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 AH 
 
 ANGEL'S FORxM AND A DEVIL^s HEART, 
 
 A NOl^EL. 
 
 Piinted by J. Darling, Leadenhall-Street, London.
 
 Digitized by tine Internet Archive 
 
 in 2010 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/angelsformanddev01dave
 
 AND A 
 
 A NOVEL, 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 
 BY 
 
 SELIXA DAVENPORT, 
 
 AVTHOli OF THE HYPOCRITE, OR MODERN JASL:<, DONALL 
 
 .MOSTEITH, ORIGINAL OF THE MINIATURE, 
 
 LEAP YEAR, (iC. 
 
 -Yet miuf eves 
 
 Were not in fault, for she was beautiful; 
 Mine ears, that heard her flattery, nor ray heart 
 That thouglit her like her seeming : it had been vicious 
 To have mistrusted her." 
 
 VOL. I. 
 iicntrou: 
 
 Printed al the Mintrut Prtit f'.r 
 
 A.K.NEWMAN AND CO. LE A D EN H A LL-ST K EET 
 
 1818.
 
 
 c 
 
 < 
 
 AN 
 
 Angel's Form &^ a DeviPs Heart. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 X xT was at the close of the last month of 
 the year, and the weather was freezingly 
 cold, when the Monmouth stage drove 
 cautiously into the inn yard. The snow 
 lay thick on the ground, and the frequent 
 '< tread of feet had made the path very slip- 
 ?^pery and dangerous. A tall well-made 
 young man, belonging to a Highland re- 
 giment, tendered his services to assist the 
 ^ passengers in alighting from the top of 
 ^;>the staffe, while the coachman was en- 
 v^ gaged in supporting to the imi an elderly 
 VOL. I. B lady.
 
 2 AN ANGKL S FORM 
 
 lady, wliose years and infirmities made 
 her the object of his care. A short thin 
 man, whose threadbare coat and grey 
 worsted stockings proclaimed him to be 
 one among the numerous sons of adver- 
 sity, now alighted hastily from the vehicle, 
 and presented his hand to a young wo- 
 man, whose plump round form and laugh- 
 ing face but ill accorded with the sable 
 dress she wore. 
 
 " Are your friends to meet you here ?" 
 inquired the thin old man with the thread- 
 bare coat : *' London is a sad place for an 
 unprotected female, and the weather is 
 terribly severe." 
 
 " I have no friends in London," replied 
 the young woman, involuntarily sighing. 
 
 By this time she had alighted from the 
 stage, and turning towards the coachman, 
 who was now come up to them, she gave 
 orders that her trunks should be conveyed 
 to the inn, whither, with the assistance of 
 the old man, she was proceeding as fast as 
 the slipperiness of the way would permit. 
 
 The
 
 AND A DEVIL*S HEAHT. S 
 
 The soldier had caught a glimpse of 
 her features — " No friend !" thought he — 
 ^^ yes, but thou hast a friend, and a true 
 one, Ahce, if thy heart still beats for Mac- 
 kenzie." 
 
 The old man and his fair companion 
 now entered the inn, the soldier followed, 
 and gently touching the yoimg woman's 
 Shoulder, pronounced her name in a hur- 
 ried voice. She gave a start of pleasure 
 and surprise. — " Edward!" said she, giving 
 him her hand, " who would have thought 
 of seeing you ? — How glad, how happy I 
 am to have met you P' 
 
 " Dear Alice, what could bring you to 
 London, and alone? — But you are cold, 
 and want something to warm you." He 
 then drew her towards the bar, and was 
 about to speak, when Ahce requested of 
 the landlady to be shewn into a private 
 room. 
 
 The little old man was close behind het*. 
 
 — " You have unexpectedly met with a 
 
 friend in this young man," said he, looking 
 
 b2 in
 
 4 AN angel's foum 
 
 in her face with an expression of compas- 
 sionate interest. " You will not leave the 
 inn to-night ? — May I see you in a couple 
 of hours ?" 
 
 ** Surely, sir," replied Ahce gaily ; " I 
 should be sorry not to have an opportu- 
 nity of again thanking a gentleman who 
 has behaved so kindly to me during my 
 journey." 
 
 Alice and jNIackenzie were now shewn 
 to a small apartment, where a blazing fire 
 promised to afford comfort and warmth to 
 the young traveller, who ordered some 
 strong coffee to be brought immediately ; 
 then going towards a neat tent-bed which 
 stood in a corner of the room, she drew 
 from beneath her cloak a bundle, which 
 she placed carefully between the blankets, 
 and then returned to the fireside. 
 
 " Alice, dear Alice!" said the soldier, 
 pressing her cold hand in his, " how little 
 did I think, as I saw the Monmouth stage 
 come into the yard, that it would bring 
 you to town ! — Twelve months ago, w^hen 
 
 I and
 
 AXD A devil's heart. 5 
 
 1 and the colonel left Monmouthshire, I 
 thought it would be many and many a 
 long year before we should meet again ; 
 and that thought would come across my 
 mind in my gayest moments, turning all 
 my pleasures into pains. Eut now that 
 we have met again, Alice " 
 
 The coffee and toast v/ere now brought 
 in, and Alice, who appeared labouring 
 under some internal agitation, gladly par- 
 took of the reviving beverage, which Mac- 
 kenzie kindly presented to her. Her spi- 
 rits seemed to return, and she cast lier 
 eyes towards his. 
 
 " Many things have happened since we 
 last met," said she; " and perhaps, Ed- 
 ward, when you know all, you will no 
 longer be my friend. You remember, 
 when we parted, it was with little hope 
 of ever seeing each other again." 
 
 ** True, Alice ; I remember it well. Vou 
 were the friend and companion of a beau- 
 tiful young heiress — / was then only a 
 common soldier. I loved you too dearly, 
 IJ 3 Alice,
 
 6 AN angel's form 
 
 Alice, to seduce you from the patronage 
 of your lady, or to ask you to become the 
 wife of a private soldier. I am now a cor- 
 poral, and have the promise of being made 
 a Serjeant : if you have left your lady, 
 Alice, you may perhaps consent to share 
 my fortunes." 
 
 Mackenzie kissed the hand of Alice, 
 who cast a glance towards the bed, and 
 then on her lover. — " You must first hear,'* 
 said she, " what brought me to London. 
 You were well acquainted with the re- 
 gard which my young lady had for me, 
 and that wliich I felt in return for her. 
 This regard made me yield to her in every 
 thing, and I should as soon have thought 
 of disobeying my own mother, as of deny- 
 ing a request of hers. After you left Mon- 
 mouthshire, a person paid his addresses 
 to me, whose connexions were far above 
 mine; and my young lady, who dreaded 
 nothing so much as the idea of -my marry- 
 ing a soldier, advised me to become his 
 wife, and to remain with her as long as he 
 
 continued
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 7 
 
 continued in Monmouthshire. Her per- 
 suasions and my affection for herself at 
 length determined my actions. I never 
 expected to see you again, and I had not 
 courage to refuse the request of one who 
 seemed to have my interest so tenderly at 
 heart. I was married secretly ; for lady 
 Fitz- Arthur was then living, and, though 
 quite iniirm and confined to her chamber, 
 yet she could not bear to see any body 
 more happy and comfortable th^n herself." 
 
 " Married, Alice !" exclaimed raacken- 
 zie, in a tone of disappointed affection. 
 " But you were right to secure to yourself 
 a home, and a friend better able to support 
 you than myself" He covered lus face as 
 he leaned his arm on the table. 
 
 Alice continued — " I remained with ^ny 
 young lady — I could not leave her wlioliy 
 exposed to the ill-humour of her aunt, who 
 grew more and more tiresome every day. 
 My husband died a few months after cur 
 marriage, and my little boy was born three 
 days after the decease of my old lady." 
 
 B 4 ^lackenzie
 
 8 AN ANGEL'S FORM 
 
 Mackenzie dropped his hand froni his 
 face, and taking that of Alice, kissed it 
 affectionately. — " You are still free, then, 
 dearest Alice — still able to become my 
 wife !" said he, throwing his arms around 
 her. " All that I have is yours : say, will 
 you take me for better for worse ?" 
 
 Alice was not slow in giving her con- 
 sent, and the grateful soldier imprinted on 
 her lips the kiss of honourable and sincere 
 regard. 
 
 " Where is your child, Alice?" said 
 ^Mackenzie ; " why is he not with his mo- 
 ther ?" 
 
 Alice rose and moved towards the bed, 
 then as quickly returned, bringing in her 
 arms the slumbering infant. Mackenzie 
 bent over her, scarcely daring to breathe, 
 as she softly uncovered the little innocent. 
 It was a scene worthy the talent of a 
 painter. Alice was not yet twenty ; the 
 glow of uninterrupted health bloomed on 
 lier cheek, and gave animation to her eyes, 
 which no^y beamed with tender solicitude, 
 
 as
 
 AND A devil's HEAKT. 9 
 
 as they gazed on the lovely boy who lay 
 on her lap. INIackenzie, with one arm 
 round the waist of Alice, leaned over the 
 sleeping child, his heart throbbing with 
 eveiy generous feeling towards them both, 
 "while his eyes vainly endeavoured to trace 
 out a likeness to the mother in the coun- 
 tenance of the boy. 
 
 " He may grow up to be like you," said 
 Mackenzie; " at present, I see no resem- 
 blance ; but he is nevertheless dear to me, 
 as being your son." 
 
 " No, he will never be like meT replied 
 Alice thoLjo;htfullv ; " he is alreadv the 
 .image of fiis father." 
 
 " Then he was handsome ?" 
 
 " Yes, very handsome." 
 
 At that instant the baby awoke, and as 
 if conscious of the tenderness he had ex- 
 tited, smiled good-naturedly on the kind- 
 hearted soldier, who, taking him from the 
 lap of Alice, gently kissed his velvet cheek, 
 us he called Heaven to bear w^itness that 
 be would be a father to him in the stnct- 
 
 ' B 5 est
 
 10 AN AKGEL^S FOUM 
 
 est sense of the word ; then, seeing Alice 
 busily employed in preparing his food, he 
 inquired if slie was obliged to bring him 
 up by hand ? 
 
 Alice coloured and looked confused, as 
 she replied in the affirmative ; but her 
 lover was too pleasingly engaged to no- 
 tice her change of countenance; already 
 did he feel a father's interest for the son of 
 Alice, which was increased by the sweet 
 temper of the infant, and it was with re- 
 luctance that he returned him to her arms, 
 that he might receive from her hand his 
 accustomed nourishment. 
 
 " But, my dear Alice," said Mackenzie, 
 as soon as the infant was once more asleep, 
 " you have not told me what brought you 
 to London." 
 
 " No," replied she; ** but I will. You 
 may remember that I told you that my 
 husband's relations were much my supe- 
 riors, and that I had married secretly. As 
 ^oon as my old lady was dead, and her 
 niece declared the sole heiress of all her 
 
 vast
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 11 
 
 vast fortune, I thought that I would come 
 to London, and try to find out some of 
 my husband's relations ; and as my young 
 lady will be married as soon as her mourn- 
 ing is over, I got her leave to take the 
 journey. But, now that I have found a 
 friend in you, I shall not expose myself 
 to any of their taunts, especially as I want 
 nothing from them ; thanks to the bounty 
 of my lady, I shall always have enough to 
 make us all comfortable, without tlieir as- 
 sistance." 
 
 " I am glad, my dear Alice, for your 
 sake, that you and your lady parted 
 friends," said Mackenzie, " and with my 
 good will you shall never go near any of 
 your husband's relations. With the bless- 
 ing of God we shall do very well ; and as 
 for this dear child, he shall share what I 
 have, and be as much to me as any of my 
 own." 
 
 " Poor baby I" cried Ahce, pressing liim 
 
 to her bosom with a look and manner 
 
 which her lover could not well translate— 
 
 B 6 " poor
 
 12 AN angel's form 
 
 " poor baby! what a fate is thine! — A 
 stranger must be thy father, and thy mo- 
 ther " 
 
 " Shall be my wife to-morrow," exclaim- 
 ed the soldier warmly. " This evening I 
 will go to my colonel, and get his sanction 
 to our marriage. Stay here to-night, Alice^ 
 and to-morrow I will take you to the house 
 of my sister-in-law, a very good and kind 
 woman, who will do every thing to make 
 you comfortable." 
 
 They were now interrupted by the en- 
 trance of the little thin old man, who, 
 v/ithout any ceremony, drew a chair to- 
 wards the fire, and in a voice of concili- 
 ating gentleness inquired of Alice how 
 she found herself after the fatigues of her 
 journey ? This good-natured old man had 
 only travelled part of the way with Alice, 
 but he had evidently taken an interest in 
 her welfare, from seeing her young and 
 unprotected, a widow and a mother, and 
 he had therefore been particularly atten- 
 tive to her during her journey. He cast 
 
 many
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 1$ 
 
 many a scrutinizing look at Mackenzie, 
 but every fresh glance seemed to impress 
 him with a favourable opinion of the ho- 
 nour and moral rectitude of the soldier. 
 
 Alice thanked him for the solicitude 
 which he expressed for her safety, and, 
 with the candour which ever accompanies 
 innocence, soon made him acquainted with 
 the generous proposals of Mackenzie^which 
 at once dispelled the fears of the stranger. 
 His countenance immediately became il- 
 lumined by a smile of genuine benevo- 
 lence, and taking a hand of each, he press- 
 ed them in his own. 
 
 " Since such are your intentions," said 
 he, " let me have the happiness of uniting 
 you. Business of consequence will detain 
 me in town for a fortnight : fix your day, 
 I will, niake it convenient to attend you ; 
 the earlier the better, as an inn is not a 
 proper place for a young and pretty wo- 
 man to reside in alone." 
 
 ** To-morrow, sir," replied Mar*kenzie, 
 -bowing v/ith a grace which would have 
 
 become
 
 14 AN angel's form 
 
 become one of nobler origin, " we will 
 joyfully accept of your kind offer. Alice 
 w^ill be safe for this night, and to-morrow 
 1 shall have a right to protect her myself" 
 
 ** You appear to be a worthy young 
 man," said the strange gentleman, ** and 
 I rejoice that this poor widow and her 
 orphan boy have found so good and ge- 
 nerous a protector. I also shall stay here 
 to-night; we will sup together, and to- 
 morrow morning, as soon as the license is 
 procured, I will unite you to each other." 
 
 ]Mackenzie made a suitable reply, and 
 then took leave of Alice, that he might 
 call on his colonel, promising, however, to 
 return and sup with her. On passing by 
 the bar, he stopped to speak to the mis- 
 tress of it, with w^hom he was well ac- 
 quainted, to w^hose care he recommended 
 Alice and her son, and then hastened to 
 the square in which his colonel and patron 
 resided. Fortunately for Mackenzie, his 
 officer was at home, and disengaged. His 
 attachment to Alice had long been known 
 
 to
 
 AND A devil's heart. 15 
 
 to him, and his consent was immediately 
 obtained, together with a handsome pre- 
 sent to procure the wedding-dinner. He 
 next called on his sister-in-law, with whom 
 he resided, and imparted to her the change 
 in his situation. The good woman, over- 
 joyed at the prospect of his happiness, pro- 
 mised to get every thing ready to receive 
 his bride, and assured him that nothing 
 should be wanting on her part to render 
 her happy and comfortable. JVIaekenzie, 
 satisfied with the sincerity of this assu- 
 rance, returned to the inn, and to his 
 Alice, with whom he still found the little 
 thin old man, who had ordered supper to 
 be brought up to Alice's chamber, that 
 she might not be prevented from paying 
 proper attention to her little boy. 
 
 Mackenzie quickly imparted to them 
 the success of his mission, and it was 
 settled that he and the stranger should 
 breakfast with Alice the next morning, 
 and that the soldier should then conduct 
 her to the house of his sister-in-law, where 
 
 thev
 
 16 AN angel's Fon^r 
 
 they would be joined by the stranger, who 
 was to unite them in the presence of a few 
 friends, whom Mackenzie wished to be a 
 witness to his happiness. 
 ov>t« I ^iU bring the hcense in my pocket," 
 ^id the Uttle old man, smiling encou- 
 ragingly on Alice, whose crimson cheek 
 and downcast look betrayed a native mo- 
 desty of mind, which heightened the in- 
 terest the stranger felt in her concerns; 
 " Many are the couples whom I have 
 joined together, but I shall never have 
 performed that ceremony with so much 
 satisfaction to myself as I skdl feel to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " I hope you will not think me imper- 
 tinent, sir," inquired Alice, who had all 
 the while supposed him to be a poor 
 Welch parson, ** but may I ask if you 
 live in Wales ?" 
 
 " Xo, child," said he, smiling, as he in* 
 stantly comprehended her mieaning; "not 
 exactly in AVales, though in one of the 
 counties joining to it." 
 
 " In
 
 AND A devil's HEAHT. 17 
 
 ** In JMonmouthshire ?" again inquired 
 Alice anxiously. 
 
 " I live chiefly in Herefordshire," re- 
 plied the little old man; " and when I visit 
 London, unaccompanied by my family, I 
 generally prefer the stage-coach to any 
 other mode of travelling. By this means 
 I have an opportunity of seeing a variety 
 of characters which would otherwise ne- 
 ver come under my observation, and not 
 unfrequently of rendering a sersice to 
 some of my fellow-creatures. The mo- 
 ment I saw you and your helpless infant, 
 I felt desirous of being useful to you ; I 
 pitied your unprotected situation, and 
 wished to befriend you. Fortunately my 
 good offices are not wanting — you have 
 found a more suitable protector for your- 
 self and child; but I shall always be pleas- 
 ed to hear of your welfare, and ready to 
 afford you every assistance in my power, 
 should circumstances ever deprive you of 
 the presence of your natural guardian." 
 
 Both Alice and ^lackenzie gratefully 
 
 expressed
 
 IS AN angel's form 
 
 expressed their thanks for liis proffered 
 kindness, though, when they cast a glance 
 at his threadbare coat and grey worsted 
 stockings, they could not help thinking 
 that the assistance he could afford them 
 must be very limited indeed. The kind- 
 ness of his deportment and the gentleman- 
 liness of his manners made, however, his 
 conversation and his presence delightful 
 to them. 
 
 After partaking of a light but elegant 
 supper, which the old gentleman paid for, 
 he withdrew with JMackenzie, that Alice 
 might retire early to repose after the fa- 
 tigues of the day. But the mind of Alice 
 was too full of w^hat had passed during 
 the interval of a few hours, to compose 
 itself quickly to rest : she pressed the un- 
 conscious baby to her bosom, and as it 
 slumbered within her arms, her thoughts 
 recurred to its father, to its riatural con- 
 nexions, to its rightful home, and to what 
 would now become its destiny, reared as 
 it would be amidst scenes, and amidst be- 
 ings
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 1^ 
 
 in^rs so far beneath the family of its father. 
 — " But I will do my best for thee, poor 
 babe !" said Alice, pressing him still closer 
 to her heart ; " and though circumstances 
 have cut thee off from what ought to be 
 thy right, thou mayst be far, far happier 
 in thy lot than thy father. I will do my 
 best for thee, poor babe !" 
 
 Alice now recommended herself and her 
 infant to the protection of Providence, 
 who had raised her up a friend in the ge- 
 nerous Mackenzie, on her first entrance 
 into the busy scenes of the world ; and 
 after implorhig a continuance of his good- 
 ness, she sank tranquilly to sleep, conscious 
 that she had undertaken the journey from 
 the best and purest intentions ; and if those 
 intentions were not fulfilled, it was because 
 she hoped, believed, and trusted, that she 
 should be enabled better to fulfil her duty 
 to the infant, and to promote more effec- 
 tually his happiness, than if she had pur- 
 sued the plan which she at first intended. 
 
 GHAP-
 
 20 AN ANGEI/S FORM 
 
 CPIAPTER II. 
 
 Alice had no cause to coin plain of the 
 reception which she met with from the 
 relations of IMackenzie. His sister-in-law, 
 who was left a widow with four young 
 children, supported her family by the pro- 
 duce of a fruiterer's shop, in a respectable 
 part of Westminster; her husband had 
 been serjeant in the same regiment in 
 which Mackenzie was corporal, and as she 
 was a woman of decent manners and re- 
 gular habits, with a disposition hospitable 
 and kind, he thought he could not do 
 better than to entrust to her care his 
 youthful bride and her infant son. 
 
 The widow jNIackenzie had often listen- 
 ed attentively to the account given by her 
 brother-in-law of his first interview with 
 Alice, of their mutual attachment, and of 
 
 his
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 21 
 
 liis fears lest she should never become his; 
 she not only listened to the regrets of 
 Edward, but she entered warmly into his 
 feelings, and half-blamed him for not per- 
 suading Alice to do as slve had done, and 
 become the wife of a soldier. The happi- 
 ness which ^Mackenzie testified on meet- 
 ing so unexpectedly with his beloved, was 
 quickly infused into the bosom of his af- 
 fectionate sister-in-law, who, though she 
 condemned Alice for bestowing her hand 
 on another man wliile her heart belonged 
 to jNIackenzie, nevertheless w^elcomed her 
 to her house with a kindness of soul which 
 was at once flattering to the vanity and 
 to the hopes of Alice. 
 
 The helpless baby was peculiarly the 
 object of the good widow's care. It was 
 only five weeks old, and, though brought 
 up by the hand, was a strong, healthy, 
 and beautiful boy. Fain would this kind 
 creature, who was on the point of weaning 
 her own child, a little girl of eigliteen 
 
 months
 
 S2 AN angel's form 
 
 months old, have suckled the son of Alice, 
 but the young mother declined this hu- 
 mane proposal, unwilling that the boy 
 should be indebted to a stranger for its 
 nourishment, or that his heart should be 
 divided between them. The refusal of 
 Alice did not, however, prevent the wd- 
 dow from manifesting towards him a fond- 
 ness which increased with his growth, and 
 it seemed difficult to decide which loved 
 liim best, the widow or his mother. 
 
 The little thin old man, true to his 
 word, procured the license which united 
 Alice to Mackenzie. After the ceremony 
 was concluded, the new-married couple 
 petitioned him to stay and partake of the 
 wedding-dinner ; but this he smilingly de- 
 clined, saying that his presence might be 
 a check upon their festivity — " I will, 
 however, see you," said he, " in the course 
 of a day or two, when I hope to have some 
 pleasing intelligence to communicate to 
 you." Then, shaking Mackenzie by the 
 
 hand.
 
 aKd a devil's heakt. 23 
 
 hand, he left them to give way to their 
 own joyful feelings, unrestrained by the 
 observations of a stranger. 
 
 Who could he be ? what were his fa- 
 mily and his connections ? were the natu- 
 ral inquiries of Alice and her husband. 
 His appearance was not such as to justify 
 them in supposing that he was a man of 
 fortune, yet he spoke of befriending them, 
 and of exerting his interest in their favour, 
 while the plainness of his apparel seemed 
 to indicate that he was himself in want of 
 that interest which he promised so freely 
 to others. Notwithstanding this apparent 
 contradiction, each felt a desire to know 
 more of hir^, and when next he called 
 upon 'jWicCyy she ventured to inquire the 
 name of the person to whose good offices 
 she was so much indebted. 
 
 The stranger smiled on her good-na- 
 turedly, as he took from her arms the 
 baby boy, and kissing its forehead, in- 
 quired how long Mackenzie would be 
 
 absent ?
 
 24 AN angel's form 
 
 absent? Alice replied, that she expected 
 his return in a few minutes, and begged 
 that he would be seated. 
 
 *' I must see him," said he, " as I wish 
 to speak to him. — So you are not exempt, 
 Mrs. Mackenzie, from the hereditary cu- 
 riosity of your sex ? You wish to know 
 who I am, and whether I am rich or poor, 
 and, in short, all about me — Is it not so ?" 
 
 Alice coloured, and looked confused. 
 
 " Well, your curiosity shall be gratified, 
 but not just now : before I leave London, 
 you shall know the name of the strange 
 old man who has taken such a fancy to 
 yourself and to this little infant. I think 
 you said that he was not cliristened?" 
 
 Alice replied in the -affirmative, adding, 
 that she intended to have him named as 
 soon as possible. 
 
 ** You will call him, I suppose, after his 
 father?" 
 
 " No, sir," said Alice ; " I mean to give 
 him the name of my husband, who has 
 
 adopted
 
 AND A devil's HEART. th 
 
 adopted him for his own, and to whom he 
 will be indebted for every thing, until he 
 can provide for himself" 
 
 " And yet it is but just that the boy 
 should inherit the name of his own father," 
 repUed the stranger : " in case of any pro- 
 perty being left to him at a future time, it 
 would be difficult to make out his claim 
 to it, if he is brought up as tlie son of 
 ^lackenzie." 
 
 Alice sighed — " It can never be of use 
 to him to bear the name of his own fa- 
 ther," said she mournfully ; " on the con- 
 trary, it might subject him to many in- 
 sults, many reproaches, if ever he came in 
 the way of any of his relations. As the 
 son of Mackenzie, he will grow up in igno- 
 rance of his father's family, and all his love 
 and obedience will belong to him who has 
 so generously come forward to befriend us 
 both." 
 
 The eyes of the little old man were, 
 during this speech, fixed inquiringly on 
 the varying face of Alice, who, conscious 
 
 VOL. I. c that
 
 26 T*i\N angel's rORM 
 
 that she was the object of his scrutiny, 
 kept hers bent on the ground. After a 
 pause, he exclaimed — " Perhaps, Mrs. 
 Mackenzie, you are right." Then, taking 
 her hand, he added, in a voice of compas- 
 sionate kindness — " You are the best judge 
 what claim this infant has to the notice of 
 his father's connexions. If you feel that 
 his claim is not sufficiently strong to em- 
 power you to ask for their countenance 
 and protection, it may be better for him 
 to remain in ignorance that he owes his 
 being to any other than to the brave Mac- 
 kenzie : perhaps, as such, he may grow up 
 to be a blessing to you both — he may find 
 friends who will interest themselves in his 
 welfare ; I, for one, am disposed to bear in 
 memory the kindly feelings which I felt 
 on the first siffht of him and his widowed 
 mother. I am myself a father, and, though 
 many years have elapsed since the birth of 
 my youngest son, yet well do I remember 
 the tenderness of my emotions as I gazed 
 on his baby features, when he was no older 
 
 than
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 27 
 
 than this child. They were, like his, hand- 
 some and well defined ; sense and intelli- 
 gence seemed to beam in his bright glan- 
 cing eyes, and my heart bounded with aD 
 a parent's pride, a parent's joy, as I said to 
 myself — * This boy will be the hope, the 
 staff o^'iny declining years.' It might be 
 the recollection of my son, who is now far, 
 far distant from his family, that operated 
 m powerfully in favour of your little boy: 
 he was just such another fine promising 
 ■ infant," Snd, like him, equally good-tem- 
 pered. - May the future prospects of this 
 'Ifttle imXocent be as prosperous and as bril- 
 'tjant as those of my own dear boy !" 
 ■^^' Alice felt strangely affected by the kind 
 ^'knA conciliating manners of the thin old 
 man; her heart expanded towards him, and 
 more than once she was on the point of 
 confiding to him as much as she dared of 
 the secret which oppressed her mind, but 
 she was withheld by an unaccountable 
 something, which seemed to check and to 
 restrain her wished-for communication. It 
 c 2 was
 
 28 AN angel's form 
 
 was not the fear of reproach, or the dread 
 of censure, which stayed her tongue; for 
 in the features of her unknown visitor no 
 harsh hne, no transient frown appeared, to 
 justify the tremblings of her frame. 
 
 The entrance of Mackenzie reheved the 
 embarrassment of his wife, and the little 
 thin old man, holding out his hand, con- 
 gratulated the generous soldier upon his 
 being made serjeant. — " I have a friend," 
 said he, " in the army, through whose 
 means I have been enabled to procure yon 
 your wish rather sooner than you had ex- 
 pected. But I will not deceive .ypu, Mac- 
 kenzie : I first inquired your character 
 and your merits; the result was my de- 
 termination to serve you ; and so high do 
 you now stand in the estimation of all 
 your superiors, that should you be able, 
 at a future period, to gain a commission, 
 they will not be ashamed to rank.^ou 
 amonor the number of their brother offi- 
 cers. No thanks — I have only accelerated 
 the wishes of your colonel, and gratified 
 
 myself;
 
 AND A devil's heart. 29 
 
 myself; and now, as my time will be much 
 occupied while I remain in London, fix a 
 day, Mackenzie, for the christening of 
 your adopted son, for it will add to my 
 pleasure to perform that ceremony." 
 
