, yet it invigorated her efforts to do all
she had to do with all her might, even into the state-
ment of the pros and cons of customs and free trade,
which she was required to produce as her morning's
exercise. In the midst, her ear detected the sound of
wheels, and her heart throbbed in the conviction that
it was Miss Charlecote's pony carriage ; nay, she found
her pen had indited ' Robin would be so glad,' instead
of ' revenue to the government,' and while scratching
the words out beyond all legibility, she blamed herself
for betraying such want of self-command.
No summons came, no tidings, the wheels went
away ; her heart sank, and her spirit revolted against
an unfeeling, unutterably wearisome captivity ; but it
was only a moment's fluttering against the ban, the
170 HOPES AND FEARS.
tears were driven back with the thought, ' After all,
the decision is guided from Above. If I stay at home,
it must be best for me. Let me try to be good ! ' and
she forced her mind back to her exports and her
customs. It was such discipline as few girls could have
exercised, but the conscientious effort was no small
assistance in being resigned j and in the precious minutes
granted in which to prepare herself for dinner, she found
it the less hard task to part with her anticipations of
delight and brace herself to quiet, contented duty.
The meal was beginning when, with a very wide
expansion of the door, appeared a short, consequential
looking personage, of such plump, rounded proportions,
that she seemed ready to burst out of her riding
habit, and of a broad, complacent visage, somewhat
overblooming. It was Miss Fulmort, the eldest of the
family, a young lady just past thirty, a very awful
distance from the school-room party, to whom she
nodded with good-natured condescension, saying: 'Ah !
I thought I should find you at dinner ; I'm come for
something to sustain nature. The riding party are
determined to have me with them, and they wont
wait for luncheon. Thank you, yes, a piece of mutton,
if there were any under side. How it reminds me of
old times. I used so to look forward to never seeing
a loin of mutton again.'
1 As your chief ambition 1 ' said Miss Fennimore,
who, governess as she was, could not help being a little
satirical, especially when Bertha's eyes twinkled re-
sponsively.
' One does get so tired of mutton and rice pudding,'
answered the less observant Miss Fulmort, who was
but dimly conscious of any one's existence save her
own, and could not have credited a governess laughing
at her ; l but really this is not so bad, after all, for a
change ; and some pale ale. You don't mean that you
exist without pale ale ? '
'We all drink water by preference,' said Miss
Fennimore.
HOPES AND FEARS. 171
' Indeed ! Miss Watson, our finishing governess,
never drank anything but claret, and she always had
little pates, or fish, or something, because she said her
appetite was to be consulted, she was so delicate. She
was very thin, I know ; and what a figure you have,
Phoebe ! I suppose that is water drinking. Bridger
did say it would reduce me to leave off pale ale, but I
can't get on without it, I get so horridly low, Don't
you think that's a sign, Miss Fennimore 1 '
1 1 beg your pardon, a sign of what ? '
1 That one can't go on without it. Miss Charlecote
said she thought it was all constitution whether one is
stout or not, and that nothing made much difference,
when I asked her about German wines.'
' Oh ! Augusta, has Miss Charlecote been here this
morning ? ' exclaimed Phcebe.
1 Yes j she came at twelve o'clock, and there was I
actually pinned down to entertain her, for mamma
was not come down. So I asked her about those light
foreign wines, and whether they do really make one
thinner; you know one always has them at her house.'
1 Did mamma see her?' asked poor Phcebe, anxiously.
1 Oh yes, she was bent upon it. It was something
about you. Oh ! she wants to take you to stay with
her in that horrible hole of hers in the City — very odd
of her. What do you advise me to do, Miss Fenni-
more ? Do you think those foreign wines would bring
me down a little, or that they would make me low
and sinking V
1 Really, I have no experience on the subject ! ' said
Miss Fennimore, loftily.
1 What did mamma say ? ' was poor Phoebe's almost
breathless question.
' Oh ! it makes no difference to mamma ' (Phoebe's
heart bounded) j but Augusta went on : ' she always
has her soda-water, you know ; but of course I should
take a hamper from Bass. I hate being unprovided.'
1 But about my going to London ? ' humbly murmured
Phcebe.
17?- HOPES AND FEARS.
1 What did she say 1 ' considered the elder sister,
aloud. ' I don't know, I'm sure. I was not attending
— the heat does make one so sleepy — but I know we
all wondered she should want you at your age. You
know some people take a spoonful of vinegar to fine
themselves down, and some of those wines are very
acid,' she continued, pressing on with her great subject
of consultation.
' If it be an object with you, Miss Fulmort, I should
recommend the vinegar,' said Miss Fennimore. ' There
is nothing like doing a thing outright ! '
' And, oh ! how glorious it would be to see her
taking it ! ' whispered Bertha into Phoebe's ear, un-
heard by Augusta, who, in her satisfied stolidity, was
declaring, ' ~No, I could not undertake that. I am the
worst person in the world for taking anything dis-
agreeable.'
And having completed her meal, which she had
contrived to make out of the heart of the joint,
leaving the others little but fat, she walked off to her
ride, believing that she had done a gracious and con-
descending action in making conversation with her
inferiors of the west wing.
Yet Augusta Fulmort might have been good for
something, if her mind and her affections had not
lain fallow ever since she escaped from a series of
governesses who taught her self-indulgence by example.
' I wonder what mamma said ! ' exclaimed Phoebe,
in her strong craving for sympathy in her suspense.
'I am sorry the subject has been brought forward,
if it is to unsettle you, Phoebe,' said Miss Fennimore,
not unkindly; ' I regret your being twice disappointed ;
but. if your mother should refer it to me, as I make
no doubt she will, I should say that it would be a
great pity to break up our course of studies.'
' It would only be for a little while,' sighed Phoebe ;
1 and Miss Charlecote is to show me all the museums.
I should see more with her than ever I shall when I
am come out ; and I should be with Robert.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 173
1 1 intended asking permission to take you through
a systematic course of lectures and specimens when
the family are next in town,' said Miss Fennimore.
1 Ordinary, desultory sight-seeing leaves few impressions;
and though Miss Charlecote is a superior person, her
mind is not of a sufficiently scientific turn to make
her fully able to direct you. I shall trust to your
good sense, Phoebe, for again submitting to defer the
jileasure till it can be enhanced.'
Good sense had a task imposed on it for which it
was quite inadequate ; but there was something else
in Phoebe which could do the work better than her
unconvinced reason. Even had she been sure of the
expediency of being condemned to the schoolroom, no
good sense would have brought that resolute smile, or
driven back the dew in her eyes, or enabled her voice
to say, with such sweet meekness, ' Very well, Miss
Fennimore ; I dare say it may be right.'
Miss Fennimore was far more concerned than if the
submission had been grudging. She debated with herself
whether she should consider her resolution irrevocable.
Ten minutes were allowed after dinner in the
parterre, and these could only be spent under the
laurel-hedge; the sun was far too hot everywhere else.
Phoebe had here no lack of sympathy, but had to
restrain Bertha, who, with angry gestures, was
pronouncing the governess a horrid cross-patch, and
declaring that no girls ever were used as they were ;
while Maria observed, that if Phoebe went to London,
she must go too.
' We shall all go some day,' said Phoebe, cheerfully,
1 and we shall enjoy it all the more if we are good now.
Never mind, Bertha, we shall have some nice walks.'
1 Yes, all bothered with botany,' muttered Bertha.
' I thought, at least, you would be glad of me,' said
Phoebe, smiling ; ' you who stay at home.'
1 To be sure, I am,' said Bertha ; ' but it is such a
shame ! I shall tell Robin, and he'll say so too. I
shall tell him you nearly cried ! '
174 HOPES AND FEARS.
' Don't vex Robin/ said Pho3be. ' When you go
out, you should set yourself to tell him pleasant things.'
1 So I'm to tell him you wouldn't go on any account.
You like your political economy much too well ! '
' Suppose you say nothing about it,' said Phcebe.
1 Make yourself merry with him. That's what you've
got to do. He takes you out to entertain you, not to
worry about grievances.'
* Do you never talk about grievances 1 ' asked
Bertha, twinkling up her eyes.
Phcebe hesitated. ' Not my own,' she said, ' because
I have not got any.'
' Has Robert, then 1 ' asked Bertha.
' Nobody has grievances who is out of the school-
room,' opined Maria ; and as she uttered this profound
sentiment, the tinkle of Miss Fennini ore's little bell
warned the sisters to return to the studies, which in
the heat of summer were pursued in the afternoon,
that the walk might be taken in the cool of the
evening. Reading aloud, drawing, and sensible plain
needlework were the avocations till it was time to
learn the morrow's lessons. Phcebe being beyond this
latter work, drew on, and in the intervals of helping
Maria with her geography, had time to prepare such a
bright face as might make Robert think lightly of her
disappointment, and not reckon it as another act of
tyranny.
When he opened the door, however, there was that
in his looks which made her spirits leap up like an
elastic spring ; and his ' Well, Phcebe !' was almost
triumphant.
' Is it am I ' was all she could say.
' Has no one thought it worth while to tell you V
1 Don't you know,' interposed Bertha, ' you on the
other side the red baize door might be all married, or
dead and buried, for aught we should hear. But is
Phcebe to go V
' I believe so.'
1 Are you sure V asked Phcebe, afraid yet to hope.
HOPES AND FEARS. 175
'Yes. My father heard the invitation, and said
that you were a good girl, and deserved a holiday.'
Commendation from that quarter was so rare, that
excess of gladness made Phcebe cast down her eyes
and colour intensely, a little oppressed by the victory
over her governess. But Miss Fennimore spoke
warmly. A He cannot think her more deserving than
I do. I am rejoiced not to have been consulted, for I
could hardly have borne to inflict such a mortification
on her, though these interruptions are contrary to my
views. As it is, Phcebe, my dear, I wish you joy.'
'Thank you,' Phcebe managed to say, while the
happy tears fairly started. In that chilly land, the
least approach to tenderness was like the gleam in
which the hardy woodbine leaflets unfold to sun
themselves.
Thankful for small mercies, thought Robert, looking
at her with fond pity ; but at least the dear child will
have one fortnight of a more genial atmosphere, and
soon, may be, I shall transplant her to be Lucilla's
darling as well as mine, free from task-work, and
doing the labours of love for which she is made !
He was quite in spirits, and able to reply in kind to
the freaks and jokes of bis little sister, as she started,
spinning round him like a humming-top, and sing-
ing-
Will you go to the wood, Robin a Bobbin ?
giving safe vent to an ebullition of spirits that must
last her a good while, poor little maiden !
Phcebe took a sober walk with Miss Fennimore, re-
ceiving advice on methodically journalizing what she
might see, and on the scheme of employments which
might prevent her visit from being waste of time. The
others would have resented the interference with the
holiday ; but Phcebe, though a little sorry to find that
tasks were not to be off her mind, was too grateful for
Miss Fennimore's cordial consent to entertain any
thought except of obedience to the best of her power.
176 HOPES AND FEARS.
Miss Fennirnore was politely summoned to Mrs.
Fulmort's dressing-room for the official communi-
cation ; but this day was no exception to the general
custom, that the red baize door was not passed by the
young ladies until their evening appearance in the
drawing-room. Then the trio descended, all alike in
white muslin, made high, and green sashes — a dress
carefully distinguishing Phoebe as not introduced, but
very becoming to her, with the simple folds and the
little net ruche, suiting admirably the tall, rounded
slenderness of her shape, her long neck, and short,
childish contour of face, where there smiled a joy of
anticipation almost inappreciable to those who know
not what it is to spend day after day with nothing
particular to look forward to.
Very grand was the drawing-room, all amber-
coloured with satin-wood, satin and gold, and with
everything useless and costly encumbering tables
that looked as if nothing could ever be done upon
them. Such a room inspired a sense of being in
company, and it was no wonder that Mrs. Fulmort and
her two elder daughters swept in in as decidedly
procession style as if they had formed part of a train
of twenty.
The star that bestowed three female sovereigns to
Europe seemed to have had the like influence on Hil-
tonbury parish, since both its squires were heiresses.
Miss Mervyn would have been a happier woman had
she married a plain country gentleman, like those of
her own stock, instead of giving a county position to a
man of lower origin and enormous monied wealth. To
live up to the claims of that wealth had been her
business ever since, and health and enjojmient had been
so completely sacrificed to it, that for many years past
the greater part of her time had been spent in resting
and making herself up for her appearance in the even-
in <r when she conducted her elder daughters to their
gaieties. Faded and tallowy in complexion, so as to
be almost ghastly in her blue brocade and heavy gold
HOPES AND FEARS. 177
ornaments, she'reclined languidly on a large easy-chair,
saying, with half-closed eyes —
'Well, Phoebe, Miss Fenniniore has told you of Miss
Charlecote's invitation.'
1 Yes, mamma. I am very, very much obliged !'
1 You know you are not to fancy yourself come out,'
said Juliana, the second sister, who had a good tall
figure, and features and complexion not far from beauty,
but marred by a certain shrewish tone and air.
1 Oh, no,' answered Phoebe ; ' but with Miss Charle-
cote that will make no difference.'
' Probably not,' said Juliana ; ' for of course you will
see nobody but a set of old maids and clergymen and
their wives.'
' She need not go far for old maids,' whispered Bertha
to Maria.
1 Pray, in which class do you reckon the Sandbrooks V
said Phoebe, smiling; 'for she chiefly goes to meet them.'
' She may go !' said Juliana, scornfully ; ' but Lucilla
Sandbrook is far past attending to her !'
' I wonder whether the Charterises will take any
notice of Phoebe ¥ exclaimed Augusta.
'My dear,' said Mrs. Fulmort, waking slowly to
another idea, ' I will tell Boodle to talk to — what's
your maid's name ? — about your dresses.'
' Oh, mamma,' interposed Juliana, ' it will be only
poking about the exhibitions with Miss Charlecote.
You may have that plaid silk of mine that I was going
to have worn out abroad, half-price for her.'
Bertha fairly made a little stamp at Juliana, and
clenched her fist.
If Phoebe dreaded anything in the way of dress, it
was Juliana's half-price.
' My dear, your papa would not like her not to be
well fitted out,' said her mother ; ' and Honora Charle-
cote always has such handsome things. I wish Boodle
could put mine on like hers.'
' Oh, very well P said Juliana, rather offended ; ' only
it should be understood what is to be done if the
VOL. i. N
178 HOPES AND FEARS.
Charterises ask her to any of their parties. There will
be such mistakes aiid confusion if she meets any one
we kDOW ; and you particularly objected to having her
brought forward.'
Phoebe's eye was a little startled, and Bertha set her
front teeth together on edge, and looked viciously at
Juliana.
' My dear, Honora Charlecote never goes out,' said
Mrs. Fulmort.
'If she should, you understand, Phcebe,' said Juliana.
Coffee came in at the moment, and Augusta criti-
cised the strength of it, which made a diversion, during
which Bertha slipped out of the room, with a face
replete with mischievous exultation.
' Are not you going to play to-night, my dears V
asked Mrs. Fulmort. ■ What was that duet I heard
you practising V
I Come, Juliana,' said the elder sister, ' I meant to
go over it again ; I am not satisfied with my part.'
I I have to write a note,' said Juliana, moving off to
another table ; whereupon Phcebe ventured to propose
herself as a substitute, and was accepted.
Maria sat entranced, with her mouth open ; and
presently Mrs. Fulmort looked up from a kind of doze
to ask who was playing. For some moments she had
no answer. Maria was too much awed for speech in
the drawing-room ; and though Bertha had come back,
she had her back to her mother, and did not hear.
Mrs. Fulmort exerted herself to sit up and turn her
head.
' Was that Phcebe V she said. ' You have a clear,
good touch, my dear, as they used to say I had when I
was at school at Bath. Play another of your pieces,
my dear.'
' I am ready now, Augusta,' said Juliana, advancing.
Little girls were not allowed at the piano when
officers might be coming in from the dining-room, so
Maria's face became vacant again, for Juliana's music
awoke no echoes within her.
HOPES AND FEARS. 179
Phoebe beckoned her to a remote ottoman, a recep-
tacle for the newspapers of the week, and kept her
turning over the Illustrated News, an unfailing resource
with her, but powerless to occupy Bertha after the
first Saturday ; and Bertha, turning a deaf ear to the
assurance that there was something very entertaining
about a tiger-hunt, stood, solely occupied by eyeing
Juliana.
Was she studying ' come-out ' life as she watched
her sisters surrounded by the gentlemen who presently
herded round the piano ?
It was nearly the moment when the young ones
were bound to withdraw, when Mervyn, coming hastily
up to their ottoman, had almost stumbled over Maria's
foot.
1 Beg pardon. Oh, it was only you ! What a cow
it is !' said he, tossing over the papers.
' What are you looking for, Mervyn V asked Phcebe.
* An advertisement — BelVs Life for the 3rd. That
rascal, Mears, must have taken it.'
She found it for him, and likewise the advertisement,
which he, missing once, was giving up in despair.
' I say,' he observed, while she was searching, ' so
you are to chip the shell.'
' I'm only going to London — I'm not coming out.'
1 Gammon !' he said, with an odd wink. ' You need
never go in again, like the what's-his-name in the fairy
tale, or you are a sillier child than I take you for.
They ' — nodding at the piano — ' are getting a terrible
pair of old cats, and we want something young and
pretty about.'
With tins unusual compliment, Phoebe, seeing the
way clear to the door, rose to depart, most reluctantly
followed by Bertha, and more willingly by Maria, who
began, the moment they were in the hall —
* Phcebe, why do they get a couple of terrible old
cats 1 I don't like them ; I shall be afraid.'
* Mervyn didn't mean ' began perplexed Phcebe,
cut short by Berthas boisterous laughter. ' Oh, Maria,
180 HOPES AND FEARS.
what a goose you are ! You'll be the death of me,
some day ! Why, Juliana and Augusta are the cats
themselves. Oh, dear ! I wanted to kiss Mervyn for
saying so. Oh, wasn't it fun ! And now, Maria —
oh ! if I could have stayed a moment longer !'
1 Bertha, Bertha, not such a noise in the hall. Come,
Maria; mind, you must not tell anybody. Bertha,
come,' expostulated Phoebe, trying to drag her sister
to the red baize door ; but Bertha stood, bending nearly
double, exaggerating the helplessness of her paroxysms
of laughter.
' Well, at least the cat will have something to scratch
her,' she gasped out. ' Oh, I did so want to stay and
see !'
'Have you been playing any tricks?' exclaimed
Phoebe, with consternation, as Bertha's deportment
recurred to her.
' Tricks ? — I couldn't help it. Oh, listen, Phoebe !'
cried Bertha, with her wicked look of triumph. ' I
brought home such a lovely sting-nettle for Miss Fen-
nimore's peacock caterpillar ; and when I heard how
kind dear Juliana was to you about your visit to
London, I thought she really must have it for a reward ;
so I ran away, and slily tucked it into her bouquet ;
and I did so hope she would take it up to fiddle with
when the gentlemen talk to her,' said the elf, with an
irresistibly comic imitation of Juliana's manner towards
gentlemen.
1 Bertha, this is beyond ' began Phcebe.
' Didn't you sting your fingers 1 ' asked Maria.
Bertha stuck out her fat pink paws, embellished
with sundry white lumps. ' All pleasure,' said she,
1 thinking of the jump Juliana will give, and how
nicely it serves her.'
Phcebe was already on her way back to the drawing-
rooms ; Bertha sprang after, but in vain. iNever would
she have risked the success of her trick, could she have
guessed that Phcebe would have the temerity to return
to the company !
HOPES AND FEARS. 1S1
Phoebe glided in without waiting for the sense of
awkwardness, though she knew she should have to
cross the whole room, and she durst not ask an)' one
to bring the dangerous bouquet to her — not even
Robert — he must not be stung in her service.
She met her mother's astonished eye as she threaded
her way ; she wound round a group of gentlemen, and
spied the article of which she was in quest, where
Juliana had laid it down with her gloves on going to
the piano. Actually she had it ! She had seized it
uuperceived ! Good little thief; it was a most inno-
cent robbery : she crept away with a sense of guilt and
desire to elude observation, positively starting when
she encountered her father's portly figure in the ante-
room. He stopped her with ' Going to bed, eh ? So
Miss Charlecote has taken a fancy to you, has she?
It does you credit. What shall you want for the
journey V
' Boodle is going to see,' began Phoebe, but he in-
terrupted.
' Will fifty do 1 I will have my daughters well
turned out. All to be spent upon yourself, mind.
Why, you've not a bit of jewellery on ! Have you a
watch?'
1 No, papa.'
1 Robert shall choose one for you, then. Come to
my room any time for the cash ; and if Miss Charle-
cote takes you anywhere among her set — good con-
nexions she has — and you want to be rigged out extra,
send me in the bill — anything rather than be shabby.'
' Thank you, papa ! Then, if I am asked out any-
where, may I goV
' Why, what does the child mean 1 Anywhere that
Miss Charlecote likes to take you, of course.'
' Only because I am not come out.'
' Stuff about coming out ! I don't like my girls to
be shy and backward. They've a right to show them-
selves anywhere ; and you should be going out with
us now, but somehow your poor mother doesn't like
183 HOPES AND FEARS.
the trouble of such a lot of girls. So don't be shy,
but make the most of yourself, for you wont meet
many better endowed, nor more highly accomplished.
Good night, and enjoy yourself.'
Palpitating with wonder and pleasure, Phcebe
escaped. Such permission, over-riding all Juliana's
injunctions, was worth a few nettle stings and a great
fright ; for Phoebe was not philosopher enough, in spite
of Miss Fennimore — ay, and of Robert — not to have a
keen desire to see a great party.
Her delay had so much convinced the sisters that
her expedition had had some fearful consequences, that
Maria was already crying lest dear Phoebe should be
in disgrace ; and Bertha had seated herself on the
balusters, debating with herself whether, if Phoebe
were suspected of the trick (a likely story) and con-
demned to lose her visit to London, she would confess
herself the guilty person.
And when Phoebe came back, too much overcome
with delight to do anything but communicate papa's
goodness, and rejoice in the unlimited power of making
presents, Bertha triumphantly insisted on her con-
fessing that it had been a capital thing that the nettles
were in Juliana's nosegay !
Phcebe shook her head ; too happy to scold, too
humble to draw the moral that the surest way to
gratification is to remove the thorns from the path of
others.
CHAPTER III.
She gives thee a garland woven fair,
Take care !
It is a fool's-cap for thee to wear,
Beware ! Beware !
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee !
LOXGFELLOW, from MtLLER.
EHOLD Phoebe Fulmort seated in a
train on the way to London. She was a
very pleasant spectacle to Miss Charle-
cote opposite to her, so peacefully joy-
ous was her face, as she sat with the
wind breathing in on her, in the calm
luxury of contemplating the landscape gliding past
the windows in all its summer charms, and the re-
pose of having no one to hunt her into unvaried ra-
tionality.
Her eye was the first to detect Robert in waiting at
the terminus, but he looked more depressed than
ever, and scarcely smiled as he handed them to the
carriage.
1 Get in, Robert, you are coming home with us,' said
Honor.
' You have so much to take, I should encumber
you.'
'No, the sundries go in cabs, with the maids.
Jump in.'
' l)o your friends arrive to-night V
1 Yes ; but that is no reason you should look so
184 HOPES AND FEARS.
rueful ! Make the most of Phcebe beforehand. Be-
sides, Mr. Parsons is a Wykehamist.'
Robert took his place on the back seat, but still as
if he would have preferred walking home. Neither
his sister nor his friend dared to ask whether he had
seen Lucilla. Could she have refused him? or was
her frivolity preying on his spirits]
Phoebe tried to interest him by the account of the
family migration, and of Miss Fenniruore's promise
that Maria and Bertha should have two half hours of
real play in the garden on each day when the lessons
had been properly done ; and how she had been so
kind as to let Maria leave off trying to read a French
book that had proved too hard for her, not perceiving
why this instance of good-nature was not cheering to
her brother.
Miss Charlecote's house was a delightful marvel to
Phcebe from the moment when she rattled into the
paved court, entered upon the fragrant odour of the
cedar hall, and saw the Queen of Sheba's golden locks
beaming with the evening light. She entered the
drawing-room, pleasant-looking already, under the
judicious arrangement of the housekeeper, who had set
out the Holt flowers and arranged the books, so that it
seemed full of welcome.
Phcebe ran from window to mantelpiece, enchanted
with the quaint mixture of old and new, admiring carv-
ing and stained glass, and declaring that Owen had not
prepared her for anything equal to this, until Miss
Charlecote, going to arrange matters with her house-
keeper, left the brother and sister together.
' Well, Robin ! ' said Phoebe, coming up to him
anxiously.
He only crossed his arms on the mantelpiece, rested
his head on them, and sighed.
1 Have you seen her V
1 Not to speak to her.'
1 Have you called V
'No.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 185
1 Then where did you see her V
1 She was riding in the Park. I was on foot.'
1 She could not have seen you !' exclaimed Phoebe.
' She did,' replied Robert ; ' I was going to tell you.
She gave me one of her sweetest, brightest smiles, such
as only she can give. You know them, Phoebe. No
assumed welcome, but a sudden flash and sparkle of
real gladness.'
' But why — what do you mean?' asked Phoebe ; ' why
have you not been to her 1 I thought from your man-
ner that she had been neglecting you, but it seems to
me all the other way.'
* I cannot, Phoebe \ I cannot put my poor preten-
sions forward in the set she is with. I know they
would influence her, and that her decision would not
be calm and mature.'
* Her decision of what you are to be % '
' That is fixed,' said Robert, sighing.
* Indeed ! With papa.'
1 No, in my own mind. I have seen enough of the
business to find that I could in ten years quadruple
my capital, and in the meantime maintain her in the
manner she prefers.'
' You are quite sure she prefers it V
1 She has done so ever since she could exercise a
choice. I should feel myself doing her an injustice if
I were to take advantage of any preference she may
entertain for me to condemn her to what would be to
her a dreary banishment.'
' Not with you,' cried Phoebe.
1 You know nothing about it, Phoebe. You have
never led such a life, and you it would not hurt —
attract, I mean ; but lovely, fascinating, formed for
admiration, and craving for excitement as she is, she is
a being that can only exist in society. She would be
miserable in homely retirement — I mean she would
prey on herself. I could not ask it of her. If
she consented, it would be without knowing her
own tastes. No ; all that remains is to find out
186 HOPES AND FEARS.
whether she can submit to owe her wealth to our
business.'
'And shall you V
1 1 could not but defer it till I should meet her here,'
said Robert. ' I shrink from seeing her with those cousins,
or hearing her name with theirs. Phoebe, imagine my
feelings when, going into Mervyn's club with him, I
heard " Rashe Cbarteris and Cilly Sandbrook" con-
temptuously discussed by those very names, and jests
passing on their independent ways. I know how it is.
Those people work on her spirit of enterprise, and she —
too guileless and innocent to heed appearances. Phoebe,
you do not wonder that I am nearly mad !'
1 Poor Robin !' said Phoebe, affectionately. ' But, in-
deed, I am sure, if Lucy once had a hint — no, one
could not tell her, it would shock her too much ;
but if she had the least idea that people could be
so impertinent,' and Phoebe's cheeks glowed with
shame and indignation, ' she would only wish to go
away as far as she could for fear of seeing any of them
again. I am sure they were not gentlemen, Robin.'
' A man must be supereminently a gentleman to
respect a woman who does not make him do so,' said
Robert, mournfully. < That Miss Charteris ! Oh !
that she were banished to Siberia !'
Phoebe meditated a few moments ; then looking up,
said, ' I beg your pardon, Robin, but it does strike
me that, if you think that this kind of life is not good
for Lucilla, it cannot be right to sacrifice your own
higher prospects to enable her to continue it.'
' I tell you, Phoebe,' said he, with some impatience,
1 1 never was pledged. I may be of much more use and
influence, and able to effect more extended good as a
partner in a concern like this than as an obscure
clergyman. Don't you see V
Phoebe had only time to utter a somewhat melan-
choly ' Very likely,' before Miss Charlecote returned to
take her to her room, the promised brown cupboard,
all wainscoted with delicious cedar, so deeply and
HOPES AND FEARS. 1S7
uniformly panelled, that when shut, the door was not
obvious ; and it was like being in a box, for there were
no wardrobes, only shelves shut by doors into the wall,
which the old usage of the household tradition called
awmries (armoires). The furniture was reasonably
modern, but not obtrusively so. There was a delicious
recess in the deep window, with a seat and a table in
it, and a box of mignionette along the sill. It looked
out into the little high-walled entrance court, and
beyond to the wall of the warehouse opposite ; and the
roar of the great city thoroughfare came like the distant
surging of the ocean. Seldom had young maiden's
bower given more satisfaction. Phoebe looked about
her as if she hardly knew how to believe in anything
so unlike her ordinary life, and she thanked her friend
again and again with such enthusiasm, that Miss
Charlecote laughed as she told her she liked the old
house to be appreciated, since it had, like Pompeii,
been potted for posterity.
1 And thank you, my dear,' she added with a sigh,
1 for making my coming home so pleasant. May you
never know how I dreaded the finding it full of
emptiness.'
' Dear Miss Charlecote !' cried Phoebe, venturing
upon a warm kiss, and thrilled with sad pleasure as she
was pressed in a warm, clinging embrace, and felt tears
on her cheek. ' You have been so happy here !'
' It is not the past, my dear,' said Honora ; ' I could
live peacefully on the thought of that. The shadows
that people this house are very gentle ones. It is the
present !'
She broke off, for the gates of the court were opening
to admit a detachment of cabs, containing the persons
and properties of the new incumbent and his wife. He
had been a curate of Mr. Charlecote, since whose death
he had led a very hard-working life in various towns ;
and on his recent presentation to the living of St.
Wulstan's, Honora had begged him and his wife to
make her house their home while determining on the
188 HOPES AND FEABS.
repairs of the parsonage. She ran clown to meet
them with gladsome steps. She had never entirely
dropped her intercourse with Mr. Parsons, though
seldom meeting ; and he was a relic of the past, one of
the very few who still called her by her Christian
name, and regarded her more as the clergyman's
daughter of St. Wulstan's than as lady of the Holt.
Mrs. Parsons was a thorough clergyman's wife, as
active as himself, and much loved and esteemed by
Honora, with whom, in their few meetings, she had
' got on ' to admiration.
There they were, looking after luggage, and paying
cabs so needfully as not to remark their hostess standing
on the stairs ; and she had time to survey them with
the affectionate curiosity of meeting after long absence,
and with pleasure in remarking that there was little
change. Perhaps they were rather more gray, and had
grown more alike by force of living and thinking
together ; but they both looked equally alert and
cheerful, and as if 50 and 55 were the very prime of
years for substantial work.
Their first glances at her were full of the same
anxiety for her health and strength, as they heartily
shook hands, and accompanied her into the drawing-
room, she explaining that Mr. Parsons was to have the
study all to himself, and never be disturbed there j
then inquiring after the three children, two daughters,
who were married, and a son lately ordained.
1 1 thought you would have brought William to see
about the curacy,' she said.
1 He is not strong enough,' said his mother. l He
wished it, but he is better where he is ; he could not
bear the work here.'
1 No ; I told him the utmost I should allow would
be an exchange now and then when my curates were
overdone,' said Mr. Parsons.
1 And so you are quite deserted,' said Honor, feeling
the more drawn towards her friends.
1 Starting afresh, with a sort of honeymoon, as I
HOPES AXD FEAES. 189
tell Anne,' replied Mr. Parsons ; and such a bright
look passed between them, as though they were quite
sufficient for each other, that Honor felt there was no
parallel between their case and her own.
1 Ah ! you have not lost your children yet,' said Mrs.
Parsons.
' They are not with me,' said Honor, quickly. ' Lucy
is with her cousins, and Owen — I don't exactly know
how he means to dispose of himself this vacation ; but
we were all to meet here.' Guessing, perhaps, that Mr.
Parsons saw into her dissatisfaction, she then assumed
their defence. ' There is to be a grand affair at Castle
Blanch, a celebration of young Charles Charteris's
marriage, and Owen and Lucy will be wanted for it.'
' Whom has he married V
1 A Miss Mendoza, an immense fortune — something
in the stockbroker line. He had spent a good deal,
and wanted to repair it ; but they tell me she is a very
handsome person, very ladylike and agreeable ; and
Lucy likes her greatly. I am to go to luncheon at
their house to-morrow, so I shall treat you as if you
were at home.'
' I should hope so,' quoth Mr. Parsons.
1 Yes, or I know you would not stay here properly.
I'm not alone, either. Why, where's the boy gone ?
I thought he was here. I have two young Fulmorts,
one staying here, the other looking in from the office.'
1 Fulmort !' exclaimed Mr. Parsons, with tbree notes
of admiration at least in his voice. ' What ! the dis-
tiller?'
1 The enemy himself, the identical lord of gin-shops —
at least his children. Did you not know that he
married my next neighbour, Augusta Mervyn, and that
our properties touch ? He is not so bad by way of
squire as he is here ; and I have known his wife all
my life, so we keep up all habits of good neighbourhood ;
and though they have brought up the elder ones very
ill, they have not succeeded in spoiling this son and
daughter. She is one of the very nicest girls I ever
190 HOPES AND FEARS.
knew, and he, poor fellow, has a great deal of good in
him.'
' I think I have heard William speak of a Fulrnort,'
said Mrs. Parsons. ' Was he at Winchester V
' Yes ; and an infinite help the influence there has
been to him. I never saw any one more anxious to do
right, often under great disadvantages. I shall be very-
glad for him to be with you. He was always intended
for a clergyman, but now I am afraid there is a notion
of putting him into the business ; and he is here at-
tending to it for the present, while his father and
brother are abroad. I am sorry he is gone. I sup-
pose he was seized with a fit of shyness.'
However, when all the party had been to their
rooms and prepared for dinner, Robert reappeared, and
was asked where he had been.
1 I went to dress,' he answered.
1 Ah ! where do you lodge 1 I asked Phoebe, but
she said your letters went to Whittington-street.'
1 There are two very good rooms at the office which
my father sometimes uses.'
Phoebe and Miss Charlecote glanced at each other,
aware that Mervyn would never have condescended
to sleep in Great Whittington-street. Mr. Parsons
likewise perceived a straightforwardness in the manner,
which made him ready to acknowledge his fellow
Wykehamist and his son's acquaintance ; and they
quickly became good friends over recollections of
Oxford and Winchester, tolerably strong in Mr. Parsons
himself, and all the fresher on ' William's ' account.
Phcebe, whose experience of social intercourse was con-
fined to the stately evening hour in the drawing-room,
had never listened to anything approaching to this
style of conversation, nor seen her brother to so much
advantage in society. Hitherto she had only beheld
him neglected in his uncongenial home circle, con-
temning and contemned, or else subjected to the fret-
ting torment of Lucilla's caprice. She had never
known what he could be, at his ease, among persons of
HOPES AND FEARS. 191
the same way of thinking. Speaking scarcely ever her-
self, and her fingers busy with her needle, she was re-
ceiving a better lesson than Miss Fennimore had ever
yet been able to give. The acquiring of knowledge is
one thing, the putting it out to profit another.
Gradually, from general topics, the conversation con-
tracted to the parish and its affairs, known intimately
to Mr. Parsons a quarter of a century ago, but in which
Honora was now the best informed ; while Robert
listened as one who felt as if he might have a conside-
rable stake therein, and indeed looked upon usefulness
there as compensation for the schemes he was re-
signing.
The changes since Mr. Parsons's time had not been
cheering. The late incumbent had been a man whose
trust lay chiefly in preaching, and who, as his health
failed, and he became more unable to cope with the
crying evils around, had grown despairing, and given
■way to a sort of dismal, callous indifference ; not doing
a little, because he could not do much, and quashing
the plans of others with a nervous dread of innovation.
The class of superior persons in trade, and families of
professional men, who in Mr. Charlecote's time had
filled many a massively-built pew, had migrated to the
suburbs, and preserved only an oflice or shop in the
parish, an empty pew in the church, where the con-
gregation was to be counted by tens instead of hun-
dreds. Not that the population had fallen off. Certain
streets which had been a grief and pain to Mr. Charle-
cote, but over which he had never entirely lost his
hold, had become intolerably worse. Improvements
in other parts of London, dislodging the inhabitants,
had heaped them in festering masses of corruption in
these untouched byways and lanes, places where honest
men dared not penetrate without a policeman ; and
report spoke of rooms shared by six families at once.
Mr. Parsons had not taken the cure unknowing of
what he should find in it ; he said nothing, and looked
as simple and cheerful as if his life were not to be a
192 HOPES AND FEARS.
daily course of heroism. His wife gave one long, stifled
sigh, and looked furtively upon him with her loving
eyes, in something of anxious fear, but with far more
of exultation.
Yet it was in no dispirited tone that she asked after
the respectable poor — there surely must be some em-
ployed in small trades, or about the warehouses. She
was answered that these were not many in proportion,
and that not only had pew rents kept them out of
church, but that they had little disposition to go there.
They did send their children to the old endowed charity
schools, but as these children grew up, wave after wave
lapsed into a smooth, respectable heathen life of Sun-
day pleasuring. The more religious became dissenters,
because the earnest inner life did not approve itself to
them in Church teaching as presented to them ; the
worse sort, by far the most numerous, fell lower and
lower, and hovered scarcely above the depths of sin
and misery. Drinking was the universal vice, and
dragged many a seemingly steady character into every
stage of degradation. Men and women alike fell under
the temptation, and soon hastened down the descent of
corruption and crime.
' Ah 1' said Mrs. Parsons, 1 1 observed gin palaces at
the corner of every street.'
There was a pause. Neither her husband nor Honor
made any reply. If they had done so, neither of the
young Fulmorts would have perceived any connexion
between the gin palaces and their father's profession ;
but the silence caused both to raise their eyes. Phcebe,
judging by her sisters' code of the becoming, fancied
that their friends supposed their feelings might be hurt
by alluding to the distillery, as a trade, and cast about
for some cheerful observations, which she could not find.
Robert had received a new idea, one that must be
put aside till he had time to look at it.
There was a ring at the door. Honor's face lighted
up at the tread on the marble pavement of the hall,
and without other announcement, a young man entered
HOPES AND FEARS. 193
the room, and as she sprang up to meet him, bent down
his lofty head, and kissed her with half-filial, half-
coaxing tenderness.
* Yes, here I am. They told me I should find you
here. Ah ! Phoebe, I'm glad to see you. Fulmort,
how are you V and a well-bred shake of the hand to
Mr. and Mrs. Parsons, with the ease and air of the
young master, returning to his mother's house.
' When did you comef
1 Only to-day. I got away sooner than I expected.
I went to Lowndes Square, and they told me I should
find you here, so I came away as soon as dinner was
over. They were dressing for some grand affair, and
wanted me to come with them, but of course I must
come to see if you had really achieved bringing bright
Phcebe from her orbit.'
His simile conveyed the astronomical compliment at
once to Honora and Phcebe, who were content to share
it. Honora was in a condition of subdued excitement
and anxiety, compared to which all other sensations
were tame, chequered as was her felicity, a state well
known to mothers and sisters. Intensely gratified at
her darling's arrival, gladdened by his presence, re-
joicing in his endowments, she yet dreaded every phrase
lest some dim misgiving should be deepened, and
watched for the impression he made on her friends, as
though her own depended upon it.
Admiration could not but come foremost. It was
pleasant to look upon such a fine specimen of manly
beauty and vigour. Of unusual height, his form was
so well moulded, that his superior stature was only per-
ceived by comparison with others, and the proportions
were those of great strength. The small, well-set
head, proudly carried, the short, straight features, and
the form of the free massive curls, might have been a
model for the bust of a Greek athlete ; the colouring
was the fresh, healthy bronzed ruddiness of English
youth, and the expression had a certaiu boldness of
good-humoured freedom, agreeing with the quiet power
VOL. 1. O
194? HOPES AND FEARS.
of the whole figure. Those bright grey eyes could
never have been daunted, those curling, merry lips
never at a loss, that smooth brow never been unwelcome,
those easy movements never cramped, nor the manners
restrained by bashfulness.
The contrast was not favourable to Robert. The fair
proportions of the one brought out the irregular build
of the other ; the classical face made the plain one
more homely, the erect bearing made the eye turn to
the slouching carriage, and the readiness of address
provoked comparison with the awkward diffidence of
one disregarded at home. Bashfulness and depression
had regained their hold of the elder lad almost as the
younger one entered, and in the changes of position
consequent upon the new arrival, he fell into the back-
ground, and stood leaning, caryatid fashion, against the
mantelshelf, without uttering a word, while Owen, in a
half recumbent position on an ottoman, a little in the rear
of Miss Charlecote and her tea equipage, and close to
Phcebe, indulged in the blithe loquacity of a return
home, in a tone of caressing banter towards the first
lady, of something between good nature and attention to
the latter, yet without any such exclusiveness as would
have been disregard to the other guests.
' Ponto well ! Poor old Pon ! how does he get on ]
Was it a very affecting parting, Phcebe V
1 1 didn't see. I met Miss Charlecote at the station.'
' Not even your eyes might intrude on the sacredness
of grief ! Well, at least you dried them 1 But who
dried Ponto's V solemnly turning on Honora.
1 Jones, I hope,' said she, smiling.
' I knew it ! Says I to myself, when Henry opened
the door, Jones remains at home for the consolation of
Ponto.'
'Not entirely ' began Honora, laughing; but
the boy shook his head, cutting her short with a playful
frown.
1 Cousin Honor, it grieves me to see a woman of your
age and responsibility making false excuses. Mr. Par-
HOPES AND FEARS. 195
sons, I appeal to you, as a clergyman of the Church of
England, is it not painful to hear her putting forward
Jones's asthma, when we all know the true fact is that
Ponto's tastes are so aristocratic that he can't take
exercise with an under servant, and the housekeeper is
too fat to waddle. By the by, how is the old thing V
' Much more effective than might be supposed by your
account, sir, and probably wishing to know whether to
get your room ready.'
1 My room. Thank you ; no, not to-night. I've got
nothing with me. What are you going to do to-morrow.
I know you are to be at Charteris' s to luncheon ; his
Jewess told me so.'
1 For shame, Owen.'
' I don't see any shame, if Charles doesn't,' said Owen ;
1 only if you don't think yourself at a stall of cheap
jewellery at a fair — that's all ! Phoebe, take care.
You're a learned young lady.'
1 No ; I am very backward.'
1 Ah ! it's the fashion to deny it, but mind you don't
mention Shakespeare.'
' Why not V
1 Did you never hear of the Merchant of Venice V
Phoebe, a little startled, wanted to hear whether Mrs.
Charteris were really Jewish, and after a little more in
this style, which Honor reasonably feared the Parsonses
might not consider in good taste, it was explained that
her riches were Jewish, though her grandfather had
been nothing, and his family Christian. Owen adding,
that but for her origin, she would be very good-looking;
not that he cared for that style, and his manner indi-
cated that such rosy, childish charms as were before him
had his preference. But though this was evident enough
to all the rest of the world, Phoebe did not appear to
have the least perception of his personal meaning, and
freely, simply answered, that she admired dark-eyed
people, and should be glad to see Mrs. Charteris.
1 You will see her in her glory,' said Owen ; ' Tuesday
week, the great concern is to come off, at Castle Blanch,
196 HOPES AND FEARS.
and a rare sight she'll be ! Cilly tells me she is re-
hearsing her dresses with different sets of jewels all the
morning, and for ever coming in to consult her and
Rashe 1'
' That must be rather tiresome/ said Honor ; ' she
cannot be much of a companion.'
1 1 don't fancy she gets much satisfaction/ said Owen,
laughing ; ' Rashe never uses much " soft sawder." It's
an easy-going place, where you may do just as you
choose, and the young ladies appreciate liberty. By
the by, what do you think of this Irish scheme % '
Honora was so much ashamed of it, that she had
never mentioned it even to Phoebe, and she was the
more sorry that it had been thus adverted to, as she
saw Robert intent on what Owen let fall. She an-
swered shortly, that she could not suppose it serious.
1 Serious as a churchyard,' was Owen's answer. ' I
dare say they will ask Phoebe to join the party. For
my own part, I never believed in it till I came up to-
day, and found the place full of salmon-flies, and the
start fixed for Wednesday the 24th.'
' Who V came a voice from the dark mantelshelf.
1 Who ? Why, that's the best of it. W^ho but my
wise sister and Rashe % Not a soul besides,' cried Owen,
giving way to laughter, which no one was disposed to
echo. ' They vow that they will fish all the best streams,
and do more than any crack fisherman going, and they
would like to see who will venture to warn them off.
They've tried that already. Last summer, what did
Lucy do, but go and fish Sir Harry Buller's water.
You know he's a very tiger about preserving. Well,
she fished coolly on in the face of all his keepers; they
stood aghast, didn't know what manner of Nixie it was,
I suppose ; and when Sir Harry came down, foaming at
the mouth, she just shook her curls, and made him
wade in up to his knees to get her fly out of a
bramble !'
1 That must be exaggerated,' said Robert.
1 Exaggerated ! Not a word ! It's not possible to
HOPES AND FEARS. 197
exaggerate Cilly's coolness. I did say something about
going with them.'
1 You must, if they go at all !' exclaimed Honora.
' Out of the question, Sweet Honey. They reject
me with disdain, declare that I should only render them
commonplace, and that " rich and rare were the gems
she wore," would never have got across Ireland safe if
she had a great strapping brother to hamper her. A nd
really, as Charles says, I don't suppose any damage can
well happen to them.'
Honora would not talk of it, and turned the conver-
sation to what was to be done on the following day.
Owen eagerly proffered himself as escort, and suggested
all manner of plans, evidently assuming the entire
direction and protection of the two ladies, who were
to meet him at luncheon in Lowndes Square, and go
with him to the Royal Academy, which, as he and
Honora agreed, must necessarily be the earliest object,
for the sake of providing innocent conversation.
As soon as the clock struck ten, Robert took leave,
and Owen rose, but instead of going, lingered, talking
Oxford with Mr. Parsons, and telling good stories, much
to the ladies' amusement, though increasing Honora's
trepidation by the fear that something in his tone about
the authorities, or the slang of his manner, might not
give her friends a very good idea of his set. The constant
fear of what might come next, absolutely made her
impatient for his departure, and at last she drove him
away, by begging to know how he was going all that
distance, and offering to send Henry to call a cab, a
thing he was too good-natured to permit. He bade
good night and departed, while Mr. Parsons, in answer
to her eager eyes, gratified her by pronouncing him a
very fine young man.
'He is very full of spirit,' she said. ' You must let
me tell you a story of him. They have a young new
schoolmistress at Wrapworth, his father's former
living, you know, close to Castle Blanch. This poor
thing was obliged to punish a schoolchild, the daughter
198 HOPES AND FEARS.
of one of the bargemen on the Thames, a huge ruffianly
man. Well, a day or two after, Owen came upon him
in a narrow lane, bullying the poor girl almost out of
her life, threatening her, and daring her to lay a finger
on his children. What do you think Owen did I 1
' Fought him, I suppose,' said Mr. Parsons, ' judging
by the peculiar delight ladies take in such exploits.
Besides, he has sufficiently the air of a hero to make
it incumbent on him to " kill some giant." '
I We may be content with something short of his
killing the giant,' said Honor, ' but he really did gain
the victory. That lad, under nineteen, positively beat
this great monster of a man, and made him ask the
girl's pardon, knocked him down, and thoroughly mas-
tered him ! I should have known nothing of it,
though, if Owen had not got a black eye, which made
him unpresentable for the Castle Blanch gaieties, so
he came down to the Holt to me, knowing I should
not mind wounds gained in a good cause.'
They wished her good night in her triumph.
The receipt of a letter was rare and supreme felicity
to Maria ; therefore to indite one was Phoebe's first
task on the morrow ; after which she took up her
book, and was deeply engaged, when the door flew
back, and the voice of Owen Sandbrook exclaimed,
1 Goddess of the silver bow! what, alone 1 ?'
' Miss Charlecote is with her lawyer, and Bobert at
the office.'
'The parson and parsoness parsonically gone to
study parsonages, schools, and dilapidations, I suppose.
What a bore it is having them here ; I'd have taken
up my quarters here, otherwise, but I can't stand parish
politics.'
I I like them very much,' said Phcebe, ' and Miss
Charlecote seems to be happy with them.'
1 Just her cut, dear old thing ; the same honest,
illogical, practical sincerity,' said Owen, in a tone of
somewhat superior melancholy ; but seeing Phcebe
HOPES AND FEARS. 199
about to resent his words as a disrespectful imputation
on their friend, he turned the subject, addressing
Phoebe in the manner between teasing and flattering,
habitual to a big schoolboy towards a younger child,
phases of existence which each had not so long out-
grown as to have left off the mutual habits thereto
belonging. ' And what is bright Cynthia doing %
Writing verses, I declare ! — worthy sister of Phoebus
Apollo.'
1 Only notes,' said Phoebe, relinquishing her paper,
in testimony.
1 When found make a note of — Summoned by writ
— temp. Ed. III. — burgesses — knights of shire. It
reads like an act of parliament. Hallam's English
Constitution. My eyes ! By way of lighter study.
It is quite appalling. Pray what may be the occupa-
tion of your more serious moments 1 '
' You see the worst I have with me.'
'Holiday recreation, to which you can just conde-
scend. I say, Phoebe, I have a great curiosity to
understand the Zend. I wish you would explain it
to me.'
1 If I ever read it,' began Phoebe, laughing.
I What, you pretend to deny ? You wont put me
off that way. A lady who can only unbend so far as
to the English Constitution by way of recreation,
must '
' But it is not by way of recreation.'
'Come, I know my respected cousin too well to
imagine she would have imposed such a task. That
wont do, Phoebe.'
' I never said she had, but Miss Fennimore desired
me.'
I I shall appeal. There's no act of tyranny a woman
in authority will not commit. But this is a free
country, Phoebe, as may be you have gathered from
your author, and unless her trammels have reached to
your soul ' and he laid his hand on the book to
take it away.
200 HOPES AND FEARS.
1 Perhaps they have,' said Phoebe, smiling, but hold-
ing it fast, ' for I shall be much more comfortable in
doing as I was told.'
'Indeed!' said Owen, pretending to scrutinize her
as if she were something extraordinary (really as an
excuse for a good gaze upon her pure complexion and
limpid eyes, so steady, childlike, and unabashed, free
from all such consciousness, as would make them shrink
from the playful look). ' Indeed ! Now, in my ex-
perience the comfort would be in the not doing as you
were told.'
' Ah ! but you know I have no spirit.'
' I wish to heaven other people had none ! ' cneu
Owen, suddenly changing his tone, and sitting down
opposite to Phoebe, his elbow on the table, and speak-
ing earnestly. ' I would give th^ ^orld that my sister
were like you. Did you ever hv*ir of anything so pre-
posterous as this Irish business 1 '
1 She cannot think of it, when Miss Charlecote has
told her of all the objections,' said Phoebe.
' She will go the more,' returned Owen ; ' I say to
you, Phoebe, what I would say to no one else. Lucilla's
treatment of Honora Charlecote is abominable — vexes
me more than I can say. They say some nations have
no words for gratitude. One would think she had
come of them.'
Phoebe looked much shocked, but said, 'Perhaps
Miss Charlecote's kindness has seemed to her like a
matter of course, not as it does to us, who have no
claim at all.'
' We had no claim,' said Owen ; ' the connexion is
nothing, absolutely nothing. I believe, poor dear, the
attraction was that she had once been attached to my
father, and he was too popular a preacher to keep well
as a lover. Well, there were we, a couple of orphans,
a nuisance to all our kith and kin — nobody with a bit
of mercy for us but that que' 1 I 1 coon, Kit Charteris ,
when she takes us home, treats us like her own chil-
dren, feels for us as much as the best mother living
HOPES AND FEARS. 201
could ; undertakes to provide for us. Now, I put it
to you, Phoebe, has she any right to be cast off in this
fashion ? '
1 1 don't know in what fashion you mean.'
' Don't you. Haven't you seen how Cilly has run
restive from babyhood ? A pretty termagant she was,
as even I can remember. And how my poor father
spoilt her ! Any one but Honor would have given
her up, rather than have gone through what she did,
so firmly and patiently, till she had broken her in
fairly well. But then come in these Charterises, and
°illy runs frantic after them, her own clear relations.
Much they had cared for us when we were trouble-
some little pests. But it's all the force of blood. Stuff!
The whole truth is that they are gay, and Honora
quiet ; they encourage her to run riot. Honora keeps
her in order.'
1 Have you spoken to her V
1 As well speak to the wind. She thinks it a great
favour to run down to Hiltonbury for the Horticul-
tural Show, turn everything topsy-turvy, keep poor
dear Sweet Honey in a perpetual ferment, then come
away to Castle Blanch, as if she were rid of a trouble-
some duty.'
1 I thought Miss Charlecote sent Lucy to enjoy
herself? We always said how kind and self-denying
she was.'
1 Denied, rather,' said Owen ; ' only that's her way of
carrying it off. A month or two in the season might
be very well j see the world, and get the tone of it ; but
to racket about with Batia, and leave Honor alone
for months together, is too strong for me.'
Honora came in, delighted at her boy's visit, and
well pleased at the manner in which he was engrossed.
Two such children needed no chaperon, and if that
sweet crescent moon were to be his guiding light, so
much the better.
1 Capital girl, that,' he said, as she left the room.
1 This is a noble achievement of yours.'
202 HOPES AND FEARS.
* In getting my youngest princess out of the castle.
Ay ! I do feel in a beneficent enchanter's position.'
' She has grown up much prettier than she promised
to be.'
'And far too good for a Fulrnort. But that is
.Robert's doing.'
1 Poor Robert ! how he shows the old distiller in
grain. So he is taking to the old shop 1 — best thing
for him.'
1 Only by way of experiment.'
1 Pleasant experiment to make as much as old Ful-
mort ! I wish he'd take me into partnership.'
'You, Owen?'
' I am not proud. These aren't the days when it
matters how a man gets his tin, so he knows what to
do with it. Ay ! the world gets beyond the dear old
Hiltonbury views, after all, Sweet Honey, and you see
what City atmosphere does to me.'
' You know I never wished to press any choice on
you,' she faltered.
'What !' with a good-humoured air of affront, 'you
thought me serious 1 Don't you know I'm the ninth,
instead of the nineteenth-century man, under your
wing ? I'd promise you to be a bishop, only, you see,
I'm afraid I couldn't be mediocre enough.'
' For shame, Owen !' and yet she smiled. That boy's
presence and caressing sweetness towards herself were
the greatest bliss to her, almost beyond that of a
mother with a son, because more uncertain, less her
right by nature.
Phcebe came down as the carriage was at the door,
and they called in Whittington Street for her brother,
but he only came out to say he was very busy, and
would not intrude on Mrs. Charteris — bashfulness for
which he was well abused on the way to Lowndes
Square.
Owen, with his air of being at home, put aside the
servants as they entered the magnificent house, replete
with a display of state and luxury analogous to that of
HOPES AND FEARS. 203
Beauchamp, but with better taste and greater ease.
The Fulmorts were in bondage to ostentation ; the
Charterises were lavish for their own enjoyment, and
heedless alike of cost and of appearance.
The great drawing-room was crowded with furni-
ture, and the splendid marqueterie tables and crimson
ottomans were piled with a wild confusion of books,
prints, periodicals, papers, and caricatures, heaped over
ornaments and bijouterie, and beyond, at the doorway
of a second room, even more miscellaneously filled, a
small creature sprang to meet them, kissing Honora,
and exclaiming, ' Here you are ! Have you brought the
pig's wool ? Ah ! but you've brought something else !
No — what's become of that Redbreast?' as she em-
braced Phcebe.
1 He was so busy that he could not come.'
' Ill-behaved bird ; a whole month without coming
near me.'
1 Only a week,' said Phcebe, speaking less freely, as
she perceived two strangers in the room, a gentleman
in moustaches, who shook hands with Owen, and a
lady, whom from her greeting to Miss Charlecote (for
introductions were not the way of the house), she con-
cluded to be the formidable Kashe, and therefore re-
garded with some curiosity.
Phcebe had expected her to be a large masculine
woman, and was surprised at her dapper proportions
and not ungraceful manner. Her face, neither hand-'
some nor the reverse, was one that neither in features
nor complexion revealed her age, and her voice was
pitched to the tones of good society, so that but for a
certain ' don't care' sound in her words, and a defiant
freedom of address, Phcebe would have set down all
she had heard as a mistake, in spite of the table
covered with the brilliant appliances of fly-making,
over which both she and Lucilla were engaged. It
was at the period when ladies affected coats and waist-
coats, and both cousins followed the fashion to the
utmost ; wearing tightly-fitting black coats, plain linen
204 HOPES AND FEARS.
collars, and shirt-like under-sleeves, with black ties
round the neck. Horatia was still in mourning for
her mother, and wore a black skirt, but Lucilla's was
of rich deep gentianella-coloured silk, and the buttons
of her white vest were of beautiful coral. The want
of drapery gave a harshness to Miss Charteris's appear-
ance, but the little masculine affectations only rendered
Lucy's miniature style of feminine beauty still more
piquant. Less tall than many girls of fourteen, she
was exquisitely formed ; the close-fitting dress became
her taper waist, the ivory fairness of the throat and
hands shone out in their boyish setting, and the soft
delicacy of feature and complexion were enhanced by
the vivid sparkling of those porcelain blue eyes, under
the long lashes, still so fair and glossy as to glisten in
the light, like her profuse flaxen tresses, arranged in a
cunning wilderness of plaits and natural ringlets. The
great charm was the minuteness and refinement of the
mould containing the energetic spirit that glanced in
her eyes, quivered on her lips, and pervaded every
movement of the elastic feet and hands, childlike in
size, statuelike in symmetry, elfin in quickness and
dexterity. ' Lucile la Fee,' she might well have been
called, as she sat manipulating the gorgeous silk and
feathers with an essential strength and firmness of
hands such as could hardly have been expected from
such small members, and producing such lovely speci-
mens that nothing seemed wanting but a touch of her
wand to endow them with life. It was fit fairy work,
and be it farther known, that few women are capable
of it ; they seldom have sufficient accuracy of sustained
attention and firmness of finger combined, to produce
anything artistic or durable, and the accomplishment
was therefore Lucilla's pride. Her cousin could pre-
pare materials, but could not finish.
1 Have you brought the pig's wool V repeated Lucy,
a,s they sat down. ' No 1 That is a cruel way of
testifying. I can't find a scrap of that shade, though
I've nearly broke my heart in the tackle-shops. Here's
HOPES AND FEARS. 205
my last fragment, and this butcher will be a wreck for
want of it.'
' Let me see,' quoth the gentleman, bending over
with an air of intimacy.
'You may see,' returned Lucilla, 'but that will do
no good. Owen got this at a little shop at Elverslope,
and we can only conclude that the father of orange
pigs is dead, for we've tried every maker, and can't
hit off the tint.'
