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 hrf^ %l mS- 
 
 DORINDA 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 NEW AND POPULAR NOVELS 
 
 AT ALL THE LIBRARIES 
 
 THROUGH THE LONG NIGHT. By Mrs. E. Lynn 
 
 Linton, author of ' Patricia Kemball,' 'Paston Carew,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 THE TRACK OF THE STORM. By Dora Russell, 
 
 author of ' Footprints in the Snow,' ' The Broken Seal,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 HUGH ERRINGTON. By Gertrude Forde, author of 
 
 ' Driven before the Storm,' 'Only a Coral Girl,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 THE DEATH SHIP : A Strange Story. By W. Clark 
 
 Russell, author of ' The Wreck of the Grosvenor,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 THE YOUNGEST MISS GREEN. By F. W. Robinson, 
 
 author of 'Grandmother's Money,' &c. 3 vols. 
 
 HURST & BLACKETT, 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET.
 
 DORINDA 
 
 BY 
 
 THE COUNTESS OF MUiNSTER 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 HURST AND BLACKETT, LIMITED, 
 
 13, GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET. 
 
 1889. 
 
 All Rights Reserved.
 
 Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2009 with funding from 
 
 University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/dorinda01muns
 
 
 X 
 
 ^ I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TO 
 
 s 
 
 ^' 
 
 
 
 ^ 
 
 ZARAH, 
 
 TO WHOSE KIND .\ND GENTLE ENCOURAGEMENT 
 
 I SH-U.L OWE ANY SUCCESS 
 
 WHICH 
 
 3IAV ATTEND THIS MY FIRST EFFORT 
 
 IN NOVEL WHITING.
 
 D O R I X D A 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 Kindness in ^vomen, not their beauteous looks, shall win my love. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 LOW, oak-panelled apartment, 
 which may be described either 
 as a long room or a short 
 gallery. It is narrow for its length, and 
 one side of it is taken up by tall Gothic 
 windows, set in deep embrasures, fur- 
 nished by window-seats. Dark wooden 
 rafters intersect one another across the 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 roof, forming square frames to the carved, 
 and once gilt, crests and monograms which 
 ornament it. 
 
 Whatever the apartment may formerly 
 have been, it is evidently a class-room 
 now ; for on the wall facing the windows, 
 the panels, which bear marks of having 
 once been graced by portraits, are fitted 
 up with the most modern and commonest 
 of book-shelves ; while along and across 
 the room, at right angles to one another, 
 uncompromising deal tables are set, re- 
 minding one of pens in a cattle-market. 
 The floor is of polished oak, and rugs 
 and pieces of carpet are spread beneath 
 each table. 
 
 It is now about five o'clock p.m., and 
 a cold winter's evening, so the heavy stufi^
 
 DOFJXDA. 
 
 curtains are drawn close, giving an air 
 of comfort to the room, especially as be- 
 neath the high and magnificently carved 
 chimney-piece, which figures at the further 
 end of it, a blazing fire is burning, beside 
 which two ladies sit, with a tea-table 
 cosily drawn between them. These ladies 
 are evidently sisters, for they are dressed 
 exactly alike — in black. They wear their 
 own silky grey hair, parted down the 
 middle, and drawn smoothly back, beneath 
 pretty white caps — real caps, not plates 
 trimmed with lace, but old-fashioned, full- 
 bordered caps, tied beneath the firm round 
 chins. The expression of the ladies' faces 
 is benevolent and motherly, but the 
 younger one seems the shrewder of the 
 two. 
 
 B 2
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 The sisters are drinking tea and eating 
 muffins — a pleasant enough occupation, 
 and calculated, one would have thought, 
 to chase away for a while, anxiety and 
 annoyance ! But, alas ! it is not so to- 
 night ! The Misses Woodcock's tea has 
 not to-night been brewed with the waters 
 of comfort ! In fact, the two old ladies 
 are ' put out ' ; and not without reason. 
 So let us draw near, and hear the cause 
 of their evident uneasiness. 
 
 ' Is Lady Balbirnie coming to-night T 
 asks Miss Barbara, the younger of the 
 two. 
 
 ' No,' answers Miss Woodcock ; ' she 
 writes that she is starting suddenly for 
 the Continent, in consequence of Lord 
 Balbirnie's ill-health.'
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 * And what does she say about Dorinda?' 
 Miss Barbara anxiously asks. 
 
 ' She expresses herself more than satis- 
 fied that I have done my best for her 
 daughter, and adds ' (rather touchin^ly) 
 ^ that •' all she can now hope for is — our 
 silence !" I am very sorry for her ! But 
 it was my duty to write and tell her all ; 
 indeed, I do not see how I could have 
 acted differently.' 
 
 ' But, Janetta, do tell me about it ! 
 You see, being away all the time, and 
 only returning yesterday night, I know 
 nothing but the bare outline of the story. 
 Tou ought to have told me your trouble, 
 and I would have returned at once.' 
 
 ' Dear Barbara, I could not bear to 
 curtail your short holiday, but it will be
 
 DOPdNDA. 
 
 a great relief to tell you about it now ; so 
 listen, while I relate the circumstances as 
 shortly as I can. 
 
 'About a fortnight ago (on the third 
 of the month), the money for the house- 
 hold expenses, as you know, became due ; 
 so in the evening, after dinner, I re- 
 tired to my sitting-room, and wrote the 
 usual cheque. I had, however, hardly 
 signed my name, before I was suddenly 
 called away by one of the girls, who 
 told me that the little maid Sarah had 
 fallen downstairs, injuring herself seri- 
 ously. I hurriedly locked up my cheque- 
 book, put the newly-written cheque into 
 an envelope, placed it between the leaves 
 of the blotting-book, and left the room. 
 I must have remained absent for about an
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 hour (helping to undress Sarah, putting 
 her to bed, ifcc), and when I returned, 
 after writing to the doctor, desiring his 
 attendance, I for the first time remem- 
 bered the cheque ! I looked for it in the 
 writing-book — not there ! I opened every 
 box and drawer ; I emptied the waste- 
 paper basket — no use ! the cheque was 
 nowhere to be found. I was much dis- 
 turbed, and not the least unpleasant part 
 of it was that, not having made up my 
 mind as to whom (in your absence), I had 
 better entrust the cashino; of so laro^e a 
 cheque, I had made it out " to Self or 
 Bearer," so that any unprincipled person 
 could obtain the money.' 
 
 ' Poor Janetta !' 
 
 ' While I was still sitting disconsolately
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 at my writing-table, Dorinda suddenly 
 appeared (you know the way slie has of 
 doing so, no one knows how or whence), 
 and she asked me kindly '* why I looked 
 so flurried — was Sarah very ill ?" I told 
 her at once of my loss, and she seemed 
 really sorry, offering to aid me in the 
 search, &c. She also volunteered the 
 statement that soon after I had been 
 called to Sarah, she (Dorinda) had come 
 into my sitting-room to fetch a book, and 
 found Mary the housemaid there, making 
 up the fire and tidying the room ; that as 
 Mary was passing the writing-table, her 
 gown accidentally brushed the blotting- 
 book and its contents on to the floor, 
 scattering all the papers in it, some of 
 which fluttered into the waste-paper
 
 DOPdNDA, 
 
 basket. Mary picked up and replaced 
 the blotting-book, but threw some of the 
 papers into the fire. Dorinda said she 
 advised her at the time to destroy no- 
 thing, but as the girl answered rather 
 pertly that " she knew her own business," 
 she did not like to say any more. 
 
 ' On hearing Dorinda's account I sent 
 for Mary, and questioned her. She con- 
 tradicted part of Dorinda's statement, 
 declaring that that young lady was already 
 in the sitting-room when she entered it. 
 " It was true," she said, '• that the writing- 
 book was thrown down, but not by her," 
 for, as she opened the door to enter the 
 room, Dorinda was standing at the writing- 
 table, and she either dropped the book or 
 knocked it over, she was not sure wliich.
 
 10 DORINDA. 
 
 * Mary confessed to havino^ burnt a few 
 pieces of paper, and amongst others a pink 
 envelope, which was, she declared, ah^eady 
 in the waste-paper basket, so torn and 
 crushed as to be unusable. 
 
 ' After hearing Mary's account, I felt 
 sure the cheque had been destroyed ; for 
 I remembered, as she was speaking, that 
 the envelope in which I had placed it was 
 pink, and the only one I possessed of that 
 colour. 
 
 ' I had not time to unravel the dis- 
 crepancies between the two girls' state- 
 ments, for a few minutes afterwards I was 
 again called to Sarah's bed-side, she being 
 in a high fever and delirious ; and for ten 
 days the poor girl lay betwixt life and 
 death ; and what with sending for her
 
 DORINDA. 11 
 
 relations, and nursing her night and day, 
 the cheque went completely from my 
 memory, more especially as I felt con- 
 vinced it had been burnt in the pink 
 envelope, so I foolishly neglected to warn 
 Mr. Lucas at the bank of my loss, as I 
 should have done. 
 
 ' But now comes the painful part of my 
 story. One day last week Mr. Lucas 
 called, begging to see me privately, and, 
 to my surprise, bringing his head-clerk, 
 Mr. Hay, with him. Upon seeing me, Mr. 
 Lucas produced a paper from his pocket, 
 and spreading it before me, asked '* whether 
 I recognised it." Barbara! It was the 
 cheque ! The old gentleman then pro- 
 ceeded to cover it with his hand, request- 
 ing me to mention its date. I answered
 
 12 
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 without hesitation that ''it was the third 
 instant, for it was the same date as Sarah's 
 accident." Upon this Mr. Lucas turned 
 to Mr. Hay, and desired him to relate his 
 own story, which was as follows :
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Justice ! Find the girl ! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 X the thirteenth instant, a 
 young woman in deep mourn- 
 ing, and with a crape veil 
 over her face, came into the bank, and, 
 handing Mr. Hay a cheque, stated in 
 broken English that she was a friend of 
 Miss Woodcock's, and had come, at her 
 desire (in consequence of Miss Barbara's 
 absence), to get it cashed. Mr. Hay re-
 
 U JDOPJNDA. 
 
 cognized my signature, but fancied the 
 date had been tampered with ; so, with 
 much presence of mind, he begged the 
 lady to sit down while he " fetched the 
 money," but in reality while he took the 
 cheque in to the manager to be inspected. 
 Mr. Lucas' opinion so entirely coincided 
 with Mr. Hay's (it being evident to them 
 both that the date had been altered from 
 the third to the thirteenth) that he ex- 
 pressed a wish for an interview Avith the 
 mourning lady before entrusting her with 
 the money. Mr. Hay accordingly went 
 to summon her into his chief's presence, 
 but to his surprise the bird had flown, and 
 on questioning one of the junior clerks, he 
 said that the lady had waited patiently for 
 some minutes after presenting the cheque,
 
 DORINDA, 15 
 
 but that then she became apparently un- 
 easy, and, coming forward, begged that 
 the money might be brought at once, as 
 she was in a hurry. She was told that 
 for some reason the cheque had been 
 taken in to be inspected by the manager, 
 at -which she looked annoyed, became 
 rather agitated, but, recovering herself, 
 said she had " to go to a shop a few doors 
 off, and w^ould return for the money ;" but 
 she never did so !' 
 
 'Then she never obtained the money 
 after all, Janet ta ?' 
 
 ' No ! She evidently got alarmed — and 
 decamped ! I asked Mr. Hay whether he 
 could identify the foreign lady, and he 
 said he thought he could, for she took off 
 her glove to open her i^orte-monnaie, and
 
 16 nORINDA. 
 
 he noticed a curious mole ujpon her ivrisi — in 
 the shajye of a star P 
 
 *Good heavens, Janetta ! That wretched 
 Dorinda ! how dreadful !' 
 
 'Well! but listen to the sequel. As 
 Mr. Hay was speaking, some of the young 
 ladies crossed the lawn, and he started, 
 and, pointing to Dorinda, said, " That 
 young lady walks so like the foreign lady 
 — a sort of queenly walk — that I could 
 almost swear it was she !" Upon hearing 
 these words, Mr. Lucas looked hard at me, 
 and, seeing my agitation, said, drily, to 
 his clerk : " Ah ! fortunately ' almost ' does 
 not count ; but now that you have told 
 your story so well, Mr. Hay, pray don't 
 spoil it by such I'idiculous suggestions ; 
 and" (added the old man) "I daresay Miss
 
 DOPdNDA. 17 
 
 Woodcock will detain you no longer, for 
 she and I can consult over what steps (if 
 any) should be taken to discover the 
 delinquent." 
 
 ^ The young man, who seemed an inno- 
 cent, shy individual, accepted the hint and 
 bowed himself out ; and, as soon as Mr. 
 Lucas and I were alone, I thanked him 
 warmly for his reticence before his clerk, 
 and implored him to advise me what to do 
 — how to screen the wretched girl ! I 
 confided to him how I had taken her into 
 my school without any recommendations, 
 except her mother's, and that she had 
 often proved herself false — untrustworthy ; 
 but that she should be capable of any- 
 thing criminal was a fearful revelation. 
 ' Curiously enough, Barbara, it never 
 VOL. I. c
 
 18 DORINDA. 
 
 seemed to enter my mind or Mr. Lucas's 
 to doubt her guilt. I was much overcome 
 while pleading for Mr. Lucas' advice and 
 leniency, and so was he, poor old man ! 
 — thinking, no doubt, of his own daughter, 
 who is just Dorinda's age, — and he com- 
 forted me by saying that as Dorinda had 
 not obtained the money, and that the 
 story was only known to himself and his 
 clerk, he thought it could be hushed up ; 
 but he insisted upon seeing Dorinda in 
 my presence, to put forcibly before her 
 the risk she had run. So I sent for her, 
 and, in order to give her a salutary shock, 
 directly she appeared, I introduced her 
 to ''the manager of the bank, come to 
 see Miss Stratton upon some unpleasant 
 business." '
 
 DORINDA. 19 
 
 'And how did she look, Janetta?' 
 
 ' I thouo^ht she chano^ed colour moment- 
 arily, but she bowed to ]\Ir. Lucas with 
 great dignity, putting on an air of haughty 
 surprise. 
 
 ' 1 was too distressed to speak, but Mr. 
 Lucas began, by asking her " how old 
 she was?" 
 
 ' She calmly begged to know '* what 
 right he had to ask?" 
 
 ' He answered kindly that she " seemed 
 so very young for the accusation he was 
 about to bring forward ; and having a dear 
 daughter of his own — about the same 
 age " 
 
 ' Dorinda stopped him, by saying that 
 '' she could not see, because he had a 
 dear young daughter of his own that 
 
 c 2
 
 20 BORINDA, 
 
 had got into some scrape, why he should 
 think that all young girls of his dear young 
 daughter's age should do the same !" 
 
 ' Mr. Lucas hereupon turned very red, 
 and answered, with some heat, "that he 
 had never said his daughter had got into 
 a scrape, but that he had only compared 
 her with Miss Stratton as to age — not as 
 to scrapes !" Then seeing, I suppose, that 
 he had no milk-and-water young lady 
 to deal with, he deemed it prudent to 
 drop argument and recrimination, and 
 proceeded to place before Dorinda the 
 facts concerning the cheque, and dwelt 
 strongly on the circumstantial evidence 
 against her.' 
 
 ' Well, and what did she say T 
 
 ' She boldly denied everything, treating
 
 DOPdNDA. 21 
 
 the accusation with bitter irony and con- 
 tempt, and even hinted that some member 
 of the school had endeavoured to person- 
 ate her at the bank ! Seeing, however, 
 that her denial failed to convince Mr. 
 Lucas, she became excited, and rather 
 theatrically raised her hand to register 
 an oath of innocence. As she did so, the 
 fatal blemish upon her wrist became so 
 visible, — thus dumbly but incontrovert- 
 ibly giving the lie to her solemn assevera- 
 tions, — that the world-wise old banker was 
 again seized by a mighty fatherly pity 
 for the reckless girl, — so young, — so im- 
 perfect as yet in the lesson of deceit, and 
 ^'so eager to be undone"! So, placing 
 his hand upon her shoulder, he said 
 sternly, but with much emotion, — at the
 
 22 DORINDA. 
 
 same time touching the tell-tale mark 
 upon her wrist — " Girl ! for the love of 
 God, flee the path you have entered upon ! 
 There is yet time. Remember the merci- 
 ful words of Him who said to an erring 
 woman, ' Go, and sin no more.' " 
 
 'As he said these words, I fancied they 
 struck some hidden chord in the depths 
 of Dorinda's being ; for she turned scarlet, 
 then deadly white, and silently covered 
 her face with her hands ; and Mr. Lucas, 
 seeing her humbled attitude, and hoping 
 that, in her softened mood, she might 
 be induced to confess, when alone with 
 me, left the room. 
 
 ' I waited for a few minutes before dis- 
 turbing her ; but, as she remained motion- 
 less, I approached her, and speaking very
 
 DORINDA. 23 
 
 gently, urged her affectionately to make 
 a friend of me, — to confess her fault, add- 
 ing that, if she had been tempted by 
 any money difficulties or petty debts, I 
 would try to relieve her. 
 
 ' She seemed still weeping, I thought — 
 keeping her face covered by her hands ; 
 and when I would have put mine kindly 
 upon her bowed head, she suddenly shook 
 it off, with the gesture of a savage lioness, 
 — the \iolence of the movement scattering 
 her thick, brown-gold hair all over her 
 shoulders, and sending the comb flying at 
 my feet !' 
 
 ' Lor, sister !' 
 
 ' — And, Avith the most ferocious expres- 
 sion in her eyes, she rose — came close 
 up to me, and, snapping her fingers within
 
 24 DORINDA. 
 
 an inch of my nose, exclaimed, "That!" 
 (snap !) " for the manager and his * circum- 
 stantial evidence!' That!" (snap again!) 
 " for his dear, young, scrapey daughter ! 
 and that !" (snap ! snap !) " for the beastly 
 cheque ! Oh ! it is considerate of you. 
 Miss Janetta !" she said, ironically, " to 
 say you will hush everything up for my 
 sake! Hush what up? I should like to 
 know ! What have you proved against 
 me? What about your pretty, larky 
 little maids and their latch-keys? and" 
 
 (mysteriously) ''about the other stories? 
 
 By all means hush them up ! — But, mind, 
 
 it will be for yours and the school's sake, 
 
 not for mine ! not for mine !" ' 
 
 'How insolent! But did not you ask 
 
 her what she meant ?'
 
 DORINDA. 25 
 
 * No — I really did not dare, she looked 
 so savage. Then she reminded me that 
 during the last week my gold thimble 
 had disappeared. I interrupted her by 
 saying "it was found ;" she asked "where 
 and by whom ?" I answered, " In your 
 work-bag, Dorinda, by Mary ; it fell out 
 while she was dusting it." 
 