 A day most convenient to the stranger 
 was now appointed for bestowing a name 
 on the son of Alice. The old gentleman 
 offered to become his godfather, which 
 offer was most gladly accepted by Mac- 
 kenzie, who proposed to stand for the se- 
 cond, while his sister-in-law joyfully agreed 
 to be godmother to her little favourite, 
 who she could not help thinking was ra- 
 ther hardly treated, by not being allowed 
 to bear the name of his own father. 
 
 Mackenzie, who already loved the boy 
 with all a parent's fondness, was not a little 
 gratified by the avowed intention of Alice 
 to call the child after himself; yet, as she 
 had said that his father was her superior 
 in rank, and that his family would not on 
 that account countenance their union, it 
 appeared rather unjust to deprive the boy 
 c 3 of
 
 30 AN angel's form 
 
 of his birthright, and to take from him all 
 power of claiming, if there was any, a fu- 
 ture share in the property of his father. 
 He gently explained to his wife his ideas 
 on this point; but Alice overruled the 
 scruples of Mackenzie, by telling him that 
 there existed no witness of her marriage 
 with the father of the child, and that she 
 coidd not bring forward any proof to sub- 
 stantiate his claim to the favour and affeo 
 tion of his relations. 
 
 Mackenzie forbore to press the subject, 
 or to question Alice upon a circumstance 
 which evidently gave rise to unpleasant 
 reflections; but his own suppressed feel- 
 ings rendered the child only more dear to 
 him, and he resolved to do a father's part 
 by him, and to bring him up as liis own 
 son. Such were the generous intentioHs 
 of Mackenzie ; but how often are our best 
 intentions frustrated by chance, or by a 
 strange coincidence of circumstances, which 
 renders all our pkns for the futujje vaki 
 and abortive ! 
 
 At
 
 31 
 
 At length the morning arrived, fixed on 
 by the little thin old man for christening 
 the son of Alice ; it was also the day be- 
 fore that mentioned by him for his depar- 
 ture from London, and she hoped that he 
 would now satisfy her curiosity, by in- 
 forming her who he was. Tlie stranger 
 came, and the infant received the name of 
 Edward JNlackenzie. AUce, during the 
 ceremony, was unusually thouglitful ; a 
 tear stood in her eye, which was observed 
 by her husb^id ; but he attributed it to a 
 headache, of which she had complamed 
 during breakfast, or it might perhaps be 
 occasioned by the remembrance of him 
 who gave being to the infant. 
 
 When the little old man found himself 
 alone with those for whom he felt so lively 
 an interest, he again renewed his promises 
 of service, should they ever stand in need 
 of them. — " To-morrow," said he, '' I re- 
 turn to the country, and it may be some 
 years before I revisit London ; but that 
 will not prevent my inquiring atier y( ur 
 c 4 weiiare.
 
 ^2 AN angel's form 
 
 welfare. Remember, my worthy fellow, 
 that you have undertaken to be a father 
 to this innocent child, and, jointly with 
 myself, to see him educated in the prin- 
 ciples of the christian rehgion. If ever 
 you should feel incUned to part with him, 
 either from your increasing family or from 
 any other circumstance connected with 
 your profession, send him to me, and I 
 ^viU not fail to acknowledge the claim of 
 my young godson. Yet stay," said he 
 smilingly ; " is there any mark by which 
 I can distinguish him, at a future time, to 
 be the boy I have just christened ?" 
 
 " Did I not see something, my love, on 
 the boy's arm this morning, while you 
 were dressing him ?" inquired Mackenzie. 
 
 " Yes," said Alice, colouring deeply. 
 " When I was coming to London, a friend 
 of mine foohshly persisted in marking the 
 child's arm, lest he should be taken from 
 me, and I become unable to distinguish 
 him from the son of any other person." 
 
 With considerable embarrassment she 
 
 now
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 33 
 
 now slipped down the baby's frock, and the 
 old gentleman beheld the mark which had 
 attracted the observation of jMackenzie. 
 
 " It is a singular mark," said the stran- 
 ger, as he gravely examined the boy's arm ; 
 " but it is sufficiently plain for me to as- 
 certain that he is Edward JMackenzie. 
 Your friend, I suppose, chose this device, 
 as being less likely to be selected by an- 
 other for a similar purpose ?" 
 
 " I suppose she did," replied JNIrs. Mac- 
 kenzie confusedly. 
 
 " It is a good delineation of a coronet," 
 exclaimed her husband. " But how cruel 
 to torture the poor infant by putting it to 
 such unnecessary pain !" 
 
 " Cruel indeed," said the old gentleman, 
 looking steadily at Alice. " The motive, 
 however, must excuse the deed. Should 
 this infant live to become a man, this 
 mark, unless it is explained to him, may 
 give rise to many vague conjectures, which 
 may also affect his future tranquillity. 
 Perhaps," added he, forcing a smile, "he 
 c 5 may
 
 34 AN AKGEL's FOR^r 
 
 may be born to wear a coronet by his own 
 winning; he may either ennoble himself 
 through marriage, or by his own deeds of 
 valour in the field. At all events, my 
 worthy friends, let us hail the omen as a 
 good one ; many great men have sprung 
 from humble ancestors, and this baby-head 
 may contain the germ of splendid talents, 
 which will create his own good fortmie.'* 
 
 " I hope that he will be a good and a 
 brave man," replied the soldier earnestly ; 
 " but as to his becoming a great one, I 
 care very little about that — happiness does 
 not ahvays attend on riches and lK)nours. 
 I trust that he will become a soldier like 
 myself; not that I shall ever seek to check 
 the boy's secret inclinations, or force him 
 to choose a mode of life disagreeable to 
 his own wishes." 
 
 " You will do right, Mackenzie : but 
 there is time enough to speculate upon 
 what may be the choice of this^ infant," 
 said the stranger. '* He is now become a 
 Christian ; Providence will not desert him 
 
 — his
 
 AND A devil's HEAIIT. 35 
 
 — his destiny is in the hands of Heaven. 
 Bring him up to be just and honourable 
 in all his dealings with mankind — lenient 
 to the faults of others, severe only to his 
 own — pious, without being a bigot — tem- 
 perate, modest, and humble ; and, above 
 all, teach him to do to others as he would 
 wish they should do unto him ; and then 
 I shall have no fear for his success in life, 
 or for his own worldly happiness. And if 
 you think that any assistance of mine is 
 requisite to aid your laudable endeavours, 
 here is my address : apply to me whenever 
 you think fit ; I shall not be backward in 
 performing my promise of befi'iending my 
 little godson." 
 
 The stranger now put a card into the 
 hand of Mackenzie, and then took a friend- 
 ly leave of his wife, kissing at the same 
 time the soft cheek of her baby with a 
 gentle touch, lest he should awaken it 
 from its slumber. 
 
 The httle thin old man had no sooner 
 
 quitted the apartment, than Alice made a 
 
 c 6 movement
 
 36 AN an(;el's form 
 
 movement to take the card from her hus- 
 band. — " Stay, my dear Alice," said the 
 soldier, " my curiosity is nearly as great 
 as your own. Let me see — ' The hon. 
 
 Maurice Colvill, dean of H ' AVell, 
 
 I should not have supposed that a man of 
 his condition would like to dress so shab- 
 bily, or to travel in a stage-coach, when 
 he has one of his own. However, we may 
 rejoice that our little Edward has gained 
 so noble a friend. — You are pale, Alice — 
 you are more unwell than you were at 
 breakfast-time ! — Let me put the boy on 
 the bed, and then I will run and fetch Dr. 
 Taylor." 
 
 Alice was indeed as pale as death — her 
 whole frame seemed to suffer from inter- 
 nal vexation, which she strove to conceal 
 from her husband. She assured him that 
 she should soon be better without the as- 
 sistance of Dr. Taylor, and perfectly able 
 to entertain the friends whom they had 
 invited to celebrate the christening of 
 Edward. 
 
 Mackenzie's
 
 37 
 
 Mackenzie's fears were soon dispelled, 
 as he again beheld the glow of health re- 
 turn to the cheek of his wife. It never 
 for a moment occurred to him, that her 
 agitation had been produced by the per- 
 usal of the card given to him by the little 
 thin old man, or that he was in any way 
 connected with the sudden indisposition 
 of Mrs. Mackenzie. The presence of his 
 friends quickly recalled her vivacity, and 
 the evening was spent in that good-hu- 
 moured merriment which the occasion na- 
 turally called forth. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 The affection which Mackenzie had thus 
 early manifested for the infant son of Ahce, 
 did not diminish on his becoming himself 
 a father. Dearly as he loved his own little 
 girl, yet Edward seemed to have a prior 
 
 claim
 
 S8 AN angel's form 
 
 claihi on his paternal care ; and it was with 
 considerable grief and vexation of mind 
 that he beheld in the conduct of Alice the 
 influence of feelings dissimilar to his own. 
 In proportion as her heart expanded to- 
 wards the daughter of Mackenzie, it ap- 
 peared careless and indifferent to the fate 
 of his adopted son, and the birth of an- 
 other child was fatal to the welfare of 
 Edward : she complained to Mackenzie 
 of the decided partiahty which he evinced 
 for the boy, in preference to his own chil- 
 dren ; and this soon became a continual 
 source of disquietude between her and 
 her husband. 
 
 Mackenzie, who was sincerely attached 
 to AHce, endeavoured to remonstrate with 
 her on her increasing jealousy of an object 
 who ought to be even more dear to her 
 than to himself; but the good sense and 
 sound reasoning of JMackenzie were ex- 
 erted in vain — Alice would not be con- 
 vinced, and the generous soldier was 
 obliged to content himself with the secret 
 
 demonstrations
 
 AND» A devil's HEART. 39 
 
 d^niohstrations of his regard for the ne- 
 glected Edward^ who was now past his 
 third year, and who already began to give 
 proofs of an understanding which only re- 
 quired care and attention to bring it to 
 perfection. 
 
 The sweetness of Edward's disposition 
 was visible in a hundred trifling actions, 
 but it was too frequently put to severe 
 trials b}^ the ill-humour and petulance of 
 the little Alice. Compelled to yield to 
 her in every thing, and to resign to her 
 all Iris sources of infantine amusement, 
 Edward quickly discovered that the only 
 Wfty to gain the kindness of Mrs. Macken- 
 zie was to put up with all the fretful ca- 
 prices of bet eldest little girl, a puny sickly 
 child, whose natural infirmities of temper 
 were rendered more intolerable by the ex- 
 treme indulgence of her doting mother. 
 
 The continual disappointment of all his 
 childish hopes, joined to the increasing 
 dislike of Alice, began to aftect the spirits 
 
 as
 
 40 AN ANCxEL'S FORM 
 
 as well as the health of Edward; he be- 
 came sullen and dejected, except in the 
 presence of Mackenzie, to whom he was 
 fondly attached, and for whom he mani- 
 fested the strongest affection. Placed on 
 his knee, or playing with the glittering 
 appendages to his uniform, the covin te- 
 nance of Edward dimpled with smiles, 
 his dark-blue eves sparkled with childish 
 rapture, and his laugh gladdened the soul 
 of Mackenzie. 
 
 At length the regiment to which Mac- 
 kenzie belonged was ordered back to Scot- 
 land, and it was rumoured that in all pro- 
 bability it would soon be sent on foreign 
 service. Alice determined to accompany 
 her husband to his native land, and as 
 they would have to pass close by the vil- 
 lage in which her mother resided, she pro- 
 posed to go before him, in order that she 
 might spend a day with her aged parent, 
 whom she had not seen for four years. To 
 this Mackenzie readily assented, only re- 
 gretting
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 41 
 
 gretting that he should be unable, from 
 his professional duties, to pay a visit to 
 the mother of his wife. 
 
 The day before the regiment quitted Lon- 
 don, Alice appeared unusually thoughtful ; 
 her eyes filled with tears as often as they 
 rested on Edward, and all her former ten- 
 derness towards him seemed to revive. — 
 " I have been thinking, Mackenzie," said 
 she in a faltering voice, " what will be- 
 come of these poor infants, should you be 
 ordered abroad." 
 
 " What will become of them indeed !" 
 cried ^lackenzie, and his moist eyes in- 
 stinctively glanced on Edv/ard, who was 
 rocking his youngest child to sleep. 
 
 " I shall follow you," continued Alice, 
 and her hand fell on his shoulder — " I 
 cannot, will not stay behind. Who then 
 will take care of our children?" 
 
 " If I am compelled for a time to aban- 
 don them," replied Mackenzie mournfully, 
 " their mother must not desert them : no, 
 dearest Alice, much as I love you, I will 
 
 not
 
 42 AN angel's form 
 
 not take you from your children — I will 
 not rob them of your care and protection ; 
 you must remain — their tender years re- 
 quire your presence, and I must endea- 
 vour to bear our separation with firmness, 
 for their sakes." 
 
 " I love my children," said Alice, " as 
 fondly as any mother can do, but I will 
 never consent to be divided from their 
 father. In case of the evil which I dread, 
 my mother will take care of the children 
 during our absence ; and, with her, I shall 
 only have one fear, namely, that she will 
 spoil them by over-indulgence." 
 
 " That might be productive of bad con- 
 sequences to some dispositions," replied 
 the soldier, " but I should prefer it to too 
 much severity : the former, like a hotbed, 
 would nourish the growth of weeds around 
 the cherished plant, while the latter would 
 exterminate both plant and weeds toge- 
 ther. From the character which you have 
 so often given me of your mother, I shoidd 
 not be afraid, Alice, to trust her with our 
 
 children,
 
 ANi) A DEV1L*S HEART. 4iS 
 
 chiMren^ ill preference to any of my own 
 reliations. My father, who sprung from a 
 g6od family, disobliged all his connexions 
 b)^ marrying my mother : this circum- 
 stance contributed to sour his disposition, 
 and we all felt the occasional effects of his 
 severity ; I should not, therefore, choose 
 to place our children under his roof My 
 sisters are both respectably situated in 
 Edinburgl>, but I know little of their 
 husbands, and less of the management of 
 their families : they are kind-hearted and 
 affectionate, but their homes might not 
 be such as would make oin- poor babies 
 liappy. ]My father gave us all a good edu- 
 cation, and with this We were- to make 
 our way through life : I have never been 
 indebted to a single relation for a guinea, 
 and I hope that my childr«i will be equally 
 independent. If I am sent abroad, Ahce, 
 your kind and indulgent mother must 
 have our little ones, and we will reward 
 her to the best of oar abihties for her 
 trouWc." 
 
 " Would
 
 44 AN angel's form 
 
 " Would it not be better to leave one 
 of them with her before we go to Scot-^ 
 land ?" inquired Alice, with the embar- 
 rassed air of a person conscious that her 
 intentions are not altogether what they 
 should be. 
 
 " I see no occasion for that, my dear 
 Alice; it will be quite time enough to 
 lose either of them, when necessity com- 
 pels us to bear with so painful a separa- 
 tion." 
 
 " But I have been thinking," continued 
 Alice, with still greater embarrassment, 
 " that your family may censure you for 
 having burthened yourself with the bring- 
 ing up of a child not your own ; and 
 though I have a trifle towards maintain- 
 ing him, yet it may occasion a coolness 
 between you, which I should wish to 
 avoid. I think Edward had better remain 
 under the care of my mother ; I know he 
 will be kindly treated, and my mind will 
 be perfectly easy on his account." 
 
 The generous soldier gave a painful 
 
 start;
 
 AND A devil's heart. 45 
 
 start ; then catching the lovely boy to his 
 bosom, he pressed him in his arms with 
 all a father's fondness, as the tear of con- 
 firmed suspicion fell on the upraised face 
 of the wondering child; while Alice, 
 trembling with fear and expectation, half 
 relented from her long-cherished purpose, 
 as she gazed in silence on the beautiful 
 object of her maternal jealousy. 
 
 At length INIackenzie spoke — " It is in 
 vain, Alice, that you seek to conceal from 
 me the altered state of your heart towards 
 ^'this poor boy, who ought to be no less 
 dear to you than your other children : 
 you no longer love him — all your affec- 
 tion is placed on your girls ; and this sweet 
 child has now indeed become an orphan, 
 since he has outHved his mother's tender- 
 ness." 
 
 Alice burst into tears ; again her mind 
 wavered from its determination, and again 
 it became fixed to its first intention, when 
 she beheld the overflowing kindness of her 
 
 husband.
 
 l4S :vaA^ angel's fohm 
 
 hu^aiid; w:hiqh he uotv lavished openly 
 on Edward. 
 
 " I do not like," said she, " to see you 
 fonder of another man's son than you are 
 of your Own children ; and, but for this, 
 you anjd I should never have a word, Tl^e 
 boy is as dear to me as ever^.jbut J[ shall 
 never be happy to see him more fondly 
 treated than either Ahce or Jat^et, . If I 
 can trust. ;him with my mother,^ *i*^^ly* 
 M^ckenzi^ c^on ought not .to^.$J^y[ar^;,my 
 
 wisheS.'Kj.^,f . .l-^[fil3f[i HH 
 
 Her husband was silent, but he, still 
 ^Id the boy close pressed, to, his l^psq^igiH 
 . .-« You hardly suppose me ,tc|i be, such., a 
 brute," cried AUcp,,,",4S.^o rp^fr WJ|:^L. t^ 
 child to any one who.;woi44 n.9.t b^li*ve 
 kindly to him ; and as for my mother, she 
 will most likely become too fond of him, 
 for she was always more partial to boys 
 than to girls. If I leave Ed\T.9:c4. with 
 her, I shall not let him be a burthen , ^o 
 her, but pay her for his board." 
 
 " And
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 47 
 
 " And who is to educate him ?" 
 " He will want no other education, for 
 some time to come, than what she can 
 give him," replied Mrs. Mackenzie. " My 
 mother lived as housekeeper many years 
 in the family of lady Fitz-Arthur, the 
 aunt of my young lady; she had been 
 respectably brought up, and was much 
 esteemed by her mistress, until she fool- 
 ishly married a second husband, who car- 
 ried her into his own village, where she 
 still continues to reside, though he has 
 been dead these five years. I was fortu- 
 nately taken by lady Fitz-Arthur to at- 
 tend on her niece, and it is now more 
 than four years since I have seen my mo- 
 ther ; but I have heard from her, as you 
 know, several times since that period. Ed- 
 ward will not be brought up in ignorance, 
 if he lives with my mother ; and should 
 you be sent abroad, I shall leave my little 
 girls with her. If you do not go, I can 
 fetch Edward any time you please, to Hve 
 with us in Scotland." 
 
 " Alas,
 
 48 AN ANGEL*S FORM 
 
 " Alas, my poor boy !" exclaimed Mac- 
 kenzie, as he kissed his blooming cheek, 
 " I see that I must part with you sooner 
 than I had expected. — But why," said he, 
 suddenly recollecting himself, " should 
 you not apply for the promised kindness 
 of his godfather? Such a friend as the 
 
 dean of H is worth preserving for 
 
 the child. Perhaps Mr. Colvill will take 
 the boy and bring him up, when he knows 
 that his mother is determined to part with 
 him." 
 
 The ashy hue of death overspread the 
 features of Alice at this proposal of her 
 husband. — " No, no!" cried she faintly, 
 " Edward can never be the better for Mr. 
 Colvill's promised friendship. If he was 
 ever to find out who was the boy's father, 
 he would instantly abandon him to his 
 fate, and the poor child would then be- 
 come the innocent sufferer for his parent's 
 fault. No, no ! Edward must not, cannot 
 receive any benefit from the Colvill fa- 
 mily." 
 
 Mackenzie
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 49 
 
 Mackenzie gazed on her with astonish- 
 ment. After a pause, he said — " Well, 
 AHce, you know best : I have never in- 
 quired into the secrets of your husband's 
 connexions, have never wished you to be 
 beholden to them for anything, and I cer- 
 tainly think you must have very good 
 reasons for declining the favours of such a 
 
 man as the dean of H , vvho not only 
 
 behaved with extreme kindness to you 
 and to your son, but has written to us re- 
 ]3eatedly with every assurance of friend- 
 ship. Nothing could possibly be more 
 unlucky for Edward, than that he should 
 be obliged to shun the patronage of IMr. 
 Colvill." 
 
 " And yet it must be so," replied Alice 
 hastily ; " I could not answer to my own 
 conscience if I were to let him have the 
 care of Edward. Something might betray 
 the secret of his birth to the dean, and I 
 should be made miserable for life," 
 
 " Then we will not risk your peace of 
 mind, my dearest Ahce, for the uncertain 
 
 VOL. I. D prosperity
 
 50 AN angel's form 
 
 prosperity of Edward. A state of depen- 
 dence is, at best, a painful one; and Ed- 
 ward may be far more bappy in earning 
 bis own subsistence, tban in living on tbe 
 bounty of the dean." 
 
 The mind of Alice was already made 
 lip to part with the little Edward : her 
 excessive fondness for her girls made her 
 wish to monopolize for them all the love 
 and attention of their father, and this she 
 perceived would never be the case while 
 Edward continued to reside under the 
 same roof with them. In placing him 
 with her mother, she felt assured that he 
 would have strict justice done to him; 
 and as it was not her intention that he 
 should be a burthen to the old woman, 
 she had laid up a small sum of money to 
 insure his welcome. It however required 
 all her powers of pleasing, all her caresses, 
 all her tenderness, to win over JNIackenzie 
 to consent to the removal of the child; 
 and when at length he reluctantly gave 
 her leave to act as she thought proper, it 
 
 was
 
 AND A devil's HEAKT. 51 
 
 was but too evident that his concession 
 cost him a severe pang. 
 
 Alice, fearing lest her husband should 
 repent of having yielded to her entreaties, 
 contrived to keep the boy out of his sight 
 until within a few minutes of the hour 
 fixed for her raeetino' tlie sta^e. JMacken- 
 zie, with a foreboding heart, folded the 
 sweet child in his arms ; the soul of the 
 waiTior melted to all the softness of a v.o- 
 man, as he felt the lips of his adopted son 
 press his own, and his soft hands pat his 
 cheek in chihrsh fondness. The starting 
 tears proclaimed the interest which he 
 took in tlie infant's fate, and Alice, who 
 witnessed vvith fear and trembling the in- 
 ternal struggles of i\Iackenzie, now more 
 than ever felt the necessity of separating 
 him from so formidable a rival to her 
 daughters. 
 
 " Remember, Alice," said the soldier, 
 
 with an unstead}^ voice, " that I cannot 
 
 give you a greater proof of my regard 
 
 than by giving up this child : I have sa- 
 
 D 2 criiiceA 

 
 52 AN angel's FOUM 
 
 crificed to your peace one of my dearest 
 hopes. Tell your mother, that as she deals 
 with this infant, so may Heaven deal with 
 her." 
 
 INIackenzie then quitted the room, leav- 
 ing Alice to follow him, with her little 
 girls, to the place where they were to take 
 the stage, which was to convey them to 
 the village where her mother lived. AVhen 
 arrived at the inn, JNIackenzie, who had 
 preserved a melancholy silence all the way, 
 except when he was compelled to answer 
 the various questions of Edward, whom he 
 still held in his arms, stopped, and placing 
 the child on the ground, helped his wife 
 and daughters into the coach. Again and 
 again he kissed his adopted son ; at length 
 he gave him to his wife — " Take care of 
 our dear Edward," said he in a hurried 
 tone, " and don't leave him, Alice, with 
 your mother, unless you are certain he 
 will be happy." He then tore himself 
 away, to the great mortification of Mrs. 
 INIackenzie, who had expected that he 
 
 ^vould
 
 AND A devil's HEaRT. 53 
 
 would bestow on his little girls the part- 
 ing kiss of a father. 
 
 But the heart of the soldier was too 
 sorely oppressed with grief to think of 
 any other object than the innocent child 
 who bore his name, and for whose welfare 
 he was so deeply interested. He had 
 yielded to the persuasions of Alice, from 
 a conviction that kc?^ happiness, and per- 
 haps that of the boy himself, depended 
 upon his temporary removal : from all 
 that he had heard of his wife's miother, he 
 believed that the child would be more 
 kindly treated than he had been lately by 
 her jealous daughter, who envied liim 
 every caress which he received from the 
 father of her girls. Notwithstanding this 
 consoling hope, Mackenzie felt most bit- 
 terly disappointed in being thus unex- 
 pectedly deprived of the artless affection 
 of his favourite. He had adopted him in 
 heart and soul for his own, had already 
 taught him to read and to spell, and look- 
 ed forward to the time when he should be 
 D 3 rewarded
 
 54 AN angel's F0I13I 
 
 rewarded for his labours, by the bright 
 display of Edward's intellectual endow- 
 ments. 
 
 Slowly he returned to his solitary home, 
 and from thence to the head-quarters of 
 his regiment, which was ordered to begin 
 its march in a few hours. It was to halt 
 the next day, within five miles of the vil- 
 lage in which tlie mother of Alice resided, 
 and here he was to be joined by his wife 
 and her little girls ; but Edward, the be- 
 loved, tlie smiling, playful Edward, no 
 more would greet his adopted father with 
 the laugh, the kiss of infant tenderness ; 
 no more would climb his knees to lift the 
 plumed bonnet from the head of Macken- 
 zie, and pkce it on his own, in mimic 
 sport and childish pride : Edward, the be- 
 loved, the joy of his heart, was to be left 
 behind ; and ^lackenzie's soul again melt- 
 ed with womanish distress, until the well- 
 known sound of martial music, the sound 
 of Caledonia's dear-loved harmonies, roused 
 the languid soldier from his painful reflec- 
 tions.
 
 AND A DEVIl/S HEART. 0,> 
 
 tions. His native land, his cherished rela- 
 tives, the mountain- scenery of his home, 
 the playmates of his youth, all burst upon 
 his sight at once ; and as the strains grew 
 louder and louder, as they approached to 
 "where Mackenzie stood, as his eyes quick- 
 ly glanced over the joyful countenances 
 of his brave companions in arms, the hap- 
 piness they felt diffused itself into the soul 
 of ^Mackenzie, and for a time displaced 
 every thought or feehng unconnected with 
 Scotland and its cherished treasures. 
 
 CHAPTETl IV. 
 
 Alice meanwhile proceeded on her jour- 
 ney with no very pleasurable sensation.^ : 
 she was about to revisit her mother, whom 
 she had not seen for more than four years, 
 and to resign to her keeping the infant 
 boy Avhoni once slie had hoped never to 
 D 4 part
 
 '56 AN A^'GEI;s FORM 
 
 part from. Her mother was also ignorant 
 of the birth of Edward, and Alice would 
 therefore have to explain many particu- 
 lars to her, wliich, if possible, she wished 
 to avoid. But Alice had no alternative : 
 dearly as she loved the boy, she could not 
 bring herself to view with composure the 
 preference wliich her husband evidently 
 felt for him; she would have been con- 
 tented to let him share with Alice and 
 Janet the affection of their father, but she 
 could not tamely allow him to monopolize 
 all the attention of JMackenzie. 
 
 It was a pleasant and tranquil evening 
 in June, v/hen Alice reached the village 
 in which her mother lived. She inquired 
 for IMrs. Grey, and was directed to a neat 
 w^hite cottage, encircled by trees, and near- 
 ly covered v, ith ivy and creeping flowers, 
 >vhich fornied a bov^-er over the porch of 
 the door. It was at the extremity of the 
 ^ illage, and comfortably sheltered from all 
 approach of the north-east wind. Alice, 
 delighted at the appearance of her mo- 
 ther's
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 57 
 
 ther's dwelling, hastened with her chil- 
 dren to partake of its internal comforts. 
 She knocked at the door ; it was opened 
 by ]\Iargaret Grey. In a moment the mo- 
 ther and daughter were locked in each 
 other's arms ; tears of rapture ran dov.n 
 the good woman's cheeks, as she separately 
 embraced her child and infant grandchil- 
 dren. 
 
 " My own dear, dear Ahce !" cried ]\Iar- 
 garet, " who could have thought of seeing 
 you ? — And your husband, why did he 
 not come to share my blessing and my 
 love? — And these little ones, are they all 
 yours, Alice — all of them ? — Oh, my poor 
 dear child ! how the sight of you gladdens 
 my old heart! Blessed be the name of 
 the Lord, who has thus permitted me to 
 see you once more before I die !'' 
 