1 I've seen it in a shop in the Strand,' he said, with
an air of depreciation, such as set both ladies off with
an ardour inexplicable to mere spectators, both vehe-
mently defending the peculiarity of their favourite
hue, and little personalities passing, exceedingly
diverting apparently to both parties, but which vexed
Honora and dismayed Phoebe by the coolness of the
gentleman, and the ease with which he was treated by
the ladies.
Luncheon was announced in the midst, and in
the dining-room they found Mrs. Charteris, a dark,
aquiline beauty, of highly -coloured complexion, such as
permitted the glowing hues of dress and ornament in
which she delighted, and large languid dark eyes of
Oriental appearance.
In the scarlet and gold net confining her sable locks,
her ponderous earrings, her massive chains and brace-
lets, and gorgeous silk, she was a splendid ornament at
the head of the table ; but she looked sleepily out from
under her black-fringed eyelids, turned over the carving
as a matter of course to Owen, and evidently regarded
the two young ladies as bound to take all trouble off
her hands in talking, arranging, or settling what she
should do with herself or her carriage.
' Lolly shall take you there,' or ' Lolly shall call for
that,' passed between the cousins without the smallest
reference to Lolly herself (otherwise Eloisa), who looked
serenely indifferent through all the plans proposed for
her, only once exerting her will sufficiently to Bay,
1 Very well, Eashe, dear, you'll tell the coachman —
206 HOPES AND FEARS.
only don't forget that I must go to Storr and Mor-
timer's.'
Honora expressed a hope that Lucilla would come
with her party to the Exhibition, and was not pleased
that Mr. Calthorp exclaimed that there was another
plan.
'No, no, Mr. Calthorp, I never said any such
thing !'
c Miss Charteris, is not that a little too strong V
' You told me of the Dorking,' cried Lucilla, ' and
you said you would not miss the sight for anything ;
but I never said you should have it.'
Rashe meanwhile clapped her hands with exultation,
and there was a regular clatter of eager voices — ' I
should like to know how you would get the hackles
out of a suburban poultry fancier.'
' Out of him 1 — no, out of his best Dorking. Priced
at 120?. last exhibition — two years old — wouldn't take
20ol. for him now.'
' You don't mean that you've seen him V
' Hurrah !' Lucilla opened a paper, and waved
triumphantly five of the long tippet-plumes of chan-
ticleer.
' You don't mean '
' Mean ! I more than mean ! Didn't you tell us
that you had been to see the old party on business,
and had spied the hackles walking about in his yard f
'And I had hoped to introduce you.'
'As if we needed that ! No, no. Rashe and I
started off at six o'clock this morning, to shake off the
remains of the ball, rode down to Brompton, and did
our work. No, it was not like the macaw business, I
declare. The old gentleman held the bird for us him-
self, and I promised him a dried salmon.'
' Well, I had flattered myself — it was an unfair ad-
vantage, Miss Sandbrook.'
' Not in the least. Had you gone, it would have
cast a general clumsiness over the whole transaction,
and not left the worthy old owner half so well satisfied.
HOPES AND FEARS. 207
I believe you had so little originality as to expect to
engage him in conversation while I captured the bird ;
but once was enough of that.'
Phoebe could not help asking what was meant ; and
it was explained that, while a call was being made on
a certain old lady with a blue and yellow macaw,
Lucilla had contrived to abstract the prime glory of
the creature's tail — a blue feather lined with yellow —
an irresistible charm to a fisherwoman. But here even
the tranquil Eloi'sa murmured that Cilly must never
do so again when she went out with her.
' No, Lolly, indeed I wont. I prefer honesty, I
assure you, except when it is too commonplace. I'll
meddle with nothing at Madame Sonnini's this after-
noon.'
' Then you cannot come with us V
'Why, you see, Honor, here have Rashe and I been
appointed band-masters, Lord Chamberlains, masters
of the ceremonies, major-domos, and I don't know
what, to all the Castle Blanch concern ; and as Rashe
neither knows nor cares about music, I've got all that
on my hands ; and I must take Lolly to look on while
I manage the programme.'
' Are you too busy to find a day to spend with us at
St. Wulstan's V
A discussion of engagements took place, apparently
at the rate of five per day • but Mrs. Charteris inter-
posed an invitation to dinner for the next evening,
including Robert ; and farther, it appeared that all the
three were expected to take part in the Castle Blanch
festivities. Lolly had evidently been told of them as
settled certainties among the guests, and Lucilla, Owen,
and Rashe vied with each other in declaring that they
had imagined Honor to have brought Phoebe to London
with no other intent, and that all was fixed for the
ladies to sleep at Castle Blanch the night before, and
Robert Fulmort to come down in the morning by
train.
Nothing could have been farther from Honoras
208 HOPES AND FEARS.
predilections than such gaieties, but Phoebe's eyes were
growing round with eagerness, and there would be un-
kindness in denying her the pleasure, as well as
churlishness in disappointing Lucy and Owen, who had
reckoned on her in so gratifying a manner. Without
decidedly accepting or refusing, she let the talk go on.
1 Miss Fulmort,' said Ratia, ' I hope you are not too
religious to dance.'
Much surprised, Phoebe made some reply in the
negative.
' Oh, I forgot, that's not your sisters' line ; but I
thought . . . .' and she gave an expressive glance to
indicate Miss Charlecote.
' Oh, no,' again said Phoebe, decidedly.
1 Yes, I understand. Never mind, I ought to have
remembered ; but when people are gone in, one is apt
to forget whether they think " promiscuous dancing "
immoral or praiseworthy. Well, you must know some
of my brother's constituents are alarmingly excellent —
fat, suburban, and retired ; and we have hatched a
juvenile hay-making, where they may eat and flirt
without detriment to decided piety ; and when they
go off, we dress for a second instalment for an evening
party.'
To Phcebe it sounded like opening Paradise, and she
listened anxiously for the decision ; but nothing ap-
peared certain except the morrow's dinner, and that
Lucilla was to come to spend the Sunday at Miss
Charlecote's ; and this being fixed, the luncheon party
broke up, with such pretty bright affection on Lucilla's
part, such merry coaxing of Honor, and such orders to
Phoebe to ' catch that Robin to-morrow,' that there-
was no room left for the sense of disappointment that
no rational word had passed.
* Where V asked Owen, getting into the carriage.
* Henry knows — the Royal Academy.'
' Ha ! no alteration in consequence of the invitation?
no finery required'? you must not carry Hiltonbury
philosophy too far.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 209
' I have not accepted it.'
' That is not required j it is your fate, Phcebe ; why
don't you speak, or are you under an embargo from
any of the wicked enchanters ? Even if so, you might
be got off among the pious j uveniles.'
1 Papa was so kind as to say I might go wherever
Miss Charlecote liked,' said Phcebe ; ' but, indeed, I
had rather do exactly what suits her ; I dare say the
morning party will suit her best '
1 The oily popular preachers ! '
1 Thank you, OweD,' laughed Honor.
'No, now you must accept the whole. There's
room to give the preachers a wide berth, even should
they insist on ' concluding with prayer,' and it will
be a pretty sight. They have the Guards' band
coming.'
• I never heard a military band,' ejaculated Phcebe.
' And there are to be sports for the village children,
I believe,' added Owen ; ' besides, you will like to
meet some of the lions — the Archdeacon and his wife
will be there.'
1 But how can I think of filling up Mrs. Charteris's
house, without the least acquaintance ? '
1 Honey-sweet philosopher, Eloisa heeds as little how
her house is filled, so it be filled, as Jessica did her
father's ring. Five dresses a-day, with accoutrements
to match, and for the rest she is sublimely indifferent.
Fortune played her a cruel trick in preventing her
from being born a fair sultana.'
I Not to be a Mahometan 1 ' said Phcebe.
' 1 don't imagine she is far removed from one;' then,
as Phoebe's horror made her look like Maria, he added
— ' I don't mean that she was not bred a Christian,
but the Oriental mind never distinctly embraces tenets
contrary to its constitution.'
' Miss Charlecote, is he talking in earnest 1 '
I I hope not,' Honora said, a little severely, ' for he
would be giving a grievous account of the poor lady's
faith '
VOL. i. p
210 HOPES AND FEARS.
' Faith ! no, my dear, she has not reflection enough
for faith. All that enters into the Eastern female
mind is a little observance.'
' And you are not going to lead Phoebe to believe
that you think it indifferent whether those observances
be Christian or Pagan ¥ said Honora, earnestly.
There was a little pause, and then Owen rather
hesitatingly said — ' It is a hard thing to pronounce
that three-fifths of one's fellow-creatures are on the
high road to Erebus, especially when ethnologically
we find that certain aspects of doctrine never have
approved themselves to certain races, and that climate
is stronger than creed. Am I not talking Fenni-
morically, Phoebe 1 '
'Much more Fennimorically than I wish her to
hear, or you to speak,' said Honora ; ' you talk as if
there were no such thing as truth.'
'Ah! now comes the question of subjective and
objective, and I was as innocent as j)ossible of any in-
tention of plunging into such a sea, or bringing those
furrows into your forehead, dear Honor ! See what it
is to talk to you and Miss Fennimore's pupil. All
things, human and divine, have arisen out of my simple
endeavour to show you that you must come to Castle
Blanch, the planners of the feast having so ordained,
and it being good for all parties, due from the fairy
godmother to the third princess, and seriously giving
Cilly another chance of returning within the bounds
of discretion.'
Honora thought as much. She hoped that Robert
would by that time have assumed his right to plead
with Lucilla, and that in such a case she should be a
welcome refuge, and Phoebe still more indispensable ;
so her lips opened in a yielding smile, and Phoebe
thanked her rapturously, vague hopes of Robert's bliss
adding zest to the anticipation of the lifting of the
curtain which hid the world of brightness.
1 There's still time,' said Owen, with his hand on
HOPES AND FEAkS. 211
the check-string ; ' which do you patronize 1 Ped-
mayne or '
* Nonsense,' smiled Honor, ' we can't waste our
escort upon women's work.'
' Ladies never want a gentleman more than when
their taste is to be directed.'
1 He is afraid to trust us, Phoebe.'
'Conscience has spoken,' said Owen; 'she knows
how she would go and disguise herself in an old
dowager's gown to try to look like sixty ! '
As for silk gowns-
' I positively forbid it,' he cried, cutting her short,
' it is five years old ! '
' A reason why I should not have another too grand
to wear out.'
' And you never ought to have had it. Phoebe, it
was bought when Lucy was seventeen, on purpose to
look as if she was of a fit age for a wall-flower, and so
well has the poor thing done its duty, that Lucy hears
herself designated as the pretty girl who belongs to
the violet and white ! If she had known that was
coming after her, I wont answer for the consequence.'
' If it does annoy Lucy — we do not so often go out
together don't Owen, I never said it was to be
now, I am bent on Landseer.'
1 But I said so,' returned Owen, ' for Miss Charle-
cote regards the distressed dress-makers — four dresses
— think of the fingers that must ache over them.'
1 Well, he does what he pleases,' sighed Honor ;
* there's no help for it, you see, Phoebe. Shall you dis-
like looking on 1 ' For she doubted whether Phoebe
had been provided with means for her equipment, and
might not require delay and correspondence, but the
frank answer was, ' Thank you, I shall be glad of the
opportunity. Papa told me I might fit myself out in
case of need.'
I And suppose we are too late for the Exhibition.'
I I never bought a dress before,' quoth Phoebe.
p 2
212 HOPES AND FEARS.
Owen laughed. ' That's right, Phoebe ! Be strong-
minded and original enough to own that some decora-
tions surpass " Raffaelles, Correggios, and stuff" '
' No/ said Phoebe, simply, and with no affectation
of scorn, 'they only interest me more at this moment.'
Honor smiled to Owen her love for the honesty that
never spoke for effect, nor took what it believed it
ought to feel, for what it really felt. Withal, Owen
gained his purpose, and conducted the two ladies into
one of the great shops of ladies' apparel.
Phoebe followed Miss Charlecote with eyes of lively
anticipation. Miss Fennimore had taught her to be
real when she could not be philosophical, and scruples
as to the ' vain pomp and glory of the world,' had
not presented themselves ; she only found herself
admitted to privileges hitherto so jealously withheld
as to endow them with a factitious value, and in a
scene of real beauty. The textures, patterns, and
tints were, as Owen observed, such as approved them-
selves to the aesthetic sense, the miniature embroidery
of the brocades was absolute art, and no contemptible
taste was displayed in the apparently fortuitous yet
really elaborate groupings of rich and delicate hues,
fine folds, or ponderous draperies.
'Far from it,' said Honor; 'the only doubt is
whether such be a worthy application of aesthetics.
"Were they not given us for better uses % '
' To diffuse the widest amount of happiness % '
' That is one purpose.'
' And a fair woman well dressed is the sight most
delightful to the greatest number of beholders.'
Honor made a playful face of utter repudiation of
the maxim, but meeting him on his own ground
emphasized ' Fair and well dressed — that is,
appropriately.'
' That is what brings me here,' said Owen, turning
round, as the changeful silks, already asked for, were
laid on the counter before them.
It was an amusing shopping. The gentleman's
HOPES AND FEARS. 213
object was to direct the taste of both ladies, but his
success was not the same. Honora's first affections
fell upon a handsome black, enlivened by beautiful
blue flowers in the flounces ; but her tyrant scouted it
as 'a dingy dowager,' and overruled her into choosing
a delicate lavender, insisting that if it were less
durable, so much the better for her friends, and
domineering over the black lace accompaniments with
a solemn tenderness that made her warn him in a
whisper that people were taking her for his ancient bride,
thus making him some degrees more drolly attentive ;
settling her headgear with the lady of the shop, with-
out reference to her ! After all, it was very charming
to be so affectionately made a fool of, and it was better
for her children as well as due to the house of Charle-
cote that she should not be a dowdy country cousin.
Meantime, Phoebe stood by amused, admiring, assist-
ing, but not at all bewildered. Miss Fennimore had
impressed the maxim : 'Always know what you mean
to do, and do it.' She had never chosen a dress before,
but that did not hinder her from having a mind and
knowing it j she had a reply for each silk that Owen
sus^ested, and the moment her turn came, she desired
to see a green glace. In vain he exclaimed, and drew
his favourites in front of her, in vain appealed to Miss
Oharlecote and the shopman ; she laughed him off,
took but a moment to reject each proffered green
which did not please her, and in as brief a space had
recognised the true delicate pale tint of ocean. It was
one that few complexions could have borne, but their
connoisseur, with one glance from it to her fresh cheek,
owned her right, though much depended on the
garniture, and he again brought forward his beloved
lilac, insinuating that he should regard her selection of
it as a personal attention. No ; she laughed, and said
she had made up her mind and would not change ;
and while he was presiding over Honora's black lace,
she was beforehand with him, and her bill was being
made out for her white muslin worked mantle, white
21-i HOPES AND FEARS.
bonnet with a tuft of lady grass, white evening dress
and wreath of lilies of the valley.
1 Green and white, forsaken qiiite,' was the best
revenge that occurred to him, and Miss Chariecote
declared herself ashamed that the old lady's dress had
caused so much more fuss than the young lady's.
It was of course too late for the Exhibition, so they
applied themselves to further shopping, until Owen
had come to the farthest point whence he could con-
veniently walk back to dine with his cousins, and go
with them to the opera, and he expended some
vituperation upon Ratia for an invitation which had
prevented Phcebe from being asked to join the party.
Phcebe was happy enough without it, and though
not morbidly bashful, felt that at present it was more
comfortable to be under Miss Charlecote's wing than
that of Lucilla, and that the quiet evening was more
composing than fresh scenes of novelty.
The Woolstone Lane world was truly very different
from that of which she had had a glimpse, and quite as
new to her. Mr. Parsons, after his partial survey,
was considering of possibilities, or more truly of en-
deavours at impossibilities, a mission to that dreadful
population, means of discovering their sick, of reclaim-
ing their children, of causing the true Light to shine
in that frightful gross darkness that covered the people.
She had never heard anything yet discussed save on
the principle of self-pleasing or self-aggrandizement ;
here, self-spending was the axiom on which all the pro-
blems were worked.
After dinner, Mr. Parsons retired into the study,
and while his wife and Miss Charlecote sat down for a
friendly gossip over the marriages of the two daughters,
Phcebe welcomed an unrestrained ttte-a-tete with her
brother. They were one on either seat of the old
oriel window, she, with her work on her lap, full of
pleasant things to tell him, but pausing as she looked
up, and saw his eyes far far away, as he knelt on the
HOPES AND FEARS. 215
cushion, his elbows on the sill of the open lattice, one
hand supporting his chin, the other slowly erecting his
hair into the likeness of the fretful porcupine. He
had heard of, but barely assented to, the morrow's
dinner, or the fete at Castle Blanch; he had not even
asked her how Lucilla looked ; and after waiting for
some time, she said, as a feeler — ' You go with us to-
morrow 1 '
1 1 suppose I must.'
1 Lucy said so much in her pretty way about catch-
ing the robin, that I am sure she was vexed at your
not having called.'
No answer : his eyes had not come home.
Presently he mumbled something so much distorted
by the compression of his chin, and by his face being
out of window, that his sister could not make it out.
In answer to her sound of inquiry, he took down one
hand, removed the other from his temple, and emitting
a modicum more voice from between his teeth, said,
' It is plain — it can't be '
I What can't be 1 Not — Lucy V gasped Phcebe.
' I can't take shares in the business.'
Her look of relief moved him to explain, and draw-
ing himself in, he sat down on his own window-seat,
stretching a leg across, and resting one foot upon that
where she was placed, so as to form a sort of barrier,
shutting themselves into a sense of privacy.
'I can't do it,' he repeated, 'not if my bread depended
on it.'
< What is the matter V
I I have looked into the books, I have gone over it
with Rawlins.'
' You don't mean that we are going to be ruined ? '
1 Better that we were than to go on as we do !
Phcebe, it is wickedness.' There was a long pause.
Robert rested his brow on his hand, Phcebe gazed
intently at him, trying to unravel the idea so sud-
denly presented. She had reasoned it out before
216 HOPES AND FEARS.
lie looked up, and she roused him by softly saying,
* You mean that you do not like the manufacture of
spirits because they produce so much evil.'
Though he did not raise his head, she understood
his affirmation, and went on with her quiet logic, for,
poor girl, hers was not the happy maiden's defence —
1 What my father does cannot be wrong.' Without
condemning her father, she instinctively knew that
weapon was not in her armoury, and could only betake
herself to the merits of the case. ' You know how
much rather I would see you a clergyman, dear Robin,'
she said ■ ' but I do not understand why you change
your mind. We always knew that spirits were im-
properly used, but that is no reason why none should
be made, and they are often necessary.'
' Yes,' he answered ; ' but, Phoebe, I have learnt to-
day that our trade is not supported by the lawful use
of spirits. It is the ministry of hell.'
Phoebe raised her startled eyes in astonished in-
quiry.
1 1 would have credited nothing short of the books,
but there I find that not above a fifth part of our
manufacture goes to respectable houses, where it is
applied properly. The profitable traffic, which it is
the object to extend, is the supply of the gin palaces
of the city. The leases of most of those you see about
here belong to the firm, it supplies them, and gains
enormously on their receipts. It is to extend the
dealings in this way that my legacy is demanded.'
The enormity only gradually beginning to dawn
upon Phoebe, all she said was a meditative- 1 -' You
would not like that.'
'You did not realize it,' he said, nettled at her
quiet tone. ' Do not you understand 1 You and I,
and all of us, have eaten and drunk, been taught more
than we could learn, lived in a fine house, and been
made into ladies and gentlemen, all by battening on
the vice and misery of this wretched population.
Those unhappy men and women are lured into the
HOPES AND FEARS. 217
gaudy palaces at the corners of the streets to purchase
a moment's oblivion of conscience, by stinting their
children of bread, that we may wear fine clothes, and
call ourselves county people.'
' Do not talk so, Robert,' she exclaimed, trembling j
' it cannot be right to say such things '
1 It is only the bare fact ! it is no pi easure to me to
accuse my own father, I assure you, Phoebe, but I can-
not blind myself to the simple truth.'
' He cannot see it in that light.'
' He will not.'
1 Surely,' faltered Phoebe, ' it cannot be so bad when
one does not know it is '
' So far true. The conscience does not waken quickly
to evils with which our lives have been long familiar.'
* And Mervyn was brought up to it '
' That is not my concern,' said Robert, too much in
the tone of ' Am I my brother's keeper V
' You will at least tell your reasons for refusing.'
' Yes, and much I shall be heeded ! However, my
own hands shall be pure from the wages of iniquity. I
am thankful that all I have comes from the Mervyns.'
1 It is a comfort, at least, that you see your way.'
' I suppose it is ;' but he sighed heavily, with a sense
that it was almost profanation to have set such a pro-
fession in the balance against the sacred ministry.
' I know she will like it best.'
Dear Phoebe ! in spite of Miss Fennimore, faith must
still have been much stronger than reason if she could
detect the model parsoness in yonder firefly.
Poor child, she went to bed, pondering over her
brother's terrible discoveries, and feeling as though she
had suddenly awakened to find herself implicated in a
web of iniquity ; her delightful parcel of purchases
lost their charms, and oppressed her as she thought of
them in connexion with the rags of the squalid chil-
dren the Rector had described, and she felt as if there
were no escape, and she could never be happy again
under the knowledge of the price of her luxuries, and
218 HOPES AND FEARS.
the dread of judgment. ' Much good had their wealth
done them,' as Robert truly said. The house of Beau-
champ had never been nearly so happy as if their
means had been moderate. Always paying court to
their own station, or they were disunited among them-
selves, and not yet amalgamated with the society to
which they had attained, the younger ones passing their
elders in cultivation, and every discomfort of change
of position felt, though not acknowledged. Even the
mother, lady as she was by birth, had only belonged to
the second-rate class of gentry, and while elevated by
wealth, was lowered by connexion, and not having either
mind or strength enough to stand on her own ground,
trod with an ill-assured foot on that to which she
aspired.
Not that all this crossed Phoebe's mind. There was
merely a dreary sense of depression, and of living in
the midst of a grievous mistake, from which Robert
alone had the power of disentangling himself, and she
fell asleep sadly enough ; but, fortunately, sins, com-
mitted neither by ourselves, nor by those for whom we
are responsible, have not a lasting power of paining ;
and she rose up in due time to her own calm sunshiny
spirit of anticipation of the evening's meeting between
Robin and Lucy — to say nothing of her own first
dinner party.
CHAPTER IV.
And instead of 'dearest Miss, 1
Jewel, honey, sweetheart, bliss,
And those forms of old admiring,
Call her cockatrice and siren.
C. Lamd.
Eloisa
in Nights, and
azure gossamer-like tex-
§^5=^ HE ladies of the house were going to a
; ball, and were in full costume
> a study for the Arab
^ Lucilla in an
ture surrounding her like a cloud, tur-
quoises on her arms, and blue and
silver ribbons mingled with her blonde tresses.
Very like the clergyman's wife !
sage Honor, were you not provoked with yourself
for being so old as to regard that bewitching sprite,
and marvel whence comes the cost of those robes of
the woof of Faerie 1
Let Oberon pay Titania's bills.
That must depend on who Oberon is to be.
Phoebe, to whom a doubt on that score would have
appeared high treason, nevertheless hated the presence
of Mr. Calthorp as much as she could hate anything,
and was in restless anxiety as to Titania's behaviour.
She herself had no cause to complain, for she was at
once singled out and led away from Miss Charlecote,
to be shown some photographic performances, in which
Lucy and her cousin had been dabbling.
1 There, that horrid monster is Owen — he never will
come out respectable. Mr. Prendergast, he is better,
220 HOPES AND FEARS.
because you don't see his face. There's our school,
Edna Murrell and all ; I natter myself that is a work
of art ; only this little wretch fidgeted, and muddled
himself.'
1 Is that the mistress ? She does not look like one.'
' Not like Sally Page 1 No j she would bewilder the
Hiltonbury mind. I mean you to see her ; I would
not miss the shock to Honor. No, don't show it to
her ! I wont have any preparation.'
1 Do you call that preparation V said Owen, coming
up, and taking up the photograph indignantly. ' You
should not do such things, Cilly !'
''Tisn't I that do them — it's Phoebe's brother — the
one in the sky I mean, Dan Phoebus, and if .he wont
flatter, I can't help it. No, no, I'll not have it broken ;
it is an exact likeness of all the children's spotted
frocks, and if it be not of Edna, it ought to be.'
1 Look, Robert,' said Phoebe, as she saw him stand-
ing shy, grave, and monumental, with nervous hands
clasped over the back of a chair, neither advancing nor
retreating, ' what a beautiful place this is !'
' Oh ! that's from a print — Glendalough ! I mean
to bring you plenty of the real place.'
1 Kathleen's Cave,' said the unwelcome millionaire.
' Yes, with a comment on Kathleen's awkwardness !
I should like to seethe hermit who could push me down.'
' You ! You'll never tread in Kathleen's steps !'
' Because I shan't find a hermit in the cave.'
1 Talk of skylarking on " the lake whose gloomy
shore !" ' They all laughed except the two Fulmorts.
1 There's a simpler reason,' said one of the Guards-
men, ' namely, that neither party will be there at all.'
' No, not the saint '
'Nor the lady. Miss Charteris tells me all the
maiden aunts are come up from the country.' (How
angry Phoebe was !)
'Happily, it is an article I don't possess.'
1 Well, we will not differ about technicalities, as long
as the fact is the same. You'll remember my words when
HOPES AND FEARS. 221
you are kept on a diet of Hannah More and Miss
Edgeworth till you shall have abjured hounds, balls,
and salmon-flies.'
' The woman lives not who has the power !'
1 What bet will you take, Miss Sandbrook V
1 What bet will you take, Lord William, that, maiden
aunts and all, I appear on the 3rd, in a dress of salmon-
flies V
1 A hat trimmed with goose feathers to a pocket-
handkerchief, that by that time you are in the family
mansion, repenting of your sins.'
Phoebe looked on like one in a dream, while the terms
of the wager were arranged with playful precision.
She did not know that dinner had been announced, till
she found people moving, and in spite of her antipathy
to Mr. Calthorp, she rejoiced to find him assigned to
herself — dear, good Lucy must have done it to keep
Robin to herself, and dear, good Lucy she shall be, in
spite of the salmon, since in the progress downstairs
she has cleared the cloud from his brow.
It was done by a confiding, caressing clasp on his arm,
and the few words, ' Now for old friends ! How
charming little Phoebe looks !'
How different were his massive brow and deep-set
eyes without their usual load, and how sweet his grati-
fied smile !
' Where have you been, you Robin ? If I had not
passed you in the Park, I should never have guessed
there was such a bird in London. I began to change
my mind, like Christiana — "I thought Robins were
harmless and gentle birds, wont to hop about men's
doors, and feed on crumbs, and such like harmless food." '
'And have you seen me eating worms V
I I've not seen you at all.'
I I did not think you had leisure — I did not believe
I should be welcome.'
1 The cruellest cut of all ; positive irony '
< No, indeed ! I am not so conceited as '
' As what?'
222 HOPES AND FEARS.
' As to suppose you could want me.'
1 And there was I longing to hear about Phoebe ! If
you had only come, I could have contrived her going
to the Zauberflote with us last night, but I didn't know
the length of her tether.'
' I did not know you were so kind.'
'Be kinder yourself another time. Don't I know
how I have been torn to pieces at Hiltonbury, without
a friend to say one word for the poor little morsel !' she
said piteously.
He was impelled to an eager ' No, no !' but recalling
facts, he modified his reply into, ' Friends enough, but
very anxious 1'
' There, I knew none of you trusted me,' she said,
pretending to pout.
1 When play is so like earnest '
1 Slow people are taken in ! That's the fun ! I like
to show that I can walk alone sometimes, and not be
snatched up the moment I pop my head from under my
leading-strings.'
Her pretty gay toss of the head prevented Robert
from thinking whether woman is meant to be without
leading-strings.
' And it was to avoid countenancing my vagaries
that you stayed away V she said, with a look of injured
innocence.
' I was very much occupied,' answered Robert, feeling
himself in the wrong.
' That horrid office ! You aren't thinking of be-
coming a Clarence, to drown yourself in brandy — that
would never do.'
' No, I have given up all thoughts of that !'
1 You thought, you wretched Redbreast ! I thought
you knew better.'
' So I ought,' said Robert, gravely, ' but my father
wished me to make the experiment, and I must own,
that before I looked into the details, there were con-
siderations which — which '
'Such considerations as £ s. d. ? For shame !'
HOPES AND FEARS. 223
1 For shame, indeed,' said the happy Eobert. * Phoebe
judged you truly. I did not know what might be the
effect of habit ' and he became embarrassed, doubt-
ful whether she would accept the assumption on which
he spoke ; but she went beyond his hopes.
' The only place I ever cared for is a very small old
parsonage,' she said, with feeling in her tone.
1 Wrapworth 1 that is near Castle Blanch.'
1 Yes ! I must show it you. You shall come with
Honor and Phoebe on Monday, and I will show you
everything.'
' I should be delighted — but is it not arranged V
' I'll take care of that. Mr. Prendergast shall take
you in, as he would a newly arrived rhinoceros, if I told
him. He was our curate, and used to live in the house
even in our time. Don't say a word, Robin, it is to be.
I must have you see my river, and the stile where my
father used to sit when he was tired. I've never told
any one which that is.'
Ordinarily Lucilla never seemed to think of her
father, never named him, and her outpouring was
doubly prized by Robert, whose listening face drew her
on.
' I was too much of a child to understand how fear-
fully weak he must have been, for he could not come
home from the castle without a rest on that stile, and
we used to play round him, and bring him flowers. My
best recollections are all of that last summer — it seems
like my whole life at home, and much longer than it
could really have been. We were all in all to one
another. How different it would have been if he had
lived ! I think no one has believed in me since.'
There was something ineffably soft and sad in the
last words, as the beautiful, petted, but still lonely
orphan, cast down her eyelids with a low long sigh, as
though owning her errors, but pleading this ex-
tenuation. Robert, much moved, was murmuring some-
thing incoherent, but she went on. ' Rashe does, per-
haps. Can't you see how it is a part of the general
224 HOPES AND FEARS.
disbelief in me to suppose that I come here only for
London seasons, and such like 1 I must live where I
have what the dear old soul there has not got to give.'
'You cannot doubt of her affection. I am sure
there is nothing she would not do for you.'
* ' Do !' that is not what I want. It can't be done,
it must he felt, and that it never will be. When there's a
mutual antagonism, gratitude becomes a fetter, intoler-
able when it is strained.'
' I cannot bear to hear you talk so ', revering Miss
Charlecote as I do, and feeling that I owe everything
to her notice.'
1 Oh, I find no fault, I reverence her too ! It was
only the nature of things, not her intentions, nor her
kindness, that was to blame. She meant to be justice
and mercy combined towards us, but I had all the one,
and Owen all the other. Not that I am jealous ! Oh,
no ! Not that she could help it ; but no woman can
help being hard on her rival's daughter.'
Nothing but the sweet tone and sad arch smile could
have made this speech endurable to Robert, even
though he remembered many times when the trembling
of the scale in Miss Charlecote's hands had filled him
with indignation. ' You allow that it was justice,' he
said, smiling.
1 No doubt of that,' she laughed. ' Poor Honor !
I must have been a grievous visitation, but I am very
good now ; I shall come and spend Sunday as gravely
as a judge, and when you come to Wrapworth. you
shall see how I can go to the school when it is not
forced down my throat — no merit either, for our mis-
tress is perfectly charming, with such a voice ! If I
were Phoebe I would look out, for Owen is desperately
smitten.'
1 Phoebe !' repeated Robert, with a startled look.
1 Owen and Phoebe ! I considered it une affaire
arrangee as much as ' She had almost said you
and me : Robert could supply the omission, but he was
only blind of one eye, and gravely said, 'It is well
HOPES AND FEARS. 225
there is plenty of time before Owen to tame Mm
down.'
' Oney,' laughed Lucilla ; ' yes, he has a good deal
to do in that line, with his opinions in such a mess
that I really don't know what he does believe.'
Though the information was not new to Robert, her
levity dismayed him, and he gravely began, ' If you
have such fears — ' but she cut him off short.
' Did you ever play at bagatelle V
He stared in displeased surprise.
' Did you never see the ball go joggling about
before it could settle into its hole, and yet abiding
there very steadily at last % Look on quietly, and you
will see the poor fellow as sober a parish priest as
yourself.'
1 You are a very philosophical spectator of the pro-
cess,' Robert said, still displeased.
I Just consider what a capacious swallow the poor
boy had in his tender infancy, and how hard it was
crammed with legends, hymns, and allegories, with so
many scruples bound down on his poor little conscience
that no wonder, when the time of expansion came, the
whole concern should give way with a jerk.'
I I thought Miss Charlecote's education had been
most anxiously admirable.'
* Precisely so ! Don't you see ? Why, how dull
you are for a man who has been to Oxford !'
' I should seriously be glad to hear your view, for
Owen's course has always been inexplicable to me.'
* To you, poor Robin, who lived gratefully on the
crumbs of our advantages ! The point was that to you
they were crumbs, while we had a surfeit.'
'Owen never seemed overdone. I used rather to
hate him for his faultlessness, and his familiarity with
what awed my ignorance.'
1 The worse for him ! He was too apt a scholar,
and received all unresisting, unsifting — Anglo-Catho-
licism, slightly touched with sentiment, enthusiasm for
the Crusades, passive obedience — acted faithfully up to
VOL. I. Q
226 HOPES AND FEARS.
it ; imagined that to be ' not a good Churchman,' as he
told Charles, expressed the seven deadly sins, and that
reasoning was the deadliest of all !'
' As far as I understand you, you mean that there
was not sufficient distinction between proven and non-
proven — important and unimportant.'
1 You begin to perceive. If Faith be overworked,.
Reason kicks ; and, of course, when Owen found the
Holt was not the world ; that thinking was not the ex-
clusive privilege of demons ; that habits he considered
as imperative duties were inconvenient, not to say im-
practicable ; that his articles of faith included much of
the apocryphal, — why, there was a general downfall !'
1 Poor Miss Charlecote,' sighed Robert, ' it is a dis-
heartening effect of so much care.'
1 She should have let him alone, then, for Uncle Kit
to make a sailor of. Then he would have had some-
thing better to do than to think /'
'Then you are distressed about him V said Robin,,
wistfully.
' Thank you,' said she, laughing ; ' but you see I am
too wise ever to think or distress myself. He'll think
himself straight in time, and begin a reconstruction
from his scattered materials, I suppose, and meantime-
he is a very comfortable brother, as such things go ;
but it is one of the grudges I can't help owing to
Honora, that such a fine fellow as that is not an in-
dependent sailor or soldier, able to have some fun, and
not looked on as a mere dangler after the Holt.'
' I thought the reverse was clearly understood V
' She ought to have ' acted as sich.' How my rela-
tives, and yours too, would laugh if you told them so £
Not that I think, like them, that it is Elizabethan dis-
like to naming a successor, nor to keep him on his good
behaviour ; she is far above that, but it is plain how it
will be. The only other relation she knows in the
world is farther off than we are — not a bit more of a
Charlecote, and twice her age ; and when she has
waited twenty or thirty years longer for the auburn-
HOPES AND FEARS. 227
haired lady my father saw in a chapel at Toronto, she
will bethink herself that Owen, or Owen's eldest son,
had better have it than the Queen. That's the sense
of it ; but I hate the hanger-on position it keeps
him in.'
1 It is a misfortune,' said Robert. ( People treat him
as a man of expectations, and at his age it would not
be easy to disown them, even to himself. He has an
eldest son air about him, which makes people impose
on him the belief that he is one ; and yet, who could
have guarded against the notion more carefully than
Miss Charlecote V
' I'm of Uncle Kit's mind,' said Lucilla, ' that chil-
dren should be left to their natural guardians. What !
is Lolly really moving before I have softened down
the edge of my ingratitude ¥
1 So !' said Miss Charteris, as she brought up the
rear of the procession of ladies on the stairs.
Lucilla faced about on the step above, with a face
where interrogation was mingled with merry de-
fiance.
' So that is why the Calthorp could not get a word
all the livelong dinner-time !'
1 Ah ! I used you ill ; I promised you an opportu-
nity of studying i Cock Robin,' but you see I could not
help keeping him myself — I had not seen him for so
long/
' You were very welcome ! It is the very creature
that baffles me. I can talk to any animal in the world
except an incipient parson.'
1 Owen, for instance V
1 Oh 1 if people choose to put a force on nature, there
can be no general rules. But, Cilly, you know I've
always said you should marry whoever you liked ; but
I require another assurance — on your word and honour
— that you are not irrevocably Jenny Wren as yet !'
' Did you not see the currant wine V said Cilly, pull-
ing leaves off a myrtle in a tub on the stairs, and scat-
tering them over her cousin.
n 9
228 HOPES AND FEARS.
' Seriously, Cilly ! Ah, T see now — your exclusive
attention to him entirely reassures me. You would
never have served him so, if you had meant it.'
' It was commonplace in me,' said Lucilla, gravely,
' but I could not help it ; he made me feel so good —
or so bad — that I believe I shall '
1 Not give up the salmon,' cried Horatia. ' Cilly,
you will drive me to commit matrimony on the spot.'
* Do,' said Lucilla, running lightly up, and dancing
into the drawing-room, where the ladies were so
much at their ease, on low couches and ottomans, that
Phoebe stood transfixed by the novelty of a drawing-
room treated with such freedom as was seldom per-
mitted in even the schoolroom at Beauchamp, when
Miss Fennimore was in presence.
' Phoebe, bright Phoebe !' cried Lucilla, pouncing on
both her hands, and drawing her towards the other
room, ■ it is ten ages since I saw you, and you must
bring your taste to aid my choice of the fly costume.
Did you hear, Rashe 1 I've a bet with Lord William
that I appear at the ball all in flies. Isn't it fun V
1 Oh, jolly !' cried Horatia. ' Make yourself a pike-
fly-'
■ No, no ; not a guy for any one. Only wear a trim-
ming of salmon-flies, which will be lovely.'
1 You do not really mean it V said Phoebe.
' Mean it 1 With all my heart, in spite of the tre-
mendous sacrifice of good flies. Where honour is
concerned '
' There. I knew you would not shirk.'
* Did I ever say so ¥ — in a whisper, not unheard by
Phoebe, and affording her so much satisfaction that she
only said, in a grave, puzzled voice, ' The hooks V
' Hooks and all,' was the answer. ' I do nothing by
halves.'
* What a state of mind the fishermen will be in !'
proceeded Horatia. ' You'll have every one of them
at your feet.'
* I shall tell them that two of a trade never agree.
HOPES AND FEARS. 229
Come, and let us choose.' And opening a drawer,
Lucilla took out her long parchment book, and was
soon eloquent on the merits of the doctor, the butcher,
the duchess, and all her other radiant fabrications of
gold pheasants' feathers, parrot plumes, jays' wings, and
the like. Phoebe could not help admiring their beauty,
though she was perplexed all the while, uncomfortable
on Robert's account, and yet not enough assured of the
usages of the London world to be certain whether this
were unsuitable. The Charteris family, though not of
the most elite circles of all, were in one to which the
Fulmorts had barely the entree, and the ease and dash
of the young ladies, Lucilla's superior age, and caress-
ing patronage, all made Phoebe in her own eyes too
young and ignorant to pass an opinion. She would
have known more about the properties of a rectangle
or the dangers of a paper currency.
Longing to know what Miss Charlecote thought, she
stood, answering as little as possible, until Pashe had
been summoned to the party in the outer room, and
Cilly said, laughing, ' Well, does she astonish your
infant mind V
1 1 do not quite enter into her,' said Phoebe, doubt-
fully.
1 The best-natured, and most unappreciated girl in
the world. Up to anything, and only a victim to pre-
judice. You, who have a strong-minded governess,
ought to be superior to the delusion that it is interest-
ing to be stupid and helpless.'
' I never thought so,' said Phoebe, feeling for a moment
in the wrong, as Lucilla always managed to make her
antagonists do.
' Yes, you do, or why look at me in that pleading,
perplexed fashion, save that you have become possessed
with the general prejudice. Weigh it, by the light of
Whately's logic, and own candidly wherefore Rashe
and I should be more liable to come to grief, travelling
alone, than two men of the same ages.'
'I have not grounds enough to judge,' said Phoebe,
230 HOPES AND FEARS.
beginning as though Miss Fennimore were giving an
exercise to her reasoning powers ; then, continuing with
her girlish eagerness of entreaty ; ' I only know that it
cannot be right, since it grieves Robin and Miss Charle-
cote so much.'
1 And all that grieves Robin and Miss Charlecote
must be shocking, eh % Oh, Phoebe, what very women
all the Miss Fennimores in the world leave us, and how
lucky it is !'
1 But I don't think you are going to grieve them,'
said Phcebe, earnestly.
' I hate the word !' said Lucilla. ' Plaguing is only
fun, but grieving, that is serious.'
•' I do believe this is only plaguing !' cried Phoebe,
' and that this is your way of disposing of all the flies.
I shall tell Robin so !'
' To spoil all my fun,' exclaimed Lucilla. ' No, indeed !'
Phoebe only gave a nod and smile of supreme satis-
faction.
1 Ah ! but Phoebe, if I'm to grieve nobody, what's to
become of poor Rashe, you little selfish woman ¥
1 Selfish, no ¥ sturdily said Phcebe. ' If it be wrong
for you, it must be equally wrong for her ; and per-
haps,' she added, slowly, ' you would both be glad of
some good reason for giving it up. Lucy, dear, do
tell me whether you really like it, for I cannot fancy
you do.'
' Like it ? Well, yes ! I like the salmons, and I
dote on the fun and the fuss. I say, Phcebe, can you
bear the burden of a secret ? Well — only mind, if you
tell Robin or Honor, I shall certainly go ; we never
would have taken it up in earnest if such a rout had
not been made about it, that we were driven to show
we did not care, and could be trusted with ourselves.'
' Then you don't mean it ¥
1 That's as people behave themselves. Hush ! Here
comes Honor. Look here, Sweet Honey, I am in a
process of selection. I am pledged to come out at the
ball in a unique trimming of salmon-flies.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 231
* My dear !' cried poor Honor, in consternation,
'you can't be so absurd.'
' It is so slow not to be absurd.'
f At fit times, yes; but to make yourself so con-
spicuous !'
1 They say I can't help that,' returned Lucy, in a
tone of comical melancholy.
' Well, my dear, we will talk it over on Sunday,
when I hope you may be in a rational mood.'
* Don't say so,' implored Lucilla, 'or I shan't have
the courage to come. A rational mood ! It is enough
to frighten one away ; and really I do want very much
to come. I've not heard a word yet about the Holt.
How is the old dame, this summer V
And Lucy went on with unceasing interest about all
Hiltonbury matters, great and small, bewitching Ho-
nora more than would have seemed possible under the
circumstances. She was such a winning fairy that it
was hardly possible to treat her seriously, or to recol-
lect causes of displeasure, when under the spell of her
caressing vivacity, and unruffled, audacious fun.
So impregnable was her gracious good-humour, so
untameable her high spirits, that it was only by re-
membering the little spitfire of twelve or fourteen years
ago that it was credible that she had a temper at all ;
the temper erst wont to exhale in chamois bounds and
dervish pirouettes, had apparently left not a trace be-
hind, and the sullen ungraciousness to those who
offended her had become the sunniest sweetness, im-
possible to disturb. Was it real improvement ] Con-
cealment it was not, for Lucilla had always been trans-
parently true. Was it not more probably connected
with that strange levity, almost insensibility, that had
apparently indurated feelings which in early childhood
had seemed sensitive even to the extent of violence.
Was she only good-humoured because nothing touched
her? Had that agony of parting with her gentle
father seared her affections, till she had become like a
polished gem, all bright glancing beauty, but utterly
unfeeling ]
CHAPTER V.
Eeproof falletli on the saucy as "water.
Feejee Proverb.
ONSIDERATE of the slender purses of
her children, Honora had devoted her
carriage to fetch them to St. Wulstan's
on the Sunday morning, but her offer
had been declined, on the ground that
the Charteris conveyances were free to them, and that
it was better to make use of an establishment to which
Sunday was no object, than to cloud the honest face of
the Hiltonbury coachman by depriving his horses of
their day of rest. Owen would far rather take a
cab than so affront Grey ! Pleased with his bright
manner, Honora had yet, reason to fear that expense
was too indifferent to both brother and sister, and that
the Charteris household only encouraged recklessness.
Wherever she went, she heard of the extravagance of
the family, and in the shops the most costly wares were
recommended as the choice of Mrs. Charteris. For-
merly, though. Honor had equipped Lucilla handsomely
for visits to Castle Blanch, she had always found
her wardrobe increased by the gifts of her uncle and
aunt. The girl had been of age more than a year, and
in the present state of the family, it was impossible
that her dress could be still provided at their expense,
yet it was manifestly far beyond her means, and what
could be the result 1 She would certainly brook no in-
HOPES AND FEARS. 233
terference, and would cast advice to the winds. Poor
Honor could only hope for a crash that would bring
her to reason, and devise schemes for forcing her from
the effects of her own imprudence without breaking
into her small portion. The great fear was lest false
pride, and Charteris influence, should lead her to
pay her debts at the cost of a marriage with the mil-
lionaire ; and Honor could take little comfort in
Owen's assurance that the Calthorp had too much sense
to think of Cilly Sandbrook, and only promoted and
watched her vagaries for the sake of amusement and
curiosity. There was small satisfaction to her well-
wishers in hearing that no sensible man could think
seriously of her.
Anxiously was that Sunday awaited in Woolstone
Lane, the whole party feeling that this was the best
chance of seeing Lucilla in a reasonable light, and com-
ing to an understanding with her. Owen was often
enough visible in the interim, and always extremely
agreeable ; but Lucilla never, and he only brought
an account of her gaieties, shrugging his shoulders
over them.
The day came ; the bells began, they chimed, they
changed, but still no Sandbrooks appeared. Mr. Par-
sons set off, and Robert made an excursion to the corner
of the street. In vain Miss Charlecote still lingered ;
Mrs. Parsons, in despair, called Phcebe on with her as
the single bell rang, and Honor and Robert presently
started with heads turned over their shoulders, and lips
laying all blame on Charteris' delays of breakfast. A
last wistful look, and the church porch engulfed them ;
but even when enclosed in the polished square pew,
they could not resign hope at every tread on the matted
floor, and finally subsided into a trust that the truants
might after service emerge from a seat near the door.
There were only too many to choose from.
That hope baffled, Honora still manufactured excuses
which Phcebe greedily seized and offered to her brother,
but she read his rejection of them in his face, and to
234. HOPES AND FEARS.
lier conviction that it was all accident, lie answered, as
she took his arm, ' A small accident would suffice for
Sandbrook.'
' You don't think he is hindering his sister ! '
1 1 can't tell. I only know that he is one of the
many stumbling-blocks in her way. He can do no
good to any one with whom he associates intimately.
I hate to see him reading poetry with you.'
1 Why did you never tell me so !' asked the startled
Phoebe.
* You are so much taken up with him that I can
never get at you, when I am not devoured by that
office.'
1 I am sure I did not know it,' humbly answered
Phoebe. ' He is very kind and amusing, and Miss
Charlecote is so fond of him that, of course, we must
be together ; but I never meant to neglect you, Robin,
dear.'
'No, no, nonsense, it is no paltry jealousy; only
now I can speak to you, I must/ said Robert, who
had been in vain craving for this opportunity of getting
his sister alone, ever since the alarm excited by Lucilla's
words.
' What is this harm, Robin V
1 Say not a word of it. Miss Charlecote's heart must
not be broken before its time, and at any rate it shall
not come through me."
< What, Robert V
1 The knowledge of what he is. Don't say it is pre-
judice. I know I never liked him, but you shall hear
why. You ought now '
Robert's mind had often of late glanced back to the
childish days when, with their present opinions re-
versed, he thought Owen a muff, and Owen thought
him a reprobate. To his own blunt and reserved na-
ture, the expressions, so charming to poor Miss Charle-
cote, had been painfully distasteful. Sentiment, pro-
fession, obtrusive reverence, and fault-finding scruples
had revolted him, even when ( he thought it a proof of
HOPES AND FEAKS. 235
his own irreligion to be provoked. Afterwards, when
both were schoolboys, Robert had yearly increased in
conscientiousness under good discipline and training,
but, in their holiday meetings, had found Owen's
standard receding as his own advanced, and heard the
once-deficient manly spirit asserted by boasts of ex-
ploits and deceptions repugnant to a well-conditioned
lad. He saw Miss Charlecote's perfect confidence
abused and trifled with, and the more he grew in a
sense of honour, the more he disliked Owen Sand-
brook.
At the University, where Robert's career had been re-
spectable and commonplace, Owen was at once a man
of mark. Mental and physical powers alike rendered
him foremost among his compeers ; he could compete
with the fast, and surpass the slow on their own
ground ; and his talents, ready celerity, good-humoured
audacity, and quick resource, had always borne him
through with the authorities, though there was scarcely
an excess or irregularity in which he was not a par-
taker ; and stories of Sandbrook's daring were always
circulating among the under-graduates. But though
Robert could have scared Phcebe with many a history
of lawless pranks, yet these were not his chief cause
for dreading Owen's intimacy with her. It was that
he was one of the youths on whom the spirit of the
day had most influence, one of the most adventurous
thinkers and boldest talkers : wild in habits, not merely
from ebullition of spirits, but from want of faith in the
restraining power.
All this Robert briefly expressed in the words,
c Phcebe, it is not that his habits are irregular and un-
steady ; many are so whose hearts are sound. But he
is not sound — his opinions are loose, and he only re-
spects and patronizes Divine Truth as what has ap-
proved itself to so many good, great, and beloved
human creatures. It is not denial — it is patronage.
It is the common-sense heresy '
1 1 thought we all ought to learn common sense.'
236 HOPES AND FEARS.
' Yes, in things human, but in things Divine it is
the subtle English form of rationalism. This is no
time to explain, Phoebe ; but human sense and intellect
are made the test, and what surpasses them is only ad-
mired as long as its stringent rules do not fetter the
practice.'
1 1 am sorry you told me,' said Phoebe, thoughtfully,
1 for I always liked him ; he is so kind to me.'
Had not Robert been full of his own troubles he
would have been reassured, but he only gave a con-
temptuous groan.
1 Does Lucy know this V she asked.
* She told me herself what I well knew before. She
does not reflect enough to take it seriously, and con-
trives to lay the blame upon the narrowness of Miss
Charlecote's training.'
' Oh, Robin ! When all our best knowledge came
from the Holt !'
' She says, perhaps not unjustly, that Miss Charlecote
overdid things with him, and that this is reaction. She
observes keenly. If she would only think ! She would
have been perfect had her father lived, to work on her
by affection.'
' The time for that is coming '
Robert checked her, saying, ' Stay, Phoebe. The
other night I was fooled by her engaging ways, but
each day since I have become more convinced that I
must learn whether she be only using me like the rest.
I want you to be a witness of my resolution, lest I
should be tempted to fail. I came to town, hesitating
whether to enter the business for her sake. I found
that this could not be done without a great sin. I
look on myself as dedicated to the ministry, and thus
bound to have a household suited to my vocation. All
must turn on her willingness to conform to this
standard. I shall lay it before her. I can bear the
suspense no longer. My temper and resolution are
going, and I am good for nothing. Let the touchstone
be, whether she will resign her expedition to Ireland,
HOPES AND FEARS. 237
and go quietly home with Miss Charlecote. If she
will so do, there is surely that within her that will shine
out brighter when removed from irritation on the one
side, or folly on the other. If she will not, I have
no weight with her ; and it is due to the service I
am to undertake, to force myself away from a pursuit
that could only distract me. I have no right to be a
clergyman and choose a hindrance not a help — one
whose tastes would lead back to the world, instead of
to my work !'
As he spoke, in stern, rigid resolution — only allow-
ing himself one long, deep, heavy sigh at the end — he
stood still at the gates of the court, which were opened
as the rest of the party came up ; and, as they crossed
and entered the hall, they beheld, through the open
door of the drawing-room, two figures in the window
— one, a dark torso, perched outside on the sill ; the
other, in blue skirt and boy-like bodice, negligently
reposing on one side of the window-seat, her dainty
little boots on the other ; her coarse straw bonnet,
crossed with white, upon the floor ; the wind playing
tricks with the silky glory of her flaxen ringlets ; her
cheek flushed with lovely carnation, declining on her
shoulder ; her eyes veiled by their fair fringes.
* Hallo P she cried, springing up, ' almost caught
asleep !' And Owen, pocketing his pipe, spun his legs over
the window-sill, while both began, in rattling, playful
vindication and recrimination —
T , ,, r i. f hewouldnt.
It wasn t my fault { , n ,,,
J { she wouiun t.
1 Indeed, I wasn't a wilful heathen ; Mr. Parsons, it
was he '
1 It was she who chose to take the by-ways, and make
us late. Rush into church before a whole congrega-
tion, reeking from a six miles' walk ! I've more respect
for the Establishment.'
1 You walked !' cried five voices.
' See her Sabbatarianism !'
' Nonsense ! I should have driven Charlie's cab.'
238 HOPES AND FEARS.
1 Charlie has some common sense where his horse is
concerned.'
1 He wanted it himself, you know.'
' She grew sulky, and victimized me to a walk.'
1 I'm sure it was excellent fun.'
1 Ay, and because poor Calthorp had proffered his
cab for her to drive to Jericho, and welcome, she drags
me into all sorts of streets of villanous savours, that he
might not catch us up.'
I Horrid hard mouth that horse of his,' said Lucilla,
by way of dashing the satisfaction on Miss Charlecote's
face.
I I do not wonder you were late.'
* Oh ! that was all Owen's doing. He vowed that he
had not nerve to face the pew-opener !'
' The grim female in weeds — no, indeed !' said Owen.
' Indeed, I objected to entering in the guise of naming
meteors, both on reverential and sanatory grounds.'
1 Insanatory, methinks,' said Miss Charlecote ; * how
could you let her sleep, so much heated, in this thorough
draught V
1 Don't natter yourself,' said Cilly, quaintly shaking
her head ; ' I'm not such a goose as to go and catch
cold ! Oh ! Phoebe, my salmon-flies are loveliness it-
self : and I hereby give notice, that a fine of three
pairs of thick boots has been proclaimed for every pun
upon sisters of the angle and sisters of the angels ! So
beware, Robin !' — and the comical audacity with which
she turned on him, won a smile from the grave lips
that had lately seemed so remote from all peril of com-
plimenting her whimsies.
Even Mr. Parsons said ' the fun was tempting.'
1 Come and get ready for luncheon,' said the less
fascinated Honora, moving away.
1 Come and catch it !' cried the elf, skipping "upstairs
before her, and facing round her ' Dear old Honey-
seed.' ' I honour your motives ; but wouldn't it be for
the convenience of all parties, if you took Punch's cele-
brated advice — ' don't' '? '
HOPES AND FEARS. 239
1 How am I to speak, Lucy/ said Honora, ' if you
come with the avowed intention of disregarding what
I say r
1 Then hadn't you better not,' murmured the girl, in
the lowest tone, drooping her head, and peeping under
her eyelashes, as she sat with a hand on each elbow of
her arm-chair, as though in the stocks.
' I would not, my child,' was the mournful answer,
'if I could help caring for you.'
Lucilla sprang up and kissed her. ' Don't, then ; I
don't like anybody to be sorry,' she said. ' I'm sure
I'm not worth it.'
1 How can I help it, when I see you throwing away
happiness — welfare — the good opinion of all your
friends !'
1 My dear Honora, you taught me yourself not to
mind Mrs. Grundy ! Come, never mind, the reasonable
world has found out that women are less dependent
than they used to be.'
1 It is not what the world thinks, but what is really
decorous.'
Lucilla laughed — though with some temper — ' I
wonder what we are going to do otherwise !'
'You are going beyond the ordinary restraints of
women in your station ; and a person who does so, can
never tell to what she may expose herself. Liberties
are taken when people come out to meet them.'
1 That's as they choose !' cried Lucilla, with such a
gesture of her hand, such a flash of her blue eyes, that
she seemed trebly the woman, and it would have been
boldness indeed to presume with her.
1 Yes ; but a person who has even had to protect her-
self from incivility, to which she has wilfully exposed
herself, doe3 not remain what she might be behind her
screen.'
' Omne ignotum pro terribili? laughed Lucilla, still
not to be made serious. ' Xow, I don't believe that
the world is so flagrantly bent on annoying every pretty
girl. People call me vain, but I never was so vain as
240 HOPES AND FEARS.
that. I've always found them, very civil; and Ire-
land is the land of civility. Now, seriously, my good
cousin Honor, do you candidly expect any harm to
befal us V
' I do not think you likely to meet with absolute
injury.' Lucilla clapped her hands, and cried, 'An
admission, an admission ! I told Bashe you were a sin-
cere woman.' But Miss Charlecofce went on, ' But there
is harm to yourself in the affectation of masculine
habits ; it is a blunting of the delicacy suited to a
Christian maiden, and not like the women whom St.
Paul and St. Peter describe. You would find that
you had forfeited the esteem — not only of ordinary
society — but of persons whose opinion you do value ;
and in both these respects you would suffer harm.
You, my poor child, who have no one to control you,
or claim your obedience as a right, are doubly bound
to be circumspect. I have no power over you ; but if
you have any regard for her to whom your father con-
fided you — nay, if you consult what you know would
have been his wishes — you will give up this project.'
The luncheon-bell had already rung, and considera-
tion for the busy clergyman compelled her to go down
with these last words, feeling as if there were a leaden
weight at her heart.
Lucilla remained standing before the glass, arrang-
ing her w T ind-tossed hair ; and, in her vehemence, tear-
ing out combfuls, as she pulled petulantly against the
tangled curls. ' Her old way — to come over me with
my father ! Ha ! — I love him too well, to let him be
Miss Charlecote's engine for managing me ! — her der-
nier ressort to play on my feelings. Nor will I have
Bobin set at me ! Whether I go or not, shall be as I
please, not as any one else does ; and if I stay at home,
Bashe shall own it is not for the sake of the conclave
here. I told her she might trust me.'
Down she went, and at luncheon devoted herself to
the captivation of Mr. Parsons ; afterwards insisting
on going to the schools — she, whose aversion to them
HOPES AND FEARS. 241
was Honora's vexation at home. Strangers to make a
sensation were contrary to the views of the Parsonses ;
but the wife found her husband inconsistent — ' one
lady, more or less, could make no difference on this
first Sunday ;' and, by and by, Mrs. Parsons found a
set of little formal white-capped faces, so beaming with
entertainment at the young lady's stories, and the
young lady herself looking so charming, that she, too,
fell under the enchantment.