 ' Barbara, she actually laughed and said, 
 '* Of course Mary found it, as she had put 
 it there." Then, with an accent of great 
 contempt, she asked, '' Was 1 not shrewd 
 enough to see that there was a party in 
 the house bent upon injuring her? — for 
 did I think (had she stolen anything) she 
 would have been fool enough to put it 
 into an open bag ? Xo, no," she pursued, 
 laughing, " the stories of the thimble and
 
 26 DORINDA. 
 
 the cheque were trumped up to injure 
 her." She assured me all in the house 
 were jealous of her. "Not you, Miss 
 Janetta," she was pleased to say, "for 
 you and your sisters are past being jeal- 
 ous of anything young ; but I mean the 
 girls, and probably, amongst them, the 
 scrapey Lucas girl." She added she had 
 long known there was a thief in the house, 
 and if they flattered themselves she was 
 going to be their scapegoat without a 
 struggle, — well, they were mistaken. 
 
 ' She spoke so volubly that I could do 
 naught but stand and listen ; but, as soon 
 as I could get a word in edgeways, I 
 warned her of the danger of accusing 
 servants (as she had done by suggesting 
 that Mary had taken the thimble and put
 
 DORINDA. 27 
 
 it in her bag) ; for, as their bread depended 
 upon their characters, they would not 
 stand suspicions being cast upon them.' 
 
 ' Did you tell her you had communi- 
 cated with her mother, Janet ta ?' 
 
 * Yes, I told her yesterday that her 
 mother knew the whole story of the 
 cheque, that I had hidden nothing, and 
 that " from Lady Balbirnie's answer she did 
 not seem to insist on her daughter's inno- 
 cence." But this had not the least effect 
 upon Dorinda ; she only sneered and said, 
 " So like Lady Balbirnie ! so like one's 
 affectionate family !" Oh ! Barbara, I am 
 so glad she goes away to the Abbey 
 to-morrow !' 
 
 * Yes — what a good thing, and what a 
 mercy that it is the end of the term, so
 
 28 DORINDA. 
 
 there will be no necessity for the exposure 
 of sending her away !' 
 
 ' Oh !' answered poor Janetta, * I should 
 never have dared do that, anyhow ; for 
 she has such a clever, such a wicked 
 tongue ! and she is always hinting she 
 could injure us somehow.' 
 
 'Ah!' said Barbara, nodding her head 
 sagely, ' I always said we were foolish to 
 receive Dorinda without first finding out 
 why she left Miss Smith in such a hurry. 
 I am sure it was for something bad ; and 
 it was sheer nonsense to believe what 
 Lady Balbirnie said about Miss Smith 
 disliking to have a Roman Catholic — for 
 Dorinda's religion would come in nobody's 
 way. As the arithmetic-master said, 
 "You might put Miss Stratton's religion
 
 DOPdNDA. 29 
 
 in your eye, and see none the worse for 
 it!"' 
 
 ' Maybe, sister,' answered Janetta, rub- 
 bing her nose, irritably, ' but it is no good 
 going back to all that.' 
 
 ' — And,' persisted Barbara, ' she certain- 
 ly bribed that Jane to let her go out of an 
 evening when we thought she was safe in 
 bed!' 
 
 *Well, well,' said Janetta, half-crying, 
 ' we did our best ! We made Jane emi- 
 grate (paying her passage), and now 
 Dorinda is leaving us ; so we can't do 
 more. Besides, Dorinda's threats and inu- 
 endoes can't have to do with that story, 
 for it would tell against herself!' 
 
 ' One never knows,* returned Barbara, 
 moodily. ' She lies so impudently, — turns
 
 30 DOPdNDA. 
 
 the tables so cleverly upon any who assail 
 her; and she has any amount of moral 
 courage.' 
 
 * Im — moral, you mean !' returned Ja- 
 netta ; ' anyhow, she will require all her 
 spirit to-night, I am thinking, and she will 
 have plenty of mortifications to encounter; 
 for, though the girls know nothing of the 
 cheque story, they know all about the 
 thimble, and they actually sent me word 
 that if Dorinda was permitted to act in 
 the tableaux they would not perform. 
 I had to tell her so, and I offered to 
 manage her departure for the Abbey 
 before the party — if she preferred it ; but 
 she flushed up angrily, and said, "She 
 would not sneak out of the house — as if 
 she were really a thief !'
 
 DORINDA. 31 
 
 ' Just like her ! How did she get to 
 know the De Brokes, Janetta ?* 
 
 ' She asked me, some time ago, to get 
 leave for her to play the organ in the 
 Abbey Church, and one day Sir Jasper — 
 who is blind, and passionately fond of 
 music, — was passing, and heard her prac- 
 tising ; so he entered the church, accom- 
 panied by his sister, and was charmed at 
 her talent (she does play beautifully), and 
 when she ceased playing, he introduced 
 himself. He came several times after that 
 to the church, and finally asked her to the 
 Abbey, saying he had known her parents 
 years ago.' 
 
 ^ Well, I am delighted she is going. 
 Have you ordered her conveyance for to- 
 morrow morning ?'
 
 32 DORINDA. 
 
 ' No, I offered to do so, but she answered 
 coldly that she " had made her own arrange- 
 ments, and that I need not trouble myself 
 about it at all, as Lady Balbirnie had 
 settled everything with Sir Jasper and his 
 sister, Miss Henrietta Maria de Broke."' 
 
 ' So much the better. Does the Duchess 
 of Cheviotdale come to-night ?' 
 
 'No, but Lady Margaret Saville does, 
 (with her old governess), and after the 
 holidays she will come to us for a term or 
 two/ 
 
 At this moment a maid-servant tripped 
 into the room, saying the men had come 
 to clear the gallery for dancing ; so the 
 old ladies hurried off to dress.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A gray House, sitting by the sea ; 
 Grayer — older — than you or me !' 
 
 EFORE continuing our story, 
 we must look a little into the 
 interieur of the Misses '\(\"ood- 
 cock's home and history. 
 
 The family consisted of three sisters, 
 Janetta, Barbara, and Lucinda. The two 
 first-mentioned ladies' ao^es rano^ed from 
 between forty-five to fifty, while Lucinda 
 was much younger, being about thirty- 
 five. 
 
 VOL. I. 1>
 
 34 DORINDA. 
 
 Some years ago, the eldest Miss Wood- 
 cock, chancing to be on a visit to a friend 
 in the neighbourhood, was so charmed by 
 By-the-Sea and its surroundings, that she 
 purchased the pleasant residence called 
 ' Nun's Court,' and soon afterwards, with 
 the aid of her sisters, opened an establish- 
 ment for young ladies of good family. 
 
 Nun's Court was an ancient, many- 
 gabled, gray stone building, forming three 
 sides of a square, built round a courtyard, 
 (which had been turfed, and turned into 
 a croquet-ground), and situated on the 
 outskirts of the before-mentioned primitive 
 and picturesque little sea-side town of 
 By-the-Sea. The house stood facing, but 
 some hundred yards removed from, the 
 Glittersea Road, and attached to it, at the
 
 nORIXDA. 
 
 back, was an old-fashioned garden (which 
 was square, and surrounded by a high 
 wall) and two or three fields. 
 
 Nun's Court had at one time been in- 
 habited by much grander folk than its 
 present owners, and the building always 
 reminded one of some solitary scion of an 
 aristocratic but broken-down family, whose 
 riches and glamour have long since passed 
 away, but whose dignity remains. 
 
 At one time the small town of By-the- 
 Sea boasted of but one street, in which all 
 its shops were located ; but e?i revanche 
 it possessed an unique inn and posting- 
 house called the ' Blue Pig,' of which it 
 was justly proud, for it had been honoured 
 by several visits from the Archaeological 
 Society. 
 
 d2
 
 36 DORINDA. 
 
 Several new buildings, however, liad 
 sprung up since the Misses Woodcock's 
 advent, notably, a bank, a town hall, a 
 bathing establishment, and a hair-dresser's 
 shop, kept by a Frenchman of the name of 
 Lamenotte, an individual who spoke 
 English perfectly, was a naturalised 
 Englishman, and who not only cut and 
 curled the heads and shaved the faces of 
 the By-the-Sea inhabitants, but also man- 
 aged their postal arrangements. He was a 
 great favourite, being a chatty little man, 
 with insinuating manners, twinkling eyes, 
 and a jet-black beard and moustache. He 
 had a marvellous talent for never being 
 out of the way when wanted, and no one 
 knew how he managed it, for his time must 
 of necessity have been much spent between
 
 DORINDA. 37 
 
 By-the-Sea and Glittersea, as he kept an- 
 other and a far grander shop at the 
 latter-mentioned place than at By-the- 
 Sea. 
 
 Glittersea was a vulgar, flashy, monied 
 sea-side town, a few miles distant, to 
 which By-the-Sea always gave one the im- 
 pression of being a fairer, and less worldly 
 sister. 
 
 By-the-Sea s principal street (aptly called 
 Hill Street) was built on a steep incline, 
 leading to a pretty, yellow-furze-fringed 
 common, beyond which rose the woods 
 belonging to Sir Jasper de Broke's resi- 
 dence. Broke Abbey; while the ancient 
 ivy-crowned church, called the Abbey 
 Church (to which the aborigines repaired 
 on Sundays), was, with its picturesque
 
 88 DOUINDA. 
 
 parsonage, situated at the extreme edge of 
 the common, and just outside the Broke 
 Abbey Park fence. But revenons a nos 
 Woodcocks. 
 
 The Misses Woodcock were thoroughly 
 kind-hearted, common-place women, with 
 not the faintest idea of the management of 
 young girls, especially should any difficult 
 characters present themselves. Their one 
 idea was to daub their pupils indiscrimin- 
 ately and all over with a whitewash which 
 they designated ^ education,' the same 
 quality and quantity being used for each 
 young lady of whatever capacity. 
 
 The youngest sister, Lucinda, whose 
 tender nature bordered upon imbecility 
 (tempered at times, and at unexpected 
 moments, by the cunning of an idiot),
 
 DORINDA. 39 
 
 administered the first coating, consisting 
 of a judicious mixture of the Psalms and 
 Mangnall's Questions, moistened by tears. 
 
 Barbara (the second and most worldly- 
 wise of the sisters) gave the next, and it 
 consisted in an aggravated repetition of 
 the before-mentioned in^rredients and treat- 
 ment, but with some additions, such as a 
 preparation on Tuesdays in English-French 
 by Miss Barbara for the French mistress, 
 whose French-English was impossible to 
 understand Avhen she came on the Thurs- 
 day ; and other studies equally exhaustive 
 and exhausting. 
 
 Finally, Miss Janetta, taking for granted 
 that the work was all right underneath, 
 varnished the Avhole by imparting what 
 she called, ' The graces of aristocratic life,*
 
 40 DOPJNDA. 
 
 the pupil being taught to 'enter' and 
 ^ leave the apartment ' as unnaturally as 
 possible ; to express pleasingly sentiments 
 which were not felt, and to suppress those 
 that were ; to be presented to Her Gracious 
 Majesty in great dignity — and a table- 
 cloth ; to paint roses and jessamine on 
 ' bazaar articles ' ; to crocJieter ' mats ;' and, 
 finally, to sit the rest of the day Men 
 ganiee, reading Thomson's ' Seasons.' All 
 very innocent and proper occupations, no 
 doubt, but liable at times to drive a high- 
 spirited girl to the verge of madness — or 
 mischief. 
 
 (Our readers will kindly bear in mind 
 that this story is of many years ago ; the 
 present ideas concerning girls' schools and 
 feminine occupations are no longer the
 
 DORINDA. 11 
 
 same ; they liave become more decided, 
 in fact, more manly in their tone.) 
 
 To do the Misses Woodcock justice, 
 they conscientiously performed their duty 
 accordino; to their lis^hts, and became 
 
 O ill 
 
 heartily attached to the girls under their 
 charge, who, on their side, seemed to 
 appreciate the affection of their simple- 
 minded instructresses, and generally, with 
 few exceptions, turned out well. 
 
 For the last fortnight previous to the 
 conversation recorded between Janetta 
 and Barbara in the class-room, the ex- 
 citement at Xun's Court had been great ; 
 for the Misses Woodcock had announced 
 their intention of breaking up their estab- 
 lishment, and retiring into private life; 
 as they could now command a handsome,
 
 42 nORINDA, 
 
 well-earned competency. And they would 
 have carried out their intention, had not 
 their kindest and most useful patroness, 
 the Duchess of Cheviotdale, requested 
 them, as a personal favour, to continue 
 on their establishment for two more terms, 
 so that they might give the finishing 
 touch to her niece. Lady Margaret Saville, 
 a charming and beautiful girl, who was 
 motherless, and just budding into woman- 
 hood. 
 
 The three sisters agreed to this request, 
 feeling they owed their success almost 
 entirely to the duchess ; but, as many 
 of their pupils had decided to leave that 
 term, they thought it as good an oppor- 
 tunity as any for a grand Farewell Enter- 
 tainment, and they desired the pupils to
 
 DOPJNDA. 43 
 
 decide amongst themselves what form it 
 should take, intimating that they wished 
 no expense spared to make it worthy the 
 occasion. 
 
 Two or three of the leading spirits of 
 the school thereupon proposed tableaiuv- 
 vivants^ to be followed by a ball and 
 supper, to all of which the complaisant 
 Woodcocks joyfully assented, giving liberal 
 orders that any necessary costumes, &c., 
 should be provided from Glittersea, and 
 that Monsieur Auguste Lamenotte should 
 attend, to curl, powder, paint, and bewig 
 the fair performers, and generally super- 
 intend the tableaux. 
 
 The long-looked-for day had come at 
 last, and the whole of Nun's Court was in 
 a pleasurable commotion. No room was
 
 U ^ DORINDA. 
 
 available for meals, or indeed for any- 
 thing, except tlie long class-room, which 
 could be cleared in a few minutes for 
 dancing. The coiffeur had arrived, laden 
 with boxes and parcels, and Miss Lu- 
 cinda had been selected to do propriety 
 in the ' green-room ' (as her sisters had 
 ao:reed she would be worse than useless in 
 making arrangements for the reception of 
 the guests) ; and a miserable time the poor 
 lady had of it in that mystic chamber, get- 
 ting into everybody's way, being snubbed 
 by the young ladies, and anathema- 
 tized by the coiffeur, — whose one object 
 was, of course, to get rid of her, and who, 
 discovering that all her knowledge of the 
 French language consisted in ready-made 
 phrases culled from the ' Petite Grammaire,'
 
 DOPJXDA. 45 
 
 amused himself by talking volubly to her 
 in that tongue (to the pupils' immense 
 delectation), and apostrophizing her as his 
 belle becasse, or his vieille becasse, as the 
 fancy took him, and according to the 
 amount of aggravation which he was ex- 
 periencing towards her at the moment. 
 At last the poor lady, suspecting that the 
 Frenchman's gestures of respect and admi- 
 ration were too exaggerated to be entirely 
 genuine, took refuge behind a curtain, 
 and would have been totally forgotten by 
 her cowardly tormenters, had not a 
 smothered exclamation of ' Lor !' (her 
 favourite ejaculation) every now and then 
 betrayed her presence.
 
 46 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ' Soft strains of music, wild and sweet, are floating through the 
 
 carved hall. 
 Which glitters with a thousand lights, while flowers deck the 
 
 wall ; 
 The dames in hoops and farthingales, with powder, patch, and 
 
 jewel bright. 
 Tread minuets with gallants — all in gold and velvet dight.' 
 
 HE company had now arrived, 
 and had been seated as con- 
 sistently with their rank as 
 could be managed, although there had 
 been some difficulties here to contend 
 with ; for the Smiths, Joneses, and Robin- 
 sons would come early, and got the best
 
 DORINDA. 47 
 
 seats, and the Ladies Almeria and Belinda 
 would come late, and got the worst ones ; 
 but Miss Barbara's worldly tact, and Miss 
 Janetta's geniality, had smoothed the 
 ruffled feathers, and everyone now looked 
 contented, — and eager for the curtain to 
 rise. 
 
 Suddenly the green-room door was 
 cautiously opened, and Lucinda issued 
 thence, her usually placid (not to say 
 vacant) countenance indicative of disaster. 
 Curiosity and forebodings of ill at once 
 seized the audience, and the hubbub of 
 conversation — which had gradually be- 
 come deafening — ceased in a moment. 
 
 One stentorian voice alone — whose pe- 
 dantic owner was standing, with studied 
 cynicism, with his back to the prospec-
 
 48 DOFJNDA. 
 
 tive amusements, being consequently un- 
 aware of Lucinda's disquieting advent, 
 and totally unprepared for the sudden 
 lull — bawled out, with a condescending 
 complacency (born of a patronizing amia- 
 bilit}^, prepared to condone everything) : 
 
 ' Yers ! yers ! very wor-ihy women — 
 all three ! Good women of their sort — 
 very ! But their name's against them — 
 pore things ! Woodcock ! Ho ! ho ! yers, 
 yers !' (The individual's own name was 
 Boggs.) 
 
 Some acquaintance having mercifully 
 pinched the offender into silence, he turn- 
 ed round, and at once, we are rejoiced 
 to say, felt that he had made a fool of 
 himself, and committed a gaucJierie. 
 
 Although Lucinda, as she entered, was
 
 DORINDA. 49 
 
 the observed of all observers — with the 
 ' gimlet eye ' (Dickens) of a multiude of 
 ^vdde-awake beings fixed anxiously upon 
 her, as it never had been before, and 
 probably never would be again — she took 
 it into her empty little head that it would 
 look girlishly innocent and piquante-\j 
 graceful, should she approach the assem- 
 bled company upon tip-toe, as though 
 the room were occupied by a sleeping 
 baby; while, with some mincing little 
 gestures, and her finger on her lip, she 
 beckoned to Janetta, and whispered to 
 that perturbed lady : 
 
 ' Lor, sister ! Monsieur Auguste says 
 some one must play an appropriate air 
 for each tableau on the pianoforte ! But 
 who is to play ? I can't ; and I know 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 50 DORINDA. 
 
 neither you nor Barbara can. What is 
 to be done ? He positively refuses to 
 begin without music !' 
 
 Dorinda, who was sitting unnoticed in 
 a dark corner by the door, laughed at 
 hearing the hurried consultation that en- 
 sued ; for she and Monsieur Lamenotte 
 had pre-arranged the embarrassment. 
 
 ' I really don't know who to ask/ said 
 the perplexed Janetta, looking piteously 
 around. ^ Where is Barbara ?' 
 