 Alice soon satisfied the curiosity of her 
 mother about her husband ; and while the 
 affectionate old woman was busily em- 
 ployed in preparing tea for her daughter 
 and her little ones, Alice quickly ran over 
 D 5 the
 
 58 AN ANGEI/S FORM 
 
 the principal events of the years that had 
 elapsed since she had last seen her mother. 
 The good woman listened to her with 
 mute attention : Edward and Alice sat on 
 each knee, while little Janet, placed on the 
 lap of her mother, divided with the others 
 the fond notice of their aged parent. 
 
 " Tell me, my child," said old Margaret, 
 " why did you hide from me your first 
 marriage ? — What a noble boy it is ! I 
 have seen somebody like ]iim, but my 
 head is so confused just now, I cannot re- 
 member w ho it is. What was his father's 
 name ?" 
 
 ** No matter, mother," replied Alice, 
 washing to avoid tlie subject ; *' I have 
 sworn never to divulge his name to any 
 one: he was a gentleman, and that's 
 enough. The boy will never be the better 
 for knowing who he belongs to, so I de- 
 termined to call him after JMackenzie, who 
 loves him, I verily believe, better than he 
 does his own girls." 
 
 ** May God bless and prosper him for 
 
 it !"
 
 AND A devil's HEAUT. 59 
 
 it !" cried Margaret warmly. " Who could 
 look upon this handsome smiling face, and 
 not love the little rogue dearly ? — There 
 is a great difference, Alice, in the appear- 
 ance of your little girls. Any one who 
 sees Edward may tell he comes from a 
 different stock — he has such a genteel look 
 with him. Who can it be that I have seen 
 like him?" 
 
 " Never mind, mother, who it is," said 
 Alice hastily, and half offended at the no- 
 tice taken of him by her mother : " the 
 boy is well enough ; he was always more 
 strong and healthy than either Alice or 
 Janet. But you know, my dear miother, 
 that you were ever more partial to hoys 
 than to girls. I think I must leave Ed- 
 ward with you, mother, instead of taking 
 him to Scotland." 
 
 " God bless him ! and I would do jus- 
 tice to him," exclaimed Margaret — " he 
 should share with me what little I have ; 
 and he would not want for companions, 
 for I have, ever since the death of poor 
 D 6 Grey,
 
 60 AX axgel's foum 
 
 (rrey, taiiglit the village children to write 
 and read, and that brings me in a tolerable 
 living. — But you would not part with 
 him ?" 
 
 Alice now assured her mother that, on 
 the contrary, nothing would make her 
 happier than leaving the child under her 
 protection, as she knew that he would be 
 well treated and taken every care of, and 
 that she herself would cheerfully pay for 
 his support. The kind old woman was 
 half wild with joy ; she hugged the lovely 
 boy to her bosom, she kissed his rosy 
 cheeks, his dimpled mouth, and stroked 
 down the bright ringlets which clustered 
 over his forehead, shading by their profu- 
 sion the beauty of his sparkling eyes. The 
 intelligent child gazed a few minutes in 
 the face of Margaret ; its mild benevolence 
 and warm affection pleased him — he flung 
 his arms round her neck, and laid his 
 blooming cheek to hers, now wrinkled 
 with age. 
 
 " I will love you," said he, in a sweet 
 
 and
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 61 
 
 and silvery voice — " love you next to my 
 father, whom I love dearer than any body." 
 
 " What ! dearer than your own mo- 
 ther?" cried IMargaret, returning his em- 
 brace. 
 
 " Yes," replied tlie sensible boy; " I 
 love my mother, but I love my father 
 best, 'cause he takes my part when sister 
 Alice is cross to m.e ; and when she and 
 Janet vex my mother, and make her angry 
 with me, then father takes me on his knee, 
 and kisses me, and pats my head, and sings 
 to me. Will you come and live with us 
 in Scotland ? We will all love you, and be 
 so kind to you, and I wdll do every thing 
 you bid me, and be such a good boy, if you 
 will come w ith us." 
 
 Margaret nearly suffocated him with 
 kisses; and Alice, who felt some secret 
 reproaches, now that she was on the point 
 of losing him, caressed him tenderly, say- 
 ing that he was on the w^hole a very w^ell- 
 disposed child, only that he played too 
 
 roughly
 
 62 AN angel's form 
 
 roughly with his sisters, and made them 
 cross and ill-tempered. 
 
 Margaret quickly perceived that her 
 daughter was most partial to her girls, and 
 that poor Edward's best friend was his 
 adopted father; this made her more anxi- 
 ous to have the boy left with her, as she 
 was not slow in disceniing that both Alice 
 and Janet were fretful peevish children, to 
 whom Edward was expected to submit in 
 every thing. 
 
 After Alice had succeeded in getting 
 her little girls to sleep, and had sat with 
 them half an hour, lest they should awake 
 and again begin screaming, she joined her 
 mother below, who by this time had got 
 ready a nice supper, and brought out a 
 bottle of her best home-made wine, to 
 welcome the presence of her child. Alice, 
 on her part, had brought with her several 
 presents, which she thought might be 
 acceptable to her parent, together with 
 some articles of wearing apparel, sent by 
 
 Mackenzie
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 63 
 
 Mackenzie to the mother of his wife. 
 After their repast, they naturally reverted 
 to the events of past times. 
 
 " I know," said old IMargaret, " that my 
 lady never perfectly forgave my marrying 
 poor Grey ; she was so fond of me, and I 
 was so much in her confidence, that she 
 did not like to lose me. But poor Grey 
 was a good husband to me; and though 
 I often felt the difference of my situation, 
 yet I never repented having him, or quit- 
 ting my lady, especially as she continued 
 her kindness to you. But what did Miss 
 Fitz- Arthur say to your leaving her, 
 Alice? She used to make such a pet of 
 you, that I thought it impossible she 
 vshould ever part from you." 
 
 " She was very unhappy at my quitting 
 her," replied Alice ; " but I was forced to 
 go away. Oh, well she knew that nothing 
 but necessity could ever obHge me to leave 
 her; for I loved her as dearly as I loved 
 my own soul." 
 
 " Well, that was very strange, and I 
 
 have
 
 €4 AN ANGEI.'S FORM 
 
 have often said so," cried Margaret ; " for 
 never were two more opposite creatures in 
 disposition, and in every thing else, than 
 you and Miss Fitz- Arthur. I used to be 
 sadly afraid, at one time, tliat she would 
 make you as bad as herself; for I fear that 
 she is no better than she should be. From 
 her childhood, and you know that my 
 lady had her when she was only five years 
 old, she was always so proud and over- 
 bearing, so haughty to her inferiors, and 
 so bold and forward to her equals, that not 
 a servant in the house liked her except 
 yourself She certainly had the beauty of 
 an ai]gel, but we used to say that she had 
 a devil's heart." 
 
 " Nay, mother, you are prejudiced 
 against her, because she happens to be a 
 little vain of her person. You should con- 
 sider that she w^as uncommonly beautiful, 
 and known to be the heiress of all her 
 aunt's property. Surely she had some- 
 thing to be proud of" 
 
 '* God forgive me if I judge her wrong- 
 fully,"
 
 AND A devil's heart. 65 
 
 fully," said Margaret; " but, if I am not 
 }nistaken, she will have more faults to ac- 
 count for than pride. Beautiful as she is, 
 there is a something in the cast of her eyes 
 that I should be sorry to see in a child of 
 mine ; and as for feeling or affection, I'm 
 sure she has none. God help her husband, 
 whenever she gets one ! he must be a bold 
 man who would venture his happiness to 
 her keeping." 
 
 " Mother," cried Alice, " you are too 
 severe, ^liss Fitz- Arthur has been mar- 
 ried upwards of tvA^o years to the marquis 
 of Anendale, and I dare say m.akes as good 
 a wife as most ladies of fashion. She was 
 a kind and good mistress to me, and I do 
 not like to hear her spoken ill of" 
 
 " Wei], my child, then I won't name 
 her again. I suppose you have seen her 
 since her marriage ?" 
 
 " No, mother," replied Alice, *' I have 
 denied myself that pleasure, because I 
 know that she would not approve of my 
 marrying a soldier." 
 
 " She
 
 G6 AN angel's form 
 
 " She may live to clo worse," muttered 
 the old woman. " I only hope that she 
 may never become a mother ; for, if she 
 does, she will make a very bad one." 
 
 ** She lias two daughters already," said 
 Alice. " But let us talk of something 
 more pleasing to you, mother. Tell me 
 how many scholars you have, and v*^hether 
 your health suffers from the fatigue of 
 your daily occupation? Tell me every 
 thing, mother, for I must leave you to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Old JNiargaret confessed that her health 
 w^as not so good as it used to be before the 
 death of her husband ; " but I must not 
 complain," said she, " for, blessed be the 
 name of the Lord ! I have hitherto done 
 very well. JMy scholars are all good-dis- 
 posed children, and I have friends in the 
 village, far above me, who respect me, 
 and w^ho often call to inquire after my 
 health." 
 
 She now entered more minutely into 
 her own circumstances, not forgetting 
 
 those
 
 AND A devil's heart. GJ 
 
 those of her neighbours, which soon put 
 Miss Fitz- Arthur and her faults out of 
 her mind; and Alice had also so many 
 things to say, as well as to hear, that the 
 night was far spent before either of them 
 thought of retiring to their beds. 
 
 In the morning, Alice Mi considerably 
 perplexed what excuse to frame to Ed- 
 ward for leaving him behind. At first she 
 thought of going away unknown to him ; 
 but this appeared too much like deserting 
 him ; and she resolved to have recourse to 
 some plausible falsehood, rather than act 
 with such apparent unkindness. Edward 
 was therefore led to believe that old jNIar- 
 garet would follow her daughter to Scot- 
 land in a short time, if he would stay to 
 bear her company ; and the poor innocent 
 child was so won upon by the persuasive 
 kindness of Margaret, that he readily con- 
 sented to stay until she could conveniently 
 join his adopted father in his native land. 
 
 With all the prattling innocence of 
 youth, Edward beguiled away the hours ; 
 
 his
 
 6s AN angel's form 
 
 his active mind found sufficient source of 
 amusement in the novelty of all around 
 him, and he saw Mrs. Mackenzie and her 
 little girls quit the cottage, without mani- 
 festing any very strong tokens of distress. 
 Old Margaret held him in her arms — she 
 called him her darling boy, her beautiful 
 child ; she kissed him again and again, and 
 told him he should do as he pleased, and 
 have what he pleased, and that they should 
 soon go in a fine new coach to meet Mac- 
 kenzie. The sweet boy believed the well- 
 meant falsehood; and as he clung with 
 childish fondness to the neck of Margaret 
 Grey, his little heart throbbed with all its 
 natural warmth of affection, which had too 
 often been chilled by the frowns and jea- 
 lous reproofs of his mother. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 69 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 *^.t~*.r^.rf.r^**'»^*-r.r^ 
 
 Edward became, as Alice had prophesied, 
 the darling of her mother, and, in short, the 
 idol of most of her scholars ; though some 
 there were who envied him the love of 
 old ^Margaret, and who would jeeringly 
 call him " the little favourite," " the fine 
 gentleman ;" but these were few ; the ge- 
 nerality of the children, while they felt 
 and owned his evident superiority over 
 themselves, loved him for his gay good 
 humour, his quickness of perception, his 
 warmth of heart, and, above all, for his 
 personal attractions, which made him the 
 universal pet among the female part of 
 her pupils. 
 
 Edward, though barely turned of four 
 years old, could read and spell better than 
 many boys twice his age ; yet he was not 
 
 always
 
 70 AN AXGEL S FORM 
 
 always in a mood for learning the lessons 
 set him by old Margaret — lie would fre- 
 quently play truant for the whole day ; 
 but the studies of the next amply com- 
 pensated for his fits of temporary idleness. 
 Nor was he wholly idle during these hours 
 of aversion to his book ; it was then that 
 he would amuse himself, by the help of a 
 piece of chalk, on the floor ; and many a 
 rude sketch was taken of the busy inmates 
 of the room, of Margaret Grey, her high- 
 backed chair and spec^tacled nose, which 
 gave proofs of that embryo genius that at 
 a future time burst forth with all the fire 
 and brilliancy of a master in the art. ISIar- 
 garet smiled at the first attempts of infant 
 talent, and in order to save her floor, as 
 well as to preserve the good order of her 
 school, whose attention was taken up by 
 the idle exercises of f^dward, she bought 
 him a pencil, and gave him a hoard of 
 paper, v/hich he might use as often as he 
 felt inclined to be lazy. 
 
 It was some time, however, before Ed- 
 ward
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 71 
 
 ^vard could make himself master of his 
 pencil: it was repeatedly broken, and as 
 repeatedly recut by Margaret; but when 
 he had accomplished it, he repaid her for 
 her trouble, by drawing a tolerable like- 
 ness' of her old favourite cat, which was 
 carefully placed over the mantlepiece, as a 
 specimen of her darling's abilities. Nor 
 was Margaret the only one who used to 
 view v»dth delight the resemblance of poor 
 puss : among her scholars, one more than 
 all the rest v/as attached to Edward : this 
 v/as a little girl, two years his senior, and 
 the prettiest of tliem all : she was the only 
 child of a tradesman in the village, and 
 had lost her mother, which loss was but 
 ill supplied by her father, a drunken, pro- 
 fligate cliaracter ; and poor Martha Smith 
 was suffered to run about the village after 
 her school-hours, seeking what companions 
 she could find, without control, without 
 advice, or a proper home to receive her. 
 Martha was in her seventh year — a quick, 
 intelligent child — busy, forward, and curi- 
 ous
 
 72 AN angel's form 
 
 ous to know every thing: she was hand- 
 some and lively, and she no sooner beheld 
 Edward, than she became his friend and 
 protector. As she had money at command, 
 scarce a day elapsed without her bring;ing 
 him substantial proofs of her regard ; but 
 as Edward was neither mercenary nor 
 greedy, her gifts would not have procured 
 his affection, had they not been accompa- 
 nied by the more persuasive bribes of flat- 
 tery and tenderness. Martha praised his 
 performances, and encouraged him to con- 
 tinue them, begging, every now and tlien, 
 as a great favour, one or two of his draw- 
 ings, to hang up in her own room ; then 
 she kissed him so sweetly, and took such 
 pains to make him happy, that Edward, 
 whose young heart was formed of the soft- 
 est materials, quickly evinced for Martha 
 a decided preference, to the no small mor- 
 tification of her jealous companions, many 
 of whom were much older than herself 
 
 INIargaret, who had long pitied the ne- 
 glected situation of JMartha Smith, and 
 
 lamented
 
 AXD A devil's HEAnT. 73 
 
 ^amented the cruel neglect of her father, 
 in allowing her to rove at pleasure up and 
 down tiie village, now began to manifest 
 for her a stronger regard, in proportion to 
 the affection which the young girl testified 
 for Edward ; she invited her to remain af- 
 ter school-hours were over, to which the 
 child joyfully consented; thus becoming 
 more and more the companion and play- 
 mate of the *'• little gentleman." 
 
 This was a title that Edward well be- 
 came : his person, his farm, his manners, 
 his everv movement, betraved an innate 
 trentilitv, rarelv to be met with anion o- the 
 lower ranks of societ}'. As cu-ciimstances 
 unfolded tlie powers of his mind, old ]Mar- 
 garet, who was not deficient in discern- 
 ment, was frequently surprised at the un- 
 cultivated sense which he displayed in his 
 questions and remarks, and still more so 
 at the sudden bursts of pride which he be- 
 trayed, whenever he was provoked into 
 casual fits of passion by the rudeness of 
 any of his playfellows. His anger was 
 
 VOL. L E always
 
 74 
 
 always transient ; for the haughty dignity 
 of Edward, whose briglit eyes flashed in- 
 dignantly on the offenders, soon drew from 
 them an acknowledgment of error, which 
 instantly procured their pardon, and re- 
 stored the crimson countenance of Edward 
 to its usual serenity. 
 
 One boy in particular seemed to take 
 great delight in rousing tlie stormy feel- 
 ings of Edward : he was the son of a re- 
 spectable widow v/oman, who lived at a 
 short distance from JNIargaret's cottage, 
 and who, whenever he met Edward, made 
 a rule of insulting him ; then, coward-like, 
 he would run away, and shelter himself 
 within the sanctuary of his home. He 
 was of the same age as Edward, but more 
 strong and heavily made. Ignorant, cow- 
 ardly, and cruel, he hated Edward for the 
 beauty of his person, the intelhgence of 
 his mind, and the bravery of his nature. 
 Edvrard and his companion Martha Smith 
 were returning home, with each a little 
 basket in their hands, full of various cakes, 
 
 nuts,
 
 AND A devil's heaht. Y5 
 
 ruts, and sweetmeats, Avhich they liad 
 been purchasing to celebrate the natal day 
 of the former, who had just completed 
 his eighth year : they were met by Tom 
 Cummins, who, spreading out his hands, 
 declared they should not pass until he 
 had seen the contents of their baskets, 
 Martha remonstrated w^ith Tom, but to 
 no purpose; while Edward, whose face 
 was cHmson w4th anger, asked him how 
 he dared to stop their wa}-, and insisted 
 upon his desisting from his impertinence, 
 Tom screwed up his mouth and nodded 
 his head sigiiiiicantly, saying — *•' Ay, ay, 
 my fine gentlem.an ! do put yourself into 
 a passion, do, and spoil your pretty face, 
 Wlio the deuce are you ? Do you think 
 that I should leave off at vour biddinir ?— 
 Why, your father is only a soldier, ray 
 little gentleman, so pray leave oif all your 
 fine airs. My father and mother are much 
 better than yours, and I shall stay here as 
 long as I like, and as short as I like, for 
 e2 all
 
 76 AX angel's form 
 
 all that you have got Miss Patty to back 
 you." 
 
 " AVill you so?" cried Edward, flinging 
 down the basket — " we will see to that. 
 Patty, I connnand you not to move a 
 step ; I'll soon teach this insolent boaster 
 better manners." 
 
 Springing forward like an angry lion, 
 he seized hold of Tom's throat, and nearly 
 shook the breath out of his body, and then 
 letting him go as suddenly, the affrighted 
 coward fell to the ground, bawling out for 
 mercy. 
 
 " Get up, Tom," said Edward, pulling 
 him from his dastardly posture, " get up, 
 and owm that you have acted like an in- 
 solent coward. Ai*e you not always be- 
 having rudely to me? do you ever see 
 me without insulting me ? — Yes, my fa- 
 ther is a soldier — he is serjeant in the 
 44th regiment ; he is a brave man, a good 
 man, a sensible man : and what are you, 
 Tom ? Why, the most ignorant, bnitish, 
 
 and
 
 AND A DEVll/S HEART. 77 
 
 and mean-spirited boy in tlie whole vil- 
 ]age. Get up, I say, and beg my pardon 
 this instant, before Patty, or I'll beat you 
 as long as I am able." 
 
 Tom. Cummins, who by no means re- 
 lished the specimen he had already re- 
 ceived of Edward's couraoe and ability to 
 defend himself, instantly obeyed, and Vvitli 
 the most fawning servility begged pardon, 
 declaring that he was only in jest. Edward 
 darted on him a look of proud contempt, 
 then taking up the basket, and placing 
 Patty's arm in his, he left the affrighted 
 boy, gently admonishing him to be care- 
 ful in future hov/ he mentioned the name 
 of his father, or how he applied to himself 
 any terms which might be construed into 
 derision. Tom took the hint, and ever 
 after preserved a civil tongue. 
 
 Martha failed not to report the whole 
 affair to old ^Maro-aret, who huo'ijed the 
 intrepid boy in lier arms, and gloried in 
 the courage which he had displayed so 
 far beyond his years; not that ^Margaret 
 T. 3 would
 
 78 AN angel's form 
 
 •would have wished him to be quarrelsome 
 or overbearing to his playmates, but she 
 rejoiced to find him both capable and will- 
 ing to defend himself' against the attacks 
 of vulgar insolence and low-bred pre- 
 sumption. 
 
 " Grandmother," cried Edward thought- 
 fully, " is there any disgrace in being a 
 soldier, that that ignorant boy Tom Cum- 
 mins reproached me with my father's be- 
 ing a soldier ?" 
 
 " No, my darling," replied ^largaret 
 Grey ; " it is an honour, instead of a dis- 
 grace, to serve his Majesty, and fight for 
 the defence of our liberties and laws. A 
 disgrace indeed ! Any man might be proud 
 to be the son of the brave serjeant Mac- 
 kenzie ; but your father was a gentleman 
 bred and born, and your godfather is a 
 gentleman, and belongs to one of the best 
 families in England." 
 
 " How, grandmother," exclaimed the 
 boy, bursting into a flood of tears, " how 
 can you be so cruel as to tell me that ser- 
 jeant
 
 AND A DEVIL S HEART. 79 
 
 jeant ^Mackenzie is not iny father? — Never, 
 never can I love any one so dearly as I do 
 him. Though I was a very httle boy 
 when he went to Scotland, yet I remem- 
 ber him well : he loved mc better than 
 my mother, better than any body but you 
 and Patty Smith." 
 
 *•' My heart's treasure, be comforted," 
 said old r\largaret, as she fondly caressed 
 him, while Patty wiped away his quick- 
 falling tears ; ** in the warmth of my feel- 
 ings I have suffered a secret to escape me, 
 which your mother wished to be concealed 
 
 ml 
 
 from you until you were older." 
 
 " Who then was my father?" cried 
 Edward hastily, as he raised his head from 
 the bosom of Margaret ; " and why am I 
 not called by his name?" 
 
 " My dearest child," said Marg-aret Grey, 
 ** your father died before you were bom, 
 and when your mother married ser jeant 
 Mackenzie, you were not more than five 
 wrecks old. As your father's family were 
 far her superiors, and as they would not 
 E 4 acknowledge
 
 €0 AX angel's YOUU 
 
 acknowledge her, she resolved to christen 
 you by the name of that dear good man 
 who so warmly adopted you for his owu, 
 and who loves you as fondly as if you 
 were his ov/n son." 
 
 *" And I will never own another father," 
 cried the bov with earnestness, " never iro 
 by any other name than his. If my fa- 
 ther's relations were to own me to-morrow, 
 and make a lord of me, still I would be 
 called Edward ]Mackeiizie, the soldier's 
 son." 
 
 Margaret now cautioned Patty not to 
 mention what she had lieard, as it might 
 only increase the envy of the ill-natured, 
 were it known that Edward's father was 
 a gentleman; she then left them, to get 
 ready a treat which she had provided for 
 the birthday of Edward, who had invited 
 his chief favomites to spend it with him ; 
 but not all their joyous hilarity could 
 chace from the mind of Edward the secret 
 w^hich old Margaret had inadvertently be- 
 trayed ; although Patty redoubled her en- 
 deavours
 
 AND A devil's HEAHT. 81 
 
 deavours to amuse him, in ^vhich slie was 
 assisted by all his yoimg friends — although 
 Margaret Grey forgot her age, forgot her 
 rheumatism, and joined in all their child- 
 ish sports, still Edward could not repress 
 the starting tear, or check the involuntary 
 sigh — Serjeant Mackenzie was the being 
 whom most on earth he loved, and serjeant 
 Mackenzie was no longer to be deemed 
 his fatlier. Edward tried to be cheerful 
 and happy, but he tried in vain. 
 
 At length Margaret, whispering, said — 
 ^' Enjoy yourself to-day, my dear Edward 
 — be merry, and make your com])anions 
 meny, and to-morrow I will read yon a 
 letter from your father, serjeant Macken- 
 zie, which is entirely about j^ourself. But 
 you must let me see you look gay and 
 animated, as usual." 
 
 The countenance of Edward instantly 
 beamed with pleasure ; he should hear or 
 read the sentiments of his adopted father, 
 lie should learn his wishes respecting him- 
 self, and ki.^j.s the dear-loved characters 
 E 5 traced
 
 82 AN angel's form 
 
 traced by his hand ; with new-kindled vi- 
 gour and buoyant spirits, Edward skipped 
 back to his companions, and the next in- 
 stant ISIargaret Grey heard his joyous 
 laugh, which made her old heart dance 
 again with new-bom rapture. — **' Ah !" 
 thought iNIargaret, as she beheld his grace- 
 ful form bounding between those of the 
 village children, as she saw the angel-smile 
 of guileless pleasure play around his dim- 
 pled mouth and sparkle in his bright blue 
 eye, as every bend of his pliant limbs gave 
 to sight some new grace, some fresh beauty, 
 ** ah !" thought Margaret, " now would I 
 give all my worldly goods and chattels to 
 find out who was thy father, my darhng 
 Edward; for nature, in spite of fortune, 
 has cast thee in no common mould — every 
 look, every gesture, bespeaks the son of a 
 gentleman." 
 
 CHAP-
 
 AND A devil's HEAET. 83 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Edward had now been four years under 
 the care of ^Margaret Grey, duriiig ^\ Inch 
 time he had been indulged in every Vv ish 
 of his heart. At first he was very inqui- 
 sitive to know when she would go with 
 him to Scotland, but as she repeatedly- 
 formed some fresh excuse to delay her 
 journey, and as he was perfectly happy in 
 his new situation and with his new asso- 
 ciates, he by degrees became less anxious 
 to leave them, and less solicitous to join 
 his mother and her cross, peevish, spoiled 
 little girls. 
 
 AHce wrote constantly to old Margaret, 
 never failing in her promised remittaiKjes 
 for the support of Edward. Her letters 
 were full of affectionate interest for his 
 welfare, but they betrayed no intention of 
 E 6 withdiawing
 
 84 AN ANOEI/S FORM 
 
 withdrawing liim from the protection of 
 his grandmother. She said that she and 
 her children were comfortably situated in 
 the house of her husband's sister, with 
 wdiorn she meant to leave her daughters, 
 in case of JNIackenzie's being ordered 
 abroad ; but that, much as they wished to 
 have tlie boy with them, they w^ould not 
 deprive her of his society, as it had become 
 so necessary to her happiness. 
 
 Mackenzie wrote also to the mother of 
 his wife, and the fond guardian of his dar- 
 ling child. He expressed his wish to have 
 him sent to a good school, where the boy 
 would be instructed in those necessar\" ac- 
 quirements which were beyond the know- 
 ledge of Margaret Grey ; and, above all, 
 he desired that his talent for drawing 
 might be properly cultivated. JNIany a 
 present did the generous soldier convey 
 to his adopted son unknown to Alice, and 
 many a welcome gifl was also received by 
 okl ^largaret at the same time, for herself. 
 
 At length the orders so long di'eaded 
 
 by
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 80 
 
 by Alice arrived, and the Highland war- 
 riors prepared for foreign service. She had 
 just lost her eldest little girl, and was 
 therefore but ill able to endure a separa- 
 tion from her youngest ; but she strove to 
 bear her heavy misfortune with fortitude 
 and resignation, and the more so, perhaps, 
 from a secret conviction that she had not 
 acted so kindly as she ought to have done 
 towards poor Edvv-ard. 
 
 Again Mackenzie reminded Alice of 
 the important patronage which she had 
 now the power of claiming for her child, 
 and besought her not to suffer any per- 
 sonal pique or false delicacy to rob him of 
 the offered kindness of his godfather. — 
 •* Think, Alice," said Mackenzie, ** of 
 what may be the fate of this dear boy, 
 should Providence, in our absence, take 
 from him the only natural protector he 
 will then have — your good old parent : 
 tliink also of what he might be, if placed 
 
 in the hands of tlie dean of H ." 
 
 ** Why
 
 86 
 
 " Why do you remind me of what only 
 adds to my distress?" repHed his wife, 
 "with evident agitation. " Do you really 
 believe, Mackenzie, that I would with- 
 hold from Edward the countenance of 
 such a man as Mr. Colvill, without just 
 reasons for so doing? — Be satisfied, my 
 dear husband, that I act from principle, 
 not from caprice, and from a firm persua- 
 sion that Edv»^ard will be far happier if 
 brought up to gain his own maintenance, 
 than he would be if he were under the 
 care of the dean, and reared at his ex- 
 pence." 
 
 ** Well," said Mackenzie, after a long 
 and painful pause, " well, Alice, you must 
 knov»^ best. Some time or other, should 
 Heaven spare my life, you may think me 
 Avorthy of your confidence ; but I will not 
 claim as my right what ought to be given 
 me from affection." 
 