After church, Miss Charlecote proposed a few turns
in the garden ; dingy enough, but a marvel for the
situation : and here the tacit object cf herself and
Phoebe was to afford Robert an opportunity for the
interview on which so much depended. But it was
like trying to catch a butterfly ; Lucilla was here,
there, everywhere ; and an excuse was hardly made
for leaving her beside the grave, silent young man, ere
her merry tones were heard chattering to some one
else. Perhaps Robert, heart-sick and oppressed with
the importance of what trembled on his tongue, was
not ready in seizing the moment ; perhaps she would
not let him speak ; at any rate, she was aware of some
design ; since, baffling Phoebe's last attempt, she
danced up to her bedroom after her, and throwing her-
self into a chair, in a paroxysm of laughter, cried,
* You abominable little pussycat of a manceuvrer ; I
thought you were in a better school for the proprie-
ties ! No, don't make your round eyes, and look
so dismayed, or you'll kill me with laughing ! Cook-
ing tete-ct-tetes, Phoebe — I thought better of you. Oh,
fie !' and holding up her finger, as if in displeasure, she
hid her face in ecstasies of mirth at Phoebe's bewildered
simplicity.
'Robert wanted to speak to you,' she said, with
puzzled gravity.
1 And you would have set us together by the ears !
No, no, thank you, I've had enough of that sort of
thing for one day. And what shallow excuses. Oh !
what fun to hear your pretexts. Wanting to see what
VOL. I. 11
242 HOPES AND FEARS.
Mrs. Parsons was doing, when you knew perfectly well
she was deep in a sermon, and wished you at the anti-
podes. And blushing all the time, like a full-blown
poppy,' and off she went on a fresh score — but Phoebe,
though disconcerted for a moment, was not to be put
out of countenance when she understood her ground,
and she continued with earnestness, undesired by her
companion — ' Yery likely I managed badly, but I know
you do not really think it improper to see Robert alone,
and it is very important that you should do so. In-
deed it is, Lucy,' she added — the youthful candour and
seriousness of her pleading, in strong contrast to the
flighty, mocking carelessness of Lucilla's manners ; ' do
pray see him ; I know he would make you listen. Will
you be so very kind ! If you would go into the little
cedar room, I could call him at once.'
' Point blank ! Sitting in my cedar parlour !
Phoebe, you'll be the death of me,' cried Cilly, between
peals of merriment. ' Do you think I have nerves of
brass V
' You would not laugh, if you knew how much he
feels.'
I A very good thing for people to feel ! It saves them
from torpor.'
' Lucy, it is not kind to laugh when I tell you he is
miserable.'
' That's only proper, my dear,' said Lucilla, enter-
tained by teasing.
' Not miserable from doubt,' answered Phoebe, dis-
concerting in her turn. * We know you too well for
that / and as an expression, amused, indignant, but far
from favourable, came over the fair face she was watch-
ing, she added in haste, ' It is this project, he thought
you had said it was given up.'
I I am much indebted,' said Lucilla, haughtily, but
again relapsing into laughter ; ' but to find myself so
easily disposed of. Oh ! Phoebe, there's no scolding
such a baby as you ; but if it were not so absurd '
' Lucy, Lucy, I beg your pardon ; is it all a mistake,
HOPES AND FEARS. 243
or have I said what was wrong ? Poor Robin will be
so unhappy.'
Phoebe's distress touched Lucilla.
' Nonsense, you little goose ; aren't you woman
enough yet to know that one flashes out at finding
oneself labelled, and made over before one's time.'
' I'm glad if it was all my blundering/ said Phoebe.
1 Dear Lucy, I was very wrong, but you see I always
was so happy in believing it was understood !'
'How stupid,' cried Lucilla; ' one would never have
any fun ; no, you haven't tasted the sweets yet, or you
would know one has no notion of being made sure of
till one chooses ! Yes, yes, I saw he was primed and
cocked, but I'm not going to let him go off'
' Lucy, have you no pity V
1 Not a bit ! Don't talk commonplaces, my dear."
'If you knew how much depends upon it.'
' My dear, I know that,' with an arch smile.
1 No, you do not,' said Phoebe, so stoutly that Lucilla
looked at her in some suspense.
1 You think,' said honest Phoebe, in her extremity,
* that he only wants to make to propose to you !
Now, it is not only that, Lucilla,' and her voice sank,
as she could hardly keep from crying ; ' he will never
do that if you go on as you are doing now ; he does not
think it would be right for a clergyman.'
1 Oh, I dare say !' quoth Lucilla, and then a silence.
* Did Honor tell him so, Phoebe ¥
1 Never, never !' cried Phoebe ; ' no onehas said a
word against you ! only don't you know how quiet
and good any one belonging to a clergyman should
be r
' Well, I've heard a great deal of news to-day, and
it is all my own fault, for indulging in sentiment on
Wednesday. I shall know better another time.'
' Then you don't care !' cried Phoebe, turning round,
with eyes flashing as Lucilla did not know they could
lighten. ' Very well ! If you don't think Robert
worth it, I suppose I ought not to grieve, for you
e2
244 HOPES AND FEARS.
can't be what I used to think you ; and it will be
better for him when he once has settled his mind —
than if — if afterwards you disappointed him and were
a fine lady — but oh ! he will be so unhappy,' her tears
were coming fast ; ' and, Lucy, I did like you so
much !'
' Well, this is the funniest thing of all,' cried Lu-
cilla, by way of braving her own emotion ; ' little
Miss Phcebe gone into the heroics !' and she caught her
two hands, and holding her fast, kissed her on both
cheeks ; ' a gone coon, am I, Phcebe, no better than one
of the wicked ; and Bobin, he grew angry, hopped
upon a twig, did he ! I beg your pardon, my dear,
but it makes me laugh to think of his dignified settling
of his mind. Oh ! how soon it could be unsettled
a^ain ! Come, I wont have any more of this ; let it
alone, Phcebe, and trust me that things will adjust
themselves all the better for letting them have their
swing. Don't you look prematurely uneasy, and don't
go and make Robin think that I have immolated him
at the altar of the salmon. Say nothing of all this ;
you will only make a mess in narrating it."
1 Very likely I may,' said Phcebe ; ' but if you will
not speak to him yourself, I shall tell him how you
feel.'
I If you can,' laughed Lucilla.
I I mean, how you receive what I have told you of
his views; I do not think it would be fair or kind to
keep him in ignorance.'
' Much good may it do him,' said Lucy ; ' but I
fancy you will tell him, whether I give you leave or
not, and it can't make much difference. I'll tackle
him, as the old women say, when I please, and the
madder he may choose to go, the better fun it
will be.'
'I believe you are saying so to tease me,' said
Phcebe ; ' but as I know you don't mean it, I shall
wait till after the party ; and then, unless you have had
it out with him, I shall tell him what you have said.'
HOPES AXD FEARS. 245
1 Thank you,' said Lucilla, ironically, conveying to
Phoebe's mind the conviction that she did not believe
that Robert's attachment could suffer from what had
here passed. Either she meant to grant the decisive
interview, or else she was too confident in her own
power to believe that he could relinquish her ; at all
events, Phoebe had sagacity enough to infer that she
was not indifferent to him, though, as the provoking
damsel ran down-stairs, Phoebe's loyal spirit first ad-
mitted a doubt whether the tricksy sprite might not
prove as great a torment as a delight to Robin.
' However,' reflected she, ' I shall make the less mis-
chief, if I set it down while I remember it.'
Not much like romance, but practical sense was both
native and cultivated in Miss Fennimore's pupil. Yet
as she recorded the sentences, and read them over
bereft of the speaker's caressing grace, she blamed
herself as unkind, and making the worst of gay
retorts which had been provoked by her own
home thrusts. 'At least,' she thought, 'he will be
glad to see that it was partly my fault, and he need
never see it at all if Lucy will let him speak to her
himself.'
Meantime, Honora had found from Owen that the
young ladies had accepted an invitation to a very gay
house in Cheshire, so that their movements would for
a fortnight remain doubtful. She recurred to her view
that the only measure to be taken was for him to
follow them, so as to be able to interpose in any
emergency, and she anxiously pressed on him the funds
required.
' Shouldn't I catch it if they found me out V said
Owen, shrugging his shoulders. 'No, but indeed,
sweet Honey, I meant to have made up for this
naughty girl's desertion. You and I would have had
such rides and readings together : I want you to put
me on good terms with myself.'
'My dear boy! But wont that best be done by
minding your sister ? She does want it, Owen ; the
246 HOPES AND FEARS.
less she will be prudent for herself, the more we must
think for her !'
1 She can do better for herself than you imagine,'
said Owen. ' Men say, with all her free ways, they
could not go the least bit farther with her than she
pleases. You wouldn't suppose it, but she can keep
out of scrapes better than Rashe can — never has been
in one yet, and Rashe in twenty. Never mind, your
Honor, there's sound stuff in the bonny scapegrace ;
all the better for being free and unconventional. The
world owes a great deal to those who dare to act for
themselves ; though, I own, it is a trial when one's
own domestic womankind take thereto.'
I Or one's mankind to encouraging it,' said Honor,
smiling, but showing that she was hurt.
I I don't encourage it ; I am only too wise to give it
the zest of opposition. Was Lucy ever bent upon a
naughty trick without being doubly incited by the
pleasure of showing that she cared not for her younger
brother V
* I believe you are only too lazy ! But, will you go ?
I don't think it can be a penance. You would see new
country, and get plenty of sport.'
1 Come with me, Honey,' said he, with the most in-
sinuating manner, which almost moved her. ' How
jolly it would be !'
' Nonsense ! an elderly spinster,' she said, really
pleased, though knowing it impossible.
1 Stuff !' he returned, in the same tone. ' Make it
as good as a honeymoon. Think of Killarney, Honor !'
1 You silly boy, I can't. There's harvest at home ;
besides, it would only aggravate that mad girl doubly
to have me coming after her.'
1 Well, if you will not take care of me on a literal
wild goose chase,' said Owen, with playful disconso-
lateness, ' I'll not answer for the consequences.'
1 But, you go V
' Vacation rambles are too tempting to be resisted ;
but, mind, I don't promise to act good genius save at
HOPES AND FEARS. 247
the last extremity, or else I shall never get forgiven,
and I shall keep some way in the rear.'
So closed the consultation ; and after an evening
which Lucilla perforce rendered lively, she and her
brother took their leave. The next day they were to
accompany the Charterises to Castle Blanch to prepare
for the festivities ; Honor and her two young friends
following on the Wednesday afternoon.
CHAPTER VI.
He who sits by haunted well
Is subject to the Nixie's spell ;
He who walks on lonely beach
To the mermaid's charmed speech ;
He who walks round ring of green
Offends the peevish Fairy Queen. — Scott.
iT the station nearest to Castle Blanch
stood the tall form of Owen Sand-
brook, telling Honor that he and his
sister had brought the boat; the river
was the longer way, but they would
prefer it to the road ; and so indeed
they did, for Phoebe herself had had enough of the
City to appreciate the cool verdure and calm stillness
of the meadow pathway, by which they descended to
the majestic river, smoothly sleeping in glassy quiet,
or stealing along in complacently dimpling ripples.
On the opposite bank, shading off the sun, an oak
copse sloped steeply towards the river, painting upon
the surface a still shimmering likeness of the summit
of the wood, every mass of foliage, every blushing
spray receiving a perfect counterpart, and full in the
midst of the magic mirror floated what might have
been compared to the roseate queen lily of the waters
on her leaf.
There, in the flat, shallow boat reclined the
maiden, leaning over the gunwale, gazing into the
summer wavelets with which one bare pinkly-tinted
hand was toying, and her silken ringlets all but dip-
HOPES AND FEARS. 249
ping in, from beneath the round black hat, archly
looped up on one side by a carnation bow, and encir-
cled by a series of the twin jetty curls of the mal-
lard ; while the fresh rose colour of the spreading
muslin dress was enhanced by the black scarf that
hung carelessly over it. There was a moment's pause,
as if no one could break the spell ; but Owen, strid-
ing on from behind, quickly dissolved the enchant-
ment.
1 You monkey, you've cast off. You may float on
to Greenwich next !' he indignantly shouted.
She started, shaking her head saucily. ''Twas so
slow there, and so broiling,' she called back, ' and I
knew I should only drift down to meet you, and could
put in when I pleased.'
Therewith she took the sculls and began rowing
towards the bank, but without force sufficient to pre-
vent herself from being borne farther down than she
intended.
4 1 can't help it,' she exclaimed, fearlessly laughing
as she passed them.
1 Robert was ready to plunge in to stem her pro-
gress, lest she should meet with some perilous eddy,
but Owen laid hold on him, saying, 'Don't be ner-
vous, she's all right ; only giving trouble, after the
nature of women. There ; are you satisfied V he
called to her, as she came to a stop against a reed bed,
with a tall fence interposed between boat and passen-
gers. ' A nice ferry woman you.'
1 Come and get me up again,' was all her answer.
1 Serve you right if I never picked you up till Lon-
don-bridge,' he answered. ' Stand clear, Fulinort,' and
with a run and a bound, he vaulted over the high
hedge, and went crackling through the nodding bul-
rushes and reed-maces ; while Lucy, having accom-
plished pulling up one of the latter, was pointing it
lancewise at him, singing,
"With a bulrush for his spear, and a thimble for a hat,
Wilt thou fight a traverse with the castle cat
250 HOPES AND FEARS.
1 Come, come ; 'tis too squashy here for larking,' he
said, authoritatively, stepping into the boat, and bring-
ing it up with such absence of effort that when a few
minutes after he had brought it to the landing-place,
and the freight was seated, Robert had no sooner taken
the other oar than he exclaimed at the force of the
stream with which Owen had dealt so easily, and Lu-
cilla so coolly.
1 It really was a fearful risk/ he said reproachfully
to her.
' Oh P she said ; ' I know my Thames, and my
Thames knows me !'
' Now's the time to improve it,' said Owen ; ' one or
other should preach about young ladies getting loose,
and not knowing where they may be brought up.'
' But you see 1 did know ; besides, Phoebe's news from
Paris will be better worth hearing,' said Lucilla, tick-
ling her friend's face with the soft long point of her
dark velvety mace.
' My news from Paris V
1 For shame, Phcebe ! Your face betrays you.'
1 Lucy ; how could you know ] I had not even told
Miss Charlecote I'
'It's true! it's true!' cried Lucilla. 'That's just
what I wanted to know !'
1 Lucy, then it was not fair,' said Phcebe, much dis-
composed. 'I was desired to tell no one, and you
should not have betrayed me into doing so.'
' Phcebe, you always were a green oasis in a wicked
world !'
' And now, let me hear,' said Miss Charlecote. ' I
can't natter you, Phcebe ; I thought you were labour-
ing under a suppressed secret.'
' Only since this morning,' pleaded Phcebe, earnestly ;
1 and we were expressly forbidden to mention it ; I
cannot imagine how Lucy knows.'
' By telegraph !'
Phoebe's face assumed an expression of immeasurable
wonder.
HOPES AXD FEARS. 251
1 1 almost hope to find you at cross purposes, after
all,' said Honora.
1 No such good luck,' laughed Lucilla. ' Cinderella's
seniors never could go off two at a time. Ah ! there's
the name, I beg your pardon, Phoebe.'
' But, Lucy, what can you mean ? Who can have
telegraphed about Augusta V
1 Ah ! you knew not the important interests involved,
nor Augusta how much depended on her keeping the
worthy admiral in play. It was the nearest thing —
had she only consented at the end of the evening in-
stead of the beginning, poor Lord William would have
had the five guineas that he wants so much more than
Mr. Calthorp.'
1 Lucy P
I It was a bet that Sir Nicholas would take six calen-
dar months to supply the place of Lady Bannerman.
It was the very last day. If Augusta had only waited
till twelve I'
' You don't mean that he has been married before.
I thought he was such an excellent man !' said Phoebe,
in a voice that set others besides Lucilla off into irre-
sistible mirth.
' Once, twice, thrice I' cried Lucilla. ' Catch her,
Honor, before she sinks into the river in disgust with
this treacherous world.'
' Do you know him, Lucy t earnestly said Phcebe.
' Yes, and two of the wives ; we used to visit them
because he was an old captain of Uncle Kit's.'
I I would not believe in number three, Phcebe, if I
were you,' said Owen, consolingly ; ' she wants confir-
mation.'
' Two are as bad as three,' sighed Phcebe ; * and
Augusta did not even call him a widower.'
1 Cupid bandaged ! It was a case of love at first
sight. Met at the Trois Freres Provenqav.x, heard
each other's critical remarks, sought an introduction,
compared notes ; he discovered her foresight with re-
gard to pale ale ; each felt that here was a kindred
soul !'
252 HOPES AND FEARS.
' That could not have been telegraphed P said Phcebe,
recovering spirit and incredulity.
' No ; the telegraph was simply ' Bannermau, Ful-
mort. 8.30 p.m., July 10th.' The other particulars
followed by letter this morning.'
< How old is he V asked Phoebe, with resignation.
I Any age above sixty. What, Phcebe, taking it to
heart? I was prepared with congratulations. It is
only second best, to be sure ; but don't you see your
own emancipation V
I I believe that had never occurred to Phcebe,' said
Owen.
'I beg your pardon, Lucy,' said Phoebe, thinking
that she had appeared out of temper ; ' only it had
sounded so nice in Augusta's letter, and she was so
kind, and somehow it jars that there should have been
that sort of talk.'
Cilly was checked. In her utter want of thought it
had not occurred to her that Augusta Fulmort could
be other than a laughing-stock, or that any bright anti-
cipations could have been spent by any reasonable per-
son on her marriage. Perhaps the companionship of
Rashe, and the satirical outspoken tone of her asso-
ciates, had somewhat blunted her perception of what
might be offensive to the sensitive delicacy of a young
sister ; but she instantly perceived her mistake, and the
carnation deepened in her cheek, at having distressed
Phcebe, and .... Not that she had deigned any notice
of Robert after the first cold shake of the hand, and
he sat rowing with vigorous strokes, and a countenance
of set gravity, more as if he were a boatman than one
of the party ; Lucilla could not even meet his eye when
she peeped under her eyelashes to recover defiance by
the sight of his displeasure.
It was a relief to all when Honora exclaimed,
' Wrapworth ! how pretty it looks.'
It was, indeed, pretty, seen through the archway of
the handsome stone bridge. The church tower and
picturesque village were set off by the frame that
HOPES AND FEARS. 253
closed them in ; and though they lost somewhat of the
enchantment when the boat shot from under the arch,
they were still a fair and goodly English scene.
Lucilla steered towards the steps leading to a smooth
shaven lawn, shaded by a weeping willow, well known
to Honor.
1 Here we land you and your bag, Robert,' said Owen,
as he put in. ' Cilly, have a little sense, do.'
But Lucilla, to the alarm of all, was already on her
feet, skipped like a chamois to the steps, and flew
dancing up the sward. Ere Owen and Robert had
helped the other two ladies to land in a more rational
manner, she was shaking her mischievous head at a
window, and thrusting in her sceptral reed-mace.
'Neighbour, oh, neighbour, I'm come to torment
you ! Yes, here we are in full force, ladies and all,
and you must come out and behave pretty. Never
mind your slippers ; you ought to be proud of the
only thing I ever worked. Come out, I say; here's
your guest, and you must be civil to him.'
' 1 am very glad to see Mr. Fulmort,' said Mr. Pren-
dergast, his only answer in words to all this, though
while it was going on, as if she were pulling him by
wires, as she imperiously waved her bulrush, he had
stuck his pen into the inkstand, run his fingers in
desperation through his hair, risen from his seat, gazed
about in vain for his boots, and felt as fruitlessly on the
back of the door for a coat to replace the loose alpaca
article that hung on his shoulders.
' There. You've gone through all the motions,' said
Cilly, ' that'll do ; now, come out and receive them.'
Accordingly, he issued from the door, shy and
slouching ; rusty where he wore cloth, shiny where he
wore alpaca, wild as to his hair, gay as to his feet, but,
withal, the scholarly gentleman complete, and not a
day older or younger, apparently, then when Honor
had last seen him, nine years since, in bondage then to
the child playing at coquetry, as now to the coquette
playing at childhood. It was curious, Honor thought,
254 HOPES AND FEARS.
to see how, though so much more uncouth and negli-
gent than Robert, the indefinable signs of good blood
made themselves visible, while they were wanting in
one as truly the Christian gentleman in spirit and in
education.
Mr. Prendergast bowed to Miss Charlecote, and shook
hands with his guest, welcoming him kindly ; but the
two shy men grew more bashful by contact, and Honor
found herself, Owen, and Lucilla sustaining the chief of
the conversation, the curate apparently looking to the
young lady to protect him and do the honours, as she
did by making him pull down a cluster of his roses for
her companions, and conducting them to eat his straw-
berries, which she treated as her own, flitting, butterfly
like, over the beds, selecting the largest and ruddiest
specimens, while her slave plodded diligently to fill
cabbage-leaves, and present them to the party in due
gradation.
Owen stood by amused, and silencing the scruples of
his companions.
' He is in Elysium,' he said ; i he had rather be
plagued by Cilly than receive a mitre ! Don't hinder
him, Honey; it is his pride to treat us as if we were
at home and he our guest.'
I Wrapworth has not been seen without Edna Mur-
rell,' Tsaid Lucilla, flinging the stem of her last straw-
berry at her brother, ' and Miss Charlecote is a woman
of schools. What, aren't we to go, Mr. Prendergast V
I I beg your pardon. I did not know.'
'Well; what is it?'
' I do sometimes wish Miss Murrell were not such an
attraction.'
' You did not think that of yourself.'
' Well, I don't know ; Miss Murrell is a very nice
young woman,' he hesitated, as Cilly seemed about to
thrust him through with her reed ; ( but couldn't you,
Cilia, now, give her a hint that it would be better if
she would associate more with Mrs. Jenkyns, and '
' Couldn't, Mr. Prendergast ; I've more regard for
HOPES AND FEARS. 255
doing as I would be done by. When you see Edna,
Honor '
1 They are very respectable women,' said the curate,
standing his ground ; ' and it would be much better
for her than letting it be said she gives herself airs.'
1 That's all because we have had her up to the castle
to sing.'
1 Well, so it is, I believe. They do say, too — I don't
know whether it is so — that the work has not been so
well attended to, nor the children so orderly.'
1 Spite, spite, Mr. Prendergast ; I had a better opinion
of you than to think you could be taken in by the tongues
of Wrap worth.'
' Well, certainly I did hear a great noise the other
day.'
' I see how it is ! This is a systematic attempt to
destroy the impression I wished to produce.'
He tried to argue that he thought very well of Miss
Murrell, but she would not hear; and she went on
with her pretty, saucy abuse, in her gayest tones, as
she tripped along the churchyard path, now, doubtless,
too familiar to renew the associations that might have
tamed her spirits. Perhaps the shock her vivacity gave
to the feelings of her friends was hardly reasonable, but
it was not the less real ; though, even in passing, Honora
could not but note the improved condition of the two
graves, now carefully tended, and with a lovely white
rose budding between them.
A few more steps, and from the open window of the
school-house there was heard a buzz and hum, not out-
rageous, but which might have caused the item of dis-
cipline not to figure well in an inspector's report \ but
Mr. Prendergast and Lucilla appeared habituated to
the like, for they proceeded without apology.
It was a handsome gable-ended building, Elizabethan
enough to testify to the taste that had designed it, and
with a deep porch, where Honor had advanced, under
Lucilla's guidance, so as to have a moment's view of
the whole scene before their arrival had disturbed it.
256 HOPES AND FEARS.
The children's backs were towards the door, as they
sat on their forms at work. Close to the oriel window,
the only person facing the door, with a table in front
of her, there sat, in a slightly reclining attitude, a figure
such as all reports of the new race of schoolmistresses
had hardly led Honor to imagine to be the bond fide
mistress. Yet the dress was perfectly quiet, merely
lilac cotton, with no ornament save the small bow of
the same colour at the throat, and the hair was simply
folded round the head, but it was magnificent raven
hair ; the head and neck were grandly made ; the form
finely proportioned, on a large scale ; the face really
beautiful, in a pale, dark, Italian style; the complexion
of the clearest olive, but as she became aware of the
presence of the visitors it became overspread with a
lovely hue of red ; while the eyelids revealed a superb
pair of eyes, liquid depths of rich brown, soft and lan-
guid, and befitting the calm dignity with which she
rose, curtseyed, and signed to her scholars to do the
same ; the deepening colour alone betraying any sense
of being taken by surprise.
Lucilla danced up to her, chattering with her usual
familiar, airy grace. ' Well, Edna, how are you getting
on 1 Have I brought a tremendous host to invade you l
I wanted Miss Charlecote to see you, for she is a per-
fect connoisseur in schools.'
Edna's blush grew more carnation, and the fingers
shook so visibly with which she held the work, that
Honora was provoked with Lucy for embarrassing the
poor young thing by treating her as an exhibition,
especially as the two young gentlemen were present,
Robert with his back against the door-post in a state
of resignation, Owen drawing Phoebe's attention to the
little ones whom he was puzzling with incomprehen-
sible remarks and questions. Hoping to end the scene,
Honor made a few commonplace inquiries as to the
numbers and the habits of the school ; but the mistress,
though preserving her dignity of attitude, seemed
hardly able to speak, and the curate replied for her.
HOPES AND FEARS. 257
1 1 see,' said Lucilla, ' your eye keeps roaming to the
mischief my naughty brother is doing among the fry
down there.'
' Oh, no ! ma'am. I beg your pardon '
' Never mind, I'll remove the whole concern in a
moment, only we must have some singing first.'
' Don't, Lucy !' whispered Honor, looking up from
an inspection of some not first-rate needlework ; ' it
is distressing her, and displays are contrary to all rules
of discipline.'
1 Oh ! but you must,' cried Cilly. ' You have not
seen Wrapworth without. Come, Edna, my bonnie-
bell,' and she held out her hand in that semi-imperi-
ous, semi-caressing manner which very few had ever
withstood.
'One song,' echoed Owen, turning towards the elder
girls. ' I know you'll oblige me ; eh, Fanny Blake f
To the scholars the request was evidently not dis-
tasteful j the more tuneful were gathering together,
and the mistress took her station among them, all as
if the exhibition were no novelty. Lucilla, laying her
hand on the victim's arm, said, ' Come, don't be ner-
vous, or what will you do to-morrow ? Come.'
' " Goddess of the Silver Bow," ' suggested Owen.
* Wasn't it that which your mother disapproved, Fanny,
because it was worshipping idols to sing about great
Diana of the Ephesians V
' Yes, sir,' said rather a conceited voice from the
prettiest of the elder girls ; ' and you told us it was
about Phoebe Bright, and gave her the blue and silver
ribbon.'
' And please, sir,' said another less prepossessing
damsel, ' Mrs. Jenkyns took it away, and I said I'd
tell you.'
Owen shrugged up his shoulders with a comical look,
saying, as he threw her a shilling, ' Never mind ; there's
a silver circle instead of a bow — that will do as well.
Here's a rival goddess for you, Phoebe ; two moons in a
system.'
VOL. i. s
258 HOPES AND FEAES.
The girls were in a universal titter, the mistress
with her eyes cast down, blushing more than ever.
Lncilla muttered an amused but indignant, 'For
shame, Owen !' and herself gave the key-note. The
performance was not above the average of National
School melody, but no sooner was it over, than Owen
named, in an under tone, another song, which was in-
stantly commenced, and in which there joined a voice
that had been still during the first, but which soon
completely took the lead. And such a voice, coming
as easily as the notes of the nightingale from the nobly
formed throat, and seeming to fill the room with its
sweet power ! Lucillas triumph was complete ; Honor's
scruples were silenced by the admiring enjoyment, and
Phcebe was in a state of rapture. The nervous reluc-
tance had given way to the artistic delight in her own
power, and she readily sang all that was asked for,
latterly such pieces as needed little or no support from
the children — the ' Three Fishers' Wives' coming last,
and thrilling every one with the wondrous pathos and
sadness of the tones that seemed to come from her very
heart.
Tt seemed as if they would never have come away,
had uot Mr. Prendergast had pity on the restless
movements of some of the younglings who, taking no
part in the display, had leisure to perceive that the
clock had struck their hour of release, and at the close
of ' The Fishers' Wives,' he signed to Lucilla to look
at the hour.
1 Poor little things !' said she, turning round to the
gaping and discontented collection, ' have we used you
so ill? Never mind.' Again using her bulrush to
tickle the faces that looked most injured, and waken
them into smiles — ' Here's the prison house open,' and
she sprang out. ' Now — come with a whoop and come
with a call — I'll give my club to anybody that can
catch me before I get down to the vicarage garden.'
Light as the wind, she went bounding, flying across
the churchyard like a butterfly, ever and anon pausing
HOPES AND FEARS. 259
to look round, nod, and shake her sceptre, as the urchins
tumbled confusedly after, far behind, till closing the
gate, she turned, poised the reed javelin-wise in the air,
and launched it among them.
1 It is vain to try to collect them again,' sighed Mr.
Prendergast, ' we must shut up. Good night, Miss
Murrell ;' and therewith he turned back to his garden,
where the freakish sprite, feigning night, took refuge
in the boat, cowering down, and playfully hiding her
face in deprecation of rebuke, but all she received was
a meekly melancholy, ' O Cilia ! prayers.'
1 One day's less loathing of compulsory devotion,'
was her answer in saucy defiance. ' I owed it to them
for the weariness of listening for ten minutes to the
" Three Fishers' Wives," which they appreciated as
little as their pastor did !'
' I know nothing about songs, but when one wants
them — poor things — to look to something better than
sleep.'
' Oh, hush ! Here are Miss Charlecote and Mr. Ful-
mort on your side, and I can't be crushed with united
morality in revenge for the tears Edna caused you all
to shed. There, help Miss Charlecote in ; where can
Owen be dawdling 1 You can't pull, Phoebe, or we
would put off without him. Ah, there !' as he came
bounding down, 'you intolerable loiterer, I was just
going to leave you behind.'
1 The train starting without the engine,' he said, get-
ting into his place ; 'yes, take an oar if you like, little
gnat, and fancy yourself helping.'
The gay warfare, accompanied by a few perilous
tricks on Lucilla's part, lasted through the further
voyage. Honora guessed at a purpose of staving off
graver remonstrance, but Phoebe looked on in astonish-
ment. Seventeen is often a more serious time of life
than two-and-twenty, and the damsel could not com-
prehend the possibility of thoughtlessness when there
was anything to think about. The ass's bridge W99
nothing compared with Lucy ! Moreover the habits
s 2
260' HOPES AND FEARS.
of persiflage of a lively family often are confusing to
one not used to the tone of jest and repartee, and
Phoebe had as little power as will to take part in what
was passing between the brother and sister ; she sat
like the spectator of a farce in a foreign tongue, till the
boat had arrived at the broad open extent of park
gently sweeping down towards the river, the masses of
trees kept on either side so as to leave the space open
where the castle towered in pretentious grandeur, with
a flag slowly swaying in the summer wind on the top
of the tallest turret.
The trees made cool reaches of shade, varied by in-
tervals of hot sunshine, and much longer did the way
appear, creeping onward in the heat, than it had
looked when the eye only took in the simple expanse
of turf, from river to castle. Phoebe looked to her
arrival there, and to bedroom conferences, as the
moment of recovering a reasonable Lucy, but as they
neared the house, there was a shout from the wire
fence enclosing the shrubbery on the eastern side, and
Horatia was seen standing at the gate calling them to
come into the cloisters and have some sustenance.
Passing the screen of shrubs, a scene lay before
them, almost fit for the gardens of Seville. Three
sides of an extensive square were enclosed by the
semi-gothic buildings, floridly decorated with stone
carving ; one consisted of the main edifice, the lower
windows tented with striped projecting blinds ; a second
of the wing containing the reception rooms, fronted
by the imitative cloister, which was continued and
faced with glass on the third side — each supporting
column covered with climbing plants, the passion
flower, the tropseoluni, the trumpet honeysuckle, or
even the pomegranate, opening their gay blooms on
every side. The close-shaven turf was broken by small
patches of gorgeously-tinted flower beds, diversified
by vases filled with trailing plants, and lines of orange
trees and fuchsias, with here and there a deep-belled
datura, all converging towards the central marble
HOPES AND FEARS. 261
fountain, where the water played high, and tinkled
coolly in sparkling jets. Between it and the house,
there were placed in the shade some brightly-tinted
cushions and draperies, lounging chairs, and a low
table, bearing an oriental-looking service of tiny cups
of all kinds of bright and fantastic hues, no two alike.
Near it reclined on her cushions a figure in perfect
keeping with the scene, her jetty hair contrasting with
her gold and coral net, her scarlet gold-embroidered
slipper peepiug out from her pale buff-coloured dress,
deeply edged with rich purple, and partly concealed by
a mantle of the unapproachable pink which suggests
Persia, all as gorgeous in apparel as the blue and
yellow macaw on his pole, and the green and scarlet
lories in their cage. Owen made a motion of smoking
with Honor's parasol, whispering, ' Fair Fatima !
what more is wanting ? '
' There ! I've got Lolly out ! ' cried Horatia, ad-
vancing with her vehement cordiality, and grasping
their hands with all her might ; ' I would have come
and pulled you up the river, Miss Charlecote, but for
imperative claims. Here's some tea for you ; I know
you must be parched.'
And while Mrs. Charteris, scarcely rising, held out
her ring-encrusted fingers, and murmured a greeting,
Ttatia settled them all, pushed a chair behind Miss
Charlecote, almost threw Phoebe on a cushion, handed
tea, scolded Owen, and rattled away to Lucillawith an
impetus that kept Phcebe in increased wonder. It
was all about the arrangements for the morrow, full of
the utmost good-nature and desire to secure every one's
pleasure, but all discussed in a broad, out-spoken way,
with a liberal use of slang phrases, and of unprefaced
surnames, a freedom of manner and jovial carelessness
of voice that specially marked Pashe Charteris at
home.
Phcebe had a good deal of opportunity for these
observations, for as soon as her stream of information
was exhausted, Pashe jumped up and insisted on con-
262 HOPES AND FEARS.
ducting the guests round the hot-houses and pleasure-
grounds. She knew Miss Charlecote was a famous
hand at such things. Lucilla remained on the grass,
softly teasing Lolly about the exertions of the morrow,
and Owen applying himself to the care of Honor,
Rashe took possession of Phcebe with all the tyrannous
good-nature that had in baby days rendered her hate-
ful to Lucilla. She showed off the parrots and gold
fish as to a child, she teased the sensitive plant, and
explained curiosities down to the level of the youth-
ful intellect j and Phcebe, scientific enough to know if
she went wrong in botany or locality, began a word or
two of modest suggestion, only to be patronizingly
enlightened, and stopt short, in the fear of pedantry.
Phcebe had yet to learn the ignorance of the world.
At last, with a huge torrent of explanations and
excuses, Rati a consigned the two guests to share the
same bedroom and dressing-room. The number of
gentlemen visitors had necessitated close packing, and
Cilly, she said, had come to sleep in her room. Another
hope had failed ! But at the moment when the door
was shut, Phcebe could only sink into a chair, untie
her bonnet, and fan herself. Such oppressive good-
nature was more fatiguing than a ten miles' walk, or
than the toughest lesson in political economy.
1 If nature have her own ladies,' was Honora's com-
ment on her young friend's exhaustion, ' she likewise
has her own dairy -maids i '
1 Miss Charteris is a lady,' said Phcebe, her sense of
the intended kindness of her hostess calling her to
speak in vindication.
* Yes,' said Honor, hesitating ; 'it is station that
emboldens her. If she had been a dairy-maid, she
would have been a bouncing rude girl ; if a farmers
daughter, she would be hearty and useful ; if one
of the boasters of gentility, she would think it worth
while to restrain herself ; as she is, her acknowledged
birth and breeding enable her to follow her inclinations
without fear of opinion.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 2 Co
1 1 thought refinement was one great characteristic
of a lady,' said Phcebe.
' So it is, but affectation and false shame are the
contrary. .Refinement was rather overworked, and
there has been a reaction of late ; simplicity and un-
constraint have been the fashion, but unfortunately
some dispositions are not made to be unconstrained.'
'Lucy is just as unrestrained as her cousin,' said
Phcebe, ' but she never seems like her. She offends
one's judgment sometimes, but never one's taste — at
least hardly ever ;' and Phcebe blushed as she thought
of what had passed about her sister that day.
1 Poor Lucy ! it is one misfortune of pretty people,
that they can seldom do what is taken amiss. She is
small and feminine, too, and essentially refined, what-
ever she can do. But I was very sorry for you to-day,
Phoebe. Tell me all about your sister, my dear.'
1 They knew more than I did, if all that is true,'
said Phcebe. ' Augusta wrote — oh ! so kindly — and
seemed so glad, that it made me very happy. And
papa gave his consent readily to Robert's doing as he
pleased, and almost said something about his taking me
to the wedding at Paris. If Lucy should — should
accept Robin, I wonder if she would go, too, and be
bridesmaid ! '
So they comforted themselves with a few pretty
auguries, dressed, and went down to dinner, where
Phoebe had made sure that, as before, Lucy would sit
next Robin, and be subdued. Alas, no ! Ladies were
far too scarce articles for even the last but one to be
the prize of a mere B. A. To know who were Phoebe's
own neighbours would have been distraction to Juliana,
but they were lost on one in whom the art of conver-
sation was yet undeveloped, and who was chiefly intent
on reading her brother's face, and catching what Lucy
was saying. She had nearly given up listening in
despair, when she heard, \ Pistols ? oh, of course.
Rashe has gone to the expense of a revolver, but I
extracted grandpapa's from the family armoury — such
264, HOPES AND FEARS.
little darlings. I'm strongly tempted to send a chal-
lenge, just to keep them in use — that's because you
despise me — I'm a crack shot — we practised every day
last winter — women shoot much better than men, be-
cause they don't make their hands unsteady — what can
be better than the guidance of Ratia, the feminine of
Ratio, reason, isn't it 1 '
It is not quite certain that this horrible Latinity
did not shock Miss Fennimore's discreet pupil more
than all the rest, as a wilful insult to Miss Charlecote's
education !
She herself was not to escape ' the guidance of
Ratia,' after dinner. Her silence had been an addi-
tional proof to the good-natured Rashe that she was
a child to be protected and entertained, so she paraded
her through the rooms, coaxed her to play when no
one was listening, showed her illustrated books and
new-fashioned puzzles, and domineered over her so
closely, that she had not a moment in which to speak
a word to her brother, whom she saw disconsolately
watching the hedge of gentlemen round Lucy. Was
it wrong to feel so ungrateful to a person exclusively
devoted to her entertainment for that entire evening %
Phoebe had never known a room-mate nor the solace
of a bed-time gossip, and by the time Miss Charlecote
began to think of opening the door between their
rooms, and discussing the disgusts of the day, the
sounds of moving about had ceased. Honor looked
in, and could not help advancing to the bedside to
enjoy the sight of the rosy face in the sound healthful
sleep, the lips unclosed, and the silken brown hair
wound plainly across the round brow, the childish out-
line and expression of the features even sweeter in
sleep than awake. It rested Honora's wearied
anxious spirit to watch the perfect repose of that
innocent young face, and she stood still for some
minutes, breathing an ejaculation that the child might
ever be as guileless and peaceful as now, and then
sighing at the thought of other young sleepers, beside
HOPES AND FEARS. 2G5
whose couches even fonder prayers had been uttered,
only, as it seemed, to be blown aside.
She was turning away, when Phcebe suddenly awoke,
and was for a moment startled, half rising, asking if
anything were the matter.
' No, my dear ; only I did not think you would
have been in bed so quickly. I came to wish you good
night, and found j 7 ou asleep.' And with the strong
tender impulse of a gentle wounded spirit, Honor
hung over the maiden, recomposing the clothes, and
fondling her, with a murmured blessing.
'Dear Miss Charlecote,' whispered Phoebe, 'how
nice it is ! I have so often wondered what it would
be like, if any one came in to pet us at night, as they
do in books ; and oh ! it is so nice ! Say that again,
please.'
TJmt was the blessing which would have made
Lucilla in angry reserve hide her head in the clothes !
CHAPTER VII.
But, ah me ! she's a heart of stone,
Which Cupid uses for a hone,
I verily believe ;
And on it sharpens those eye-darts,
With which he wounds the simple hearts
He bribes her to deceive.
A Coquette, hy X.
REAKFAST was late, and lengthened
out by the greater lateness of many of
the guests, and the superlative tardiness
of the lady of the house, who had repu-
diated the cares of the hostess, and left
the tea equipage to her sister-in-law. Lucilla had
been downstairs among the first, and hurried away
again after a rapid meal, forbidding any one to
follow her, because she had so much to do, and on
entering the drawing-room, she was found with a wil-
derness of flowers around her, filling vases and making
last arrangements.
Honora and Phoebe were glad to be occupied, and
Phoebe almost hoped to escape from Rashe. Speaking
to Lucilla was not possible, for Eloisa had been placed
by Rashe ina low chair, with a saucer before her, which
she was directed to fill with verbenas, while the other
four ladies, with Owen, whom his cousin had called to
their aid, were putting last touches to wreaths, and
giving the final festal air to the rooms.
Presently Robert made his appearance as the bearer
of Mr. Prendergast's flowers, and setting his back
against a shutter, in his favourite attitude, stood look-
HOPES AXD FEARS. 2G7
ing as if lie wanted to help, but knew not how. Phoebe,
at least, was vividly conscious of his presence, but she
was supporting a long festoon with which Owen was
adorning a pier-glass, and could hardly even turn her
head to watch him.
1 Oh, horrid !' cried Lucilla, retreating backwards to
look at Ratia's performance ; ' for love or money, a bit
of clematis !'
' Where shall I find one V said Robert, unseeing the
masses waving on the cloister, if, good youth, he even
knew what clematis was.
1 You there, Mr. Fulmort !' exclaimed Rashe ; ' for
goodness gracious sake, go out to tennis or something
with the other men. I've ordered them all out, or
there'll be no good to be got out of Cilly.'
Phoebe flashed out in his defence, ' You are letting
Owen alone.'
1 Ah ! by the bye, that wreath of yours has taken
an unconscionable time !' said Miss Charteris, beginning
to laugh ; but Phoebe's grave, straightforward eyes met
her with such a look as absolutely silenced her merri-
ment into a mere mutter of ' What a little chit it is !'
Honora, who was about indignantly to assume the pro-
tection of her charge, recognised in her what was fully
competent to take care of herself.
1 Away with both of you,' said Lucilla ; ' here is
Edna come for a last rehearsal, and I wont have you
making her nervous. Take away that Robin, will you,
Owen V
Horatia flew gustily to greet and reassure the school-
mistress as she entered, trembling, although moving
with the dignity that seemed to be her form of embar-
rassment. Lucilla meanwhile sped to the others near
the window. * You must go,' she said, ' or I shall
never screw her up ; it is a sudden access of stage
fright. She is as pale as death.'
Owen stepped back to judge of the paleness, and
Robert contrived to say, ' Cannot you grant me a few
words, Lucy]'
268 HOPES AND FEARS.
' The most impossible thing you could have asked,'
she replied. ' There's Rashe's encouragement quite
done for her now !'
She bounded back to the much-overcome Edna, while
Phoebe herself, perceiving how ill-advised an oppor-
tunity Robert had chosen, stepped out with him into
the cloister, saying, ' She can't help it, dear Robin j she
cannot think, just now.'
' When can she V he asked, almost with asperity.
' Think how full her hands are, how much excited
she is,' pleaded Phoebe, feeling that this was no fair
moment for the crisis.
1 Ireland V almost groaned Robert, but at the same
moment grasped her roughly to hinder her from re-
plying, for Owen was close upon them, and he was the
person to whom Robert would have been most reluc-
tant to display his feelings.
Catching intuitively at his meaning, Phoebe directed
her attention to some clematis on the opposite side of
the cloister, and called both her companions to gather
it for her, glad to be with Robert and to relieve Miss
Murrell of the presence of another spectator. Charles
Charteris coming up, carried the two young men to
inspect some of his doings out of doors, and Phoebe
returned with her wreaths of creepers to find that the
poor schoolmistress had become quite hysterical, and
had been taken away by Lucilla.
Rashe summoned her at the same time to the deco-
ration of the music-room, and on entering, stopped in
amusement, and made her a sign in silence to look into
a large pier-glass, which stood so as to reflect through
an open door what was passing in the little fanciful bou-
doir beyond, a place fitted like a tent, and full of quaint
Dresden china and toys of bijouterie. There was a
complete picture within the glass. Lucilla, her fair
face seen in profile, more soft and gentle than she often
allowed it to appear, was kneeling beside the couch
where half reclined the tall, handsome Edna, whose
raven hair, and pale, fine features made her like a
HOPES AND FEARS. 269
heroine, as she nervously held the hands which Lucilla
had placed within her grasp. There was a low murmur
of voices, one soothing, the other half sobbing, but no-
thing reached the outer room distinctly, till, as Phoebe
was holding a long wreath, which Ratia was tying up,
she heard — ' Oh ! but it is so different with me from
you young ladies who are used to company and all. I
dare say that young lady would not be timid.'
' What young lady, Edna ? Not the one with the
auburn hair?'
Ratia made an ecstatic face which disgusted Phoebe.
'Oh, no ! — the young lady whom Mr. Sandbrook
was helping. I dare say she would not mind singing —
or anything,' came amid sobs.
Patia nodded, looked excessively arch, and formed a
word with her lips, which Phoebe thought was 'jealous,'
but could not imagine what she could mean by it.
1 1 don't know why you should think poor Phoebe
Fulmort so brazen. She is a mere child, taking a holi-
day from her strict governess.'
Phcebe laughed back an answer to Pashe's panto-
mime, which in this case she understood.
1 She has not had half your training in boldness, with
your inspectors and examinations, and alj those horrid
things. Why, you never thought of taking fright be-
fore, even when you have sung to people here. Why
should you, now V
1 It is so different, now — so many more people. Oh,
so different ! I shall never be able.'
' Not at all. You will quite forget all about your-
self and your fears when the time comes. You don't
know the exhilaration of a room full of people, all
lights and music ! That symphony will lift you into
another world, and you will feel quite ready for " Men
must work and women must weep." '
' If I can only begin — but oh ! Miss Sandbrook;, shall
you be far away from me V
* No, E promise you not. I will bring you down, if
you will come to Ratia's room when you are dressed.
270 HOPES AND FEARS.
The black silk and the lilac ribbon Owen and I chose
for you ; I must see you in it.'
' Dear Miss Sandbrook, you are so kind ! What
shall I do when you have left V
1 You are going yourself for the holidays, silly puss !'
'Ah ! but no one else sympathizes or enters into my
feelings.'
1 Feelings !' said Lucilla, lightly, yet sadly. ' Don't
indulge in them, Edna ; they are no end of a torment.'
' Ah ! but if they prey on one, one cannot help it.'
Raske made a face of great distaste. Phoebe felt as
if it were becoming too confidential to permit of listen-
ing, all the more as she heard Lucilla's reply.
' That's what comes of being tall, and stately, and
dignified ! There's so much less of me that I can carry
off my troubles twice as well."
1 Oh, dear Miss Sandbrook, you can have no troubles !'
'Haven't I? Oh, Edna, if you knew ! You that
have a mother can never know what it is to be like
me ! I'm keeping it all at bay, lest I should break
down ; but I'm in the horridest bother and trouble.'
Not knowing what might come next, ashamed of
having listened to so much, yet with one gleam of re-
newed hope, Phcebe resolutely disobeyed Ratia's frowns
and gestures, and made her presence known by decided
movements and words spoken aloud.
She saw the immediate effect in Edna Murrell's
violent start ; but Lucilla, without moving, at once
began to sing, straining her thin though sweet voice,
as though to surmount a certain tremulousness. Edna
joined, and the melody was lovely to hear ; but Phoebe
was longing all the time for Robert to be at hand for
this softer moment, and she hoped all the more when,
the practising being over, and Edna dismissed, Lucy
came springing towards her, notifying her presence by
a caress — to outward appearance merely playful, but
in reality a convulsive clasp of vehement affection —
and Phcebe was sure that there had been tears in those
eyes that seemed to do nothing but laugh.
HOPES AND FEAES. 271
The security that this wild elf was true at heart was
however, not enough for Phoebe. There was the know-
ledge that each moment's delay would drive Robert
farther aloof, and that it was a mere chance whether
he should encounter this creature of impulse at a pro-
pitious instant. Nay, who could tell what was best for
him after all ? Even Phoebe's faithful acceptance of
her on his word had undergone sundry severe shocks,
and she had rising doubts whether Lucy, such as she
saw her, could be what would make him happy.
If the secrets of every guest at a fete were told,
would any be found unmix edly happy ? Would there
be no one devoid of cares of their own or of other
peoj:>le's, or if exempt from these, undisturbed by the
absence of the right individual or by the presence of
the wrong one, by mishaps of deportment, difficulties
of dress, or want of notice ? Perhaps, after all, it may
be best to have some one abiding anxiety, strong
enough to destroy tedium, and exclude the pettier dis-
tresses, which are harder to contend with, though less
dignified ; and most wholesome of all is it that this
should be an interest entirely external. So, after all,
Phoebe's enjoyment might hardly have been increased
had her thoughts been more free from Robin's troubles,
when she came down dressed for her first party, so like
a lily of the valley in her delicate dress, that Owen
acknowledged that it justified her choice, and mur-
mured something of ' in vernal green and virgin white,
her festal robes, arrayed.' Phoebe was only distressed
at what she thought the profanation of quoting from
such a source in compliment to her. Honora was gra-
tified to find the lines in his memory upon any terms.
Poor dear Honor, in one case at least believing all
things, hoping all things !
Phcebe ought to have made the most of her compli-
ment. It was all she obtained in that line. Juliana
herself could not have taken umbrage at her success.
Nobody imagined her come out, no one attempted to
disturb her from under Miss Charlecote's wing, and she
272 HOPES AND FEARS.
kept close to her the whole afternoon, sometimes sitting
■upon a haycock, sometimes walking in the shrubbery,
listening to the band, or looking at the archery, in
company with dignified clergyman, or elderly lady, as-
tonished to meet Honor Charlecote in so unwonted a
scene. Owen Sandbrook was never far off. He took
them to eat ices, conducted them to good points of
view, found seats for them, and told them who every
one was, with droll comments or anecdotes, which en-
tertained them so much, that Phoebe almost wished
that Robin had not made her sensible of the grain
of irreverence that seasoned all Owen's most brilliant
sallies.
They saw little of the others. Mr. and Mrs. Char-
teris walked about together, the one cordial, the other
stately and gorgeous, and Miss Charlecote came in for
her due and passing share of their politeness. Rashe
once invited Phoebe to shoot, but had too many on her
hands to be solicitous about one. Flirting no longer
herself, Rashe's delight was in those who did flirt, and
in any assembly her extreme and unscrupulous good-
nature made her invaluable to all who wanted to have-
themselves taken off their own hands, or pushed into
those of others. She ordered people about, started
amusements, hunted gentlemen up, found partners, and
shook up the bashful. Rashe Charteris was the life of
everything. How little was wanting to make her kind-
hearted activity admirable !
Lucilla never came in their way at all. She was
only seen in full and eager occupation embellishing the
archery, or forcing the ' decidedly pious' to be fasci-
nated by her gracious self-adaptation. Robert was
equally inaccessible, always watching her, but keeping
aloof from his sister, and only cou sorting at times with
Mr. Prendergast.
It was seven o'clock when this act of the drama was
finally over, and the party staying in the house met
round a hurried meal. Rashe lounging and yawning,
laughing and quizzing, in a way amazing to Phcebe ;
HOPES AND FEARS. 273
Lucilla in the very summit of spirits, rattling and
laughing away in full swing. Thence the party dis-
persed to dress, but Honora had no sooner reached her
room than she said, ' I mast go and find Lucy. I must
do my duty by her, little hope as I have. She has avoided
me all day ; I must seek her now.'
What a difference time and discipline had made in
•one formerly so timid and gentle as to be alarmed at
the least encounter, and nervous at wandering about a
strange house. Nervous and frightened, indeed, she still
was, but self-control kept this in check, and her dislike
was not allowed to hold her back from her duty.
Humfrey's representative was seldom permitted to be
weak. But there are times when the difference be-
tween man and woman is felt in their dealings with
others. Strength can be mild, but what is strained
can seldom be gentle, and when she knocked at Horatia
Charteris's door, her face, from very unhappiness and
effort, was sorrowfully reproachful, as she felt herself
an unwelcome apparition to the two cousins, who lay
on their bed still laughing over the day's events.
Rashe, who was still in her morning dress, at once
gave way, saying she must go and speak to Lolly, and
hastened out of the room. Lucy, in her dishabille, sat
crouched upon the bed, her white bare shoulders and
floating hair, together with the defiant glance of the
blue eye, and the hand moodily compressing the lips,
reminding Honor of the little creature who had been
summarily carried into her house sixteen years since.
She came towards her, but there was no invitation to
give the caress that she yearned to bestow, and she
leant against the bed, trembling, as she said, ' Lucy, my
poor child, I am come that you may not throw away your
last chance without knowing it. You do not realize
what you are about. If you cast aside esteem and re-
liance, how can you expect to retain the affection you
sometimes seem to prize V
' If I am not trusted, what's the good of affection V
1 How can you expect trust when you go beyond the
VOL. I. T
274 HOPES AND FEARS.
bounds of discretion V said Honor, with voice scarcely
steadied into her desired firmness.
< I can, I do !'
* Lucy, listen to me.' She gave way to her natural
piteous, pleading tone : ' I verily believe that this is
the very turn. Remember how often a moment has
decided the fate of a life !' She saw the expression
relax into some alarm, and continued : ' The Fulmorts
do not say so, but I see by their manner that his final
decision will be influenced by your present proceedings.
You have trifled with him too long, and with his mind
made up to the ministry, he cannot continue to think
of one who persists in outraging decorum.'
Those words were effort enough, and bad better have
been unsaid. ' That is as people may think,' was all
the answer.
1 As he thinks V
1 How do I know what he thinks ?'
Heartsick at such mere fencing, Honor was silent at
first, then said, ' I, for one, shall rate your good opinion
by your endeavour to deserve it. Who can suppose
that you value what you are willing to risk for an un-
ladylike bet, or an unfeminine sporting expedition V
' You may tell him so,' said Lucilla, her voice qui-
vering with passion.
' You think a look will bring him back, but you may
find that a true man is no slave. Prove his affection
misplaced, and he will tear it away.'
Had Honoa-a been discreet as she was good, she would
have left those words to settle down ; but, woman that
she was, she knew not when to stop, and coaxingly
coming to the small bundle of perverseness, she touched
the shoulder, and said, ' Now you wont make an object
of yourself to-night V
The shoulder shook in the old fashion.
1 At least you will not go to Ireland.'
' Yes, I shall.'
' Miss Charlecote, I beg your pardon ' cried
Hashe, bursting in — (oh ! that she had been five seconds
HOPES AND FEABS. 275
earlier) — ' but dressing is imperative. People are be-
ginning to come.'
Honora retreated in utter discomfiture.
' Rashe ! Rashe ! I'm in for it !' cried Lucilla, as the
door shut, springing up with a look of terror.
1 Proposed by deputy?' exclaimed Horatia, aghast.
' No, na !' gasped Lucilla ; ' it's this Ireland of yours
— that — that ' and she well-nigh sobbed.
' My bonny bell ! I knew you would not be bullied
into deserting.'
' Oh ! Kashe, she was very hard on me. Every one
is but you !' and Lucilla threw herself into her cousin's
arms in a paroxysm of feeling j but their maid's knock
brought her back to composure sooner than poor
Honora, who shed many a tear over this last defeat, as,
looking mournfully to Phoebe, she said, ' I have done,
Phoebe. I can say no more to her. She will not hear
anything from me. Oh ! what have I done that my
child should be hardened against me !'
Phoebe could offer nothing but caresses full of in-
dignant sorrow, and there was evidently soothing in
them, for Miss Charlecote's tears became softer, and she
fondly smoothed Phoebe's fair hair, saying, as she drew
the clinging arms closer round her : ' My little wood-
bine, you must twine round your brother and comfort
him, but you can spare some sweetness for me too.
There, I will dress. I will not keep you from the
party.'
' I do not care for that ; only to see Robin.'
1 We must take our place in the crowd,' sighed
Honora, beginning her toilet ; ' and you will enjoy it
when you are there. Your first quadrille is promised
to Owen, is it not ¥
'Yes,' said Phcebe, dreamily, and she would have
gone back to Robin's sorrows, but Honora had learnt
that there were subjects to be set aside when it was
incumbent on her to be presentable, and directed the
talk to speculations whether the poor schoolmistress
would have nerve to sing ; and somehow she talked
t 2
276 HOPES AND FEAKS.
up Phoebe's spirits to such a hopeful pitch, that the
little maiden absolutely was crossed by a gleam of sa-
tisfaction from the ungrateful recollection that poor
Miss Charlecote had done with the affair. Against
her will, she had detected the antagonism between the
two, and bad as it was of Lucy, was certain that she
was more likely to be amenable where there was no
interference from her best friend.
The music-room was already crowded when the two
made their way into it, and Honora's inclination was
to deposit herself on the nearest seat, but she owed
something otherwise to her young charge, and Phoebe's
eyes had already found a lonely black figure with arms
crossed, and lowering brow. Simultaneously they
moved towards him, and he towards them. 4 Is she
come down V he asked.
Phoebe shook her head, but at the same moment
another door near the orchestra admitted a small white
butterfly- figure, leading in a tall queenly apparition in
black, whom she placed in a chair adjacent to the be-
jewelled prima donna of the night — a great contrast
with her dust-coloured German hair and complexion,
and good-natured plain face.
Robert's face cleared with relief ; he evidently de-
tected nothing outre in Lucilla's aspect, and was re-
joicing in the concession. Woman's eyes saw further ;
a sigh from Honora, an amused murmur around him,
caused him to bend his looks on Phoebe. She knew
his eyes were interrogating her. but could not bear to
let her own reply, and kept them on the ground. He
was moving towards Lucilla, who, having consigned
her protegee to the good-humoured German, had come
more among the guests, and was exchanging greetings
and answering comments with all her most brilliant
airs of saucy animation.
And who could quarrel with that fairy vision 1
Her rich double-skirted watered silk was bordered
with exquisitely made and coloured flies, radiant with
the hues of the peacock, the gold pheasant, the jay,
HOPES AND FEARS. 277
parrots of all tints, everything rich and rare in
plumage. A coronal of the same encircled her glossy
hair, the tiny plumes contrasting with the blonde ring-
lets, and the bond fide hooks ostentatiously displayed ;
lesser and more innocuous flies edged the sleeves, cor-
sage, shoes, and gloves ; and her fan, which she used as
skilfully as Jenny Wren, presented a Watteau-like pic-
ture of an angling scene. Anything more daintily,
quaintly pretty could not be imagined, and the male
part of the assembly would have unanimously con-
curred in Sir Harry Buller's ' three cheers for the
queen of the anglers.'