 But Barbara was deep in supper mys- 
 teries, and in all the despair of hot soup 
 which loould get cold, and of ices which 
 would get hot, and was not to be seen. 
 So, after enjoying her instructress's dis- 
 comfiture for a few minutes, Dorinda came 
 forward, and said, calmly.
 
 DORINDA. 51 
 
 ' I will play, if you like, Miss Janetta.' 
 
 ' You !' exclaimed Janetta. 
 
 ' Lor !' said Lucinda. 
 
 Miss Janetta was irresolute — annoyed ; 
 for the dilemma was great, and tlie need 
 immediate. Dorinda, she knew, was a 
 perfect musician ; but, on the other hand, 
 the feeling against her among the pupils 
 was so orreat that she feared the effect of 
 accepting the tempting offer. 
 
 'What shall I do?' reiterated poor 
 Janetta. ' Do you think,' whispering to 
 Lucinda, ' that the girls will act if Dorinda 
 plays T 
 
 ' Lor, sister,' said Lucinda, her cunning 
 rising to the occasion, ' they needn't know; 
 for, although the company can see who 
 plays, the performers can't.' 
 
 E 2 
 
 SS«i*'^'-'
 
 52 DORINDA. 
 
 This decided Janetta. 
 
 * Put the pianoforte close into the side, 
 round the corner, it runs easily on casters 
 — so ; and now, Miss Stratton ' (turning to 
 that damsel), ' if you will be so kind.' 
 
 Dorinda would have given empires to 
 refuse, and, as she elegantly termed it, 
 ' leave old Janetta in a hole;' but for her 
 own reasons she could not do so ; therefore, 
 coldly bowing, she took her place at the 
 instrument and began to play. 
 
 She was glad thus to check the dreaded 
 remarks, and inevitable questionings which 
 she had foreseen must arise amongst the 
 guests, as to why she was the only useless 
 member of the community ; so she had 
 manoeuvred with Monsieur Auguste (who 
 was by no means a neAV acquaintance of
 
 DORINDA. 53 
 
 hers, and who since her residence at Nun's 
 Court, had had one or two private transac- 
 tions with the young lady, in the way of 
 aiding her correspondence, &c.) to avert 
 the danger. The Frenchman, who, of 
 course, was not possessed of the astute 
 damsel's complete confidence, was shrewd 
 enough to perceive there must be some 
 reason for ' mademoiselles ' excessive 
 eagerness to take part in the evening's 
 performance ; but he deemed it wise to 
 ask no questions, for, besides not being 
 displeased at placing so lovely a lady 
 under obligation to himself, he knew his 
 ^monde.' 
 
 All was now ready, and at a given 
 signal Dorinda struck up the National 
 Anthem, playing with such spirit that it
 
 51 DORINDA. 
 
 electrified the audience, bringing them to 
 their feet, and eliciting a hearty cheer for 
 the Gracious Lady of the realm ; then, after 
 a brilliant prelude, the curtain rose. 
 
 The story of the Sleeping Beauty was 
 illustrated in six tableaux^ and with each 
 scene Dorinda's thrillingly descriptive 
 music entranced her hearers. In the 
 first, the infant beauty lay in the cradle, 
 watched over by the queen, her mother ; 
 and here Dorinda improvised a lullaby of 
 excessive softness, which changed pre- 
 sently into a weird and startling melody, 
 emphasizing the advent of the wicked 
 witch god-mother, who, by some sudden 
 effect of light, magically appeared, leaning 
 over the unconscious Baby. 
 
 We will not tire our readers by describ-
 
 DORINDA. 55 
 
 in^ each tableau ; suffice it to say, that a 
 lovely girl enacted the part of Beauty to 
 perfection, and when, in the last scene, 
 the young prince appears on his knee by 
 the couch of the waking princess, Do- 
 rinda surpassed herself in the melting 
 strains of an amorous ditty. 
 
 At the conclusion the performers were 
 enthusiastically called forward, and then a 
 cheer was raised for the fair pianiste, upon 
 which Dorinda smilingly issued from her 
 obscure corner. 
 
 As she did so, the performers were full 
 of impotent rage at the trick of which 
 they considered themselves the victims, 
 and the Woodcock sisters had great trouble 
 to soothe their indignation, and only suc- 
 ceeded by reminding them that necessity,
 
 66 DORINDA. 
 
 not choice, had forced her to accept Do- 
 rinda's offer, also that the girl was leaving 
 the next day — for good. 
 
 The Misses Woodcock were amazed at 
 Dorinda's appearance when she came for- 
 ward to bow her acknowledgments to 
 the cheering guests, for hitherto they had 
 had neither the time nor the light (the 
 room had been darkened, and the light 
 concentrated on the stage) to remark it. 
 They had always been aware that Do- 
 rinda's beauty was of no ordinary kind, 
 for pretty, very pretty, had she ever been 
 in her little well-fitting cotton school- 
 frock, set off by the spotless linen collar 
 and cuffs ; but they were not prepared for 
 the change and improvement wrought in 
 her by faultless dressing !
 
 DORIXDA. 57 
 
 She was clad in some diaphanous ma- 
 terial, purely white, and made simply a la 
 Vierge, without ornaments, save one — a 
 curious, ancient, green enamel girdle, set 
 with precious stones of all colours. Xo 
 gloves covered her hands and arms, which 
 were beautiful in the extreme. She was 
 always rather pale, but she was especially 
 so to-night, which made her appear tran- 
 scendently fair. Her eyes were very 
 large, and of a peculiar, steelly-blue grey, 
 while the lashes and eyebrows were 
 slightly darker than her gold-brown hair, 
 which was thick and very long, and 
 gathered up in a wavy mass at the nape 
 of the neck. She was rather above the 
 middle height, and full of grace and 
 
 dignity.
 
 58 DORINDA. 
 
 With wide-open eyes and gaping mouths 
 the three Woodcocks watched the lovely 
 vision, and, truth to tell, were offended at 
 the sight ! They had agreed among them- 
 selves to be gracious to Dorinda, — to try, 
 just for that evening, to set her at her 
 ease, — to make her feel her disgrace less 
 — in short, to condescend to her a little; 
 but when they saw her calmness, her air 
 of superiority, they were mortified, non- 
 plussed. 
 
 * It is not quite good taste to dress her- 
 self out so !' exclaimed Janetta, anxious 
 to find fault, but scarcely knowing where 
 to begin. 
 
 ' And yet,' answered Barbara, ' nothing 
 can be simpler, but — where did she get it 
 all from ?'
 
 DOPdNDA. 59 
 
 ' Lor !' said Lucinda. 
 
 These simple women knew nothing of 
 Dorinda's ways and means, nor of the ele- 
 ment of preroyance in her character ; and 
 they would probably have been even more 
 mystified and uneasy, had they known that 
 Monsieur Lamenotte had brouo;ht amono; his 
 many cartons, one or two speciall}' addressed 
 to Dorinda in a male hand, and that they 
 did not originally come from Glittersea. 
 Years after, Dorinda was known to laugh 
 and say that ' poor Auguste had been 
 (even before the memorable tahleau-m^t) 
 one of her most useful, most willing, and 
 most devoted of slaves.' Useful he had 
 often been, but unfortunately he became (as 
 she said) devoted also, — and consequently 
 dangerous ; for our heroine did not deign
 
 «0 DORINDA. 
 
 to remember that even hairdressers are 
 ilesh and blood, as other men; and she 
 also was unaware that the differences of 
 caste did not appear as hopelessly impass- 
 able to a republican French mind, as they 
 then did — (alas ! that it should be less so 
 now!) — to the English aristocratic mind; 
 and it is doubtful whether Monsieur 
 Auguste Lamenotte would have felt quite 
 as humble, quite as devoted, had he seen 
 the ineffable scorn which curled Dorinda's 
 scarlet lip, as she accepted and bent over 
 the costly bouquet which the coiffeur of 
 Glittersea had ventured to present to her ! 
 This sort of useful slaves may be content 
 for awhile to be now petted, now scorned, 
 to suit their employer's ends; but they 
 are apt to get sick, from hope deferred,
 
 DOEINDA. 61 
 
 — then mutinous, — then dangerous, and 
 to turn up, maybe, at awkward moments- 
 for their own. 
 
 Dorinda seemed thoroughly to enjoy 
 herself at the ball, but she did not care, 
 she said, for dancing. She ' liked watch- 
 ing it,' with a companion ; so she sat out 
 many dances, but mingled in very few. 
 
 ' Well, I declare !' exclaimed Janet ta, in 
 the course of the evening, ' if Dorinda has 
 not got hold of Julian de Broke, Sir Jas- 
 per's nephew!' 
 
 ' Ay, and his heir too,' put in the worldly 
 Barbara ; ' how did she get to know 
 him?' 
 
 ' I don't know,' returned Janetta ; ^ did 
 not you introduce him ? I left all that 
 part of it to you.'
 
 62 DOPdNDA. 
 
 ' I introduce him !' grumbled Barbara, 
 crossly. 'Why, he is a terrible mauvais 
 sujet r 
 
 ' I know — I know,' said Janetta ; ' but 
 I was obliged to ask him, to please Miss 
 de Broke; she asked me to invite him, 
 and, as I wrote his card, I felt like bringing 
 a wolf amongst lambs.' 
 
 'And he does look so beau-tiful — and 
 when he smiles — well ! oh, lor !' sighed 
 the gentle Lucinda, who, though past the 
 age of innocent-lambhood, was a very 
 silly old sheep, and as liable to be fasci- 
 nated by the wolf, as any frolicsome 
 lambkin. 
 
 Many were the whisperings and sur- 
 mises of the different mothers and cha- 
 perons as they noticed the attentions paid
 
 DOPJNDA. 63 
 
 by the principal cavalier in the ball-room 
 to Dorinda Stratton, — attentions which 
 the fair damsel received with calm com- 
 placency, as if they were her due ; thus 
 exasperating her school-companions so 
 severely, that it was with malicious satisfac- 
 tion they beheld the young man bid Miss 
 Woodcock farewell, very early in the even- 
 ing, and depart, without taking any further 
 notice of Dorinda. 
 
 After Mr. de Broke's departure, Dorinda 
 noticed that the ' young ladies ' treated 
 her ^\'ith even greater coolness than be- 
 fore, for jealousy was now added to their 
 previous dislike ; and, although she held 
 her proud head high, apparently ignorant 
 of the undisguised contempt which was 
 evinced towards her, she felt it keenly, and.
 
 64 DORINDA. 
 
 if she could have compassed the destruc- 
 tion of the whole school by a word, that 
 word would have been unhesitatingly pro- 
 nounced by her, even though she (Samson- 
 like) were involved in the ruin of her 
 tormenters ! As it was, she simply deter- 
 mined to bring the evening (as far as 
 she personally was concerned) to as speedy 
 a close as she could, without incurring 
 the taunt — which she knew would be 
 ready — ' that, now Mr. de Broke was gone, 
 the attractions of the evening were over 
 for Dorinda Stratton !' 
 
 So she waited for the conclusion of one 
 or two dances, then boldly and uncon- 
 cernedly walked across the room (feeling 
 that all eyes were upon her, which did 
 not in the least discompose her, or mar
 
 DOPjyDA. 65 
 
 the queenliness of her gait), and linking 
 her arm unceremoniously into that of 
 poor Lucinda, — who was standing in every- 
 body's way in the door- way, and who 
 was much too nervous and irresolute to 
 decide for herself whether the distinction 
 thus publicly forced upon her by so 
 'tabooed' a personage as Dorinda were 
 an honour or the reverse, — whisked her 
 off unresistingly into the supper-room ; 
 and after plying the not unwilling spinster 
 with champagne and lobster salad, and 
 freely helping herself to the same, our 
 heroine left her victim upon the sofa in 
 a seemingly comatose state, and re-en- 
 tered the ball-room. Approaching Miss 
 Janetta, she bid her and her sister 
 good-night (making the excuse that, as 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 DORINDA. 
 
 she must leave Nun's Court betimes next 
 morning, slie should retire early to rest), 
 and shaking hands cordially with them 
 both, (impossible to express the sisters' 
 relief at her departure !) she disappeared ; 
 but, as she left the room, Lady Margaret 
 Saville, who was sitting near the sisters, 
 overheard Janetta say : 
 
 ' There she goes ! — as proud as a pea- 
 cock !' 
 
 ' Ay,' returned Barbara, ^ and as dis- 
 honest as a magpie, without its innocence ! 
 I should like to have a private view of 
 her nest. I fancy yours would not be the 
 only gold thimble there, — nor her own the 
 only money !' 
 
 ' Oh, hush, Barbara ! people might 
 hear.'
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 67 
 
 And Lady Margaret did hear, and, what 
 is more, never forgot what she heard ; but 
 we will now take the liberty of following 
 Miss Stratton on her way from the ball- 
 room. 
 
 f2
 
 68 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ' And she has hair of a golden hue — 
 
 Take care ! 
 And what she says it is not true — 
 
 Bevrare, beware ! 
 
 She is fooling thee !' 
 
 OING upstairs towards the 
 sleeping apartments, Dorinda 
 paused on the first landing, — 
 cast a furtive glance around, — then, push- 
 ing aside a window-curtain, seized a soft 
 white shawl which lay concealed be- 
 neath it, and, throwing it over her pretty
 
 DOPJNDA. 69 
 
 shoulders, opened a side s^ng-door, ran 
 lightly down a flight of stone steps, and 
 let herself out into the croquet-ground. 
 Skirting the opposite wing of the house, 
 she opened a gate leading into the flower- 
 garden ; then, stopping for a moment to 
 take breath, swiftly crossed the grass, 
 and, guided by the light of a melancholy 
 lamp burning over the door, entered a 
 green-house, in which were displayed 
 some chairs and couches, (turned out of 
 the house for the ball), — some broken 
 flower-pots, and — a young man. 
 
 It was Julian de Broke who greeted 
 her. He was a tall, fine-looking, well- 
 made young fellow, with broad shoulders, 
 long shapely limbs, and a curiously firm 
 tread, which told of a determination (one
 
 70 BORINDA. 
 
 fancied) to crush any or all obstacles 
 which might cumber his way. He had 
 that peculiar-coloured hair which his ene- 
 mies called red, but which in reality was 
 a rich warm auburn, and the crisp curls, 
 tipped with gold, were shorn close to his 
 beautifully-formed head. His eyes were 
 changeful — now hazel, now green as any 
 viper's, and deep-set beneath stern, over- 
 hanging brows, which, as well as his eye- 
 lashes and the moustache upon his upper 
 lip, were many shades darker than his 
 hair. His expression, as he waited for 
 Dorinda (for, of course, the meeting was 
 not accidental) was lowering, downcast, 
 hard ; but the moment she appeared his 
 whole face lit up with the most fervent 
 admiration, and there was no lack of gen-
 
 DORINDA. 71 
 
 tleness now, as he drew her towards him 
 and tenderly kissed her hand. 
 
 ' How good of you to come, darling !' he 
 whispered, as, slipping his arm round her, 
 he stooped and jDi'^ssed his lips to her 
 ivory shoulder, half-disclosed, half-hidden 
 by the shawl she had hastily thrown over 
 her, but which he eagerly unwound, 
 allowing it to fall unheeded to the 
 ground. 
 
 * — And oh, how beautiful you are !' he 
 exclaimed, gazing at her; 'and I am so glad 
 the things arrived in time, and were what 
 you wished. — And oh, Dorinda,' gently 
 pulling her down to a sofa by his side, ' I 
 really could not talk calmly and coldly to 
 you this evening, as if — as if we were 
 strangers, so I came here and waited.'
 
 72 DORINDA. 
 
 ' Yes,' answered Dorinda, calmly dis- 
 engaging herself from her lover's encircling 
 arm, ' you were foolish, Julian, to run 
 such risks, dancing and talking to no one 
 but me, — that is, if you are anxious to 
 keep our engagement secret. But why — 
 why should it not be declared ?' 
 
 * Not yet — not yet, dearest, it would not 
 do ; for I have been reckless — extravagant, 
 and I wish — first — to retrieve my charac- 
 ter. You see, my Uncle Jasper is noble 
 and good, and if I go away and try to do 
 something useful, and endeavour to pay 
 my debt to him, then he will be inclined 
 to help us, — you and me, Dorinda, — ^then 
 he will believe my wish to reform. I have 
 a plan, Dorinda, and I asked you to meet 
 me here to explain it to you, and then —
 
 hOPJNDA. 73 
 
 then — when I have told it to you, dearest, 
 I must — say good-bye ! for, oh ! my love, 
 my sweet one, I have done what I told 
 you I should, — and I o^o to-morrow.' 
 
 Again he took her hand, and would 
 have drawn her towards him, expecting 
 her to experience a shock at the news of 
 his intended departure, (news which he 
 had so dreaded breaking to her !) but she 
 calmly though gently pushed him away, 
 saying, 
 
 ' To-morrow — did you say, Julian ? And 
 where are you going?' 
 
 ' Dorinda, Dorinda !' exclaimed the 
 young man, in a pained voice, ^ I have 
 told you so often, and yet you never 
 know. The fact is,' throwing her hand 
 roughly away, and hiding his eyes with
 
 74 DORINDA. 
 
 his own, 'you don't care — you don't 
 care!' 
 
 ' Oh, yes, I do,' answered Dorinda, 
 rather irritably, ' and I am sure I have 
 proved it often enough by meeting you at 
 great risks; but I am not good at geo- 
 graphy, and never could learn the differ- 
 ence between Botany Bay, Port Philip, 
 Barbadoes, &c., &c.' 
 
 ' You have no heart !' said Julian, 
 angrily, * and you are breaking mine ! I 
 know I am a fool to live in a fool's paradise 
 as I do, — and I tell myself so fifty times a 
 day ! — but,' (passionately), 'you are my life, 
 my soul, my all, and — but you are laugh- 
 ing ! By G — d, Dorinda, I will give you 
 up !' 
 
 ' Not so,' laughed Dorinda, ' that would
 
 DOniNDA. 
 
 never do now.' Then, more kindly, she 
 added : 'I am not cold, Julian, or heart- 
 less, but I am so fearful of beino: discovered 
 here ! You men are so selfish ! This 
 meeting is fraught with no danger to you, 
 but it is to me ; so be quick and tell me 
 your plan, and what it is you wish me to 
 do. We really must be practical, you 
 know, and I am sure it would be better to 
 declare our engagement.' 
 