 " Dearest Edward," replied Alice, weep- 
 ]ng, " my confidence should be as freely 
 
 yours
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 8? 
 
 yours as is my heart, but that it is not in 
 my own power to bestow it. There is a 
 secret attached to my poor boy " 
 
 " I feel that there is," rephed the sol- 
 dier, sighing from the bottom of his soul. 
 
 " A secret," continued Alice, " which 
 I dare not trust to any human being, or 
 you, Mackenzie, would not have remained 
 in ignorance of it a day after our union.'' 
 
 " Let the subject drop and be forgot- 
 ten," said Mackenzie thoughtfally. " Ed- 
 wai'd could not be dearer to me, were he 
 my own son : to secure your peace of 
 mind, Alice, I consented to resign him to 
 your worthy mother. It has pleased Hea- 
 ven to deprive us of our little girl, for 
 whose sake poor Edward was neglected." 
 
 Here Alice burst into a violent flood of 
 tears, and ^lackenzie, tenderly embracing 
 her, said — " I meant not to reproach you, 
 my beloved wife ; but as I have so long 
 been prevented from doing my duty to 
 my adopted son, I cannot think of quit- 
 ting, perhaps for ever, my native land, 
 
 without
 
 88 AN angel's FOllM 
 
 -without once more beholding him. I 
 have ah'eady obtained permission for two 
 days' absence, and in an hour's time shall 
 be on my way towards your mother's 
 home." 
 
 The heart of Alice was too full of grief 
 for the death of her little girl, and too 
 much oppressed by other distressful feel- 
 ings, to oppose the generous intentions of 
 her husband ; she would have accompanied 
 him to take leave of Edward, but she could 
 not take Janet with her ; and to leave her, 
 when she was on the point of separating 
 from her, perhaps for ever, was what Alice 
 could not bring herself to think of: be- 
 sides, Mackenzie expressed no desire that 
 she should bear him company in his rapid 
 journey ; and she therefore contented her- 
 self wdth getting ready a variety of ar- 
 ticles which she had intended for her mo- 
 ther and Kdvv^ard, and with writing as 
 long a letter to the former as the short- 
 ness of her time would permit. 
 
 JNIackenzie scarcely paused to take 
 
 breath.
 
 AND A devil's heart. 89 
 
 breath, until he reached the village which 
 contained his darling boy. It was tlie 
 same month, and nearly the same day, as 
 that on which lie had first beheld him 
 sleephig on the lap of ^Vlice. The recol- 
 lection of what he then felt towards both 
 mother and child, novv added to the ten- 
 derness of his feelings ; he remembered 
 also that he had called Heaven to witness 
 liis solemn intention of being a father to 
 the boy in the strictest sense of the word, 
 and he prayed for tlie forgiveness of his 
 Creator, if he had erred in too fondly 
 yielding to the persuasions of his wite, 
 and by so doing had resigned him to the 
 care of another. The busy mind of the 
 warrior pictured to itself what Edward 
 was at four years old, and what he now 
 was at tv/ice that age. He wished to be- 
 hold him, for a few moments, unseen by 
 any eye but that of Heaven, that he might 
 feast his own upon the form he loved, and 
 gain sufficient self-command to encounter 
 
 the
 
 90 AN angel's form 
 
 the artless questions and inquiries of his 
 adopted son. 
 
 As ^iackenzie approached the ivy-co- 
 vered cottage of his mother-in-law, his 
 heart bounded at the prhit of feet in the 
 snow that covered the pathway to the 
 door: they might be those of Edward. 
 Cautiously he crept towards the porch, 
 which, though no longer gay wdth sweet- 
 scented flowers, could still boast the dark- 
 green foliage of the constant ivy. Through 
 its twisted branches Mackenzie got a com- 
 plete view into the little parlour of Mar- 
 garet Grey, while the cheerful blaze of a 
 nice wood fire enabled him to discern its 
 happy inmates. 
 
 The good old woman, whose open and 
 friendly countenance was a perfect index 
 of her mind, w^as seated by the fire, in her 
 high-backed elbow-chair, and by her side 
 sat P^dward and Patty Smith ; the arm of 
 the former was thrown round the waist of 
 Patty, wliile hers, with equal kindness, 
 
 was
 
 AXD A BEVII/S HEART. 91 
 
 was placed around his neck. In tlie band 
 of Edward vvas a letter, ^vhich be laid on 
 the lap of I\Iargaret, wbile bis ej^es spark- 
 led with pride and exultation, and the 
 bright arinison of his cheek grew deeper 
 and deeper as bis feelings became stronger. 
 — " Grandmother," be cried, and bis voice 
 shot through the soul of 3Iackenzie — 
 " grandmother, I will never forget all 
 your goodness towards me,, never forget 
 your kindness in shewing me the letters 
 of Serjeant Mackenzie. How tenderly he 
 speaks of me ! He says that I shall make 
 a good man, and that night and day be 
 prays for my b^piness. Dear gi-andmo- 
 tber, I will try to be a good man, that I 
 may be a comfort to you both. I would 
 sooner die than give either of you a mo- 
 ment's pain. Ob that I could but once 
 more see my dear, dear father Mackenzie, 
 that I might tell him how kind you have 
 always been to me ! — I think, if he knew 
 bow dearly I love him, and what happi- 
 ness
 
 92 
 
 ness it gives me to read his letters, he 
 would come from Scotland to see me." 
 
 " I dare say he would soon come if he 
 were able, my darling," cried old JVlarga- 
 ret, putting aside some of the dark curls 
 that overshadowed his eyes ; *' but you; 
 know, Edward, that Serjeant jNIackenzie's 
 time is not his own, but his country's. I 
 long to see him as much as you do, but I 
 fear that my old eyes will never be blest 
 with a sight of him." 
 
 " And / love him," exclaimed Patty,. 
 ** and long to see him also, because he is 
 good and kind to Edward." . 
 
 " I would walk barefooted to see him, 
 grandmother," said Edward ; " but I would 
 not stay long ; I will never leave you, dear 
 grandmother, unless it is to go for a. short 
 time to my beloved father JMackenzie, and 
 then I would hurry back, for fear that you 
 should want me." 
 
 Old JMargaret embraced and blessed 
 him, saying that she made no doubt but 
 
 that
 
 AND A devil's HEAPcT. 93 
 
 that God would hear his prayers, and per- 
 mit him to see once again his dear adopted 
 father. 
 
 JNIackenzie, whose full heart was near 
 bursting with suppressed affection, now 
 tapped gently at the door, — " Go, Patty," 
 said old jNJargaret ; " I should not wonder 
 if it is iNIr. Lindsay, come at this time in 
 the evening, dear kind soid! to inquire 
 how I am." 
 
 Patty, at the sound of his name, flew 
 to give entrance to the welcome visitor. 
 ^Mackenzie drew back, and asked if the 
 cottage belonged to Mrs. Grey ? Edward 
 started from his seat, and advancinor a few 
 paces, rushed suddenly forward, screaming 
 in an agony of joy that it was his father, 
 his beloved father Mackenzie. 
 
 In an instant he was close pressed to 
 the bosom of the soldier, while Margaret 
 Grey, scarcely daring to give credit to her 
 senses, grasped his hand affectionately, and 
 drew him to the fu-eside, with the famihar 
 kindness of one long acquainted with his 
 
 worth.
 
 94f AN angel's FOllM 
 
 worth. Her high-backed easy chair was 
 given up to Mackenzie, and Patty Smith, 
 not waiting to be desired, heaped fresh 
 fafycjots on the fire, to accelerate the boil- 
 intr of the teakettle, and then slunk be- 
 hind old Margaret, that she might gaze 
 unobserved on the adopted father of Ed- 
 ward. 
 
 Old D^Iar^aret was the first to break 
 silence. — **' Blessed be the nkine of the 
 Lord !" cried she, " who liath heard and 
 granted my prayers, and who iiath sent 
 you here, my dear son, to gladden all our 
 hearts — -just, too, as we were talldng of 
 you !' — Edward, my darling — rouse your- 
 self, my treasure — you have not asked af- 
 ter your mother and little Janet." 
 
 Edward could not speak, and IMacken^ 
 zie even found it an effort to think of any 
 otlier object than the child of his adoption; 
 he however recollected all the goodness of 
 old Margaret towards that child, and en- 
 deavoured to make amends for his appa- 
 rent neglect of her, by replying to all her 
 
 questions
 
 AND A devil's HEAHT. 95 
 
 questions respecting his wif? and Janet, 
 and then dehvered to her the letter and 
 the gifts of AHce. 
 
 Poor old INIargaret, wliose eyes were 
 dim with tears of pleasure, and whose 
 frame shook from the same cause, was 
 obhged, for the present, to lay aside the 
 letter, and give vent to her overcharged 
 bosom, by manifesting to Mackenzie all 
 the affection which she had long nourished 
 for him, and which he felt equally disposed 
 to evince for her. Edward was their chief 
 theme — Edward their mutual pride, their 
 hope, their idol; while he on whom they 
 both doted remained locked in the arms 
 of INIackenzie, as if afraid again to lose 
 him. 
 
 *•' Look up, my dear boy," cried the sol- 
 dier, " and let me see you smiling and 
 happy, as when I beheld you just now 
 through the Vv^indow. Where is that 
 pretty-looking girl who so kindly ex- 
 pressed a wish to see me because I was 
 good to you ?" 
 
 Edward
 
 96 AN ANGEI/S FORM 
 
 Edward instantly raised his head and 
 called to Patty, who now crept from her 
 liiding-place ; but he would not leave the 
 knee of his adopted parent. Patty slowly 
 adva7iced, blushing all the while. Edward 
 caught her hand and gave it to Macken- 
 zie. — " Love her, dear, dear father," said 
 the boy earnestly ; " for she is very good, 
 and very kind and affectionate to me and 
 to my grandmother." 
 
 ^Mackenzie embraced the timid girl, and 
 taking from his pocket a small gold coin, 
 save it her, as a reward for her affection 
 to his adopted son. Patty looked at the 
 coin with eyes which sparkled with de- 
 light, and whispering in the ear of Ed- 
 ward, said that she "would preserve the 
 gift of his father as long as she lived. 
 
 Edward would not be separated that 
 night from ]Mackenzie, and Patty, who 
 liad her father's permission to stay at the 
 cottage whenever she pleased, now re- 
 mained and partook of old JMargaret's bed. 
 
 This ^yorthy creature no sooner leanit 
 
 that
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 97 
 
 that her son-in-law was ordered on foreign 
 ser\ace, than she offered to take charge of 
 the little Janet, although her own increas- 
 ing ill health made such a charge extreme- 
 ly hazardous ; but Mackenzie was com- 
 pelled to decline what otherwise he would 
 have accepted with joy, as Alice had al- 
 ready agreed to leave her daiigliter under 
 the care of his sister, whose prosperous 
 circumstances and fondness for the child 
 made the sanguine mother look forward 
 to the advantao-es which it mi^ht derive 
 from the protection of its aunt. 
 
 The next day Mackenzie overlooked, 
 with surprise and pleasure, the intant spe- 
 cimens of Edward's da^vTiing genius, all 
 of which Margaret had carefully collected 
 together, except those which the boy had 
 given to Patty Smith, to decorate her 
 own bedchamber at horrie. The discern- 
 ing soldier no sooner beheld tlie childish 
 productions of Edward's idle hours, than 
 he unhesitatingly declared that, if his ta- 
 lents were properly cultivated, he would 
 
 VOL, I. F soon
 
 S8 "AN axgel's FOrvM 
 
 soon be able to make his fortune, and 
 strictly enjoined his gi-andmother to send 
 him to a respectable school, where he might 
 be taught drawing and other branches of 
 education. He next examined the boy 
 himself in all that he had learned, and 
 though his knowledge, as might be ex- 
 pected, was very confined, yet it w^as still 
 plainly evident that he possessed all the 
 requisites necessary to form the scholar 
 and the gentleman. Mackenzie sighed, 
 for he recollected the proffered kindness 
 
 of the dean of H , and lamented that 
 
 the boy could not avail himself of so ad- 
 vantageous n connexion. 
 
 Edward longed, yet feared to mention 
 to Mackenzie that he knew that he was 
 not his father; but old IMargaret, w^ho 
 observed the changeful features of the 
 boy^ took an opportunity to inquire the 
 cause. Edward was .a stranger to false- 
 hood or dissimulation, and he therefore 
 told his wishes to his grandmother, at the 
 HcXiiie time generously expressing his de- 
 termination
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 99 
 
 termination not to gratify them, if, by so 
 doing, he should ocx^asion any disagree- 
 ment between her and his adopted parent, 
 lyiargaret loved the boy too dearly to check 
 any of his desires, unless they were sucli 
 as v*^ould create his own unhappiness ; she 
 therefore led him back to where IMacken- 
 zie v/as sitting, and by reverting to the 
 story of his encounter with Tom Cum- 
 mins, took occasion to mention her own 
 warmth of feeling, which had drawn from 
 her the secret of his birth. 
 
 " But father, dear father," cried Edward, 
 springing on his knees, " if I am not your 
 son, I will never own another father — ne- 
 ver go by any name but yours; for I love 
 you with my whole heart and soul so very 
 dearly, tliat I think I can never love an- 
 other human being with the same love as 
 that I feel for you." 
 
 Mackenzie pressed him to his heart — 
 " And I, Edward, can never feel towards 
 another child what I still feel for vou," 
 replied tlie warrior, as he ^embraced him. 
 . . r 2 " It
 
 100 AX ANGELAS TOUIVI 
 
 " It was one of the severest trials of my 
 life to part with you ; but I did it for the 
 best, and, thank Heaven ! you have not 
 wanted my care and tenderness since you 
 have been'iV^ith your grandmother." 
 
 " I have tried to make him happy, and 
 have done my best for him," said Marga- 
 ret Grey ; " but though I know that Ed- 
 ward loves me, and I beheve does not 
 wish to leave me, his heart and mind have 
 always been fall of you. I do indeed 
 think that never will he love any other 
 human being as he now loves you." 
 
 The soldier smiled affectionately on the 
 boy. — " Would to Heaven that I could 
 do as I wish to do for you, Edward !" said 
 he ; " no man's son should have a better 
 education than yourself; as it is, I must 
 content myself v/ith giving you such a 
 one as my finances will permit. You shall 
 go to school, Edward, and I will take care 
 to have transmitted to your grandmother 
 what will pay for your education. Provi- 
 dence may raise you up a friend when I 
 
 am
 
 AXD A DKVII/S HEART. 101 
 
 am gone, more capable of serving yon 
 than I am; and as you can now write 
 pretty well, Edward, you must let me 
 hear from you veiy often, and tell me 
 every tiling that concerns yourself and 
 your beloved grandmother." 
 
 Edward's eyes filled with tears ; they 
 fell on his cheek, but he brushed them 
 hastily off v/ith his hand. — ** I will not 
 cry," said he angrily ; " I am and will be 
 a soldier's son, and I will not cry, because 
 my dear father is going to fight for his 
 country." J^gain the tears fell on his warm 
 cheek, and again his hand "was raised to 
 exptl the offenders. — " God tjcill protect 
 you," continued the boy ; " for God is all 
 mercy and goodness, and he will preserve 
 you safe from harm, because you obeyed 
 his laws, and befriended the widow and 
 the fatherless." 
 
 IMackenzie burst into tears ; he clasped 
 ^e boy to his bosom in muitterable fond- 
 ness, and as he kissed him he said — " Pro- 
 vidence, my dearest Edward, orders every 
 F 3 thing
 
 102 AN attgel's for ist 
 
 thing for the best. If I live, I have no 
 fear of being able to provide for you ; if I 
 die, Edward, you must do your best to 
 comfort your poor mother, and, for my 
 sake, you will be kind to Janet. I know 
 that my sister %vi]l bring her uip as her 
 own child; but should she ever, at a fu- 
 ture time, stand in need of a friend or a 
 home, and you perhaps are capable of af- 
 fording her both, you v/ill not forget how 
 dearly her father loved and cherished both 
 you and your mother." 
 
 Edward's heart seemed ready to burst ; 
 he heard the sobs of old Margaret, who 
 had covered her face with her apron to 
 conceal her distress, and hastily quitting 
 the arms of IMackenzie, he flung his round 
 her neck, and laying his blooming cheek 
 to hers, besought her to be comforted. — 
 " I will never leave you, dear grandmo- 
 ther," said he, wiping away her tears, 
 '" never. give you another moment's paifi, 
 if 1 can help it ; and when I am old enough, 
 I will provide for you myself. You shall 
 
 do
 
 AND A DEYIL'S HEART. 103 
 
 do nothing but sit still like a lady, and 
 Patty Smith shall be ycur maid, and \\'ork 
 for you, and I will maintain 5-ou both." 
 
 The old woman smiled through her 
 tears. — " And what, my durling, will you 
 be? and bow will you maintain us all ?" 
 
 The boy paused for a moment, then 
 suddenly exclaimed, as his eyes sparkled 
 with delight — '* I should like to be a sol- 
 dier ; but then I should not grow rich- 
 should I, dear father ? so I must learn to 
 drav/, and then to paint ; and when I am 
 a young man, I shall soon get plenty of 
 money, and then, gTandmother, Janet 
 jVIackenzie " 
 
 Here he was interrupted by the entrance 
 of ^h\ Lindsay, whom iNiaro-aret had cx- 
 pected the preceding evening, and who 
 now came to inquire after her health and 
 that of his great favourite, the courageous 
 and higli-minded Edward. 
 
 F 4 CHAP-
 
 104. AN ANGEl/S FORM 
 
 CHAPTPm VII. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay was also one of Edward's 
 great favourites, and, as sucli, he proudly 
 introduced to him his adopted father, now 
 ensign, instead of serjcant Mackenzie, 
 which last rank had been procured for 
 him by the sister who was to retain Janet, 
 and who, as a mark of her affection, pur- 
 chased for her brother his commission only 
 a few days previous to his being ordered 
 abroad. As Mr. Lindsay appeared de- 
 sirous of speaking to old Margaret, Mac- 
 kenzie took Edward into the back-garden 
 of the cottage, which was kept in excel- 
 lent order by one of her neighbours' sons, 
 and which more than supplied the two 
 flimilies with vegetables and fruits, as it 
 was twice as large as any of those belong- 
 ing to the surrounding cottages. At the 
 
 bottom
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 105 
 
 bottom of the garden the young man had 
 formed a mstic arbour of climbing floT^'ers, 
 and here Margaret Grey and her darling, 
 with Patty Smith and perhaps one or two 
 more of her best scholars, used to drink 
 their tea on a summer's evening, and en- 
 joy themselves in all the luxury of inno- 
 cent and unrestrained merriment. 
 
 How changed was now the prospect 
 from this favourite retreat of the youthful 
 Edward ! The lattice- work alone was vi- 
 sible, except here and there tlie creeping 
 ivy had taken advantage of its firm sup- 
 port, and tvv ined itself around the bower, 
 while from the dark-green leaves now 
 hung the pendent icicles, glittering as 
 they half melted in the sickly rays of a 
 winter's sun. Not a flower cheered by its 
 presence the desolated garden, while the 
 snow, partly thawed and partly frozen, 
 made the gravel-walk damp and uncom- 
 fortable to tread on ; but Edward felt it 
 not — his mind, his heart was full ci one 
 subject.^ — " I ather;' said he, looking wist- 
 r 5 fully
 
 106 AN angel's roEM 
 
 fully in the fond flice of Mackenzie as he 
 grasped his hand, " father, I know you 
 will not be angry with me if I ask you a 
 question ; grandmother tells me she can- 
 not, but perhaps you will be able to sa- 
 tisfy my curiosity. Who was my real 
 father ? and what ^vas his name ?" 
 
 Mackenzie felt considerable embarrass- 
 ment, as well as pain, at being unable to 
 gratify the natural curiosity of his adopted 
 son.—" My beloved boy," replied the sol- 
 dier, tenderly caressing him, " I have so 
 high an opinion of your understanding, 
 that I would not hesitate one moment to 
 confide to you the secret you demand, 
 were I in possession of it myself Your 
 mother has never told me the name of 
 your father, and I have forborne to ques- 
 tion her, because it evidently gave her 
 uneasiness. I have, however, every rea- 
 son to believe that he was a gentleman." 
 
 Edvv'r\rd sighed. — " Do you think, my 
 dear falher Mackenzie, that I shall ever 
 find out wlio he was? do you think that 
 
 mv
 
 AXD A devil's heart. 10? 
 
 my mother will tell me when I am a 
 man?" 
 
 " Probably she may, my dear boy ; but 
 if she should not, you wdll not be ashamed, 
 Edward, I hope, to go by my name ?" 
 
 The blood rushed into the handsome 
 face of the inquiring boy. — " Ashamed! 
 oh no ! I shall be proud to own the name 
 of Mackenzie, and will never, never go 
 by any other. Yet I should like to know 
 xvho w^as my father, and w^iether I have 
 any uncles or aunts,- Dear father Mac- 
 kenzie, can you tell me who was my god- 
 father? grandmother said that lie was a 
 gentleman too. You may trust me, in- 
 deed you may, for I will never tell any- 
 thing you bid me not." 
 
 jMackenzie was now most painfully si- 
 tuated; he must either tell a wilfiil false- 
 hood, or confide to the prudence of a boy 
 not yet nine years old. the name of a. man 
 who w^ould have been his friend and be- 
 nefactor, had it not been for the myste- 
 F 6 rious
 
 108 AN angel's form 
 
 rioiis dislike of his mother to the con- 
 nexion. JMackenzie still hesitated. 
 
 " Are you afraid to trust me, dear fa- 
 ther?' said the boy in a beseeching tone; 
 " indeed you need not. But perhaps my 
 mother would be angry if you were to 
 tell me v/ho was my godfather ?" 
 
 " Edward," replied the soldier gravely, 
 " your mother would indeed be angry if 
 she supposed that I should confide to you 
 the name of a man who, from circum- 
 stances, I am led to believe must either 
 have been the enemy of your father, or 
 nearly related to him. It has cost your 
 mother some trouble to keep your place 
 of residence unknovv^n to him, and it will 
 cost me a considerable deal of uneasiness 
 if I act in opposition to her wishes, and 
 betray to you the name of a man whose 
 friendship she has sedulously shunned ever 
 since his family became known to her.'* 
 
 " Oh then, dear, dear father Macken- 
 zie;' exclaimed Edward earnestly, " do 
 
 not,
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 109 
 
 not, do not tell me who was my godfather. 
 I would not give you a moment's uneasi- 
 ness for all the world. I no longer wish 
 to know anything that you think proper 
 to keep from me." 
 
 Mackenzie caught him in his arms — 
 " Beloved boy," cried the fond soldier, 
 gazing on the fine intelligent countenance 
 of Edward, " beloved boy, that I could 
 but see into futurity for thy dear sake ! 
 Oh that I was but gifted, like some of my 
 countrymen, with a second sight, that I 
 might read thy future destiny! — But come 
 what come may, remember, dear Edv/ard, 
 this grand rule of life — Ahvays do to 
 others just what you would wish them 
 to do to you ; trust in Heaven for protec- 
 tion and for relief under every affliction ; 
 be just and honourable in all your actions ; 
 and whenever you meet with a fellow- 
 creature in distress, afford him all the 
 assistance in your power. Never, my dear 
 boy, if possible, give cause of ofience to 
 any person ; preserve your own dignity 
 
 and
 
 110 AN AXGEL'S FORIVI 
 
 and command of temper, and while you 
 suffer no one to insult you with impunity, 
 avoid all petty quarrels, as the bane of 
 fi'iendship and the source of serious evils. 
 Hemember, my dear boy, that while I 
 live you can never want a friend, a father, 
 an adviser; let me therefore hear from 
 you often, and do not fear to inform me 
 of all your concerns, for I shall never, Ed- 
 ward, be a harsh judge or an imfeeling 
 father." 
 
 The call of old Margaret now broke 
 the conversation, and Mackenzie, with his 
 adopted son, returned to the house,; and 
 to the cheering comforts of a blazing fire, 
 an excellent dinner, and a bottle of old 
 Maroaret's best elder wine. But these 
 could not dispel from the mind of Mac- 
 kenzie the crowd of painful ideas which 
 depressed his naturally-cheerful spirits ; a 
 few hours, and he should have bidden 
 adieu to the child of his love, ,an adieu 
 which might be an eternal one. What, 
 then, would become of that child,, left to 
 
 the
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 1 11 
 
 the care of a fond old woman, v/hose dnya 
 must be nearly numbered, exiled from the 
 home of his real father, and from the bo- 
 som of his sole surviving parent? what 
 might be the future sorrows, the future 
 cares, tl>e future hardships of his darling 
 Edward? Mackenzie felt his heart chilled 
 as if by a bolt of ice : the warm affection 
 of the worthy Margaret, the endearing 
 tenderness of his adopted son, and the 
 w^atchful attention of the innocent Patty, 
 all failed to rouse the sinking spirits of 
 the gallant soldier; even the high-spiced 
 wine of old jNlargaret barely communi- 
 cated its glowing warmth to the benumb- 
 ed feelings of Mackenzie, until glass after 
 glass at length succeeded in producing a 
 temporary elevation. 
 
 ^Mackenzie attempted to laugh, and to 
 call forth the laughter of his youthful 
 companions ; but their pensive features, 
 and eyes so often tiu'ned towards the 
 chiming clock, bespoke their inability to 
 gratify his considerate kindness. Edward 
 
 quitted
 
 112 AN angel's form 
 
 quitted his seat and placed himself on the 
 knee of his adopted father ; he spoke of 
 his mother and of Janet, and sent each of 
 them a Httle drawing, as a token of his 
 affection, while Mackenzie carefully con- 
 signed to his pocket-book all that Marga- 
 ret had hoarded of lier darhng's perform- 
 ance. Mackenzie looked at his watch, and 
 then at Edward: it w^as a silver one, of 
 excellent w^orkmanship, with a gold chain 
 and seals ; one of them bore the initials of 
 his own name, and the other a pretty de- 
 vice of Cupid and a butterfly, given to 
 him by his w^ife, w^ho had it as a present 
 from her young lady. 
 
 " Edward," said Mackenzie, kissing him 
 affectionately, " I will give you this watch, 
 which will serve tvvo purposes ; it will be 
 useful to you when you grow older, and 
 it will bring to your remembrance, every 
 time that you look on it, a father who 
 loves you w^ith the warmest affection. I 
 know that, for my sake, you will not part 
 with it. Take equal care of this seal, be- 
 cause
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 113 
 
 cause it is one on whicli your mother sets 
 a high value, as it was given to her by a 
 lady to whom she was once strongly at- 
 tached.'' 
 
 ** That could be no other than Miss 
 Fitz-Arthur," cried Margaret Grey. " She 
 is one of the most beautiful creatures I 
 ever beheld, but she had a devil's heart 
 and an angel's form. Well, I cannot help 
 saying it, now that Alice is not by to hear 
 me, that she certainly must have used 
 some charm to make my poor girl so fond 
 of her, for she vv^as the only one in the 
 house who liked her ; but Alice could not 
 see a fault she had (and God knows she 
 had plenty), but she would have gone 
 through fire or water to have served her, 
 so dearly did she love her. My lady, God 
 rest her soul ! had always enough to do 
 with her, she was so violent and untame- 
 able, so headstrong and so self-willed ; but 
 she has got a husband. Heaven help him, 
 poor man ! for I am sure I pity him, and 
 
 that's
 
 114- AN angel's form 
 
 that's the real truth, and nothing but tlie 
 truth." 
 
 ••' She Vv^as indeed most beautiful," said 
 Mackenzie ; " I little thought, as I gazed 
 with respectful admiration on her uncom- 
 mon loveliness, that she ^vas the unami- 
 able being you have represented her to 
 be, my dear mother. However, she has 
 nov/ been married seven years to the mar- 
 quis of Anendale, and has several chil- 
 dren." 
 
 Margaret shook her head significantly. 
 — " Better for them to have died in their 
 infancy than to grow up to resemble her," 
 said the old woman earnestly ; " she has 
 no heart, no natm'al affection, no feeling 
 for anybody but herself It is well that 
 my poor Alice does not hear me, or she 
 would be fine and vexed, for I verily be- 
 lieve that she loves her just as dearly as 
 ever." 
 