But towards the party most concerned in her
movements, Lucilla came not ; and Phoebe, under-
standing a design to keep as near as might be to Miss
Murrell, tried to suggest it as the cause, and looking
round, saw Owen standing by Miss Charlecote, with
somewhat of an uneasy countenance.
' Terribly hot here,' he said, restlessly ; ' suffocating,
aren't you, Honor 1 Come and take a turn in the
cloister ; the fountain is stunning by moonlight.'
No proposal could have been more agreeable to
Honora ; and Phoebe was afraid of losing her chape-
ron, though she would rather have adhered to her
brother, and the barbs of that wicked little angler
were tearing him far too deeply to permit him to
move out of sight of his tormentor.
But for this, the change would have been delicious.
The white lights and deep shadows from the calm,
grave moon contrasted with the long gleams of lamp-
light from every window, reddened by the curtains
within ; the flowers shone out with a strange white-
ness, the taller ones almost like spiritual shapes ; the
burnished orange leaves glistened, the water rose high
in silvery spray, and fell back into the blackness of the
basin, made more visible by one trembling, shimmering
reflection ; the dark blue sky above seemed shut into a
vault by the enclosing buildings, and one solitary
planet shone out in the lustrous neighbourhood of the
278 HOPES AND FEARS.
moon. So still, so solemn, so cool ! Honora felt it as
repose, and pensively began to admire — Owen chimed
in with her. Feverish thoughts and perturbations
were always gladly soothed away in her company.
Phoebe alone stood barely confessing the beauty, and
suppressing impatience at their making so much of it ;
not yet knowing enough of care or passion to seek re-
pose, and much more absorbed in human, than in any
other form of nature.
The music was her first hope of deliverance from
her namesake in the sky ; but, behold, her companions
chose to prefer hearing that grand instrumental piece
softened by distance ; and even Madame Hedwig's
quivering notes did not bring them in. However, at
the first sounds of the accompaniment to the ' Three
Fishers' Wives,' Owen pulled back the curtain, and
handed the two ladies back into the room, by a window
much nearer to the orchestra than that by which they
had gone out, not far from where Edna Murrell had
just risen, her hands nervously clasped together, her
colour rapidly varying, and her eyes roaniiug about as
though in quest of something. Indeed, through all
the music, the slight sounds of the entrance at the
window did not escape her, and at the instant when
she should have begun to sing, Phoebe felt those black
eyes levelled on herself with a look that startled her ;
they were at once removed, the head turned away ;
there was an attempt at the first words, but they died
away on her lips ; there was a sudden whiteness,
Lucilla and the German both tried to reseat her ;
but with readier judgment Owen made two long
steps, gathered her up in his strong arms, and bore
her through the curtains and out at the open window
like a mere infant.
* Don't come, don't — it will only make more fuss —
nobody has seen. Go to Madame Hedwig ; tell her
from me to go on to her next, and cover her retreat,'
said Lucilla, as fast as the words would come, signing
back Honora, and hastily disappearing between the
curtains.
HOPES AND FEARS. 279
There was a command in Lucilla's gestures which
always made obedience the first instinct even with
Honora, and her impulse to assist thus counteracted,
she had time to recollect that Lucy might be supposed
to know best what to do with the schoolmistress, and
that to dispose of her among her ladies' maid friends
was doubtless the kindest measure.
1 1 must say I am glad,' she said ; ' the poor thing
cannot be quite so much spoilt as they wished.'
The concert proceeded, and in the next pause Honor
fell into conversation with a pleasant lady who had
brought one pair of young daughters in the morning,
and now was doing the same duty by an elder pair.
Phoebe was standing near the window when a touch
on her arm and a whispered ' Help ! hush !' made her
look round. Holding the curtain apart, so as to form
the least possible aperture, and with one finger on her
lip, was Lucy's face, the eyes brimming over with
laughter, as she pointed to her head — three of the
hooks had set their barbs deep into the crimson satin
curtain, and held her a prisoner !
' Hush ! I'll never forgive you if you betray me,' she
whispered, drawing Phoebe by the arm behind the
curtain ; ' I should expire on the spot to be found in
Absalom's case. All that little goose's fault — I never
reckoned on having to rush about this way. Can't you
do it 1 Don't spare scissors,' and Lucilla produced a
pair from under her skirt. ' Kashe and I always go
provided.'
' How is she ? — where is she V asked Phoebe.
' That's exactly what I can't tell. He took her out
to the fountain ; she was quite like a dead thing.
Water wouldn't make her come to, and I ran for some
salts ; I wouldn't call anybody, for it was too ro-
mantic a condition to have Owen discovered in, with a
fainting maiden in his arms. Such a rummage as I
had. My own things are all jumbled up, I don't know
how, and Rashe keeps nothing bigger than globules,
only lit for fainting lady-birds, so I went to Lolly's,
but her bottles have all gold heads, and are full of un-
280 HOPES AND FEARS.
canny-looking compounds, and I made a raid at last on
sweet Honey's rational old dressing-case, poked out
her keys from her pocket, and got in ; wasting inter-
minable time. Well, when I got back to my fainting
damsel, non est inventus.''
' Inventa,' murmured the spirit of Miss Fennimore
within Phoebe. ' But what 1 had she got well ¥
1 So I suppose. Gone off to the servants' rooms, no
doubt ; as there is no White Lady in the fountain to
spirit them both away. What, haven't you done that,
yetf
'0 ! Lucy, stand still, please, or you'll get another
hook in.'
1 Give me the scissors ; I know I could do it
quicker. Never mind the curtain, I say ; nobody will
care.'
She put up her hand, and shook head and feet to the
entanglement of a third hook ; but Phcebe, decided
damsel that she was, used her superior height to keep
her mastery, held up the scissors, pressed the fidgety
shoulder into quiescence, and kept her down while she
extricated her, without fatal detriment to the satin,
though with scanty thanks, for the liberation was no
sooner accomplished than the sprite was off, throwing
out a word about Bashe wanting her.
Phcebe emerged to find that she had not been missed,
and presently the concert was over, and tea coming
round, there was a change of places. Robert came
towards her. ' I am going,' he said.
' Oh ! Kobert, when dancing would be one chance V
1 She does not mean to give me that chance ; I
would not ask it while she is in that dress. It is
answer sufficient. Good night, Phoebe ; enjoy your-
self.'
Enjoy herself ! A fine injunction, when her brother
was going away in such a mood ! Yet who would
have suspected that rosy, honest apple face of any
grievance, save that her partner was missing ?
Honora was vexed and concerned at his neglect, but
HOPES AND FEARS. 281
Phoebe appeased her by reporting what Lucy had said.
' Thoughtless ! reckless !' sighed Honora • ' if Lucy
would leave the poor girl on his hands, of course he is
obliged to make some arrangement for getting her
home ! I never knew such people as they are here !
Well, Phoebe, you shall have a partner next time I'
Phoebe had one, thanks chiefly to Rashe, and some-
how the rapid motion shook her out of her troubles,
and made her care much less for Robin's sorrows than
she had done two minutes before. She was much more
absorbed in hopes for another partner.
Alas ! he did not come ; neither then nor for the
ensuing. Owen's value began to rise.
Miss Charlecote did not again bestir herself in the
cause, partly from abstract hatred of waltzes, partly
from the constant expectation of Owen's re-appear-
ance, and latterly from being occupied in a discussion
with the excellent mother upon young girls reading-
novels.
At last, after a galojype, at which Phoebe had looked
on with wishful eyes, Lucilla dropped breathless into
the chair which she relinquished to her.
1 Well, Phoebe, how do you like it V
1 Oh ! very much,' rather ruefully ; ' at least it would
be if '
' If you had any partners, eh, poor child 1 Hasn't
Owen turned up V
' It's that billiard-room ; I tried to make Charlie
shut it up. But we'll disinter him ; I'll rush in like
a sky-rocket, and scatter the gentlemen to all
quarters.'
'No, no, don't!' cried Phoebe, alarmed, and catching
hold of her. ' It is not that, but Robin is gone.'
1 Atrocious,' returned Cilly, disconcerted, but re-
solved that Phoebe should not perceive it ; 'so we are
both under a severe infliction, — both ashamed of our
brothers.'
' I am not ashamed of mine,' said Phoebe, in a tone
of gravity.
282 HOPES AND FEARS.
1 Ah ! there's the truant,' said Ln cilia, turning aside.
' Owen, where have you hidden yourself? I hope you
are ready to sink into the earth with shame at hearing
you have rubbed off the bloom from a young lady's first
ball.'
1 No ! it was not he who did so,' stoutly replied
Phoebe.
' Ah ! it was all the consequence of the green and
white ; I told you it was a sinister omen,' said Owen,
chasing away a shade of perplexity from his brow, and
assuming a certain air that Phoebe had never seen be-
fore, and did not like. ' At least you will be merciful,
and allow me to retrieve my character.'
1 You have nothing to retrieve,' said Phoebe, in the
most straightforward manner ; ' it was very good in you
to take care of poor Miss Murrell. What became of
her ? Lucy said you would know.'
1 1 — I V he exclaimed, so vehemently as to startle
her by the fear of having ignorantly committed some
egregious blunder ; ' I'm the last person to know.'
( The last to be seen with the murdered always falls
under suspicion,' said Lucilla.
' Drowned in the fountain V cried Owen, affecting
horror.
1 Then you must have done it,' said his sister, ' for
when I came back, after ransacking the house for salts,
you had both disappeared. Have you been washing
your hands all this time after the murder V
' Nothing can clear me but an appeal to the foun-
tain,' said Owen ; t will you come and look in, Phoebe 1
It is more delicious than ever.'
But Phoebe had had enough of the moonlight, did
not relish the subject, and was not pleased with Owen's
manner ; so she refused by a most decided ' No, thank
you,' causing Lucy to laugh at her for thinking Owen
dangerous.
1 At least you will vouchsafe to trust yourself with
me for the Lancers,' said Owen, as Cilia's partner came
to claim her, and Phoebe rejoiced in anything to change
the tone of the conversation ; still, however, asking, as
HOPES AND FEARS. 2 S3
he led her off, what had become of the poor school-
mistress.
1 Gone home, very sensibly,' said Owen ; ' if she is
wise she will know how to trust to Cilly's invitations !
People that do everything at once never do anything
well. It is quite a rest to turn to any one like you,
Phoebe, who are content with one thing at a time I I
wish '
I Well then, let us dance,' said Phcebe, abruptly ; ( I
can't do that well enough to talk, too.'
It was not that Owen had not said the like things
to her many times before ; it was his eagerness and
fervour that gave her an uncomfortable feeling. She
was not sure that he was not laughing at her by put-
ting on these devoted airs, and she felt herself grown
up enough to put an end to being treated as a child.
He made her a profound bow in a mockery of acquies-
cence, and preserved absolute silence during the first
figures, but she caught his eye several times gazing on
her with looks such as another might have interpreted
into mingled regret and admiration, but which were to
her simply discomfiting and disagreeable, and when he
spoke again, it was not in banter, but half in sadness.
1 Phoebe, how do you like all this V
I I think I could like it very much.'
1 1 am almost sorry to hear you say so ; anything
that should tend to make you resemble others is detest-
able.'
' I should be very sorry not to be like other people.'
I Phoebe, you do not know how much of the pleasure
of my life would be lost if you were to become a mere
conventional young lady.'
Phcebe had no notion of being the pleasure of any
one's life except Robin's and Maria's, and was rather
affronted that Owen should profess to enjoy her childish
ignorance and naivete.
I I believe,' she said, '1 was rude just now when I
told you not to talk. I am sorry for it ; I shall know
better next time.'
* Your knowing better is exactly what I deprecate.
2S4 HOPES AND FEARS.
But there it is ; unconsciousness is the charm of simpli-
city. It is the very thing aimed at by Hashe and Cilly,
and all their crew, with their eccentricities.'
1 1 am sorry for it,' seriously returned Phcebe, who
had by this time, by quiet resistance, caused him to
land her under the lee of Miss Charlecote, instead of
promenading with her about the room. He wanted
her to dance with him again, saying she owed it to him
for having sacrificed the first to common humanity, but
great as was the pleasure of a polka, she shrank from
him in this complimentary mood, and declared she
should dance no more that evening. He appealed to
Honora, who, disliking to have her boy baulked of even
a polka, asked Phcebe if she were very tired, and con-
sidering her ' rather not' as equivalent to such a con-
fession, proposed a retreat to their own room.
Phcebe was sorry to leave the brilliant scene, and no
longer to be able to watch Lucilla, but she wanted to
shake Owen off, and readily consented. She shut her
door after one good night. She was too much grieved
and disappointed to converse, and could not bear to
discuss whether the last hope were indeed gone, and
whether Lucilla had decided her lot without choosing
to know it. Alas ! how many turning points may be
missed by those who never watch !
How little did Phcebe herself perceive the shoal past
which her self-respect had just safely guided her !
' I wonder if those were ball-room manners 1 What
a pity if they were, for then I shall not like balls,' was
all the thought that she had leisure to bestow on
her own share in the night's diversions, as through the
subsequent hours she dozed and dreamt, and mused
and slept again, with the feverish limbs and cramp-
tormented feet of one new to balls ; sometimes teased
by entangling fishing flies, sometimes interminably de-
tained in the moonlight, sometimes with Miss Fenni-
more waiting for an exercise, and the words not to be
found in the dictionary ; and even this unpleasant
counterfeit of sleep deserting her after her usual time
HOPES AND FEARS. 285
for waking, and leaving her to construct various fabrics
of possibilities for Robin and Lucy.
She was up in fair time, and had written a long and
particular account to Bertha of everything in the festi-
vities not recorded in this narrative, before Miss
Oharlecote awoke from the compensating morning slum-
ber that had succeeded a sad and unrestful night. Late
as they were, they were down-stairs before any one but
the well-seasoned Rashe, who sat beguiling the time
with a Bradshaw, and who did not tell them how into-
lerably cross Cilly had been all the morning.
Nor would any one have suspected it who had seen
her, last of all, come down at a quarter to eleven, in
the most exultant spirits, talking the height of rodo-
montade with the gentlemen guests, and dallying with
her breakfast, while Phoebe's heart was throbbing at
the sight of two grave figures, her brother and the
curate, slowly marching up and down the cloister, in
waiting till this was over.
And there sat Lucilla inventing adventures for an
imaginary tour to be brought out on her return by the
name of ' Girls in Gal way' — ■' From the Soir6e to the
Salmon' — ' Flirts and Foolsheads,' as Owen and Charles
discontentedly muttered to each other, or, as Mr. Cal-
thorp proposed, ' The Angels and the Anglers.' The
ball was to be the opening chapter, Lord William en-
treated for her costume as the frontispiece, and Mr.
Calthorp begged her to re-assume it, and let her cousin
photograph her on the spot.
Lucilla objected to the impracticability of white silk,
the inconvenience of unpacking the apparatus, the
nuisance of dressing, the lack of time ; but Rashe was
delighted with the idea, and made light of all, and
the gentlemen pressed her strongly, till with rather
more of a consent than a refusal, she rose from her
nearly untasted breakfast, and began to move away.
1 Cilia,' said Mr. Prendergast, at the window, ; can I
have a word with you V
' At your service,' she answered, as she came out to
286 HOPES AND FEARS.
him, and saw that Robert had left him. ' Only be quick ;
they want to photograph me in my ball-dress.'
' You wont let them do it, though,' said the curate.
' White comes out hideous,' said Lucilla ; c I suppose
you would not have a copy, if I took one off for you V
' No ; I don't like those visitors of yours well
enough to see you turned into a merry-andrew to
please them.'
' So that's what Robert Fulmort told you I did last
night,' said Lucilla, blushing at last, and thoroughly.
1 No, indeed ; you didn't V he said, regarding her
with an astonished glance.
' 1 did wear a dress trimmed with salmon-flies, be-
cause of a bet with Lord William,' said Lucilla, the
suffusion deepening on brow, cheek, and throat, as the
confiding esteem of her fatherly friend effected what
nothing else could accomplish. She would have given
the world to have justified his opinion of his late rector's
little daughter, and her spirit seemed gone, though the
worst he did was to shake his head at her.
1 If you did not know it, why did you call me that V
she asked.
1 A merry-andrew V he answered ; ' I never meant
that you had been one. No ; only an old friend like
me doesn't like the notion of your going and dressing
up in the morning to amuse a lot of scamps.'
' I wont,' said Lucilla, very low.
'Well, then,' began Mr. Prendergast, as in haste to
proceed to his own subject ; but she cut him short.
' It is not about Ireland V
' No ; I know nothing about young ladies ; and if
Mr. Charteris and your excellent friend there have
nothing to say against it, I can't.'
' My excellent friend had so much to say against it,
that I was pestered into vowing I would go ! Tell me
not, Mr. Prendergast, — I should not mind giving up to
you ;' and she looked full of hope.
' That would be beginning at the wrong end, Cilia ;
you are not my charge.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 2S7
' You are my clergyman,' she said, pettishly.
1 You are not my parishioner,' he answered.
1 Pish !' she said ; ' when you know I want you to
tell me.'
' Why, you say you have made the engagement.'
1 So what I said when she fretted me past endurance,
must bind me !'
Be it observed that, like all who only knew Hilton-
bury through Lucilla, Mr. Prendergast attributed anv
blemishes which he might detect in her to the injudi-
cious training of an old maid ; so he sympathized.
' Ah ! ladies of a certain age never get on with youno-
ones ! But I thought it was all settled before with
Miss Charteris.'
"' I never quite said I would go, only we got ready
for the sake of the fun of talking of it, and now Bashe
has grown horridly eager about it. She did not care
at first — only to please me.'
' Then wouldn't it be using her ill to disappoint her,
now? You couldn't do it, Cilia. Why, you have
given your word, and she is quite old enough for any-
thing. Wouldn't Miss Charlecote see it so V
To regard Batia as a mature personage robbed the
project of romance, and to find herself bound in honour
by her inconsiderate rattle was one of the rude shocks
which, often occur to the indiscriminate of tongue ; but
the curate had too much on his mind to dwell on what
concerned him more remotely, and proceeded, ' I came
to see whether you could help me about poor Miss
MurrelL You made no arrangement for her getting
home last night V
* No !'
'Ah, you young people! But it is my fault; T
should have recollected young heads. Then I am afraid
it must have been '
'WhatT
1 She was seen on the river very late last night with
a stranger. He went up to the school with her, re-
mained about a quarter of an hour, and then rowed up
288 HOPES AND FEAKS.
the river again. I am afraid it is not the first time
she has been seen with him.'
'But, Mr. Prendergast, she was here till at least
ten ! She fainted away just as she was to have sung,
and we carried her out into the cloister. When she
recovered she went away to the housekeeper's room — '
(a bold assertion, built on Owen's partially heard reply
to Phoebe). ' I'll ask the maids.'
' It is of no use, Cilia j she allows it herself.'
' And pray,' cried Lucilla, rallying her sauciness,
1 how do you propose ever to have banns to publish, if
young men and maidens are never to meet by water
nor by land V
' Then you do know something V
1 No ; only that such matters are not commonly
blazoned in the commencement.'
' I don't wish her to blazon it, but if she would only
act openly by me,' said the distressed curate. * I wish
nothing more than that she were safe married ; and
then if you ladies appoint another beauty, I'll give up
the place, and live at college.'
1 We'll advertise for the female Chimpanzee, and de-
pend upon it she will marry at the end of six weeks.
So you have attacked her in person. What did she
say ¥
1 Nothing that she could help. She stood with those
great eyes cast down, looking like a statue, and some-
times vouchsafing " yes, sir," or " no, sir." It was " no,
sir," when I asked if her mother knew. I am afraid it
must be something very unsatisfactory, Cilia ; but she
might say more to you if you were not going away.'
I Oh ! Mr. Prendergast, why did you not come
sooner V
I I did come an hour ago, but you were not come
down.'
1 I'll walk on at once ; the carriage can pick me up.
I'll fetch my hat. Poor Edna ! I'll soon make her
satisfy your mind. Has any one surmised who it can
beV
HOPES AND FEARS. 289
' The notion is that it is one of your musicians — very
dangerous, I am afraid ; and I say, Cilia, did you ever
do such a thing — you couldn't, I suppose — as lend her
Shelley's poems V
' 1 ] No ; certainly not.'
1 There was a copy lying on the table in her little
parlour, as if she had been writing something out from
it. It is very odd, but it was in that peculiar olive-
green morocco that some of the books in your father's
library were bound in.'
1 Not mine, certainly,' said Lucilla. ' Good Honor
Charlecote would have run crazy if she thought I had
touched a Shelley ; a very odd study for Edna. But
as to the olive-green, of course it was bound under the
same star as ours.'
1 Cilly, Cilly, now or never ! photograph or not V
screamed Bashe, from behind her three-legged camera.
' Not 1' was Lucilla's cavalier answer. ' Pack up ;
have done with it, Bashe. Pick me up at the school.'
Away she flew headlong, the patient and discon-
certed Horatia following her to her room to extract hur-
ried explanations, and worse than no answers as to the
sundries to be packed at the last moment, while she
hastily put on hat and mantle, and was flying down
again, when her brother, with outspread arms, nearlv
caught her in her spring. ' Hollo ! what's up V
' Don't stop me, Owen ! I'm going to walk on with
Mr. Prendergast and be picked up. I must speak to
Edna Murrell.'
• Nonsense ! The carriage will be out in five minutes.'
'I must go, Owen. There's some story of a demon
in human shape on the water with her last night, and
Mr. Prendergast can't get a word out of her.'
' Is that any reason you should go ramping about,
prying into people's affairs V
' But, Owen, they will send her away. They will
take away her character.'
1 The — the — the more reason you should have no-
VOL. I. U
290 HOPES AND FEARS.
tiling to do with it,' he exclaimed. ' It is no business-
for you, and I wont have you meddle in it.'
Such a strong and sudden assumption of fraternal
authority took away her breath; and then, in terror lest
he should know cause for this detention, she said —
I Owen ! you don't guess who it was V
' How should I V he roughly answered. ' Some vil-
la nous slander, of course, there is, but it is no business
of yours to be straking off to make it worse.'
I I should not make it worse.'
'Women always make things worse. Are you satis-
fied now? as the carriage was seen coming round.
' That is only to be packed.'
'Packed with folly, yes! Look here! 11.20, and
the train at 12.5 !'
' I will miss the train, go up later, and sleep in
London.'
' Stuff and nonsense ! Who is going to take you %
Not I.'
In Lucilla's desperation in the cause of her favourite
Edna, she went through a rapid self-debate. Honor
would gladly wait for her for such a cause ; she could
sleep at Woolstone Lane, and thence go on to join
Horatia in her visit in Derbyshire, escorted by a
Hiltonbury servant. But what would that entail X
She would be at their mercy. Robert would obtain
his advantage — it would be all over with her ! Pride
arose ; Edna's cause sank. How many destinies were
fixed in the few seconds while she stood with one foot
forward, spinning her black hat by the elastic band !
' Too late, Mr. Prendergast ; I cannot go,' she said,
as she saw him waiting for her at the door. ' Don't
be angry with me, and don't let the womankind pre-
judice you against poor Edna. You forgive me ! It
is really too late.'
' Forgive you V smiled Mr. Prendergast, pressing
her caressing hand in his great, lank grasp ; ' what for f
' Oh, because it is too late ; and I can't help it. But
don't be hard with her. Good-bye.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 291
Too late ! Why did Lucilla repeat those words so
often 1 Was it a relief to that irreflective nature to
believe the die irrevocably cast, and the responsibilitv
of decision over ? Or why did she ask forgiveness of
the only one whom she was not offending, but because
there was a sense of need of pardon where she would
not stoop to ask it.
Miss Charlecote and the Fulmorts, Rashe and Cilly,
were to be transported to London by the same train,
leaving Owen behind to help Charles Charteris en-
tertain some guests still remaining, Honora promising
him to wait in town until Lucilla should absolutely have
started for Ireland, when she would supply him with
the means of pursuit.
Lucilla's delay and change of mind made the final
departure so late that it was needful to drive excessively
fast, and the train was barely caught in time. The
party were obliged to separate, and Robert took Phcebe
into a different carriage from that where the other
three found places.
In the ten minutes' transit by railway, Lucy, always
softened by parting, was like another being towards
Honor, and talked eagerly of ' coming home ' for
Christmas, sent messages to Hiltonbury friends, and
did everything short of retractation to efface the
painful impression she had left.
1 Sweetest Honey !' she whispered, as they moved on
after the tickets had been taken, thrusting her pretty
head over into Honor's place. 'Nobody's looking,
give me a kiss, and say you don't bear malice, though
your kitten has been in a scratching humour.'
1 Malice ! no, indeed !' said Honor, fondly ; ' but, oh !
remember, dear child, that frolics may be at too dear
a price.'
She longed to say more, but the final stop was made,
and their roads diverged. Honor thought that Lucy
looked white and trembling, with an uneasy eye, as
though she would have given much to have been going
home with her.
u2
292 HOPES AND FEARS.
Nor was the consoling fancy unfounded. Lucilla's
nerves were not at their usual pitch, and an undefined
sense of loss of a safeguard was coming over her.
Moreover, the desire for a last word to Robert was
growing every moment, and he would keep on hunting
out those boxes, as if they mattered to anybody.
She turned round on his substitute, and said, ' I've
not spoken to Robin all this time. No wonder his
feathers are ruffled. Make my peace with him, Phoebe
dear.'
On the very platform, in that moment of bustle,
Phoebe conscientiously and reasonably began, 'Will
you tell me how much you mean by that V
'Cilly — Kings-cross — i.i5>' cried Ratia, snatching
at her arm.
1 Oh ! the slave one is ! Next time we meet, Phoebe,
the redbreast will be in a white tie, I shall '
Hurry and agitation were making her flippant, and
Robert was nearer than she deemed. He was assisting
her to her seat, and then held out his hand, but never
raised his eyes. ' Good-bye, Robin,' she said ; ' Reason
herself shall meet you at the Holt at Christmas.'
' Good-bye,' he said, but without a word of augury,
and loosed her hand. Her fingers clung one moment,
but he drew his away, called ' King's-cross to the
coachman, and she was whirled off. Angler as she
was, she no longer felt her prey answer her pull. Had
the line snapped 1
When Owen next appeared in Woolstone Lane he
looked fagged and harassed, but talked of all things
in sky, earth, or air, politics, literature, or gossip, took
the bottom of the table, and treated the Parsonses as
his guests. Honora, however, felt that something was
amiss ; perhaps Lucilla engaged to Lord William \ and
when, after luncheon, he followed her to the cedar
room, she began with a desponding ' Well V
1 Well, she is off !'
1 Alone with Rashe V
HOPES AXD FEARS. 293
'Alone with Raslie. Why, sweet Honey, you look
gratified !'
* I had begun to fear some fresh news,' said Honor,
smiling with effort. ' I am sure that something is
wrong. You do not look well, my dear. How flushed
you are, and your forehead is so hot !' as she put her
hand on his brow.
I Oh, nothing !' he said, caressingly, holding it there.
' I'm glad to have got away from the Castle ; Charlie
and his set drink an intolerable lot of wine. I'll not
be there again in a hurry.'
I I am glad of that. I wish you had come away with
us.'
' I wish to heaven I had !' cried Owen ; \ but it could
not be helped! So now for my wild goose chase.
Cross to-morrow night ; only you were good enough to
say you would find ways and means.'
' There, that is what I intended, including your
Midsummer quarter. Don't you think it enough ¥
as she detected a look of dissatisfaction.
' You are very good. It is a tremendous shame ;
but you see, Honor dear, when one is across the water,
one may as well go the whole animal. If this wise
sister of mine does not get into a mess, there is a good
deal I could do — plenty of sport. Little Henniker and
some Westminster fellows in the — th are at Kilkenny.'
' You would like to spend the vacation in Ireland,'
said Honor, with some disappointment. ' Well, if you
go for my pleasure, it is but fair you should have your
own. Shall I advance your September allowance V
' Thank you. You do spoil one abominably, you
concoction of honey and all things sweet. But the
fact is, I've got uncommonly hard-up of late ; no one
would believe how ruinous it is being with the
Charterises. I believe money evaporates in the atmo-
sphere.'
1 Betting V asked Honor, gasping and aghast.
'On my honour, I assure you not there,' cried Owen,
294 HOPES AND FEARS.
eagerly. * I never did bet there but once, and that
was Lolly's doing ; and I could not get out of it. Jew
that she is ! I wonder what Uncle Kit would say to
that house now.'
' You are out of it, and I shall not regret the pur-
chase of your disgust at their ways, Owen. It may be
better for you to be in Ireland than to be tempted to
go to them for the shooting season. How much do
you want % You know, my dear, if there be anything
else, I had rather pay anything that is right than have
you in debt.'
* You were always the sweetest, best Honey living !'
cried Owen, with much agitation ; ' and it is a
shame ' but there he stopped, and ended in a
more ordinary tone — ' shame to prey on you, as we
both do, and with no better return.'
' Never mind, dear Owen,' she said, with moisture
in her eye ; ' your real happiness is the only return I
want. Come, tell me your difficulty ; most likely I
can help you.'
* I've nothing to tell,' said Owen, with alarmed im-
petuosity ; ' only that I'm a fool, like every one else,
and — and — if you would only double that '
' Double that ! Owen, things cannot be right.'
7 © O
* I told you they were not right,' was the impatient
answer, 'or I should not be vexing you and myself;
and,' as though to smooth away his rough commence-
ment, ' what a comfort to have a Honey that will have
patience !'
She shook her head, perplexed. ' Owen, I wish you
could tell me more. I do not like debts. You know,
dear boy, I grudge nothing I can do for you in my
lifetime ; but for your own sake, you must learn not
to spend more than you will be able to afford. In-
dulgence now will be a penance to you by and by.'
Honora dreaded overdoing lectures to Owen. She
knew that an old maid's advice to a young man was
dangerous work, and her boy's submissive patience
always excited her gratitude and forbearance, so she
HOPES AND FEARS. 295
desisted, in hopes of a confession, looking at him with
such tenderness that he was moved to exclaim —
1 Honor dear, you are the best and worst-used woman
on earth ! Would to Heaven that we had requited
you better !'
' I have no cause of complaint against you, Owen,'
she said, fondly j * you have always been the joy and
comfort of my heart ;' and as he turned aside, as though
stricken by the words, ■ whatever you may have to
reproach yourself with, it is not with hurting me ; I
only wish to remind you of higher and more stringent
duties than those to myself. If you have erred, as T
cannot but fear, will you not let me try and smooth
the way back V
' Impossible,' murmured Owen; 'there are things
that can never be undone.'
1 Not undone, but repented,' said Honor, convinced
that he had been led astray by his cousin Charles, and
felt bound not to expose him ; ' so repented as to be-
come stepping-stones in our progress.'
He only shook his head with a groan.
1 The more sorrow, the better hope,' she began ; but
the impatient movement of his foot warned her that
she was only torturing him, and she proceeded, — ' Well,
I trust you implicitly ; I can understand that there
may be confidences that ought not to pass between us,
and will give you what you require to help you out of
your difficulty. I wish you had a father, or any one
who could be of more use to you, my poor boy !' and
she began to fill up the cheque to the utmost of his
demand.
1 It is too much — too much,' cried Owen. ■ Honor,
I must tell you at all costs. What will you think
when '
' I do not wish to purchase a confession, Owen,' she
said ; ' you know best whether it be a fit one to make
to me, or whether for the sake of others you ought to
withhold it.'
He was checked, and did not answer.
296 HOPES AND FEARS.
* I see how it is,' continued PI on or ; ' my boy, as far
as I am concerned, I look on your confession as made.
You will be much alone while thus hovering near your
sister among the mountains and by the streams. Let
it be a time of reflection, and of making your peace with
Another. You may do so the more earnestly for not
having cast off the burthen on me. You are no child
now, to whom your poor Honey's pardon almost seems
an absolution. I sometimes think we went on with
that too long.'
' No fear of my ever being a boy again,' said Owen,
heavily, as he put the draft into his purse, and then
bent his tall person to kiss her with the caressing
fondness of his childhood, almost compensating for
what his sister caused her to undergo.
Then, at the door, he turned to say, * Remember,
you would not hear.' He was gone, having left a
thorn with Honor, in the doubt whether she ought
not to have accepted his confidence ; but her abstinence
had been such a mortification both of curiosity and of
hostility to the Charterises that she could not but com-
mend herself for it. She had strong faith in the effi-
cacy of trust upon an honourable mind, and though it
was evident that Owen had, in his own eyes, greatly
transgressed, she reserved the hoj)e that his error was
magnified by his own consciousness, and admired the
generosity that refused to betray another. She be-
lieved his present suffering to be the beginning of that
growth in true religion which is often founded on some
shock leading to self-distrust.
Alas ! how many falls have been counted by mothers
as the preludes to rising again, like the clearing showers
of a stormy day.
CHAPTER VIII.
Fearless she had tracked his feet
To this rocky, wild retreat,
And when morning met his view,
Her mild glances met it too.
Ah ! your saints have cruel hearts,
Sternly from his bed he starts,
And with rude, repulsive shock,
Hurls her from the beetling rock. — T. Mooee.
HE deed was done. Conventionalities
were defied, vaunts fulfilled, and
Lucilla sat on a camp-stool on the
deck of the steamer, watching the
Welsh mountains rise, grow dim,
and vanish gradually.
Horatia, in common with all the rest of the woman-
kind, was prostrate on the cabin floor, treating Cilly's
smiles and roses as aggravations of her misery. Had
there been a sharer in her exultation, the gay pitching
and dancing of the steamer would have been charming
to Lucy, but when she retreated from the scene of
wretchedness below, she felt herself lonely, and was
conscious of some surprise among the surviving
gentlemen at her re-appearance.
She took out a book as a protection, and read more
continuously than she had done since Vanity Fair
had come to the Holt, and she had been pleased to
mark Honora's annoyance at every page she turned.
But July light faded, and only left her the poor
298 HOPES AND FEARS.
amusement of looking over the side for the phospho-
rescence of the water, and watching the smoke of the
funnel lose itself overhead. The silent stars and
sparkling waves would have set Phoebe's dutiful
science on the alert, or transported Honor's inward
ear by the chant of creation, but to her they were of
moderate interest, and her imagination fell a prey to
the memory of the eyes averted, and hand withdrawn.
Til be exemplary when this is over,' said she to
herself, and at length her head nodded till she dropped
into a giddy doze, whence with a chilly start she
awoke, as the monotonous jog and bounce of the
steamer were exchanged for a snort of arrival, among
mysterious lanes of sparkling lights apparently rising
from the waters.
She had slept just long enough to lose the lovely
entrance of Dublin Bay, stiffen her limbs, and confuse
her brains, and she stood still as the stream of
passengers began to rush trampling by her, feeling
bewildered and forlorn. Her cousin's voice was
welcome, though over-loud and somewhat piteous.
* Where are you, stewardess? where's the young
lady 1 Oh ! Cilly, there you are. To leave me alone
all this time, and here's the stewardess saying we
must go ashore at once, or lose the train. Oh ! the
luggage, and I've lost my plaid,' and ghastly in the
lamplight, limp and tottering, Rashe Charteris clasped
her arm for support, and made her feel doubly savage
and bewildered. Her first movement was to enjoin
silence, then to gaze about for the goods. A gentle-
man took pity on the two ladies, and told them not
to be deluded into trying to catch the train ; there
would be another in an hour's time, and if they had
any one to meet them, they would most easily be
found where they were.
' We have no one — we are alone,' said Lucilla ; and
his chivalry was so far awakened that he handed
them to the pier, and undertook to find their boxes.
Rashe was absolutely subdued, and hung shivering
HOPES AND FEARS. 299
and helpless on her cousin, who felt as though dream-
ing in the strange scene of darkness made visible by
the bright circles round the lamps, across which
rapidly flitted the cloaked forms of travellers presiding
over queer, wild, caricature-like shapes, each bending
low under the weight of trunk or bag, in a procession
like a magic lantern, save for the Babel of shrieks,
cries, and expostulations everywhere in light or gloom.
A bell rang, an engine roared and rattled off. ' The
train!' sighed Horatia ; 'we shall have to stay here
all night.'
' Nonsense,' said Lucy, ready to shake her ; ' there
is another in an hour. Stay quiet, do, or he will
never find us.'
1 Porter, ma'am — porrterr '
* No, no, thank you,' cried Lucilla, darting on her
rod-case and carriage-bag to rescue them from a
freckled countenance, with claws attached.
' We shall lose everything, Cilia ; that's your
trusting to a stranger !'
'All right; thank you!' as she recognised her
possessions, borne on various backs towards the station,
whither the traveller escorted them, and where things
looked more civilized. Ratia began to resume her
senses, though weak and hungry. She was sorely
discomfited at having to wait, and could not, like
the seasoned voyagers, settle herself to repose on the
long leathern couches of the waiting-room, but wan-
dered, wobegone and impatient, scolding her cousin
for choosing such an hour for their passage, for her de-
sertion and general bad management. The merry, good-
natured Rashe had disappeared in the sea-sick, cross,
and weary wight, whose sole solace was grumbling, but
her dolefulness only made Lucilla more mirthful.
Here they were, and happen what would, it should
only be ' such fun.' Recovered from the moment's
bewilderment, Lucy announced that she felt as if she
were at a ball, and whispered a proposal of astonish-
ing the natives by a polka in the great empty boarded
300 HOPES AND FEARS.
space. 'The suggestion would immortalize us ; come !'
And she threatened mischievously to seize the waist
of the still giddy and aching-headed Horatia, who
repulsed her with sufficient roughness and alarm to
set her off laughing at having been supposed to be
in earnest.
The hurry of the train came at last ; they hastened
down-stairs and found the train awaiting them, were
told their luggage was safe, and after sitting till they
were tired, shot onwards watching the beautiful
glimpses of the lights in the ships off Kingstown.
They would gladly have gone on all night without
another disembarkation and scramble, but the Dublin
station came only too soon ; they were disgorged, and
hastened after goods. Forth came trunk and port-
manteau. Alas ! none of theirs ! Nothing with
them but two carriage-bags and two rod-cases !
1 It seems to be a common predicament/ said
Lucilla j ' here are at least half-a-dozen in the same
case.'
' Horrible management. We shall never see it
more.'
' Nay, take comfort in the general lot. It will
turn up to-morrow ; and meantime sleep is not packed
up in our boxes. Come, let's be off. What noises !
How do these drivers keep from running over one
another. Each seems ready to whip every one's
beast but his own. Don't you feel yourself in Ireland,
Kashe 1 Arrah ! I shall begin to scream, too, if I
stand here much longer.'
'We can't go in that thing — a fly !'
'Don't exist here, Eashe — vermin is unknown.
Submit to your fate ' and ere another objection
could be uttered, Cilly threw bags and rods into an
inside car, and pushed her cousin after them, chatter-
ing all the time, to poor Horatia's distraction. ' Oh !
delicious ! A cross between a baker's cart and a Van
Amburg. A little more, and it would overbalance
and carry the horse head over heels! Take care,
HOPES AND FEARS. 301
Rashe ; you'll pound me into dust if you slip down
over me.'
' I can't help it ! Oh ! the vilest thing in creation.'
' Such fun ! To be taken when well shaken. Here
we go up, up, up ; and here we go down, down, down 1
Ha! ware fishing-rod ! This is what it is to travel.
No one ever described the experiences of an inside
car !'
'Because no one in their senses would undergo
such misery !'
I But you don't regard the beauties, Rashe, beauties
of nature and art combined — see the lights reflected
in the river — what a width. Oh ! why don't they
treat the Thames as they do the Liffey 1 '
I I can't see, I shall soon be dead ! and getting to
an inn without luggage, it's not respectable.'
1 If you depart this life on the way, the want of
luggage will concern me the most, my dear. Depend
on it, other people have driven up in inside cars,
minus luggage, in the memory of man, in this City
of Dublin. Are you such a worldling base as to
depend for your respectability on a paltry leathern
trunk?'
Lucilla's confidence did not appear misplaced, for
neither waiters nor chambermaids seemed surprised,
but assured them that people usually missed their
luggage by that train, and asseverated that it would
appear next morning.
Lucilla awoke determined to be full of frolic and
enjoyment, and Horatia, refreshed by her night's rest,
was more easily able to detect 'such fun' than on
the previous night; so the two cousins sat down
amicably to breakfast on the Sunday morning, and
inquired about church-services.
* My mallard's tail hat is odd " go to meeting"
head-gear,' said Cilia, ' but one cannot lapse into
heathenism ; so where, Rashe V
'Wouldn't it be fun to look into a Roman Catholic
affair?'
302 HOPES AND FEARS.
* No,' said Cilly, decidedly ; ' where I go it shall
be the genuine article. I don't like curiosities in
religion.'
* It's a curiosity to go to church at twelve o'clock I
If you are so orthodox, let us wait for St. Patrick's
this afternoon.'
'And in the mean time? It is but eleven this
minute, and St. Patrick's is not till three. There's
nothing to be done but to watch Irish nature in the
street. Oh ! I never before knew the perfection of
Carleton's illustration. See that woman and her cap,
and the man's round eyebrows and projecting lips
with shillelagh written on them. Would it be Sab-
bath-breaking to perpetrate a sketch ? '
But as Katia was advancing to the window, Lucy
suddenly started back, seized her and whirled her
away, crying, ' The wretch ! I know him now ! I
could not make him out last night.'
'Who?' exclaimed Rashe, starting determinedly
to the window, but detained by the two small but
resolute hands clasped round her waist.
' That black-whiskered valet of Mr. Calthorp's. If
that man has the insolence to dog me and spy me,
I'll not stay in Ireland another day.'
' what fun !' burst out Horatia. ' It becomes
romantic !'
' Atrocious impertinence I' said Lucilla, passion-
ately. ' Why do you stand there laughing V
'At you, my dear,' gasped Ratia, sinking on the
sofa in her spasm of mirth. 'At your reception of
chivalrous devotion.'
' Pretty chivalry to come and spy and beset ladies
alone.'
' He has not beset us yet. Don't natter yourself !'
' What do you mean by that, Horatia ? '
'Do you want to try your pistols on me? The
waiter could show us the way to the Fifteen Acres,
only you see it is Sunday.'
' I want,' said Lucy, all tragedy and no comedy,
HOPES AND FEARS. 303
1 to know why you talk of my flattering myself that
I am insulted, and my plans upset.'
'Why 1 ?' said Rashe, a little sneeringly. ' Why, a
little professed beauty like you would be so disap-
pointed not to be pursued, that she is obliged to be
always seeing phantoms that give her no peace.'
' Thank you,' coolly returned Cilly. ' Very well,
I'll say no more about it, but if I find that man to be
in Ireland, the same day I go home !'
Horatia gave a long, loud, provoking laugh. Lucilla
felt it was for her dignity to let the subject drop, and
betook herself to the only volumes attainable, Brad-
shaw and her book of flies; while Miss Charteris
repaired to the window to investigate for herself the
question of the pursuer, and made enlivening remarks
on the two congregations, the one returning from mass,
the other going to church, but these were not appre-
ciated. It seemed as though the young ladies had but
one set of spirits between them, which were gained
by the one as soon as lost by the other.
It was rather a dull day. Fast as they were, the
two girls shrank from rambling alone in streets
thronged with figures that they associated with
ruffianly destitution. Sunday had brought all to
light, and the large handsome streets were beset
with barefooted children, elf-locked women, and loung-
ing, beetle-browed men, such as Lucy had only seen
in the purlieus of Whittingtonia, in alleys looked
into, but never entered by the civilized. In reality
1 rich and rare' was so true that they might have
walked there more secure from insult, than in many
better regulated regions, but it was difficult to believe
so, especially in attire then so novel as to be very
remarkable, and the absence of protection lost its
charm when there was no one to admire the bravado.
She did her best to embalm it for future apprecia-
tion by journalizing, making the voyage out a far
better joke than she had found it. and describing the
inside car in the true style of the facetious traveller.
304 HOPES AND FEARS.
Nothing so drives away fun, as the desire to be funny,
and she began to grow weary of her work, aud dis-
gusted at her own lumbering attempts at pen-and-
ink mirth ; but they sufficed to make Rashe laugh,
they would be quite good enough for Lord William,
would grievously annoy Honora Charlecote, would be
mentioned in all the periodicals, and give them the
name of the Angel Anglers all the next season.
Was not that enough to go to Ireland and write a
witty tour for 1
The outside car took them to St. Patrick's, and
they had their first real enjoyment in the lazy
liveliness of the vehicle, and the droll ciceroneship
of the driver, who contrived to convey such compli-
ments to their pretty faces, as only an Irishman
could have given without offence.
Lucilla sprang down with exhilarated spirits, and
even wished for Honor to share her indignation at
the slovenliness around the cathedral, and the absence
of close or cloister ; nay, though she had taken an
aversion to Strafford as a hero of Honor's, she forgave
him, and resolved to belabour the House of Cork
handsomely in her journal, when she beheld the
six-storied monument, and imagined it, as he had
found it, in the Altar's very place. ' Would that he
had created an absolute Boy lean vacuum !' What a
grand bon mot for her journal !
However, either the spirit of indignation at the
sight of the unkneeling congregation, or else the
familiar w T ords of the beautiful musical service, made
her more than usually devout, and stirred up some-
thing within her that could only be appeased by the
resolution that the singing in Robert Fulmort's parish
should be super-excellent. After the service, the
carman persuaded them to drive in the Phoenix Park,
where they enjoyed the beautiful broken ground, the
picturesque thickets, the grass whose colour reminded
them that they were in the Emerald Isle, the purple
outlines of the Wicklow hills, whence they thought
HOPES AND FEARS. 305
they detected a fresh mountain breeze. They only
wondered to find this delightful place so little
frequented. In England, a Sunday would have filled
it with holiday strollers, whereas here, they only
encountered a very few, and those chiefly gentlefolks.
The populace preferred sitting on the doorsteps, or
lounging against the houses, as if they were making
studies of themselves for caricatures ; and were evi-
dently so much struck with the young ladies' attire,
that the shelter of the hotel was gladly welcomed.
Lucilla was alone in the sitting-room when the
waiter came to lay the cloth. He looked round, as
if to secure secresy, and then remarked in a low
confidential voice, ' There's been a gentleman inquir-
ing for you, ma'am.'
' Who was it V said Lucy, with feigned coolness.
* It was when you were at church, ma'am ; he
wished to know whether two ladies had arrived here,
Miss Charteris and Miss Sandbrook.'
' Did he leave his card V
'He did not, ma'am,'his call was to be a secret;
he said it was only to be sure whether you had
arrived.'
' Then, he did not give his name V
' He did, ma'am, for he desired to be let know what
route the young ladies took when they left,' quoth
the man, with a comical look, as though he were
imparting a most delightful secret.
'Was he Mr. CalthorpT
' I said I'd not mention his name,' said the waiter,
with, however, such decided assent, that, as at the
same moment he quitted the room and Horatia
entered it, Cilly exclaimed, ' There, Eashe, what do
you say now to the phantom of my vanity ? Here
has he been asking for us, and what route we meant
taking.'
'He! Who?'
'Who? — why, who should it be? The waiter has
just told me.'
VOL. i. x
306 HOPES AND FEARS.
* You absurd girl ! '
* Well, ask him yourself.'
So when the waiter came up, Miss Charteris de-
manded, ' Has Mr. Cal thorp been calling here?'
* What was the name, ma'am, if you please ?'
'Calthorp. Has Mr. Calthorp been calling here?'
* Cawthorne 1 Was it Colonel Cawthorne, of the
Royal Hussars, ma'am 1 He was here yesterday, but
not to-day.'
'I said Calthorp. Has a Mr. Calthorp been in-
quiring for us to-day 1 '
1 1 have not heard, ma'am, I'll inquire,' said he,
looking alert, and again disappearing, while Horatia
looked as proud of herself as Cilly had done just
before.
He came back again, while Lucilla was repeating
his communication, and assured Miss Charteris that
no such person had called.
< Then, what gentleman has been here, making
inquiries about us V
' Gentleman ! Indeed, ma'am, I don't understand
your meaning.'
' Have you not been telling this young lady that a
gentleman has been asking after us, and desiring to be
informed what route we intended to take V
'Ah, sure !' said the waiter, as if recollecting him-
self, ' I did mention it. Some gentleman did just
ask me in a careless sort of way who the two beauti-
ful young ladies might be, and where they were going.
Such young ladies always create a sensation, as you
must be aware, ma'am, and I own I did speak of it to
the young lady, because I thought she had seen the
attraction of the gentleman's eyes.'
So perfectly assured did he look, that Lucilla felt a
moment's doubt whether her memory served her as to
his former words, but just as she raised her eyes and
opened her lips in refutation, she met a glance from
him full of ludicrous reassurance, evidently meaning
that he was guarding his own secret and hers. He
HOPES AND FEARS. 307
was gone the next moment, and Horatia turned upon
her, with exultant merriment.
f I always heard that Ireland was a mendacious
country,' said Cilly.
! And a country where people lose the sight of their
«yes and ears,' laughed Rashe. '0 what a foundation
for the second act of the drama !'
1 Of which the third will be my going home by the
next steamer.'
' Because a stranger asked who we were V
Each had her own interpretation of the double-
faced waiter's assertion, and it served them to dispute
upon all the evening.
Lucilla was persuaded that he imagined her an
injured beauty, reft from her faithful adorer by her
stern aunt or duenna, and that he considered himself
to be doing her a kindness by keeping her informed of
her hero's vicinity, while he denied it to her com-
panion ; but she scorned to enter into an explanation,
or make any disavowal, and found the few displeased
words she spoke were received with compassion, as at
the dictation of the stern monitress.
Horatia, on the other hand, could not easily resign
the comical version that Lucilla's inordinate opinion
of her own attractions had made her imagine Mr.
Calthorp's valet in the street, and discover his
master in the chance inquirer whom the waiter had
mentioned ; and as Cilly could not aver that the man
had actually told her in so many words that it was
Mr. Calthorp, Horatia had a right to her opinion, and
though she knew she had been a young lady a good
many years, she could not easily adopt the suggestion
that she could pass for Cilly's cruel duenna.
Lucilla grew sullen, and talked of going home by
the next steamer ; Rashe, far from ready for another
sea voyage, called herself ill used, and represented the
absurdity of returning on a false alarm. Cilia was
staggered, and thought what it would be, if Mr.
Calthorp, smoking his cigar at his club, heard that she
x 2
308 HOPES AND YEARS.
had fled from his imaginary pursuit. Besides, the
luggage must be recovered, so she let Horatia go on
arranging for an excursion for the Monday, only
observing that it must not be in Dublin.
'No, bonnets are needful there. What do you
think of Howth and Ireland's Eye, the place where
Kirwan murdered his wife 1 ' said Rashe, with great
gusto, for she had a strong turn for the horrid murders
in the newspaper.
' Too near, and too smart,' sulked Lucy.
' Well, then, Glendalough, that is wild, and far off
enough, and may be done in a day from Dublin. I'll
ring and find out.'
' Not from that man.'
1 Oh ! we shall see Calthorps peopling the hill-sides !
Well, let us have the landlord.'
It was found that both the Devil's Glen and the
Seven Churches might be visited if they started by
the seven o'clock train, and returned late at night, and
Lucilla agreeing, the evening went off as best it might,
the cousins being glad to get out of each other's com-
pany at nine, that they might be up early the next
morning. Lucy had not liked Ratia so little since
the days of her infantine tyranny.
The morning, however, raised their spirits, and sent
them off in a more friendly humour, enjoying the
bustle and excitement, that was meat and drink to
them, and exclaiming at the exquisite views of sea
and rugged coast along beautiful Kilmeny bay. When
they left the train, they were delighted with their
outside car, and reclined on their opposite sides in
enchantment with the fern-bordered lanes, winding
between noble trees, between which came inviting
glimpses of exquisitely green meadows and hill sides.
They stopped at a park-looking gate, leading to the
Devil's Glen, which they were to traverse on foot,
meeting the car at the other end.
Here there was just enough life and adventure to
charm them, as they gaily trod the path, winding pic-
turesquely beside the dashing, dancing, foaming stream,
HOPES AND FEARS. 309
now between bare salient bluffs of dark rock, now
between glades of verdant thicket, or bold shouldering
slopes of purple heath, and soft bent grass. They were
constantly crying out with delight, as they bounded
from one point of view to another, sometimes climbing
among loose stones, leading between ferns and hazel
stems to a well planted hermitage, sometimes springing
across the streamlet upon stepping-stones. At the end
of the wood another lodge gate brought them beyond
the private grounds, that showed care, even in their
rusticity, and they came out on the open hill-side in
true mountain air, soft turf beneath their feet, the
stream rushing away at the bottom of the slope, and
the view closed in with blue mountains, on which the
clouds marked purple shadows. This was freedom !
this was enjoyment ! this was worth the journey ! and
Cilia's elastic feet sprang along as if she had been a
young kid. How much was delight in the scenery,
how much in the scramble, need not be analyzed.
There was plenty of scrambling before it was over.
A woman who had been lying in wait for tourists at
the gate, guided them to the bend of the glen, where
they were to climb up to pay their respects to the
waterfall. The ascent was not far from perpendicular,
only rendered accessible by the slope of fallen debris at
the base, and a few steps cut out from one projecting
rock to another, up to a narrow shelf, whence the cas-
cade was to be looked down on. The more adven-
turous spirits went on to a rock overhanging the fall,
and with a curious chink or cranny, forming a window
with a seat, and called King O'Toole's chair. Each
girl perched herself there, and was complimented on
her strong head and active limbs, and all their powers
were needed in the long breathless pull up craggy
stepping-stones, then over steep slippery turf ere they
gained the summit of the bank. Spent, though still
gasping out, ' such fun !' they threw themselves on
their backs upon the thymy grass, and lay still for
several seconds ere they sat up to look back at the
thickly wooded ravine, winding crevice-like in and
310 HOPES AND FEARS.
out between the overlapping skirts of the hills, whose
rugged heads cut off the horizon. Then merrily sharing
the first instalment of luncheon with their barefooted
guide, they turned their faces onwards, where all their
way seemed one bare gray moor, rising far off into the
outline of Luggela, a peak overhanging the semblance
of a crater.
Nothing afforded them much more mirth than a
rude bridge, consisting of a single row of square-
headed unconnected posts along the heads of which
Cilia three times hopped backwards and forwards for
the mere drollery of the thing, with vigour unabated
by the long walk over the dreary moorland fields with
their stone walls.
By the side of the guide's cabin the car awaited
them, and mile after mile they drove on through tree-
less wastes, the few houses with their thatch anchored
down by stones, showing what winds must sweep along
those unsheltered tracts. The desolate solitude began
to weary the volatile pair into silence ; ere the moun-
tains rose closer to them, they crossed a bridge over a
stony stream begirt with meadows, and following its
course came into sight of their goal.
Here was Glendalough, a cul cle sac between the
mountains, that shelved down, enclosing it on all sides
save the entrance, through which the river issued.
Their summits were bare, of the gray stone that lay in
fragments everywhere, but their sides were clothed
with the lovely Irish green pastureland, intermixed
with brushwood and trees, and a beauteous meadow
surrounded the white ring-like beach of pure white
sand and pebbles bordering the outer lake, whose gray
waters sparkled in the sun. Its twin lake, divided
from it by so narrow a belt of ground, that the white
beaches lay on their green setting, like the outline of
a figure of 8, had a more wild and gloomy aspect,
lying deeper w T ithin the hollow, and the hills coming
sheer down on it at the further end in all their gray-
ness unsoftened by any verdure. The gray was that
HOPES AXD FEARS. 311
of absolute black and white intermingled in the grain
of the stone, and this was peculiarly gloomy, but in the
summer sunshine it served but to set off the brilliance
of the verdure, and the whole air of the valley was so
bright, that Cilly declared that it had been traduced,
and that no skylark of sense need object thereto.
Losing sight of the lakes as they entered the shabby
little town, they sprang off the car before a small inn,
and ere their feet were on the ground were appro-
priated by one of a shoal of guides, in dress and speech
an ultra Irishman, exaggerating his part as a sort of
buffoon for the travellers. Rashe was diverted by his
humours, Cilia thought them in bad taste, and would
fain have escaped from his brogue and his antics, with
some perception that the scene ought to be left to make
its impression in peace.
Small peace, however, was there among the scores
of men, women, and children, within the rude walls
containing the most noted relics ; all beset the visitors
with offers of stockings, lace, or stones from the hills ;
and the chatter of the guide was a lesser nuisance for
which she was forced to compound for the sake of his
protection. When he had cleared away his compa-
triots, she was able to see the remains of two of the
Seven Churches, the Cathedral, and St. Kevin's Kitchen,
both of enduring gray stone, covered with yellow
lichen, which gave a remarkable golden tint to their
extreme old age. Architecture there was next to
none. St. Kevin's so-called kitchen had a cylindrical
tower, crowned by an extinguisher, and within the
roofless walls was a flat stone, once the altar, and still
a station for pilgrims ; and the cathedral contained
two broken coffin-lids with floriated crosses, but it was
merely four rude roofless walls, enclosing less space
than a cottage kitchen, and less ornamental than many
a barn. The whole space was encumbered with re-
gular modern headstones, ugly as the worst that Eng-
lish graveyards could show, and alternating between
the names of Byrne and O'Toole, families who, as the
312 HOPES AND FEARS.
guide said, would come 'hundreds of miles to lie there.'
It was a grand thought, that those two lines, in wealth
or in poverty, had been constant to that one wild
mountain burying-place, in splendour or in ruin, for
more than twelve centuries.
Here, some steps from the cathedral on the top of
the slope, was the chief grandeur of the view. A
noble old carved granite cross, eight or ten feet high,
stood upon the brow, bending slightly to one side, and
beyond lay the valley cherishing its treasure of the
twin lakelets, girt in by the band across them, nestled
in the soft lining of copsewood and meadow, and pro-
tected by the lofty massive hills above. In front, but
below, and somewhat to the right, lay another enclo-
sure, containing the ivied gable of St. Mary's Church,
and the tall column-like Hound Tower, both with the
same peculiar golden hoariness. The sight struck
Lucilla with admiration and wonder, but the next
moment she heard the guide exhorting Rashe to em-
brace the stem of the cross, telling her that if she
could clasp her arms round it, she would be sure of a
handsome and rich husband within the year.
Half superstitious, and always eager for fun, Horatia
spread her arms in the endeavour, but her hands could
not have met without the aid of the guide, who
dragged them together, and celebrated the exploit with
a hurrah of congratulation, while she laughed trium-
phantly, and called on her companion to try her luck.
But Lucy was disgusted, and bluntly refused, knowing
her grasp to be far too small, unable to endure the
touch of the guide, and maybe shrinking from the
failure of the augury.