 Julian shook his head, and, endeavour- 
 ing to speak calmly, said : 
 
 'Now, listen, Dorinda. I have told you 
 a dozen times how recklessly extravagant 
 I have been ; well, I spent so much money 
 that I took to gambling, thinking to re- 
 gain what I had spent ; but I lost a large 
 sum instead, and, getting frightened, I
 
 76 DORINDA. 
 
 told my uncle (who was very fond of me), 
 and lie generously paid my debts, and 
 extracted a promise from me that I would 
 never gamble again ! I broke that pro- 
 mise, Dorinda, and once more my uncle 
 paid my debt, but would not forgive my 
 breaking faith with him ; so he refused to 
 see me or even to let me write to him ; and 
 nothing I could do now would make him 
 trust me ; if, however, I go away and 
 work, he must believe in my wish to re- 
 pair the past. Now, what I want you to 
 do is this : when you go to Broke Abbey, 
 you must, by your sweet looks and gentle 
 words, soften my uncle's never- very-hard 
 heart ; and when he loves you, which he 
 must do, then tell him of our engagement. 
 Tell him,' continued poor Julian, with
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 ever-increasing eagerness, 'how I love you, 
 and how I long to lead an honourable life 
 
 for your sweet sake, to be worthy of you 
 — and, indeed, darling for you I would 
 work — slave — die ! Tell him my faults 
 are only those that he knows ; but that I 
 have never been guilty of the sin he most 
 loathes — faithlessness to a woman ; for I 
 have never loved anyone but you, and mil 
 be true to you till death, — if he will help 
 me to be so ! And, oh I my love,' cried 
 the young man, losing all control over 
 himself at the bitter thought of parting — 
 throwing himself at Dorinda's feet, and 
 burying his face in her lap, ' I do love you 
 so ! and you love me too — a little — do you 
 not?' 
 
 Appealingly he spoke ; then, casting his
 
 78 DORINDA. 
 
 arms impetuously around her and pressing 
 his cheek to hers, he whispered, passion- 
 ately, 
 
 ^ You do love me ! You dare not say 
 you don't! You have proved it to me, 
 and I am not ungrateful.' 
 
 ' Well, of course I love you,' quietly 
 returned Dorinda, turning pale, and firmly 
 pushing her lover from her ; ' but you are 
 so excitable, Julian. Do calm yourself, 
 and I promise you I will do my best with 
 Sir Jasper.' 
 
 'Thank you — thank you, dearest, and 
 forgive my agony of love ; but I never 
 think you care for me as I do for you ; 
 and then I get jealous, — miserably jeal- 
 ous, — and oh, my dear one, don't laugh 
 at me, but — you will see my brother at
 
 DOPJNDA. 79 
 
 the Abbey — a good, simple fellow, but 
 so handsome, and everybody thinks so 
 much of him, for he will be so rich, 
 and ' 
 
 ' Rich !' repeated Dorinda. ' Why, you 
 never told me you had a brother !' 
 
 * Did I not ? I suppose I was always 
 so occupied with you, and our meetings 
 always seemed so short ; but he is my 
 twin, and we are so alike, though he is 
 much better-looking than I, and — you 
 won't fall in love with him, will you, nor 
 let him ?' 
 
 ' Psha ! Julian !' answered Dorinda, im- 
 patiently, ' what nonsense ! You know I 
 care only for you ; but I can't quite see 
 why you dread Sir Jasper's anger so much ; 
 for he can't injure you permanently, as
 
 80 DORINDA, 
 
 the place is entailed, I suppose, and you — 
 
 being the heir ' 
 
 ' The heir !' said Julian, laughing. ' Oh, 
 darling ! for your sake I wish I were ! Why, 
 my brother Julian is the heir, and I, your 
 poor lover, am only " Jock, the laird's 
 brother." But we are so alike that we 
 are always being mixed up. My poor 
 mother, when she gave birth to twin sons, 
 from a foolish whim, called the elder 
 "Julian Edward," and the younger, (my 
 humble self,) "Edward Julian," and to 
 make " confusion worse confounded," we 
 have both been called " Julian " at home, 
 "Julian the first and Julian the second"; 
 but — ho ! ' exclaimed the young man, ' help ! 
 She is fainting ! Good God ! what is the 
 matter ?'
 
 DORIXDA. 81 
 
 Dorinda did indeed look ghastly. 
 
 * Hush, you fool,' she said, angrily, ' that 
 is — I beg your pardon — a sudden faint- 
 ness — it will pass ! I thought I saw some 
 one peering at us through the glass. Oh, 
 Julian — Edward ' (' or whatever his horrid 
 name is,' she said sotte voce^ and grinding 
 her teeth), 'leave me, for the love of 
 heaven, or — I shall die !' 
 
 The ojirl burst into an ao;onv of tears, 
 and her lover looked at her in amazement, 
 for she ^-iolently dashed his arm away as 
 he would have supported her, — then a 
 savage glitter, not good to see, shot from 
 his eyes, and, with a low whistle and a 
 smothered oath, he said : 
 
 'Oh! that's the secret— is it? At last 
 I see ! You thought I was the heir, and 
 
 VOL. I. G
 
 82 DORINDA. 
 
 that some day, ere long, I should make 
 you mistress of Broke Abbey ; and you 
 have discovered your mistake ! Oh ! fool ! 
 fool ! that I should have been so deceived !' 
 i^He deceived !' thought Dorinda. ' I like 
 that! What am //') 'But hearken, 
 young lady. I am not a man to be put 
 on, taken off, and cast aside — like a pair 
 of gloves ! 1 have loved you with every 
 desire of my soul — every fibre of my body 
 — whatever your feelings for me may have 
 been ! For your sake I have relinquished 
 everything a young man holds dear ! My 
 quondam pleasures have become a weari- 
 ness, — my former pursuits, a pain, — be- 
 cause unconnected with you ! For your 
 sake I am leaving my native land, work- 
 ing my way out as a pauper, — determined
 
 DORINDA. 83 
 
 to earn a living — perhaps riches and 
 luxury — only to cast them into your 
 lap ; and that, because I believed in your 
 love, your disinterested love I But the 
 play is out ! The masks (worn innocently 
 by one at least of the actors — myself I) 
 are torn aside, and we now appear in 
 our natural characters ! But, Dorinda, 
 remember, that when I love — I love, and 
 when I hate — I hate ! And I will see 
 you dead at my feet rather than belong- 
 ing to another ; so beware !' 
 
 Dorinda quailed beneath J ulian's gaze ; 
 then, mastering herself, she said, in apparent 
 indignation, and ^vith an assumption of 
 great dignity : 
 
 ' How unmanly to threaten a woman 
 so, Julian ! You know that, rich or poor, 
 
 g2
 
 84 DORINDA. 
 
 I love you only ! What made me feel 
 faint was, that I fancied (as I told you) 
 I saw some one looking in at us, and 
 it terrified me. Be sure, darling,' she 
 continued, placing her hand caressingly 
 on his shoulder, ' I will do my best with 
 Sir Jasper ; and if you will only go to 
 — wherever it is — and make enough for 
 us to live on, all will be well. Only don't 
 get disheartened, and — don't come home 
 too soon ; and don't terrify me with such 
 wicked threats ! Oh, how cruel you are !' 
 
 In an ecstasy of repentant emotion, and 
 of shame at his violence, Julian once more 
 seized her hand, and said, in a broken 
 voice, 
 
 ' Do you really mean it, Dorinda? What 
 a brute I have been ! But I thous^ht for
 
 DOPJXDA. 85 
 
 a moment you meant to throw me over, 
 because you found out I was poor ; and 
 God knows I have never tried to make 
 you think otherwise !' 
 
 He would have said more, but, seeing 
 her glance nervously around, he drew her 
 down on the couch and whispered, hur- 
 riedly, 
 
 ' I embark to-morrow night, — a sailing 
 vessel, — touches nowhere till we arrive, 
 which we may not do for months. I will 
 write by the pilot as he leaves us. Oh, 
 Dorinda ! you have it in your power to 
 plead my cause with Sir Jasper, and your 
 love and truth will make a good man of 
 me. Don't forsake me. For your sake I 
 go, and I may never return ; so, for the 
 last time, lay your head on my shoulder
 
 86 DOFJNDA. 
 
 — SO. Now look me straight in the eyes 
 — so. Now repeat these words after me^ 
 " Julian, as God lives, I love you, and 
 Avill be true !" ' 
 
 ' As God lives, Julian,' echoed the girl, 
 ' I love you, and will be true !' 
 
 'Then,' said the young man, solemnly, 
 and with deep feeling, ' may God deal with 
 us as we do by one another.'' 
 
 For one moment he buried his face in 
 her bosom ; then, pushing her from him, 
 he staggered to his feet, opened the glass 
 door, and passed out into the night. 
 
 After his departure Dorinda rose from 
 the couch and stood as though bewildered, 
 covering her eyes with her hands ; and 
 when, some minutes later, she removed 
 them, a devastating storm seemed to have
 
 DOPJNDA. 87 
 
 passed over her face, depriving it of all 
 womanliness, all softness. Her eyes were 
 hard and pitiless, her mouth compressed, 
 and she looked almost old. 
 
 'Ah! Edward — Julian,' she whispered, 
 with bitter emphasis on the name, ' I have 
 been the fool this time ! Who will be the 
 next, I wonder ? I rarely make blunders, 
 but I have made one this time, and no 
 mistake. Oh !' (with a bitter w^ail) ' what 
 have I not risked and lost ! What, ivhai 
 shall I do now !' 
 
 Slowly, and looking cautiously around, 
 she left the green-house, recrossed the gar- 
 dens, and entered the house; then, gliding 
 upstairs, undressed and went to bed, but not 
 to sleep ; for, hours later, she overheard the 
 girls laughing and talking as they mounted
 
 88 DORINDA, 
 
 the stairs (when the ball was over), and, long 
 after they and the whole house were wrap- 
 ped in silence, she alone remained awake, 
 tossing and turning, and muttering to 
 herself, 
 
 ^ What, ivliat shall I do now!'
 
 89 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 / 
 She has two eyes, so soft and brown, 
 
 Take care ! 
 She gives a side-glance, and looks down. 
 
 Beware ! beware ! 
 
 Trust her not, 
 
 She is fooling thee !' 
 
 pHE next morning Dorinda rose 
 early, having decided to leave 
 Nun's Court as soon as pos- 
 sible ; and great was the surprise of the 
 whole establishment when, about ten
 
 90 DORINDA. 
 
 o'clock, Sir Jasper de Broke's family coach 
 drove to the door, with be-wigged coach- 
 men and two powdered footmen, each 
 of the latter carrying a gold-headed 
 cane. One of these splendid individuals 
 having descended from behind the coach, 
 proceeded to assault the Nun's Court 
 knocker and bell with dignified ferocity, 
 and informed the breathless Rhoda that 
 he and his colleagues had been despatched 
 by Sir Jasper's orders to escort Miss 
 Stratton to the Abbey. 
 
 Dorinda, who had been anxiously 
 awaiting the carriage, now tripped down- 
 stairs, dressed most becomingly, and 
 beaming with smiles. She bid each 
 gasping Woodcock a condescending fare- 
 well, first seizing Miss Janetta's unwil-
 
 DORINDA. 91 
 
 linc^ hand, and saying, in Ler clear, ring- 
 ing voice, so that all present might 
 hear: 
 
 'Farewell, Miss Woodcock, I am infin- 
 itely obliged for all your kindness ; and I 
 regret that latterly a cloud should have 
 risen between us ; but I have no doubt 
 that Time and your own good sense will 
 disperse it !' 
 
 ' Humph !' was all Miss Janetta could 
 answer, being completely staggered at 
 Dorinda's cool assurance and the turn 
 things had taken. 
 
 ' Good-bye, dear Miss Barbara,' our 
 heroine also smilingly said, as she ap- 
 proached that lady; 'I trust you are none 
 the worse for the chee-arming party you 
 gave us last night ; and that Miss Lucinda '
 
 ^2 DOPJNDA. 
 
 (condescendinpjly patting the latter on her 
 shoulder) ' is not suffering from — the 
 champagne and lobster salad which she 
 seemed so to enjoy !' 
 
 ' Good-bye, Miss Stratton,' answered 
 the boiling and bubbling Barbara, *and 
 should you, by chance, in your excessive 
 hurry to decamp, have accidentally (of 
 course !) carried off anything — not your 
 own — no doubt you will honestly return 
 it!' 
 
 ' Indeed, yes !' retorted Dorinda ; ' and 
 should you chance to hear from your 
 pretty and " larky " little maid Jane (who 
 you so obligingly aided to emigrate), 
 perhaps you would kindly send me her 
 address, as she might want my help and 
 advice ! She had many enemies, and I
 
 DORINDA. 9S 
 
 know she had some idea of going to law. 
 Good-bye !' 
 
 In a moment, with the aid of the foot- 
 man, Dorinda ascended the carriage steps, 
 the door was banged-to, the coachman 
 tickled up the horses, and waving her 
 hand gracefully, our heroine and the whole 
 paraphernalia vanished. 
 
 ' Just for all the world like Cinderella's 
 pumpkin coach,' said the servants, who 
 from their regions beloAV had mtnessed 
 the triumphal departure. 
 
 ' Insolent monkey !' said Barbara. 
 
 * Lor !' ejaculated Lucinda. 
 
 In spite of this brilliant wind-up to 
 her school-days, Dorinda felt ill at ease, 
 and her short journey to Broke Abbey 
 was not one of entirely pleasurable antici-
 
 M DORINDA. 
 
 pations. She felt as though she were put- 
 ting her foot out into the dark ; but as she 
 drove through the magnificent park, and 
 marked the proudly-stepping deer, and the 
 grand old house in front of her, she sighed — 
 an impatient covetous sigh, — and wondered 
 whether she should find Julian Edward as 
 impressionable as Edward Julian ! 
 
 ' I will not — mil not think of the past !' 
 she thought, as she drove beneath the 
 gothic archway. ' Courage, courage !' she 
 whispered to herself; ' Le jeii vaut la 
 chandeUe f 
 
 As she alighted, however, she experienced 
 some nervousness, and on entering the vast 
 hall, with its groined roof, its stained glass 
 windows, (which cast prismatic colours all 
 around,) and the ancient banners which
 
 DORINDA. 95 
 
 waved majestically overhead, the place 
 reminded her of a cathedral, and the 
 sacredness of those terrible words, ' May 
 He deal icith us, as ive do hy one another,^ 
 ranpj in her ears like a curse ! Chiding 
 herself, however, for such superstitious 
 folly, as she designated it, she asked the 
 graceful groom of the chambers, as that 
 piece of perfection was picking his way in 
 front of her : 
 
 ' Can I see Miss de Broke ?' 
 
 ' Ho ! yes, mim, suttinly, mim !' 
 answered the enchanting official, ' but Sir 
 Jisper's borders was, that you was to be 
 shown hinto 'im, mim !' 
 
 'Very well,' said Dorinda, feeling re- 
 lieved for she never dreaded the male 
 sex, ' pray do so.'
 
 96 DORINDA. 
 
 Her conducter now led her througli a 
 long corridor, ornamented on each side 
 by statues, gilt figures supporting lamps, 
 and cabinets full of exquisite china; at 
 the end of which he threw open a door 
 and announced, 
 
 'The IZonourable Miss Strztton.' 
 With trepidation, Dorinda entered 
 the room, and was suddenly dazzled 
 by a flood of sunlight, which, pouring 
 through a gothic window of painted 
 glass, seemed to bathe her in the halo of 
 a rainbow. 
 
 " A good omen !' the girl ejaculated; then 
 looking across the room, which v/as spacious 
 and lofty, she beheld her host, Sir Jasper 
 de Broke, who had risen from his seat to 
 receive her. Being quite blind, he did not
 
 DORINDA. 97 
 
 advance, but stood with his hand courte- 
 ously stretched out in welcome. 
 
 Dorinda hastened towards him. and put 
 her hand in his, remarking, with her usual 
 quickness of observation, that his fingers 
 were long and slender, and that on one of 
 them he wore a curious antique ring, in 
 the form of a crown, set ^\ith rubies and 
 diamonds. He was surrounded by flowers, 
 and several large and small dogs lay 
 crouched around. One of these animals 
 snarled so inhospitably as Dorinda ap- 
 proached that she paused, fearful of its 
 attacking her ; but it did not move until 
 she placed her hand within that of its 
 master ; then its exasperation became un- 
 governable, and the beast would inevita- 
 bly have done her some injur}^ had not 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 DORINDA. 
 
 Sir Jasper called out authoritatively, 
 ' Runa ! Runa !' upon which it sprang 
 under a chair hard by, and continued to 
 growl vindictively, and to display its 
 teeth at intervals during the whole in- 
 terview. 
 
 ' Miss Stratton,' said Sir Jasper, in a 
 deep, manly voice, * welcome ! and, in spite 
 of Runa's opposition, you are very wel- 
 come !' 
 
 ' It is very kind of you, Sir Jasper,' 
 answered Dorinda, timidly and sweetly, 
 ' to receive me so cordially.' 
 
 ' My dear Miss Stratton, you know you 
 are no stranger, for your beautiful music 
 has often spoken to my very heart in our 
 little church; besides, you have been vividly 
 described to me by my nephew ; and if you
 
 DORINDA. 09 
 
 are half as pretty as your voice and your 
 music are melodious, you must be beautiful 
 indeed 1' 
 
 Dorinda coloured and laughed musically, 
 (she had a pretty, enjoue laugh,) and she 
 thought to herself, ' Oh ! I wish he wasn't 
 blind, or I am sure I should soon make an 
 impression upon him !' 
 
 Aloud she said : 
 
 'I have no doubt your nephew flattered 
 me ; but, Sir Jasper ' (with much feehng in 
 her voice) '• I want you all to love me, and 
 not only to admire me ! and perhaps Runa 
 may get to love me too — in time. Who 
 knows?' 
 
 Sir Jasper now sat down, as did Dorinda, 
 
 carefully scanning the blind man the 
 
 while. 
 
 h2
 
 100 DORINDA. 
 
 He was tall, manly, and dignified, and 
 his dark eyes, when open, (he generally 
 kept them closed,) had a sad and listening 
 expression which was touching in the 
 extreme and very beautiful, and no blemish 
 of any kind was perceivable in them. He 
 wore a pointed beard and a downward 
 trained moustache, which, as well as his 
 hair, were slightly tinged with gray. Al- 
 together he reminded Dorinda irresistibly, 
 both in features and air, of the pictures of 
 Charles I., from whom the De Brokes 
 proudly claimed descent. 
 
 * His teeth are lovely !' thought our 
 heroine, ' and all his own ! and his mouth 
 and smile are the most touchingly beauti- 
 ful I ever saw !' 
 
 She had an artist's eye, this young girl,
 
 DOPJNDA. 
 
 101 
 
 and was undeniably struck by Sir Jasper's 
 appearance and surroundings. 
 
 ' Nobility and loyalty,' she thought, ' are 
 stamped upon him personally, and,' (look- 
 ing round the room), ' the casket is worthy 
 of the jewel !'
 