 " That I can answer for," replied JMac* 
 kenzie : ** but time wears apace, and tliis 
 
 friendly
 
 AND A devil's HEAHT. 115 
 
 friendly monitor reminds me, that affec- 
 tion and inclination must yield to neces- 
 sity and to duty." He then gave his watch 
 to Edwardj who, kissing it with enthusi- 
 asm, promised to retain it for ever, unless 
 indeed he was compelled to part with it in 
 order to save the hfe of a fellov/- creature, 
 
 '' In that case, my son," said Macken- 
 zie, " you have my free consent to do 
 with it what you please; but preserve this 
 seal, which is so sacred to your mother." 
 
 He rose to depart ; Edward s^lll hung 
 on his neck, still begged him to stay a 
 minute longer, v;hile Margaret helped 
 him to another goblet of hot elder v/ine. 
 This was a timely relief to the fluctuating 
 spirits of the soldier ; never but once, and 
 that was upon a similar occasion, had he 
 had his fortitude so severely taxed; but 
 now his foreboding heart seemed to re- 
 mind him of the chances and the dangers 
 of war, of the distance which would so 
 soon divide him from the child of his af- 
 fection » and cf the possibility that the pre- 
 sent
 
 116 AM ANGF>l's FORrvI 
 
 sent fond embrace might be the last he 
 should ever receive from his beloved Ed- 
 ward; while the boy, conscious of the iu- 
 tcrnal struggles wliich he endured, and 
 unwilling to add to them by giving way 
 to his agitated feelings, evinced a strength 
 of mind and povi^er of self-command Vvhich 
 surprised them alL 
 
 At length, after repeated caresses and 
 tender admonitions, Mackenzie tore him- 
 self from the clinging arms of the heroic 
 boy, and rushed out of the cottage, as if 
 fearing to trust himself with one more 
 look, one more sound of the sweet voice 
 he adored. The hospitable door soon 
 closed on the flying wamor, and he who 
 was brave enough to face with im daunted 
 courage every danger in the field, now 
 retreated with all possible speed from the 
 magic arms of an orphan boy, wlio, had 
 he possessed the power to call him back, 
 would too surely have lulled for a time 
 every sense of duty in the yielding soul of 
 the generous and affectionate iMackenzie. 
 
 But
 
 AKD A devil's HEART. 117 
 
 But Edward had no power to lure back 
 to his embraces his fly'<ng father; he saw 
 hhn dart from the cottage, he watched his 
 quick-receding footsteps as they slid over 
 the crackling -ice, until his dear-loved form 
 was no longer visible from the cottage. 
 The door closed, and Edward, no longer 
 master of his feelings, flung himself upon 
 the floor and burst into an agony of tears, 
 which his grandmother did not think pro- 
 per to restrain, w^ell knowing the effort he 
 must have made to suppress them in tlie 
 presence of his father. 
 
 ClIAPTEK VIII. 
 
 After the departure of Mackenzie for 
 America, the spirits of Edward were evi- 
 dently less gay than they were before his 
 farewell-interview with his adopted father; 
 yet one thing had power to rouse ti^em to 
 
 their
 
 118 AN ANGEL*S FORM 
 
 their- accustomed hilarity — the sound of 
 the postboy's horn, when letters were ex- 
 pected by Margaret from Columbia. It 
 was then that the face of Edward bright- 
 ened into a smile of rapturous delight, as 
 he flew to meet half way the herald of his 
 hapj)iness ; it was then, while listening to 
 the tender hopes of Mackenzie, that the 
 eyes and features of his darling boy melted 
 wdth filial love ; and while tears of fond 
 affection streamed down his cheeks, while 
 kis heai't swelled with contending emo- 
 tions, he would cling to the kind bosom 
 of his aged grandmother, and pray to 
 Heaven to enable him to grow up to be 
 all that iSIackenzie, in the plenitude of his 
 tenderness, foretold he would be. 
 
 Alice also v/ould frequently add a post- 
 script to her husband's letter for Edward. 
 The kindness of her expressions had their 
 due effect on his grateful heart, and all her 
 former neglect and indifference were for- 
 gotten, or, if remembered, his generous and 
 active mind quickly framed some excuse 
 
 for
 
 AND A DEVIL^S HEAHT. 119 
 
 for the petulance and harshness of her con- 
 duct; and he soon learnt to write well 
 enough to transmit to her, and to his be- 
 loved father Slacken zie, the warm and du- 
 tiful sentiments of their child. 
 
 Old Margaret from day to day delayed 
 sending this young comfort of her soul to 
 the school which she had selected for him4 
 she found her health and strength gTadu- 
 ally become more and more enfeebled, and 
 she wanted courage to part with tlie solace 
 of her declining years, at a time when his 
 presep.ce seemed necessary to her Yexy be- 
 ing. Since tlie death of her husband, Mar- 
 garet had been in the habit of always ap- 
 plying to one gentleman in the village for 
 his opinion and advice, whenever that ad- 
 vice was requisite to regulate her actions^ 
 and she now resolved to inquire of Mr. 
 I^indsay what he would do, were lie in 
 her situation. 
 
 ]VIr. I^indsay was a gentleman univer- 
 sally beloved by those who, like Margaret 
 Grey, moved in the humble v/alks of life. 
 
 He
 
 120 AN angel's I ohm 
 
 He was the last descendant of an ancient 
 family, more celebrated for the nobleness 
 of its ancestors than for its wealth, which 
 last Mr. Lindsay had contrived to dissi- 
 pate entirely long before he arrived at the 
 age of six-and-twenty. Notwithstanding 
 this fatal extravagance, wliich reduced him 
 to comparative beggary, he succeeded in 
 retaining the affections of a lady who had 
 long been attached to liini, and by marry- 
 ing her, he once more became possessed of 
 a clear estate of four hundred a-year, which, 
 houever, would go from him at her death. 
 This circumstance ought to have made 
 Mr. Lindsay more careful and economical, 
 especially as he had an increasing family 
 to provide for; but such is the force of 
 habit, that he often found it extremely 
 difiicult to answer the demands of his nu- 
 merous creditors. His wife, doting on him 
 to an excess, was blind to every failing that 
 he possessed ; for his sake, she was content- 
 ed to live solely in the country, on the 
 estate bequeathed to her by her maternal 
 
 uncle,
 
 AND A DEVIL^S HEAnx. 121 
 
 uncle, and, as far as lay in her power, en- 
 deavoured to manage with piTidence the 
 affairs of his family ; but i^Irs. Lindsay, 
 like her husband, had been educated in 
 the school of prosperity, and, Hke him, 
 was wholly ignorant of those means which 
 -would have enabled her to lay up some* 
 thing out of her yearly income for the fu- 
 ture wants of her children. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay, independent of his beset- 
 ting sin, was an affectionate husband, a 
 tender father, a sincere and steady friend, 
 and a good and indulgent master. His 
 -wife believed that the world did not con- 
 tain his equal, his children felt tliat a 
 kinder father could not exist, his friends 
 knew him to be a man capable of sacri- 
 ficing his own interests for their Vv^elfare, 
 and his servants only prayed that they 
 might be allovv^ed to end their days under 
 his hospitable roof; while the village in 
 which he had chiefly resided since his mar- 
 riage, experienced, in a hundred different 
 
 VOL. I. G ways.
 
 122 . AN angel's form 
 
 ways, the natural benevolence and humani- 
 ty of his heart towai^s its humble inmates. 
 Out of six children, Mrs. Lindsay was 
 only fortunate enough to rear one, on 
 whom she lavished the most unbounded 
 tenderness, and to whose faults she was 
 equally blind as :she was to those of her 
 father. Her health, v/hich was always 
 delicate, suffered much from her constant 
 devotion to the studies of her daughter, 
 whom she resolved to educate hei'self, not 
 being able to part with her out of her 
 sight, and wishing to save the expence of 
 havino: a governess for her at home. This 
 constant application to the duties of her 
 family considerably impaired the constitu- 
 tion of iMrs. Lindsay, and at length her 
 walks were piincipally confined to the 
 boundaries of her own grounds, which 
 were extensive and well laid out, and 
 -which joined to those of a fine old family- 
 seat, Vv hose possessor, an old bachelor, had 
 long suffered it to go to decay, out of 
 
 spite
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 123 
 
 spite to him who v/ould inherit it after 
 his decease. Time and neglect had not 
 impoverished the natural beauties of Man- 
 ningham Hall, and when Mrs. Lindsay 
 felt incUned to extend her walks beyond 
 her own garden, she generally strolled in- 
 to those belonging to the Hall. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay, on the contrary, felt little 
 relish for the romantic scenery of his neigh- 
 bour's grounds ; he loved to visit the lively 
 haunts of tlie village-children, and to in- 
 quire into their Avelfare and the various 
 pursuits of their parents, some of whom 
 he regularly called on as often as he passed 
 by their oar; and as he listened with 
 smiling complacency to their different sto- 
 ries, his smile, and the interest lie shewed 
 for their happiness, never failed to cheer 
 the drooping spirits of sickness, or warm 
 the heart of age or of misfortune. Not- 
 withstanding his habitual extravagance, 
 Mr. Lindsay had always sometliing to be- 
 stow on honest indigence, and his advice 
 was uniformly accompanied by substantial 
 G 2 marks
 
 12 i AN angel's form 
 
 marks of his favour, wherever his assist- 
 raice was found necessary. 
 
 Margaret Grey was his greatest favour- 
 ite, and he never failed to make her cot- 
 tage his chief resting-place. Independent 
 of his regard for the worthy old woman, 
 Mr. Lindsay had taken a fancy to Ed- 
 ward, w^hich w^as strengthened by every 
 succeeding interview, and he longed to 
 introduce liim to his wife and daughter, 
 but something or other had always frus- 
 trated his intentions, and Edv/ard still re- 
 mained unknown to JNIrs. Lindsay, except 
 by name ; she was, however, well acquaint- 
 ed with him from the description given by 
 her husband, and thought him a wonder- 
 ful boy of his years ; but her ill health pre- 
 vented her from going as far as ]Margaret's 
 cottage, and her ov/n daughter so com- 
 pletely filled up both her time and her 
 mind, that she had scarcely expressed even 
 a wish to behold the grandson of JMargaret 
 Grey. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay called one morning, as 
 
 usual,
 
 AKD A devil's HEART. 125 
 
 usual, at Margaret's cottage ; he found her 
 unwell and low-spirited. Edward was 
 reading the Bible to her, ^vhiie Patty 
 Smith was employed at her needle; the 
 rest of her scholars had just left her before 
 Mr. Lindsay's entrance. By the desire of 
 jSIarffaret, Edward and Pattv retired into 
 another chamber, w^hile she conversed with 
 her kind friend on the subject which lay 
 next her heart, and which actually contri- 
 buted to affect both her health and spirits. 
 The welfare of Edward required that she 
 should part with him for a time, but she 
 found herself unable to support the neces- 
 sary separation, and therefore applied to 
 ;Mr. Lindsay for his advice respecting her 
 conduct, telling him all the wliile, that she 
 was sure she could not live without her 
 darling boy. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay with great kindness en- 
 deavoured to reason her out of this belief, 
 reminding her of the absolute cruelty 
 Vv'hich it would be to debar him from the 
 advrmtages of receiving a good education, 
 G 3 and
 
 V26 AN anget/s form 
 
 and of cultivating those talents vhicli he 
 possessed in a superior degree to other 
 boys of his age. — ** Indeed, my worthy 
 friend." said he, " you must try to fortify 
 your mind against this necessary evil; 
 Edward is now wasting that time which 
 ought to be employed in acquiring useful 
 knowledge, and since his father wishes 
 him to be sent to a good school, I know 
 of none better than that of Mr. Ciirwen, 
 which is only four miles from our village; 
 there he will receive a liberal education, 
 be treated kindly, and, if you v/ish it, he 
 can come home every Saturday evening, 
 and stay till Monday morning. I have 
 some knowledge of JNIr. Curwen, and, if 
 you like, I will speak to him on the sub- 
 ject. Edward will be a credit to his se- 
 minary." 
 
 Poor old r»Iargaret thanked INIr. Lind- 
 say for his offer, and acknowledged that 
 it was time that Edward should be taught 
 all that he was capable of learning. — 
 *•' But," added she, with a sigh, " I feel 
 
 assured
 
 AND A devil's heart. 127 
 
 tvssured that my life will be sliortened by 
 our separation ; he is all and every thing 
 to me ; and when I no longer hear his 
 voice, no longer see his darling face, my 
 spirits vdli droop under the vreight of my 
 cares and my increasing infirmities." 
 
 " Not if I can help it," rephed Mi\ 
 Lindsay, smiling benevolently on the sor- 
 rowful old woman. " You must give up 
 your school, the fatigues of which are too 
 much for you ; Patty Smith w^ill not leave 
 you, for I am sensible that her father will 
 be extremely glad to let you have her al- 
 together; I will call on you every day, 
 and on a Saturday evening your darling 
 will return to you, full of his week's pur- 
 suits, and full of gratitude to you for the 
 sacrifice you will have made of your own 
 comforts for his future advantaoe." 
 
 JNIargaret wiped away her tears, then 
 pressing the hand of ]Mr. Lindsay respect- 
 fully to her lips, she said — " Pardon, my 
 dear sir, a foolish old w^oman, for the sel- 
 fishness of her feelings. I will try to con- 
 G 4 quer
 
 128 AN angel's form 
 
 qner my iinv/illingness to part with my 
 heart's idol, try to live vv itliout him ; but 
 if you knew how much he loves me, how 
 tenderly he watches all my movements, 
 how anxiously he studies to gratify all 
 my v/ishes, and to relieve me from all my 
 cares and fatigues, you would then know, 
 my dear sir, how great a sacrifice it will 
 be for an old woman like me to give up 
 the staff of her declining years. But 
 God's will be done — I must submit. Ed- 
 ward is a boy far superior to any I have 
 ever seen; he will make a bright man, 
 though I shall not live to see him. Well, 
 sir, if you will speak to Mr. Cunven, I 
 -will do my best to acquire fortitude to 
 part with him, since it is for his good. 
 Perhaps the change of scene and plenty 
 of young companions, more worthy of 
 liim than the village youths, may help to 
 bring back his vivacity, for he is sadly 
 altered since his father went to America 
 — he is not half so lively as he was before 
 my son came to take leave of him." 
 
 «He
 
 AND A devil's ITEART. 129 
 
 " He is a cliarming boy," replied Mr. 
 Lindsay, '•' and is undoubtedly far above 
 his companions. But he never appears to 
 associate with any of the village children,, 
 except Patty Smith. I think, Mrs. Grey, 
 that you keep him too much at home: 
 youth is the season of enjoyment, and its 
 amusements and recreations are absolutely 
 necessary for his health and spirits." 
 
 *' He does as he pleases," rephed old 
 ^largaret ; " I love him too dearly to 
 force his inchnations. Sometimes I have 
 wished him to leave his drawings and to 
 go and play on the green, but he speaks 
 and thinks so much above the other chil- 
 dren, that I know he can find but little 
 pleasure in their company. The other 
 day he drev/ a little landscape from me- 
 mory, and has coloured it quite like the 
 life." 
 
 Margaret now opened her closet, and 
 
 took from out of a larije book the above- 
 
 mentioned performance of Edward. It was 
 
 a view in pai*t of Manningham grounds, 
 
 G 5 and
 
 130 AN angel's FOUM 
 
 and so like, that Mr. Lindsay instantly 
 recognized the scene. — " Upon my word," 
 said he, " this boy's talent must be culti- 
 vated. The perspective is uncommonly 
 well executed, and the foliage of the trees 
 is so well done, that I should doubt its be- 
 ing his performance did I not know you 
 to be incapable of uttering a falsehood." 
 
 " It is all his own, I do assure you, sir," 
 cried Margaret, '*' every bit of it. Patty 
 and I walked with him last Sunday to the 
 Hall, to drink tea wdth Mrs. Norton the 
 housekeeper, and the next day Edward 
 shewed me this drawing, just before he 
 •was going to bed. There is the old sum- 
 mer-house and the trees which hang over 
 it, and there is the water at a distance, 
 and the pleasure-boat and all, as natural 
 as the life." 
 
 " With your permission,'* said Mr. Lind- 
 say, " I will take with me this specimen 
 of Edward's natural genius, and shew it 
 to Mr. Curwen ; it will give him a good 
 idea of the boy's talent, and pave the way 
 
 to
 
 AND A DEVIL'S HEAHT. 131 
 
 to his favour, for he is a great encourager 
 of merit. Edward must certainly learn 
 drawing; a few years will shew, or I am 
 much mistaken, that he is capable of sup- 
 porting himself by his own abilities." 
 
 *' God gTant it !" replied ISiargaret fer- 
 vently, " though I shall not live to see it. 
 My dear son entreated that I would have 
 him taught to draw, and I am to receive 
 from his agent in London what will pay 
 the expences of his schooling. God grant 
 that he may be able to support himself 
 handsomely ! for he was never made for 
 hard w^ork, or any common employment." 
 
 ]Mr. Lindsay tliouglit with old ^Marga- 
 ret, that Edward was indeed' not made for 
 any common employment; he therefore 
 became more and more anxious to have 
 him placed under the tuition of jNIr. Cur- 
 wen, whom he knew to be both the scho- 
 lar and the gentleman, and he consequent- 
 ly lost no time in calling at his house, aixl 
 in shewing him the extraordinary proofs 
 g6 of
 
 132 AN angel's foem 
 
 of vrhat he conceived to be the dawnings 
 of a first-rate genius. 
 
 Mr. Curwen was a man of sense and of 
 superior discernment; he saw in a mo- 
 ment the powers of Edward's mind, as 
 well from circumstances related to him 
 by Mr. Lindsay, as by the specimen he 
 brought with him of his talent for draw- 
 ing ; he inquired minutely into every par- 
 ticular respecting the boy and his con- 
 nexions, not from any pecuniary fears, 
 but from a growing interest which he felt 
 in his favour. — " Such a boy must not be 
 lost for want of proper care," said this 
 amiable man; "and though the humble 
 rank of life in which his grandmother 
 moves may cause many objections to be 
 raised against my introducing him into 
 my school, which is principally composed 
 of the J^ons o-' gentlemen, yet I will run 
 the risk, and, upon your recommendation, 
 will consent to take the boy under my 
 protection. He shall have aU the advan- 
 tages
 
 AND A devil's HEAHT. 133 
 
 tages of the different masters who attend 
 my pupils, and I believe it is unnecessary 
 for me to say that he shall experience the 
 same treatment as the rest." 
 
 ^Ir. Lindsay assured him that Edward 
 would not disgrace his patronage, or put 
 to blush his more noble associates, *• unless 
 indeed," said he, " it is for thinking and 
 behaving more like what they ought to 
 be, than like what they are. Edward is 
 by nature the gentlem.an ; but you must 
 come and see him, my dear sir, and then 
 you can judge for yourself." 
 
 Mr. Curwen kindly promised to attend 
 him that morning, if he would amuse 
 himself in his library until after the hours 
 of tuition, to which the considerate friend 
 of Edward readily consented, not a little 
 gi-atiiied at the willingness which Mr. 
 Curv/en expressed to promote the interest 
 and welfare of Edward. 
 
 That gentleman was immediately struck 
 by the appearance and manners of old Mar- 
 garet's grandson ; tlie instant he beheld 
 
 him.
 
 134 AX axgel's roR:vr 
 
 liim, he felt assured that such a boy would 
 not indeed disgrace his tutors, or shame 
 the society of his pupils. He could but 
 look at Edward and at the worthy Mar- 
 gai'et, v/hiie he found it difficult to re- 
 member that such a child, so emmently 
 gifted by nature with every personal at- 
 traction, every mental qualification, was 
 no more than the offspring of old Marga- 
 ret's daughter. In the gentlest voice he 
 questioned Edward on various subjects 
 connected with liimself and his favourite 
 pursuits, to all of which the boy replied 
 with sense and intelligence blended with 
 so becoming a modesty, that Mr. Curwen 
 was perfectly delighted, and absolutely ex- 
 pressed an earnest desire to have him im- 
 mediately vmder his care. This, however, 
 required some little consideration on the 
 part of Mai-garet Grey, who could not at 
 that moment fix the day which was to 
 separate her soul from her body ; and Mr. 
 Curwen, in kind compassion to her agi- 
 tated feeUngs, forbore to press the subject 
 
 until
 
 AKD A DKVIL*S HEAr.T. 135 
 
 until her mind had acquired fresh forti- 
 tude. Promising to call again in the 
 course of a few days, he took a friendly 
 leave of the poor old woman and her 
 charming grandson, and with INIr. Lind- 
 say left the cottage, with just such senti- 
 ments as that worthy man had foretold 
 would be excited by the sight of Edward 
 Mackenzie, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 A LETTER from Mackenzie at last deter- 
 mined the doting Margaret to sacrifice her 
 own peace and iiappiness to the welfare of 
 liis adopted son ; but the consent of that 
 son was necessary to be obtained before 
 she could send him to Mv. Curwen's semi- 
 nary, and she was obliged again to have 
 recourse to the powerful reasonings of Mr. 
 T.andsay to convince the boy that it was 
 
 absolutely
 
 136 AX angel's FOItM 
 
 absolutely necessary he should leave, for a 
 time, his affectionate grandmother. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay found it necessary to exert 
 all the eloquence of which he was master, 
 to combat against the tender fears of Ed- 
 ward, fears w^hich were increased by the 
 bad state of Margaret's health and her 
 known repugnance to lose him. Young 
 as he was, he felt the full force of the obli- 
 gations which he ov/ed her, and when Mr. 
 Lindsay endeavoured to convince him of 
 the benefits wdiich he v\^ould himself de- 
 rive from being placed under the care of 
 Mr. Curwen, the boy acknowledged that 
 he was sensible of them, as well as of the 
 kindness which Mr. Lindsay displayed to- 
 v/ards him. — " I should like to go to Mr. 
 Curwen's school, sir," said Edward — " like 
 to go very much, if I could take my grand- 
 mother with me ; but that is impossible ; 
 and as I know that she will be very miser- 
 able v/ithout me, I cannot, will not leave 
 her. She took me w^hen I was only four 
 years old, and though I must have caused 
 
 her
 
 AND A devil's heart. 137 
 
 her a great deal of trouble, and often vex- 
 ed her by my perv^ersity, yet she has never 
 given me an angry look or an angry word. 
 She loved me perhaps more dearly, because 
 my mother could so easily part with me; 
 she has been both father and mother to me, 
 and hov/, sir, can I leave her nov\', now 
 that she wants my assistance more and 
 more every day ? how can I leave her, 
 just that I may benefit myself?" 
 
 Mr. Lindsay affectionately embraced the 
 grateful boy. — " Such sentiments do ho- 
 nour to your heart, my dear Edward," 
 said he. " Happy the father who pos- 
 sesses such a son as you are I — But, my 
 dear boy, highly as I commend the gra- 
 titude which prompts you to remain with 
 your aged parent, yet I must rem hid you, 
 til at, for her sake as ^vell as for your own, 
 you ought to cultivate all the talents you 
 possess, in order tliat you may contribute 
 to her support w^hen she is past the power 
 of contributing to it herself By going to 
 Mr. Curwen's now, you wdll be enabled 
 
 to
 
 138 AN angel's form 
 
 to perfect 3~ourself in an art which will 
 more than provide for the wants of your 
 kind grandmother. Think how dehghtful 
 will be your feehngs, if, in a few years, 
 you can not only support her and your- 
 self, but realize all the fond hopes of your 
 father-in-law, who seems to love you equal- 
 ly as much as your grandmother, and who, 
 in his last letter, expresses his anxiety to 
 hear that you have already begun your 
 studies. His hopes, Edward, must not be 
 disappointed." 
 
 Edward burst into tears. — " I love my 
 father Mackenzie," said he, " dearer than 
 my existence ; and, next to him, my poor 
 old grandmother. Oh, sir, you are all 
 goodness, all kindness yourself — you will 
 advise me for the best. I must not dis- 
 appoint the hopes of my beloved father, 
 yet I must not desert my grandmother,, 
 now that she grows more and more infii'm. 
 HoAv shall I act ? what shall I do to per- 
 form my duty to them both ? — I will go 
 to-morrow to Mr. Curwen, if he will let 
 
 me
 
 A^D A devil's heart. 139 
 
 me come -back every evening to my grand- 
 mother." 
 
 ]Mr. Lindsay replied, that he knev/ that 
 such a regulation would be contrary to 
 the rules of his school, but that he v/ould 
 apply to hiQi on the subject. This, hov.'- 
 Gver, was not requisite ; for Margaret de- 
 clared that she should be miserable if he 
 had to walk four miles every evening in 
 the winter, and that she had made up her 
 mind to bear with his loss, if she could 
 but see him regularly from Saturday to 
 iMonday. This My. Lindsay promised faith- 
 fully she should; and, after much persua- 
 sion and much entreaty, Edward at length 
 agreed to become the weekly pupil of Mr. 
 Curwen. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay conceived the conduct of 
 Edward to be so highly praiseworthy, that 
 he could not help repeating to his wife all 
 that the boy had said to him ; and as he 
 warmly expatiated on the gratitude and 
 affection of Edward towards his aged pa- 
 rent, lie felt not a little surprised at the 
 
 silence
 
 140 AN akgel's form 
 
 silence of Mrs. Lindsay, who sighed fre- 
 quently during his narration, and whose 
 eyes glistened with tears as she encounter- 
 ed those of her husband. 
 
 " Are you unwell, my dear ?" inquired 
 Mr. Lindsay, as he tenderly felt her hur- 
 ried pulse. 
 
 " Not more than usual," said Mrs. Lind- 
 say ; " but I confess that your description 
 of young Edward's devotion to his grand- 
 mother has affected me strangely. He 
 must be a glorious boy, and will be a trea- 
 sure to his family. Ah, Lindsay, would 
 to Heaven that our darling Clara were 
 like him !— But I fear " 
 
 " Fear nothing, my love, hut hope that 
 every thing is for the best. Clara has been 
 educated in the lap of indulgence — she 
 has never been disappointed in any of her 
 wishes — she is a stranger to the power of 
 parental authority ; she is young and high- 
 minded, and is now arrived at an age when 
 the buoyant spirits of youth, like some in- 
 toxicating draught, mislead the senses and 
 
 betrav
 
 AND A devil's HEAHT. 141 
 
 betray the heart. Clara is a spoiled child ; 
 but she may, nevertheless, make an ami- 
 able woman." 
 
 Again IMrs. Lindsay sighed, for now, 
 when too late, she began to perceive that 
 her system of over-indulgence had not 
 only injured the temper, but vitiated the 
 heart of her daughter, and, by making her 
 selfish and self-willed, had closed it to all 
 the softer and tenderer feelings. She re- 
 peated her desire to see Edward, and Mr. 
 Lindsay promised to introduce him that 
 evening to his wife and daughter. 
 
 Clara Lindsay vras, in every sense of 
 the word, a spoiled child. She had heen 
 so uniformly accustomed to have implicit 
 obedience paid to her requests, that self 
 was her sole ido], and her doting parents 
 were only regarded by her in proportion 
 as they administered to her pleasures. She 
 was now in her thirteenth year, beautifully 
 formed, tolerably accomplished, and with 
 a set of features pleasingly regular; but 
 they wanted the ineffable charm of miud
 
 142 AN angel's form 
 
 and heart to render them fascinating, and 
 an observer of no very great discernment 
 could easily discover that she was bad- 
 tempered, selfish, and proud. 
 
 Clara felt a great curiosity to behold 
 Edward, but this curiosity was not raised 
 by the description of his virtues, but of 
 his personal attractions; she longed to see 
 him, because her father pronounced him 
 to be the handsomest and best-behaved 
 boy he had ever met with ; and when at 
 length this desire was gratified, and Ed- 
 ward was brought to spend the evening 
 with them, she was in raptures with his 
 beauty, as well as charmed by the extreme 
 politeness of his manners, and his evident 
 wish to court her favour. Even in this 
 the gratitude of Edward's nature was dis- 
 played ; he loved and res})ected Mr. Lind- 
 say, and he therefore endeavoured to ren- 
 der himself pleasing to all his family, in 
 which he succeeded beyond his expecta- 
 tions. 
 