' Ah ! to be shure, an' it's not such a purty young
lady as yourself that need be taking the trouble,' did
not fall pleasantly on her ears, and still less Ratia's
laugh and exclamation, ' You make too sure, do you ?
Have a care. There were black looks at parting !
But you need not be afraid, if handsome be a part of
the spell.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 313
There was no answer, and Horatia saw that the out-
spoken raillery that Cilly had once courted now gave
offence. She guessed that something was amiss, but
did not know that what had once been secure had been
wilfully imperilled, and that suspense was awakening
new feelings of delicac}^ and tenderness.
The light words and vulgar forecasting had, in spite
of herself, transported Lucilla from the rocky thicket
where she was walking, even to the cedar room at
Woolstone Lane, and conjured up before her that
grave, massive brow, and the eye that would not meet
her. She had hurried to these wilds to escape that
influence, and it was holding her tighter than ever.
To hasten home on account of Mr. Calthorp's pursuit
would be the most effectual vindication of the feminine
dignity that she might have impaired in Robert's eyes,
but to do this on what Ratia insisted on believing a
false alarm would be the height of absurdity. She
was determined on extracting proofs sufficient to jus-
tify her return, and every moment seemed an hour
until she could feel herself free to set her face home-
wards. A strange impatience seized her at every spot
where the guide stopped them to admire, and Ratia's
encouragement of his witticisms provoked her exces-
sively.
With a kind of despair she found herself required,
before taking boat for St. Kevin's Cave, to mount into
a wood to admire another waterfall.
'See two waterfalls,' she muttered, 'and you have
seen them all. There are only two kinds, one a bucket
of water thrown down from the roof of a house, the
other over the staircase. Either the water is a fiction,
or you can't get at them for the wet ! '
1 That was a splendid fellow at the Devil's Glen.'
1 There's as good a one any day at the lock on the
canal at home ! only we do not delude people into
coming to see it. Up such places, too ! '
' Cilly, for shame. What, tired and giving
in?'
314 HOPES AND FEARS.
' Not tired in the least ; only this place is not worth
getting late for the traiD.'
1 Will the young lady take my hand, I'd be proud
to have the honour of helping her up,' said the guide ;
but Lucilla disdainfully rejected his aid, and climbed
among the stones and brushwood aloof from the others,
Batia talking in high glee to the Irishman, and adven-
turously scrambling.
1 Cilly, here it is,' she cried, from beneath a pro-
jecting elbow of rock ; ' you look down on it. It's a
delicious fall. I declare one can get into it ;' and, by
the aid of a tree, she lowered herself down on a flat
stone, whence she could see the cascade better than
above. ' This is stunning. I vow one can get right
into the bed of the stream right across. Don't be
slow, Cilly, this is the prime fun of all ! '
1 You care for the romp and nothing else,' grumbled
Lucilla. That boisterous merriment was hateful to
her, when feeling that the demeanour of gentle-
women must be their protection, and with all her high
spirit, she was terrified lest insult or remark should be
occasioned. Her signs of remonstrance were only
received with a derisive outburst, as Rashe climbed
down into the midst of the bed of the stream. ' Come,
Cilia, or I shall indite a page in the diary, headed
Faint heart — Ah !' as her foot slipped on the stones,
and she fell backwards, but with instant efforts at
rising, such as assured her cousin that no harm was
done, ' Nay, nonsensical clambering will be the word,'
she said.
1 Serves you right for getting into such places !
What ! Hurt ? ' as Horatia, after resting in a sitting
posture, tried to get up, but paused, with a cry.
1 Nothing,' she said, ' I'll ' but another attempt
ended in the same way. Cilia sprang to her, followed
by the guide, imprecating bad luck to the slippery
stones. Herself standing in the water, Lucilla drew
her cousin upright, and with a good deal of help from
the guide, and much suffering, brought her up the
HOPES AND FEARS. 315
high bank, and down the rough steep descent through
the wood.
She had given her back and side a severe twist, but
she moved less painfully on more level ground, and,
supported between Lucilla and the guide, whom the
mischance had converted from a comedy clown to a
delicately considerate assistant, she set out for the inn
where the car had been left. The progress lasted for
two doleful hours, every step worse than the last, and,
much exhausted, she at length sank upon the sofa in
the little siUing-room of the inn.
The landlady was urgent that the wet clothes should
be taken off, and the back rubbed with whisky, but
Cilia stood agitating her small soaked foot, and in-
sisting that the car should come round at once, since
the wet had dried on them, and they had best lose no
time in returning to Dublin, or at least to Bray.
But Bashe cried out that the car would be the death
of her ; she could not stir without a night's rest.
1 And be all the stiffer to-morrow 1 Once on the
car, you will be very comfortable '
1 Oh, no ! I can't ! This is a horrid place. Of all
the unlucky things that could have happened '
1 Then,' said Cilia, fancying a little coercion would
be wholesome, ' don't be faint-hearted. You will be
glad to-morrow that I had the sense to make you
move to-day. I shall order the car.'
'Indeed!' cried Horatia, her temper yielding to
pain and annoyance ; ' you seem to forget that this
expedition is mine ! I am paymaster, and have the
only right to decide.'
Lucilla felt the taunt base, as recalling to her the
dependent position into which she had carelessly
rushed, relying on the family feeling that had hitherto
made all things as one. ' Henceforth,' said she, ' I
take my share of all that we spend. I will not sell
my free will.'
' So you mean to leave me here alone 1 ' said Horatia,
with positive tears of pain, weariness, and vexation,
316 HOPES AND FEARS.
at the cruel unfriendliness of the girl she had
petted.
' Nonsense ! I must abide by your fate. I only
hate to see people chicken-hearted, and thought you
wanted shaking up. I stay so long as you own me an
independent agent.'
The discussion was given up, when it was announced
that a room was ready ■ and Rashe underwent so much
in climbing the stairs, that Cilly thought she could
not have been worse on the car.
The apartment was not much behind that at the
village inn at Hiltonbury. In fact, it had gay curtains
and a grand figured blind, but the doors at the Charle-
cote Arms had no such independent habits of opening,
the cai-pet would have been whole, and the chairs
would not have quaked beneath Lucy's grasshopper
weight ; when down she sat in doleful resignation,
having undressed her cousin, sent her chaussure to dry,
and dismissed the car, with a sense of bidding fare-
well to the civilized world, and entering a desert
island, devoid of the zest of Robinson Crusoe.
What an endless evening it was, and how the ladies
detested each other ! There lay Horatia, not hurt
enough for alarm, but quite cross enough to silence
pity, suffering at every move, and sore at Cilly's want
of compassion ; and here sat Lucilla, thoroughly dis-
gusted with her cousin, her situation, and her expe-
dition. Believing the strain a trifle, she not unjustly
despised the want of resolution that had shrunk from
so expedient an exertion as the journey, and felt
injured by the selfish want of consideration that had
condemned her to this awkward position in this
forlorn little inn, without even the few toilette
necessaries that they had with them at Dublin, and
with no place to sit in, for the sitting-room below
stairs served as a coffee-room, where sundry male
tourists were imbibing whisky, the fumes of which
ascended to the young ladies above, long before they
could obtain their own meal.
HOPES AND FEARS. 317
The chops were curiosities ; and as to the tea, the
grounds, apparently the peat of the valley, filled up
nearly an eighth of the cup, causing Lucilla in lugu-
brious mirth to talk of ' That lake whose gloomy tea,
ne'er saw Hyson nor Bohea,' when Rashe fretfully
retorted, 'It is very unkind in you to grumble at
everything, when you know I can't help it !'
'I was not grumbling, I only wanted to enliven
you.'
1 Queer enlivenment !'
Nor did Lucilla's attempts at body curing succeed
better. Her rubbing only evoked screeches, and her
advice was scornfully rejected. Horatia was a deter-
mined homoeopath, and sighed for the globules in her
wandering box, and as whisky and tobacco both be-
came increasingly fragrant, averred again and again
that nothing should induce her to stay here another
night.
Nothing % Lucilla found her in the morning in all
the aches and flushes of a feverish cold, her sprain
severely painful, her eyes swollen, her throat so sore,
that in alarm Cilly besought her to send for advice ;
but Rashe regarded a murderous allopathist as near
akin to an executioner, and only bewailed the want of
her minikin doses.
Giving up the hope of an immediate departure,
Lucilla despatched a messenger to Bray, thence to
telegraph for the luggage ; and the day was spent in
fears lest their landlord at Dublin might detain their
goods as those of suspicious characters.
Other excitement there was none, not even in
quarrelling, for Rashe was in a sleepy state, only
roused by interludes of gloomy tea and greasy broth ;
and outside, the clouds had closed down, such clouds
as she had never seen, blotting out lake and mountain
with an impervious gray curtain, seeming to bathe
rather than to rain on the place. She longed to dash
out into it, but Ratia's example warned her against
drenching her only garments, though indoors the dry-
318 HOPES AND FEARS.
ness was only comparative. Everything she touched,
herself included, seemed pervaded by a damp, limp
rawness, that she vainly tried to dispel by ordering a
fire. The turf smouldered, the smoke came into the
room, and made their eyes water, and Rashe insisted
that the fire should be put out.
Cilia almost envied her sleep, as she sat disconsolate
in the window, watching the comparative density of
the rain, and listening to the extraordinary howls and
shrieks in the town, which kept her constantly ex-
pecting that a murder or a rebellion would come to
relieve the monotony of the day, till she found that
nothing ensued, and no one took any notice.
She tried to sketch from memory, but nothing
would hindel* that least pleasant of occupations —
thought. Either she imagined every unpleasant chance
of detention, she worried herself about Robert
Fulmort, or marvelled what Mr. Prendergast and the
censorious ladies would do with Edna Murrell. Many
a time did she hold her watch to her ear, suspecting it
of having stopped, so slowly did it loiter through the
weary hours. Eleven o'clock when she hoped it was
one — half-past two when it felt like five.
By real five, the mist was thinner, showing first
nearer, then remoter objects; the coarse slates of the
roofs opposite emerged polished and dripping, and the
cloud finally took its leave, some heavy flakes, like
cotton wool, hanging 1 on the hill-side, and every rock
shining, every leaf glistening. Verdure and rosy
cheeks both resulted from a perpetual vapour bath.
Lucilla rejoiced in her liberty, and hurried out of
doors, but leaning out of the coffee-room window,
loungers were seen who made her sensible of the
awkwardness of her position, and she looked about for
yesterday's guide as a friend, but he was not at hand,
and her uneasy gaze brought round her numbers,
begging or offering guidance. She wished to retreat,
but would not, and walked briskly along the side of
the valley opposite to that she had yesterday visited,
HOPES AND FEARS. 319
in search of the other four churches. Two fragments
were at the junction of the lakes, another was entirely
destroyed, but the last, called the Abbey, stood in
ruins within the same wall as the Bound Tower, which
rose straight, round, mysterious, defying inquiry, as it
caught the evening light on its summit, even as it had
done for so many centuries past.
Not that Cilia thought of the* riddles of that tower,
far less of the early Christianity of the isle of saints,
of which these ruins and their wild legend were the
only vestiges, nor of the mysticism that planted
clusters of churches in sevens as analogous to the
seven stars of the Apocalypse. Even the rugged
glories of the landscape chiefly addressed themselves
to her as good to sketch, her highest flight in admira-
tion of the picturesque. In the state of mind
ascribed to the ancients, she only felt the weird
unhomelikeness of the place, as though she were at
the ends of the earth, unable to return, and always
depressed by solitude ; she could have wept. Was it
for this that she had risked the love that had been
her own from childhood, and broken with the friend
to whom her father had commended her 1 Was it
worth while to defy their censures for this dreary
spot, this weak-spirited, exacting, unrefined companion,
and the insult of Mr. Calthorp's pursuit ?
Naturally shrewd, well-knowing the world, and
guarded by a real attachment, Lucilla had never re-
garded the millionaire's attentions as more than idle
amusement in watching the frolics of a beauty, and
had suffered them as adding to her own diversion;
but his secretly following her, no doubt to derive
mirth from her proceedings, revealed to her that
woman could not permit such terms without loss of
dignity, and her cheek burnt at the thought of the
ludicrous light in which he might place her present
predicament before a conclave of gentlemen.
The thought was intolerable. To escape it by rapid
motion, she turned hastily to leave the enclosure. A
320 HOPES AND FEARS.
figure was climbing over the steps in the wall with
outstretched hand, as if he expected her to cling to
him, and Mr. Calthorp, springing forward, eagerly-
exclaimed in familiar, patronizing tones, ' Miss Sand-
brook ! They told me you were gone this way.' Then,
in a very different voice at the unexpected look and
bow that he encountered : ' I hope Miss Charteris's
accident is not serious.'
' Thank you, not serious,' was the freezing reply.
' I am glad. How did it occur?'
' It was a fall.' He should have no good story
wherewith to regale his friends.
- ' Going on well, I trust 1 Chancing to be at Dublin,
I heard by accident you were here, and fearing that
there might be a difficulty, I ran down in the hope of
being of service to you.'
' Thank you,' in the least thankful of tones.
* Is there nothing I can do for you 1 '
' Thank you, nothing.'
' Could I not obtain some advice for Miss Charteris V
1 Thank you, she wishes for none.'
' I am sure' — he spoke eagerly — ' that in some way I
could be of use to you. I shall remain at hand. I can-
not bear that you should be alone in this remote place.'
1 Thank you, we will not put you to inconvenience.
We intended to be alone.'
f I see you esteem it a great liberty,' said poor Mr.
Calthorp ; ' but you must forgive my impulse to see
whether I could be of any assistance to you. I will
do as you desire, but at least you will let me leave
Stefano with you ; he is a fellow full of resources, who
would make you comfortable here, and me easy about
you.'
1 Thank you, we require no one.'
Those ' thank you's' were intolerable, but her de-
fensive reserve and dignity attracted the gentleman
more than all her dashing brilliancy, and he became
more urgent. ' You cannot ask me to leave you en-
tirely to yourselves under such circumstances.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 321
'I more than ask it, I insist upon it. Good
morning.'
' Miss Sandbrook, do not go till you have heard and
forgiven me.'
1 1 will not hear you, Mr. Calthorp. This is neither
the time nor place,' said Lucilla, inly more and more
perturbed, but moving along with slow, quiet steps,
and betraying no emotion. 'The object of our jour-
ney was totally defeated by meeting any of our
ordinary acquaintance, and but for this mischance I
should have been on my way home to-day.'
' Oh ! Miss Sandbrook, do you class me among your
ordinary acquaintance ? '
It was all she could do to hinder her walk from losing
o
its calm slowness, and before she could divest her
intended reply of undignified sharpness, he continued :
1 Who could have betrayed my presence ? But for this,
I meant that you should never have been aware that I
was hovering near to watch over you.'
' Yes, to collect good stories for your club.'
'This is injustice; Flagrant injustice, Miss Sand-
brook ! Will you not credit the anxiety that irresis-
tibly impelled me to be ever at hand in case you should
need a protector V
' No,' was the point blank reply.
' How shall I convince you 1 ' he cried, vehemently.
1 What have I done that you should refuse to believe
in the feelings that prompted me V
'What have you done?' said Lucilla, whose blood
was up. ' You have taken a liberty, which is the best
proof of what your feelings are, and every moment
that you force your presence on me adds to the
offence ! '
She saw that she had succeeded. He stood still,
bowed, and answered not, possibly deeming this the
most effective means of recalling her ; but from first
to last he had not known Lucilla Sandbrook.
The eager, protecting familiarity of his first address
had given her such a shock that she felt certain that
VOL. I. Y
322' HOPES AND FEARS.
she had no guard but herself from positively in-
sulting advances ; and though abstaining from all
quickening of pace, her heart throbbed violently in
the fear of hearing him following her, and the inn
was a haven of refuge.
She flew up to her bed-room to tear about like a
panther, as if by violence to work down the tumult
in her breast. She had proved the truth of Honora's
warning, that beyond the pale of ordinary convenances,
a woman is exposed to insult, and however sufficient
she may be for her own protection, the very fact of
having to defend herself is well nigh degradation. It
was not owning the error. It was the agony of
humiliation, not the meekness of humility, and she
was as angry with Miss Charlecote for the prediction
as with Mr. Calthorp for having fulfilled it, enraged
with Horatia, and desperate at her present imprisoned
condition, unable to escape, and liable to be still
haunted by her enemy.
At last she saw the discomfited swain re-enter the
inn, his car come round, and finally drive off with
him j and then she felt what a blank was her victory.
If she breathed freely, it was at the cost of an in-
creased sense of solitude and severance from the
habitable world.
Hitherto she had kept away from her cousin, trust-
ing that the visit might remain a secret, too mortifying
to both parties to be divulged, but she found Horatia
in a state of eager anticipation, awakened from the
torpor to watch for tidings of a happy conclusion to
their difficulties, and preparing jests on the pettish
ingratitude with which she expected Lucilla to requite
the services that would be nevertheless accepted.
Gone ! Sent away ! Not even commissioned to
find the boxes. Horatia's consternation and irritation
knew no bounds. Lucilla was no less indignant that
she could imagine it possible to become dependent on
his good offices, or to permit him to remain in the
neighbourhood. Eashe angrily scoffed at her new-born
HOPES AND FEARS. 323
scruples, and complained of her want of consideration
for herself. Cilia reproached her cousin with utter
absence of any sense of propriety and decorum. Rashe
talked of ingratitude, and her sore throat being by this
time past conversation, she came to tears. Cilia, who
could not bear to see any one unhappy, tried many a
' never mind,' many a 'didn't mean,' many a fair augury
for the morrow, but all in vain, and night came down
upon the Angel Anglers more forlorn and less friendly
than ever ! and, with all the invalid's discomforts so
much aggravated by the tears and the altercation that
escape from this gloomy shore appeared infinitely
remote.
There was an essential difference of tone of mind
between those brought up at Hiltonbury or at Castle
Blanch, and though high spirits had long concealed
the unlikeness, it had now been made bare, and
Lucy could not conquer her disgust and disappoint-
ment.
Sunshine was on Luggela, and Horatia's ailments
were abating, so, as her temper was not alleviated,
Lucilla thought peace would be best preserved by
sallying out to sketch. A drawing from behind the
cross became so engrossing that she was sorry to find
it time for the early dinner, and her artistic pride was
only allayed by the conviction that she should always
hate what recalled Glendalough.
Rashe was better, and was up and dressed. Hopes
of departure produced amity, and they were almost
lively over their veal broth, when sounds of arrival
made Lucilla groan at the prospect of cockney tourists
obstructing the completion of her drawing.
' There's a gentleman asking to see you, Miss.'
* I can see no one.'
1 Cilia, now do.'
1 Tell him I cannot see him,' repeated Lucy, impe-
riously.
' How can you be so silly ? he may have heard of
our boxes.'
y2
32-i HOPES AND FEARS.
' 1 would toss them into the lake rather than take
them from him.'
'Eh ! pray let me be present when you perform the
ceremony ! Cilia in the heroics ! Whom is she ex-
pecting V said a voice outside the door, ever ajar, a
voice that made Lucilla clasp her hands in ecstasy.
1 You, Owen ! come in,' cried Horatia, writhing
herself up.
'Owen, old Owen ! that's right,' burst from Cilia, as
she sprang to him.
'Right ! Ah ! that is not the greeting I expected j
I was thinking how to guard my eyes. »So, you have
had enough of the unprotected dodge ! What has
Rashe been doing to herself % A desperate leap down
the Falls of Niagara.'
Horatia was diffuse in the narration ; but, after the
first, Lucy did not speak. She began by arming her-
self against her brother's derision, but presently felt
perplexed by detecting on his countenance something
unwontedly grave and preoccupied. She was sure that
his attention was far away from Rashe's long story,
and she abruptly interrupted it with, ' How came you
here, Owen?'
He did not seem to hear, and she demanded, ' Is
anything the matter ? Are you come to fetch us
because any one is ill V
Starting, he said, ' No, oh no ! '
' Then what brought you here 1 a family council, or
Honor Charlecote 1 '
' Honor Charlecote,' he repeated mistily : then,
making an effort, ' Yes, good old soul, she gave me a
vacation tour on condition that I should keep an eye
on you. Go on, Rashe ; what were you saying V
' Didn't you hear me, Owen ? Why, Calthorp, the
great Calthorp, is in our wake. Cilly is frantic'
' Calthorp about !' exclaimed Owen, with a start of
dismay. 'Where?'
' I've disposed of him,' quoth Lucilla ; ' he'll not
trouble us again.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 325
I Which way is he gone V
I I would not tell you if I knew.'
1 Don't be such an idiot,' he petulantly answered ;
' 1 want nothing of the fellow, only to know whether
he is clean gone. Are you sure whether he went by
Bray?'
' I told you I neither knew nor cared.'
1 Could you have believed, Owen,' said Rashe, plain-
tively, ' that she was so absurd as never even to tell
him to inquire for our boxes ? '
' Owen knows better ;' but Lucilla stopped, surprised
to see that his thoughts were again astray. Giving a
constrained smile, he asked, 'Well, what next ?'
* To find our boxes,' they answered in a breath.
'Your boxes? Didn't I tell you I've got them
here?'
1 Owen, you're a trump,' cried Rashe.
' How on earth did you know about them ?' inquired
his sister.
1 Yery simply ; crossed from Liverpool yesterday,
reconnoitered at your hotel, was shown your telegram,
went to the luggage office, routed out that the things
were taking a gentle tour to Limerick, got them back
this morning, and came on. And what are you after
next ! '
'Home,' jerked out Lucy, without looking up,
thinking how welcome he would have been yesterday,
without the goods.
' Yes, home,' said Horatia. ' This abominable sprain
will hinder my throwing a line, or jolting on Irish
roads, and if Cilia is to be in agonies when she see3 a
man on the horizon, we might as well never have
come.'
' Will you help me to carry home this poor invalid
warrior, Owen?' said Lucilla; 'she will permit you.'
' I'll put you into the steamer,' said Owen ; ' but,
you see, I have made my arrangements for doing Kil-
larney and the rest of it.'
' I declare,' said Rashe, recovering benevolence with
326 HOPES AND FEARS.
comfort, ' if they would send Scott from the Castle to
meet me at Holyhead, Cilly might as well go on with
you. You would be sufficient to keep off the Cal-
thorps.'
1 I'm afraid that's no go,' hesitated Owen. ' You
see I had made my plans, trusting to your bold asser-
tions that you would suffer no one to approach.'
1 Oh ! never mind. It was no proposal of mine.
I've had enough of Ireland,' returned Lucy, somewhat
ao-crrieved.
BO
1 How soon shall you be sufficiently repaired for a
start, Ratia?' asked Owen, turning quickly round to
her. ' To-morrow % No ! Well, I'll come over and
see.'
1 Going away I 1 cried the ladies, by no means willing
to part with their guardian.
I Yes, I must." Expecting that we should be
parallels never meeting, I had to provide for my-
self.'
I I see,' said Rashe ; ' he has a merry party at New-
ragh Bridge, and will sit up over whist and punch till
midnight ! '
' You don't pretend to put yourselves in competi-
tion,' said he, snatching at the idea hastily.
' Oh ! no,' said his sister, with an annoyed gesture.
1 1 never expect you to prefer me and my comfort to
ny one.'
' Indeed, Cilia, I'm sorry,' he answered gently, but in
perplexity, ' but I never reckoned on being wanted,
and engagements are engagements.'
' I'm sure I don't want you when anything pleasanter
is going forward,' she answered, with vexation in her
tone.
' I'll be here by eleven or twelve,' he replied, avoid-
ing the altercation ; ' but I must get back now. I shall
be waited for.'
' Who is it that can't wait ? ' asked Rashe.
' Oh ! just an English acquaintance of mine. There,
good-bye ! I wish I had come in time to surprise the
HOPES A2sD FEARS. S27
modern St. Kevin ! Are you sure there was no
drowning in the lake ! '
' You know it was blessed to drown no one after
Kathleen.'
1 Reassuring ! Only mind you put a chapter about it
into the tour.' Under the cover of these words he was
gone.
' 1 declare there's some mystery about his com-
panion ! ' exclaimed Horatia. ' Suppose it were Cal-
thorp himself?'
• Owen is not so lost to respect for his sister.'
1 But did you not see how little he was surprised,
and how much pre-occupied V
1 Very likely ; but no one but you could imagine
him capable of such an outrage.'
' You have been crazy ever since you entered Ire-
land, and expect every one else to be the same.
Seriously, what damage did you anticipate from a little
civility V
1 If you begin upon that, I shall go out and finish
my sketch, and not unpack one of the boxes.'
Nevertheless, Lucilla spent much fretting guess-
work on her cousin's surmise. She relied too much on
Owen's sense of propriety to entertain the idea that he
could be forwarding a pursuit so obviously insolent,
but a still wilder conjecture had been set afloat in her
mind. Could the nameless one be Robert Fulmort ?
Though aware of the anonymous nature of brother's
friends, the secrecy struck her as unusually guarded ;
and to one so used to devotion, it seemed no extraor-
dinary homage that another admirer should be drawn
along at a respectful distance, a satellite to her erratic
course ; nay, probably all had been concerted in
Woolstone Lane, and therewith the naughty girl crested
her head, and prepared to take offence. After all, it
could not be, or why should Owen have been bent on
returning, and be so independent of her ? Far more
probably he had met a college friend or a Westminster
schoolfellow, some of whom were in regiments quartered
328 HOPES AND FEAES.
in Ireland, and on the morrow would bring him to do
the lions of Glendalough, among which might be
reckoned the Anarel Anglers!
That possibility might have added some grains to
the satisfaction of making a respectable toilette next
day. Certain it is that Miss Sandbrook's mountain
costume was an exquisite feat of elaborate simplicity,
and that the completion of her sketch was interrupted
by many a backward look down the pass, and many a
contradictory mood, sometimes boding almost as harsh
a reception for Robert as for Mr. Calthorp, sometimes
relenting in the thrill of hope, sometimes accusing
herself of arrant folly, and expecting as a £>is alter the
diversion of dazzling and tormenting an Oxonian, or a
soldier or two ! Be the meeting what it might, she
preferred that it should be out of Horatia's sight, and
so drew on and on to the detriment of her distances.
Positively it was past twelve, and the desire to be
surprised unconcernedly occupied could no longer
obviate her restlessness, so she packed up her hair-
pencil, and, walking back to the inn, found Rashe in
solitary possession of the coffee-room.
' You have missed him, Cilly.'
1 Owen 1 No one else V
'No, not the Calthorp ; I am sorry for you.'
1 But who was here ? tell me, Rashe.'
1 Owen, I tell you,' repeated Horatia, playing with
her impatience.
' Tell me ; I will know whether he has any one with
him.'
1 Alack for your disappointment, for the waste of
that blue bow ; not a soul came here but himself.'
' And where is he 1 how did I miss him V said
Lucilla, forcibly repressing the mortification for which
her cousin was watching.
1 Gone. As I was not in travelling trim, and you not-
forthcoming, he could not wait ; but we are to be off
to-morrow at ten o'clock.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 329
'Why did he not come out to find me? Did you
tell him I was close by Y
' He had to join his friend, and go to the Yale of
Avoca. I've found out the man, Cilia. No, don't
look so much on the qui vive ; it's only Jack
Hastings.'
'Jack Hastings !' said Lucilla, her looks fallen. ' No
wonder he would not bring him here.'
1 Why not, poor fellow 1 I used to know him very
well before he was up the spout.'
' I wish Owen had not fallen in with him,' said the
sister, gravely. ' Are you certain it is so, Rashe V
i I taxed him with it, and he did not deny it ; only
put it from him, laughing. What's the harm 1 Poor
Jack was always a good-natured, honourable fellow,
uncommonly clever and amusing — a well-read man,
too ; and Owen is safe enough — no one could try to
borrow of him.'
' What would Honor's feelings be V said Lucilla, with
more fellow-feeling for her than for months past. Lax
as was the sisters tolerance, she was startled at his
becoming the associate of an avowedly loose character
under the stigma of the world, and with perilous
abilities and agreeableness ; and it was another of
Horatia's offences against proper feeling, not only to
regard such evil communications with indifference, but
absolutely to wish to be brought into contact with a
person of this description in their present isolated state.
Displeased and uneasy, Lucilla assumed the role of
petulance and quarrelsomeness for the rest of the day,
and revenged herself to the best of her abilities upon
Eashe and Owen, by refusing to go to inspect the scene
of Kathleen's fatal repulse.
True to his appointment, Owen arrived alone on a
car chosen with all regard to Horatia's comfort, and
was most actively attentive in settling on it the ladies
and their luggage, stretching himself out on the oppo-
site side, his face raised to the clouds, as he whistled
330 HOPES AND FEARS.
an air ; but his eye was still restless, and his sister
resolved on questioning him.
Opportunities were, however, rare ; whether or not
with the design of warding off a tete-a-tete, he devoted
himself to his cousin's service in a manner rare to her
since she had laid herself out to be treated as though
her name were Horace instead of Horatia. However,
Lucilla was not the woman to be balked of a settled
purpose ; and at their hotel, at Dublin, she nailed him
fast by turning back on him when Horatia bade them
good night. ' Well, what do you want V he asked,
annoyed.
1 1 want to speak to you.'
1 1 hope it is to beg me to write to ask Honor to
receive you at home, and promise to behave like a decent
and respectable person.'
' I want neither a judge nor an intercessor in you.'
1 Come, Lucy, it really would be for every one's good
if you would go and take care of poor Honor. You
have been using her vilely, and I should think you'd
had enough of Rashe for one while.'
' If I have used her vilely, at least I have dealt
openly by her,' said Lucilla. ' She has always seen the
worst of me on the surface. Can you bear to talk of
her when you know how you are treating her f
He coloured violently, and his furious gesture would
have intimidated most sisters ; but she stood her ground,
and answered his stammeriug demand what she dared
to imply.
1 You may go into a passion, but you cannot hinder
me from esteeming it shameful to make her mission a
cover for associating with one whom she would regard
with so much horror as Jack Hastings.'
1 Jack Hastings !' cried Owen, to her amazement,
bursting into a fit of laughter, loud, long, and ex-
plosive. ' Well done, Rashe !'
1 You told her so.'
1 She told me so, and one does not contradict a
lady.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 331
'Something must have put it into her head.'
' Only to be accounted for by an unrequited attach-
ment,' laughed Owen ; ' depend on it, a comparison of
dates would show Hastings's incarceration to have been
the epoch of Rashe's taking to the high masculine
line —
1 " If e"er she loved, 'twas him alone
Who lived within the jug of stone." '
' For shame, Owen ; Rashe never was in love.'
But he went on laughing at Rashe's disappointment
at his solitary arrival till she said, tartly, ' You cannot
wonder at our thinking you must have some reason for
neither mentioning your companion's name nor bringing
him with you.'
' In fact, no man not under a cloud could abstain
from paying homage to the queen of the anglers.'
It was so true as to raise an angry spot on her cheek,
and provoke the hasty excuse, ' It would have been
obvious to have brought your friend to see your cousin
and sister.'
1 One broken-backed, both unwashed ! 0, the sin-
cerity of the resistance I overheard ! No gentleman ad-
mitted, forsooth ! O, for a lodge in some vast wilder-
ness ! Yes ; St. Anthony would have found it a
wilderness indeed without his temptations. What
would St. Dunstan have been minus the black gentle-
man's nose, or St. Kevin but for Kathleen ? It was a
fortunate interposition that Calthorp turned up the
day before I came, or I might have had to drag the
lake for you.'
This personal attack only made her persist. ' It was
very different when we were alone or with you ; you
know very well that there could have been no objection.'
' No objection on your side, certainly, so I perceive ;
but suppose there were no desire on the other V
'Oh!' in a piqued voice, ' I know many men don't
care for ladies' society, but I don't see why they should
be nameless.'
332 HOPES AND FEARS.
1 1 thought you would deem such a name unworthy
to be mentioned. '
' Well, but who is the shy man 1 Is it the little
Henniker, who used to look as if he would dive under
the table when you brought him from Westminster?'
' If I told you, you would remember it against the
poor creature for life, as a deliberate insult and want
of taste. Good night.'
He took his hat, and went out, leaving Lucy
balancing her guesses between Ensign Henniker and
him whom she could not mention. Her rejection of
Mr. Calthorp might have occasioned the present secrecy,
and she was content to leave herself the pleasant
mystery, in the hope of having it dispelled by her last
glance of Kingstown quay.
In that hope, she rocked herself to sleep, and next
morning was so extra vivacious as to be a sore trial to
poor Rashe, in the anticipation of the peine forte et dure
of St. George's Channel. Owen was also in high spirits,
but a pattern of consideration and kind attention, as he
saw the ladies on board, and provided for their com-
fort, not leaving them till the last moment.
Lucilla's heart had beaten fast from the moment she
had reached Kingstown ; she was keeping her hand
free to wave a most encouraging kiss, and as her eye
roamed over the heads upon the quay without a recog-
nition, she felt absolutely baffled and cheated ; and
gloriously as the Bay of Dublin spread itself before her,
she was conscious only of wrath and mortification, and
of a bitter sense of dreariness and desertion. Nobody
cared for her, not even her brother !
CHAPTER IX.
My pride, that took
Fully easily all impressions from below,
Would not look up, or half despised the height
To which I could not, or I would not climb.
1 thought I could not breathe in that fine air.
Idylls of the Euro.
'AjST you come and take a turn in the
Temple - gardens, Phoebe ? ' asked
Robert, on the way from church, the
day after Owen's visit to Woolstone
Lane.
Phoebe rejoiced, for she had scarcely seen him
since his return from Castle Blanch, and his state of
mind was a mystery to her. It was long, however,
before he afforded her any clue. He paced on,
grave and abstracted, and they had many times gone
up and down the least frequented path, before he
abruptly said, ' I have asked Mr. Parsons to give me
a title for Holy Orders.'
' I don't quite know what that means.'
1 How simple you are, Phoebe,' he said, impatiently ;
1 it means that St. Wulstan's should be my first curacy.
May my labours be accepted as an endeavour to atone
for some of the evil we cause here.'
1 Dear Ptobin ! what did Mr. Parsons say ? Was lie
not very glad V
1 No ; there lies the doubt.'
'Doubt?'
' Yes. He told me that he had engaged as many
334 HOPES AND FEARS.
curates as lie has means for. I answered that my
stipend need be no consideration, for I only wished to
spend on the parish, but he was not satisfied. Many
incumbents don't like to have curates of independent
means ; I believe it has an amateur appearance.'
' Mr. Parsons cannot think you would not be de-
voted.'
1 1 hope to convince him that I may be trusted. It
is all that is left me now.'
I It will be very cruel to you, and to the poor
people, if he will not,' said Phoebe, warmly ; ' what
will papa and Mervyn say Y
I I shall not mention it till all is settled ; I have my
father's consent to my choice of a profession, and I do
not think myself bound to let him dictate my course
as a minister. I owe a higher duty, and if his busi-
ness scatters the seeds of vice, surely "obedience in the
Lord" should not prevent me from tryiDg to counteract
them.'
It was a case of conscience to be only judged by him-
self, and where even a sister like Phcebe could do little
but hope for the best, so she expressed a cheerful hope
that her father must know that it was right, and that
he would care less, now that he was away, and pleased
with Augusta's prospects.
' Yes,' said .Robert, ' he already thinks me such a
fool, that it may be indifferent to him in what par-
ticular manner I act it out.'
' And how does it stand with Mr. Parsons V
' He will give me an answer to-morrow evening,
provided I continue in the same mind. There is no
chance of my not doing so. My time of suspense is
over!' and the words absolutely sounded like relief,
though the set stern face, and the long breaths at each
pause told another tale.
* I did not think she would really have gone ! ' said
Phcebe.
1 This once, and we will mention her no more. It
is not merely this expedition, but all I saw at Wrap-
HOPES AND FEARS. 335
worth convinced me that I should risk my faithfulness
to my calling by connecting myself with one who, with
all her loveliness and generosity, lives upon excite-
ment. She is the very light of poor Prendergast's
eyes, and he cannot endure to say a word in her dis-
praise ; she is constantly doing acts of kindness in his
parish, and is much beloved there, yet he could not
conceal how much trouble she gives him by her want
of judgment and wilfulness ; patronizing and forgetting
capriciously, and attending to no remonstrance. You
saw yourself the treatment of that schoolmistress. I
thought the more of this, because Prendergast is so
fond of her, and does her full justice. No \ her very
aspect proves that a parish priest has no business to
think of her.'
Large tears swelled in Phoebe's eyes. The first
vision of her youth was melting away, and she detected
no relenting in his grave resolute voice.
1 Shall you tell her V was all she could say.
1 That is the question. At one time she gave me
reason to think that she accepted a claim to be con-
sidered in my plans, and understood what I never con-
cealed. Latterly she has appeared to withdraw all
encouragement, to reject every advance, and yet
Phoebe, tell me whether she has given you any reason
to suppose that she ever was in earnest with me V
' I know she respects and likes you better than any
one, and speaks of you like no one else,' said Phcebe ;
then pausing, and speaking more diffidently, though
with a smile, ' I think she looks up to you so much,
that she is afraid to put herself in your power, for fear
she should be made to give up her odd ways in spite of
herself, and yet that she has no notion of losing you.
Did you see her face at the station ¥
* I would not ! I could not meet her eyes ! I
snatched my hand from the little clinging fingers ;' and
Robert's voice almost became a gasp. ' It was not fit
that the spell should be renewed. She would be
miserable, I under constant temptation, if I en-
336 HOPES AND FEARS.
deavoured to make her share my work ! Best as it is !
She has so cast me off that my honour is no longer
bound to her ; but I cannot tell whether it be due to
her to let her know how it is with me, or whether it
would be mere coxcombry.'
'The Sunday that she spent here,' said Phoebe,
slowly, ' she had a talk with me. I wrote it down.
Miss Fennimore says it is the safest way '
' Where is it V cried Robert.
'I kept it in my pocket-book, for fear any one should
see it, and it should do harm. Here it is, if it will
help you. I am afraid I made things worse, but I did
not know what to say.'
It was one of the boldest experiments ever made by
a sister ; for what man could brook the sight of an un-
varnished statement of his proxy's pleading, or help
imputing the failure to the go-between ?
' I would not have had this happen for a thousand
pounds!' was his acknowledgment. 'Child as you
are, Phcebe, had you not sense to know, that no
woman could endure to have that said, which should
scarcely be implied 1 I wonder no longer at her studied
avoidance.'
' If it be all my bad management, cannot it be set
right?' humbly and hopefully said Phcebe.
' There is no right 1' he said. ' There, take it back.
It settles the question. The security you childishly
showed, was treated as offensive presumption on my
part. It would be presuming yet farther to make a
formal withdrawal of what was never accepted.'
' Then is it my doing 1 Have I made mischief be-
tween you, and put you apart V said poor Phcebe, in
<r r eat distress. ' Can't I make up for it ? '
1 You 1 No, you were only an over plain-spoken
child, and brought about the crisis that must have
come somehow. It is not what you have done, or not
done : it is what Lucy Sandbrook has said and done,
that shows that I must have done with her for ever.'
' And yet,' said Phcebe, taking this as forgiveness,
HOPES AND FEARS. 337
' you see she never believed that you would give her
up. If she did, I am sure she would not have gone.'
' She thinks her power over me stronger than my
principles. She challenges me — desires you to tell me
so. We shall see.'
He spoke as a man whose steadfastness had
been defied, and who was piqued on proving it to the
utmost. Such feelings may savour of the wrath of man,
they may need the purifying of chastening, and they
often impel far beyond the bounds of sober judgment ;
but no doubt they likewise frequently render that easy
-which would otherwise have appeared impossible, and
which, if done in haste, may be regretted, but not re-
pented, at leisure.
Under some circumstances, the harshness of youth
is a healthy symptom, proving force of character and
conviction, though that is only when the foremost
victim is self. Robert was far from perfect, and it
might be doubted whether he were entering the right
track in the right way, but at least his heart was
sound, and there was a fair hope that his failings, in
working their punishment, might work their cure.
It was in a thorough brotherly and Christian spirit
that before entering the house he compelled himself to
say, ' Don't vex yourself, Phoebe, I know you did the
best you could, as kindly as you could. It made no
real difference, and it was best that she should know
the truth.'
' Thank you, dear Robin,' cried Phoebe, grateful for
the consolation ; ' I am glad you do not think I mis-
represented.'
' You are always accurate,' he answered. ' If you
did anything undesirable, it was representing at all.
But that is nothing to the purpose. It is all over now,
and thank you for your constant good will and patience,
my dear. There ! now then it is an understood thing
that her name is never spoken between us.'
Meanwhile, Robert's proposal was under discussion
by the elders. Mr. Parsons had no abstract dread of
vol. i. z
338 HOPES AXD FEARS.
a wealthy curate, but he hesitated to accept gratuitous
services, and distrusted plans formed under the im-
pulse of disappointment or of enthusiasm, since in the
event of a change, both parties might be embarrassed.
There was danger too of collisions with his family, and
Mr. Parsons took counsel with Miss Charlecote,
knowing indeed that where her affections were con-
cerned, her opinions must be taken with a qualification,
but relying on the good sense formed by rectitude of
purpose.
Honor's affection for Robert Fulmort had always
been moderated by Owen's antagonism ; her moderation
in superlatives commanded explicit credence, and Mr.
Parsons inferred more, instead of less, than she ex-
pressed ; better able as he was to estimate that manly
character, gaining force with growth, and though slow
to discern between good and evil, always firm to the
duty when it was once perceived, and thus rising with
the elevation of the standard. The undemonstrative
temper, and tardiness in adopting extra habits of re-
ligious observance and profession, which had disap-
pointed Honor, struck the clergyman as evidences
both of sincerity and evenness of development, proving
the sterling reality of what had been attained.
' Not taking, but trusty,' judged the vicar.
But the lad was an angry lover. How tantalizing
to be offered a fourth curate, with a long purse, only
to find St. Wulstan's serving as an outlet for a lover's
quarrel, and the youth restless and restive ere the end
of his diaconate !
1 How savage you are,' said his wife ; 'as if the
parish would be hurt by his help or his presence. If
he goes, let him go — some other help will come.'
'And don't deprive him of the advantage of a good
master,' said Honor.
'This wretched cure is not worth flattery,' he said,
smiling.
' Nay,' said Mrs. Parsons, ' how often have I heard
you rejoice that you started here.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 339
1 Under Mr. Charlecote — yes.'
c You are the depository of his traditions/ said
Honor, ' hand them on to Robert. I wish nothing better
for Owen.'
Mr. Parsons wished something better for himself,
and averted a reply, by speaking of Robert as accepted.
Robert's next request was to be made useful in the
parish, while preparing for his ordination in the
autumn Ember week ; and though there were demurs
as to unnecessarily anticipating the strain on health
and strength, he obtained his wish in mercy to a state
only to be alleviated by the realities of labour.
So few difficulties were started by his family, that
Honora suspected that Mr. Fulrnort, always chiefly
occupied by what was immediately before him, hardly
realized that by taking an assistant curacy at St.
Wulstan's, his son became one of the pastors of Whit-
tington-streets, great and little, Richard-courts, Cicely-
row, Alice - lane, Cat - alley, and Turnagain - corner.
Scarcely, however, was this settled, when a despatch
arrived from Dublin, headed, 'The Fast Fly Fishers ;
or, the modern St. Kevin,' containing in Iugoldsby
legend-like rhymes, the entire narration of the Glen-
dalough predicament of the 'Fast and Fair,' and
concluding with a piece of prose, by the same author,
assuring his sweet Honey that the poem, though
strange, was true, that he had just seen the angelic
anglers on board the steamer, and it would not be for
lack of good advice on his part, if Lucy did not present
herself at Woolstone Lane, to partake of the dish
called humble pie, on the derivation whereof antiquaries
were divided.
Half amused, half vexed by his levity, and wholly
relieved and hopeful, Honora could not help showing
Owen's performance to Phcebe for the sake of its clever-
ness ; but she found the child too young and simple to
enter into it, for the whole effect was an entreaty that
Robert might not see it, only hear the facts.
Rather annoyed by this want of appreciation of
z 2
340 HOPES AND FEARS.
Owen's wit, Honora saw, nevertheless, that Phoebe
had come to a right conclusion. The breach was not
likely to be diminished by finding that the wilful girl
had exposed herself to ridicule, and the Fulmort
nature had so little sense of the ludicrous, that this
good-natured brotherly satire would be taken for mere
derision.
So Honor left it to Phcebe to give her own version,
only wishing that the catastrophe had come te his
knowledge before his arrangements had been made
with Mr. Parsons.
Phcebe had some difficulty in telling her story.
Robert at first silenced her peremptorily, but after ten
minutes relented, and said, moodily, 'Well, let me
hear ! ' He listened without relaxing a muscle of his
rigid countenance ; and when Phcebe ended by saying
that Miss Charlecote had ordered Lucy's room to be
prepared, thinking that she might present herself at
any moment, he said, ' Take care that you warn me
when she comes. I shall leave town that minute.'
'Robert, Ptobert, if she come home grieved and
knowing better '
' I will not see her ! ' he repeated. ' I made her
taking this journey the test ! The result is nothing
to me ! Phcebe, I trust to you that no intended good-
nature of Miss Charlecote's should bring us together.
Promise me.'
Phcebe could do nothing but promise, and not
another sentence could she obtain from her brother,
indeed his face looked so formidable in its sternness,
that she would have been a bold maiden to have tried.
Honora augured truly, that not only was his stern
nature deeply offended, but that he was quite as much
in dread of coming under the power of Lucy's fasci-
nations, as Cilia had ever been of his strength. Such
mutual aversion was really a token of the force of
influence upon each, and Honor assured Phcebe that
all would come right. ' Let her only come home and
be good, and you will see, Phcebe ! She will not be
HOPES AND FEARS. 341
the worse for an alarm, nor even for waiting till after
his two years at St. Wulstan's.'
The reception of the travellers at Castle Blanch was
certainly not mortifying by creating any excitement.
Charles Charteris said his worst in the words, ' One
week!' and his wife was glad to have some one to
write her notes.
This indifference fretted Lucy. She found herself
loathing the perfumy rooms, the sleepy voice, and
hardly able to sit still in her restless impatience of
Lolly's platitudes and Charles's insouciance, while
Rashe could never be liked again. Even a lecture
from Honor Charlecote would have been infinitely
preferable, and one grim look of Robert's would be
bliss !
No one knew whether Mis3 Charlecote were still in
town, nor whether Augusta Fulmort were to be
married in England or abroad j and as to Miss Murrell,
Lolly languidly wondered what it was that she had
heard.
Hungering for some one whom she could trust,
Lucilla took an early breakfast in her own room, and
walked to Wrapworth, hoping to catch the curate
lingering over his coffee and letters. From a distance,
however, she espied his form disappearing in the school-
porch, and approaching, heard his voice reading prayers,
and the children's chanted response. Coming to the
oriel, she looked in. There were the rows of shiny
heads, fair, brown, and black ; there were the long
sable back and chopped-hay locks of the curate ; but
where a queen-like figure had of old been wont to
preside, she beheld a tallow face, with sandy hair under
the most precise of net caps, and a straight thread-
paper shape in scanty gray stuff, and white apron.
Dizzy with wrathful consternation, Cilia threw her-
self on one of the seats of the porch, shaking her foot,
and biting her lip, frantic to know the truth, yet too
much incensed to enter, even when the hum of united
voices ceased, the rushing sound of rising was over,
312 HOPES AND FEAftS.
and measured footsteps pattered to the classes, where
the manly interrogations sounded alternately with the
shrill little answers.
Clump, clump, came the heavy feet of a laggard, her
head bent over her book, her thick lips vainly conning
the unlearned task, unaware of the presence of the
young lady, till Lucilla touched her, saying, ' What,
Martha, a ten o'clock scholar ? '
She gave a little cry, opened her staring eyes, and
dropped a curtsey.
1 Whom have you here for mistress 1 ' asked Lucilla.
' Please, ma'am, governess is runned away.'
1 What do you mean ? '
1 Yes, ma'am,' replied the girl, developing powers
of volubility such as scholastic relations with her had
left unsuspected. ' She ran away last Saturday was a
week, and there was nobody to open the school when
we came to it a Sunday morning ; and we had holidays
all last week, ma'am ; and mother was terrified'"'
out of her life ; and father, he said he wouldn't have
me never go for to do no such thing, and that he
didn't want no fine ladies, as was always spiting
of me.'
' Every one will seem to spite you, if you keep no
better hours,' said Lucy, little edified by Martha's
virtuous indignation.
The girl had scarcely entered the school before the
clergyman stood on the threshold, and was seized by
both hands, with the words, 'O Mr. Prendergast,
what is this 1 '
< You here, Cilia? What's the matter ? What has
brought you back 1 '
' Had you not heard ? A sprain of Ratia's, and
other things. Never mind. What's all this ? '
' Ah ! I knew you. would be sadly grieved ! '
'So you did frighten her away!'
Terrify, to tease or worry,
HOPES AND FEARS. 313
c I never meant it. I tried to act for the best. She
was spoken to, by myself and others, but nobody could
make any impression, and we could only give her
notice to go at the harvest holidays. She took it with
her usual grand air '
' Which is really misery and despair. Oh, why did
I go ? Go on ! '
'I wrote to the mother, .advising her, if possible, to
come and be with the girl till the holidays. That was
on Thursday week, and the old woman promised to
come on the Monday — wrote a very proper letter,
allowing for the Methodistical phrases — but on the
Saturday it was observed that the house was not
opened, and on Sunday morning I got a note — if you'll
come in I'll show it to you.'
He presently discovered it among multitudinous
other papers on his chimney-piece. Within a lady-like
envelope was a thick, satin-paper, queens-sized note,
containing these words :
1 Reverend Sir, — It is with the deepest feelings of
regret for the unsatisfactory appearance of my late
conduct that I venture to address you, but time will
enable me to account for all, and I can at the present
moment only entreat you to pardon any inconvenience
I may have occasioned by the precipitancy of my
departure. Credit me, reverend and dear sir, it was
only the law of necessity that could have compelled
me to act in a manner that may appear questionable.
Your feeling heart will excuse my reserve when you
are informed of the whole. In the mean time, I am
only permitted to mention that this morning I became
a happy wife. With heartfelt thanks for all the kind-
ness I have received, I remain,
'Reverend sir,
1 Your obedient servant,
' Edna.'
' Xot one messacce to me V exclaimed Lucilla.
o<M HOPES AND FEAKS.
'Her not having had the impudence is the only
redeeming thing ! r
1 1 did not think she would have left no word for
me,' said Lucy, who knew she had been kinder than
her wont, and was really wounded. ' Happy wife 1
Who can it be V
1 Happy wife ! ' repeated the curate. ' It is miser-
able fool, most likely, by this, time.'
i No surname signed ! What's the post mark 1
Only Charing-cross. Could you find out nothing, or
did you not think it worth while to look 1 '
1 What do you take me for, Cilia I I inquired at
the station, but she had not been there, and on the
Monday I went to London and saw the mother, who
was in great distress, for she had had a letter much
like mine, only more unsatisfactory, throwing out
absurd bints about grandeur and prosperity — poor
deluded simpleton ! '
1 She distinctly says she is married.'
1 Yes, but she gives no name nor place. What's
that worth? After such duplicity as she has been
practising so long, I don't know how to take her state-
ment. Those people are pleased to talk of a marriage
in the sight of heaven, when they mean the devil's
own work ! '
< No, no ! I will not think it ! '
1 Then don't, my dear. You were very young and
innocent, and thought no harm.'
'. I'm not young — I'm not innocent ! ' furiously said
Cilly. ' Tell me downright all you suspect.'
1 I'm not given to suspecting,' said the poor clergy-
man, half in deprecation, half in reproof ; ' but I am
afraid it is a bad business. If she had married a ser-
vant, or any one in her own rank, there would have
been no need of concealing the name, at least from her
mother. I feared at first that it was one of your
cousin Charles's friends, but there seems more reason
to suppose that one of the musical people at your con-
HOPES AND FtfARS. 345
cert at the Castle may have thought her voice a good
speculation for the stage.'
1 He would marry her to secure her gains.'
' If so, why the secrecy V
1 Mrs. Jenkins has taught you to make it as bad as
possible,' burst out Lucy. ' 0, why was not I at home f
Is it too late to trace her and proclaim her innocence V
' I was wishing for your help. I went to Mr.
Charteris to ask who the performers were, but he knew
nothing about them, and said you and his sister had
managed it all.'
' The director was Derval. He is fairly respectable,
at least I know nothing to the contrary. I'll make
Charlie write. There was an Italian, with a black
beard and a bass voice, whom we have had several
times. I saw him looking at her. Just tell me what
sort of woman is the mother. She lets lodgings, does
not she V
' Yes, in Little Whittington-street.'
1 Dear me ! I trust she is no friend of Honor Charle-
cote's.'
'Out of her beat, I should think. She dissents.'
1 "What a blessing ! I beg your pardon, but if any-
thing could be an aggravation, it would be Honor
Charlecote's moralities.'
' So you were not aware of the dissent f
1 And you are going to set that down as more deceit,
as if it were the poor thing's business to denounce her
mother. Now, to show you that I can be sure that
Edna was brought up to the Church, I will tell you
her antecedents. Lie father was Sir Thomas Deane's
butler ; they lived in the village, and she was veiy
much in the nursery with the Miss Deanes — had some
lessons from the governess. There was some notion of
making her a nursery governess, but Sir Thomas died,
the ladies went abroad, taking her father with them ;
Edna was sent to a training school, and the mother
went to live in the City with a relation who let
346 HOPES AND FEARS.
lodgings, and who has since died, leaving the concern
to Mrs. Murrell, whose husband was killed by an up-
set of the carriage on the Alps.'
' I heard all that, and plenty besides ! Poor woman,
she was in such distress that one could not but let her
pour it all out, but I declare the din rang in my ears
the whole night after ! A very nice, respectable-
looking body she was, with jet-black eyes like dia-
monds, and a rosy, countrified complexion, quite a treat
to see in that grimy place, her widow's cap as white as
snow, but oh, such a tongue ! She would give me all
her spiritual experiences — how she was converted by
an awakening minister in Cat-alley, and yet had a
great respect for such ministers of the Church as fed
their flocks with sincere milk, mixed up with the bio-
graphy of all the shopmen and clerks who ever lodged
there, and to whom she acted as a mother !'
' It was not their fault that she did not act as a
mother-in-law. Edna has told me of the unpleasant-
ness of being at home on account of the young men.'
1 Exactly ! I was spared none of the chances she
might have had, but the only thing worthy of note was
about a cashier who surreptitiously brought a friend
from the " hopera," to overhear her singing hymns on
the Sunday evening, and thus led to an offer on his
part to have her brought out on the stage.'
' Ha ! could that have come to anything f
' No. Mrs. Murrell's suspicions took that direction,
and we hunted down the cashier and the friend, but
they were quite exonerated. It only proves that her
voice has an unfortunate value.'
1 If she be gone off with the Italian bass, I can't say
I think it a fatal sign that she was slow to present him
to her domestic Manse Headrigg, who no doubt would
deliberately prefer the boards of her coffin to the
boards of the theatre. Well, come along — we will get
a letter from Charles, and rescue her — I mean, clear
her.'
' Wont you look into school, and see how we go on ?
HOPES AND FEARS. 347
The women complained so much of having their chil-
dren on their hands, though I am sure they had sent
them to school seldom enough of late, that I got this
young woman from Mrs. Stuart's asylum till the holi-
days. I think we shall let her stay on, she has a good
deal of method, and all seem pleased with the change.'
1 You have your wish of a fright. No, I thank
you ! I'm not so glad as the rest of you to get rid of
refinement and superiority.'
There was no answer, and more touched by silence
than reply, she hastily said, ' Never mind ! I dare say
she may do better for the children, but you know, I,
who am hard of caring for any one, did care for poor
Edna, and I can't stand paeans over your new broom.'
Mr. Prendergast gave a smile such as was only
evoked by his late rector's little daughter, and answered,
'No one can be more concerned than I. She was not
in her place here, that was certain, and I ought to have
minded that she was not thrust into temptation. I
shall remember it with shame to my dying day.'
1 Which means to say that so should I.'
1 No, you did not know so much of the evils of the
world.'
' I told you before, Mr. Pendy, that I am twenty
times more sophisticated than you are. You talk of
knowing the world ! I wish I didn't. I'm tired of
everybody !'
And on the way home she described her expedition,
and had the pleasure of the curate's sympathy, if not
his entire approval. Perhaps there was no other being
whom she so thoroughly treated as a friend, actually
like a woman friend, chiefly because he thoroughly be-
lieved in her, and was very blind to her faults. Robert
would have given worlds to have found her once, what
Mr. Prendergast found her always.
She left him to wait in the drawing-room, while she
went on her mission, but presently rushed back in a
fury. Nobody cared a straw for the catastrophe. Lolly
begged her not to be so excited about a trifle, it made
348 HOPES AND FEARS
her quite nervous; and the others laughed at her;
Rashe pretended to think it a fine chance to have
changed 'the life of an early Christian/ for the
triumphs of the stage ; and Charles scouted the idea of
■writing to the man's employer. ' He call Derval to
account for all the tricks of his fiddlers and singers '?
Much obliged !'
Mr. Prendergast decided on going to town by the
next train, to make inquiries of Derval himself, with-
out further loss of time, and Cilly declared that she
would go with him and force the conceited professor
to attend ; but the curate, who had never found any
difficulty in enforcing his own dignity, and thought it
no business for a young lady, declined her company,
unless, he said, sho were going to spend the day with
Miss Charlecote.
1 I've a great mind to go to her for good and all.
Let her fall upon me for all and sundry. It will do
me good to hear a decent woman speak again ! besides,
poor old soul, she will be so highly gratified, that she
will be quite meek' (and so will some one else, quoth
the perverse little heart) ; ' I'll put up a few things, and
not delay you.'
' This is very sudden !' said the curate, wishing to
keep the peace between her and her friends, and not
willing that his sunbeam should fleet 'so like the
Borealis race !' ' Will it not annoy your cousins V
' They ought to be annoyed !'
'And are you certain that you would find Miss
Charlecote in town? I thought her stay was to be
short.'
'I'm certain of nothing, but that every place is
detestable. 5
' What would you do if you did not find her V
' Go on to Euston-square. Do you think I don't
know my way to Hiltonbury, or that I should not get
welcome enough — ay, and too much — there V
' Then if you are so uncertain of her movements, do
you not think you had better let me learn them before
HOPES AND FEARS. 349
you start. She might not even be gone home, and you
would not like to come back here again ; if '
1 Like a dog that has been out hunting,' said Lucilla,
who could bear opposition from this quarter as from
no other. 'You wont take the responsibility, that's
the fact. Well, you may go and reconnoitre, if you
will ; but mind, if you say one word of what brings
you to town, I shall never go near the Holt at all. To
hear — whenever the Raymonds, or any other of the
godly school-keeping sort come to dinner — of the direful
effects of certificated schoolmistresses, would drive me to
such distraction that I cannot answer for the conse-
quences.'