 102 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Happy thou art not ; for what thou hast not, still thou stri v'st to get, 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 iFTER a short conversation about 
 her parents, her journey, etc., 
 Dorinda cast her eyes ac- 
 cidentally upon a large mirror opposite, 
 which reflected all the objects behind 
 her, and so became aware that a lady 
 was standing, watching her. She was 
 holding back a heavy portiere, which
 
 DORINDA. 103 
 
 shrouded a door leading into another room, 
 and, as Dorinda guessed the new comer 
 wished, and believed herself, to be unper- 
 ceived, she continued conversing uncon- 
 cernedly with Sir Jasper, and after a pause 
 said distinctly, 
 
 ' And when may I see Miss de Broke ? 
 My mother said she was once a dear friend 
 of hers, and I long to see one of whom I 
 have heard so much !' 
 
 ' We will ring,' said Sir Jasper, taking 
 up a silver bell; upon which the ap- 
 parition in the mirror suddenly dis- 
 appeared (like a duck diving under 
 water) and reappeared with marvellous 
 celerit}' through a door-way in another 
 part of the room. 
 
 ' How do you do, Miss Stratton ?' said
 
 104 DORINDA, 
 
 Miss de Broke, ' I am heartily glad to see 
 you!' 
 
 Dorinda rose from ber chair, when thus 
 accosted, and was vastly astonished at the 
 contrast between the brother and sister. 
 The latter was as loud and vulgar-looking, 
 as the former was gentle and refined. 
 
 Miss de Broke's face was very red, very 
 fat, and with such a pronounced and am- 
 plificated jowl dependant therefrom (pre- 
 senting innumerable terraces of chins) that 
 her mouth, which was small, red, and quite 
 round, looked like a coral button, placed in 
 the very centre of her face. Her voice was 
 like the gabble of an excited and indignant 
 turkey, and was invariably audible from 
 the dungeon underground, (which was one 
 of the sights of the place,) to the flag-
 
 DORINDA. 105 
 
 staff Oil the principal tower above. Her 
 figure was clumsy and spongey, and she 
 rolled as she walked. To add to her gro- 
 tesque appearance, she wore a fringe upon 
 her forehead of fair flat curls, like button- 
 hooks of different ages, and when in even- 
 ing dress (some of her affectionate friends 
 called it her evening ?i?zdress) she much 
 affected white satin, with Yandyked lace, 
 and large loose sleeves looped up with 
 strings of pearls, believing herself a w^orthy 
 pendant to her brother's unstudied Charles- 
 the-First-like appearance ; in fact, a modern 
 Henrietta Maria ! (which names had been 
 given her at baptism.) 
 
 Miss de Broke could not open her 
 mouth without betraying that she was 
 purse-proud and 'second rate,' but she
 
 106 DORINDA. 
 
 was kind-hearted in the main, and deeply 
 attached to her brother, watching jealous- 
 ly, too jealously, over him, his interests and 
 friendships. She was a great trial to him 
 at times, and since his misfortune (he had 
 become blind several years previously) she 
 had contracted a — to him — most painful 
 habit of addressing him in a sort of affec- 
 tionate bellow, as if he were deaf, as well 
 as blind ; bringing to mind the fallacy 
 current amongst under-bred people, i.e., 
 that they will make themselves better 
 understood by some bewildered, shrinking 
 foreigner, innocent of the English language, 
 if only they shout loud enough ! Sir Jasper, 
 like all blind people, was very sensitive to 
 voices, and he often writhed under his 
 sister's, although he loved and respected
 
 DORiyDA, 1U7 
 
 her too much to let her even suspect 
 the painful fact. 
 
 ' Oh ho !' thought Dorinda, as Miss de 
 Broke came forward. ' this lady then is 
 poor Sir Jasper s family skeleton ! A well- 
 covered one, at all events ; but not content, 
 (I take it,) to rest quietly in the traditional 
 "cupboard!"' 
 
 ' Welcome, dear Miss Stratton,' reiterated 
 Miss de Broke, as she shook Dorinda's 
 hand, ' but may I not call you '• Dorinda," 
 for your mother's sake? You are very 
 like her, but fairer, sKghter, and taller.' 
 
 Dorinda gazed intently at her hostess, 
 weighing in her own mind how best to 
 ingratiate herself with her. 
 
 'How shall I manage her?' she said to 
 herself; 'she is evidently a commonplace
 
 108 DORINDA. 
 
 individual ; but is slie romantically com- 
 monplace, or matter-of-factly so ? Shall 1 
 take lier by storm ? or shall I be shy and 
 frightened ? Xo ! I think I will take her 
 by storm — people of her physique are 
 generally impulsive ; so here goes, neck or 
 nothing !' 
 
 Then, as if unspeakably touched by 
 some memory, she threw herself into the 
 astonished Henrietta Maria's arms, and, 
 laying her head upon her ample shoulder, 
 exclaimed, choked by emotion : 
 
 ' My mother's Henrietta Maria ! My 
 mother's early friend !' (She felt that 
 ^ old friend ' might be dangerous !) ; then, 
 hurriedly releasing Miss de Broke from 
 her embrace, she said, with a charming 
 mixture of shyness and candour, ' For-
 
 DOPJNDA, 109 
 
 give me ! but you looked so kind — so 
 true, that I forgot I was a stranger to 
 you!' 
 
 Miss de Broke laughed, did not look 
 displeased, and said, 
 
 ' I did not know that Car Balbirnie 
 remembered our girlish days sufficiently 
 to have impressed you so strongly ! Any- 
 how, I am delighted to welcome her 
 daughter, and to apologise for Runa's 
 churlish behaviour. How he growls ! I 
 never saw him behave so before !' 
 
 ' Beast !' thought Dorinda ; but, turning 
 a grateful look upon Miss de Broke, she 
 composed herself to listen attentively to 
 any conversation between the brother and 
 sister, in hopes of discovering some salient 
 paints in their characters, by which she
 
 110 DORINDA. 
 
 might guide her future behaviour. She 
 had not long to wait, for Henrietta, with 
 all her faults, was very transparent ; (her 
 jealous distrust of her brothers friendships 
 being childishly so) ; indeed, she was curi- 
 ously open and above-board in thoughts, 
 words, and actions ; rarely thinking more 
 than she said, and never saying more than 
 she thought. Sir Jasper's character our 
 heroine had at once fathomed ; so in a very 
 short space of time she summed up both 
 individuals in a few words thus : * Don 
 Quixote — and a Beggar on Horseback !' 
 
 ' I hope,' said Sir Jasper to his sister, 
 ' that Miss Stratton's room is comfort- 
 able ?' 
 
 ' Oh, yes !' returned Henrietta. ' I have 
 given her the tapestry-room, where the
 
 DOPJNDA. Ill 
 
 Duchesse d'Hermi^ny always sleeps. It 
 is a lovely room!' (turning to Dorinda). 
 *The muslin curtains alone cost fifty 
 guineas the pair ' (Sir Jasper winced) ; 
 * and the bed was once used by our 
 royal ancestor Charles L, whose mono- 
 gram, (and that of his queen,) is embroi- 
 dered all over the counterpane and hang- 
 ings. The carpet was very difficult to 
 obtain in character with the rest of the 
 room, and cost mints of money !' 
 
 ' You see. Miss Stratton,' interposed Sir 
 Jasper, hurriedly, ^ my sister is proud of 
 doing the martyr king honour in every 
 possible way !' 
 
 ' Yes,' gabbled on the lad}^, totally 
 innocent of her brother's o^rowino: un- 
 easiness, ' but luckily it is easy to do
 
 112 DORINDA. 
 
 SO — for with Sir Jasper's e-normous 
 fortune ' 
 
 * Dear Henrietta !' exclaimed Sir Jasper, 
 nervously, 'no doubt Miss Stratton is 
 fatigued, and would like to go to her 
 room.' 
 
 ' True ! I will take her at once !' 
 
 Dorinda Avas not prepared for the old- 
 world courtesy with which Sir Jasper, 
 leaning his hand on his sister's shoulder, 
 accompanied his guest up the broad 
 staircase to the door of her bed-room, 
 leaving her there, with a bow full of 
 dignity and courtly grace. She was both 
 flattered and pleased, but Miss de Broke 
 assured her, with due caution, lest the 
 young lady should be too elated, 
 
 ' You must excuse my brother's ex-
 
 DORIXDA. 113 
 
 ploded notions as to ^'hat is due to a 
 lady-ofuest ! His manners do not march 
 with the times, and ' (^\'ith a slight tino;e 
 of asperity, not lost upon her hearerj 
 * had you been a governess he would have 
 treated you the same, only probably with 
 still greater respect !' 
 
 Dorinda smiled, and said simply she felt 
 unworthy of so much deference, and then 
 proceeded to examine the apartment, 
 determined to win Miss de Broke's favour 
 as well as her brother's. 
 
 A 'lovely room' it undeniably was; 
 hung with tapestry, filled with exquisite 
 antique furniture, and smelling of lavender 
 and pot-pourri ; with a cheerful fire burn- 
 ing, composed of large logs of wood placed 
 upon an old-fashioned ' arm-chair ' grate, 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 DORINDA. 
 
 giving the whole an air of home-like 
 comfort. 
 
 ^ What a charming room !' cried our 
 heroine, in ecstacies, * and Avhat taste ! all 
 yours, Miss de Broke — of course ! and 
 how kind of you to put poor little me 
 into one of your state-rooms! I could 
 not be better lodged, even if I were — a 
 queen, or — a governess !' Then, walking 
 up to the bed : ' And what pretty pillow- 
 cases, all frills and Valenciennes lace ! 
 — the sheets all frilled too, and so fine ! 
 They must have cost a fortune /' 
 
 ' Seven pound ten a pair,' promptly 
 answered the delighted lady; 'but then, 
 you see ' 
 
 ' Oh, yes,' deftly cut in our heroine,
 
 DORINDA. 115 
 
 ' of course with Sir Jasper's enormous 
 fortune ' 
 
 ' Of course, of course/ agreed Hen- 
 rietta, delightedly, ' besides, we are al- 
 ways having great people staying with us, 
 and we must keep up our po-sition.' (Hen- 
 rietta always put a stress upon the first 
 syllable of this word.) 
 
 ' Xatu rally,' agreed Dorinda, 'but I am 
 too humble for 3^ou to give me the use of 
 all these lovely things !' 
 
 ' Well ! you are so pretty yourself, that 
 it is, after all, only "sweets to the sweet !" 
 Sir Jasper tells me you play the organ 
 delightfully, and we have an organ here — 
 in the music-room; it cost enormously 
 having it put up !' (' Of course,' murmured 
 
 i2
 
 116 VORINDA. 
 
 Dorinda,) ' but it is such a pleasure 
 to my poor brother, who plays divinely 
 himself.' 
 
 After a little more conversation, Hen- 
 rietta rolled out of the room, saying, 
 
 ' My nephew comes to-day, but no one 
 else. I fear you will find it rather 
 dull !' 
 
 Dorinda answered that she never was 
 dull ; and directly she w^as alone, she sat 
 down, and taking a letter out of her 
 pocket, read it carefully twice. It was from 
 her mother, a worldly, cruel, heartless, 
 but useful letter, part of which we will 
 read.
 
 117 
 
 CHAPTER Till. 
 
 The deadliest snakes are those which, twin'd 'mongst flowers, 
 Blend their bright colouring with the varied blossoms, 
 
 Their fierce eyes glittering Hke the spangled dew-drops ; 
 In all so like what nature has most harmless, 
 
 That sportive innocence, which dreads no danger, 
 Is poisoned unawares.' 
 
 FTER a little home business, the 
 
 letter went on : 
 
 ' Miss Woodcock's news was 
 a dreadful annoyance to me, although, 
 after your abominable folly at Miss
 
 118 DORINDA. 
 
 Smith's, nothing surprises me ! But 
 mind you, this one is the most serious 
 scrape you have ever got into ; and, 
 although you may deny your guilt to 
 others, it is no use your doing so to me ; 
 and mark my words, that cheque (how 
 could you be such a fool as to leave it in 
 their hands !) will hang over your head 
 all your life ; although no doubt the old 
 Woodcocks will keep the ugly secret to 
 themselves (unless they can make more by 
 letting it out !) for the sake of the school. 
 Again, how stupid of you to accuse the 
 servants, and set them against you ! You 
 may be sure they will have no mercy 
 upon you if it ever comes out, — for ser- 
 vants are jealous of the monopoly of 
 cheating ! Really, what with your father's
 
 DORINDA. 119 
 
 drinking, and your follies,' (' She glosses 
 over a few peccadilloes of her own, while 
 enumerating the family characteristics !' 
 sneered Dorinda), ' my life is not w^orth 
 the livino^ ! I must, however, do vou the 
 justice of confessing that you are always 
 very clever at wriggling out of any scrapes 
 you get into ! Only once for all, — take 
 my advice, and beware of quarrelling with 
 servants! Jeiiiy connais ! J^ai passe par 
 la ! If the cheque story comes out, you 
 will have to ^o abroad either as a opov- 
 erness, or a hospital nurse, or a missionary. 
 Your plan of going to Broke Abbey is a 
 good one, and, if you could get in there 
 for good, it would be better still. I used 
 to know Henrietta Maria well — at one 
 time. She is the acme of vulgarity, and,
 
 120 DORINDA. 
 
 I am told, watches liur brother, like the cat 
 she is (or used to be) ; but she was open to 
 any amount of blarney ! I know nothing 
 of the nephew you mention ; his father 
 died away somewhere — was under a cloud. 
 There were twin sons — at least I think so/ 
 (' Don't I know it !' snarled Dorinda.) 
 ' Why don't you go in for the heir ? I 
 can't increase your allowance, but I send 
 you five pounds, which must last some 
 time. I am off to Homburg to try my 
 luck at the tables. I am sending Estelle 
 to you, as you should not be maid-less. 
 
 ' C. Balbirnie.' 
 
 After reading this precious epistle over 
 twice, Dorinda sat for some minutes in 
 deep thought, then dashing away a tear
 
 DOPdNDA. 121 
 
 she rose with an impatient exclamation, 
 (which did not sound like a blessing), and, 
 burning it with care, began to unpack, 
 communing thus within herself: ' Yes ! I 
 have been a fool — in more ways than she 
 knows ; but now, what am I to do? How 
 am I to rid myself from my inconveni- 
 ent, poverty-stricken lover? Well, if 
 only he keeps to what he said about going 
 away, there is not much difficulty, for he 
 can't return under the year ; and I may 
 compass a good deal in a year ! I wonder 
 when I shall get the promised letter 
 which he was to write the moment he 
 started ? Once he is oiF, then I shall be 
 free to try and get — some one else ! I never 
 made out, after all, where he is going, and 
 I really don't care, as long as he goes.
 
 122 DOPJNDA. 
 
 — and stays long enough ! but that he 
 must do, if he thinks to make a fortune 
 fit for me to live on.' (Here our heroine 
 laughed — but not her musical laugh.) 
 ^ But if,' she said aloud, almost savagely, 
 * he expects me to cut my own throat, by 
 trying to make peace betwixt him and his 
 uncle — well, I'm afraid he will be disap- 
 pointed ! for what, in Heaven's name, 
 should I do if Sir Jasper were to relent, 
 and give Edward Julien and me' (gram- 
 mar was at a discount just at that moment) 
 ' enough to starve respectably upon ! No, 
 no ! that won't do for me ! but, que /aire ? 
 ah well ! I must be prepared for diffi- 
 culties ; bnt I am not, and never was, 
 faint-hearted ! No doubt something will 
 turn up !' Again she was silent ; then she
 
 DOPJNDA. 123 
 
 said, half aloud, ' How I wish I hadn't met 
 him so often alone, while the Woodcocks 
 were roosting, (or w^hatever Woodcocks 
 do when they are tired) ; for if that were 
 to come out, — but I think I've managed 
 to terrify old Janetta and stop her tongue.' 
 
 Just then a maid came to the door, 
 stating that luncheon was ready, and 
 would Miss Stratton allow her to unpack 
 for her? Dorinda thanked her, and 
 giving her her keys ran down the oak- 
 stairs, at the bottom of which Miss de 
 Broke appeared, and, kindly pulling her 
 guest's arm through hers, conducted her 
 into the dining-room. 
 
 Sir Jasper was there already, sitting in 
 a curiously-carved, high-backed arm-chair 
 called ' the King's chair,' for it was sur-
 
 124 DORINDA. 
 
 mounted by a crown at the back, and the 
 family tradition was, that it and another in 
 Sir Jasper's sitting-room, had been always 
 and only used by the ill-starred Charles 
 Stuart. 
 
 At a sign from Henrietta, Dorinda 
 seated herself at the table next Sir Jasper, 
 and vAth much admiration she gazed 
 around the room. The ancient sideboard 
 first attracted her attention, with its 
 wealth of old silver and Venetian glass ; 
 and then the dinner-table itself looked so 
 refined, with its beautiful flow^ers, &c., 
 while innumerable men-servants glided 
 noiselessly hither and thither. 
 
 Dorinda was surprised to see that Sir 
 Jasper ate nothing. He sat at the head 
 of the table conversing cheerfully with his
 
 DORINDA. 125 
 
 sister and guest, and now and then sipped 
 a glass of wine, and played with some 
 grapes on his plate. AYhen, however, the 
 ladies had finished their meal, the servants 
 withdrew, and Henrietta, rising from her 
 seat, went to a sort of fender in front of 
 the fire, and lifting a covered dish set it 
 before her brother, who began to eat, say- 
 ino: to our heroine : 
 
 ' Dear Miss Stratton ! You see we do 
 not treat you as a stranger ! We do not 
 hide from you the secrets of the prison- 
 house !' 
 
 ' Oh !' said Dorinda, hurriedly. ' Shall 
 
 I go away?' 
 
 t No — by no means, if you do not mind 
 staying! You see, I — most foolishly — 
 cannot accustom myself to eating before
 
 126 DOPdNDA. 
 
 the servants, although my misfortune 
 is so many years old ; and my good 
 sister here always manages for my com- 
 fort, herself! Of course, at dinner, I 
 am obliged to eat with the rest, but 
 Henrietta then always prepares my food 
 beforehand.' 
 
 ' I hope,' said Dorinda, in her gentlest 
 voice (for she felt unaccountably touched 
 at the blind man's dependence upon 
 others), ' that I also may be permitted ere 
 long, and when you know me better, to 
 minister a little to your comfort, Sir 
 Jasper !' 
 