 Mrs. Lindsay felt little less interest than 
 
 her
 
 AND A devil's HEATIT. 143 
 
 her linsband for Edward ; she was equally 
 surprised at the inherent gentility of his 
 movements, the intelligence of his re- 
 marks, the elegance of his form, and the 
 superiority which marked his whole con- 
 duct beyond that of the village children. 
 — Clara, unaccustomed to conceal her 
 thoughts, even when they were most wild 
 and extravagant, nov/ expressed her re- 
 o-rets that she had not known him before. 
 What a delightful companion he would 
 be for her ! wliat a charming pupil ! She 
 ^'ovild teach him all that she knew. Why 
 could he not come and live with them, in- 
 stead of going to school? Her father v/as 
 capable of perfecting him in several lan- 
 guages; she could draw and paint a little 
 herself, and she would teach him, as far 
 sta her knowledge extended, both in draw- 
 ing and music. 
 
 " But, my sweet girl," cried her father, 
 fondly kissing her cheek, " highly as I 
 applaud this proof of your goodness of 
 iheart towards my young protege^ I great-
 
 144 AN angel's form 
 
 ly fear that, notwithstanding all our en- 
 deavours to the contrary, he would not 
 benefit much by our instructions; we 
 should grow so fond of him, that we ^ 
 should forget the necessary hours of stu- 
 dy ; we should spoil him, Clara, as w^e 
 have done yourself; and you, my love, 
 would assist as much as any of us to 
 make Edward careless and idle." 
 
 Clara w^as bent upon having Edward to 
 live wdth her, and to become her compa- 
 nion, and it required more pov\^crful rea- 
 soning than that made use of by her fond 
 parents, to convince her that, in this in- 
 stance, her desire could not be gratified. 
 She burst into a passion of tears, and fling- 
 ing herself on the sofa, sobbed aloud, from 
 mingled vexation and anger. The doting 
 mother vainly tried to pacify her child; 
 she made use of every endearing argu- 
 ment to sooth her into a state of reason, 
 but the spoiled girl continued her vehe- 
 ment lamentations, until Edw^ard, terri- 
 fied at so new a sight, yet grateful for her 
 
 avawed
 
 AND A devil's heart. 145 
 
 i 
 
 avowed kindness, stole gently up to the 
 side of the couch, and in the sweetest ac- 
 cents besought her to give over weeping. 
 — " Dear, dear Miss Lindsay," said Ed- 
 ward, " I would not have come, had I 
 thought that the sight of me would make 
 you so unhappy. I would do anything in 
 my power to oblige you, indeed I would, 
 for I should be too happy to live with you 
 and your dear good papa, if it were not for 
 my poor old grandmother." 
 
 Clara hastily raised her head from the 
 sofa — " How, Edward ! and is it possible 
 you should prefer living with an old ailing 
 woman like your grandmother, who must 
 often be cross and disagreeable to you, in- 
 stead of being with us, who would study 
 to make you happy? You should dress 
 as well as myself, go with me everywhere, 
 have money at command, and do just as 
 you please. Would it not be more com- 
 fortable to live in this nice house, and 
 have servants to wait on you, than to live 
 
 VOL. L H in
 
 14G AX AXGEL'S FOllM 
 
 in your grandmother's cottage, and be 
 obliged to do for yourself?" 
 
 Edward warmly expressed liis thanks 
 for her kind intentions, but modestly said, 
 that never, while he had life, would he 
 desert his poor old grandmother. She 
 had been to him the tenderest of friends 
 when he w^as a mere child, and if he was 
 capable of leaving her in her old age, for 
 any other purpose than that of studying a 
 science which would enable him to sup- 
 port her when she was too old to gain her 
 own living, he should never expect God 
 to bless him in this world or in the next. 
 It was for her sake more than his own 
 that he had consented to go to school, but 
 that he should take care to be with her 
 early every Saturday evening. 
 
 " Then am I never to see you again ?" 
 cried Clara, weeping. 
 
 •' Yes, dear Miss Lindsay," replied Ed- 
 ward, kissing her hand respectfully, " you 
 shall see me every Sunday; my poor 
 
 grandmother
 
 AND A devil's heart. 147 
 
 grandmother will spare me for half an 
 hour, that I may pay my respects to 5^oa 
 and your dear parents, who have behaved 
 so kindly to me." 
 
 Clara grew a little more reconciled to 
 the first disappointment of her wishes ; she 
 wiped away her tears, and smiling graci^ 
 ously on her new favourite, led him into 
 another apartment, which was hung round 
 with beautiful pictures. Edv/ard was trans- 
 ported ; he became wild with joy, as he ran 
 from frame to frame, greedily devouring 
 with his eyes the specimens of the art 
 which they contained. Such a sight was 
 perfectly new to him ; never before had he 
 beheld ajiything half so beautiful, and he 
 was at a loss which most to admire — the 
 landscapes, the battle-pieces, or the resem- 
 blances of some of Mrs. Lindsay's family, 
 who seemed starting from tlie canvas. 
 Clara allowed him time to examine mi- 
 nutely each separate performance, and 
 promised that, when he came to see her, 
 he should try and copy from any of the 
 H 2 pictures
 
 148 AN angel's FORlVr 
 
 pictures which he liked best. Siie next 
 allowed him to look over the contents 
 of her portfolio, which exhibited several 
 pleasing sketches of landscape-sceneiy well 
 known to Edward, as being views from 
 the finely-disposed grounds of Manning- 
 ham Hall. She presented him with those 
 wdiich appeared most to have charmed his 
 fancy, and also with a box of colours and 
 pencils, and every requisite for drawing. 
 This was indeed a valuable gift to our 
 young artist, who was lavish of his thanks 
 for so precious a donation. Clara smiled, 
 and bade him not fail to call on her on 
 Sunday. 
 
 If Edward was delighted by the sight 
 of Mr. Lindsay's collection of pictures, his 
 senses were spell-bound when Clara, touch- 
 ing the chords of her harp, accompanied it 
 with her voice; tears of painful rapture 
 gushed from his eyes, and a new and ex- 
 quisite sensation pervaded his whole frame. 
 He had occasionally heard the wandering 
 musicians who strolled through the vil- 
 lage.
 
 AXt) A DEVIL*S HEART. 149 
 
 lage, and who sometimes stopped at old 
 JNIargaret's door, by her desire, to play a 
 tune to her darling, whose fine ear and 
 retentive memory enabled him to retain 
 all that he heard; but never until now 
 had young Edward listened to the deli- 
 cate touch of a female hand directed in its 
 movements by taste and skill, and he ac- 
 tually wept from tlie powerful effect which 
 the harp and the voice of Clara had on his 
 nerves. 
 
 Though not yet ten years old, Edward 
 felt ashamed at his ov/n weakness; the 
 blush of anger tinged his cheeks, and he 
 hastily concealed the tears vviiich nature 
 had called forth. Clara was not a little 
 gratified at the evident power which she 
 possessed over her youthful visitor; she 
 sung and played nearly the whole stock 
 of her knov/ledge, promising to afford 
 him the same entertainment every time 
 that he came to see her; in short, the 
 mind of Edward was bewildered with en- 
 joyments, and when he returned to his 
 H 3 expectant
 
 150 A?; ANr.r.i.'s form 
 
 t'xpectant grandmother, lie was at a loss 
 which of his pleasures he should first 
 descrihe, till, recollecting the flattering 
 kindness which he had received from Mrs. 
 Lindsay and Clara, he first paid to them 
 the just acknowledgment of his gratitude, 
 and then described to the attentive Patty 
 and his grandmother the whole of his 
 evening's amusements. 
 
 As the countenance of the boy became 
 more and more animated from the joyous 
 state of his feelings, the heart of his aged 
 parent kindled with fresh warmth and 
 new-born hope. In the family of Mr. 
 Lindsay she already beheld a safe asylum 
 for her darling, should it please Heaven 
 to bereave him of her protecting love 
 during the absence of his father, and as 
 this hope gained strength in her mind, 
 she gradually became more reconciled to 
 their necessary separation. Patty Smith 
 had got her father's leave to stay with her, 
 and Edward v/ould return to them on the 
 Saturday evening ; he would be acquiring 
 
 that
 
 AT!fD A devil's HEART. 151 
 
 that knowledge whicli was to provide for 
 his future years ; he would be kindly 
 treated, and perhaps among his compani- 
 ons would make friends, wlio would assist 
 his advancement in life. Thus did the 
 worthy Pdargaret console herself for the 
 temporary loss of her soufs dearest trea- 
 sure, vvdiile Patty, the kind-hearted and 
 affectionate Patty, wept in silence the ab- 
 sence of her young companion ; yet, true 
 to the promise v/hich she had given hin>, 
 she continued to redouble her assiduities 
 to please and entertain old ^Margaret, and 
 by every kind endeavour to make her less 
 sensible of the loss she had sustained. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 A NEAv scene was now open to Edward, 
 
 and not an unpleasing one. Mr. Curwen 
 
 behaved to him with pecuhar kindness, 
 
 n 4 and
 
 152 A^ ANGEI/S FORM 
 
 and this marked distinction, while it pro- 
 duced the envy of some, only gained him 
 the friendship of others. The senior pu- 
 pils were proud to extend their patronage 
 to the el&oc of Mr. Cursven, whose sweet- 
 ness of disposition and readiness to oblige 
 made them inclined to overlook the dis- 
 parity of his birth. Mr. Curwen had in- 
 troduced Edw^ard as the son of ensign 
 ^Mackenzie, but it Avas quickly buzzed 
 about that his grandmother was living in 
 the village, and that siie resided in one of 
 the cottages belonging to master Walpole's 
 father. This for a time produced an vm- 
 easy sensation in the school, some of the 
 boys pretending to feel themselves dis- 
 graced by the introduction of one so much 
 their inferior, and they in consequence 
 resolved to mjite together to have him 
 expelled. 
 
 Master Walpole was at the head of the 
 mutineers : his party at first was powerful, 
 and threatened to carry the day. A letter 
 v.- as to be written to JNlr. Curwen, and 
 
 signed.
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 153 
 
 Signed, as is usual on such occasions, as a 
 round-robin. This, if not attended to, was 
 to be followed up by a circular letter to 
 their parents, desiring that they might be 
 recalled home, as Mr. Curwen had chosen 
 to give them for a companion the grand- 
 son of the village schoolmistress. Walpole 
 was a boy of family and fortune ; he had 
 therefore great influence in the school, 
 which he now exerted to the utmost, in 
 order to obtain the expulsion of Edward, 
 who, unconscious of the cabal thus formed 
 against him,, closely pursued his studies, 
 behaving alilce to all with obliging sweet- 
 ness, unmixed with one particle of fawn- 
 ing servih'ty. 
 
 The letter was delivered to Mr. Curwen 
 by one of the junior pupils, just as the 
 school had broken up. It was Saturday, 
 and Edward, light of heart and free from 
 all suspicion of the intended mischief, pre- 
 pared to set out for the abode of his grand- 
 mother. His friends saw him depart, with- 
 out informing him of what was passing in 
 H S the
 
 151 AN angel's form 
 
 the school, they being unwilling to damp 
 the joy he now felt at being free to visit 
 his dear-loved grandmother. Their spirits 
 were depressed on seeing him leave them, 
 for they feared that he would not be per- 
 mitted to return to them ; they however 
 determined to espouse his cause to the 
 last, whatever it might cost them. 
 
 One boy in particular, a youth about 
 his own age, and youngest son to the gen- 
 tleman who was next heir to the Man- 
 ningham estate, followed Edward down 
 to the garden-gate, and shaking him by 
 the hand, said — " Good bye, Mackenzie — 
 God bless you, my fine fellow ! If you 
 should not come back, I will find out 
 where you live, and come and see you." 
 
 " I shall be with you early on Monday 
 morning," replied Edward, as he returned 
 the friendly pressure of Frederic; then 
 darthig out of the garden, he humed 
 forward, scarce allowing himself time to 
 breathe, so great was his anxiety to reach 
 the dwelling of his grandmother. 
 
 IVIr.
 
 AND A DEVII/S HEART. 155 
 
 Mr. Curwen was not surprised at what 
 had happened; it was no more than he 
 had anticipated, and he resolved first to 
 make use ef lenient measures to bring 
 back his pupils to a sense of their duty. 
 He looked again at the crowded signa- 
 tures, and felt pleased to find that the 
 names of Manningham,. and of several 
 others who were secretly in his favour, 
 were not among those of Walpole's fac- 
 tion. He returned to the school-room, and 
 summoning the boys to attend him, de- 
 termined to appeal to all their nobler pas- 
 sions, to reason and to remonstrate, rather 
 than to have recourse to harsh or violent 
 measures. 
 
 Mr. Curwen was universally beloved by 
 his pupils, who were accustomed to obey 
 him with cheerful alacrity ; they now ap- 
 proached him with heightened colours and 
 downcast eyes, conscious that they had 
 made a request which v/ould not meet 
 with his usual approbation. 
 
 Instead of the reproachful severity which 
 K 6 their
 
 156 AN angel's form 
 
 their fears had led them to expect, they 
 were surprised to hear tliemselves address- 
 ed in the gentle voice of parental admoni- 
 tion; and at length emboldened by the 
 unexpected lenity of Mr. Curwen, they 
 ventured to lift their eyes to his counte- 
 nance, which betrayed more of sorrow for 
 their weakness than anger for its effects. 
 
 Mr. Curwen acknowledged the inferio- 
 rity of Edward's birth, which he said was 
 counterbalanced by the superiority of his 
 intellectual endowments — " a superiority," 
 added he, with a sigh, " which I had vain- 
 ly imaghied all my pupils to possess. I 
 have been fatally deceived ; I allowed my- 
 self to reckon upon that true nobility of 
 soul which, casting aside the paltry consi- 
 derations of birth and fortune, is ever 
 ready to stand forth the generous advo- 
 cate of merit and uncultivated genius, 
 even were the object of it the son of a 
 peasant. Edward Mackenzie, in point of 
 mind, of manners, of abilities, is inferior 
 to no boy in my school ; his talents only 
 
 require
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 157 
 
 require cultivation, to make him the su- 
 perior of many who now proudly regard 
 him with contempt, because some of his 
 connexions are less indebted to fortune 
 than their own. Had he been vulgar in 
 his deportment, rude in his speech, quar- 
 relsome or unprincipled, I should never 
 have introduced him into your society ; 
 and if there is one among you who can 
 bring forward any charge against him, ex- 
 cept the humbleness of his ancestry, I am 
 willing to wave all personal considerations 
 in his favour, and yield to your request." 
 
 A dead silence now prevailed among 
 the boys; even Walpole, who was most 
 boisterous and forward in the affair, had 
 not one accusation to make against the 
 absent grandson of old jMargaret. 
 
 Mr. Curwen, finding that no one was 
 bold enough to speak, continued — " I 
 cannot express to you," said he, looking 
 round him as he spoke, ** how severely I 
 am pained by the contents of this letter, 
 Vv'hich proves how lightly you value my 
 
 affection.
 
 158 AN angel's form 
 
 affection, how slightly you have attended 
 to my lessons. Yet I feci some little plea- 
 sure in viewing the mode which has been 
 adopted of signing it, since it is a con- 
 vincing proof that he whom I suspect of 
 being the principal in this ungenerous 
 business, is at least ashamed of placing his- 
 name at the head of a list which was in- 
 tended to expel an innocent and amiable 
 boy from their society, whom, had they felt 
 like me, they would proudly have stepped 
 forward to encourage and support in his 
 laudable endeavours of acquiring that 
 knowledge which is to procure him his 
 future maintenance. Gentlemen, I have 
 taken this deserving boy under my pro- 
 tection, yet he is not indebted to my libe- 
 rality for his education, which will be paid 
 for as regularly as your own. I wish him 
 to derive every advantage which my se- 
 minary may possess ; I anticipate the plea- 
 sure I shall feel in witnessing the rapid 
 development of a talent which bids fair 
 to place him among our first-rate ai-tists, 
 
 and
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 159 
 
 and which will enable him to move in 
 that sphere of life which his person and 
 his manners seem formed to adorn. When 
 that day arrives, what will be your feelings 
 of self-reproach, of self-condemnation, as 
 you look back upon the transactions of 
 this day — as you remember with bitterness 
 of heart the ungenerous, illiberal, and nar- 
 row-minded sentiments which could lead 
 you to dictate a request like this?" 
 
 Mr. Curwen paused, and looking atten- 
 tively in the changeful features of his pu- 
 pils, felt convinced that pride alone with- 
 held them from acknowledging their error. 
 Pitying therefore their embarrassment, he 
 tore in half the letter which he held in his 
 hand, and consigning it to the flames, said 
 in an encouraging voice — " This, at least, 
 my children, shall not appear against you. 
 Sliould you relent from your present pur- 
 pose, I promise you that not a reproach 
 shall pass my lips ; neither shall the object 
 of your temporaiy dislike ever be made 
 acquainted with what has passed ; the first 
 
 boy
 
 160 AX angel's Foii^r 
 
 boy that dares to liint to him a word upon 
 the subject shall instantly be dismissed the 
 school. I shall now retire to my stud}'' ; 
 in an hour's time I shall expect to be made 
 acquainted with your final determination/* 
 
 Mr. Curwen now left his pupils to their 
 own secret meditations, hoping that what 
 he had said would have its due w^eight 
 with them, and that they would be con- 
 vinced of the ungenerous motives which 
 had helped to mislead their judgments and 
 silence their better feelings. Nor were his 
 hopes vain ones : half an hour had scarcely 
 elapsed before they were all unanimous in 
 wishing to make amends for their fault; 
 and Walpoky who had been the most re- 
 fractory, was now deputed to be the bearer 
 of the expression of their submissiveness 
 and proper contrition to jMr. Curwen, 
 whose gentleness of behaviour and well- 
 timed appeal to their nobler feelings, had 
 produced in the minds of all his pupils the 
 effect which he had desired. 
 
 Mr, Curwen^ who was anxiously pacing 
 
 his
 
 AND A devil's HEART. l6l 
 
 liis study, no sooner heard the sound of 
 approaching footsteps, than, eagerly open- 
 ing his door, he held out his hand to Wal- 
 pole, Avho immediately pressed it respect- 
 fully to his lips. 
 
 " I see," said Mr. Curwen, " tliat you 
 come the messenger of peace : my beloved 
 pupils have returned to their obedience, 
 and to a sense of what they owe to them- 
 selves and me. Let the past be forgotten : 
 they have realized my expectations, and 
 I now am proud to acknowledge them. 
 Monday shall be a w^hole holiday — it shall 
 be a jubilee-day to us all; the anniversary 
 of this joyful morning shall be celebrated 
 yearly by my pupils, in remembrance of 
 their noble acknowledgment of having 
 acted vnth injustice tov.-ards a deserving 
 object, who (and I will bind myself to 
 answer for it) will never disgrace their 
 friendship nor shame their patronage." 
 
 Thus terminated favourably an aifair 
 which might have been productive of the 
 most mortifying consequences to Edward, 
 
 as
 
 1(>2 AN AXGEI/S FORM 
 
 as well as injurious to his future advance- 
 lYient in life. Had IMr. Curwen adopted 
 any other mode of conduct towards his 
 refractory pupils, it is probable that they 
 would not have yielded so readily to his 
 wishes ; as it was, all w^ere convinced, and 
 ashamed of the part they had acted ; and 
 thouo'h Edward remained in ignorance 
 for many years of the transaction which 
 might have proved so fatal to his interest, 
 he experienced ever after the good effects 
 of Mr. Curwen's sensible and well-timed 
 appeal to the generosity, proper pride, and 
 benevolence of his pupils. 
 
 Edward meanwhile hastened back to 
 the home which had sheltered him for 
 nearly five years. As he had expected, 
 his grandmother and Patty Smith were 
 watching liis arrival : in a moment he was 
 round the neck of the former, who, clasp- 
 ing him fondly to her bosom, seemed for 
 a while to forget all her bodily pains, as 
 she viewed his darling face, and heard the 
 tones of his dear-loved voice ; while Patty 
 
 kissed
 
 ANJD A devil's HEART. l63 
 
 kissed again and again his hands, as she 
 nibbed them within her own to call back 
 the animal warmth. 
 
 Edward could not speak enough of Mr. 
 Curwen's kindness — he made no distinc- 
 tion between him and the w^ealthiest of his 
 scholars, and Edward thought him oiie of 
 the wisest and best of men ; then again he 
 had so much to tell concerning the dispo- 
 sitions and m.anners of his young compa- 
 nions, and their various plays; and when 
 Patty Smith inquired if he had already 
 made choice of a favourite, Edward's beau- 
 tiful eyes sparkled as he replied that he 
 had indeed made choice of one whom he 
 should love all his hfe. — " Oh, grandmo- 
 ther," cried the boy, ** how I longed to 
 bring with me Frederic jNlanningham! 
 From the very day that I first went to 
 ]Mr. Curwen's, has he singled me out for 
 his friend and companion. He is so v/arm- 
 hearted, so lively, and so affectionate, that 
 you would love him, gi-and mother, as much 
 as you do me." 
 
 " No,
 
 164« AX" angel's form 
 
 •' Ko, my soul's treasure," said old Mar- 
 garet, hugging him still closer, " I can 
 never feel for anotlier child the afTection 
 which I bear you ; but I should love him, 
 and I shall love him, if he is kind and 
 good to you. I suppose he is the son of 
 Mr. Manningham, who is tlie heir of sir 
 Gregoiy Manningham, a spiteful old churl 
 that he is, to let so line an estate run ta 
 ruin, just because he and his nephew hap- 
 pened to differ in opinion about something 
 or other in politics. The young man, it 
 seems, was rather too independent in his 
 principles to please sir Gregory, so the old 
 gentleman said that he should never have 
 a shilling of his money during his lifetime, 
 and that Manningham Hall should all go 
 to ruin, that it might cost him a fine penny 
 to put it in order. The sooner such a good- 
 for-nothing old carl dies, the better." 
 
 *' I am glad," cried Edward joyfully, 
 *' that sir Gregory cannot take the pro- 
 perty with him when he leaves this world; 
 are not you, grandmother? My dear friend 
 
 Fi-edcric
 
 AND A devil's HEAUT. 165 
 
 Frederic will be the better for his death, 
 and there is no sin in wishing a bad old 
 man like sir Gregory under ground. Fre- 
 deric has an elder brother about twelve 
 years of age, who seems to be rather proud, 
 for he has not noticed me more than twice, 
 and then, I believe, it was because I vras 
 walking with Frederic. But you know, 
 gi'an dm other, I cannot expect to be loved 
 by all the boys. Perhaps master Charles 
 may think himself my superior; but I 
 w^ill try hard to become his in learning, 
 before I have been at ]Mr. Curwen's twelve 
 months." 
 
 Edward now shewed his grandmother 
 and Patty a couple of drawings which he 
 had done during his absence. One was 
 for his kind old parent, the other for ]\Iiss 
 Lindsa)', and Patty was to have one the 
 next time he returned home. This pro- 
 mise cheered the heart of the affectionate 
 girl, as it proved that new scenes and new 
 friends had not lessened the value of his 
 old ones. 
 
 True
 
 166 AN angel's form 
 
 True to his word, Edward, after church- 
 time was over, paid a visit to Miss Lind- 
 say. Her parents welcomed him with 
 pleasure, while their daughter endeavour- 
 ed, by every art, to make his stay as de- 
 lightful as possible. She received the 
 drawing which he had brought for her 
 with the most flattering encomiums, and 
 gave him in return the works of Milton 
 splendidly bound, which Mr. Lindsay had 
 purchased at her request, as a present for 
 Edward. 
 
 Notvv^ithstanding the most pressing in- 
 vitation from them all, Edward could not 
 be ])re vailed on to extend his visit beyond 
 an hour, as he had promised to return to 
 his grandmother by that time; yet he 
 tailed not to express his sense of the kind- 
 ness which prompted them to wish his 
 stay. After passmg his word to Clara 
 that she should see him on the next Sun- 
 day, Edward was suffered to depart, though 
 much against the inclination of J\Iiss Lind- 
 say, who thought it extremely singidar in 
 
 Edward
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 167 
 
 Edward to prefer tlie society of an infirm 
 old woman like Margaret Grey, to that of 
 herself, who was so capable of enchanting 
 his senses, and who was so wilhno: to la- 
 vish on him every luxury which her own 
 elegant biome possessed. But the cottage 
 of old Margaret contained a charm v/hich 
 the mansion of Mr. Lindsay wanted, for it 
 sheltered his beloved grandmother, whose 
 very infirmities of body only rendered her 
 more dear to the soul of Edward. Her 
 temper remaViied unaffected by the debi- 
 lity of her frame, and her countenance still 
 preserved the same sweetness, the same be- 
 nevolence, as when her health v/as stronger. 
 Edward would not have exchanged the 
 tender look, the fond caress, the fervent 
 blessing of his grandmother, for all the 
 valuables which tlie unbounded partiality 
 of Clara might tempt her to bestow on 
 him ; yet Edward felt grateful for that 
 partiality, and appreciated, perhaps too 
 highly, tlie powers of birth and fortune. 
 But the enthusiasm of his nature led him 
 
 to
 
 168 AN angel's form 
 
 to devote himself to his grandmother, ^vith* 
 out whose presence he felt a void which 
 no one else could fill up, unless it was his 
 father IMackenzie. To fulfil his hopes, and 
 to assist in supporting his grandmother, 
 w^as now become the primary object of 
 Edward's existence ; he therefore paid the 
 most serious attention to all his studies, 
 frequently devoting part of his play-hours 
 to that science which was to crown all his 
 hopes and his toils with success, except 
 when the earnest entreaties of Frederic 
 Manningham prevailed on him to throw 
 aside his pencil and partake of those exhi- 
 larating amusements which were congenial 
 to them both. 
 
 CHAP-
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Edward had been scarcely a year at Mr. 
 Curwen's when the most alarming appre- 
 hensions were entertained by Mr. Lindsay 
 for the life of ^Margaret Grey. This ex- 
 cellent old woman had visibly declined 
 in her health ever since she had lost the 
 charm of her grandson's presence, but she 
 never acknowledged this to any one ex- 
 cept to Patty, who appeared to be equally 
 sensible of the void which the absence of 
 Edward liad occasioned. Margaret had 
 been obliged for some months to give up 
 her school, the profits of which she could 
 ill afford to lose ; but so generally was she 
 esteemed by all her neighbours, that they 
 vied with each other in sending her a va- 
 riety of presents, which were extremely ac- 
 ceptable to one in her weak state of body. 
 VOL. I. I Mr,
 
 170 AS angel's form 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lindsay were particularly 
 kind and attentive to the wants of old 
 Margaret : the latter, since her knowledge 
 of Edward, had frequently called at the 
 cottage of his grandmother, sometimes ac- 
 companied by her daughter, but more ge- 
 nerally by Mr. Lindsay, as Clara had con- 
 ceived a dislike to poor Patty Smith, 
 probably from a suspicion that it was this 
 young girl, and not his grandmother, that 
 made Edward so anxious to spend every 
 hour of his leisure at the cottage. 
 
 At length poor old Margaret's high- 
 backed chair was obliged to be carried in- 
 to her bedroom, as her increasing weak- 
 ness disabled her from coming down stairs 
 as usual. Patty Smith was indefatigable 
 in her attentions both day and night, only 
 quitting her kind old schoolmistress when 
 the aiTairs of the liouse called for her as- 
 sistance ; and Patty took a pride in keep- 
 ing it as nice as when Marc.aret Vvas down, 
 for .she v/as conscious that it w^ould give 
 iier pleasure to know that nothing was 
 
 neglected ;
 
 AND A DEVIL*S HEART. 171 
 
 Tieglected ; and when Patty had finished, 
 she hastened to return to tlie sick chamber 
 of old ^largaret, scarcely allowing herself 
 a moment's time to change her own clothes, 
 lest her helpless friend should require her 
 aid. If the humanity of Patty did not 
 meet with its reward in this world, it is to 
 be hoped that in tlie next it helped to 
 lessen, in the eyes of a merciful Judge, 
 those errors which, without the assistance 
 of rehgion and example, are alike common 
 to us all. Patty, v/ith unexamxpled ten- 
 derness, devoted herself to the comforts of 
 old Margaret, nor ever once complained 
 Oi the confinement or the disagreeables of 
 a sick-room. 
 
 Edward, when first apprized by Mr. 
 Lindsay of the change in his gi-andmo- 
 ther, was so much shocked, that ]Mr. Cur- 
 wen deemed it prudent to grant his re- 
 quest of immediately returning home to 
 see her, adding also, that he might sleep 
 there every night until she was better. 
 The kindness of this permission was never 
 I 2 obliterated
 
 173 AN angel's form 
 
 obliterated from the mind of Edward; 
 long after the object of it had ceased to 
 exist, he still continued to cherish a grate- 
 ful remembrance of Mr. Cur wen's consi- 
 derate humanity. 
 