' I am sure it is not a fact to proclaim.'
' Ah ! but if you run against Mr. Parsons, you'll
never abstain from telling him of his stray lamb, nor
from condoling with him upon the wolf in Cat-alley.
]STow there's a fair hope of his having more on his hands
than to get his fingers scratched by meddling with the
cats, and so that this may remain unknown. So con-
sider yourself sworn to secrecy.'
Mr. Prendergast promised. The good man was a
bit of a gossip, so perhaps her precaution was not
thrown away, for he could hardly have helped seeking
the sympathy of a brother pastor, especially of him to
whose fold the wanderer primarily belonged. Nor did
Lucy feel certain of not telling the whole herself in
some unguarded moment of confidence. All she cared
for was, that the story should not transpire through
some other source, and be brandished over her head as
an illustration of all the maxims that she had so often
spurned. She ran after Mr. Prendergast after he had
taken leave, to warn him against calling in Woolstone
Lane, and desired him instead to go to Masters's shop,
where it was sure to be known whether Miss Charle-
cote were in town or not.
Mr. Prendergast secretly did grateful honour to the
consideration that would not let him plod all the weary
way into the City. Little did he guess that it was one
350 HOPES AND FEARS.
part mistrust of his silence, and three parts reviving
pride, which forbade that Honora should know that he
had received any such commission.
The day was spent in pleasant anticipations of the
gratitude and satisfaction that would be excited by her
magnanimous return, and her pardon to Honor and to
Robert for having been in the right. She knew she
could own it so graciously that Robert would be over-
powered with compunction, and for ever beholden to her;
and now that the Charterises were so unmitigatedly
hateful, it was time to lay herself out for goodness, and
fling him the rein, with only now and then a jerk to
remind him that she was a free agent.
A long-talked-of journey on the Continent was to
come to pass as soon as Horatia's strain was well. In
spite of wealth and splendour, Eloisa had found her-
self disappointed in the step that she had hoped her
marriage would give her into the most elite circles.
Languid and indolent as her mind was, she could not
but perceive that where Ratia was intimate and at ease,
she continued on terms of form and ceremony, and her
husband felt more keenly that the society in his house
was not what it had been in his mothers time. They
both became restless, and Lolly, who had already lived
much abroad, dreaded the d illness of an English winter
in the country ; while Charles knew that he had already
spent more than he liked to recollect, and that the only
means of keeping her contented at Castle Blanch,
would be to continue most ruinous expenses.
With all these secret motives, the tour was projected
as a scheme of amusement, and the details were dis-
cussed between Charles and Rashe with great animation,
making the soberness of Hiltonbury appear both
tedious and sombre, though all the time Lucy felt that
there she should again meet that which her heart both
feared and yearned for, and without which these
pleasures would be but shadows of enjoyment. Yet
that they were not including her in their party, gave
her a sense of angry neglect and impatience. She
HOPES AXD FEARS. 351
wanted to reject their invitation indignantly, and make
a merit of the sacrifice.
The after-dinner discussion was in full progress when
she was called out to speak to Mr. Prendergast.
Heated, wearied, and choking with dust, he would not
come beyond the hall, but before going home he had
walked all this distance to tell her the result of his
expedition. Derval had not been uncivil, but evi-
dently thought the suspicion an affront to his corps,
which at present was dispersed by the end of the
season. The Italian bass was a married man, and had
returned to his own country. The clue had failed.
The poor leaf must be left to drift upon unknown
winds.
' But,' said the curate, by way of compensation, ' at
Masters's I found Miss Charlecote herself, and <rave
your message.
' I gave no message.'
1 No, no, because you would not send me up into
the City ; but I told her all you would have had me
say, and how nearly you had come up with me, only I
would not let you, for fear she should have left town.'
Cilia's face did not conceal her annoyance, but not
understanding her in the least, he continued, 'I'm sure
no one could speak more kindly or considerately than
she did. Her eyes filled with tears, and she must be
heartily fond of you at the bottom, though maybe
rather injudicious and strict ; but aftej* what I told her,
you need have no fears.'
' Did you ever know me have any V
'Ah, well ! you don't like the word; but at any rate
she thinks you behaved with great spirit and discre-
tion under the circumstances, and quite overlooks any
little imprudence. She hopes to see you the day after
to-morrow, and will write and tell you so.'
Perhaps no intentional slander ever gave the object
greater annoyance than Cilly experienced on learning
that the good curate had, in the innocence of his heart,
represented her as in a state of proper feeling, and in-
352 HOPES AND FEARS.
terceded for her \ and it was all the worse because it
was impossible to her to damp his kind satisfaction,
otherwise than by a brief ' Thank you/ the tone of
which he did not comprehend.
1 Was she alone V she asked.
' Didn't I tell you the young lady was with her, and
the brother?'
1 Robert Fulmort !' and Cilia's heart sank at finding
that it could not have been he who had been with Owen.
1 Ay, the young fellow that slept at my house. He
has taken a curacy at St. Wulstan's.'
'Did he tell you so?' with an ill-concealed start of
consternation.
1 Not he ; lads have strange manners. I should
have thought, after the terms we were upon here, he
need not have been quite so much absorbed in his
book as never to speak ! '
' He has plenty in him instead of manners,' said
Lucilla; ' but I'll take him in hand for it.'
Though Lucilla's instinct of defence had spoken up
for Robert, she felt hurt at his treatment of her old
friend_, and could only excuse it by a strong fit of con-
scious moodiness. His taking the curacy was only ex-
plicable, she thought, as a mode of showing his displea-
sure with herself, since he could not ask her to many
into Whittingtonia ; but ' That must be all nonsense,'
thought she ; ' I will soon have him down off his high
horse, and Mr. parsons will never keep him to his en-
gagement — si'ly fellow to have made it — or if he does,
I shall only have the longer to plague him. It will do
him good. Let me see ! he will come down to-morrow
with Honor's note. I'll put on my lilac muslin with
the innocent little frill, and do my hair under his
favourite net, and look like such a horrid little meek
ringdove that he will be perfectly disgusted with him-
self for having ever taken me for a fishing eagle. He
will be abject, and I'll be generous, and not give
another peck till it has grown intolerably stupid to go
on being good, or till he presumes ! '
HOPES AND FEARS. 353
For the first time for many days, Lucilla awoke
with the impression that something pleasant was about
to befall her, and her wild heart was in a state of glad
nutter as she donned the quiet dress, and found that
the subdued colouring and graver style rendered her
more softly lovely than she had ever seen herself.
The letters were on the breakfast table when she
came down, the earliest as usual, and one was from
Honor Charlecote, the first sight striking her with
vexation, as discomfiting her hopes that it would come
by a welcome bearer. Yet that might be no reason
why he should not yet run down.
She tore it open.
' My dearest Lucy, — Until I met Mr. Prendergast
yesterday, I was not sure that you had actually re-
turned, or I would not have delayed an hour in as-
suring you, if you could doubt it, that my pardon is
ever ready for you.'
(' Many thanks,' was the muttered comment. '
that poor, dear, stupid man ! would that I had stopped
his mouth !')
' I never doubted that your refinement and sense of
propriety would be revolted at the consequences of
what I always saw to be mere thoughtlessness '
(' Dearly beloved of an old maid is, I told you so !')
' but I am delighted to hear that my dear child
showed so much true delicacy and dignity in her
trying predicament '
('Delighted to find her dear child not absolutely
lost to decorum ! Thanks again.')
' and I console myself for the pain it has given
by the trust that experience has proved a better
teacher than precept.'
('Where did she find that grand sentence ?')
* So that good may result from past evil and
present suffering, and that you may have learnt to
distrust those who would lead you to disregard the
dictates of your own better sense.'
VOL. I. A A
354 HOPES AND FEARS.
(' Meaning her own self ! ')
' I have said all this by letter that we may cast
aside all that is painful when we meet, and only to feel
that I am welcoming my child, doubly dear, because
she comes owning her error.'
(' I dare say ! We like to be magnanimous, don't
we ? O, Mr. Prendergast, I could beat you ! ')
4 Our first kiss shall seal your pardon, dearest, and
not a word shall pass to remind you of this distressing
page in your history.'
(' Distressing ! Excellent fun it was. I shall make
her hear my diary, if I persuade myself to encounter
this intolerable kiss of peace. It will be a mercy if I
don't serve her as the thief in the fable did his mother
when he was going to be hanged.')
' I will meet you at the station by any train on
Saturday that you like to appoint, and early next week
we will go down to what I am sure you have felt is
your only true home.'
(' Have I ? Oh ! she has heard of their journey, and
thinks this my only alternative. As if I could not go
with them if I chose — I wish they would ask me,
though. They shall ! I'll not be driven up to the
Holt as my last resource, and live there under a
system of mild browbeating, because I can't help it.
No, no ! Robin shall find it takes a vast deal of per-
suasion to bend me to swallow so much pardon in
milk and water. I wonder if there's time to change
this spooney simplicity, and come out in something
spicy, with a dash of the Bloomer. But, maybe, there's
some news of him in the other sheet, now she has
delivered her conscience of her rigmarole. Oh ! here
it is — ')
' Phoebe will go home with us, as she is, according
to the family system, not summoned to her sister's
wedding. Robert leaves London on Saturday morning,
to fetch his books, &c, from Oxford, Mr. Parsons
having consented to give him a title for Holy Orders,
and to let him assist in the parish until the next
HOPES AXD FEARS. 355
Ember week. I think, dear girl, that it should not be
concealed from you that this step was taken as soon
as he heard that you had actually sailed for Ireland,
and that he does not intend to return until we are in
the country.'
(' Does he not 1 Another act of coercion ! I sup-
pose you put him up to this, madam, as a pleasing
course of discipline. Foil think you have the whip
hand of me, do you ? Pooh ! See if he'll stay at
Oxford!')
' I feel for the grief I'm inflicting '
(' Oh, so you complacently think " now I have made
her sorry !"')
1 but I believe uncertainty, waiting, and heart
sickness would cost you far more. Trust me, as one
who has felt it, that it is far better 'to feel oneself un-
worthy than to learn to doubt or distrust the worthi-
ness or constancy of another.'
(' My father, to wit ! A pretty thing to say to his
•daughter ! What right has she to be pining and com-
plaining after him ? He, the unworthy one % I'll
never forgive that conceited inference ! Just because
he could not stand sentiment ! Master Robert gone !
Wont I soon have him repenting of his outbreak?'
* I have no doubt that his feelings are unchanged,
tmd that he is solely influenced by principle. He
is evidently exceedingly unhappy under all his re-
serve '
(' He shall be more so, till he behaves himself, and
comes back humble ! I've no notion of his flying out
in this way.')
' and though I have not exchanged a word with
him on the subject, I am certain that his good opinion
will be retrieved, with infinite joy to himself, as soon as
you make it possible for his judgment to be satisfied
with your conduct and sentiments. Grieved as I am,
it is with a hopeful sorrow, for I am sure that nothing
is wanting on your part but that consistency and
sobriety of behaviour of which you have newly learnt
a a 2
356 HOPES AND FEARS.
the necessity on other grounds. The Parsonses have
gone to their own house, so you will not find any one
here but two who will feel for you in silence, and we
shall soon be in the quiet of the Holt, where you shall
have all that can give you peace or comfort from your
ever-loving old H. C
1 Feel for me ! Never. Don't you wish you may
get it 1 Teach the catechism and feed caterpillars till
such time as it pleases Mrs. Honor to write up and
say " the specimen is tame ! " How nice ! No, no.
I'll not be frightened into their lording it over me ! I
know a better way ! Let Mr. Robert find out how
little I care, and get himself heartily sick of St. Wul-
stan's, till it is " turn again Whittington indeed 1 "
Poor fellow, I hate it, but he must be cured of his
airs, and have a good fright. Why don't they ask me
to go to Paris with them 1 Where can I go, if they
don't. To Mary Cranford's % Stupid place, but I will
show that I'm not so hard up as to have no place but
the Holt to go to ! If it were only possible to stay
with Mr. Prendergast, it would be best of all ! Can't
I tell him to catch a chaperon for me 1 Then he would
think Honor a regular dragon, which would be a shame,
for it was nobody's fault but his ! I shall tell him
I'm like the Christian religion, for which people are
always making apologies that it doesn't want ! Two
years ! Patience ! It will be very good for Bobin,
and four-and-twenty is quite soon enough to bite
off one's wings, and found an ant-hill. As to being
bullied into being kissed, pitied, pardoned, and trained
by Honor, I'll never sink so low ! No, at no price.'
Poor Mr. Prendergast ! Did ever a more innocent
mischief-maker exist 1
Poor Honora ! Little did she guess that the letter
written in such love, such sympathy, such longing
hope, would only excite fierce rebellion.
Yet it was at the words of Moses that the king's
heart was hardened ; and what was the end 1 He
HOPES AND FEARS. 357
was taken at his word. ' Thou shalt see my face no
more.'
To be asked to join the party on their tour had
become Lucilla's prime desire, if only that she might
not feel neglected, or driven back to Hiltonbury by abso-
lute necessity ; and when the husband and wife came
down, the wish was uppermost in her mind.
Elo'isa remarked on her quiet style of dress, and
observed that it would be quite the thing in Paris,
where people were so much less outre than here.
1 1 have nothing to do with Paris.'
1 Oh ! surely you go with us ! ' said EloTsa • ' I like
to take you out, because you are in so different a style
of beauty, and you talk and save one trouble ! Will
not she go, Charles S '
'You see, Lolly wants you for effect!' he said,
sneeringly. ' But you are always welcome, Cilly • we
are wofully slow when you aint there to keep us
going, and I should like to show you a thing or two.
I only did not ask you, because I thought you had not
hit it off with Pashe, or have you made it up ?'
' Oh ! Pashe and I understand each other,' said
Cilly, secure that though she would never treat Pashe
with her former confidence, yet as long as they travelled
en grand seigneur, there was no fear of collisions of
temper.
' Pashe is a good creature,' said Lolly, ' but she is so
fast and so eccentric that I like to have you, Cilly ; you
look so much younger, and more ladylike.'
* One thing more,' said Charles, in his character of
head of the family ; ' shouldn't you look up Miss Charle-
cote, Cilly ? There's Owen straining the leash pretty
hard, and you must look about you, that she does not
take up with these new pets of hers and cheat you.'
' The Fulmorts ? Stuff ! They have more already
than they know what to do with.'
• The very reason she will leave them the more. I
declare, Cilly,' he added, half in jest, half in earnest,
1 the only security for you and Owen is in a double
35 S HOPES AND FEAES.
marriage. Perhaps she projects it. You fire up as
if she had !'
' If she had, do you think I should go back V said
Cilly, trying to answer lightly, though her cheeks were
in a flame. ' No, no, I am not going to let slip a chance
of Paris.'
She stopped short, dismayed at having committed
herself, and Horatia coming down, was told by accla-
mation that Cilly was going.
'Of course she is,' said forgiving and forgetting
Pashe. ' Little Cilly left behind, to serve for food to
the Pouge Dragon 1 No, no ! I should have no fun
in life without her.'
Pashe forgot the past far more easily than Cilia
could ever do. There was a certain guilty delight in
writing —
1 My dear Honor, — Many thanks for your letter,
and intended kindnesses. The scene must, however,
be deferred, as my cousins mean to winter at Paris,
and I can't resist the chance of hooking a Marshal, or
a Prince or two. Pashe's strain was a great sell, but
we had capital fun, and shall hope for more success
another season. I would send you my diary if it
were written out fair. We go so soon that I can't
run up to London, so I hope no one will be disturbed
on my account.
1 Your affectionate Cilly.'
No need to say how often Lucilla would have liked
to have recalled that note for addition or diminution,
how many misgivings she suffered on her peculiar
mode of catching Pobins, how frequent were her
disgusts with her cousin, and how often she felt like a
captive — the captive of her own self-will.
' That's right !' said Horatia to Lolly. 'I was
mortally afraid she would stay at home to fall a prey
to the incipient parson, but now he is choked off, and
Calthorp is really in earnest, we shall have the dear
little morsel doing well yet,'
CHAPTER X.
ye, who never knew the joys
Of friendship, satisfied with noise,
Fandango, ball, and rout,
Blush, when I tell you how a bird
A prison, with a friend preferred,
To liberty without.
COWPEP.
AD Lucilla Sandbrook realized the
effect of her note, she would never
have dashed it off; but, like all heed-
less people, pain out of her immediate
ken was nothing to her.
After the loving hopes raised by the
Curate's report, and after her own tender and for-
giving letter, Honor was pierced to the quick by the
scornful levity of those few lines. Of the ingratitude
to herself, she thought but little in comparison with
the heartless contempt towards Robert, and the
miserable light-mindedness that it manifested.
1 My poor, poor child ! ' was all she said, as she saw
Phcebe looking with terror at her countenance ; ' yes,
there is an end of it. Let Robert never vex himself
about her again.'
Phoebe took up the note, read it over and over
again, and then said low and gravely, 'It is very,
cruel.'
1 Poor child, she was born to the Charteris nature,
and cannot help it ! Like seeks like, and with Paris
before her, she can see and feel nothing else.'
Phoebe vaguely suspected that there might be a
360 HOPES AND FEARS.
shadow of injustice in this conclusion. She knew
that Miss Charlecote imagined Lucilla to be more
frivolous than was the case, and surmised that there
was more offended pride than mere levity in the
letter. Insight into character is a natural, not an
acquired endowment; and many of poor Honors
troubles had been caused by her deficiency in that
which was intuitive to Phoebe, though far from con-
sciously. That perception made her stand thoughtful,
wondering whether what the letter betrayed were
folly or temper, and whether, like Miss Charlecote,
she ought altogether to quench her indignation in
contemptuous pity.
'There, my dear,' said Honor, recovering herself,
after having sat with ashy face and clasped hands for
many moments. 'It will not bear to be spoken or
thought of. Let us go to something else. Only,
Phoebe, my child, do not leave her out of your
prayers.'
Phoebe clung about her neck, kissed and fondled
her, and felt her cheeks wet with tears, in the pas-
sionate tenderness of the returning caress.
The resolve was kept of not going back to the
subject, but Honora went about all day with a
soft, tardy step, and subdued voice, like one who has
stood beside a death-bed.
When Phoebe heard those stricken tones striving to
be cheerful, she could not find pardon for the wrong
that had not been done to herself. She dreaded
telling Robert that no one was coming whom he need
avoid, though without dwelling on the tone of the
refusal. To her surprise, he heard her short, matter-
of-fact communication without any token of anger or
of grief, made no remark, and if he changed counte-
nance at all, it was to put on an air of gloomy satisfaction,
as though another weight even in the most undesirable
scale were preferable to any remnant of balancing,
and compunction for possible injustice were removed.
Could Lucilla but have seen that face, she would
HOPES AND FEARS. 361
have doubted of her means of reducing him to
obedience.
The course he had adopted might indeed be the
more excellent way in the end, but at present even
his self-devotion was not in such a spirit as to afford
much consolation to Honor. If good were to arise
out of sorrow, the painful seed-time was not yet over.
His looks were stern even to harshness, and his
unhappiness seemed disposed to vent itself in doing
his work after his own fashion, brooking no inter-
ference.
He had taken a lodging over a baker's shop at
Turnagain Corner. Honor thought it fair for the
locality, and knew something of the people, but to
Phoebe it was horror and dismay. The two small
rooms, the painted cupboard, the cut paper in the
grate, the pictures in yellow gauze, with the flies
walking about on them, the round mirror, the pattern
of the carpet, and the close, narrow street, struck her
as absolutely shocking, and she came to Miss Charle-
cote with tears in her eyes, to entreat her to remon-
strate, and tell Robin it was his duty to live like a
gentleman.
' My dear,' said Honor, rather shocked at a speech
so like the ordinary Fulmort mind, ' I have no fears
of Robert not living like a gentleman.'
' I know — not in the real sense,' said Phoebe, blush-
ing, l but surely he ought not to live in this dismal
poky place, with such mean furniture, when he can
afford better.'
' I am afraid the parish affords few better lodgings,
Phcebe, and it is his duty to live where his work lies.
You appreciated his self-denial, I thought 1 Do you
not like him to make a sacrifice V
' I ought,' said Phcebe, her mind taking little plea-
sure in those acts of self-devotion that were the delight
of her friend. ' If it be his duty, it cannot be helped,
but I cannot be happy at leaving him to be uncomfort-
able — perhaps ill.'
362 HOPES AND FEARS.
Coming down from the romance of martyrdom
which had made her expect Phoebe to be as willing to
see her brother bear hardships in the London streets,
as she had herself been to dismiss Owen the first to his
wigwam, Honor took the more homely view of arguing
on the health and quietness of Turnagain Corner, the
excellence of the landlady, and the fact that her own
cockney eyes had far less unreasonable expectations
than those trained to the luxuries of Beauchamp. But
by far the most efficient solace was an expedition for
the purchase of various amenities of life, on which
Phcebe expended the last of her fathers gift. The
next morning was spent in great secrecy at the lodg-
ings, where Phcebe was so notable and joyous in her
labours, that Honor drew the conclusion that house-
wifery was her true element; and science, art, and litera-
ture only acquired, because they had been made her
duties, reckoning all the more on the charming order
that would rule in Owen San db rook's parsonage.
All troubles and disappointments had faded from the
young girl's mind, as she gazed round exulting on the
sacred prints on the walls, the delicate statuettes, and
well-filled spill-holder and match-box on the mantel-
shelf, the solid inkstand and appurtenances upon the
handsome table-cover, the comfortable easy chair, and
the book-cases, whose contents had been reduced to
order due, and knew that the bedroom bore equal
testimony to her skill ; while the good landlady gazed
in admiration, acknowledging that she hardly knew her
own rooms, and promising with all her heart to take
care of her lodger.
Alas ! when, on the way to the station, Honor and
Phoebe made an unexpected raid to bring some last
improvements, Robert was detected in the act of un-
doing their work, and denuding his room of even its
original luxuries. Phoebe spoke not, but her face
showed her discomfiture, and Honora attacked him
openly.
HOPES AND FEARS. 363
• I never meant you to know it,' lie said, looking
rather foolish.
' Then to ingratitude you added treachery.'
' It is not that I do not feel your kindness '
' But you are determined not to feel it !'
' No, no ! only, this is no position for mere luxuries.
My fellow curates '
' Will use such conveniences of life as come to them
naturally,' said Honor, who had lived long enough to
be afraid of the freaks of asceticism. ' Hear me,
Robert. You are not wise in thrusting aside all that
brings home to you your little sister's love. You
think it cannot be forgotten, but it is not well to cast
away these daily memorials. I know you have much
to make you severe — nay, morose — but if you become
so, you will never do your work efficiently. You may
repel, but never invite ; frighten, but not soothe.'
1 You want me to think my efficiency dependent on
arm-chairs and table-covers.'
' I know you will be harder to all for living in need-
less discomfort, and that you will be gentler to all for
constantly meeting tokens of your sister's affection.
Had you sought these comforts for yourself, the case
would be different ; but, Robert, candidly, which of
you is the self-pleasing, which the mortified one, at this
moment V
Robert could not but look convicted as his eyes fell
on the innocent face, with the tears just kept back by
strong effort, and the struggling smile of pardon.
' Never mind, Robin,' said Phoebe, as she saw his
air of vexation ; ' I know you never meant unkind-
ness. Do as you think right, only pray think of what
Miss Charlecote says.'
1 She has one thing more to say,' added Honor.
' Do you think that throwing aside Phoebe's little ser-
vices will make you fitter to go among the little
children?'
There was no answer, but a reluctant approach to a
364 HOPES AND FEARS.
smile gave Phoebe courage to effect her restorations,
and her whispered ' You will not disturb them I" met
with an affirmative satisfactory to herself.
Perhaps he felt as of old, when the lady of the Holt
had struck him for his cruelty to the mouse, or ex-
pelled him for his bad language. The same temper
remained, although self-revenge had become the only
outlet. He knew what it was that he had taken for
devoted self-denial.
' Yes, Pobin,' were Miss Charlecote's parting words,
as she went back to days of her own long past.
1 Wilful doing right seldom tends to good, above all
when it begins by exaggeration of duty.'
And Robert was left with thoughts such as per-
chance might render him a more tractable subordinate
for Mr. Parsons, instead of getting into training for the
Order of St. Dominic.
Phcebe had to return less joyfully than she had gone
forth. Her first bright star of anticipation had faded,
and she had partaken deeply of the griefs of the two
whom she loved so well. Not only had she to leave
the one to his gloomy lodgings in the City, and the
toil that was to deaden suffering, but the other must
be parted with at the station, to return to the lonely
house, where not even old Ponto would meet her —
his last hour having, to every one's grief, come in her
absence.
Phcebe could not bear the thought of that solitary
return, and even at the peril of great disappointment
to her sisters, begged to sleep that first night at the
Holt, but Honor thanked her, and laughed it off. ' No,
no ! my dear, I am used to be alone, and depend upon
it, there will be such an arrear of farm business for
me, that I should hardly have time to speak to you.
You need not be uneasy for me, dear one, there is
always relief in having a great deal to do, and I shall
know you are near, to come if I want you. There's a
great deal in that knowledge, Phcebe.'
' If I were of any use '
HOPES AXD FEARS. 3G5
' Yes, Phcebe, this visit has made you my friend
instead of my playfellow.'
Phcebe's deepening colour showed her intense grati-
fication.
' And there are the Sundays,' added Honor. ' I
trust Miss Fennimore will let you come to luncheon,
and to the second service with me.'
' I will try very hard !'
For Phoebe could not help feeling like the canary,
who sees his owner's hand held out to catch him after
his flight, or the pony who marks his groom at the
gate of the paddock. Cage and rein were not
grievous, but liberty was over, and free will began to
sink into submission, as the chimneys of home came
nearer, even though the anticipation of her sister's
happiness grew more and more on her, and compen-
sated for all.
Shrieks of ecstasy greeted her; she was held as
fast as though her sisters feared to lose her again, and
Miss Fennimore showed absolute warmth of welcome.
Foreign tongues were dispensed with, and it was a
festival evening of chatter, and display of purchases,
presents and commissions. The evidences of Phcebe's
industry were approved. Her abstracts of her read-
ing, her notes of museums and exhibitions, her draw-
ing, needlework, and new pieces of music, exceeded
Miss Fennimore's hopes, and appalled her sisters.
1 You did all that,' cried Bertha, profiting by Miss
Fennimore's absence ; ' I hope to goodness she wont
make it a precedent.'
1 Wasn't it very tiresome V asked Maria.
1 Sometimes ; but it made me comfortable, as if I had
a backbone for my day.'
1 But didn't you want to feel like a lady 1 '
' I don't think I felt otherwise, Maria.'
1 Like a grown-up lady, like mamma and my sisters V
( examples!' cried Bertha. 'No wonder Maria
thinks doing nothing the great thing to grow up for.
But, Phoebe, how could you be so stupid as to go and
3G6 HOPES AND FEARS.
do all this heap ? You might as well have stayed at
home.'
* Miss Fennimore desired me !'
' The very reason why I'd have read stories, and
made pictures out of them, just to feel myself beyond
her talons.'
1 Talents, not talons,' said Maria. ' Cats have talons,
people have talents.'
' Sometimes both, sometimes neither,' observed
Bertha. ' No explanation, Phoebe, what's the use ? I
want to know if Owen Sandbrook didn't call you little
Miss Precision V
' Something like it.'
1 And you went on when he was there V
1 Generally.'
1 Oh ! what opportunities are wasted on some
people. Wouldn't I have had fun 1 But of course he
saw you were a poor little not-come-out thing, and
never spoke to you. Oh ! if Miss Charlecote would
ask me to London !'
'And me !' chimed in Maria.
' Well, what would you do V
' Not act like a goose, and bring home dry abstracts.
I'd make Miss Charlecote take me everywhere, and
quite forget all my science, unless I wanted to amaze
some wonderful genius. Oh dear ! wont I make
Augusta look foolish some of these days 1 She really
thinks that steel attracts lightning ! Do you think
Miss Charlecote's society will appreciate me, Phoebe V
1 And me V again asked Maria.
Phoebe laughed heartily, but did not like Bertha's
scoffing mirth at Maria's question. Glad as she was
to be at home, her glimpse of the outer world had so
enlarged her perceptions, that she could not help re-
marking the un childlike acuteness of the younger girl,
and the obtuse comprehension of the elder ; and she
feared that she had become discontented and fault-
finding after her visit. Moreover, when Bertha spoke
much English, a certain hesitation occurred in her
HOPES ASD fears. 367
speech which was apt to pass unnoticed in her foreign
tongues, but which jarred unpleasantly on her sister's
ear, and only increased when noticed.
At nine, when Phoebe rose as usual to wish good
night, Miss Fennimore told her that she need not for
the future retire before ten, the hour to which she had
of late become accustomed. It was a great boon,
especially as she was assured that the additional hour
should be at her own disposal.
' You have shown that you can be trusted with
your time, my dear. But not to-night,' as Phcebe was
turning to her desk ; ' remember how long I have suf-
fered a famine of conversation. What ! were you not
sensible of your own value in that respect V
1 1 thought you instructed me ; I did not know you
conversed with me.'
' There's a difference between one susceptible of in-
struction, and anything so flippant and volatile as Bertha,'
said Miss Fennimore, smiling. ' And poor Maria ! '
I She is so good and kind ! If she could only see a
few things, and people, and learn to talk !'
' Silence and unobtrusiveness are the only useful
lessons for her, poor girl !' then observing Phoebe's
bewildered looks, ' My dear, I was forced to speak to
Bertha because she was growing jealous of Maria's
exemptions; but you, who have been constantly shield-
ing and supplying her deficiencies, you do not tell me
that you were not aware of them V
I I always knew she was not clever,' said Phcebe, her
looks of alarmed surprise puzzling Miss Fennimore,
who in all her philosophy had never dreamt of the
unconscious instinct of affection.
' I could not have thought it,' she said.
1 Thought what 1 Pray tell me ! O what is the
matter with poor Maria V
'Then, my dear, you really had never perceived that
poor Maria is not — has not the usual amount of ca-
pacity — that she cannot be treated as otherwise than
pendent.'
368 HOPES AND FEARS.
1 Does manima know it V faintly asked Phoebe, tears
slowly filling her eyes.
Miss Fennimore paused, inwardly rating Mrs. Ful-
mort's powers little above those of her daughter.
' I am not sure,' she said ; ' your sister Juliana cer-
tainly does, and in spite of the present pain, I believe
it best that your eyes should be opened.'
'That I may take care of her.'
' Yes, you can do much in developing her faculties,
as well as in sheltering her from being thrust into
positions to which she would be unequal. You do so
already. Though her weakness was apparent to me
the first week I was in the house, yet, owing to your
kind guardianship, I never perceived its extent till
you were absent. I could not have imagined so much
tact and vigilance could have been unconscious. Nay,
dear child, it is no cause for tears. Her life may per-
haps be happier than that of many of more complete
intellect.'
' I ought not to cry,' owned Phcebe, the tears quietly
flowing all the time. ' Such people cannot do wrong
in the same way as we can.'
' Ah ! Phcebe, till we come to the infinite, how shall
the finite pronounce what is wrong.'
Phoebe did not understand, but felt that she was not
in Miss Charlecote's atmosphere, and from the heavenly,
1 from him to whom little is given, little will be re-
quired,' came to the earthly, and said, imploring, * And
you will never be hard on her again ! '
' I trust I have not been hard on her. I shall task
her less, and only endeavour to give her habits of
quiet occupation, and make her manners retiring. It
was this relaxation of discipline, together with Bertha's
sad habit of teasing, which was intolerable in your
absence, that induced me to explain to her the state of
the case.'
* How shocked she must have been.'
1 Not quite as you were. Her first remark was that
it was as if she were next in age to you.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 3G9
' She is not old enough to understand.'
The governess shook her head. 'Nay, when I
found her teasing again, she told me it was a psycho-
logical experiment. Little monkey, she laid hold of
some books of mine, and will never rest till she has
come to some conclusion as to what is wanting in
Maria.'
1 Too young to feel what it means/ repeated Phoebe.
She was no great acquisition as a companion, for
she neither spoke nor stirred, so that the governess
would have thought her drowsy, but for the upright-
ness of the straight back, and the steady fold of the
fingers on the knee. Much as Miss Fennimore detested
the sight of inaction, she respected the reverie conse-
quent on the blow she had given. It was a refreshing
contrast with Bertha's levity ; and she meditated why
her system had made the one sister only accurate and
methodical, while the other seemed to be losing heart
in mind, and becoming hard and shrewd.
There was a fresh element in Pheebe's life. The
native respect for ' the innocent' had sprung up within
her, and her spirit seemed to expand into protecting
wings with which to hover over her sister as a charge
peculiarly her own. Here was the new impulse needed
to help her when subsiding into the monotony and
task-work of the schoolroom, and to occupy her in the
stead of the more exciting hopes and fears that she had
partaken in London.
Miss Fennimore wisely relaxed her rule over
Phcebe, since she had shown that liberty was regarded
as no motive for idleness ; so though the maiden still
scrupulously accomplished a considerable amount of
study, she was allowed to portion it out as suited her
inclination, and was no longer forbidden to interrupt
herself for the sake of her sisters. It was infinite,
comfort to be no longer obliged to deafen her ears to
the piteous whine of fretful incapacity, and to witness
the sullen heaviness of faculties overtasked, and temper
goaded into torpor. The fact once faced, the result
VOL. I. B B
370 HOPES AND FEARS.
was relief; Maria was spared and considered, and
Phoebe found the governess much kinder, not only to
her sister but to herself. Absence had taught the
value of the elder pupil, and friendly terms of equality
were beginning to be established.
Phcebe's freedom did not include solitary walks, and
on week days she seldom saw Miss Charlecote, and
then only to hear natural history, the only moderately
safe ground between the two elder ladies. What was
natural science with the one, was natural history with
the other. One went deep in systems and classifica-
tions, and thrust Linnssus into the dark ages ; the
other had observed, collected, and drawn specimens
with the enthusiasm of a Londoner for the country,
till she had a valuable little museum of her own
gathering, and was a handbook for the county curio-
sities. Star, bird, flower, and insect, were more than
resources, they were the friends of her lonely life, and
awoke many a keen feeling of interest, many an aspi-
ration of admiring adoration that carried her through
her dreary hours. And though Miss Fennhnore
thought her science puerile, her credulity extensive, and
her observations inaccurate, yet she deemed even this
lady-like dabbling worthy of respect as an element of
rational pleasure and self-training, and tried to make
Bertha respect it, and abstain from inundating Miss
Charlecote with sesquipedalian names for systems and
families, and, above all, from her principal delight,
setting the two ladies together by the ears, by ap-
pealing to her governess to support her abuse of Lin-
naeus as an old ' dictionary maker,' or for some bold
geological theory that poor Honor was utterly un-
prepared to swallow.
Bertha was somewhat like the wren, who, rising on
the eagle's head, thought itself the monarch of the
birds, but Honor was by no means convinced that she
was not merely blindfolded on the back of Clavileno
Aligero. There was neither love nor admiration
wasted between Honor and Miss Fennimore, and
HOPES AND FEARS. 371
Phoebe preferred their being apart. She enjoyed her
Sunday afternoons, short enough, for school must not
be neglected, but Honor shyly acceded to Phoebe's
entreaty to be allowed to sit by her class and learn by
her teaching.
It was an effort. Honor shrank from exposing her
own misty .metaphors, hesitating repetitions, and tri-
vial queries to so clear a head, trained in distinct
reasoning, but it was the very teaching that the
scientific young lady most desired, and she treasured up
every hint, afterwards pursuing the subject with a re-
solution to complete the chain of evidence, and asking
questions sometimes rather perplexing to Honor, ac-
customed as she was to take everything for granted.
Out came authorities, and Honor found herself ex-
amining into the grounds of her own half-knowledge,
gaining fresh ideas, correcting old ones, and obtaining
subjects of interest for many an hour after her young
friend had left her.
While, at home, Phcebe, after running the gauntlet of
Bertha's diversion at her putting herself to school, when
Scripture lessons were long ago done with, would de-
light Maria with long murmuring discourses, often
stories about the scholars, but always conveying some
point of religious instruction. It was a subject to
which Maria was less impervious than to any other ;
fihe readily learnt to croon over the simple hymns that
Phcebe brought home, and when once a Scripture story
had found entrance to her mind, would beg to have it
marked in her Bible, and recur to it frequently.
Miss Fennimore left her entirely to Phcebe at these
times, keeping Bertha from molesting her by sarcastic
queries, or by remarks on the sing-song hymns, such as
made Phcebe sometimes suspect that Maria's love for
these topics rendered them the more distasteful to the
younger girl. She tried to keep them as much
sheltered as possible, but was still sometimes discon-
certed by Bertha's mischievous laugh, or by finding
Miss Fennim ore's eyes fixed in attention.
b b 2
373 HOPES AND FEARS.
Phoebe's last hour on these evenings was spent in
laying up her new lore in her diligently kept note-
book, weighing it and endeavouring to range it in
logical sequence, which she had been duly trained to
consider the test of reasoning. If she sometimes
became bewildered, and detected insufficient premises
for true conclusions, if she could not think allegory or
analogy the evidence it was made at the Sunday-school,
and which Miss Charlecote esteemed as absolute proof,
her sound heart and loving faith always decided her
that she should discover the link in time ; and the
doctrine had too strong a hold on her convictions and
affections for her to doubt that the chain of argument
existed, though she had not yet found it. It was not
the work for which so young a head was intended, and
perhaps it was well that she was interrupted by the
arrival at home of the heads of the family.
Augusta and her husband were to spend the winter
abroad ; Juliana had met some friends, whom she had
accompanied to their home, and though she had ex-
acted that Phoebe should not come out, yet the eldest
daughter at home was necessarily brought somewhat}
forward. Phoebe was summoned to the family meals,
and went out driving with her mother, or riding with
her father, but was at other times in the schoolroom,
where indeed she was the most happy.
The life downstairs was new to her, and she had not
been trained to the talk there expected of her. The
one event of her life, her visit to London, gave evident
dissatisfaction. There were growls whenever Robert
was mentioned, and Phoebe found that though per-
mission had been given for his taking the curacy, it
had been without understanding his true intentions
with regard to Whittingtonia. Something had evi-
dently passed between him and his father and brother,
while on their way through London, which had caused
them to regard him as likely to be a thorn in their
side ; and Phoebe could not but fear that he would
meet them in no spirit of conciliation, would rather
HOPES AND FEAKS. 373
prefer a little persecution, and would lean to the side
of pastoral rather than filial duty, whenever they might
clash. Even if he should refrain from speaking his
full mind to his father, he was likely to use no pre-
cautions with his brother, and Phcebe was uneasy
whenever either went up for their weekly visit of in-
spection at the office.
Her mother gently complained. 'Honora Charle-
cote's doing, I suppose. He should have considered
more ! Such a wretched place, no genteel family
near ! Your papa would never let me go near it. But
he must buy an excellent living soon, where no one
will know his connexion with the trade.'
The only sympathy Phcebe met with at home on
Robert's ordination, was in an unexpected quarter.
1 Then your brother has kept his resolution,' said Miss
Fennimore. ' Under his reserve there is the temper
that formed the active ascetics of the middle ages.
His doctrine has a strong mediaeval tinge, and with
sufficient strength of purpose, may lead to like re-
sults.'
When Phcebe proudly told Miss Charlecote of this
remark, they agreed that it was a valuable testimony,
both to the doctrines and the results. Honor had had
a letter from Robert, that made her feel by force of
contrast that Owen was more than three years from a
like conception of clerical duty.
The storm came at last. By order of the Court of
Chancery, there was put up for sale a dreary section of
Whittingtonia, in dire decay, and remote from civili-
zation. The firm of Fulmort and Son had long had
their eyes on it, as an eligible spot for a palace for
the supply of their commodity ; and what was their
rage when their agent was out-bidden, and the tene-
ments knocked down to an unknown customer for a
fancy price ? After much alarm lest a rival distiller
should be invading their territory, their wrath came to
a height when it finally appeared that the new owner
of the six ruinous houses in Cicely Row was no other
37i< HOPES AND FEAES.
than the Reverend Robert Mervyn Fulmort, with the
purpose of building a church and schools for Whit-
tingtonia at his own expense.
Mervyn came home furious. High words had
passed between the brothers, and his report of them so
inflamed Mr. Fulmort, that he inveighed violently
against the malice and treachery that scrupled not to
undermine a father. Never speaking to Robert again,
casting him off, and exposing the vicar for upholding
filial insolence and undutifulness, were the mildest of
his threats. They seemed to imagine that Robert was
making this outlay, supposing that he would yet be
made equal in fortune by his father to the others, and
there was constant repetition that he was to expect
not a farthing — he had had his share, and should have
no more. There was only a scoff at Phoebe's innocence,
when she expressed her certainty that he looked for
no compensation, knowing that he had been provided
for, and was to have nothing from his father ; and
Phcebe trembled under such abuse of her favourite
brother, till she could bear it no longer, and seizing
the moment of Mervyn's absence, she came up to her
father, and said, in as coaxing a tone as she could,
1 Papa, should not every one work to the utmost in his
trade?'
< What of that, little one 1 '
1 Then pray don't be angry with Robert for acting
up to his,' said Phcebe, clasping her hands, and resting
them fondly on his shoulder.
' Act up to a fool's head ! Parsons should mind
their business, and not fly in their fathers' faces.'
'Isn't it their work to make people more good 1 ?'
continued Phoebe, with an unconscious wiliness, looking
more simple than her wont.
' Let him begin with himself, then ! Learn his duty
to his father ! A jackanapes ; trying to damage my
business under my very nose.'
' If those poor people are in such need of having
sood done to them '
HOPES AND FEARS. 375
1 Scum of the earth ! Much use trying to do good
to them ! '
1 Ah ! but if it be his work to try? and if he wanted
a place to build a school '
' You're in league with him, I suppose.'
' No, papa ! It surprised me very much. Even Mr.
Parsons knew nothing of his plans. Robert only wrote
to me when it was done, that now he hoped to save a
few of the children that are turned out in the streets
to steal.'
1 Steal ! They'll steal all his property ! A proper
fool your uncle was to leave it all to a lad like that.
The sure way to spoil him ! I could have trebled all
your fortunes if that capital had been in my hands,
and now to see him throw it to the dogs ! Phoebe, I
can't stand it. Conscience ? I hate such coxcombry !
As if men would not make beasts of themselves whe-
ther his worship were in the business or not.'
'Yes!' ventured Phoebe, 'but at least he has no
part in their doing so.'
•' Much you know about it,' said her father, again
shielding himself with his newspaper, but so much
less angrily than she had dared to expect, that even
while flushed and trembling, she felt grateful to him
as more placable than Mervyn. She knew not the
power of her own sweet face and gently honest
manner, nor of the novelty of an attentive daughter.
When the neighbours remarked on Mrs. Fulmort's
improved looks and spirits, and wondered whether
they were the effect of the Rhine or of ' getting off'
her eldest daughter, they knew not how many fewer
dull hours she had to spend. Phoebe visited her in
her bedroom, talked at luncheon, amused her drives,
coaxed her into the garden, read to her when she
rested before dinner, and sang to her afterwards.
Phoebe likewise brought her sister's attainments
more into notice, though at the expense of Bertha's
contempt for mamma's preference for Maria's star-
ing fuchsias and feeble singing, above her own bold
376 HOPES AND FEARS.
chalks from models and scientific music, and indigna-
tion at Phoebe's constantly bringing Maria forward
rather than her own clever self.
Droning narrative, long drawn out, had as much
charm for Mrs. Fulmort as for Maria. If she did not
always listen, she liked the voice, and she sometimes
awoke into descriptions of the dresses, parties, and
acquaintance of her youth, before trifling had sunk
into dreary insipidity under the weight of too much
wealth, too little health, and ' nothing to do.'
1 My dear,' she said, ' I am glad you are not out.
Quiet evenings are so good for my nerves; but you
are a fine girl, and will soon want society.'
1 Not at all, mamma ; I like being at home with you.'
* No, my dear ! I shall like to take you out and
see you dressed. You must have advantages, or how
are you to marry 1 '
1 There's no hurry,' said Phoebe, smiling.
* Yes, my dear, girls always get soured if they do
not marry !'
1 Not Miss Charlecote, mamma.'
c Ah ! but Honor Charlecote was an heiress, and
could have had plenty of offers. Don't talk of not
marrying, Phoebe, I beg.'
' No,' said Phoebe, gravely. ' I should like to marry
some one very good and wise, who could help me out
of all my difficulties.'
' Bless me, Phcebe ! I hope you did not meet any
poor curate at that place of Honor Charlecote's.
Your papa would never consent.'
' I never met anybody, mamma,' said Phcebe, smil-
ing. ' I was only thinking what he should be like.'
1 Well, what?' said Mrs. Fulmort, with girlish
curiosity. ' Not that it's any use settling. I always
thought I would marry a marquis's younger son,
because it is such a pretty title, and that he should
play on the guitar. But he must not be an officer,
Phcebe ; we have had trouble enough about that.'
'I don't know what he is to be, mamma,' said
HOPES AND FEAKS. 377
Phoebe, earnestly, ' except that he should be as
sensible as Miss Fennirnore, and as good as Miss
Charlecote. Perhaps a man could put both into one,
and then he could lead me, and always show me the
reason of what is right.'
' Phcebe, Phoebe ! you will never get married if you
wait for a philosopher. Your papa would never like
a very clever genius, or an author.'
1 1 don't want him to be a genius, but he must be
wise.'
' Oh, my dear ! That comes of the way young
ladies are brought up. What would the Miss Berrilees
have said, where I was at school at Bath, if one of
their young ladies had talked of wanting to marry a
wise man 1 '
Phoebe gave a faint smile, and said, ' What was Mr.
Charlecote like, mamma, whose brass was put up the
day Robert was locked into the Church V
1 Humfrey Charlecote, my dear ? The dearest,
most good-hearted man that ever lived. Everybody
liked him. There was no one that did not feel as if
they had lost a brother when he was taken off in
that sudden way.'
1 And was not he very wise, mamma 1 '
1 Bless me, Phoebe, what could have put that into
your head ? Humfrey Charlecote a w T ise man % He
was just a common, old-fashioned, hearty country
squire. It was only that he was so friendly and kind-
hearted that made every one trust him, and ask his
advice.'
' I should like to have known him,' said Phoebe,
with a sigh.
' Ah, if you married any one like that ! But
there's no use waiting ! There's nobody left like him,
and I wont have you an old maid ! You are prettier
than either of your sisters — more like me when I
came away from Miss Berrilees, and had a gold-
sprigged muslin for the Assize Ball, and Humfrey
Charlecote danced with me.'
37S HOPES AND FEARS.
Phoebe fell into speculations on the wisdom whose
counsel all asked, and which had left such an impres-
sion of affectionate honour. She would gladly lean
on such an one, but if no one of the like mould
remained, she thought she could never bear the
responsibilities of marriage.
Meantime she erected Hunifrey Charlecote's image
into a species of judge, laying before this vision of a
wise man all her perplexities between Miss Charle-
cote's religion and Miss Fennimore's reason, and all
her practical doubts between Robert's conflicting
duties. Strangely enough, the question, ' What would
Mr. Charlecote have thought 1 ?' often aided her to
cast the balance. Though it was still Phoebe who
decided, it was Phoebe drawn out of herself, and
strengthened by her mask.
With vivid interest, such as for a living man would
have amounted to love, she seized and hoarded each
particle of intelligence that she could gain respecting
the object of her admiration. Honora herself, though
far more naturally enthusiastic, had, with her dreamy
nature and diffused raptures, never been capable of
thus reverencing him, nor of the intensity of feeling
of one whose restrained imagination and unromantic
education gave force to all her sensations. Yet this
deep individual regard was a more wholesome tribute
than Honor had ever paid to him, or to her other idol,
for to Phoebe it was a step, lifting her to things above
and beyond, a guide on the road, never a vision obscur-
ing the true object.
Six weeks had quietly passed, when, like a domestic
thunderbolt, came Juliana's notification of her inten-
tion to return home at the end of a week. Mrs.
Fulmort, clinging to her single thread of comfort,
hoped that Phoebe might still be allowed to come to
her boudoir, but the gentlemen more boldly declared
that they wanted Phoebe, and would not have her
driven back into the school-room ; to which the mother
only replied with fears that Juliana would be in a
HOPES AND FEARS. 379
dreadful temper, whereon Mervyn responded, 'Let
her ! Never mind her, Phoebe. Stick up for your-
self, and we'll put her down.'
Except for knowing that she was useful to her
mother, Phoebe would have thankfully retired into the
west wing rather than have given umbrage. Mervyn's
partisanship was particularly alarming, and, endeavour
as she might to hope that Juliana would be amiable
enough to be disarmed by her own humility and un-
obtrusiveness, she lived under the impression of dis-
agreeables impending.
One morning at breakfast, Mr. Fulmort, after
grumbling out his wonder at Juliana's writing to
him, suddenly changed his tone into, ' Hollo ! what's
this ? " My engagement" '
' By J ove !' shouted Mervyn ; ' too good to be true.
So she's done it. I didn't think he'd been such an
ass, having had one escape.'
'Who?' continued Mr. Fulmort, puzzling, as he
held the letter far off — 'engagement to dear — dear
Devil, does she say V
' The only fit match,' muttered Mervyn, laughing.
' No, no, sir ! Bevil — Sir Bevil Acton.'
* What ! not the fellow that gave us so much
trouble ! He had not a sixpence ; but she must please
herself now.'
1 You don't mean that you didn't know what she
went with the Meri vales for 1 — five thousand a year
and a baronetcy, eh V
1 The deuce ! If I had known that, he might have
had her long ago.'
* It's quite recent,' said Mervyn. ' A mere chance ;
and he has been knocking about in the colonies these
ten years — might have cut his wisdom teeth.'
1 Ten years — not half-a-dozen !' said Mr. Fulmort.
'Ten!' reiterated Mervyn. 'It was just before I
went to old Raymond's. Acton took me to dine at
the mess. He was a nice fellow then, and deserved
better luck.'
3 SO HOPES AND FEARS.
1 Ten years' constancy ! ' said Phosbe, who had been
looking from one to the other in wonder, trying to
collect intelligence. 'Do tell me.'
' Whew !' whistled Mervyn. ' Juliana hadn't her
sharp nose nor her sharp tongue when first she came
out. Acton was quartered at Elverslope, and got
smitten. She flirted with him all the winter ; but I
fancy she didn't give you much trouble when he came
to the point, eh, sir V
' 1 thought him an impudent young dog for think-
ing of a girl of her prospects ; but if he had this to
look to! — I was sorry for him, too ! Ten years ago,'
mused Mr. Fulmort.
1 And she has liked no one since V
1 Or, no one has liked her, which comes to the same,'
said Mervyn. ' The regiment went to the Cape, and
there was an end of it, till we fell in with the Meri-
vales on board the steamer ; and they mentioned their
neighbour, Sir Bevil Acton, come into his property,
and been settled near them a year or two. Fine sport
it was, to see Juliana angling for an invitation, brush-
ing up her friendship with Minnie Merivale — amiable
to the last degree ! My stars ! what work she must
have had to play good temper all these six weeks, and
how we shall have to pay for it !'
' Or Acton will,' said Mr. Fulmort, with a hearty
chuckle of triumphant good humour.
Was it a misfortune to Phoebe to have been so much
refined by education as to be grated on by the vulgar
tone of those nearest to her ? It was well for her
that she could still put it aside as their way, even
while following her own instinct. Mervyn and Juliana
had been on cat and dog terms all their lives ; he was
certain to sneer at all that concerned her, and Phoebe
reserved her belief that an attachment, nipped in the
bud, was ready to blossom in sunshine. She ran up
with the news to her mother.
' Juliana going to be married ! Well, my dear, you
may be introduced at once 1 How comfortable you
and I shall be in the little brougham.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 3 SI
Phcebe begged to be told what the intended was
like.
' Let me see — was he the one that won the steeple-
chase ? No ; that was the one that Augusta liked.
We knew so many young men, that I could never tell
which was which ; and your sisters were always talk-
ing about them till it quite ran through my poor head,
such merry girls as they were !'
' And poor Juliana never was so merry after he was
^one.'
1 1 don't remember,' replied this careful mother ;
1 but you know she never could have meant anything,
for he had nothing, and you with your fortunes are a
match for anybody ! Phcebe, my dear, we must go to
London next spring, and you shall many a nobleman.
I must see you a titled lady as well as your sisters.'
' I've no objection, provided he is my wise man,' said
Phcebe.
Juliana had found the means of making herself wel-
come, and her marriage a cause of unmixed jubilation
in her family. Prosperity made her affable, and in-
stead of suppressing Phcebe, she made her useful, and
treated her as a confidante, telling her of all the pre-
vious intimacy, and all the secret sufferings in dear
Bevil's absence, but passing lightly over the last
happy meeting, which Phoebe respected as too sacred
to be talked of.
The little maiden's hopes of a perfect brother in the
constant knight rose high, and his appearance and de-
meanour did not disappoint them. He had a fine sol-
dierly figure, and that air of a thorough gentleman
which Phoebe's Holt experience had taught her t< » ap-
preciate ; his manners were peculiarly gentle and kind,
especially to Mrs. Fulmort j and Phcebe did not like
him the less for showing traces of the effects of wounds
and climate, and a grave, subdued air, almost amount-
ing to melancholy. But before he had been three days
at Beauchamp, Juliana made a virulent attack on the
privileges of her younger sisters. Perhaps it was the
consequence of poor Maria's volunteer to Sir Bevil —
382 HOPES AND FEARS.
1 1 am glad Juliaua is going with you, for now no one
will be cross to me ;' but it seemed to verify the poor
girl's words, that she should be hunted like a strange
cat if she were found beyond her own precincts, and
that the other two should be treated much in the same
manner. Bertha stood up for her rights, declaring
that what mamma and Miss Fennimore allowed, she
would not give up for Juliana ; but the only result
was an admonition to the governess, and a fierce remon-
strance to the poor meek mother. Phoebe, who only
wished to retire from the stage in peace, had a more
difficult part to play.
' What's the matter now?' demanded Mervyn,
making his way up to her as she sat in a remote corner
of the drawing-room, in the evening. ' Why were you
not at dinner V
' There was no room, I believe.'
' Nonsense ! our table dines eight-and-twenty, and
there were not twenty.'
' That was a large party, and you know I am not
out;
'You don't look like it in that long-sleeved white
affair, and nothing on your head either. Where are
those ivy-leaves you had yesterday — real, weren't they?'
' They were not liked.'
' Not liked ! they were the prettiest things I have
seen for a long time. Acton said they made you look
like a nymph — the green suits that shiny light hair of
yours, and makes you like a picture.'
1 Yes, they made me look forward and affected.'
1 Now who told you that ? Has the Fennimore got
to her old tricks V
1 Oh no, no !'
'I see! a jealous toad! I heard him telling her
that you reminded him of her in old times. The
spiteful vixen ! Well, Phcebe, if you cut her out, I
bargain for board and lodging at Acton Manor. This
will be no place for a quiet, meek soul like me !'
Phoebe tried to laugh, but looked distressed, uncom-
HOPES AND FEARS. 383
pretending, and far from wishing to comprehend.
She could not escape, for Mervyn had penned her up,
and went on. ' You don't pretend that you don't see
how it is ! That unlucky fellow is heartily sick of his
bargain, but you see he was too soft to withstand her
throwing herself right at his head, and doing the
u worm in the bud," and the cruel father, green and
yellow melancholy, <fec, ever since they were inhu-
manly parted.'
I For shame, Mervyn. You don't really believe it is
all out of honour.'
I I should never have believed a man of his years
could be so green ; but some men get crotchets about
honour in the army, especially if they get elderly
there.'
1 It is very noble, if it be right, and he can take
those vows from his heart,' moralized Phoebe. ' But
no, Mervyn, she cannot think so. No woman could
take any one on such terms.'
' Wouldn't she, though V sneered her brother.
* She'd have him, if grim death were hanging on to
his other hand. People aren't particular, when they
are nigh upon their third ten.'
' Don't tell me such things ! I don't believe them ;
but they ought never to be suggested.'
' You ought to thank me for teaching you know-
ledge of the world.'
He was called off, but heavy at her heart lay the
text, ' The knowledge of wickedness is not wisdom.'
Mervyn's confidences were serious troubles to
Phoebe. Gratifying as it was to be singled out by his
favour, it was distressing to be the repository of what
she knew ought never to have been spoken, prompted
by a coarse tone of mind, and couched in language
that, though he meant it to be restrained, sometimes
seemed to her like the hobgoblins' whispers to Chris-
tian. Oh ! how unlike her other brother ! Robert
had troubles, Mervyn grievances, and she saw which
were the worst to bear. It was a pleasing novelty to
384 HOPES AND FEARS.
find a patient listener, and lie used it to the utmost,
while she often doubted whether to hear without re-
monstrance were not undutiful, yet found opposition
rather increased the evil by the storm of ill- temper
that it provoked.
This last communication was dreadful to her, yet
she could not but feel that it might be a wholesome
warning to avoid giving offence to the jealousy, which
when once pointed out to her, she could not prevent
herself from tracing in Juliana's petulance towards
herself, and resolve to force her into the background.
Even Bertha was more often brought forward, for in
spite of a tongue and temper cast somewhat in a
similar mould, she was rather a favourite with
Juliana, whom she was not unlikely to resemble, ex-
cept that her much more elaborate and accurate train-
ing might give her both more power and more self-
control.
As Mervyn insinuated, Juliana was prudent in not
lengthening out the engagement, and the marriage was
fixed for Christmas week, but it was not to take place
at Hiltonbury. Sir Bevil was bashful, and dreaded
county festivities, and Juliana wished to escape from
Maria as a bridesmaid, so they preferred the privacy of
an hotel and a London church. Phcebe could not de-
cently be excluded, and her heart leapt with the hope
of seeing Ttobert, though so unwelcome was his name
in the family that she could not make out on what
terms he stood, whether proscribed, or only disap-
proved, and while sure that he would strive to be with
her, she foresaw that the pleasure would be at the
cost of much pain. Owen Sandbrook was spending
his vacation at the Holt, and Miss Charlecote looked so
bright as she walked to church leaning on his arm,
that Phoebe had no regrets in leaving her. Indeed,
the damsel greatly preferred the Holt in his absence.
She did not understand his discursive comments on all
things in art or nature, and he was in a mood of
flighty fitful spirits, which perplexed her alike by
HOPES AND FEARS 385
their wild, satirical mirth, and their mournful senti-
ment. She thought Miss Charlecote was worried and
perplexed at times by his tone ; but there was no
doubt of his affection and attention for his 'Sweet
Honey,' and Phcebe rejoiced that her own absence
should be at so opportune a moment.