 Sir Jasper looked pleased at the girl's 
 words, but his sister seemed rather to 
 scorn the idea of her brother receiving 
 any attentions but hers ; and, as soon as
 
 BORINDA. 127 
 
 his brief repast was ended, the two ladies 
 adjourned to Miss de Broke's own sanctum: 
 and, in the course of half-an-hour, Dorinda 
 had managed, with infinite tact, to learn 
 much concerning the De Broke family 
 generally, and the twin brothers in 
 particular. 
 
 ' Julian Edward, the eldest, and the 
 heir, is a good, steady young man,' said 
 Henrietta, ' and luckily very unlike his 
 scapegrace brother (the one you know). 
 Sir Jasper liked the naughty one best 
 (he was so impulsive and warm-hearted !) 
 and so did I, but my brother found him 
 false and shifty, and Sir Jasper hates a 
 lie!' 
 
 ' Oh — h — h ! ' said Dorinda, thought- 
 fully.
 
 128 DORINDA. 
 
 * Julian Edward,' continued Henrietta, 
 ^ is truthful, but rough and boorish, and 
 generally dislikes women's society.' 
 
 ' Oh !' again ejaculated Dorinda, ner- 
 vously this time, not much pleased at 
 the prospect before her. 
 
 ' Sir Jasper,' Henrietta went on, ' after 
 losing his sight, would see no one but me 
 for quite two years ; then his shyness 
 lessened, and he said he considered it his 
 duty to send for his nephews ; so they came, 
 and after a little they got so attached to 
 their uncle that they nearly lived here. 
 (Both their parents are dead.) The brothers 
 (twins) are devoted to each other, and so 
 alike, you could scarcely distinguish them 
 — except in character. Julian the first is 
 honourable, truthful, shy, clumsy, and oh !
 
 DORINDA, 129 
 
 SO dull ! Julian the second is charming ! 
 He can sing, play, shoot, hunt, draw — in 
 fact, he can do everything, and everything 
 well ; but he was frightfully extravagant, 
 and Sir Jasper, (who had got to love him 
 dearly,) paid his debts over and over again. 
 Then he gambled, and Jasper paid his gam- 
 bling debts; but he became angry and said 
 he would pay nothing more unless the boy 
 passed his word he would never touch 
 another card ! He promised — and broke his 
 word: and when questioned, got frightened, 
 and lied about it ! So his uncle, after pay- 
 ing the debt, refused to see him, and would 
 not even allow him to write. But dear 
 Jasper is so kind, and felt so tenderly to- 
 wards the orphans, — knowing they had been 
 badly brought up, — that he felt it terribly 
 
 VOL. I. K
 
 130 DORINDA. 
 
 when he heard a report that the boy was 
 going to emigrate.' 
 
 ' Where to ?' asked Dorinda, quickly. 
 
 * I really don't know !' answered Hen- 
 rietta. 
 
 (' No more do I,' thought Dorinda.) 
 
 'Jasper would have given anything/ con- 
 tinued Henrietta, ' to see the poor scamp 
 before he started, but we did not know 
 where he was, and we never for one 
 moment supposed he would really leave 
 England without making us some sign. 
 Julian the first is of such a curiously-proud 
 stern nature, as well as being shy, that we 
 actually dared not speak to him upon the 
 subject ; and a few mornings ago Edward 
 Julian sent for his brother, who was here ;
 
 DOPdNDA. 131 
 
 and he started away before we were up, 
 leaving no address, — nor any explanation, 
 beyond a hurriedly pencilled note for 
 Jasper, in which he stated he was gone 
 '' to see his brother off." The fact was 
 he was too proud to ask for any further 
 favours for his brother ! It was a 
 terrible blow to Jasper, who loved the 
 boy, and he was miserable, wondering how 
 he got his passage-money, (fcc. Jasper did 
 not eat for days afterwards ! If Julian had 
 only stated from whence his brother was to 
 start, Jasper would, I am sure, have insisted 
 upon seeing him, and perhaps have pre- 
 vented him going at all. It was a great 
 pity Jasper, in the heat of the moment, 
 forbid the boy writing to him ; but Edward 
 
 k2
 
 132 DOniNDA. 
 
 Julian knew his uncle's kind heart so well, 
 he should not have taken the prohibition 
 au pied de la lettre f 
 
 Dorinda kept silence, stifling her con- 
 science, and resolutely refusing to listen 
 to those words, which nevertheless seemed 
 to haunt her brain and clog every beat of 
 her false heart : 
 
 ' God deal with us, as we do by one 
 another !' 
 
 ' I am glad you have come, Dorinda,' 
 said Henrietta, after a few minutes' 
 silence, ' for Jasper is so dull since the 
 poor scamp went, and you will play 
 and sing to him, will you not ? I wonder 
 whether you would do so this afternoon, 
 while I go to my schools?' 
 
 ' I shall be delighted,' said Dorinda,
 
 DORINDA. 133 
 
 heartily, ' and I shall always be glad to 
 be of any use to him, reading, playing, 
 or singing, unless he prefers being left 
 alone !' 
 
 ' Everything depends upon who the 
 reader or the singer may be !' said Henri- 
 etta, smiling ; ' but I will leave it to your 
 discretion.'
 
 134 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 The starlike sorrows of immortal eyes. 
 
 Tennyson. 
 
 ORINDA now returned to her 
 own room, and at the door 
 she was accosted by a prim 
 old lady with white hair, dressed in a 
 rustling black silk gown. This individual 
 curtseyed deeply to Dorinda, who courte- 
 ously returned the civility with one of 
 her sweetest smiles, wondering privately
 
 VORINDA. 135 
 
 who the lady might be ! She was not 
 long left in ignorance. 
 
 ' I beg your pardon, madam,' the old 
 lady said, ' but I am Mrs. Ashton, Sir 
 Jasper's housekeeper, and he has desired 
 me to bring you the key of the organ. 
 He thought that, while Miss de Broke was 
 out this afternoon, you might be inclined 
 to play a little.' 
 
 ' Oh, ho !' thought Dorinda, diving, as 
 usual, into people's unexpressed motives, 
 ' this is a hint to me that he expects me 
 to amuse myself, and not to bother him 
 with my attentions !' 
 
 So she thanked Mrs. Ashton, and asked 
 her to sit down for a moment, feeling 
 that her acquaintance might as well be 
 cultivated.
 
 136 DORINDA. 
 
 The old lady, however, declined the 
 honour, begging to be allowed to show 
 Miss Stratton the way to the music-room 
 at once, to which Dorinda assented, and as 
 they sauntered through the rooms, the 
 young lady sought for general information. 
 (As was her wont.) 
 
 ' It is a very fine organ, is it not ?' she 
 began. 
 
 * Oh, yes, madam. Sir Jasper had it 
 built himself, and he plays very sweetly, 
 but he generally does so when everyone 
 is either out or gone to bed. He had it 
 placed quite away from the rest of the 
 house, so as to disturb no one. His own 
 private rooms open into the music-room, 
 and with the help of his stick he gets 
 there alone.'
 
 DOrJNDA. 137 
 
 'Is the organ very large?' asked our 
 heroine. 
 
 ' Yes, madam, very large ; and it cost 
 some thousands.' 
 
 (Dorinda began to say, ' Of course — but 
 with Sir Jasper's e — nor ' but remem- 
 bering she was not talking to Miss de 
 Broke, she just pulled up in time). 
 
 ' How many stops has it ?* asked the 
 young lady. 
 
 * Stops ?' asked the old one. 
 
 ' Yes,' said Dorinda. 
 
 *Lor! It never stops!' answered the 
 housekeeper, vaguely, but indignantly sus- 
 picious of a slur being cast either on 
 the instrument, or upon the number of 
 available domestics. ' There's plenty of 
 servants, ma'am, to blow!'
 
 138 DORINDA. 
 
 ' Oh !' said Dorinda, awkwardly, and 
 inclined to laugh ; then she asked : ' To 
 whom am I to restore the key, after 
 playing T 
 
 ' Sir Jasper wishes you to retain it 
 during your visit, madam ; for he has a 
 duplicate key.' 
 
 They had now, while talking, arrived 
 at the picture-gallery — a noble apart- 
 ment, wainscoted in old oak and hung 
 with yellow brocade. 
 
 *A fancy of Sir Jasper's,' explained 
 Mrs. Ashton, ^ before he lost his sight ; 
 for he always maintained that yellow 
 was the best colour for throwing up 
 pictures.' 
 
 The gallery was peopled by innumerable 
 ancestors and ancestresses of the De Broke
 
 DOPJNDA. 139 
 
 family; some royal, some nol3le, and all 
 (Dorinda thought) beautiful to look upon. 
 Amongst these portraits was a more 
 modern one of Sir Jasper himself as a 
 boy ; standing, tall and slim, clad in black 
 velvet, a Vandyke-lace collar round his 
 neck, and with his hand resting caressing- 
 ly upon a huge dog's head. The kingly 
 air, so peculiarly natural to Sir Jasper, 
 was visible in the fair, slight boy, and the 
 large, soft, dark-brown eyes (useless now, 
 alas ! and generally closed) wore the 
 gracious, tender, and withal dignified ex- 
 pression so remarkable in the original — an 
 expression which touched Dorinda curi- 
 ously, in spite of her cynicism, so much 
 so that, as she passed through the door- 
 way to enter the music-room, she could
 
 140 DORINDA. 
 
 not resist turning to gaze again at the 
 boy's face ; and the eyes seemed, she 
 thought, to follow her with a mournful 
 look. With a little gasping sob, the out- 
 come of a sentiment as yet tightly coiled 
 up and unsuspected within her breast, she 
 turned away, and was only brought back 
 to her usual self, by the sound of her com- 
 panion's voice. 
 
 ' And now,' said the old lady, ' we come 
 to the music-room, and ' (pointing with 
 much awe to the further end of it) * within 
 those double doors are Sir Jasper's private 
 apartments, — and here, madam, is the key!' 
 
 Dorinda smiled, for she fancied the 
 housekeeper delivered up the key rather 
 reluctantly, as though she were endowing 
 her with some sacred trust !
 
 DORINDA. 141 
 
 'I feel rather like Fatima, Blue-beard's 
 wife !' she thought. ' I wonder whether I 
 shall find a row of ghastly heads grinning 
 at me over the key-board I' 
 
 She glanced at the old housekeeper, half 
 inclined to confide the playful conceit to 
 her, but on second thoughts, that person- 
 age looked far too dignified, too uncom- 
 promising to be trifled with ! besides, — 
 calling to mind the old lady's speech about 
 the organ-stops, — she thought it just possi- 
 ble she might take her suggestion au grand 
 serieux, and accuse her, perhaps, of vilifying 
 Sir Jasper's reputation ! so she simply took 
 the key with thanks, and at once unlocked 
 the instrument to try its tone. 
 
 Surmising that her presence was no 
 longer necessary, Mrs. Ashton now left
 
 142 DORINDA. 
 
 our heroine, and returned to the apart- 
 ment sacred to herself and to Mrs. 
 Watts, Miss de Broke's OAvn maid (also 
 an old retainer) to whom she made the 
 oracular statement that ' she didn't know, 
 but she thought it a pity when anyone 
 trusted anything to anybody who nobody 
 knew !' The nods and winks which accom- 
 panied these words overwhelmed Mrs. 
 Watts with awe at the speaker's penetration, 
 and with a strong curiosity to hear more ; 
 a curiosity, however, which the loyal old 
 lady had not the slightest intention of 
 gratifying.
 
 143 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 Silence ! beautiful voice, 
 
 Be stiU ! for you only trouble the mind 
 With a joy in -which I cannot rejoice, 
 
 A glory I shall not find. 
 
 TEyNTSON. 
 
 HE one sincere passion in Do- 
 rinda's nature was music. From 
 her earliest youth, she had 
 never unfortunately had reason to believe or 
 trust in anyone or anything ; and music 
 had ever been her confidante, her only love.
 
 144 DORINDA. 
 
 To be sure, its pursuit never interfered 
 with preferment, on the contrary, it might 
 conduce to it ; also it involved no self- 
 sacrifice, or perhaps she might not have 
 loved it as heartily as she undoubtedly did; 
 but we all know the old adage: 
 
 ' If ifs and ans 
 Were pots and pans 
 What would poor tinkers do !' 
 
 So we will without further ill-natured ques- 
 tionings, accept the fact that Dorinda loved 
 music, and further, that she played the 
 organ beautifully, with both execution 
 and pathos; and oh! the relief it had 
 often been to her after a long and un- 
 happy day of lies and prevarication, to 
 sit quite alone in some empty church, 
 and weave the harmonies, which rolled so
 
 DORINDA. 145 
 
 mysteriously around and above her, into 
 fancies ! 
 
 Fancies — sometimes of rapturous hap- 
 piness, too ineffable, alas ! to exist, — except 
 in music ! — sometimes of terror, too 
 grandly awful to be conceived, — except 
 in music ! — sometimes of remorse, repent- 
 ance, forgiveness, or despair, all — all too 
 sublime to be understood, — except in 
 music ! 
 
 Good thoughts, evil thoughts, confused 
 aspirations, and — at times (but seldom, 
 alas !) — agonizing prayers would take 
 form amid the mystic clouds of heavenly 
 melody which filled the air as she 
 played. 
 
 As her hands wandered to-day over the 
 keys, her thoughts travelled far, far away 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 DORINDA. 
 
 into the Regions of Unrest. She sees a 
 bright, glorious Heaven, blue and cloud- 
 less at first, but which becomes dark and 
 threatening. Her feet seem to tread 
 amid sweet flowers — but pah ! their scent 
 changes to that of dank earth ! Then — 
 behold that sea ! so calm and lovely, 
 blossom-tinted like an opal, — like an opal, 
 did I say? ay, an unlucky, treacherous 
 stone ! for see ! its colours fade, the waves 
 become green-gray, — almost black ! Agi- 
 tated they are, foaming, angr}^, so angry 
 that they toss, cruelly lash, and well-nigh 
 crush a small craft, that lay helpless on 
 their rugged bosom ; and relentlessly they 
 bear it away, away, — out of sight, never 
 to return ! 
 
 'Oh, bring it back! bring it back!'
 
 DORINDA, U7 
 
 wails the music ! 'Oh, sea of wild, j^as- 
 sionate Life! sea of black, ungovernable 
 Death ! — bring it back, and give it one 
 more chance !' 
 
 She stops playing, really and unaffect- 
 edly overcome, and, hearing a sound 
 behind her, she turns, and sees Sir 
 Jasper standing in the centre of the 
 room, so pale, so still, that for a moment 
 she wonders whether or not she beholds 
 the spirit of one of the sad portraits of 
 Charles Stuart, of which there are so 
 many in the gallery; but, recovering her 
 surprise, she rises and goes towards him, 
 feeling instinctively that the blind man 
 must require help. 
 
 ' Oh, pray, pray go on. Miss Stratton,' 
 he said, guiding himself to a chair, and 
 
 l2
 
 148 DORINDA. 
 
 sitting down ; ' you don't know what 
 such sounds are to me ! 1 always loved 
 music, but now,' — covering his poor 
 sightless eyes with his hands — ' more than 
 ever.' 
 
 ' Shall I sing ?' returned Dorinda, the 
 same feeling of compassionate admiration 
 filling her generally callous heart, and im- 
 parting a tone of tenderness to her voice, 
 like a faint reflection of the music which 
 seemed yet to linger and re-echo through 
 the room. Without waiting for an answer, 
 and seeing that he really wished it, Do- 
 rinda returned to the organ and played, 
 and then sang. Her voice was a rich, 
 pure contralto^ and she sang beautifully; 
 but somehow the spell seemed broken. 
 Now she sang more for effect, and to please
 
 DORINDA. J 49 
 
 her hearer. Whether Sir Jasper felt the 
 difference she knew not, and she sang 
 song after song, without pausing, except 
 to modulate from one key to the other. 
 She had just begun a fresh song, when the 
 sound of carriage wheels was heard, and 
 directly afterwards Miss de Broke rolled 
 into the room, followed by a young man. 
 Dorinda o-ave a o-reat start when the 
 latter entered, for for the moment she 
 thought it was her lover ; but, upon closer 
 examination, she saw that this man's hair 
 was darker, his eyes larger, his look more 
 straightforward ; he had the same charac- 
 teristically proud, firm tread, and he was 
 certainly gloriously handsome — handsomer 
 than his younger brother. 
 
 As soon as she came in, Miss de Broke,
 
 150 DOPJNDA. 
 
 heedless of the music, said loudly to Sir 
 Jasper, 
 
 ' Here's Julian, dear ! The coach was 
 passing just as I was entering the Park, 
 so T waited and brought him in ; and oh, 
 Jasper ! We had such trouble with one 
 of the new horses ! (Sir Jasper gave 
 three hundred guineas for him last week, 
 Dorinda !) He got frightened at the man 
 blowing the horn, and he plunged fright- 
 fully, turning right round, and looking me 
 in the face ! I thought he would have 
 jumped in at the carriage window. So I 
 jumped out, — and tore my lace ! Such ex- 
 pensive lace, Dorinda !' 
 
 Heaven knows how long Henrietta 
 would have gabbled on about her misfor-
 
 DORINDA. 151 
 
 tunes, aud how much they had cost her, 
 had not Sir Jasper said : 
 
 'Julian, have 3'ou been introduced to 
 Miss Stratton ?' 
 
 Dorinda bowed and presented her hand. 
 The young man returned the bow, but 
 ignored the hand, which our heroine drew 
 back with some confusion, thinking, ' I 
 wonder whether his brother has told him 
 anything!' but on second thoughts she 
 scouted the idea, as she and her lover 
 had mutually agreed to silence upon the 
 subject, not to be broken by either of 
 them, without the knowledge and consent 
 of the other. 
 
 Certainly the new young man's behaviour, 
 Dorinda thought, was unpolished in the
 
 152 DORINDA. 
 
 extreme, for after the first stiff bow, he took 
 no further notice of the young lady, and, 
 as they sauntered back to the drawing-room, 
 (Sir Jasper leading the way with his hand 
 upon his constantly-gabbling sister's shoul- 
 der,) the new-comer carefully opened all the 
 doors widely for his uncle and aunt to pass, 
 leaving Dorinda in the rear to shut them ! 
 ' His manners are ursine !' muttered 
 Dorinda ; ' allons ! il faut changer tout qela /' 
 And as soon as the tea was over, (at which 
 meal our heroine wrathfully 'creamed' and 
 * sugared' herself, — the Bear meanwhile 
 standing uselessly by), and having revenged 
 the slights he put upon her by upsetting 
 some tea over Bruin's boots (his 'hind paws,' 
 she called them to herself) she left the 
 uncle and nephew to themselves, while she
 
 DOPJNDA. 
 
 153 
 
 retired to her room and occupied herself 
 in reading and writing letters till dinner- 
 time.
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 ' The sin 
 That neither God nor man can well forgive, 
 Hypocrisy.' 
 