 With difficulty Edward repressed hia 
 feelings, as he beheld his tender and faith- 
 ful parent confined to her chamber; he 
 flew to her extended amis, for she was no 
 longer capable of meeting him half way 
 as usual, and hid his face in her bosom, 
 that kind maternal bosom which only 
 throbbed for his welfare. 
 
 By degrees Margaret brought him to 
 listen to her own firm conviction that she 
 should never again recover her former 
 str^gth, or power of doing for herself 
 Of Patty's conduct she could not say 
 enough — it w^as beyond all human praise ; 
 but Heaven would reward her for her 
 goodness to a poor infirm old woman like 
 herself, and Heaven wou.ld also bless the 
 Lindsays for their kind attention to her 
 comforts. Edward's heart swelled with 
 
 the
 
 A:SrD A devil's iieakt. ITS 
 
 the excess of gratitude ; he flung his arms 
 round Patty's neck, he kissed her glow- 
 ing cheek, and blessed her for her alfec- 
 tion to his beloved grandmother. 
 
 In proportion as the strength of Marga- 
 ret Grey decreased, the Lindsays redou- 
 bled their kindness towards her grandson. 
 Clara, forgetting her dislike to Patty 
 Smith, ciilled daily at the cottage, and 
 though an enemy to all serious reflections, 
 frequently sat and read by the bedside of 
 the invalid, while Patty was busily en- 
 gaged in the domestic concerns. Mrs. 
 Lindsay also made an exertion to walk so 
 far, that she might administer herself the 
 nourisliing things which she had ordered 
 her cook to make; and, by her request, 
 her own doctor attended on Margaret: 
 but medical skill was useless — hers was a 
 gradual decay of nature, which no arr 
 could check, no medicine prevent; but 
 INIargaret was perfectly resigned — she had 
 led the life of a Christian, and was pre- 
 pared to die the death of one; nay, she 
 1 3 would
 
 174 AN AJ^ifilEL'S FOK-.T 
 
 'rvoald have prayed to have been released 
 from licr sufjpjrings, had not her fondness 
 ibr Edward, and licr knowledge of what 
 would be his affliction wlienever that 
 event took place, made her stiii cling to 
 this world and all its vicissitudes. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Lindsay, with great ge- 
 nerosity of mind, proposed to take charge 
 of Edward in case of the demise of his 
 grandmother, assuring the fond old wo- 
 man that her darling should not want for 
 anything w^hich was requisite for his com- 
 fort and happiness, and that he should be 
 treated in every respect like their own 
 son. This kind assurance Avas alone suffi- 
 cient to tranquillize the spirits of ]\Iarga- 
 ret, who, relying on the tried friendliness 
 of Mr. Lindsay, resigned herself with sub- 
 mission to the will of her Creator. 
 
 On the morning preceding that of her 
 death, Margaret dictated to IMr. Lindsay 
 a letter which she wished to be sent to 
 ensign Mackenzie, and another to her 
 daughter. When these w^re finished, she 
 
 vrarmly
 
 AND A devil's heart. 175 
 
 warmly expressed her gratefv.l acknow- 
 ledgments to Mr. Lindsay, saying that as 
 he had so nobly stepped forward to be- 
 come the guardian and protector of her 
 dearest Edward, it was bnt right tliat he 
 should be made acquainted with all that 
 concerned her soul's idol. She then in- 
 formed him that Edward was not the sou 
 of ensign Mackenzie, but of a gentleman 
 to v/hom her daughter had been secretly 
 married, and who died previous to the 
 birth of his son. She then gave into his 
 possession a letter which she had found 
 amonop Edward's clothes, and which she 
 requested miglit be kept until he was a 
 
 m.an ; it was from the dean of H , 
 
 who acknowledged himself to be his god- 
 father, and who appeared extremely well 
 disposed to render thq boy every kindness 
 in his power. 
 
 " I know not my daughter's reason for 
 
 declining this gentleman's good offices," 
 
 said old Margaret, '' but she has carefully 
 
 kept from his knowledge, as well as rr y 
 
 I 4 own.
 
 17^ AN angel's form 
 
 owii) the names of his father and god- 
 father. Chance discovered to me the lat- 
 ter; but as she wished it to be concealed, 
 I have never mentioned to Edward my 
 having in ray possession the means of sa- 
 tisfying his very natural curiosity. I have 
 often been going to burn the letter, but: 
 something has always withheld me; .and 
 now I give it into your keeping, my dear 
 sir, as it may one day or other be of ser- 
 vice to my darling, when he grows up to 
 be a man. I have endeavoured to do my 
 duty by him, and I know that when I am 
 gone, though he v.ill meet with every 
 kindness in your family, yet I shall not 
 be forgotten by Edward Mackenzie. 
 
 Mr. Lindsay placed the letter in his 
 pocketbook, assuring her that he would 
 preserve the secret .most carefully, unless 
 that he foresaw, at a future time, that any 
 benefit v/ould accrue to Edward by his 
 betraying it ; and, even then, he should 
 consult with his parents on the subject. 
 He questioned JMargaret with great deli- 
 cacy
 
 AND A devil's HEAHT. 177 
 
 cacy on the probable motives of her daugh- 
 ter's singular conduct in concealing, even 
 from her parent, the name of her son's 
 father; but Margaret was as much at a 
 loss to divine tiie cause as himself, only 
 that she had always believed that the co- 
 ronet which was marked on the arm of 
 Edward had some reference to his family- 
 connexions. 
 
 Poor old Margaret, ever considerate to 
 the w^elfare of others, now humbly en- 
 treated of Mr. Lindsay that he w^ould 
 occasionally make the affectionate Patty 
 the object of his care. — " When I am 
 dead and gone," said she, " my kind 
 Patty v/ill return to the house of her 
 father, which is ill suited to her years and 
 habits of life ; I understand that it is kept 
 by a woman of dissolute manners, who 
 manages entirely the concerns of Mr. 
 <Smith, and I have many, many fears on 
 IV.tty's account. At present, she is good 
 and innocent; but bad examples will cor- 
 rupt, in time, the purest mind, and she is 
 I 5 just
 
 178 AN angel's form 
 
 just of an age when the prettiness of her 
 person will attract attention. But God is 
 good and gracious, and to his care I com- 
 mend my poor Patty." 
 
 Mr. Lindsay consoled the worthy old 
 woman by telling her that Patty should 
 not be forgotten, and that, if her father 
 would part with her, she should come and 
 live under his roof, to attend on Miss 
 Lindsay. Thus was the mind of the dy- 
 ing Margaret eased of a load respecting 
 Patty, whom she loved sincerely, and 
 whose interest she had firmly at heart, 
 next to that of her darling grandson. 
 
 Fortunately for ?tlargaret, she was un- 
 conscious of the dislike which Miss Lind- 
 say had taken to the innocent Patty — a 
 dislike which made her so strongly oppose 
 her becoming an inmate under her father's 
 house, that Mr. Lindsay was unwillingly 
 compelled to relinquish his kind inten- 
 tions, and content himself with bestowmg 
 on Patty, whenever he met her, his pater- 
 nal advice, accompanied by eveiy dembn- 
 
 stration
 
 axd a devil's heart. 179 
 
 stration of real concern for her welfare and 
 happiness. 
 
 On the morning of Margaret's decease, 
 Edward felt an unaccountable rekictance 
 to leave her, and he therefore determined 
 to remain from school that day, certain 
 that when the reason was explained to 
 Mr. Curwen, he would not be oftended at 
 his absence. By the advice of Patty, he 
 however wrote a note to that gentleman, 
 and then sat down by the bedside of his 
 grandmother, who appeared much fainter 
 than usual; yet, while life remained, she 
 employed it in admonishing her young 
 companions to avoid all the snares and 
 temptations of the world, and in bestow- 
 ing on them the last sad proofs of her 
 affection. To Edward she had bequeathed 
 all the trifles she possessed, except a few 
 presents to Patty, in remembrance of her 
 tenderness and humanity. Scarcely had 
 she strength to direct the former to a place 
 in her bureau, where she had stored up a 
 sum more than sufficient to defray the 
 I 6 exjjences
 
 180 AN axgel's form 
 
 :,expences of her funeral and to procure 
 mourning for them both, when Mrs. Lind- 
 say entered the chamber. Margaret liad 
 already made knov/n to her compassionate 
 visitor the hoard and her own wishes; she 
 now made an effort to place the money m 
 tiie hands of IVlrs. lindsay, then motion- 
 ing to Patty to draw near, she embraced 
 and blessed her. Edward's arms assisted 
 to support her; she pressed him to her 
 heart ; it had almost ceased to beat, yet it 
 gave one more throb of tenderness as his 
 lips touched hers, and then was still for 
 ever. 
 
 The hands of Edw^ard still convulsively, 
 grasped the lifeless body of his grandmo- 
 ther, when My, Lindsay arrived. With 
 extreme difficulty he at length succeeded 
 in raising him from the bed ; but no en- 
 treaty, no persuasion could induce him to 
 quit the cottage and retire to the house of 
 Mr. Lindsay. Patty also begged that she 
 might be suffered to remain, and perform 
 the last sad ofSces for her beloved old 
 
 friend ;
 
 AND A devil's HEAKT. 181 
 
 friend ; fearless of every thing but being 
 separated from the inanimate form of Mar- 
 garet, Patty determined to sit up and 
 watch the corpse ; and Mrs. Lindsay, pleas- 
 ed by the artless affection of the poor girl, 
 kindly consented to her request, and at 
 the same time sent for a respectable wo- 
 man to bear her company while she per- 
 formed her mxclancholy duties. 
 
 Edward v/ould not leave the room which 
 contained the mortal remains of her who 
 had been his best and dearest friend ever 
 since he had been separated from his adopt- 
 ed father ; like a statue, he continued sit- 
 ting in the chair in which Mr. Lindsay 
 had placed him, wholly insensible either 
 to the kindness of that gentleman or to 
 the tears and caresses of the weeping 
 Patty ; Edward could not weep — liis heart 
 and brain were too full — a weight of lead 
 seemed to press on both ; he saw all that 
 passed, yet knew it not; he heard what 
 was said, yet it made no impression on his 
 mind, and l^ir. Lindsay began to feel seri- 
 ously
 
 182 AX angel's form 
 
 ously alaniied for the effect of his appa- 
 rent insensibihty. 
 
 The day on ^vhich the funeral was to 
 take place, Patty endeavoured to awaken 
 him to a sense of what was passing : she 
 took his hand and drew him towards the 
 coffin. — " Dear master Edward," said she; 
 " will you not take one look at your 
 grandmother before the men come to 
 screw on the lid ?" 
 
 Edward gave a shudder of horror, and 
 then bent forward. Patty tremblingly re- 
 moved the lid ; Edward started,-burst into 
 tears, and fell back on her bosom. 
 
 " Thank God !" exclaimed Patty, sob« 
 bing, " thank God, master Edward, that 
 you can shed tears ! they are the first I 
 have seen since the death of your grands 
 mother." 
 
 At the sound of her name, Edward once 
 more bent forward ; lie touched with awe 
 the cold, cold hand which had so often been 
 raised to bestow on him some token of her 
 love ; again a shudder of horror seized him, 
 
 and
 
 AND A DEVIL^S HEAKT. 183 
 
 and Patty supported him in her arms, as 
 he sobbed aloud in an agony of grief. At 
 length he became a httle more composed^ 
 and when Mr. Lindsay entered the cham- 
 ber, he had sufficiently recovered himself 
 to thank his friend for all his goodness to- 
 wards him, when he was insensible to the 
 trouble he had given him. 
 
 ISIr. Lindsay encouraged his tears to 
 flow again ; he reverted to the wishes of 
 her who now lay cold and inanimate be- 
 fore them, and persuaded him to return 
 with him to the house which would in 
 future become his home, at least until the 
 return of his adopted father. 
 
 Edw^ard listened to him with reverence 
 and affection ; his heart felt, for the first 
 time, the cheering influence of hope, as 
 the sound of Tvlackcnzie's name struck on 
 his ear. — " Dear sir," said he, in a voice 
 scarcely audible, " I will study how I can 
 deserve your kindness, I will obey you in 
 everything, only let me follow my be- 
 loved
 
 184 AN angel's foum 
 
 loved grandmother to the grave ; it is the 
 last, last proof of my duty and affection." 
 
 Mr. I^indsay reluctantly consented, be- 
 cause his kindness of heart would fain 
 have spared Kdward this painful trial of 
 his firmness; he consented also, because 
 he wanted himself the power of self-com- 
 mand necesscry to deny the boy's request; 
 and Edward therefore prepared to follow 
 to the village church all that now remain- 
 ed of her w^ho had doted on him to excess, 
 and whose sole study had been to gratify 
 every v.i? h, every desire of his heart. 
 
 Edvv ai'd follov\^ed, as chief mourner, the 
 corpse of Margaret Grey, accompanied by 
 Patty Smith and all the village neigh- 
 bours, to whom the deceased had rendered 
 herself dear by various acts of benevolent 
 kindness. All her scholars attended at a 
 respectful distance, demonstrating, by their 
 half-suppressed sobs and tear-swoln eyes, 
 the sincerity of their attachment. With 
 a presence of mind far above his years, 
 
 Edward
 
 AND A DKVU/S HEAIIT. 185 
 
 Edward repressed his grief; he saw that 
 Mr. Lindsay had stationed himself by the 
 side of the curate, and he resolved, for his 
 sake, and for the sake of poor Patty, who 
 could not boast of much self-command, to 
 subdue as much as possible his feelings in 
 their presence. 
 
 At the conclusion of the awful cere- 
 mony, and when the quick-falHng earth 
 hid from his view the last sad receptacle 
 of all human greatness, the fortitude of 
 Edvv^ard began to yield to the fulness of 
 his heart; he turned with unsteady feet 
 as the mourners receded from the grave 
 of his grandmother ; a film overspread his 
 sight, his knees trembled, and he sunk 
 breathless into the arms of Mr. Lindsay, 
 w ho conveyed him with all possible expe- 
 dition to his house. 
 
 The tender attentions of Mr. and iMrs. 
 Lindsay, and of their daughter Clara, could 
 rot fail of their due effect on a heart form- 
 ed like that of Edward IMackenzie: it 
 seemed to be a positive duty in him to 
 
 control
 
 18C AN angel's form 
 
 control his feelings, and to make an efFort 
 at least to restrain his sorrow, since, by 
 giving way to it, he evidently inflicted 
 pain on those who appeared to vie with 
 each other to render him happy, and to 
 make him resigned to his loss. Gratitude 
 was a powerful incentive to exertion in 
 the mind of Edward ; the memory of his 
 grandmother was not the less sacredly 
 dear to him beca\]se he strove to appear 
 tranquil in the presence of his kind pro- 
 tectors ; they had now become, for a time 
 at least, the guardians of his destiny ; to 
 them he was accountable for his actions ; 
 they had voluntarily afforded him a ten- 
 der asylum, when death had bereaved him 
 of one of his best friends ; they evinced an 
 anxiety for his vrelfare, and a watchful vi- 
 gilance to beouile away his griefs, which 
 called forth all the warmth and tenderness 
 of liis nature ; his liappmess, and his re- 
 turn to the cheerful avocations of life, 
 seemed to be the chief motive of all their 
 moveuients ; how then could Edward dis- 
 
 aPDoint
 
 187 
 
 appoint their hopes, or frustrate th'cir 
 friendly attentions to his comforts? Gra- 
 titude and affection forbade it; and Ed- 
 ward, wlio was kept from school for some 
 weeks after the death of his graiid mother, 
 lest he should find too many oppoi timities 
 to indulge his sorrow, and who was hu- 
 moured, petted, and caressed by all Mr. 
 Lindsay's family, at length taught Inmseif 
 to moderate his affliction, and to submit 
 with proper humility and proper resigna- 
 tion to the will of Heaven, who, in taking 
 from him his fond and affectionate old 
 grandmother, had raised him up a host of 
 friends in the ifnansion w^hich was now to 
 become his home, all of whom appeared 
 inclined to perform for him every good 
 office, that they might soften down his 
 grief, and lessen, by every kind indul- 
 gence, the severity of the loss which he 
 liad sustained. 
 
 The novelty of every thing around him, 
 the elegance of the mansion, the parental 
 tenderness of its owners, the studied kind- 
 ness
 
 188 AN AXGEI/S rOR^I 
 
 ness of Clara Lindsay, and their superior 
 mode of living, joined to the respectful 
 willingness with which the domestics wait- 
 ed on Edward, as being the favourite of 
 their employers, and therefore of them- 
 selves, soon filled his young heart and 
 active mind with new feelings and new 
 ideas ; he was no longer the inmate of a 
 humble cottage, but of a spacious man- 
 sion, furnished by the hand of taste and 
 fashion ; music, poetry, and painting held 
 forth inexhaustible sources of never-cloy- 
 ing amusement to the enthusiastic Ed- 
 ward ; he could not long resist their united 
 influence, nor vvithstand the persuasions 
 of female loveliness, female grace. Clara 
 Lindsay touched her harp vnih such siren 
 melody, Clara Lindsay entered into his 
 own favourite study with so much ardour, 
 that the severity of Edward's feelings by 
 degrees abated, the poignancy of his grief 
 gave place to a tender melancholy, and 
 the name of his dear-loved grandmother 
 seldom escaped his lips, except to one ob- 
 ject
 
 a^:d a devii/s heaet. 189 
 
 ject by whom her memory was sacredly 
 revered, and to whom also he confided 
 every thought, every wish that gratitude 
 and a sense of obli^!:ation misht lead him 
 to conceal from the Lindsays : and this 
 one object was his favourite companion 
 and friend, Patty Smith, 
 
 CHAPTEll XIL 
 
 The style in which Edward was now ac- 
 customed to live had long been congenial 
 to his taste and consonant to his wishes; 
 yet this change had no power over the 
 natural kindliness of his heart, unless in- 
 deed that sometimes it seemed to expand 
 to all around him, and he longed to be- 
 stow on others the infinitude of comforts 
 he himself enjoyed. 
 
 Both Mr. and JNlrs. Lindsay became as 
 strongly attached to Edward as if they 
 
 had
 
 190 AN angel's form 
 
 had known him from his birth ; the inte- 
 rest they felt in his welfare could scarcely 
 have been greater had he been their own 
 son, while Edward felt equally disposed 
 to manifest tow^ards them every sentiment 
 of filial love and grateful obedience. Sa- 
 turda}'^ evening was looked forward to by 
 all parties with joyful impatience; Ed- 
 ward, freed from the necessary restraint of 
 a school, always rapturously hurried back 
 to w^hat w^as now lys home, wdiere he was 
 welcomed by the respectful affection of 
 the domestics, and caressed, and almost 
 devoured by their employers, who scarce- 
 ly appeared to know how to lavish on him 
 sufficient proofs of their regard, or suffi- 
 cient praise and encouragement as they 
 gazed with delight on every fresh speci- 
 men of his increasing talents. 
 
 Clara Lindsay, notwithstanding the 
 many imperfections of her disposition and 
 her love of self, w^as the w arm admirer 
 of Edward, and the proud predicter of his 
 future fame. She loved him as much as 
 
 it
 
 AND A DEVII/S HEART. 191 
 
 it ^^as in lier nature to love anything be- 
 yond what was necessary to the gratifica- 
 tion of lier pleasures ; yet this very love 
 misjht be termed selfish, since she took a 
 pride in shewing him to everybody as her 
 favourite, and in strolling with him flir 
 beyond the limits of her mother's v/alk, 
 who frequently allowed her to leave her 
 home with no other protection than that 
 of Edward ^lackenzie. 
 
 This was precisely what Clara had long 
 wished for; she couid now ranjble at plea- 
 sure through the beautifully-diversified 
 grounds of Manningham Hall, and point 
 out to Edward fresh subjects for his pen- 
 cil ; or she could sit and listen to his har- 
 monious voice, as he read to her the poems 
 which she selected for him out of her fa- 
 vourite authors ; or could teach him to 
 sing to her some of her favourite melo- 
 dies. In short, Edward was as much the 
 pet of Clara I^indsay as of her parents ; 
 and as he so largely contributed to cliccr 
 the monotony of her life, and to create 
 
 for
 
 192 AX angel's form 
 
 for her fresh and more pleasing soiuecs of 
 amusement, Clara was equally as desirous 
 that he should share with her all that her 
 parents had to bestow, as those generous 
 but thoughtless parents were to heap fresh 
 favours on the gi-ateful youth whom they 
 had taken under their protection. 
 
 It was sufficient for Mrs. Lindsay to 
 know that the Manninghams were the 
 chosen companions of Edward, for them 
 to receive an invitation to her houvse ; they 
 accordingly obtained the permission of JMr. 
 Curv/en to dine one Sunday at Mr. Lind- 
 say's, and were so delighted with their re- 
 ception, and with the beauty and assumed 
 good-nature of the elegant Clara, that they 
 could not help describing to their compa- 
 nions, on their return to school in the 
 evening, all that they had seen and heard 
 at the agreeable and hospitable home of 
 young jMackenzie, 
 
 Perhaps to this visit may be ascribed, 
 the change v.diich ever after took place in 
 the manners of the elder x*Ianningham — a 
 
 change
 
 AND A devil's HEART. lO'S 
 
 change which gladdened the heart of Ed- 
 ward, because Charles had frequently tes- 
 tified a sense of that conscious superiority 
 which birth and fortune had placed on his 
 side, but which he now seemed inclined to 
 forget ; and as Charles was the elder bro- 
 ther of his beloved Frederic, Edward felt 
 no disposition to remind him. that such 
 illiberal feelings had ever influenced his 
 actions or prejudiced his mind; with sin- 
 cere pleasure he accepted the proffered 
 friendship of Charles, and the Manning- 
 hams were now become the frequent 
 guests of the Eindsay family. 
 
 The juvenile enjoyments of Edward did 
 not, however, erase from his memory the 
 remembrance of her who had so kindly 
 contributed to those of his younger davs, 
 neither did they cause him to forget the 
 innocent Patty, wl^o had shared with him 
 the tenderness and care of his deceased 
 grandmother. When the first burst of his 
 grief was over, he felt an earnest desire to 
 behold his affectionate companion, and in- 
 
 voL. I. IK quired
 
 194- AN angel's fokm 
 
 quired ratlier eagerly, if Patty had never 
 called to inquire after him, since the death 
 of their mutual friend ? 
 
 " Called!" said Miss Lindsay, in an 
 angry voice, " yes, the girl made herself 
 quite troublescme with her calls, so I 
 spoke to her myself Really she seems to 
 think that she is to be still as much your 
 companion as when you lived at the cot- 
 tage. I hope, Edward, that }• ou will now 
 consider yourself as far above such low 
 society. The girl may be a very good girl 
 in her way, but she is certainly not fit 
 company for you ; indeed I know that 
 my fatlier would not approve of your 
 countenancing her visits here. Young 
 girls, like Patty Smith, ought to be bet- 
 ter employed than in ruiming after hand- 
 some boys like yourself." 
 
 Edward colon led deeply; his was the 
 generous blush of insulted friendship and 
 offended gratitude, and ne^er was the 
 <.*ause of innocence and artless tenderness 
 n>ore ably defended than it now was by 
 
 Edward
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 195 
 
 Edward Mackenzie. He concluded by 
 saying, that, much as he should study to 
 avoid giving offence to IMr. Lindsay or 
 any part of his family, yet that he should 
 consider himself the basest of mortals if he 
 could ever forget the kindness of Patty's 
 conduct towards his dear old grandmother, 
 at a time when she was wholly unable to 
 assist herself 
 
 Miss Lindsay muttered to herself tliat 
 he might please himself, as far as remem- 
 brance was concerned ; but that she would 
 not have Patty loitering about the house, 
 and asking any servant she met with, how 
 master Edward was ? she should give fresh 
 orders not to have her come there a^ain. 
 
 Again the colour deepened on the hand- 
 some features of Edward, but he was si- 
 lent, as he did not wish to increase the 
 dislike of Clara towards Patty, who he 
 felt pleased to find had not wilfully ne- 
 glected him in the hours of his severe dis- 
 tress — he was silent, but he determined to 
 see Patty, and to thank her for her friend- 
 K 2 W
 
 196 AN angel's form 
 
 ]y inquiries afttT liis health, and at the 
 same time to advise her not to call again 
 at the house of JMr, Lindsay, «ince it gave 
 his daughter such manifest displeasure. 
 
 When Edward returned to school for 
 the first time after the death of poor Mar- 
 garet GiTv, Mr. Lindsay had intended to 
 walk with him to Mr. Curwen's, but 
 somethhig occurred which prevented this 
 intention from being put in execution; 
 he tiierefore wrote a letter to that gentle- 
 man, ioAl of the warmest encomiums on 
 Edward, Vv'Lom he now again recommend- 
 ed to his protection and care, with all the 
 anxiety of a parent wdio felt conscious that 
 his son would become an ornament to his 
 family und connexions. At the sugges- 
 tions of Clara, a servant v/as ordered to 
 attend Edward to school, and to fetch him 
 home every Saturday evening. 
 
 ** Perhaps, master Edward," snid Oliver, 
 as tliey were proceeding on their way, 
 "* you are not up to the tricks of my 
 young lady ? — It was all ber doings that 
 
 poor
 
 AND A DEVII/S HEART. 197 
 
 poor Patty Smith was ordered not to call 
 again at our house, and it's all her doings 
 that I am ordered to see you safe back to 
 school, and to fetch you home again. I 
 am more obliged to her than she thinks, 
 for it will give me some nice walks, be- 
 sides that I love dearly to do anything for 
 you, master Edward." 
 
 " Thank you, Oliver, most kindly," re- 
 plied Edward, with winning sweetness; 
 ** and I am also much obliged to Miss 
 Lindsay for lier goodness, for I love to 
 have you with me, Oliver; you are al- 
 ways so ready and so willing to do any- 
 thing that I ask of you." 
 
 ** Ay, that I am, master Edward," cried 
 Oliver ; " and I was botli ready and will- 
 ing to give poor Patty Smith a sight of 
 you, when she called so often and asked 
 so kindly after you, but that it would 
 have been as much as my place was worth. 
 Miss Clara has taken such a mortal aver- 
 sion to poor Patty, that she hates the sight 
 on her like poison, and we were all order- 
 K 3 €d
 
 198 AN angel's FOll.^I 
 
 ed not to let her see you, which was cer- 
 tainly a most brutal thing, seeing that the 
 poor innocent girl must be just as dear to 
 you, master Edward, as a sister. No of- 
 fence, 1 hope." 
 
 " Kone, none, my kind Oliver," ex- 
 claimed Edward, shakhig him heartily by 
 the hand; '* I do indeed love Patty as 
 dearly as if she was my ov/n sister. If 
 Miss Lir.dsa}^ kuew how good she is, how 
 tender-hearted, and hovv^ compassionate to 
 all who are afflicted or diseased, she could 
 not help loving her as much as I do." 
 
 Oliver v/histled a bit of a tune, then 
 asked pardon — " Oh, you do not know our 
 T^Iiss Clara, master Edward, as well as I 
 do ; she cannot abide poor Patty, because 
 she thinks that you are more fond of the 
 young girl than you are of herself; she 
 would <n\c the world to hinder vou from 
 seeing her. That's the reason, I^ord love 
 ye ! that I am sent to see you to school, 
 for fear tliat you should meet Patty by 
 the way ; and I was told not to let you 
 
 stop
 
 A\'D A devil's heaht. 199 
 
 stop a moment to speak to her upon any 
 account, and to tell her all that you said 
 to each other. But may I lose tlie use of 
 rny tongue if ever I tell a tale against 
 either of you ! God bless you both !" 
 
 " How !" cried Edv/ard angrily ; then, 
 checking himself, he said — " I have a 
 great respect for Miss Lindsay, Oliver, 
 and am under many obligations to her; 
 but never, while I have breath, shall she 
 or any other person prevent m.y speaking 
 to Patty Smith." 
 