Sir Bevil went to make his preparations at home,
whence he was to come and join the Fulmorts the day
after their arrival in town. Mrs. Fulmort was dragged
out in the morning, and deposited at Farrance's in time
for luncheon, a few minutes before a compact little
brougham set down Lady Bannerman, jollier than
ever in velvet and sable, and more scientific in cutlets
and pale ale. Her good nature was full blown. She
was ready to chaperon her sisters anywhere, invited
the party to the Christmas dinner, and undertook the
grand soiree after the wedding. She proposed to take
Juliana at once out shopping, only lamenting that there
was no room for Phoebe, and was so universally bene-
volent, that in the absence of the bride elect, Phcebe
ventured to ask whether she saw anything of Robert.
' Robert ? Yes, he called when we first came to
town, and we asked him to dinner ; but he said it was
a fast day ; and you know Sir Nicholas would never
encourage that sort of thing.'
1 How was he V
1 He looked odder than ever, and so ill and cada-
verous. No wonder ! poking himself up in such a
horrid place, where one can't notice him.'
I Did he seem in tolerable spirits V
I I don't know. He always was silent and glum ;
and now he seems wrapt up in nothing but ragged
schools and those disgusting City missions. I'm sure
we can't subscribe, so expensive as it is living in town.
Imagine, mamma, what we are giving our cook !'
Juliana returned, and the two sisters went out, leav-
ing Phcebe to extract entertainment for her mother
from the scenes passing in the street.
Presently a gentleman's handsome cabriolet and dis-
VOL. I. C G
386 HOPES AND FEARS.
tinguished-looking horse were affording food for their
descriptions, when, to her surprise, Sir Bevil emerged
from it, and presently entered the room. He had come
intending to take out his betrothed, and in her absence
transferred the offer to her sister. Phoebe demurred,
on more accounts than she could mention, but her
mother remembering what a drive in a stylish equipage
with a military baronet would once have been to her-
self, overruled her objections, and hurried her away to
prepare. She quickly returned, a cheery spectacle in
her russet dress and brown straw bonnet, and her scarlet
neck-tie, the robin red- breast's livery which she loved.
' Your cheeks should be a refreshing sight to the Lon-
doners, Phoebe,' said Sir Bevil, with his rare, but most
pleasant smile. ' Where shall we go 1 You don't seem
much to care for the Park. I'm at your service where-
ever you like to go.' And as Phoebe hesitated, with
cheeks trebly beneficial to the Londoners, he kindly
added, ' Well, what is it 1 Never mind what ! I'm open
to anything — even Madame Tussaud's.'
1 If I might go to see Robert. Augusta said he was
looking ill.'
' My dear !' interposed her mother, ' you can't think
of it. Such a dreadful place, and such a distance.'
' It is only a little way beyond St. Paul's, and there
are no bad streets, dear mamma. I have been there
with Miss Charlecote. But if it be too far, or you don't
like driving into the City, never mind,' she continued,
turning to Sir Bevil ; ' I ought to have said nothing
about it.'
But Sir Bevil, reading the ardour of the wish in the
honest face, pronounced the expedition an excellent
idea, and carried her off with her eyes as round and
sparkling as those of the children going to Christmas
parties. He stole glances at her as if her fresh inno-
cent looks were an absolute treat to him, and when he
talked, it was of Robert in his boyhood. ' I remember
him at twelve years old, a sturdy young ruffian, with an
excellent notion of standing up for himself.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 387
Phcebe listened with delight to some characteristic
anecdotes of Robert's youth, and wondered whether he
would be appreciated now. She did not think Sir
Bevil held the same opinions as Robert or Miss Char-
lecote ; he was an upright, high-minded soldier, with
honour and subordination his chief religion, and not
likely to enter into Robert's peculiarities. She was in
some difficulty when she was asked whether her brother
were not under some cloud, or had not been taking a
line of his own — a gentler form of inquiry, which she
could answer with the simple truth.
' Yes, he would not take a share in the business,
because he thought it promoted evil, and he felt it right
to do parish work at St. Wulstan's, because our profits
chiefly come from thence. It does not please at home,
because they think he could have done better for him-
self, and he sometimes is obliged to interfere with Mer-
vyn's plans.'
Sir Bevil made the less answer because they were in
the full current of London traffic, and his proud chesnut
was snuffing the hat of an omnibus conductor. Careful
driving was needed, and Phcebe was praised for never
even looking frightened, then again for her organ of
locality and the skilful pilotage with which she unerr-
ingly and unhesitatingly found the way through the
Whittingtonian labyrinths ; and as the disgusted tiger
pealed at the knocker of Turnagain Corner, she was
told she would be a useful guide in the South African
bush. ' At home,' was the welcome reply, and in
another second, her arms were round Robert's neck.
There was a thorough brotherly greeting between him
and Sir Bevil ; each saw in the other a man to be re-
spected, and Robert could not but be grateful to the
man who brought him Phcebe.
Her eyes were on the alert to judge how he had
been using himself in the last half-year. He looked
thin, yet that might be owing to his highly clerical
coat, and some of his rural ruddiness was gone, but
there was no want of health of form or face, only the
¥ cc2
388 HOPES AND FEARS.
spareness and vigour of thorough working condition.
His expression was still grave even to sadness, and
sternness seemed gathering round his thin lips. Heavy
of heart he doubtless was still, but she was struck by
the absence of the undefined restlessness that had for
years been habitual to both brothers, and which had
lately so increased on Mervyn, that there was a relief
in watching a face free from it, and telling not indeed
of happiness, but of a mind made up to do without it.
She supposed that his room ought to satisfy her, for
though untidy in female eyes, it did not betray ultra
self-neglect. The fire was brisk, there was a respect-
ableluncheon on the table, and he had even treated him-
self to the Guardian, some new books, and a beautiful
photograph of a foreign cathedral. The room was lit-
tered with half-unrolled plans, which had to be cleared
before the guests could find seats, and he had evidently
been beguiling his luncheon with the perusal of some-
large MS. sheets, red-taped together at the upper
corner.
' That's handsome,' said Sir Bevil. ( What is it for %
A school or almshouses V
I Something of both,' said Robert, his colour rising.
1 We want a place for disposing of the destitute chil-
dren that swarm in this district.'
c Oh, show me !' cried Phcebe. ' Is it to be at that
place in Cicely Row ¥
I I hope so.'
The stiff sheets were unrolled, the designs explained.
There was to be a range of buildings round a court,
consisting of day-schools, a home for orphans, a creche
for infants, a reading-room for adults, and apartments
for the clergy of the Church which was to form one
side of the quadrangle. Sir Bevil was much inte-
rested, and made useful criticisms. ' But,' he objected,
* what is the use of building new churches in the City,
when there is no filling those you have ¥
' St. Wulstan's is better filled than formerly,' said
Robert. ' The pew system is the chief enemy there y
HOPES AND FEARS. 3S9
but even without that, it would not hold a tenth part
of the Whittingtonian population, would they come to
it, which they will not. The Church must come to
them, and with special services at their own times.
They need an absolute mission, on entirely different
terms from the "Woolstone quarter.'
' And are you about to head the mission ¥
1 To endeavour to take a share in it.'
c And who is to be at the cost of this V pursued Sir
Bevil. ■ Have you a subscription list V
Robert coloured again as he answered, ' Why, no ;
we can do without that so for.'
Phoebe understood, and her face must have revealed
the truth to Sir Bevil, for laying his hand on Robert's
arm, he said, ' My good fellow, you don't mean that
you are answerable for all this V
1 You know I have something of my own.'
1 You will not leave much of it at this rate. How
about the endowment f
* I shall live upon the endowment.'
1 Have you considered ? You will be tied to this
place for ever.'
' That is one of my objects,' replied Robert, and in
reply to a look of astonished interrogation, ' myself
and all that is mine would be far too little to atone for
a fraction of the evil that our house is every day
perpetrating here.'
* I should hate the business myself,' said the baronet ^
1 but don't you see it in a strong light V
1 Every hour I spend here shows me that I do not
see it strongly enough.'
And there followed some appalling instances of the
effects of the multiplicity of gin-palaces, things that
it well nigh broke Robert's heart to witness, absorbed
as he was in the novelty of his work, fresh in feeling,
and never able to divest himself of a sense of being a
sharer in the guilt and ruin.
Sir Bevil listened at first with interest, then tried
to lead away from the subject • but it was Robert's
390 HOPES AND FEARS.
single idea, and he kept them to it till their departure r
when Phoebe's first words were, as they drove from
the door, ' Oh, thank you, you do not know how much
happier you have made me.'
Her companion smiled, saying, ' I need not ask which
is the favourite brother.'
' Mervyn is very kind to me,' quickly answered
Phoebe.
' But Robert is the oracle ! eh V he said, kindly and
merrily.
1 Robert has been everything to us younger ones,'
she answered. ' I am still more glad that you like
him.'
His grave face not responding as she expected, she
feared that he had been bored, that he thought Robert
righteous over much, or disapproved his opinions ; but
his answer was worth having when it came. ' I know
nothing about his views j I never looked into the
subject ; but when I see a young man giving up a lu-
crative prospect for conscience sake, and devoting
himself to work in that sink of iniquity, I see there
must be something in him. I can't judge if he goes
about it in a wrong-headed way, but I should be proud
of such a fellow instead of discarding him.'
'Oh, thank you!' cried Phoebe, with ecstasy that
made him laugh, and quite differently from the made-
up laughter she had been used to hear from him.
' What are you thanking me for % ' he said. * I do
not imagine that I shall be able to serve him. I'll
talk to your father about him, but he must be the best
judge of the discipline of his own family.'
' I was not thinking of your doing anything,' said
Phoebe ; ' but a kind word about Robert does make
me very grateful.'
There was a long silence, only diversified by an
astonished nod from Mervyn driving back from the
office. Just before setting her clown, Sir Bevil said,
'I wonder whether your brother would let us give
something to his church. Will you find out what it.
HOPES AND FEARS. 391
shall be, and let me know 1 As a gift from Juliana
and myself — you understand.'
It was lucky for Phoebe that she had brought home
a good stock of satisfaction to support her, for she
found herself in the direst disgrace, and her mother
too much cowed to venture on more than a feeble
self-defensive murmur that she had told Phoebe it
would never do. Convinced in her own conscience
that she had done nothing blameworthy, Phcebe knew
that it was the shortest way not to defend herself, and
the storm was blowing over when Mervyn came in,
charmed to mortify Juliana by compliments to Phcebe
on ' doing it stylishly, careering in Acton's turn-out,'
but when the elder sister explained where she had
been, Mervyn, too, deserted her, and turned away with
a fierce imprecation on his brother, such as was misery
to Phoebe's ears. He was sourly ill-humoured all the
evening ; Juliana wreaked her displeasure on Sir
Bevil in ungraciousness, till such silence and gloom
descended on him, that he was like another man from
him who had smiled on Phcebe in the afternoon.
Yet, though dismayed at the offence she had given,
and grieved at these evidences of Robert's ill-odour
with his family, Phoebe could not regret having seized
her single chance of seeing Robert's dwelling for her-
self, nor the having made him known to Sir Bevil.
The one had made her satisfied, the other hopeful,
even while she recollected, with foreboding, that truth
sometimes comes not with peace, but with a sword, to
set at variance parent and child, and make foes of them
of the same household.
Juliana never forgave that drive. She continued
bitter towards Phoebe, and kept such a watch over her
and Sir Bevil, that the jealous surveillance became pal-
pable to both. Sir Bevil really wanted to tell Phoebe
the unsatisfactoiy result of his pleading for Robert ;
she wanted to tell him of Robert's gratitude for his
offered gift ; but the exchange of any words in private
was out of their power, and each silently felt that it
392 HOPES AND FEARS.
was best to make no move towards one another till
the unworthy jealousy should have died away.
Though Sir Bevil had elicited nothing but abuse of
' pig-headed folly/ his espousal of the young clergy-
man's cause was not without effect. Robert was not
treated with more open disfavour than he had often
previously endured, and was free to visit the party at
Parrance's, if he chose to run the risk of encountering
his father's blunt coldness, Mervyn's sulky dislike, and
Juliana's sharp satire, but as he generally came so as
to find his mother and Phoebe alone, some precious
moments compensated for the various disagreeables.
Nor did these affect him nearly as much as they did
his sister. It was, in fact, one of his remaining un-
wholesome symptoms that he rather enjoyed persecu-
tion, and took no pains to avoid giving offence. If he
meant to be uncompromising, he sometimes was simply
provoking, and Phoebe feared that Sir Bevil thought
him an unpromising protege.
He was asked to the Christmas dinner at the Ban-
nermans', and did not fulfil Augusta's prediction that
he would say it was a fast day, and refuse. That
evening gave Phoebe her best tete-a-tete with him, but
she observed that all was about Whittingtonia, not
one word of the past summer, not so much as an in-
quiry for Miss Charlecote. Evidently that page in
his history was closed for ever, and if he should carry
out his designs in their present form, a wife at the in-
tended institution would be an impossibility. How
near the dearest may be to one another, and yet how
little can they guess at what they would most desire
to know !
Sir Bevil had insisted on his being asked to perform
the ceremony, aud she longed to understand whether
his refusal were really on the score of his being a
deacon, or if he had any further motive. His own
family were affronted, though glad to be left free to
request the services of the greatest dignitary of their
acquaintance, and Sir Bevil's blunt ' No, no, poor
HOPES AND FEARS. 393
fellow ! say no more about it,' made her suppose that
he suspected that Robert's vehemence in his parish
was meant to work off a disappointment.
It was a dreary wedding, in spite of London gran-
deur. In all her success, Juliana could not help
looking pinched and ill at ease, her wreath and veil
hardening instead of softening her features, and her
bridegroom's studious cheerfulness and forced laughs
became him less than his usual silent dejection. The
Admiral was useful in getting up stock wedding-wit,
but Phcebe wondered how any one could laugh at it ;
and her fellow-bridesmaids, all her seniors, seemed to
her, as perhaps she might to them, like thoughtless
children, playing with the surface of things. She
pitied Sir Bevil, and saw little chance of happinessfor
either, yet heard only congratulations, and had to be
bright, busy, and helpful, under a broad, stiff, white
watered silk scarf, beneath which Juliana had en-
deavoured to extinguish her, but in which her tall,
rounded shape looked to great advadtage. Indeed, that
young rosy face, and the innocently pensive wondering
eyes were so sweet, that the bride had to endure hear-
ing admiration of her sister from all quarters, and the
Acton bridemaidens whispered rather like those at
Netherby Hall.
It was over, and Phoebe was the reigning Miss
Fulmort. Her friends were delighted for her and for
themselves, and her mother entered on the full enjoy-
ment of the little brougham.
CHAPTER XL
When some dear scheme
Of our life doth seem
Shivered at once like a broken dream ;
And our hearts to reel
Like ships that feel
A sharp rock grating against their keel. — C. F.
T was high summer; and in spite of
cholera-averting thunder-storms, the
close streets, and the odour of the
Thames were becoming insufferable.
Mr. Parsons arranged a series of breath-
ing times for his clerical staff, but could
make Robert Pulmort accept none. He was strong
and healthy, ravenous of work, impervious to disgusts,
and rejected holidays as burdensome and hateful.
Where should he go 1 "What could he do ? What
would become of his wild scholars without him, and
who would superintend his buildings 1
Mr. Parsons was fain to let him have his own way,
as had happened in some previous instances, specially
the edifice in Cicely Row, where the incumbent would
have paused, but the curate rushed on with resolute
zeal aud impetuosity, taking measures so decidedly ere
his intentions were revealed, that neither remonstrance
nor prevention were easy, and a species of annoyed,
doubtful admiration alone was possible. It was some-
times a gratifying reflection to the vicar, that when
HOPES AND FEARS. 395
the buildings were finished, Whittingtonia would be-
come a district, and its busy curate be no longer under
his jurisdiction.
Meantime Robert was left with a companion in
priest's orders, but newer to the parish than himself,
to conduct the services at St. Wulstan's, while the other
curates were taking holiday, and the vicar at his son's
country-house. To see how contentedly, nay, pleasure-
ably, ' Fulmort' endured perpetual broiling, passing
from frying school to grilling pavement, and seething
human hive, was constant edification to his colleague,
who, fresh from the calm university, felt such a
life to be a slow martyrdom, and wished his liking
for the deacon were in better proportion to his
esteem.
1 A child to be baptized at 8, Little Whittington-
street,' he said, with resigned despair, as at the vestry
door he received a message from a small maid, one
afternoon, when the air looked lurid yellow with
sultry fire.
* I'll go,' replied Robert, with the alacrity that some-
times almost irritated his fellows ; and off he sped, with
alert steps, at which his friend gazed with the sensa-
tion of watching a salamander.
Little Whittington-street, where it was not ware-
houses, was chiefly occupied by small tradesfolk, or
by lodging houses for the numerous ' young men' em-
ployed in the City. It was one of the most respect-
able parts of that quarter, but being much given to
dissent, was little frequented by the clergy, who had
too much immorality to contend with, to have leisure
to speak against schism.
When he rang at No. 8, the little maid ushered
him down a narrow, dark staircase, and announcing,
'Please, ma'am, here's the minister,' admitted him
into a small room, feeling like a cellar, the window
opening into an area. It was crowded with gay
and substantial furniture, and contained two women,
396 HOPES AND FEARS.
one lying on a couch, partially hidden by a screen, the
other an elderly person, in a widow's cap, with an
infant in her arms.
1 Good morning, sir, we were sorry to trouble you,
but I felt certain, as I told my daughter, that a
minister of the Gospel would not tarry in time of need.
Not that I put my trust in ordinances, sir ; I have
been blest with the enlightening of the new birth, but
my daughter, sir, she follows the Church. Yes, sir,
the poor little lamb is a sad sufferer in this vale of
tears. So wasted away, you see ; you would not think
he was nine weeks old. We would have brought him
to church before, sir, only my daughter's hillness, and
her 'usband's habsence. It was always her wish, sir,
and I was not against it, for many true Christians
have found grace in the Church, sir.'
Hobert considered whether to address himself to the
young mother, whose averted face and uneasy move-
ments seemed to show that this stream of words was
distressing to her. He thought silence would be best
procured by his assumption of his office, and quietly
made his preparations, opened his book, and took his
place.
The young woman, raising herself with difficulty,
said in a low, sweet voice, ' The gentleman is ready,
mother.'
As there was no pressing danger, he read
the previous collects, the elder female responding
with devout groans, the younger sinking on her
knees, her face hidden in her wasted hands. He
took the little feeble being in his arms, and demanded
the name.
1 Hoeing Charterhouse,' replied the grandmother.
He looked interrogative, and Hoeing Charterhouse
was repeated.
1 Owen Charteris,' said the low, sweet voice.
A thrill shot over his whole frame, as his look met
a large, full, liquid pair of dark eyes, such as once seen
could never be forgotten, though dropped again in-
HOPES AND FEARS. 397
stantly, while a burning blush arose, instantly veiled
by the hands, which hid all up to the dark hair.
Recalling himself by an effort, he repeated the too
familiar name, and baptized the child, bending his head
over it afterwards in deep compassion and mental en-
treaty both for its welfare, and his own guidance in
the tissue of wrongdoing thus disclosed. A hasty,
stealthy glance at the hands covering the mother's
face, showed him the ring on her fourth finger, and as
they rose from their knees, he said, ' I am to register
this child as Owen Charteris Sandbrook.'
With a look of deadly terror, she faintly exclaimed,
1 1 have done it ! You know him, sir ; you will not
betray him !'
1 1 know you, too,' said Robert, sternly. ' You were
the schoolmistress at Wrap worth !'
1 1 was, sir. It was all my fault. Oh ! promise me,
sir, never to betray him ; it would be the ruin of his
prospects for ever !' And she came towards him, her
hands clasped in entreaty, her large eyes shining with
feverish lustre, her face wasted but still lovely, a pite-
ous contrast to the queenly being of a year ago in her
pretty schoolroom.
' Compose yourself,' said Kobert, gravely ; ' I hope
never to betray any one. I confess that I am shocked,
but I will endeavour to act rightly.'
' I am sure, sir,' broke in Mrs. Murrell, with double
volume, after her interval of quiescence, ' it is not to
be expected but what a gentleman's friends would be
offended. It was none of my wish, sir, being that I
never knew a word of it till she was married and it
was too late, or I would have warned her against
broken cisterns. But as for her, sir, she is as innocent
as a miserable sinner can be in a fallen world. It was
the young gentleman as sought her out. I always mis-
doubted the ladies noticing her, and making her take
part with men-singers and women-singers, and such
vanities as is pleasing to the unregenerate heart.
Ah ! sir, without grace, where are we 1 Not that he
398 HOPES AND FEARS.
was ever other than most honourable with her, or she
would never have listened to him not for a moment,
but she was over-persuaded, sir, and folks said what
they hadn't no right to say, and the minister, he was
'ard on her, and so, you see, sir, she took fright and
married him out of 'and, trusting to a harm of flesh,
and went to Hireland with him. She just writ me a
note, which filled my 'art with fear and trembling, a
'nonymous note, with only Hedna signed to it ; and I
waited, with failing eyes and sorrow of heart, till one
day in autumn he brings her back to me, and here she
has been ever since, dwining away in a nervous fever,
as the doctors call it, as it's a misery to see her, and he
never comms: nisrh her.'
1 Once,' murmured Edna, who had several times tried
to interrupt.
1 Once, ay, for one hour at Christmas.'
' He is known here ; he can't venture often,' inter-
posed the wife ; and there was a further whisper, ' he
couldn't stay, he couldn't bear it.'
But the dejected accents were lost in the old
woman's voice, — ' Now, sir, if you know him or his
family, I wouldn't be wishing to do him no hinjury,
nor to ruinate his prospects, being, as he says, that the
rich lady will make him her hare ; but, sir, if you have
any power with him as a godly minister or the friend
of his youth, may be '
' He is only waiting till he has a curacy — a house of
his own — mother !'
1 No, Edna, hold your peace. It is not fit that I
should see my only child cut down as the grass of the
field, and left a burthen upon me, a lone woman, while
he is eating of the fat of the land. I say it is scanda-
lous that he should leave her here, and take no notice ;
not coming near her since one hour at Christmas, and
only just sending her a few pounds now and then ;
not once coming to see his own child !'
i He could not ; he is abroad !' pleaded Edna.
' He tells you he is abroad !' exclaimed Robert.
HOPES AND FEARS. 399
1 He went to Paris at Easter. He promised to come
when he comes home.'
* You poor thing !' burst out Robert. ' He is de-
ceiving you ! He came back at the end of three weeks.
I heard from my sister that she saw him on Sunday.'
Robert heartily rued his abruptness, as the poor
young wife sank back in a deadly swoon. The grand-
mother hurried to apply remedies, insisting that the
gentleman should not go, and continuing all the time
her version of her daughter's wrongs. Her last rem-
nant of patience had vanished on learning this decep-
tion, and she only wanted to publish her daughter's
claims, proceeding to establish them by hastening in
search of the marriage certificate as soon as Edna had
begun to revive, but sooner than Robert was satisfied
to be left alone with the inanimate, helpless form on
the couch.
He was startled when Edna raised her hand, and
strove to speak, — ' Sir, do not tell — do not tell my
mother where he is. She must not fret him — she
must not tell his friends — he would be angry.'
She ceased as her mother returned with the certifi-
cate of the marriage, contracted last July before the
registrar of the huge suburban Union to which Wrap-
worth belonged, the centre of which was so remote,
that the pseudo-banns of Owen Charteris Sandbrook
and Edna Murrell had attracted no attention.
' It was very wrong,' feebly said Edna ; ' I drew
him into it ! I loved him so much; and they all talked
so after I went in the boat with him, that I thought
my character was gone, and I begged him to save me
from them. It was my fault, sir ; and I've the punish-
ment. You'll not betray him, sir ; only don't let that
young lady, your sister, trust to him. Not yet. My
baby and I shall soon be out of her way.'
The calm languor of her tone was almost fearful,
and even as she spoke a shuddering seized her, making
her tremble convulsively, her teeth knocking together,
and the couch shaking under her.
400 HOPES AND FEARS.
' You must have instant advice,' cried Robert. ' I
will fetch some one.'
' You wont betray him,' almost shrieked Edna. ' A
little while — stay a little while — he will be free of
me.'
There was delirium in look and voice, and he was
compelled to pause and assure her that he was only
going for the doctor, and would come again before
taking any other step.
It was not till the medical man had been summoned
that his mind recurred to the words about his sister.
He might have dismissed them as merely the jealous
suspicion of the deserted wife, but that he remembered
Lucilla's hint as to an attachment between Owen and
Phcebe, and he knew that such would have been most
welcome to Miss Charlecote.
1 My Phoebe, my one bright spot !' was his inward
cry, * must your guileless happiness be quenched ! O,
I would rather have it all over again myself than that
one pang should come near you, in your sweetness and
innocence, the blessing of us all ! And I not near to
guard nor warn ! What may not be passing even now %
Unprincipled, hard-hearted deceiver, walking at large
among those gentle, unsuspicious women — trading on
their innocent trust ! Would that I had disclosed the
villany I knew of 1'
His hand clenched, his brow lowered, and his mouth
was set so savagely, that the passing policeman looked
in wonder from the dangerous face to the clerical
dress.
Early next morning he was at No. 8, and learnt that
Mrs. Brook, as the maid called her, had been very ill
all night, and that the doctor was still with her.
Begging to see the doctor, Robert found that high
fever had set in, an aggravation of the low nervous
fever that had been consuming her strength all the
spring, and her condition was already such that there
was little hope of her surviving the present attack.
She had been raving all night about the young lady
HOPES AN T D FEARS. 401
with whom Mr. Sandbrook had been walking by moon-
light, and when the door of the little adjoining bed-room
was open, her moans and broken words were plainly
audible.
Robert asked whether he should fetch her husband,
and Mrs. Murrell caught at the offer. Owen's pre-
sence was the single hope of restoring her, and at least
he ought to behold the wreck that he had wrought. Mrs.
Murrell gave a terrible thrust by saying, ' that the
young lady at least ought to be let know, that she
might not be trusting to him.'
' Do not fear, Mrs. Murrell,' he said, almost under
his breath. ' My only doubt is, whether I can meet
Owen Sandbrook as a Christian should.'
Cutting off her counsels on the unconverted nature,
he strode off to find his colleague, whom he perplexed
by a few rapid words on the necessity of going into
the country for the day. His impatient condition re-
quired vehement action ; and with a sense of hurrying
to rescue Phcebe, he could scarcely brook the slightest
delay till he was on his way to Hiltonbury, nor till the
train spared him all action, could he pause to collect his
strength, guard his resentment, or adjust his measures for
warning, but not betraying. He could think of no
honourable mode of dealing, save carrying off Owen to
London with him at once, sacrificing the sight of his sister
for the present, and either writing or going to her after-
wards, when the mode of dealing the blow should be
more evident. It cost him keen suffering to believe
that this was the sole right course, but he had bound
himself to it by his promise to the poor suffering wife,
blaming himself for continually putting his sister be-
fore her in his plans.
At Elverslope, on his demand for a fly for Hilton-
bury, he was answered that all were engaged for the
Horticultural Show in the Forest ; but the people at
the station, knowing him well, made willing exertions
to procure a vehicle for him, and a taxed cart soon
making its appearance, he desired to be taken, not to
VOL. I. D D
402 HOPES AND FEARS.
the Holt, but to the Forest, where he had no doubt
that he should find the object of his search.
This Horticultural Show was the great gaiety of the
year. The society had originated with Humfrey
Charlecote, for the benefit of the poor as well as the
rich; and the summer exhibition always took place
under the trees of a fragment of the old Forest, which
still survived at about five miles from Hiltonbury.
The day was a county holiday. The delicate orchid
and the crowned pine were there, with the hairy goose-
berry, the cabbage and potato, and the homely cottage-
garden nosegay from many a woodland hamlet. The
young ladies competed in collections of dried flowers
for a prize botany book ; and the subscriptions were
so arranged that on this festival each poorer member
might, with two companions, be provided with a hearty
meal ; while grandees and farmers had a luncheon-tent
of their own, and regarded the day as a county pic-nic,
It was a favourite affair with all, intensely enjoyed,
and full of good neighbourhood. Humfrey Charle-
cote's spirit never seemed to have deserted it ; it was
a gathering of distant friends, a delight of children as
of the full-grown ; and while the young were frantic
for its gipsying fun, their elders seldom failed to
attend, if only in remembrance of poor Mr. Charlecote,
* who had begged one and all not to let it drop.'
Above all, Honora felt it due to Humfrey to have
prize-roots and fruits from the Holt, and would have
thought herself fallen, indeed, had the hardest rain kept
her from the rendezvous, with one wagon carrying
the cottagers' articles, and another a troop of school
children. No doubt the Forest would be the place to
find Owen Sandbrook, but for the rest
From the very extremity of his perplexity, Robert's
mind sought relief in external objects. So joyous were
the associations with the Forest road on a horticultural
day, that the familiar spots could not but revive them.
Those green glades, where the graceful beeches re-
treated, making cool green galleries with their slender
HOPES AND FEARS. 403
gleaming stems, reminded him of his putting his new
pony to speed to come up with the Holt carriage ; that
scathed oak had a tradition of lightning connected with
it ; yonder was the spot where he had shown Lucilla a
herd of deer ; here the rising ground whence the whole
scene could be viewed, and from force of habit he felt
exhilarated as he gazed down the slope of heather,
where the fine old oaks and beeches, receding, had left
an open space, now covered with the well-known tents ;
there the large one, broadly striped with green, con-
taining the show ; there the white marquees for the
eaters; the union jack's gay colours floating lazily
from a pole in the Outlaw's Knoll ; the dark, full
foliage of the forest, and purple tints of the heather
setting off the bright female groups in their delicate
summer gaieties. Vehicles of all degrees — smart ba-
rouche, lengthy britzschka, light gig, dashing pony car-
riage, rattling shanderadan, and gorgeous wagon —
were drawn up in treble file, minus their steeds ; the
sounds of well-known tunes from the band were wafted
on the wind, and such an air of jocund peace and festi-
vity pervaded the whole, that for a moment he had a
sense of holiday- making ere he sighed at the shade that
he was bringing on that scene of merriment.
Reaching the barrier, he paid his entrance-money,
and desiring the carriage to wait, walked rapidly down
the hill. On one side of the road was the gradual
sweep of open heath, on the other was a rapid slope,
shaded by trees, and covered with fern, growing tall
and grand as it approached the moist ground in the
hollow below. Voices made him turn his head in that
direction. Aloof from the rest of the throng, he beheld
two figures half-way down the bank, so nearly hidden
among the luxuriant wing-like fronds of the Osmond
royal which they were gathering, that at first only
their hats were discernible — a broad grey one, with
drooping feather, and a light Oxford boating straw hat.
The merry ring of the clear girlish voice, the deep-
toned replies, told him more than his first glance did ;
dd2
404 HOPES AND FEARS.
and with one inward ejaculation for self-command, he
turned aside to the descent.
The rustling among the copsewood caught the ear
of Phoebe, who was the highest up, and, springing up
like a fawn in the covert, she cried, — ' Robin ! dear
Robin ! how delicious !' but ere she had made three
bounds towards him, his face brought her to a pause,
and, in an awe-struck voice, she asked, ' Robert, what
is it?'
1 It does not concern you, dearest ; at least, I hope
not. I want Owen Sandbrook.'
I Then it is she. O Robin, can you bear it V she
whispered, clinging to him, terrified by the agitated
fondness of his embrace.
I I know nothing of her' was his answer, interrupted
by Owen, who, raising his handsome, ruddy face from
beneath, shouted mirthfully —
I Ha ! Phoebe, what interloper have you caught ?
What, Fulmort, not quite grilled in the Wulstonian
oven V
I I was in search of you. Wait there, Phoebe,' said
Robert, advancing to meet Owen, with a gravity of
countenance that provoked an impatient gesture, and
the question —
1 Come, have it out ! Do you mean that you have
been ferreting out some old scrape of mine V
' I mean,' said Robert, looking steadily at him, ' that
I have been called in to baptize your sick child. Your
wife is dying, and you must hasten if you would see
her alive.'
' That wont do. You know better than that,' re-
turned Owen, with ill-concealed agitation, partaking of
anger. ' She was quite recovered when last I heard,
but she is a famous hand at getting ivp a scene ; and
that mother of hers would drive Job out of his senses.
They have worked on your weak mind. I was an ass
to trust to the old woman's dissent for hindering them
from finding you out, and getting up a scene.'
' They did not. It was by accident that I was the
HOPES AND FEARS. 405
person who answered the summons. They knew
neither me nor my name, so you may acquit them of
any preparation. I recognised your name, which I was
desired to give to the child ; and then, in spite of
wasting, terror, and deadly sickness, I knew the mother.
She has been pining under low nervous fever, still
believing you on the Continent ; and the discovery
that she had been deceived, was such a shock as to bring
on a violent attack, which she is not likely to have
strength to survive.'
' I never told her I was still abroad,' said Owen, in
a fretful tone of self-defence. ' I only had my letters
forwarded through my scout ; for I knew I should
have no peace nor safety if the old woman knew where
to find me, and preach me crazy ; and I could not be
going to see after her, for, thanks to Honor Charlecote
and her schools, every child in Whittingtonia knows me
by sight. I told her to be patient till I had a curacy,
and was independent ; but it seems she could not be.
I'll run up as soon as I can get some plea for getting
away from the Holt.'
1 Death will leave no time for your excuses,' said
Robert. ' By setting off at once, you may catch the
five o'clock express at W .'
' Well, it is your object to have a grand explosion !
When I am cut out, you and Cilly may make a good
thing of it. I wish you joy ! Ha! by Jove !' he mut-
tered, as he saw Phoebe waiting out of earshot. And
then, turning from Robert, who was dumb in the effort
to control a passionate reply, he called out, ' Good by,
Phcebe ; I beg your pardon, but you see I am sum-
moned. Family claims are imperative !'
1 What is the matter V said the maiden, terrified not
only at his tone, but at the gestures of her brother of
fierce, suppressed menace towards him, despairing pro-
tection towards her.
1 Why, he has told you ! Matter enough, isn't it 1
I'm a married man. I ask your compassion !' with a
■bitter laugh.
40G HOPES AKD FEARS.
' It is you who have told her/ said Robert, who,,
after a desperate effort, had forced all violence from
his voice and language. ' Traitor as you consider me,
your secret had not crossed my lips. But no — there
is no time to waste on disputes. Your wife is sinking
under neglect ; and her seeing you once more may de-
pend on your not loitering away these moments.'
'•I don't believe it. Canting and tragedy queening.
Taking him in ! I know better !' muttered Owen,
suddenly, as he moved up the bank.
' Robin, how can he be so hard?' whispered Phoebe,
as she met her brother's eyes wistfully fixed on her
face.
1 He is altogether selfish and heartless,' returned
Robert, in the same inaudible voice. 'My Phoebe,
give me this one comfort. You never listened to him.'
I There was nothing to listen to,' said Phoebe, turning
her clear, surprised eyes on him. ' You couldn't think
him so bad as that. O Robin, how silly !'
' What were you doing here V he asked, holding her
arm tight.
' Only Miss Fennimore wanted some Osmunda, and
Miss Charlecote sent him to show me where it grew ;
because she was talking to Lady Raymond.'
The free simplicity of her look made Robert breathe
freely. Charity was coming back to him.
At the same moment Owen turned, his face flushed,
and full of emotion, but the obduracy gone.
I I may take a long leave ! When you see Honor
Charlecote, Fulmort '
1 1 shall not see her. I am going back with you,'
said Robert, instantly deciding, now that he felt that
he could both leave Phoebe, and trust himself with the
offender.
' You think I want to escape !'
1 No ; but I have duties to return to. Besides, you
will find a scene for which you are little prepared ;
and which will cost you the more for your present
mood. I may be of use there. Your secret is safe
HOPES AND FEARS. 407
with Phoebe and me. I promised your wife to keep
it, and we will not rob you of the benefit of free con-
fession.'
' And what is to explain my absence ] No, no, the
secret is one no longer, and it has been intolerable
enough already,' said Owen, recklessly. ' Poor Honor,
it will be a grievous business, and little Phoebe will be
a kind messenger. Wont you, Phoebe ? I leave my
cause in your hands.'
' But,' faltered Phoebe, ' she should hear who '
I Simple child, you can't draw inferences. Cilia
wouldn't have asked. Don't you remember her darling
at Wrapworth 1 People shouldn't throw such splendid
women in one's way, especially when they are made of
such inflammable materials, and take fire at a civil
word. So ill, poor thing ! Now, Robert, on your ho-
nour, has not the mother been working on you ¥
I I tell you not what the mother told me, but what
the medical man said. Low nervous fever set in long
ago, and she has never recovered her confinement.
Heat and closeness were already destroying her, when
my disclosure that you were not abroad, as she had
been led to believe, brought on fainting, and almost
immediate delirium. This was last evening, she was
worse this morning.'
I Poor girl, poor girl !' muttered Owen, his face almost
convulsed with emotion. ' There was no helping it.
She would have drowned herself if I had not taken
her with me — quite capable of it ! after those intoler-
able women at Wrapworth had opened fire. I wish
women's tongues were cut out by act of parliament.
So, Phoebe, tell poor Honor that I know I am un-
pardonable, but I am sincerely sorry for her. I fell
into it, there's no knowing how, and she would pity me,
and so would you, if you knew what I have gone
through. Good-bye, Phoebe. Most likely I shall never
see you again. Wont you shake hands, and tell me you
are sorry for me]'
I I should be, if you seemed more sorry for your wife
408 HOPES AND FEARS.
than yourself,' she said, holding out her hand, but by
no means prepared for his not only pressing it with
fervour, but cariying it to his lips.
Then, as Robert started forward with an impulse of
snatching her from him, he almost threw it from his
grasp, and with a long sigh very like bitter regret, and
a murmur that resembled ' That's a little angel,' he
mounted the bank. Robert only tarried to say, ' May
I be able to bear with him ! Phoebe, do your best for
poor Miss Charlecote. I will write. '
Phoebe sat down at the foot of a tree, veiled by the
waving ferns, to take breath and understand what had
passed. Her first act was to strike one hand across the
other, as though to obliterate the kiss, then to draw off
her glove, and drop it in the deepest of the fern, never to
be worn again. Hateful ! With that poor neglected
wife pining to death in those stifling city streets, to be
making sport in those forest glades. Shame! shame! But
oh ! worst of all was his patronizing pity for Miss Charle-
cote ! Phoebe's own mission to Miss Charlecote was
dreadful enough, and she could have sat for hours de-
liberating on the mode of carrying grief and dismay
to her friend, who had looked so joyous and exulting
with her boy by her side as she drove upon the ground ;
but there was no time to be lost, and rousing herself
into action with strong effort, Phoebe left the fern brake,
walking like one in a dream, and exchanging civilities
with various persons who wondered to see her alone,
made her way to the principal marquee, where lun-
cheon had taken place, and which always served as the
rendezvous. Here sat mammas, keeping up talk enough
for civility, and peeping out restlessly to cluck their
broods together • here gentlemen stood in knots, talking
county business ; servants congregated in the rear, to
call the carriages ; stragglers gradually streamed toge-
ther, and ' Oh ! here you are,' was the staple excla-
mation.
It was uttered by Mrs. Fulmort as Phoebe appeared,
and was followed by plaintive inquiries for her sisters,
HOPES AND FEAHS. 409
and assurances that it would have been better to have
stayed in the cool tent, and gone home at once. Phoebe
consoled her by ordering the carriage, and explaining
that her sisters were at hand with some other girls,
then begged leave to go home with Miss Charlecote for
the night.
' My deai*, what shall I do with the others without
you ? Maria has such odd tricks, and Bertha is so
teasing without you ! You promised they should not
tire me !'
* I will beg them to be good, dear mamma ; I am very
sorry, but it is only this once. She will be alone.
Owen Sandbrook is obliged to go away.'
1 1 can't think what she should want of you,' moaned
her mother, ' so used as she is to be alone. Did she
ask you V
' No, she does not know yet. I am to tell her, and
that is why I want you to be so kind as to spare me,
dear mamma.'
' My dear, it will not do for you to be carrying young
men's secrets, at least not Owen Sandbrook's. Your
papa would not like it, my dear, until she had acknow-
ledged him for her heir. You have lost your glove,
too, Phoebe, and you look so heated, you had better
come back with me,' said Mrs. Fulmort, who would
not have withstood for a moment a decree from either
of her other daughters.
1 Indeed,' said Phoebe, 'you need not fear, mamma.
It is nothing of that sort, quite the contrary.'
' Quite the contrary ! You don't tell me that he
has formed another attachment, just when I made sure
of your settling at last at the Holt, and you such a
favourite with Honor Charlecote. Not one of those
plain Miss Raymonds, I hope.'
• I must not tell, till she has heard,' said Phoebe, ' so
please say nothing about it. It will vex poor Miss
Charlecote sadly, so pray let no one suspect, and I will
come back and tell you to-morrow, by the time you are
dressed.'
410 HOPES AND FEARS.
Mrs. Fulmort was so much uplifted by the promise
of the grand secret that she made no more opposition,
and Maria and Bertha hurried in with Phoebe's glove,
which, with the peculiar fidelity of property wilfully
lost, had fallen into their hands while searching for
Bobert. Both declared they had seen him on the hill,
and clamorously demanded him of Phoebe. Her an-
swer ' he is not in the forest, you will not find him/
was too conscious fully to have satisfied the shrewd
Bertha, but for the pleasure of discoursing to the other
girls upon double gangers, of whom she had stealthily
read in some prohibited German literature of her go-
verness's.
Leaving her to astonish them, Phoebe took up a po-
sition near Miss Charlecote, who was talking to the
good matronly-looking Lady Raymond, and on the
first opportunity offered herself as a companion. On
the way home, Honor, much pleased, was proposing to
find Owen, and walk through a beautiful and less fre-
quented forest path, when she saw her own carriage
coming up with that from Beauchamp, and lamented
the mistake which must take her away as soon as
Owen could be found.
* I ventured to order it,' said Phoebe ; ' I thought
you might prefer it. Owen is gone. He left a message
with me for you.'
Experience of former blows taught Honora to ask
no questions, and to go through the offices of politeness
as usual. But Lady Raymond, long a friend of hers,
though barely acquainted with Mrs. Fulmort, and
never having seen Phoebe before, living as she did on
the opposite side of the county, took a moment for
turning round to the young girl, and saying with a
friendly motherly warmth, far from mere curiosity, ' I
am sure you have bad news for Miss Charlecote. I
see you cannot speak of it now, but you must promise
me to send to Moorcroft, if Sir John or I can be of
any use.'
Phoebe could only give a thankful grasp of the kind
HOPES AND FEARS. 411
hand. The Raymonds were rather despised at home
for plain habits, strong religious opinions, and scanty-
fortunes, but she knew they were Miss Charlecote's
great friends and advisers.
Not till the gay crowd had been left behind did
Honor turn to Phoebe, and say gently, ' My dear, if he
is gone off in any foolish way, you had better tell me
at once, that something may be done.'
'He is gone with Robert,' said Phoebe. ' Bertha
did really see Robert. He had made a sad discovery,
and came for Owen. Do you remember that pretty
schoolmistress at Wrap worth 1 '
Never had Phoebe seen such a blanched face and
dilated eyes as were turned on her, with the gaspin
words, * Impossible ! they would not have told you.'
1 They were obliged,' said Phoebe ; 'they had to hurry
for the train, for she is very ill indeed.'
Honor leant back with folded hands and closed eyes,
so that Phoebe almost felt as if she had killed her. ' I
suppose Robert was right to fetch him/ she said; 'but
their telling you !'
' Owen told me he fancied Robert had done so,' said
Phoebe, ' and called out to me something about family
claims, and a married mam'
' Married !' cried Honora, starting forward. ' You
are sure !'
' Quite sure,' repeated Phoebe ; ' he desired me to
tell you I was to say he knew he was unpardonable,
but he had suffered a great deal, and he was grieved at
the sorrow you would feel.'
Having faithfully discharged her message, Phoebe
could not help being vexed at the relenting, ' Poor
fellow !'
Honor was no longer confounded, as at the first
sentences, and though still cast down, was more relieved
than her young friend could understand, asking all
that had passed between the young men, and when all
had been told, leaning back in silence until, when
almost at home, she laid her hand on Phoebe's arm,
412 HOPES AND FEARS.
and said, ' My child, never think yourself safe from
idols.'
She then sought her own room, and Phoebe feared
that her presence was intrusive, for she saw her hostess
no more till tea-time, when the wan face and placid
smile almost made her weep at first, then wonder at
the calm unconstrained manner in which her amuse-
ment was provided for, and feel ready to beg not to be
treated like a child or a stranger. When parting for
the night, however, Honor tenderly said, ' Thanks, my
dear, for giving up the evening to me.'
' 1 have only been an oppression to you.'
1 You did me the greatest good. I did not want
discussion ; I only wanted kindness. I wish I had
you always, but it is better not. Their uncle was
right. I spoil every one.'
'Pray do not say so. You have been our great
blessing. If you knew how we wish to comfort you.'
' You do comfort me. I can watch Robert realizing
my visions for others, and you, my twilight moon, my
autumn flower. But I must not love you too much,
Phoebe. They all suffer for my inordinate affection.
But it is too late to talk. Good night, sweet one.'
' Shall you sleep 1 ' said Phoebe, wistfully lingering.
' Yes ; I don't enter into it enough to be haunted.
Ah ! you have never learnt what it is to feel heavy
with trouble. I believe I shall not dwell on it till I
know more. There may be much excuse ; she may
have been artful, and at least Owen dealt fairly by her
in one respect. I can better suppose her unworthy,
than him cruelly neglectful.'
In that hope Honor slept, and was not more de-
pressed than Phoebe had seen her under Lucilla's
desertion. She put off her judgment till she should
hear more, went about her usual occupations, and sent
Phoebe home till letters should come, when they would
meet again.
Both heard from Robert by the next post, and his
letter to Miss Charlecote related all that he had been
HOPES AND FEARS. 413
able to collect from Mrs. Murrell, or from Owen him-
self. The narrative is here given more fully than he
was able to make it. Edna Murrell, born with the
susceptible organization of a musical temperament, had
in her earliest childhood been so treated as to foster
refined tastes and aspirations, such as disgusted her
with the respectable vulgarity of her home. The pet
of the nursery and school-room looked down on the
lodge kitchen and parlour, and her discontent was a
matter of vanity with her parents, as a sign of her
superiority, while plausibility and caution were con-
tinually enjoined on her rather by example than pre-
cept, and she was often aware of her mother's indul-
gence of erratic propensities in religion, unknown
either to her father or his employers.
Unexceptionable as had been her training-school
education, the high cultivation and soundness of doc-
trine had so acted on her as to keep her farther aloof
from her mother, whose far more heartfelt religion
appeared to her both distasteful and contemptible, and
whose advice was thus cast aside as prejudiced and
sectarian.
Such was the preparation for the unprotected life of
a schoolmistress in a house by herself. Servants and
small tradesfolk were no companions to her, and were
offended by her ladylike demeanour ; and her refuge
was in books that served but to increase the perils of
sham romance, and in enthusiastic adoration of the
young lady, whose manners apparently placed her on
an equality, although her beauty and musical talents
were in truth only serving as a toy.
Her face and voice had already been thrust on Owen's
notice before the adventure with the bargeman had
constituted the young gentleman the hero of her
grateful imagination, and commenced an intercourse,
for which his sister's inconsiderate patronage gave
ample opportunities. His head was full of the theory
of fusion of classes, and of the innate refinement, fresh-
ness of intellect, and vigour of perception of the unso-
414 HOPES AND FEARS.
phisticated, at least so he thought, and when he lent her
books, commenting on favourite passages, and talked
poetry or popular science to her, he imagined himself
walking in the steps of those who were asserting the
claims of intelligence to cultivation, and sowing broad-
cast the seeds of art, literature, and emancipation.
Perhaps he knew not how often he was betrayed into
tokens of admiration, sufficient to inflame such a dis-
position as he had to deal with, and if he were aware
of his influence, and her adoration, it idly flattered
and amused him, without thought of the conse-
quences.
On the night when she had fainted at the sight of his
attention to Phoebe, she was left on his hands in a state
when all caution and reserve gave way, and her violent
agitation fully awakened him to the perception of the
expectations he had caused, the force of the feelings he
had aroused. A mixture of pity, vanity, and affection
towards the beautiful creature before him had led to a
response such as did not disappoint her, and there
matters might have rested for the present, but that their
interview had been observed. Edna, terror-stricken,
believing herself irretrievably disgraced, had thrown
herself on his mercy in a frantic condition, such as
made him dread exposure for himself, as well as sus-
pense for her tempestuous nature.
With all his faults, the pure atmosphere in which
he had grown up, together with the tone of his asso-
ciates, comparatively free from the grosser and more
hard-hearted forms of vice, had concurred with poor
Edna's real modesty and principle in obtaining the
sanction of marriage, for her flight with him from the
censure of Wrapworth, and the rebukes of her mother.
Throughout, his feeling had been chiefly stirred up by
the actual sight of her beauty, and excited by her fervid
passion. When absent from her, there had been always
regrets and hesitations, such as would have prevailed,
save for his compassion, and dread of the effects of her
desperation, both for her and for himself. The unpardon-
HOPES AND FEARS. 415
able manner in which he knew himself to have acted,
made it needful to plunge deeper for the very sake of
concealment.
Yet, once married, he would have been far safer if
he had confessed the fact to his only true friend, since
it must surely come to light some time or other, but
he had bred himself up in the habit of schoolboy
shuffling, hiding everything to the last moment, and he
could not bear to be cast off by the Charterises, be
pitied and laughed at by his Oxford friends, nor to risk
Honor Charlecote's favour, perhaps her inheritance.
Return to Oxford the victim of an attachment to a
village schoolmistress ! Better never return thither
at all, as would be but too probably the case ! No !
the secret must be kept till his first start in life should
be secure ; and he talked to Edna of his future curacy,
while she fed her fancy with visions of lovely parson-
ages and ' clergymen's ladies' in a world of pensive bliss,
and after the honeymoon in Ireland, promised to wait
patiently, provided her mother might know all.
Owen had not realized the home to which he was
obliged to resign his wife, nor his mother-in-law's
powers of tongue. There were real difficulties in the
way of his visiting her. It was the one neighbourhood
in London where his person might be known, and if
he avoided daylight, he became the object of espial
to the disappointed lodgers, who would have been de-
lighted to identify the ' Mr. Brook,' who had monopo-
lized the object of their admiration. These perils,
the various disagreeables, and especially Mrs. Murrell's
complaints and demands for money, had so much an-
noyed Owen, who felt himself the injured party in the
connexion, that he had not only avoided the place,
but endeavoured to dismiss the whole humiliating affair
from his mind, trying to hinder himself from being
harassed by letters, and when forced to attend to the
representations of the women, sending a few kind words
and promises, with such money as he could spare, al-
ways backed, however, by threats of the conse-
416 HOPES AND FEAKS.
quences of a disclosure, which he vaguely intimated
would ruin his prospects for life.
Little did the thoughtless boy comprehend the
cruelty of his neglect In the underground rooms of
the City lodging-house, the voluntary prison of the
shamefaced, half-owned wife, the overwrought head-
ache, incidental to her former profession, made her its
prey ; nervous fever came on as the suspense became
more trying, and morbid excitement alternated with
torpor and depression. Medical advice was long de-
ferred, and that which was at last sought was not
equal to her needs. It remained for the physician
summoned by Ovren, in his horror at her delirium, to
discover that her brain had long been in a state of
irritation, which had become aggravated to such a
degree that death was even to be desired. Could she
yet survive, it could hardly be to the use of her in-
tellect.
Robert described poor Owen's impetuous misery,
and the cares which he lavished on the unconscious
sufferer, mentioning him with warmth and tenderness
that amazed Honor, from one so stern of judgment.
Xay, Pwobert was more alive to the palliations of Owen's
conduct than she was herself She grieved over the
complicated deceit, and resented the cruelty to the
wife with the keen severity of secluded womanhood,
unable to realize the temptations of young-man-
hood.
'Why could he not have told me?' she said. 'I
could so easily have forgiven him for generous love, if
I alone had been offended, and there had been no
falsehood ; but, after the way he has used us all, and
chiefly that poor young thing, I can never feel that he
is the same.'
And, though ' the heart that knew no guile had
been saved from suffering, the thought of the intin.
that she had encouraged, and the wishes she had enter-
tained for Phoebe, filled her with such dismay, that it
required the sight of the innocent, serene face, and the
HOPES AND FEARS. 417
sound of the happy, unembarrassed voice, to reassure
her that her darling's peace had not been wrecked.
For, though Owen had never overpassed the bounds of
the familiar intercourse of childhood, there had been
an implication of preference in his look and tone ; nor
had there been error in the intuition of poor Edna's
jealous passion. Something there was of involuntary
reverence that had never been commanded by the far
more beautiful and gifted girl who had taken him
captive.
So great was the shock that Honora moved about
mechanically, hardly able to think. She knew that in
time she should pardon her boy ; but she could not
yearn to do so till she had seen him repent. He had
sinned too deeply against others to be taken home at
once to her heart, even though she grieved over him
with deep, loving pity, and sought to find the original
germs of error rather in herself than in him.
Had she encouraged deceit by credulous trust 1 Alas !
alas! that should but have taught him generosity. It
was the old story. Fond affection had led her to put
herself into a position to which Providence did not call
her, and to which she was, therefore, unequal. Fond
affection had blinded her eyes, and fostered in its
object the very faults most hateful to her. She could
only humble herself before her Maker for the recurring
sin, and entreat for her own pardon, and for that of
the offender with whose sins she charged herself.
And to man she humbled herself by her confession
to Captain Charteris, and by throwing herself unreserv-
edly on the advice of Mr. Saville and Sir John Ray-
mond, for her future conduct towards the culprit. If
he were suffering now for her rejection of the counsel
of manhood and experience, it was right that they
should deal with him now, and she would try to bear
it. And she also tried as much as possible to soften
the blow to Lucilla, who was still abroad with her
cousins.
VOL. I. E E
CHAPTER XII.
A little grain of conscience made him sour.
Texxysox.
PENNY for your thoughts, Cilly/ said
Horatia, sliding in on the slippery
boards of a great bare room of a lodg-
ing-house at the celebrated Spa of
Spitzwasserfitzung.
1 My thoughts 1 I was trying to
recollect the third line of
' Sated at home, of wife and children tired,
Sated abroad, all seen and naught admired.'
1 Bless me, how grand ! Worth twopence. So good
how Shakspeare, as the Princess Ottilie w r ould say !'
' Twopence for its sincerity ! It is not for your
sake that I am not in Old England.'
1 Not for that of the three flaxen-haired princesses,
with religions opinions to be accommodated to those of
the crowned heads they may marry V
' I'm sick of the three, and their raptures. I wish
I was as ignorant as yon, and that Shakspeare had
never been read at the Holt.'
' This is a sudden change. I thought Spitzwasser-
fitzung and its princesses had brought halcyon days.'
' Halcyon days will never come till we get home.'
1 Which Lolly will never do. She passes for some-
body here, and will never endure Castle Blanch again.'
' I'll make Owen come and take me home.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 419
' No,' said Rashe, seriously, ' don't bring Owen here.
If Lolly likes to keep Charles where gaming is man's
sole resource, don't run Owen into that scrape.'
' What a despicable set you are !' sighed Lucilla.
* I wonder why I stay with you.'
' You might almost as well be gone,' said Ratia.
1 You aren't half so useful in keeping things going as
you were once ; and you wont be ornamental long, if
you let your spirits be so uncertain.'
' And pray how is that to be helped ? No, don't
come out with that stupid thing.'
' Commonplace because it is reasonable. You would
have plenty of excitement in the engagement, and then
no end of change, and settle down into a blooming
little matron, with all the business of the world on
your hands. You have got him into excellent training
by keeping him dangling so long ; and it is the only
chance of keeping your looks or your temper. By the
time I come and stay with you, you'll be so agreeable
you wont know yourself '
' Blessings on that hideous post-horn for stopping
your mouth !' cried Lucilla, springing up. ' Not that
letters ever come to me.'
Letters and Mr. and Mrs. Charteris all entered
together, and Rashe was busy with her own share,
when Lucilla came forward with a determined face,
unlike her recent listless look, and said, ' I am wanted
at home. I shall start by the diligence to-night.'
1 How now V said Charles. ' The old lady wanting
you to make her will V
1 No,' said Lucilla, with dignity. ' My brother's wife
is very ill. I must go to her.'
1 Is she demented V asked Charles, looking at his
sister.
I Raving,' was the answer. ' She has been so the
whole morning. I shall cut off her hair, and get ice
for her head.'
I I tell simple truth,' returned Cilia. ■ Here is a
letter from Honor Charlecote, solving the two mys-
e e 2
420 HOPES AND FEARS.
teries of last summer. Owen's companion, who Rashe
would have it was Jack Hastings '
1 Ha ! married, then ! The cool hand ! And, verily,
but that Cilly takes it so easily, I should imagine it
was her singing prodigy — eh 1 It was, then V
' Absurd idiot !' exclaimed Charles. ' There, he is
done for now !'
1 Yes,' drawled Eloi'sa ; ' one never could notice a
low person like that.'
1 She is my sister, remember !' cried Lucilla, with
stamping foot and flashing eye.
' Cunning rogue !' continued Horatia. ' How did he
manage to give no suspicion 1 Oh ! what fun ! No
wonder she looked green and yellow when he was
flirting with the little Fulmort ! Let's hear all, Cilly —
how, when, and where V
1 At the Registrar's, at R , July 14th, 1854/
returned Lucilla, with defiant gravity.
' Last July I' said Charles. ' Ha ! the young donkey
was under age — hadn't consent of guardian. I don't
believe the marriage will hold water. I'll write to
Stevens this minute.'
1 Well, that would be luck !' exclaimed Rashe.
' Much better than he deserves,' added Charles, ' to
be such a fool as to run into the noose and marry the
girl.'
Lucilla was trembling from head to foot, and a light
gleamed in her eyes ; but she spoke so quietly, that her
cousins did not apprehend her intention in the
question —
f You mean what you say V
1 Of course I do,' said Charles. ' I'm not sure of the
law, and some of the big- wigs are very cantankerous
about declaring an affair of this sort null ; but I ima-
gine there is a fair chance of his getting quit for some
annual allowance to her ; and I'll do my best, even if
I had to go to London about it. A man is never
ruined till he is married.'
' Thank you,' returned Lucilla, her lips trembling
HOPES AND FEARS. 421
with bitter irony. ' Now I know what you all are
made of. We are obliged for your offered exertion,
but we are not inclined to become traitors.'
1 Cilly ! I thought you had more sense ! You are
no child !'
' I am a woman — I feel for womanhood. I am a
sister — I feel for my brother's honour.'