 RIND A was the first dressed 
 for dinner, and the first to come 
 downstairs, but she was not 
 long alone, for ' Bruin' came into the room 
 soon afterwards, upon which our heroine 
 began to read, or pretended to do so, 
 for she watched the young man care-
 
 DORINDA. 165 
 
 fully over the top of the book. At 
 first he whistled, and walked aimlessly 
 about ; then, approaching the table at 
 which Dorinda sat, he looked sheep- 
 ishly at her, (being rather astonished 
 at anyone taking so little notice of hira,) 
 and took up a piece of delicate white 
 embroidery, which lay upon her work- 
 box. 
 
 * Don't !' said Dorinda, looking up for 
 a moment from her book, and speak- 
 ing as if she were reproving a tiresome 
 child. 
 
 ^ Why T said Julian, surprised, and 
 dropping the work as if it had burnt 
 him. 
 
 ' 'Cos it's mine,' answered the young 
 lady, shortly.
 
 156 DORINDA. 
 
 ' Well/ said Julian, laughing awkward- 
 ly, ' I wouldn't hurt it.' 
 
 ' I'm not so sure,' answered Dorinda, 
 provokingly. 
 
 ' Why ?' again asked Julian. 
 
 ' Because boys' hands are generally 
 grubby,' Dorinda answered, coolly, ' and 
 I daresay yours are no exception to the 
 rule.' 
 
 *You are a very rude, disagreeable 
 young woman !' said Julian, angrily, ' and 
 young nien of three-and-twenty are not 
 generally called " grubby boys." ' 
 
 ' Three-and-twenty !' echoed Dorinda, in 
 apparent surprise ; ' I thought you were 
 much younger, — from your manners. So 
 with you it seems it is not ignorance, but 
 impudence !'
 
 DORINDA. 157 
 
 Julian looked agliast. 
 
 ' What do you mean !' 
 
 At this moment Dorinda dropped her 
 book ; instinctively the young man stooped 
 to pick it up, and so did she, and their 
 heads came violently in contact. 
 
 ^ Oh !' said Julian, irritably, T^dth an- 
 guish depicted in every feature, ' how you 
 have hurt me !' 
 
 ' Have I ?' said Dorinda, gently, and 
 with a look of pity in the blue-grey eyes, 
 ' I am really very sorry ; but you forget, 
 you hurt me too !' then she added, ad- 
 miringly, (knowing that people are never 
 so flattered as when one gives them credit 
 for graces they do not possess,) ' I see 
 that I am wrong, and that your manners 
 are peculiarly fascinating ! If you had
 
 158 DORINDA. 
 
 not picked up my book, en preux chevalier^ 
 this accident would not have occurred ! I 
 am so sorry I was cross just now, but I 
 was pained — thinking you had taken a dis- 
 like to me !' and, as she said these words, 
 she looked at Julian so appealingly, so 
 reproachfully, that he was taken aback, 
 and, choosing a chair by her side, sat 
 down, saying eagerly, though still shyly, 
 
 'No! no! Why should I? Then- 
 then you don't think me such a rough 
 brute, after all ! but you are, — you know, 
 
 so well, I can't explain, but you make 
 
 me feel such a clown, — by your side. 
 What do you think about it, eh ? Am I 
 one ?' 
 
 Dorinda laughed, and said, 
 
 ' Well ! You are rather a rough
 
 DORINDA. 159 
 
 diamond, I confess !' then, seeing a look of 
 annoyance come over his face, she quickly 
 added, ' but, you know, a diamond is 
 always a gem — always beautiful !' 
 
 Julian looked delighted, and, in answer 
 to this subtle flattery, would have said 
 something very much to the point, had 
 not Sir Jasper and his sister entered the 
 room. 
 
 'Provokino;!' thouo-ht our heroine; 'but 
 I haven't lost my time anyhow !' 
 
 ' Will you take Miss Stratton in to 
 dinner, Julian ?' whispered Miss de Broke, 
 '- and I will follow with my brother.' 
 
 Julian willingly gave his arm to the 
 beautiful girl, and she noticed, with in- 
 finite satisfaction, that he pressed hers 
 closer to his side than was at all necessary.
 
 160 DORINDA. 
 
 The dinner was sumptuous. Gold, 
 silver, and flowers everywhere ; * and this,' 
 sighed Dorinda, 4s their everyday life — the 
 life that I long for ! ay ! and the life that 
 I will have by hook or by crook, and yet, 
 they none of them are perfectly happy. 
 He, poor fellow, is blind, and all his gold 
 can't make him see ; she is vulgar, and 
 would give all she possesses to be a 
 duchess — or even a countess; and Bruin, — 
 well, — he is ashamed of himself, and would 
 be far happier in the servants'-hall, with a 
 horn knife and a two-pronged fork ! 
 True! but the blind man gets comforts, 
 servants, his organ, from his gold ; Hen- 
 rietta Maria " rides in her coach," smirks 
 condescendingly at the neighbours, and 
 wears valuable lace, from the gold ; while
 
 DORINDA. 161 
 
 Julian Edward will liave the sum-total 
 some day : comforts, servants, organ, fawn- 
 ing neighbours, coach, lace — all, all — from 
 the gold ! Oh ! money ! money ! money ! 
 I must have money !' 
 
 During dinner the conversation turned 
 once and once only upon Dorinda's quon- 
 dam lover, and she listened with all her 
 ears. 
 
 ' I think you knew my younger nephew, 
 Miss Stratton,' said Sir Jasper. 
 
 ' Yes,' answered Dorinda, ' I met him 
 first when he came with you to the Abbey 
 Church, and — once or twice after that.' 
 
 ' Poor boy !' sighed Sir Jasper. ' If I 
 had known he was going away for so long, 
 I would have seen him before he left ; I 
 parted with him in anger, but he might have 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 162 DORINDA. 
 
 known I am not of an implacable nature!' 
 There was an awkward pause, and 
 Dorinda seemed to hear her lover's voice : 
 ^ Tell him I wish to lead a good life — tell 
 him that I love you !' But she whispered 
 to herself: 'No such fool!' and, glancing 
 at the young man by her side, she saw 
 a scowl on his face which made her 
 understand why Miss de Broke had said, 
 ' they dared not mention the subject of 
 his brother to him ;' for it was the same 
 expression she had seen on Edward 
 Julian's face when she nearly, — oh ! so 
 nearly ! — betrayed herself in the conser- 
 vatory, in the Nun's Court garden. 
 
 The subject then dropped, but in the 
 course of the evening Bruin sat down by 
 Dorinda and said :
 
 no BIND A. 163 
 
 * Did you see much of my brother, Miss 
 Stratton ?' 
 
 ' I saw him several times.' 
 
 ' And what did you think of him ?' 
 
 'He was very nice and agreeable, and 
 
 very like you ;' then after a pause, she 
 
 added : 
 
 ' He is orone abroad, is he not ?' and she 
 
 waited anxiously for the reply. 
 
 * Yes, he is gone, poor fellow ! 1 bid him 
 good-bye ; he sails to-night.' 
 
 Much relieved, Dorinda again asked : 
 ' When shall you hear from him ?' 
 ' Oh ! only when they speak with any 
 homeward-bound vessel. The ship her- 
 self {Boreas by name) touches nowhere. 
 We shan't hear of her arrival for many 
 months ; and he, poor fellow, will not return 
 
 M 2
 
 164: DORINDA. 
 
 for years ! He expects to make his fortune, 
 my poor brother ! Perhaps I may join 
 him, for we are much attached to each 
 other — real twins ! and we never have a 
 thought apart ' 
 
 ' Indeed !' said Dorinda, faintly. 
 
 ' — And he told me he meant to work 
 hard, as it was not for himself alone. 
 When he said this, I felt sure he cared 
 for some fair lady, and I begged him to 
 keep nothing from me.' 
 
 * Well ?' interrupted Dorinda, breath- 
 lessly and interrogatively. 
 
 ' How kind of you to be so interested. 
 Miss Stratton !' said Bruin, ' but — he would 
 tell me nothing, because he said he had 
 passed his word to " her " to be silent ; 
 however, he also promised that if he could
 
 DORINDA, 165 
 
 get " her " leave, he would write and tell rae 
 everything. Anyhow, such an incentive as 
 love may encourage him on, and make it less 
 hard work. He is a good boy, an odd mixture 
 of weakness and strength, and' (with a sigh 
 the young man said this) ' I am very fond of 
 him ; poor fellow ! I think that, latterly, 
 Sir Jasper was rather hard upon him ; so T 
 won't have the subject broached to me ; and 
 I did not wish him to be under any obliga- 
 tions to anyone just now, but to myself 
 
 Dorinda's heart, or what did duty for 
 one in her pretty breast, was light and 
 buoyant after this conversation. She felt 
 safe for months; and what — what might 
 she not compass in that time ! These 
 pleasant thoughts exhilarated her, and 
 she became brilliant, witty, fascinating,
 
 166 DORINDA. 
 
 and Miss de Broke looked on with much 
 complacency at the evident admiration 
 with which her nephew regarded the new- 
 comer. 
 
 ' He may go farther and fare worse/ 
 Henrietta thought, ' for anything so well- 
 born, so fair to look upon, and with such 
 an air of distinction, will do well for the 
 heir's wife !'
 
 167 
 
 CHAPTER Xir. 
 
 He -was not all unhappy. His resolve 
 Upbore him, and firm faith , 
 
 Like fountains of sweet water in the sea. 
 
 Texxtson. 
 
 ^\YS, weeks, months had now 
 passed by happily and quickly 
 at Broke Abbey, and all the 
 
 more quickly from the fact that nothing" 
 especial had happened, to accentuate the 
 flight of Time. To be sure, Nature's fair
 
 168 DORINDA. 
 
 face and form had marked many changes, 
 for instead of her dress being composed of 
 frost and rime, green leaves and bursting 
 buds encircled her, while her faithful 
 troubadour^ the cuckoo, had just returned, 
 and was already singing her the songs of 
 summer. 
 
 Dorinda was still at the Abbey; not 
 only now as a valued and welcome visitor, 
 but little by little, she had become as one 
 of the family. She had made^ several 
 well-bred efforts to bring her visit to a 
 conclusion, but they had been weak and 
 not very sincere ones, and she had 
 acquiesced very readily to the unani- 
 mously expressed desire that she should 
 prolong her visit until her parents' return 
 from abroad.
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 Meanwhile, Henrietta had developed 
 a great passion of affection for our 
 heroine, an affection which it was quite 
 impossible for Dorinda's cold nature to 
 return, and almost impossible, or at least 
 very diflScult, for her to simulate. (By 
 the way, what awkward and painful con- 
 tingencies are these violent attachments 
 conceived by one woman for another ! 
 where ^ Tune bake, et F autre fend la joue /' 
 For the loved one, if she be of a kindly 
 nature, unlike Dorinda, must either play 
 the hypocrite — which a good woman 
 would loathe — or else wound the tenderest 
 feelings of one to whom she should feel 
 grateful.) 
 
 Luckily, Dorinda was only too happy 
 to meet Henrietta half-way in one of
 
 170 DORINDA. 
 
 her idioyncrasies ; for that warm-hearted 
 lady's daily object, and nightly dream, 
 seemed now to marry her protegee to ' the 
 heir ;' — as she persistently called Julian 
 Edward, to Sir Jasper's constant irritation. 
 (An irritation felt, but not spoken, and 
 noticed by Dorindaonly.) The young man 
 himself was nothing loth, but not being 
 of an inflammable nature, and moreover 
 very shy, he did not care to hurry matters 
 on ; and Dorinda fancied, (with a moue^) 
 that he considered himself rather too sure of 
 his bird. So he had not yet proposed, but 
 the astute damsel thought that at any mo- 
 ment she could make him do so, and she 
 only hung back because, to her great sur- 
 prise and no small disappointment. Sir 
 Jasper was evidently disinclined to
 
 DOPJNDA. 171 
 
 further his sister's un dissembled wishes 
 upon the subject. Miss de Broke had 
 never spoken clearly to Dorinda herself 
 upon the matter, but her hints had 
 been unmistakable, and she had broached 
 it several times to her brother, whose 
 answer, however, had invariably been, 
 that if Dorinda and Julian really wished 
 it, well and good, but that no one's 
 affections should be forced, and that, 
 therefore, he personally refused to in- 
 terfere. 
 
 'Why,' he naturally asked, 'does not 
 Julian speak to her himself, like a man, if 
 he wishes to marry her?' 
 
 ' Oh, Jasper !' exclaimed Henrietta. 
 ' You know how shy, how rough he is ! 
 But I am sure he wishes it, for he told
 
 172 DORINBA, 
 
 me so ; and I think Dorinda likes 
 him; 
 
 'Well, well,' said Sir Jasper, rather 
 irritably, ' they must settle it between 
 themselves ! I don't understand the 
 young people of the present day.' 
 
 Dorinda, meanwhile, seeing there was a 
 hitch, kept her eyes and ears open, and 
 managed cleverly to overhear the above 
 conversation. 
 
 ' I never saw such a set of slow, cold- 
 blooded simpletons !' she thought ; ' al- 
 ways beating about the bush and doing 
 nothing. Heigho ! I like a lover with 
 some character, — some passion in him. I 
 wish poor Edward Julian had been the 
 heir ! He knew what he wanted, and 
 let others know it. (By-the-by, I wonder
 
 DORINDA. 175 
 
 why I have not received the promised 
 letter ; it is very strange !) Julian Ed- 
 ward is a timorous idiot !' 
 
 In spite, however, of these slight 
 drawbacks, Dorinda had the satisfaction 
 of knowing she had made herself indis- 
 pensable to all the De Broke family. She 
 helped Henrietta patiently with her 
 schools and poor people, and worked 
 for her bazaars ; she knitted socks and 
 mittens for Julian, — while he rowed her 
 on the lake ; and she wrote letters for 
 Sir Jasper, and would often give up her 
 drive, or any croquet-party, to walk out 
 with, or be of any use to him; and 
 she might now constantly be seen 
 guiding the blind man's footsteps in 
 the Park, while he lightly rested his
 
 174 nORINDA. 
 
 hand upon her girlish shoulder. So the 
 neighbours and poor people alike ex- 
 pected every day to hear the announce- 
 ment of the betrothal of ' Mr. Julian and 
 the pretty Miss Stratton.' 
 
 One day, while Sir Jasper and Dorinda 
 were walking thus together, they met the 
 postman, (a dilapidated old individual, 
 to whom it was pain and grief, in non- 
 official moments, to put one foot before 
 the other, and who, we may suppose, 
 for this reason only, had been elected 
 to fill a post which necessitated his 
 walking an inconceivable number of miles 
 in the shortest space of time). 
 
 ' I see the postman coming,' said 
 Dorinda. 
 
 'Stop him, then,' answered Sir Jasper,
 
 DORINDA. 175 
 
 ' and see if he has any letters of im- 
 portance.' 
 
 Dorinda obeyed. There were two or 
 three letters for Sir Jasper, of which, at 
 his request, she read him the postmarks ; 
 some for members of his household, and 
 two for herself. One was from her 
 mother, and the other was— from her 
 lover ! It was the long-expected letter. 
 Hastily she thrust it into her bosom, 
 wdiere it lay, she thought, feeling like 
 lead; and then, with praiseworthy coolness, 
 opened the maternal epistle, and amused 
 her companion by little extracts of gos- 
 sip in which it abounded. They now 
 continued their walk, and truly to our 
 poor heroine it appeared a journey 
 without an end, for an agony of
 
 176 DORINDA. 
 
 impatience to open her letter devoured 
 her. 
 
 At last they returned home, and Do- 
 rinda ran hurriedly upstairs into her 
 room, locked the door, and tore open 
 the letter. 
 
 ' Deak one,' (it began), 
 
 ' You must have thought me 
 either killed or drowned ;' (' No such luck,' 
 muttered the ' dear one,') ' but I did 
 write, darling, as I promised, and gave 
 it to the pilot as he left the ship, so 
 that you should get the very last accounts 
 of me. Many of the passengers did the 
 same ; and, as we were all watching the 
 boat being quickly rowed to shore, it 
 suddenly ran foul of another, and cap-
 
 DORINDA, 177 
 
 sized, and in a moment the poor pilot and 
 two or three others were in the water, 
 swimming for dear life ! We saw the 
 men safely picked up, but they sig- 
 nalled that all letters w^ere lost ; so that 
 is why you didn't hear. To-day a home- 
 ward-bound is in sight, and we are all 
 scribbling like so many shorthand writers 
 to " the old folks at home." Oh, Dorinda, 
 don't forget me!' (' Xo fear!' thought 
 she.) ' I am so miserable ; but the 
 thought of you comforts me. I will w^ork 
 hard, like a slave, for you ; and do, dear, 
 tell Sir Jasper and my brother of our 
 engagement, for, now that I have really 
 started, my uncle will see I am in 
 earnest, and Julian will love you for my 
 sake.' ('I had rather he did so for his 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 178 DORINDA. 
 
 own,' said the reader.) 'And, Dorinda, 
 I did not tell you, before I started, what 
 I meant to do — it might have distressed 
 you — but I will tell you now, as a 
 proof of my love : I am working my 
 way out like a common sailor; for I 
 would not ask my uncle to give me my 
 passage-money, and poor Julian could not 
 afford to do so. But I am very jolly, 
 so don't worry yourself about me. The 
 sailors are all very good fellows, though 
 rough, and it won't last very long. Oh, 
 Dorinda ! be true to me, and 1 shall yet 
 be a good, honourable man.' 
 
 Many fond and foolish words were 
 added by the poor boy, but Dorinda felt 
 no softness, no compunction, no sentiment, 
 but one of vindictive resentment against 
 him, who she considered the cause of
 
 DOPJNDA. 179 
 
 her present dilemma, — until slie read the 
 postscript, and that filled her with un- 
 utterable alarm. 
 
 ' P.S. — Why should I not write myself to 
 Sir Jasper ? It will be more manly, and, as 
 I know you wish our engagement made 
 public, I will write to him by the next 
 ship we speak with ; I hear one or two 
 homeward-bound ships are likely soon to 
 pass T\dthin hail. I will open my heart 
 to him, for he is a gentleman and true- 
 hearted. You can tell my bro ' 
 
 Here the letter hurriedly finished off, 
 but these last lines terrified Dorinda. 
 
 ' Oh !' she thought, ' if he should write to 
 Sir Jasper, all will be over about my 
 marrying the heir. What shall I do ?' 
 