 They now approached tlie cottage which 
 once belonged to ^Margaret Grey, and which 
 was occupied by an industrious labourer 
 and his family. Edward paused at the 
 well-remembered gate, his eyes filled with 
 tears, and, as if by sympathy, those of 
 honest Oliver instantly became moist. — 
 The porch over the door, once tlie favour- 
 ite seat of himself and Patty Smith, was 
 now green with the bursting foliage, and 
 a variety of spring flowers blossomed in 
 K 4 the
 
 l-'OO AN A K G E L S > O R.M 
 
 the neat little front-garden of the cottage, 
 K Jv/ard's Iieart was gladdened at behold- 
 ing that it was kept in order, and that the 
 house itself appeared clean and comfort- 
 able. The biggest boy, a child about seven 
 years old, came out with a broom to sweep 
 ihe walk ; he stooped to pull up a weed 
 wiiicli v.as near a tuft of early flowers, 
 and breaking one of tlie flowers from the 
 rest, he presented it to Kdvrard, who ac- 
 cepted vhe gift with eager delight. They 
 had been planted by his beloved grand- 
 mother, and w ere therefore held sacred by 
 her darling. 
 
 Edward cleared his voice, and then in- 
 quired of the child if it was his oflice to 
 keep the front-garden from weeds ? Upon 
 being answered in the affirmative, he gave 
 him sixpence, telling him that he should 
 receive tlie same sum from him every Sa- 
 turday evening, if, on his return from 
 school, he found the garden in the same 
 good order, and the gravel-walk nicely 
 
 swept.
 
 AND A devil's heart. 201 
 
 swept. — " You must also," said Edward, 
 " let me have at the same time one of 
 your flowers." 
 
 The boy, overjoyed at tlie unexpected 
 gift, made his best bow, promising to take 
 double care of the garden, and to have in 
 readiness a nice nosegay for his acceptance 
 every Saturday evening. He then hurried 
 into the cottage to shew his sixpence, and 
 to boast of the generosity of Edward, who 
 now turned his reluctant steps from the 
 gate which he had so often opened, so 
 often closed, with joyful exultation, while 
 his whole soul was filled with gratitude 
 and love for its dear and revered owner. 
 
 In crossing the green, Edward, to his 
 inexpressible delight, beheld Patty Smith ; 
 she was slowly advancing, her eyes were 
 cast on the gi'ound, and she saw not the 
 form of Edward until he was close beside 
 her. 
 
 *' Patty !" cried Edward, and his arms 
 
 were instantly loand her neck : it was the 
 
 K 5 first
 
 202 AN angel's form 
 
 first time they had met since the funeral 
 of Margaret Grey ; both burst into tears. 
 
 " All, master Edward," at length ex- 
 claimed Patty, " I thought you had quite 
 forgotten me, and that I should never be 
 suffered to speak to you any more, now 
 that you are made a gentleman, and are 
 become the fa\'ourite of JMiss Clara." 
 
 " Then you thought wrong, Patty," re- 
 plied Edward, kissing her affectionately. 
 " If I could forget you, I should expect 
 my beloved grandmother to rise out of 
 her grave and reproach me for my ingra- 
 titude. No, Patty, dear Patty, I can ne- 
 ver forget you — I shall always love you 
 dearly for your kindness to my grand- 
 mother." 
 
 " That's right !" cried Oliver, in a thick 
 voice ; " that's as it should be, master Ed- 
 ward. Rot me, if I could ever forget any- 
 body that was good to my poor old grand- 
 mother." 
 
 Patty, now for the first time made sen- 
 sible
 
 AND A devil's heaet. 203 
 
 sible of the presence of Oliver, blushed at 
 her own en^.otions; she however held out 
 her hand to him, telling him that she 
 should always remember with gratitude 
 the feeling manner in which he had at- 
 tended to her frequent inquiries after Ed- 
 ward — a manner so wholly unlike that of 
 his young mistress, who had spoken to her 
 with the greatest harshness, and who had 
 rudely forbidden her ever coming again to 
 the house. — " I am sure, sir," said Patty, 
 *' that I am quite ignorant in what I have 
 offended Miss Clara ; but I recollect, that 
 when she used to come with her mamma 
 to the cottage^ she always looked at me so 
 crossly, and spoke as haughtily as if I had 
 been her slave; but, thank God! I am 
 neither her slave nor her servant, and if it 
 had not been for master Edward, I should 
 never have gone near her house; but I 
 could not live in the same village, and not 
 inquire how he w\is." 
 
 " To be sure not," cried Oliver; " if 
 
 you had, you would have been as unfed- 
 
 K 6 iug
 
 204 AN angel's form 
 
 jng as ]\Iiss Clara is, and she thinks of no- 
 body but herself, except it is master Ed- 
 ward. Set me to watch him indeed ! and 
 to hinder him from speaking to a poor 
 girl, that he must love like his own flesh 
 and blood I — Let her watch him herself, 
 for I shall never tell her, I promise her, if 
 he was to meet you and speak to you 
 every day in the year." 
 
 Patty coloured deeply. — " It would be 
 hard, very hard, if I might not speak to 
 master Edward," said Patty, nearly crying 
 with vexation, " when we have known 
 each other ever since he was four and I 
 six years old. Besides, his grandmother 
 loved me dearly, and used to be happy to 
 see us fond of each other; and though I 
 own and have always said there was a 
 great difference between us, yet I shall 
 love him and speak to him when I see 
 him, unless he tells me not." 
 
 " And I will always love you in return, 
 Patty, and always speak to you, though 
 Jvliss Lindsay herself were near me," re- 
 plied
 
 AND A DEVIL'S HEAliT. 205 
 
 plied Edv/ard, grasping her liand. " But 
 come no more, Patty, to Mr. Lindsay's ; 
 I do not wish you to be insulted by any 
 person on my account. I respect JMiss 
 Lindsay, and I love lier parents, but it is 
 well for her that she is not a boy ; I should 
 soon see then what right she had to treat 
 you with rudeness."' 
 
 They now embraced each other affec- 
 tionately, promising to have another in- 
 terview on the Saturday evenhig; " though 
 I must beg of you, dear master Edward," 
 cried Patty earnestly, " not to take any 
 notice of me should Miss Clara walk with 
 you through the village ; I should be mi- 
 serable, if I thought that you would lose 
 her friendship on my account. I shall 
 know, master Edward, that you will not 
 lovget me, and I shall try to make myself 
 as happy as I can ; but," added she, with 
 a deep sigh, " my home is not what I 
 could wish it to be." 
 
 Edward, notwithstanding his high sense 
 of obligation, persisted in noticing T^atty 
 
 Smith.
 
 206 AN angel's form 
 
 Smith, even when he was in company 
 with the Lindsays, to the severe mortifi- 
 cation of Clara, who frowned disdainfully 
 on the humble companion of her favourite, 
 never failing to make some iilnaturcd re- 
 mark on Patty and her disordered home, 
 which, while it pained the grateful soul of 
 Edward, only endeared to him the more 
 the poor object of her spleen and malevo- 
 lence. 
 
 The manly firmness of Edward, in thus 
 openly continuing to notice Patty Smith, 
 increased the hatred and indignation of 
 Clara ; she felt angry with herself for not 
 being able to banish from her affections 
 the young offender; but Edward kept his 
 hold in her heart, though, in this one in- 
 stance, he rebelled against her Vvdll; he 
 was evidently the sole being in the world 
 who ventured to thwart the desires of 
 Miss Lindsay, and who, having thwarted 
 them, still possessed her fondest prefer- 
 ence. 
 
 A circumstance soon occurred which 
 
 promised
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 207 
 
 promised to enliven the liitherto-monoto- 
 nous life of Clara, and contribute likewise 
 to the pleasures of her parents, whose sole 
 acquaintance were confined to that of the 
 curate and apothecary of the village, these 
 being the only respectable families with 
 whom they could associate within the dis- 
 tance of their own village: this circum- 
 stance was the sudden death of sir Gre- 
 gory Manningham, wdiose whole fortune 
 devolved to his nephew^ now become sir 
 Charles jNIanningham. The conduct of 
 sir Gregory had totally precluded him 
 from possessing the affection of his ne- 
 phew's family, and they therefore heard 
 of this event 'vithout any symptoms of 
 distress, or any indications of any other 
 mourning than what decency required 
 them outwardly to observe. The friends 
 of Edward were sent for in haste by their 
 parents, and never w^as their summons 
 more joyfully obeyed than it now" was by 
 their delighted sons. 
 
 •• He is gone at last, my dear boy," cried 
 
 Charles
 
 203 AN axgkl's form 
 
 Charles exultingly, " and my father will 
 now come in for every shilling of the old 
 misers fortune. We shall have famous 
 doings at the Hall ; my mother will soon 
 make the old building wear a diiferent 
 aspect, and the girls may wander up and 
 down the extensive grounds until they 
 fancy themselves the goddesses of the fairy 
 scenes which their romantic imaginations 
 will create. The beautiful Clara Lindsay 
 sliall teach them all her enchanting songs, 
 and the hospitality we have received from 
 her parents shall now, thanks to old Gre- 
 gory ! be repaid to them with interest, as 
 soon as w^e come down to the Hall." 
 
 " Yes," exclaimed Frederic, shaking- 
 Edward's hand with violence, " and Mac- 
 kenzie shall be introduced to my father 
 and mother, and to. my sisters. But re- 
 member, Edward, that I have already be- 
 spoke your preference for Flora." 
 
 " That's unfair," cried Charles hastily ; 
 " let iNIackcnzie see the girls, and judge 
 for himself: tliey are both handsome and 
 
 agreeable.
 
 AND A DLVIIAS HKAKT. 209 
 
 agreeable, and there ought to be no pre- 
 ference." 
 
 " Remember," whispered Frederic to 
 Mackenzie, as he followed Charles to the 
 chaise, " remember Flora; I have fixed 
 my heart upon her being your favourite; 
 don't disappoint me." 
 
 Edward saw them vault into the chaise 
 with emotions of pleasure httle short of 
 those they experienced themselves; had 
 he been the declared heir of sir Gregory, 
 he could not have felt more joy than he 
 now did, on learning the good fortune of 
 his friends, who were thus suddenly raised 
 to the summit of their boyish hopes. The 
 activ^e mind of Edward followed them to 
 the drawing-room of their home — to the 
 embraces of their parents, the congratula- 
 tions of their sisters ; he tried to picture 
 to himself the wildly-affectionate Flora, as 
 he thought he saw her fling herself into 
 the arms of Frederic, who kissed with 
 lively joy the growing check of his fa- 
 vourite sister; but Edward could not 
 
 please
 
 210 AX angel's form 
 
 please him-elf v/ith the picture — it did 
 not do justice to the description which 
 Frederic had given him of Flora, and Ed- 
 ward, for the first time in his life, began 
 to feel a restless impatience for an addi- 
 tion to the circle at Mv. Lindsay's, and 
 this impatience was only to be allayed by 
 the presence of Flora Maiiningham, whom 
 Edward had already tauglit himself to 
 believe w^as even more lovely and more 
 amiable than Frederic, with all his affec- 
 tion, had described her. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ]Miss Lindsay was not less impatient for 
 the arrival of the Manningham family 
 than Edward ; she wondered what could 
 detain them in London, when their pre- 
 sence w\as so mucli required at the Hall, 
 and when the increasing beauties of the 
 
 season
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 211 
 
 season rendered the country doubly at- 
 tractive. Her temper, naturally a bad 
 one, was now become intolerable, and the 
 whole household suffered more or less 
 from its effects, except Edward, who still 
 preserved his empire over her aftections, 
 if empire it might be called, where an- 
 other reigned with equal sway. This rival 
 to his throne was Charles Manningham, 
 the eldest son and heir of the new-made 
 baronet. 
 
 The Ivlanninghams had long been cele- 
 brated for their fine persons, and the friends 
 of Edward did not disgrace the proud boast 
 of their family ; they were both tall well- 
 made youths, with handsome intelligent 
 features — lively to an excess, though with- 
 out the slightest vulgarity — highly con- 
 versible, well read, and well educated ; in 
 short, they were, with tlie exception of 
 Edward, the cleverest boys ill the school, 
 and Mr. Curv^en felt that they would do 
 equal honour to his care and attention. 
 
 There was, however, a vast difference in 
 
 the
 
 212 AN ANGEl/S rORM 
 
 the morals and principles of the brothers, 
 and some little even in disposition. Fre- 
 deric, the beloved friend, the second self 
 of Edward, was frank, open, and w inning- 
 ly affable in his deportment ; he was, like 
 him, warm in his affections, firm in liis 
 friendships, the soul of candour, and an 
 enemy to all species of pride, except that 
 proper one wdiich creates a laudable ambi- 
 tion, and exalts rather tlian debases human 
 nature. Charles, on the contrar}^, possess- 
 ed a large share of false dignity ; he valued 
 himself upon his ancestors, his connexions, 
 his prospects in life, and last, though- not 
 least of all, upon his own person, which he 
 expected would be his best friend when 
 he made his entrance into the fashionable 
 world : he was good-tempered, unless when 
 contradicted or thwarted *in any of his 
 wishes; in that case, he became violent in 
 his expressions of anger, and never forgave 
 the ofience, if the offender was his inferior, 
 or what he considered to be his inferior in 
 birth or fortune. Frederic was generous, 
 
 even
 
 AND A DEVIl/S HEART. 213 
 
 even to profuseness ; Charles paused to 
 inquire if his bounty would be well be- 
 stowed, unless in a case where his own 
 gi'atification would ensue. Frederic ad- 
 vocated warmly the cause of the injured, 
 and interested himself as much for the 
 welfare of a beggar as he would have done 
 for a peer; but Charles contented liimself 
 with listening to the tale of complaint as 
 repeated by his brother, and in remarking 
 that the poor should submit to the v/ill 
 of their superiors without murmuring. 
 Charles was the favourite of his mother, 
 Frederic of his father. 
 
 Clara Lindsay was, in the opinion of 
 Charles Manningham, one of the finest 
 girls in tlie vrorld, his own sisters, of 
 whom lie was deservedly proud, not ex- 
 (^cpted. Clara's ibrm was matchless ; then 
 srhe sung and played so divinely — had such 
 a good taste for drawing — was so lively, so 
 hospitable, and so desirous of making their 
 visits agreeable, that Charles, though only 
 now in liis sixteenth year, was actually 
 
 what
 
 214 AN AXC.EL'S I'OKM 
 
 what he called desperately in love with 
 the beautiful Clara, who, on her part, had 
 conceived for him an equally favourable 
 opinion, and who longed to behold his 
 favourite sister Constantia, whom he had 
 assured her she would find a most charm- 
 ing companion. 
 
 Clara hoped and expected this assertion 
 to be true; she had long Avished for a 
 friend of her own sex, to whom she could 
 unbosom her imaginary vexations — one 
 who would sympathize in the distresses 
 of her own creating, and who, in return, 
 would not fail to bestovv^ a mutual confi- 
 dence. Edv/ard, it is true, was her chosen 
 favourite, but Edward had too high a re- 
 spect for her parents to listen patiently to 
 the unjust complaints of their daughter; 
 if they had erred in their conduct towards 
 her, it was from over-indulgence, and the 
 gratitude of his nature would not admit 
 that to be a crime which sprung from an 
 excess of parental tenderness. 
 
 Although attached to Miss Lindsay by 
 
 feelings
 
 AND A D£VlL*ii liEAKT. 215 
 
 leeliiio's which reflected 0!i his heart and 
 mind the highest iionour, Edward never-* 
 theless preserved his own proper dignity 
 of character ; he never yielded to her in 
 any improper wish, nor agreed in any 
 opinion wliijh was not strictly his own. 
 Sometimes indeed he had gene so far as 
 to differ from her upon subjects which she 
 considered as important; and though this 
 would have dravrn down upon any other 
 person her lasting dislike, yet slie content- 
 ed lierself with uttering a fc-w expressions 
 of her displeasure, bestowing at the same 
 tim: on him some of her terrific frowns, 
 and wondering what that charm could be 
 which bound hev towards him in spite of 
 all iiis perversity. 
 
 iMany and frequent were the tenors of 
 her amiable but ill-judging parents for the 
 consequences of Edward's firm and inde- 
 pendent spirit, when placed in competi- 
 tion with the whims, caprices, and unjust 
 desires of their spoiled child. Had she 
 taken a dislike to their pfotcge, their own 
 
 peace
 
 2lG AN angel's form 
 
 peace would have demanded his dismissal ; 
 for Clara would not have slept, nor have 
 suffered them to sleep in quiet, until she 
 had obtained her request. Fortunately 
 however for Edward, Miss Lindsay had 
 no intention to punish him for his teme- 
 rity beyond the frown of the moment; he 
 was necessary to her happiness, and even 
 when Charles Manningham divided with 
 him her favour and her smiles, Clara would 
 not have lost one hour of Edward's society, 
 or permitted, could she have helped it, 
 another to possess that regard which slie 
 wished to preserve exclusively to herself. 
 
 It was this selfish feeling v/hich made 
 Clara Lindsay the decided enemy of Patty 
 Smith, whose very name was offensive to 
 her ears, particularly when mentioned by 
 Edward ; but this occurred but seldom, 
 for though he still persisted in noticing 
 poor Patty as often as he met her, he for- 
 Ixrt-e to speak of her before ?>Iiss Lindsay, 
 as he was too well aware of her aversion. 
 This was however only one among the 
 
 inanv
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 217 
 
 many sources of regret that, at a future 
 period, chilled the bright sunsiiine of his 
 youthful years. 
 
 The timidity of Patty made her shrink 
 from the frowning scrutiny of ^liss Lind- 
 say ; she felt that she was to be dreaded, 
 and though she scarcely knew why, yet 
 at the sight of her she hung her head, co- 
 loured, and looked abashed, as if she had 
 indeed deserved the deep-rooted disUke of 
 Clara. This painful confusion, this fear of 
 encountering her gaze, made Patty avoid 
 the sight of Edward whenever he was ac- 
 companied by her enemy; but this did 
 not prevent her flying to meet Mr. Lind- 
 say when he passed through the village 
 alone, for he still continued to manifest 
 towards her the same friendly sentiments 
 as usual, and in fact regretted most sin- 
 cerely that the innocent girl should have 
 become displeasing to his daughter. 
 
 It has already been stated, that it was 
 the intention of Mr. Lindsay to have 
 taken Patty under his own roof, as he 
 
 VOL. I. L felt
 
 lilS AX angel's foem 
 
 felt more and more convinced that the 
 house of her dissolute father was by no 
 means a proper scene for her ; but this 
 kind intention was frustrated by the ca- 
 price of ]Miss Lindsay, and all that he 
 could now do was to bestow on her his 
 counsel and advice as often as he saw her. 
 Patty listened witli tearful humility, pro- 
 mising to be guided by his rules for her 
 -conduct', but Patty found this more diffi- 
 cult than she at first imagined, for the 
 very air of her father's house had some- 
 tiiing in it infectious to a young and vir- 
 tuous girl, warm in her feelings and cre- 
 dulous of all she heard, and whose actions 
 were unrestrained by the voice of caution 
 and experience. 
 
 Patty loved reading, but she had no 
 one to direct her in the choice of her 
 books, and she therefore selected for her- 
 self all those which pleased her by name, 
 and wliich slie procured once or twice 
 a-week from the neighbouring town. The 
 luaturiil kindness of her disposition would 
 
 have
 
 Axrr A devil's heart. 21^ 
 
 have led her to treat with affection the 
 woman wlio liad tlie direction of her fa- 
 ther's house, had this been possible; but 
 Patty found, notwitlistanding all her en- 
 deavours to the contrary, that she could 
 never bring herself to regard this woman 
 with any other sentiments than those of 
 iibhorrence. This painful feeling made 
 the home of l^atty at last become hateful 
 to her; she passed the chief of her time 
 either with her neighbours, in performing 
 various little services for tlieir children, or 
 in reading, amid the seclusion of Man- 
 ningham woods,, the volumes from the 
 circulating libraiy, or in thinking of Ed- 
 ward and his grandmother, and in visit- 
 ing her grave, which she every morning 
 covered with fresh flowers from the gar- 
 den of the cottacre which old ]Maro;aret 
 •had once inhabited. 
 
 In this cottage Patty spent many an 
 
 hour; she kindly undertook to teach the 
 
 children to read and work, and while thus 
 
 charitably employed, would sometimes 
 
 L 2 fancy
 
 220 AX ANCiEl/S I ORM 
 
 fancy that she beheld the revered sphit of 
 Margaret stand before her, smiling on her 
 '»vith her accustomed benevolence, as if to 
 encourage her in her present innocent 
 amusement. Patty had likewise another 
 motive for giving so much of her time to 
 these poor people ; she knew that Edward 
 stopped there every Saturday evening for 
 his nosegay, and that he would be un- 
 happy if he saw the cottage neglected; 
 she therefore assisted the mother of her 
 little pupils in keeping it neat and clean, 
 unknov/n to Edward, who failed not to 
 notice the appearance of his grandmother's 
 abode when they met, and to express his 
 pleasure that it was inhabited by such 
 careful tidy people as the industrious 
 Wood and his hard-v/orking wife. 
 
 Patty, as we have noticed before, was 
 the keeper of all Edward's secret wishes — 
 to lier he made known his very thoughts, 
 while she, with eq\ial confidence and love, 
 made him acquainted v/ith the chief of 
 hers. With her he continued to shed the 
 
 tear
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 221 
 
 tear of grateful remembrance over the 
 grave of liis grandmother ; it was here 
 they now met as often as each had some- 
 thing to commimicate which required 
 more privacy than usual — it was here that 
 Edward first listened to the sole com- 
 plaints w^hich Patty ever made of her la- 
 ther's blind partiality for the woman 
 whose drunkenness and vulgarity made 
 her home hatefuL 
 
 Edward, though two years younger 
 than Patty Smith, was by far her senior 
 in sense, intelligence, and power of rea- 
 soning: he soothed, consoled, and com- 
 forted her by the assurances of his aflbe- 
 tion, and by promises made iix the open 
 innocency of youth, without any baneful 
 feehngs of selfish return, that she should 
 live with him and be tlie mistress of his 
 home as soon as he had one to offer her. 
 
 During one of these painful-pleasing 
 
 visits, which generally took place before 
 
 the Lindsays were up in the morHing, 
 
 Mward, who had listened indigiuuitly to 
 
 L 3 a recital
 
 222 AN angel's form 
 
 a recital of a fresh insult offered to the 
 delicacy of Patty by the improper con- 
 duct of her father's housekeeper, endea- 
 voured to afford her a new consolation, 
 by holding out a hope that lady Man- 
 ningham would perhaps employ her about 
 the persons of her daughters, and thus 
 prevent her from continuing to live un- 
 der the same roof with a woman who Mas 
 too often a disgrace to her sex. 
 
 " Xo, dear master Edward," replied 
 Patty, sighing bitterly, " Miss Lindsay 
 will take care to prevent that; her hatred 
 to me will be a bar to my being noticed 
 by any one who is acquainted with her 
 family ; besides, I v/as told by Mrs. Nor- 
 ton, when I called the other day at the 
 Plall, that lady Manningham is quite a 
 v»^oman of fashion — too proud to cast a 
 thought upon her inferiors, or hardly to 
 speak to them if they come in her way." 
 
 " I hope this is not true, Patty," said 
 Edward; "■ we must not always believe 
 what we hear. I suppose Mrs. Norton 
 
 gained
 
 AND A devil's HEAKT. 223 
 
 gained her intelligence from the servants, 
 who were sent down to get the Hall in 
 readiness for her reception. I also heard 
 that they brought a letter to the old stew- 
 ard, telling him that ]Mrs. Norton might 
 continue in her present situation if slie 
 pleased, and all the domestics under her 
 cx)mmand might do the same if they liked, 
 as lady Manningham did not intend to 
 discharge any of the servants who belong- 
 ed to the Hall, unless at their own request. 
 This gave me a good opinion of her lady- 
 ship, Patty, and I hope Mrs. Norton will 
 not sufier herself to be prejudiced against 
 lady JManningham by any report of her 
 town-servants, who may want to get some 
 one else into her situation." 
 
 " I should never have thought of that,'* 
 cried Patty innocently; " but they say 
 that her ladyship is nearly related to the 
 marquis of Anendale, whom she has not 
 seen for several years, on account of a vio- 
 lent quarrel which she had with his ^^ ife 
 
 the
 
 22i AX angel's form 
 
 the marchioness, and that the two families 
 have been enemies ever since.' 
 
 " We have nothing to do, Patty, with 
 the private affairs of anybody : I shall 
 think w^ell of lady Manningham until she 
 compels me to do otherwise, and so ought 
 you. But where have I heard before the 
 name of Anendale ? It seems familiar to 
 me, Patty ; perhaps you can assist my me- 
 mory ?" 
 
 "I believe that I can,"" replied Patt}% 
 " for that name always filled me with a 
 sort of sliuddering. The marchioness of 
 Anendale was the lady tliat your mother 
 lived with when she w^as a girl ; that hndy 
 who, your dear old grandmother used to 
 say, had an angel's foi-m and a devil's 
 heart. Oh, I have never forgotten the 
 speech, though she never spoke of her 
 but twice, and then to vour mother and 
 father." 
 
 Edward felt the warm blood rush into 
 his cheeks : he ^vas seated by the sod 
 
 which
 
 223 
 
 which covered the remains of one of the 
 best of human beings, yet this very being 
 was born and moved in the humbler walks 
 of Hfe. Angiy witli himself, he strove to 
 check that pride within him which caused 
 so often the bhish to overspread his face 
 at the mention of his own origin. — " True, 
 Patty," said he, " I remember now that 
 the marchioness of Anendale was the 
 young lady with wliom my mother lived." 
 Again he coloured deeply. " Surely she 
 must have had some good qualities to at- 
 tach my mother so strongly to her. We 
 have all our faults, Patty; she had hers 
 and I have mine." 
 
 " You, master Edward ! you ! Why, 
 what faults can you have, since I and 
 your grandmother could never see them ?" 
 
 Edward pressed the band of Patty. — 
 " You were blind to them, dear Patty, 
 because you loved me; but I know that 
 I have faults, great faults, l*atty: I am 
 proud, and cannot overlook an insult, if 
 
 it
 
 2*26 ANT angel's roRM 
 
 it ^vere to come from a prince : and wliat 
 right have I to be proud, ^vhen my nio*- 
 ther was tlie attendant of lady Anendale, 
 and my fiither 
 
 " He was a gentleman bred and born," 
 cried Patty liastily, " as every one can tell 
 that looks on you, dear master Edward ; 
 and if your mother was a servant once, 
 she was made a gentlewoman when he 
 married her, and is a gentlewoman still." 
 
 Edward started from the ground.— 
 ^' Come, Patty, let us walk ; the hour of 
 breakfast draws nigh, and I would not be 
 iTiissed on your account. If lady Man- 
 ningham is proud, so am I : some excuse 
 may be found for her fault, but none for 
 mme. Speak well of her, Patty, until 
 you hear what I think of her : a few days 
 more will bring her and her family to the 
 Hall." 
 
 Patty promised that she would not al^ 
 low herself to be prejudiced against lady 
 JManninghain without just reason, and Edi- 
 
 ward.
 
 AND A devil's HEART. 227 
 
 ward, satisfied by this pron ise, now took 
 an affectionate leave of her and ran all 
 the way back to Mr. Lindsay's, lest Clara 
 mould be down before his return. 
 
 1E-ND OF VOL, I. 
 
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 Romance of the Thirteenth Century, by Mrs. Smith, 
 
 o vols 10 O 
 
 The Cousins, or a Woman's Promise and a Lover's 
 
 Vow, by Mrs. Ross, 3 vols 15 (I 
 
 Felicia, by MadanK Gen I is 4 
 
 Ormond, or the Secret Witness, by C. B. Browne, 3 vols 16 
 The Inhabitants of Karth, or the Follies of Woman, a 
 
 Novel, by A. F Hos^ein, 3 vols 16 6 
 
 Julia de Vienne, 4 vols 1 10 
 
 Elnathan, cr the Ages of Man, an Historical Romance, 
 
 by a Philosopher, 3 vob.. 15 
 
 Sir Ralph de Bigod, a Ronr.ance, by E. Moore, 4 vols.. 10 
 
 ^n Old Family Legend, by J. N. Brewer, 4 vols 1 
 
 A Winter's Tale, new edition, by the same Author, 
 
 4 vols 1 00 
 
 Wortimer Hall, or the Labourer's Hire, by Mrs. Bridget 
 
 Bluemanrlc, Author of the Three Old Maids, 4 vols. .1 10 
 
 The Rockingham Family, by Mrs Pilkington 4 
 
 Firmer of Inglewood Forest, by Mrs. Helme, gd edition, 
 
 ivols 1 OO
 
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