Charles "burst into a laugh. Eloisa remonstrated —
1 My dear, consider the disgrace to the whole family —
a village schoolmistress !'
•' Our ideas differ as to disgrace,' said Lucilla. l Let
me go, Ratia ; I must pack for the diligence.'
The brother and sister threw themselves between
her and the door. ' Are you insane, Cilly 1 What do
you mean should become of you ? Are you going to
join the menage, and teach the ABC?'
' I am going to own my sister while yet there is
time,' said Lucilla. ' While you are meditating how
to make her a deserted outcast, death is more mer-
ciful. Pining under the miseries of an unowned mar-
riage, she is fast dying of pressure on the brain. I am
going in the hope of hearing her call me sister. I am
going to take charge of her child, and stand by my
brother.'
' Dying, poor thing ! Why did you not tell us
before V said Horatia, sobered.
' I did not know it was to save Charles so much
kind trouble? said Lucilla. ' Let me go, Rashe ; you
cannot detain me.'
' I do believe she is delighted,' said Horatia, releasing
her.
In truth, she was inspirited by perceiving any door of
escape. Any vivid sensation was welcome in the irksome
vacancy that pursued her in the absence of immediate
excitement. Devoid of the interest of opposition, and
of the bracing changes to the Holt, her intercourse with
the Charterises had become a weariness and vexation
of spirit. Idle foreign life deteriorated them, and her
principle and delicacy suffered frequent offences ; but
422 HOPES AND FEARS.
like all living wilfully in temptation, she seemed under
a spell, only to be broken by an act of self-humiliation
to which she would not bend. Longing for the whole-
some atmosphere of Hiltonbury, she could not brook
to purchase her entrance there by permitting herself
to be pardoned. There was one who she fully intended
shoulcl come and entreat her return, and the terms of
her capitulation had many a time been arranged with
herself ; but when he came not, though her heart ached
after him, pride still forbade one homeward step, lest
it should seem to be in quest of him, or in compliance
with his wishes.
Here, then, was a summons to England — nay, into
his very parish — without compromising her pride or
forcing her to show deference to rejected counsel. Nay,,
in contrast with her cousins, she felt her sentiments so
lofty and generous that she was filled with the gladness
of conscious goodness, so like the days of her early
childhood, that a happy dew suffused her eyes, and she
seemed to hear the voice of old Thames. Her loathing
for the views of her cousins had borne down all resent-
ment at her brothers folly and Edna's presumption ;
and relieved that it was not worse, and full of pity for
the girl she had really loved, Honor's grieved displeasure
and Charles's kind project together made her the ardent
partisan of the young wife. Because Honor intimated
that the girl had been artful, and had forced herself on
Owen, Lucilla was resolved that her favourite had been
the most perfect of heroines ; and that circumstance
alone should bear such blame as could not be thrown
on Honor herself and the Wrap worth gossipry. Poor
circumstance !
The journey gave her no concern. The way was
direct to Ostend, and Spitzwasserfitzung contained a
' pension ' which was a great resort of incipient English
governesses, so that there were no difficulties such as
to give her enterprising spirit the least concern. She
refused the escort that Eashe would have pressed upon
her, and made her farewells with quiet resolution. No
HOPES AND FEARS. 423
further remonstrance was offered; and though each
party knew that what had passed would be a barrier
for ever, good breeding preferred an indifferent parting.
There were light, cheery words, but under the full
consciousness that the friendship begun in perverseness
had ended in contempt.
Horatia turned aside with a good-natured 'Poor
child ! she will soon wish herself back.' Lucilla, taking
her last glance, sighed as she thought, ' My father did
not like them. But for Honor, I would never have
taken up with them.'
Without misadventure, Lucilla arrived at London
Bridge, and took a cab for Wool stone Lane, where she
must seek more exact intelligence of the locality of
those she sought. So long had her eye been weary of
novelty, while her mind was ill at ease, that even
Holborn in the August sun was refreshingly homelike ;
and begrimed Queen Anne, ' sitting in the sun ' before
St. Panl's, wore a benignant aspect to glances full of
hope and self-approval. An effort was necessary to
recal how melancholy was the occasion of her journey,
and all mournful anticipation was lost in the spirit of
partisanship and patronage — yes, and in that pervading
consciousness that each moment brought her nearer
to Whittingtonia.
Great was the amaze of good Mrs. Jones, the house-
keeper, at the arrival of Miss Lucy, and equal disap-
pointment that she would neither eat nor rest, nor
accept a convoy to No. 8, Little Whittington Street.
She tripped off thither the instant she had ascertained
the number of the house, and heard that her brother
was there, and his wife still living.
She had formed to herself no image of the scenes
before her, and was entirely unprepared by reflection
when she rang at the door. As soon as she men-
tioned her name, the little maid conducted her down-
stairs, and she found herself in the sitting-room, face
to face with Robert Fulmort.
Without showing surprise or emotion, or relaxing
124 HOPES AND FEARS.
his grave, listening air, he merely bowed his head, and
held out his hand. There was an atmosphere of awe
about the room, as though she had interrupted a reli-
gious office ; and she stood still in the solemn hush,
her lips parted, her bosom heaving. The opposite door
was ajar, and from within came a kind of sobbing moan,
and a low, feeble, faltering voice faintly singing —
' For men must work, and women must weep,
And the sooner 'tis over, the sooner to sleep.'
The choking thrill of unwonted tears rushed over
Lucilla, and she shuddered. Robert looked disap-
pointed as he caught the notes ; then placing a seat for
Lucilla said, very low, ' We hoped she would waken
sensible. Her mother begged me to be at hand.'
' Has she never been sensible V
1 They hoped so, at one time, last night. She seemed
to know him.'
* Is he there V
Robert only sighed assent, for again the voice was
heard — ' I must get up. Miss Sandbrook wants me.
She says I sha'n't be afraid when the time comes ; but
oh ! — so many, mauy faces — all their eyes looking ; and
where is he 1 — why doesn't he look 1 Oh ! Miss Sand-
brook, don't bring that young lady here — I know — I
know it is why he never comes — keep her away '
The voice turned to shrieking sobs. There were
sounds of feet and hurried movements, and Owen came
out, gasping for breath, and his face flushed. ' I can't
bear it,' he said, with his hands over his face.
1 Can I be of use V asked Robert.
1 No ; the nurse can hold her ;' and he leant his
arms on the mantelpiece, his frame shaken with long-
drawn sobs. He had never even seen his sister, and she
was too much appalled to speak or move.
When the sounds ceased, Owen looked up to listen,
and Robert said, ' Still no consciousness V
1 No, better not. What would she gain by it V
1 It must be better not, if so ordained,' said Robert.
HOPES AND FEAKS. 4-25
1 Pshaw ! what are last feelings and words ? As if a
blighted life and such suffering were not sure of com-
pensation. There's more justice in Heaven than in
your system !'
He was gone ; and Robert with a deep sigh said, ' I
am not j udging. I trust there were tokens of repentance
and forgiveness; but it is painful, as her mother feels it,
to hear how her mind runs on light songs and poetry.'
1 Mechanically !'
I True ; and delirium is no criterion of the state of
mind. But it is very mournful. In her occupation,
one would have thought habit alone would have made
her ear catch other chimes.'
Lucilla remembered with a pang that she had sym-
pathized with Edna's weariness of the monotony of
hymn and catechism. Thinking poetry rather dull and
tiresome, she had little guessed at the effect of senti-
mental songs and volumes of L. E. L., and the like, on
an inflammable mind, when once taught to slake her
thirsty imagination beyond the S. P. C. K. She did not
marvel at the set look of pain with which Robert
heard passionate verses of Shelley and Byron fall from
those dying lips. They must have been conned by
heart, and have been the favourite study, or they could
hardly thus recur.
I I must go,' said Robert, after a time ; ' I am doing
no good here. You will take care of your brother, if
it is over before I return. Where are you ¥
' My things are in Wool stone Lane.'
' I meant to get him there. I will come back by
seven o'clock ; but I must go to the school.'
' May I go in there f
< You had better not. It is a fearful sight, and you
cannot be of use. I wish you could be out of hearing j
but the house is full.'
1 One moment, Robert — the child V
1 Sent to a nurse, when every sound was agony.'
He stepped into the sick room, and brought out Mrs.
Murrell, who began with a curtsey, but eagerly pressed
426 HOPES AND FEARS.
Lucilla's offered hand. Subdued by sorrow and
watching, she was touchingly meek and resigned, en-
during with the patience of real faith, and only speaking
to entreat that Mr. Eulinort would pray with her for
her poor child. Never had Lucilla so prayed ; and ere
she had suppressed her tears, ere rising from her knees,
Eobert was gone.
She spent the ensuing hours of that summer evening,
seated in the arm-chair, barely moving, listening to the
ticking of the clock, and the thunder of the streets,
and at times hearkening to the sounds in the inner
chamber, the wanderings feebler and more rare, but the
fearful convulsions more frequent, seeming, as it were, to
be tearing away the last remnant of life. These moments
of horror-struck suspense were the only breaks, save
when Owen rushed out unable to bear the sight, and
stood, with hidden face, in such absorption of distress
as to be unconscious of her awe-struck attempts to ob-
tain his attention, or when Mrs. Murrell came to fetch
something, order her maid, or relieve herself by a few
sad words to her guest. Gratified by the eager sisterly
acknowledgment of poor Edna, she touched Lucilla
deeply by speaking of her daughter's fondness for Miss
Sandbrook, grief at having given cause for being
thought ungrateful, and assurances that the secret never
could have been kept had they met the day after the
soiree. Many had been the poor thing's speculations how
Miss Sandbrook would receive her marriage, but al-
ways with confidence in her final mercy and justice ;
and when Lucilla heard of the prolonged wretchedness,
the hope deferred, the evil reports and suspicions of
neighbours and lodgers, the failing health, and cruel
disappointment, and looked round at the dismal
little stifling dungeon where this fair and gifted being
had pined and sunk beneath slander and desertion, hot
tears of indignation filled her eyes, and with fingers
clenching together, she said, ' Oh that I had known it
sooner ! Edna was right. I will be the person to see
justice done to her !'
HOPES AND FEARS. 427
And when left alone she cast about for the most open
mode of proclaiming Edna Murrell her brother's
honoured wife and her own beloved sister. The more
it mortified the Charterises the better !
By the time Robert came back, the sole change was
in the failing strength, and he insisted on conducting
Lucilla to Woolstone Lane, Mrs. Murrell enforcing his
advice so decidedly that there was no choice. She would
not be denied one look at the sufferer, but what she saw
was so miserably unlike the beautiful creature whom
she remembered, that she recoiled, feeling the kindness
that had forbidden her the spectacle, and passively left
the house, still under the chill influence of the shock.
She had tasted nothing since breakfasting on board the
steamer, and on coming into the street the comparative
coolness seemed to strike her through ; she shivered, felt
her knees give way, and grasped Robert's arm for sup-
port. He treated her with watchful, considerate solici-
tude, though with few words, and did not leave her till
he had seenher safe under the charge of the housekeeper;
when, in return for his assurance that he would watch
over her brother, she promised to take food and go at
once to rest.
Too weary at first to undress, and still thinking
that Owen might be brought to her, she lay back on
the couch in her own familiar little cedar room, feeling
as if she recalled the day through the hazy medium
of a dream, and as if she had not been in contact
with Edna, nor Owen, nor Robert, but only with
pale phantoms called by those names.
Robert especially ! Engrossed and awe-stricken as she
had been, still it came on her that something was cjone
that to her had constituted Robert Eulmort. Neither
the change of dress, nor even the older and more settled
expression of countenance, made the difference; but the
want of that nameless, hesitating deference which in
each word or action formerly seemed to implore her
favour, or even when he dared to censure, did so under
appeal to her mercy. Had he avoided her, she could
428 HOPES AND FEARS.
have understood it; but his calm, authoritative self-
possession was beyond her, though as yet she was not
alarmed, for her mind was too much confused to per-
ceive that her influence was lost ; but it was uncomfort-
able, and part of this strange, unnatural world, as though
the wax which she had been used to mould had sud-
denly lost its yielding nature and become marble.
Tired out, she at last went to bed, and slept soundly,
but awoke early, and on coming down, found from the
housekeeper that her brother had been brought home
at two o'clock by Mr. Fulmort, and had gone to his
room at once. All was over. Lucilla, longing to hear
more, set out to see Mrs. Murrell, before he should come
downstairs.
While the good woman was forced to bestir herself
for her lodgers' breakfasts, Lucilla could steal a soli-
tary moment to gaze on the pallid face to which death
had restored much of its beauty. She pressed her lips on
the regal brow, and spoke half aloud, ' Edna, Edna
Sandbrook, sister Edna, you should have trusted me.
You knew I would see justice done to you, and I will.
You shall lie by my mother's side in our own church-
yard, and Wrap worth shall know that she, whom they
envied and maligned, was Owen Sandbrook's wife and
my cherished sister.'
Poor Mrs. Murrell, with her swimming eyes and
stock phrases, brought far more Christian sentiments to
the bed of death. ' Poor, dear love, her father and I
little thought it would end in this, when we used to be
so proud of her. We should have minded that pride
is not made for sinners. ' Favour is deceitful and
beauty is vain ;' and the Lord saw it well that we should
be cast down and slanderous lips opened against us,
that so we might feel our trust is in Him alone ! Oh, it
is good that even thus she was brought to turn to Him !
But I thank — oh, I thank Him, that her father never
lived to see this day !'
She wept such tears of true thankfulness and resig-
nation, that Lucilla, almost abashed by the sight of
HOPES AN T D FEARS. 429
piety beyond her comprehension, stood silent, till, with
a change to the practical, Mrs. Murrell recovered her-
self, saying, ' If you please, ma'am, when had I best
come and speak to the young gentleman 1 I ought to
know what would be pleasing to him about the funeral.'
1 We will arrange,' said Lucilla ; ' she shall be buried
with my mother and sister in Wrapworth churchyard.'
Though gratified, Mrs. Murrell demurred, lest it
might be taken ill by the ' family' and by that godly
minister whose kindness and sympathy at the time of
Edna's evasion had made a deep impression : but Lucilla
boldly undertook that the family must like it, and she
would take care of the minister. Nor was the good
woman insensible to the posthumous triumph over
calumny, although still with a certain hankering after
Kensal Green as a sweet place, with pious monuments,
where she should herself be laid, and the Company
that did things so reasonable and so handsome.
Lucilla hurried back to fulfil the mission of Nemesis
to the Charterises, which she called justice to Edna, and
by the nine o'clock post despatched three notes. One
containing the notice for the Times — 'On the 17th
instant, at 8, Little Whittington-street, St. Wulstan's,
Edna, the beloved wife of Owen Charteris Sandbrook,
Esq.;' another was to order a complete array of mourn-
ing from her dressmaker ; and the third was to the
Reverend Peter Prendergast, in the most simple man-
ner requesting him to arrange for the burial of her
sister-in-law, at 5 P.M. on the ensuing Saturday, indicating
the labourers who should act as bearers, and ending
with, ' You will be relieved by hearing that she was no
other than our dear Edna, married on the 14th of July,
last year.'
She then beguiled the time with designs for grave-
stones, until she became uneasy at Owen's non-
appearance, and longed to go and see after him ; but
she fancied he might have spent nights of watching,
and thought sleep would be the best means of getting
through the interval which appalled her mind, unused
430 HOPES AND FEARS.
to contact with grief. Still his delay began to wear
her spirits and expectation, so long wrought up to the
meeting ; and she was at least equally restless for the
appearance of Robert, wanting to hear more from him,
and above all certain that all her dreary cravings and
vacancy would be appeased by one dialogue with him,
on whatever topic it might be. She wished that she had
obeyed that morning bell at St. Wulstan's. It would
have disposed of half an hour, and she would have met
him. ' For shame,' quoth the haughty spirit, ' now
that has come into my head, I can't go at all.'
Her solitude continued till half- past ten, when she
heard the welcome sound of Robert's voice, and flew to
meet him, but was again checked by his irresponsive
manner as he asked for Owen.
' I have not seen hint. I do not know whether to
knock, lest he should be asleep.'
1 1 hope he is. He has not been in bed for three
nights. I will go and see.'
He was moving to the door, without lingering for a
word more. She stopped him by saying, ' Pray hear
first what I have settled with Mrs. Murrell.'
' She told me,' said Robert. ' Is it Owen's wish V
'It ought to be. It must. Every public justice
must be paid now.'
1 Is it quite well judged, unless it were his strong
desire 1 Have you considered the feelings of Mr.
Prendergast or your relations V
1 There is nothing I consider more. If Charles
thinks it more disgraceful to marry a Christian for love
than a Jewess for money, he shall see that we are not
of the same opinion.'
'I never pretend to judge of your motives.'
' Mercy, what have I gone and said ? ' ejaculated
Lucilla, as the door closed after him. ' Why did I let it
out, and make him think me a vixen 1 Better than a
hypocrite, though ! I always professed to show my
worst. What's come to me, that I can't go on so con-
tentedly 1 He must hear the Charteris' sentiments,
HOPES AND FEARS. 431
though, that he may not think mine a gratuitous
affront.'
Her explanation was at her tongue's end, but Robert
only reappeared with her brother, whom he had found
dressing. Owen just greeted his sister, but asked no
questions, only dropping heavily into a chair, and let
her bring him his breakfast. So young was he, still
wanting six weeks to years of discretion ; so youthful
his appearance in spite of his size and strength, that it
was almost absurd to regard him as a widower, and
expect him to act as a man of mature age and feeling.
There was much of the boy in his excessive and freely-
indulged lassitude, and his half-sullen, half-shy reserve
towards his sister. Knowing he had been in conversa-
tion with Robert, she felt it hard that before her
he only leant his elbows on the table, yawned, and
talked of his stiffness, until his friend, rising to leave
them, he exerted himself to say, ' Don't go, Fulmort.'
1 1 am afraid I must. I leave you to your sister. (She
noted that it was not 'Lucy.')
1 But, I say, Fulmort, there are things to settle —
funeral, and all that,' he said in a helpless voice, like a
sulky schoolboy.
1 Your sister has been arranging with Mrs. Murrell.'
'Yes, Owen,' said Lucilla, tears glistening in her
eyes, and her voice thrilling with emotion ; ' it is right
and just that she should be with our mother and little
Mary at home ; so I have written to Mr. Prendergast.'
1 Very well,' he languidly answered. ' Settle it as
you will ; only deliver me from the old woman ! '
He was in no state for reproaches; but Lucilla was
obliged to bite her lip to restrain a torrent of angry
weeping.
At his urgent instance, Robert engaged to return
to dinner, and went, leaving Lucilla with nothing to
do but to watch those heavy slumberings on the sofa
and proffer attentions that were received with the
surliness of one too miserable to know what to do
with himself. She yearned over him with a new
432 HOPES AND FEARS.
awakening of tenderness, longing, yet unable, to console
or soothe. The light surface-intercourse of the brother
and sister, each selfishly refraining from stirring the
depths of the other's mind, rendered them mere
strangers in the time of trouble ; and vainly did Lucy
gaze wistfully at the swollen eyelids and flushed cheeks,
watch every peevish gesture, and tend each sullen wish,
with pitying sweetness ; she could not reach the inner
man, nor touch the aching wound.
Towards evening, Mrs. Murrell's name was brought
in, provoking a fretful injunction from Owen not to
let him be molested with her cant. Lucilla sighed
compliance, though vexed at his egotism, and went to
the study, where she found that Mrs. Murrell had
brought her grandson, her own most precious comforter,
whom she feared she must resign ' to be bred up as a
gentleman as he was, and despise his poor old granny;
and she would say not a word, only if his papa would
let her keep him till he had cut his first teeth, for he
had always been tender, and she could not be easy to
think that any one else had the charge of him.' She
devoured him with kisses as she spoke, taking every
precaution to keep her profuse tears from falling on
him ; and Lucilla, much moved, answered, ' Oh ! for
the present, no one could wish to part him from you.
Poor little fellow ! May I take him for a little while
to my brother ? It may do him good.'
Cilly had rather have ridden a kicking horse than
handled an infant. She did not think this a pre-
possessing specimen, but it was passive. She had always
understood from books that this was the sure means of
'opening the sealed fountains of grief.' She remembered
what little Mary had been to her father, and in hopes
that parental instinct would make Owen know better
what to do with her burden than she did, she entered
the drawing-room, where a little murmuring sound
caused Owen to start up on his elbow, exclaiming,
* What are you at 1 Don't bring that here ! '
' 1 thought you might wish to see him 1 '
HOPES AND FEARS. 433
' What should I do with him 1 ' asked Owen, in the
same glum, childish tone, turning his face inwards as
he lay down. ' Take it away. Aint I wretched
enough already to please you ? '
She gave up the point, much grieved and strongly
drawn to the little helpless one, rejected by his father,
misused and cast off like his mother. Would no one
stand up for him ? Yes, it must be her part. She
was his champion ! She would set him forth in the
world, by her own toil if need were !
Sealing the promise with a kiss, she returned him
to his grandmother, and talked of him as so entirely
her personal concern, that the good woman went home
to report to her inquiring friends that the young lady
was ready to ' hact very feeling, and very 'andsome.'
Probably desirous to avoid further reference to his
unwelcome son and heir, Owen had betaken himself to
the solace of his pipe, and was pacing the garden with
steps now sauntering with depression, now impetuous
with impatience, always moving too much like a caged
wild beast to invite approach. She was disconso-
lately watching him from the window, when Mr.
Fulmort was admitted. A year ago, what would he
not have given for that unfeigned, simple welcome, as
she looked up with eyes full of tears, saying, 'Oh, Robert,
it is so grievous to see him ! '
' Very sad,' was the mournful answer.
' You may be able to help him. He asks for you,
but turns from me.'
' He has been obliged to rely on me, since we came
to town,' said Robert.
' You must have been very kind ! ' she warmly ex-
claimed.
But he drew back from the effusion, saying, ' I did
no more than was absolutely necessary. He does not
lay himself open to true comfort.'
' Deaths never seemed half so miserable before,'
cried Lucilla. ' Yet this poor thing had little to
VOL. I. F F
434 HOPES AND FEARS.
live for ! Was it all poor Honor's tender softening
that took off the edge to our imaginations ? '
1 It is not always so mournful ! ' shortly said Robert.
1 No ; even the mother bears it better, and not for
want of heart.'
' She is a Christian,' said Robert.
I Poor Owen ! It makes me remorseful. I wonder if I
made too light of the line he took ; yet what difference
could I have made % Sisters go for so little ; and as to
influence, Honor overdid it.' Then, as he made no re-
ply, ' Tell me, do you think my acquiescence did harmf
* I cannot say. Your conscience must decide. It
is not a case for me. I must go to him.'
It was deep mortification. Used to have the least
hint of dawning seriousness thankfully cherished and
fostered, it was a rude shock, when most in need of
epanchement du cceur after her dreary day, to be
thrown back on that incomprehensible process of self-
examination; and by Robert, too !
She absolutely did not feel as if she were the same
Lucilla. It was the sensation of doubt on her personal
identity awakened in the good woman of the ballad
•when her little dog began to bark and wail at her.
She strove to enliven the dinner by talking of
Hiltonbury, and of Juliana's marriage, thus awakening
Owen into life and talkativeness so much in his light
ordinary humour, as to startle them both. Lucilla
would have encouraged it as preferable to his gloom,
but it was decidedly repressed by Robert.
She had to repair to solitary restlessness in the
drawing-room, and was left alone there till so late that
Robert departed after a single cup of tea, cutting short
a captious argument of Owen's about impossibility of
proof, and truth being only true in a sense.
Owen's temper was, however, less morose ; and when
bis sister was lighting his candle for him at night,
kindly said, ' What a bore I've been all day, Lucy.'
I I am glad to be with you, dear Owen ; I have no
one else.'
HOPES AND FEARS. 435
' Eh ? What's become of Rashe i '
' Never mention her again ! '
1 What ? They've cut you ! '
' I have cut them.'
She related what had passed.
Owen set his face into a frown. ' Even so, Charlie ;
doltishness less pardonable than villainy ! You were
right to cut the connexion, Lucy ; it has been our
curse. So now you will go back to poor Honor, and
try to make it up to her.'
1 I'm not going near Honor till she forgives you, and
receives your child.'
' Then you will be very ridiculous,' said Owen,
•impatiently. ' She has no such rancour against me as
you have against her, poor dear ; but it is not in the
nature of things that she should pass over this unlucky
performance.'
1 If it had been such a performance as Charles
desired, I should have said so.'
' Pshaw ! I hadn't the chance ; and gloss it as you
will, Lucy, there's no disguising it, she would have it,
and I could not help it, but she was neglected, and it
killed her ! ' He brought his hand down on the table
with a heavy thump, which together with the words
made his sister recoil. ' Could Honor treat me the
same after that 1 And she not my mother, either !
Why had not my father the sense to have married her ?
Then I could go to her and get rid of this intolerable
weight ! ' and he groaned aloud.
' A mother could hardly love you more,' said Lucy,
to her own surprise. ' If you will but go to her, when
she sees you so unhappy.'
1 Out of the question,' broke in Owen ; ' I can't stay
here ! I would have gone this very night, but I can't
be off till that poor thing — '
'Off!'
' Ay, to the diggings, somewhere, anywhere, to get
away from it all ! '
' Oh, Owen, do nothing mad ! '
f f 2
436 HOPES AND FEARS.
' I'm not going to do anything just now, I tell you.
Don't be in a fright. I shan't take French leave of
you. You'll find me to-morrow morning, worse luck.
Good night.'
Lucilla was doubly glad to have come. Her pride
approved his proposal, though her sisterly love would
suffer, and she was anxious about the child ; but the-
dawning confidence was at least a relief.
Next morning, he was better, and talked much too
like his ordinary self, but relapsed afterwards for want
of employment ; and when a letter was brought to him,
left by his wife to be read after her death, he broke
down, and fell into a paroxysm of grief and despair,
which still prevailed when a message came in to ask
admission for Mr. Prendergast. Relieved to be out of
sight of depression that her consolations only aggra-
vated, and hoping for sympathy and counsel, Lucy
hastened to the study with out-stretched hands, and
was met with the warmth for which she had longed.
Still there was disappointment. In participation
with Owen's grief, she had lost sight of his offences r
and was not prepared for the commencement. ' Well,
Cilia, I came up to talk to you. A terrible business
this of Master Owen's.'
I It breaks one's heart to see him so wretched.'
I I hope he is. He ought to be.'
'Now, Mr. Prendergast.'
The curate held up both hands, deprecating her
coaxing piteous look, and used his voice rather loudly
to overpower hers, and say what he had prepared as
a duty.
' Yes, yes, he is your brother, and all that. You
may feel for him what you like. But I must say this :
it was a shameful thing, and a betrayal of confidence,
such as it grieves me to think of in his father's son.
I am sorry for her, poor thing ! whom I should have
looked after better ; and I am very sorry indeed for
yon, Cilia ; but I must tell you that to bury the poor
HOPES AND FEARS. 437
girl next to Mrs. Sandbrook, as your brother's wife,
would be a scandal.'
'Don't speak so loud ; lie will hear.'
His mild face was unwontedly impatient as he said,
' I can see how you gave in to the wish ; I don't
blame you, but if you consider the example to the
parish.'
1 After what I told you in my letter, I don't see the
evil of the example ; unless it be your esprit de corps
about the registrar, and they could not well have
requested you to officiate.'
( Cilia, you were always saucy, but this is no time
for nonsense. You can't defend them.'
1 Perhaps you are of your Squire's opinion — that the
bad example was* in the marrying her at all.'
Mr. Prendergast looked so much shocked that
Lucilla felt a blush rising, conscious that the tone of
the society she had of late lived with had rendered her
tongue less guarded, her cheek less shamefaced than
erst, but she galloped on to hide her confusion. ' You
were their great cause. If you had not gone and
frightened her, they might have philandered on all
this time, till the whole affair died of its own silliness.'
' Yes, no one was so much to blame as I. I will
trust no living creature again. My carelessness opened
the way to temptation, and Heaven knows, Lucilla, I
have been infinitely more displeased with myself than
with them.'
1 "Well, so am I with myself, for putting her in his
way. Don't let us torment ourselves with playing the
game backwards again — I hate it. Let's see to the
next.'
1 That is what I came for. Now, Cilia, though I
would gladly do what I could for poor Owen, just
think what work it will make with the girls at Wrap-
worth, who are nonsensical enough already, to have
this poor runaway brought back to be buried as the
wife of a fine young gentleman.'
4oS HOPES AND FEARS.
1 Poor Edna's history is no encouragement to look
out for fine young gentlemen.'
' They will know the fact, and sink the circum-
stances.'
' So you are so innocent as to think they don't
know ! Depend upon it, every house in Wrapworth
rings with it ; and wont it be more improving to have
the poor thing's grave to point the moral'?'
'Cilia, you are a little witch. You always have
your way, but I don't like it. It is not the right one.'
' Not right for Owen to make full compensation 1
Mind, it is not Edna Murrell, the eloped schoolmistress,
but Mrs. Sandbrook, whom her husband wishes to
bury among his family/
' Poor lad, is he much cut up ? '
I So much that I should hardly dare tell him if you
had refused. He could not bear another indignity
heaped on her, and a wound from you would cut
deeper than from any one else. You should remember
in judging him that he had no parent to disobey, and
there was generosity in taking on him the risk rather
than leave her to a broken heart and your tender
mercy.'
I I fear his tender mercy has turned out worse than
mine ; but I am sorry for all he has brought on him-
self, poor lad !'
' Shall I try whether he can see you V
' No, no ; I had rather not. You say young Ful-
mort attends to him, and I could not speak to him with
patience. Five o'clock, Saturday V
( Yes; but that is not all. That poor child — Robert
Fulmort, you, and I must be sponsors.'
1 Cilia, Cilia, how can I answer how it will be
brought up V
' Some one must. Its father talks of leaving England,
and it will be my charge. Will you not help me I
you who always have helped me. My father's grand-
son ; — you cannot refuse him, Mr. Pendy,' said she,,
usimr their old childish name for him.
HOPES AND FEARS. 439
He yielded to the united influence of his rectors
daughter and the memory of his rector. Though no
weak man, those two appeals always swayed him ; and
Lucilla's air, spirited when she defended, soft when
she grieved, was quite irresistible ; so she gained her
point, and felt restored to herself by the exercise of
power, and by making her wonted impression. Since
one little dog had wagged his little tail, she no longer
doubted ' If I be I ;' yet this only rendered her more
nervously desirous of obtaining the like recognition
from the other, and she positively wearied after one
of Robert's old wistful looks.
A tete-a-tete with him was necessary on many
accounts, and she lay in wait to obtain a few moments
alone with him in the study. He complied neither
eagerly nor reluctantly, bowed his head without re-
mark when she told him about the funeral, and took
the sponsorship as a matter of course. ' Very well ; I
suppose there is no one else to be found. Is it your
brother's thought V
1 1 told him.'
'So I feared.'
' Oh ! Robert, we must take double care for the poor
little thing.'
' I will do my best,' he answered.
' Do you know what Owen intends V said Lucilla,
in low, alarmed accents.
1 He has told you 1 It is a wild purpose ; but I
doubt whether to dissuade him, except for your sake,'
he added, with his first softening towards her, like
balm to the sore spot in her heart.
1 Never mind me, I can take care of myself,' she said,
while the muscles of her throat ached and quivered
with emotion. ' I would not detain him to be pitied,
and forgiven.'
* Do not send him away in pride ;' said Robert, sadly.
1 Am not I humbled enough V she said j and her
drooping head and eye seemed to thrill him with their
wonted power.
440 HOPES AND FEARS.
One step he made towards her, but checked himself,
and said in a matter-of-fact tone, ' Currie, the archi-
tect, has a brother, a civil engineer, just going out to
Canada to lay out a railway. It might be an opening
for Owen to go as his assistant — unless you thought it
beneath him.'
These last words were caused by her uncontrollable
look of disappointment. But it was not the proposal :
no ; but the change of manner that struck her. The
quiet indifferent voice was like water quenching a
struggling spark, but in a moment she recovered her
powers. ' Beneath him ! Oh, no. I told you we were
humbled. I always longed for his independence, and
I am glad that he should not go alone.'
' The work would suit his mathematical and scientific
turn. Then, since you do not object, I will see whether
he would like it, or if it be practicable, in case Miss
Charlecote should approve.'
Robert seized this opportunity of concluding the
interview. Lucy ran upstairs for the fierce quarter-
deck walking that served her instead of tears, as an
ebullition that tired down her feelings by exhaustion.
Some of her misery was for Owen, but would the
sting have been so acute had Robert Fulmort been
more than the true friend 1
Phcebe's warning, given in that very room, seemed
engraven on each panel. ' If you go on as you are
doing now, he does not think it would be right for a
clergyman.'
Could Lucilla have looked through the floor, she
would have seen Robert with elbows on the window-
sill, and hands locked over his knitted brows ; and
could she have interpreted his short-drawn sighs, she
would have heard, ' Poor child ! poor child ! It is not
coquetry. That was injustice. She loves me. She
loves me still ! Why do I believe it only too late 1
Why is this trial sent me, since I am bound to the
scheme that precludes my marriage 1 What use is it to
see her as undisciplined — as unfit as ever? I know it ! I
HOPES AND FEARS. 441
always knew it. But I feel still a traitor to her ! She
had warning ! She trusted the power of my attach-
ment in spite of my judgment! Fickle to her, or a
falterer to my higher pledge ? Never ! I must let
her see the position — crush any hope — otherwise I
cannot trust myself, nor deal fairly by her. Heaven
help us both !'
When they next met, Robert had propounded his
Canadian project, and Owen had caught at it. Idle-
ness had never been his fault, and he wanted
severe engrossing labour to stun pain and expel
thought. He was urgent to know what standard of
attainments would be needful, and finding Ptobert
ignorant on this head, seized his hat, and dashed out
in the gaslight to the nearest bookseller's for a treatise
on surveying.
Robert was taken by surprise, or he might have
gone too. He looked as if he meditated a move, but
paused as Lucy said, ' Poor fellow, how glad he is of an
object !'
' May it not be to his better feelings like sunshine
to morning dew]' said Robert, sighing. 'I hear a
very high character of Mr. Currie, and a right-minded,
practical, scientific man may tell more on a disposition
like his '
1 Than parsons and women,' said Lucilla, with a
gleam of her old archness.
I Exactly so. He must see religion in the world, not
out of it.'
' After all, I have not heard who is this Mr. Currie,
and how you know him.'
I I know him through his brother, who is building
the church in Cecily Row.'
1 A church in Cecily Row ! St. Cecilia's ? Who is
doing it ? Honor Charlecote V
* No j I am.'
' You ! Tell me all about it,' said Lucilla, leaning
forward to listen with the eager air of interest which,
when not half so earnest, had been always bewitching.
4-12 HOPES AND FEARS.
Poor Robert looked away, and tried to think himself
explaining his scheme to the Archdeacon. ' The place is
in frightful disorder, filled with indescribable vice and
misery, but there is a shadow of hope that a few may-
be worked on if something like amission can be organized.
Circumstances seemed to mark me out as the person to
be at the cost of setting it on foot, my father's con-
nexion with the parish giving it a claim on me. So I
purchased the first site that was in the market, and the
buildings are in progress, chapel, schools, orphanage,
and rooms for myself and two other clergy. When all
the rest is provided for, there will remain about two
hundred and fifty pounds a year — just enough for three
of us, living together.'
He durst not glance towards her, or he would have
seen her cheek white as wax, and her eye seeking his
in dismayed inquiry. There was a pause ; then she
forced herself to falter — ' Yes. I suppose it is very
right — very grand. It is settled 1 '
1 The Archdeacon has seen the plans, the Bishop has
consented.'
Long and deep was the silence that fell on both.
Lucilla knew her fate as well as if his long coat had
been a cowl.
She would not, could not feel it yet. She must keep
up appearances, so she fixed her eyes steadily on the
drawing her idle hands were perpetrating on the back
of a letter, and appeared absorbed in shading a Turk's
head.
If Robert's motives had not been unmixed, if his
zeal had been alloyed by temper, or his self-devotion by
undutifulness ; if his haste had been self-willed, or his
"udgment one-sided, this was an hour of retribution.
Let her have all her faults, she was still the Lucy who
had flown home to him for comfort. He felt as if he
had dashed away the little bird that had sought refuge
in his bosom.
Fain would he have implored her pardon, but for the
stern resolution to abstain from any needless word or
HOPES AND FEARS. 443
look, such as might serve to rivet the affection that
ought to be withdrawn ; and he was too manly and
unselfish to indulge in discussion or regret, too late as
it was to change the course to which he had offered
himself and his means. To retract would have been a
breach of promise — a hasty one, perhaps, but still an
absolute vow publicly made ; and in all his wretched-
ness he had at least the comfort of knowing the present
duty.
Afraid of last words, he would not even take leave
until Owen came in upon their silence, full of anima-
tion and eagerness to see how far his knowledge would
serve him with the book that he had brought home.
Robert then rose, and on Owen's pressing to know
when he might see the engineer, promised to go in search
of him the next day, but added that they must not ex-
pect to see himself till evening, since it would be a
busy day.
Lucilla stood up, but speech was impossible. She
was in no mood to affect indifference, yet she could
neither be angry nor magnanimous. She seemed to
have passed into a fresh stage of existence where she
was not yet at home ; and in the same dreamy way
she went on drawing Red Indians, till by a sudden
impulse she looked up and said, ' Owen, why should
not I come out with you V
He was intent on a problem, and did not hear.
1 Owen, take me with you ; I will make a home for
you.'
'Eh?
1 Owen, let me come to Canada, and take care of you
and your child.'
He burst out laughing. ' Well done, Cilly ; that
beats all !'
' Am I likely to be in play V
1 If not, you are crazy. As if a man could go sur-
veying in the backwoods with a woman and a brat at
his heels !'
Lucy's heart seemed to die within her. Nothing
414 HOPES AND FEARS.
was left to her : hopes and fears were alike extinct, and
life a waste before her. Still and indifferent, she
laid her down at night, and awoke in the morning,
wishing still to prolong the oblivion of sleep. Anger
with Robert would have been a solace, but his dejec-
tion forbade this ; nor could she resent his high-flown
notions of duty, and deem herself their victim, since
she had slighted fair warning, and repelled his attempts
to address her. She saw no resource save the Holt,
now more hopelessly dreary and distasteful than ever,
and she shrank both from writing to Honor, or ending
her tantalizing intercourse with Robert. To watch
over her brother was her only comfort, and one that
must soon end.
He remained immersed in trigonometry, and she
was glad he should be too much engrossed for the out-
breaks of remorseful sorrow that were so terrible to
witness, and carefully guarded him from all that could
excite them.
Mrs. Murrell brought several letters that had been
addressed to him at her house, and as Lucilla conveyed
them to him, she thought their Oxford post-marks
looked suspicious, especially as he thrust them aside
with the back of his hand, returning without remark
to A B and C D.
Presently a person asked to speak with Mr. Sand-
brook; and supposing it was on business connected with
the funeral, Lucilla went to him, and was surprised at
recognising the valet of one of the gentlemen who had
stayed at Castle Blanch. He was urgent to see Mr.
Sandbrook himself; but she, resolved to avert all annoy-
ances, refused to admit him, offering to take a message.
1 Was it from his master V
' Why, no, ma'am. In fact, I have left his lordship's
service,' he said, hesitating. ' In point of fact, I am
the principal. There was a little business to be settled
with the young gentleman when he came into his for-
tune; and understanding that such was the case, since
HOPES AND FEARS. 445
I heard of him as settled in life, I have brought my
account.'
' You mistake the person. My brother has come
into no fortune, and has no expectation of any.'
1 Indeed, ma'am !' exclaimed the man. 'I always
understood that Mr. Owen Charteris Sandbrook was
heir to a considerable property.'
' What of that V
' Only this, ma'am, — that I hold a bond from that
gentleman for the payment of 600?. upon the death of
Miss Honora Charlecote, of the Holt, Hiltonbury,
whose property I understood was entailed on him.'
His tone was still respectful, but his hand shook with
suppressed rage, and his eye was full of passion.
' Miss Charlecote is not dead,' steadily answered
Lucilla. ' She is in perfect health, not fifty years old,
and her property is entirely at her own disposal.'
Either the man's wrath was beyond control, or he
thought it his interest to terrify the lady, for he broke
into angry complaints of being swindled, with menaces
of exposure ; but Lucilla, never deficient in courage,
preserved ready thought and firm demeanour.
' You had better take care,' she said. ' My brother
is under age, and not liable. If you should recover
what you have lent him, it can only be from our sense
of honesty. Leave me your address and a copy of the
bond, and I give you my word that you shall receive
your due.'
The valet, grown rich in the service of a careless
master, and richer by money-lending transactions with
his masters friends, knew Miss Sandbrook, and was
aware that a lady's word might be safer than a spend-
thrift's bond. He tried swaggering, in the hope of
alarming her into a promise to fulfil his demand unin-
vestigated ; but she was on her guard ; and he, re-
flecting that she must probably apply to others for the
means of paying, gave her the papers, and freed her
from his presence.
446 HOPES AND FEARS.
Freed her from his presence ! Yes, but only to leave
her to the consciousness of the burthen of shame he had
brought her. She saw why Owen thought himself
past pardon. Speculation on the death of his bene-
factress! Borrowing on an inheritance that he had
been forbidden to expect. Double-dyed deceit and
baseness ! Yesterday, she had said they were humbled
enough. This was not humiliation, it was degradation !
It was far too intolerable for standing still and feeling
it. Lucilla's impetuous impulses always became her
obstinate resolutions, and her pride rebounded to its
height in the determination that Owen should leave
England in debt to no man, were it at the cost of all
she possessed.
Re-entering the drawing-room, she found that Owen
had thrust the obnoxious letters into the waste-basket,
each unopened envelope, with the contents, rent down
the middle. She sat down on the floor, and took them
out, saying, as she met his eye, ' I shall take these.
I know what they are. They are my concern.'
' Folly !' he muttered. ' Don't you know I have the
good luck to be a minor V
I That is no excuse for dishonesty.'
' Look at home before you call names,' said Owen,
growing enraged. ' Before you act spy on me, I should
like to know who paid for your fine salmon-fly gown,
and all the rest of it Y
I I never contracted debts in the trust that my age
would enable me to defraud my creditors.'
< Who told you that I did % I tell you, Lucilla, I'll
endure no such conduct from you. No sister has a
right to say such things !' and starting up, his furious
stamp shook the floor she sat upon, so close to her that
it was as if the next would demolish her.
She did not move, except to look up all the length of
the tall figure over her into the passion-flushed face. ' I
should neither have said nor thought so, Owen,' she re-
plied. ' I should have imputed these debts to mere
heedless extravagance, like other people's — like my
HOPES AND FEARS. 447
own, if you please — save for your own words, and
for finding you capable of such treachery as borrowing
on a post-obit.''
He walked about furiously, stammering interroga-
tions on the mode of her discovery, and, as she explained,
storming at her for having brought this down on him
by the folly of putting ' that thing into the Times.''
Why could she not have stayed away, instead of
meddling where she was not wanted ?
' 1 thought myself wanted when my brother was in
trouble,' said Lucilla, mournfully, raising her face,
which she had bent between her hands at the first
swoop of the tempest. 'Heaven knows, I had no
thought of spying. I came to stand by your wife, and
comfort you. I only learnt all this in trying to shield
you from intrusion. Oh, would that I knew it not !
Would that I could think of you as I did an hour
ago ! Oh, Owen, though I have never shared your
fondness for Honor Charlecote, I thought it genuine ;
I did not scorn it as fortune-hunting.'
' It was not ! It never was ! ' cried the poor boy.
' Honor ! Poor Honor ! Lucy, I doubt if I could
have felt for my mother as I do for her. O, if you
could guess how I long for her dear voice in my ears,
her soft hand on my head — ' and he sank intc his
chair, hiding his face and sobbing aloud.
' Am I to believe that, when — ' began Lucilla,
slowly.
1 The last resource of desperation,' cried Owen.
'What could I do with such a drain upon me ; the old
woman for ever clamouring for money, and threatening
exposure 1 My allowance ? Poor Honor meant well,
but she gave me just enough to promote expensive
habits without supplying them. There was nothing
to fall back on — except the ways of the Castle Blanch
folk.'
1 Betting ! '
He nodded. 'So when it went against me, and
people would have it that I had expectations, it was
44S HOPES AND FEARS.
not for me to contradict them. It was their business,
not mine, to look out for themselves, and pretty hand-
somely they have done so. It would have been a
very different percentage if I had been an eldest sou.
As it is, my bond is — what is it for, Lucy V
1 Six hundred.'
' How much do you think I have touched of that 1
Not two ! Of that, three-fourths went to the harpies
I fell in with at Paris, under Charles's auspices — and
five-and-twenty there' — pointing in the direction of
Whittington Street.
1 Will the man be satisfied with the two hundred V
' Don't he wish he may get it 1 But, Lucy, you are
not to make a mess of it. I give you warning I
shall go, and never be heard of more, if Honor is
applied to.'
' I had rather die than do so.'
1 You are not frantic enough to want to do it out of
your own money 1 I say, give me those papers.'
He stooped and stretched out the powerful hand and
arm, which when only half-grown had been giant-like in
struggles with his tiny sister ; but she only laid her
two hands on the paper, with just sufficient resistance
to make it a matter of strength on his side. They
were man and woman, and what availed his muscles
against her will ? It came to parley. ' Now, Lucy, I
have a right to think for you. As your brother, I
cannot permit you to throw your substance to the dogs.'
1 As your sister, I cannot allow you to rest dis-
honoured.'
1 Not a whit more than any of your chosen friends.
Every man leaves debts at Oxford. The extortion is
framed on a scale to be uupaid.'
1 Let it be ! There shall be no stain on the name that
once was my father's, if there be on the whole world
beside.'
' Then,' with some sulkiness, ' you wont be content
without beggaring me of my trumpery twenty-five
hundred as soon as I am of age V
HOPES AND FEARS. 449
' Not at all. Your child must live on that. Only
one person can pay your debts without dishonouring
you, and that is your elder sister.'
' Elder donkey,' was the ungrateful answer. ' Why,
what would become of you ? You'd have to be
beholden to Honor for the clothes on your back !'
1 1 shall not go back to Honor ; I shall earn my own
livelihood.'
1 Lucilla, are you distracted, or is it your object to
make me so ?'
' Only on one condition could I return to the Holt,'
said Lucilla resolutely. ' If Honor would freely offer to
receive your son, I would go to take care of him. Ex-
cept for his sake, I had rather she would not. I will not
go to be crushed with pardon and obligation, while you
are proscribed. I will be independent, and help to
support the boy.'
' Sure,' muttered Owen to himself, ' Lucifer is her
patron saint. If I looked forward to anything, it was
to her going home tame enough to make some amends
to poor, dear Sweet Honey, but I might as well have
hoped it of the panther of the wilderness ! I declare
I'll write to Honor this minute.'
He drew the paper before him. Lucilla started to
her feet, looking more disgusted and discomfited than
by any former shock. However, she managed to re-
strain any dissuasion, knowing that it was the only
right and proper step in his power, and that she could
never have looked Robert in the face again had she
prevented the confession ; but it was a bitter pill ;
above all, that it should be made for her sake. She
rushed away, as usual, to fly up and down her room.
She might have spared herself that agony. Owen's
resolution failed him. He could not bring himself to
make the beginning, nor to couple the avowal of his
offence with such presumption as an entreaty for his
child's adoption, though he knew his sister's impulsive
obstinacy well enough to be convinced that she would
adhere pertinaciously to this condition. Faltering after
vol. I. G G
450 HOPES AXD FEARS.
the first line, he recurred to his former plan of post-
poning his letter till his plans should be so far matured
that he could show that he would no longer be a pen-
sioner on the bounty of his benefactress, and that he
sought pardon for the sake of no material advantage.
He knew that Robert had intimated his intention of
writing after the funeral, and by this he would abide.
Late in the evening Robert brought the engineer's
answer, that he had no objection to take out a pupil,
and would provide board, lodging, and travelling ex-
penses j but he required a considerable premium, and
for three years would offer no salary. His standard of
acquirements was high, but such as rather stimulated
than discouraged Owen, who was delighted to find that
an appointment had been made for a personal interview
on the ensuing Monday.
It was evident that if these terms were accepted, the
debts, if paid at all, must come out of Lucilla's fortune.
Owen's own portion would barely clothe him and
afford the merest pittance for his child until he should
be able to earn something after his three years' ap-
prenticeship. She trusted that he was convinced, and
went upstairs some degrees less forlorn for having a
decided plan ; but a farther discovery awaited her, and
one that concerned herself.
On her bed lay the mourning for which she had sent r
tasteful and expensive, in her usual complete style,
and near it an envelope. It flashed on her that
her order had been dangerously unlimited, and she
opened the cover in trepidation, but what was her
dismay at the double, treble, quadruple foolscap 1 The
present articles were but a fraction to the dreadful
aggregate — the sum total numbered hundreds ! In a
dim hope of error she looked back at the items, ' Black
lace dress: Dec. 2nd, 1852.' — She understood all. It
dated from the death of her aunt. Previously, her
wardrobe had been replenished as though she had been
a daughter of the house, and nothing had marked the
difference ; indeed, the amply provided Horatia had
HOPES AND FEARS. 451
probably intended that things were to go on as usual.
Lucilla had been allowed to forget the existence of
accounts, in a family which habitually ignored them.
Tilings had gone smoothly ; the beautiful little Miss
Sand brook was an advertisement to her milliners, and
living among wealthy people, and reported to be on the
verge of marriage with a millionaire, there had been
no hesitation in allowing her unlimited credit.
Probably the dressmaker had been alarmed by the
long absence of the family, and might have learnt from
the servants how Lucilla had quitted them, therefore
thinking it expedient to remind her of her liabilities.
And not only did the present spectacle make her giddy,
but she knew there was worse beyond. The French-
woman who supplied all extra adornments, among them
the ball-dress whose far bitterer price she was paying,
could make more appalling demands ; and there must
be other debts elsewhere, such that she doubted whether
her entire fortune would clear both her brother and
herself. What was the use of thinking ? It must be
done, and the sooner she knew the worst the better.
She felt very ill-used, certain that her difficulties were
caused by Horatia's inattention, and yet glad to be quit
of an obligation that would have galled her as soon as
she had become sensible of it. It was more than ever
clear that she must work for herself, instead of return-
ing to the Holt, as a dependant instead of a guest.
Was she humbled enough 1
The funeral day began by her writing notes to claim
her bills, and to take steps to get her capital into her
own hands. Owen drowned reflection in geometry,
till it was time to go by the train to Wrapworth.
There Mr. Prendergast fancied he had secured
secresy by eluding questions and giving orders at the
latest possible moment. The concourse in the church
and churchyard was no welcome sight to him, since
he could not hope that the tall figure of the chief
mourner could remain unrecognised. Worthy man,
did he think that Wrapworth needed that sight to
452 HOPES AND FEARS.
assure them of what each tongue had wagged about for
many a day 1
Owen behaved very properly and with much feeling.
When not driving it out by other things, the fact was
palpable to him that he had brought this fair young
creature to her grave ; and in the very scenes where
her beauty and enthusiastic affection had captivated
him, association revived his earlier admiration, and
swept away his futile apology that she had brought the
whole upon herself. A gust of pity, love, and remorse
convulsed his frame, and though too proud to give way,
his restrained anguish touched every heart, and almost
earned him Mr. Prendergast's forgiveness.
Before going away, Lucilla privately begged Mr.
Prendergast to come to town on Monday, to help her
in some business. It happened to suit him particularly
well, as he was to be in London for the greater part of
the week, to meet some country cousins, and the ap-
pointment was made without her committing herself
by saying for what she wanted him, lest reflection
should convert him into an obstacle instead of an
assistant.
The intervening Sunday, with Owen on her hand*,
was formidable to her imagination, but it turned out
better than she expected. He asked her to walk to
Westminster Abbey with him, the time and distance
being an object to both, and he treated her with such
gentle kindness, that she began to feel that something
more sweet and precious than she had yet known from
him might spring up, if they were not forced to sepa-
rate. Once, on rising from kneeling, she saw him
stealthily brushing off his tears, and his eyes were
heavy and swollen, but, softened as she felt, his tone of
feelings were a riddle beyond her power, between their
keenness and their petulance, their manly depth and
boyish levity, their remorse and their recklessness ;
and when he tried to throw them off, she could not
but follow his lead.
1 1 suppose,' he said, late in the day, ' we shall mor-
HOPES AND FEARS. 453
tify Fulmort if we don't go once to his shop. Other-
wise, I like the article in style.'
* I am glad you should like it at all,' said Lucy,
anxiously.
1 1 envy those who, like poor dear Honor, or that
little Phoebe, can find life in the driest form,' said
Owen.
' They would say it is our fault that we cannot find it.'
' Honor would think it her duty to say so. Phoebe
has a wider range, and would be more logical. Is it
our fault or misfortune that our ailments can't be cured
by a paring of St. Bridget's thumb-nail, or by any nos-
trum, sacred or profane, that really cure their votaries %
I regard it as a misfortune. Those are happiest who
believe the most, and are eternally in a state in which
their faith is working out its effects upon them men-
tally and physically. Happy people !'
1 Really I think, unless you were one of those happy
people, it is no more consistent in you to go to church
than it would be in me to set up Rashe's globules.'
1 No, don't tell me so, Lucy. There lie all my best
associations. I venerate what the great, the good, the
beloved receive as their blessing and inspiration. Some-
times I can assimilate myself, and catch an echo of
what was happiness when I was a child at Honor's
knee.'
The tears had welled into his eyes again, and he
hurried away.
Lucilla had faith (or rather acquiescence) without
feeling. Feeling without faith was a mystery to her.
How much Owen believed or disbelieved she knew not,
probably he could not himself have told. It was more
uncertainty than denial, rather dislike to technical
dogma than positive unbelief ; and yet, with his pre-
dilections all on the side of faith, she could not, woman-
like, understand why they did not bring his reason
with them. After all, she decided, in her off-hand fashion,
that there was quite enough that was distressing and
perplexing without concerning herself about them !
454 HOPES AND FEAKS.
Style, as Owen called it, was more attended to than
formerly at St. Wulstan's, but was not in perfection.
Robert, whose ear was not his strong point, did not
shine in intoning, and the other curate preached. The
impression seemed only to have weakened that of the
morning, for Owen's remarks on coming out were on
the English habit of having over much of everything,
and on the superior sense of foreigners in holiday-
making, instead of making a conscience of stultifying
themselves with double and triple church-going.
Cilia agreed in part, but owned that she was glad to
have done with Continental Sundays that had left her
feeling good for nothing all the week, just as she had
felt when once, as a child, to spite Honor, she had
come down without saying her prayers.
' The burthen bound on her conscience by English
prejudice,' said her brother, adding ' that this was the
one oppressive edict of popular theology. It was mere
self-defence to say that the dulness was Puritanical,
since the best Anglican had a cut-and-dried pattern for
all others.'
' But surely as a fact, Sunday observance is the great
safeguard. All goes to the winds when that is given up.'
' The greater error to have rendered it grievous.'
Lucilla had no reply. She had not learnt the joy of
the week's Easter-day. It had an habitual awe for her,
not sacred delight ; and she could not see that because
it was one point where religion taught the world that
it had laws of its own, besides those of mere expe-
dience and morality, therefore the world complained,
and would fain shake off the thraldom.
Owen relieved her b}^ a voluntary proposal to turn
down Whittington-street, and see the child. Perhaps
he had an inkling that the chapel in Cat-alley would
be in full play, and that the small maid would be in
charge ; besides it was gas-light, and the lodgers would
be out. At any rate, softening was growing on him.
He looked long and sorrowfully at the babe in its
cradle, and at last said, —
HOPES AXD FEARS. 455
* He will never be like her.'
1 No ; and I do not think him like you.'
' In fact, it is an ugly little mortal,' said Owen, after
another investigation. 'Yet, it's very odd, Lucy, I
should like him to live.'
' Veiy odd, indeed !' she said, nearly laughing.
' Well, I own, before ever I saw him, when they
said he would die, I did think it was best for himself,
and every one else. So, may be, it would ; but you
see I shouldn't like it. He will be a horrible expense,
and it will be a great bore to know what to do with
him; so absurd to have a son only twenty years younger
than oneself ; but I think I like him, after all. It is
something to work for, to make up to him for what she
suffered. And I say, Lucy,' his eye brightened, ' per-
haps Honor will take to him ! What a thing it would
be if he turned out all she hoped of me, poor thing ! I
would be banished for life, if he could be in my place,
and make it up to her. He might yet have the Holt 1'
1 You have not proposed sending him to her V
' No, I am not so cool,' he sadly answered ; ' but
she is capable of anything in an impulse of forgiveness.'
He spent the evening over his letter ; and, in spite
of his sitting with his back towards his sister, she
saw more than one sheet spoilt by large tears unper-
ceived till they dropped, and felt a jealous pang in re-
cognising the force of his affection for Honor. That
love and compassion seemed contemptible to her, they
were so inconsistent with his deception and disobedience;
and she was impatient of seeing^ that, so far as he felt
his errors at all, it was in their aspect towards his be-
nefactress. His ingratitude towards her touched him
in a more tender part than his far greater errors to-
wards his wife. The last was so shocking and appalling,
that he only half realized it, and, boy like, threw it
from him ; the other came home to the fondness that
had been with him all his life, and which he missed
every hour in his grief. Lucy positively dreaded his
making such submission, or betraying such sorrow as
456 HOPES AND FEARS.
might bring Honora down on them, full of pardon and
beneficence. At least, she had the satisfaction of hear-
ing ' I've said nothing about you, Cilia.'
I That's right !'
' Nor the child,' he continued, brushing up his hair
from his brow. 'When I came to go over it, I did
hate myself to such a degree that I could not say a
word like asking a favour.'
Lucy was greatly relieved.
He looked like himself when he came down to break-
fast, exhilarated by the restoration to activity, and the
opening of a new path, though there was a subdued,
grave look on his young brow not unsuited tohis dee p
mourning.
He took up his last evening's production, looked at
it with some satisfaction, and observed, ' Sweet old
Honey ! I do hope that letter may be a little comfort to
her good old heart !'
Then he told that he had been dreaming of her look-
ing into the cradle, and he could not tell whether it
were himself or the boy that he had seen sitting on a
haycock at Hiltonbury.
' Who knows but it may be a good omen,' said he, in
his sanguine state. ' You said you would go to her, if
she took the child.'
I I did not say I would not.'
1 Well, don't make difficulties ; pray don't, Lucilla.
I want nothing for myself ; but if I could see you and
the child at the Holt, and hear her dear voice say one
word of kindness, I could go out happy. Imagine if
she should come to town !'
Lucilla had no mind to imagine any such thing.
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