 After a little thought, she whispered to 
 herself, 
 
 n2
 
 180 DORINDA. 
 
 ' 1 know ! this coming letter must he got rid 
 
 off 
 
 From henceforth our heroine anxiously 
 
 watched for the postman's advent. He 
 came three times a week, early in the 
 morning, and on these mornings she took 
 care to be downstairs before either Hen- 
 rietta or Bruin, so as to see the letters 
 directly they arrived. 
 
 One day the footman brought them in, 
 and giving Dorinda one (from her dress- 
 maker) he placed the others, as usual, upon 
 the sideboard, and after fidgetting about, 
 setting chairs and footstools, &c., at last he 
 left the room, and Dorinda, literally fevered 
 by anxiety lest Henrietta should appear, 
 sprang to the sideboard : 
 
 Yes ! there it lay, amid many others ; —
 
 DOPdNDA. 181 
 
 the dreadful — dreadful letter, addressed to 
 Sir Jasper in her lover's handwriting ! 
 
 Quick as thought, and fancying in her 
 nervousness that she heard approaching 
 footsteps, she seized the obnoxious and 
 terrifying missive, and threw it on the 
 fire, watching it eagerly till it was con- 
 sumed, — but not quite, — for one shred of 
 paper obstinately refused to burn ! It 
 turned, it twisted, it curled, it blistered, 
 but — burn, it would not ! and, as Dorinda 
 gazed at it with some agitation, she 
 deciphered upon it the words, ' As God is 
 
 true ' The rebellious atom had now 
 
 become detached from its smouldering 
 ashes, and, apparently rejoicing in its free- 
 dom, like a spirit emancipated from the 
 body, it flew hither and thither, till a tiny
 
 182 DORINDA. 
 
 current of air wliiskecl it up into the huge 
 chimney; and, when Dorinda thought it 
 must have been destroyed, it reappeared, 
 slowly sinking, down — down, on to the 
 marble slab beneath the old-fashioned dogs, 
 with the words, ' As God is true !' ever 
 uppermost ! 
 
 Dorinda now threw herself on her 
 knees before the fire, seizing the tongs ; 
 but the moment they touched the paper 
 away it flew again ! — this time foolishly 
 fluttering between two logs of wood, — from 
 beneath which leapt up a sly tongue of 
 flame, consuming the poor scrap, — but not 
 altogether, for ' God is ' remained intact ; 
 and, as these solemn words looked out at 
 the baflled girl, they reminded her 
 curiously and unpleasantly of a certain
 
 DOPJNDA. 18^^ 
 
 ^Writing on the Wall!' but, with an 
 angry exclamation at her own superstition, 
 she stealthily abstracted her knitting- 
 needle from her pocket, and, with the same 
 caution as though she were watching her 
 opportunity to stab a living enemy, she 
 swiftly and suddenly endeavoured to pierce 
 the offending and hitherto victorious 
 frao^ment, intendino; to consign it to the 
 flames. But once more it eluded her, being 
 blown mysteriously quite out of her reach, 
 on to the back of the old chimney's 
 enormous throat, the words ' God is ' 
 meanwhile shining out in sharp relief from 
 their sooty surroundings ; and there, to 
 Dorinda's great uneasiness, they remained, 
 long after the meal had begun, — a terror 
 to her, because she, and all like her, know
 
 184 DORINDA. 
 
 the ' fear where no fear is.' Oh ! Dorinda, 
 no task-master, no slave-driver is half as 
 cruel, half as tormentinoj, as the terror 
 born of a guilty conscience ! 
 
 While our heroine was still upon her 
 knees before the fire (striving as many 
 have before her — and as fruitlessly — to ex- 
 terminate the * God is ') she felt a hand 
 upon her shoulder, and Miss de Broke's 
 gabble-gabble sounded in her ear. 
 
 * How now, Dorinda ! You look like a 
 Cinderella amongst the ashes ! Dear 
 child! surely you are not cold! I only 
 have the fire in the morning (and of even- 
 ings sometimes) as it looks cheerful ; but 
 remember — it is summer !' 
 
 ' Oh ! I am not cold, Miss de Broke,* 
 answered the girl, slightly taken aback,
 
 DOPdNDA. 185 
 
 *but — but I had dropped my knitting- 
 needle — so unlucky ! — into the fire-place, 
 as I passed, and I was looking for it • 
 but ; here it is — !' and rising laughingly, 
 (but with a furtive glance at the immov- 
 able piece of paper, and wondering that 
 Miss de Broke did not at once remark it !) 
 she took her place at the breakfast- table. 
 
 In a few minutes Bruin, and lastly Sir 
 Jasper appeared, and the conversation 
 become general. Dorinda's chair was T\dth 
 its back to the fireplace, and she longed 
 every now and then, but dared not, to look 
 round and see if the writing were still 
 visible. 
 
 Dorinda was too upset at the thought 
 of the burnt letter, too anxious about 
 the possible efi'ects of her act, to
 
 186 DORINDA. 
 
 eat ; so she felt — and looked — ill and un- 
 happy. 
 
 Henrietta remarked the pale face and 
 heavy eyes of her protegee^ and was full of 
 solicitude ; and, when Sir Jasper heard that 
 she complained of a headache, he was 
 grieved, and anxious that remedies should 
 be used. 
 
 ' This is my opportunity !' thought 
 Dorinda ; ' for things must come to a 
 crisis, and the sooner the better ! With 
 good management I may be married and 
 settled long before the beggar' (as she 
 styled her first love) ' knows anything 
 about it, and, when once I am the heir's 
 wife, they can't unmarry me ; and for their 
 own sakes they will make the best of the 
 bargain ! After the marriage it will do
 
 DOPdXDA. 187 
 
 Edward Julian no possible good to injure 
 me, and perhaps he will be good-natured, 
 and not betray me ! Courage ! up and at 
 them !' 
 
 These thoughts coursed rapidly through 
 her mind, as she was apparently toying 
 with her teaspoon, — looking delicate and 
 very sad. At last she turned affection- 
 ately to Henrietta and said, (her voice 
 trembling ^xith. emotion,) 
 
 'Dear, kind Miss de Broke, I cannot 
 any longer hide from you the cause of 
 my sorrow. I have had a letter from 
 my mother, desiring me to return and 
 take her place at home, for my father 
 is too ill to move at present, so I must 
 go to-day, or certainly to-morrow. I am 
 very unhappy !'
 
 188 DORINDA. 
 
 She stopped abruptly, as thouojh 
 overcome ; then, mastering herself, con- 
 tinned : 
 
 * You have all been so good to me * 
 
 But she could say no more, and, 
 covering her eyes with her hand, she 
 watched narrowly the effect of her words 
 upon her hearers. 
 
 Sir Jasper expressed great regret ; but, 
 to her surprise and disappointment, did 
 not press her to stay ! Bruin choked 
 himself with his tea, — turned very red, — 
 coughed explosively, and — left the room, 
 apparently in convulsions ; but, whether 
 his discomfort arose from physical causes 
 or mental distress, Dorinda was doubtful. 
 Henrietta, with her usual openness, left 
 no one in doubt as to her sentiments.
 
 DORINDA. 189 
 
 In one moment Xiobe was a joke to her ! 
 and after embracing Dorinda effusively 
 (dropping tears like hailstones into that 
 damsel's tea, to her infinite disgust) she 
 rolled unsteadily from the room, her 
 emotion causing her to take a slanting 
 direction. ' Like a te-to-tum,' thought 
 Dorinda, ' as it is about to drop ;' and 
 so struck was she by the resemblance, 
 that she positively expected to hear the 
 poor lady fall, when outside the door, 
 and roll about on the floor, as a well- 
 regulated, but exhausted te-to-tum would. 
 That catastrophe, however, did not take 
 place, for Miss de Broke was heard noisily 
 moaning as she ascended the stairs, and 
 to slam her door with broken-hearted 
 violence.
 
 190 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 Vouchsafe to wear this ring ! 
 Look how this ring encompasseth thy finger, 
 Even so thy breast encloseth my poor heart ; 
 Wear both of them ; for both of them are thine. 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 S soon as our heroine was alone 
 with Sir Jasper, she rose, and 
 putting her hand gently on 
 
 his arm, she said : 
 
 ' Dear Sir Jasper, I can never say one 
 half of what I feel about your kindness to
 
 DOPJNDA. 191 
 
 me, ever since I came under your roof. 
 Indeed, I have not the heart to try ; 
 but you ^\dll believe in my sorrow at 
 leaving you, and how — how I love you 
 all; 
 
 She waited for an answer, but none 
 came. Chilled and disappointed, she said, 
 after a pause : 
 
 ' T must leave you now, to make ar- 
 rangements ; besides, I must follow jour 
 dear sister, who seems to feel my depar- 
 ture so very deeply.' 
 
 She would have taken her hand off his 
 arm, but he put out his, and for a moment 
 detained it ; then — said nothing, — and let 
 it go. 
 
 'How strange!' thought Dorinda. 'I 
 really thought he cared for me a little,'
 
 192 DORINDA. 
 
 and with a nearer approach to pain than 
 she had thought herself capable of, she 
 left the room and going up into Henri- 
 etta's boudoir^ found that lady lying upon 
 the sofa, looking very tumbled, crying 
 hysterically, and blowing her nose sonor- 
 ously ! 
 
 Henrietta did not look engaging in 
 grief, for one of her peculiarities was, that 
 when she wept she turned salmon-colour 
 all over; and as Dorinda stood looking 
 down upon her friend, the pink flush 
 beneath the sandy hair was identical with 
 the complexion of a blonde baby porker, 
 whose acquaintance she had made a few 
 days previously. 
 
 At this moment Miss de Broke held a 
 beautiful gold bracelet in her hand, and
 
 DORINDA. 193 
 
 as slie clasped it upon Dorinda's slender 
 wrist, she gabbled out tearfully : 
 
 ' Ta — take it, did — did — dear Dorinda ! 
 It cock — cock — cost, twenty-five pou — 
 pounds, and ' ( with a fresh burst of 
 grief) ' I'm so sorry you're gog — gog — 
 going!' 
 
 Dorinda tried hard to soothe the weep- 
 ing Henrietta, and partially succeeding, 
 she left her to make necessary arrange- 
 ments for her impending departure. 
 Upon entering her chamber, she threw 
 herself wearily into a chair, wondering 
 whether her last stroke of diplomacy had in 
 any way furthered her cause. 
 
 For quite an hour she remained im- 
 mersed in thought ; then — there was a start- 
 ling knock at her door, and Henrietta 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 DORINDA. 
 
 burst into the room, embraced her excit- 
 edly and said : 
 
 « 
 
 *Sir Jasper wishes to speak with you, 
 dear, — and alone !' Then she added myster- 
 iously, *and Julian will be awaiting you 
 afterwards in the music-room, — and don't 
 be cruel, dear !' 
 
 At these words Dorinda's heart bounded 
 with joyful expectation, and returning 
 Henrietta's embrace, she said with well- 
 feigned surprise : 
 
 ' Sir Jasper wants to see me ! What 
 can he have to say to me ! I will go at 
 once !' and as she ran lightly downstairs 
 she murmured to herself: 'At last! at 
 last !' 
 
 She found Sir Jasper awaiting her in his 
 own private room, sitting in the Royal
 
 DOFjyOA. 195 
 
 chair, — lookino^, as usual, — dignified and 
 handsome. ' But — how very pale !' she 
 thought. Then with the gentle familiarity 
 with which she was now wont to accost 
 him, she put her hand on his arm, and said 
 in her silvery voice : 
 
 ' Behold me ! Dorinda Stratton — your 
 servant ! Sir Jasper de Broke, do you wish 
 to see me?' 
 
 'Ah!' exclaimed the blind man, feeling- 
 ly, ' if 1 only could P Then taking her hand 
 off his arm, and drawing her gently 
 towards him, he said seriously : 
 
 ' But come and sit by me, Dorinda, 
 for I have something of great importance 
 to say to you, — a very momentous ques- 
 tion to ask you. Perhaps I ought to 
 lead more gradually up to the subject, 
 
 o2
 
 196 DORINDA. 
 
 but I always think what has to be done, 
 is best done quickly ; but you, Dorinda. 
 must answer me with much caution, and 
 not lightly, not hurriedly, for not only 
 your future happiness but that of others is 
 involved in your decision.' 
 
 Dorinda was awed by the gravity in 
 his tone and manner, and she began ner- 
 vously to wonder : 
 
 ' Can Edward Julian have written also 
 to his brother, without my knowing it? 
 (I did not look at Julian's letters !) Can 
 Julian have asked Sir Jasper to forgive his 
 brother for my sake ? and to give his con- 
 sent to our starving together ? and is Sir 
 Jasper going to say " Yes " ? Good Heavens ! 
 I really could not assent to that !' 
 
 Sir Jasper said nothing more for a few
 
 DORINDA. 197 
 
 minutes, which seemed ages to Dorinda; 
 then he again broke the silence, speaking 
 calmly, almost coldly at first ; but, as he 
 went on, he betrayed such a passion of 
 earnestness, that our heroine, accustomed 
 to his more than ordinary placid exterior, 
 gazed at him in amazement. 
 
 ' Miss Stratton,' he said, ' my sister 
 has begged me, rather against my better 
 judgment, — and my old-fashioned pre- 
 judices, — to speak to you on a subject 
 which she has often pressed upon me be- 
 fore, but which I shrank from broaching to 
 you, because — because it seemed so un- 
 natural for one man to be spokesman for 
 another upon such a subject ! In my young 
 days, Miss Stratton, a man (if he was worthy 
 of the name) wooed the girl he loved him-
 
 198 DORINDA. 
 
 self, and would have scorned a go-between ! 
 I always held that true love brooks no 
 interference. Indeed, Miss Stratton, — if I 
 were young again, and had my sight, — if I 
 were wooing you — for myself, no one in 
 earth or Heaven should come between us. 
 No, Dorinda, I would myself kneel at 
 your beloved feet, and ' (passionately he 
 spoke, and vehemently seized her hand) 
 ' I would say, " Dorinda, Dorinda ! I love 
 you with every energy of my soul ! Do 
 you — can you — will you love me ?" ' 
 
 As he spoke Sir Jasper involuntarily 
 pressed Dorinda's hand to his lips, to 
 his eyes — his poor, sightless eyes ; then 
 suddenly he seemed to remember some- 
 thing, — to control himself, and, drop- 
 ping the girl's hand with an impatient
 
 DOPdNDA. 199 
 
 sigh, he said, mechanically, as thou oh 
 repeating a lesson he had learnt by 
 rote : 
 
 ' Forgive me, Miss Stratton ; what — oh, 
 what have I been saying ? ^ly sister begs 
 me to ask you, and my nephew Julian 
 also ventures to address you through 
 me : will you be his wife ? He is my 
 heir, and a good, steady, honourable 
 young man. Henrietta says he loves you, 
 and that she thinks — she hopes — you will 
 not refuse him.' 
 
 Sir Jasper ceased, and listened eagerly 
 for her answer ; but the girl's whole face, 
 attitude, and manner had undergone a 
 change ! 
 
 At last — at last she had divined the 
 secret ! At last she knew why Sir Jasper
 
 200 DORINDA. 
 
 had dreaded asking her to be Julian's wife! 
 and in a whisper of infinite tenderness, — 
 for the first time in her life, feeling stirred 
 to her inmost soul, — she murmured, 
 
 * No, Sir Jasper, I cannot marry your 
 nephew ; I do not love him — and I never 
 shall; 
 
 ' Then,' continued Sir Jasper, hurriedly, 
 and with ever-increasing excitement, ' I 
 may (may I not ?) speak for myself ! Oh, 
 Dorinda, I have tried to be fair and loyal 
 with 3'ou both, have I not ? Give me credit 
 at least for that. But hear me now for 
 myself — my poor blind self. I love you, 
 dear, oh ! I love you ! and no one knew it ! 
 I have kept my love locked up here,' tak- 
 ing Dorinda's trembling hand again, and 
 crushing it to his breast, * and an unruly
 
 DORINDA. 201 
 
 prisoner it was ! God only knows how it 
 fought and struggled to burst its bonds ! 
 And I thought you loved Julian, Henrietta 
 said you did ; but, Dorinda, from the first 
 moment I heard your voice, — your gentle 
 silvery voice, — I felt that my solitary 
 years of darkness were at an end, that I 
 had found my guide, — my light, — my star ! 
 Dorinda, do not keep me in suspense ! speak ! 
 — and yet, no ! wait awhile, for how shall I 
 hear your answer ! and oh God ! how can I 
 expect you to love a poor blind man ? — to 
 sacrifice your beautiful young life, for the 
 sake of becoming a blind man's eyes, — mind, 
 — happiness, — everything ! but, Dorinda, I 
 must have your answer — so speak. Yes or 
 no?' 
 
 But the girl was too honestly touched to
 
 202 DOPdNDA. 
 
 do SO then. She paused ; then taking his 
 hand, kissed it tenderly, and her voice 
 shook as she presently faltered out : 
 
 ' Yes, Sir Jasper, a thousand times yes ! 
 for — for 1 love you /' and at that moment, 
 as far as her nature could, she really did 
 love the man at her side, and for a happy 
 five minutes her wretched home, — her 
 school-life, — the cheque, — and that dread- 
 ful letter, all — all vanished from her mind, 
 and she realized nought but the fact that 
 she was tightly clasped to an honest man's 
 breast. 
 
 Once more she whispered, 
 
 ' Jasper, I love you !' 
 
 No more, for his lips were pressed long 
 and tightly to hers, and after some seconds 
 of throbbing happiness to them both, he
 
 DORINDA. 203 
 
 murmured lovingly in her ear, ' Jour do ma 
 vie' (which she knew was his motto) and 
 slipped a ring upon her finger, with those 
 words enamelled upon it. 
 
 After a few moments' happy silence Sir 
 Jasper said, 
 
 ' And now, sweet heart, we will go and 
 tell my sister !' 
 
 As he spoke, Dorinda awoke, as it 
 were, from a blissful but ephemeral 
 dream, and she knew that her troubles, 
 her lying, her equivocations, were all 
 about to recommence. 
 
 * What will she say ? ' burst from her 
 lips as she clung to Sir Jasper's arm. 
 
 * Never fear,' he answered, encouraging- 
 ly ; ' always dare to be true ; and, after all, 
 what can there be for you to fear?'
 
 204 DOPJNDA. 
 
 A dagger seemed to pierce the girl's 
 bosom at these words, and she but 
 faintly returned the pressure of the pro- 
 tecting arm thrown around her, as Jasper 
 rose, and placing his hand confidingly on 
 her shoulder, said, 
 
 ' Always so now ! my guide through 
 life !' 
 
 As they mounted the stairs together 
 and approached Henrietta's room, Do- 
 rinda lived through years of apprehen- 
 sion, for she felt intuitively that, much 
 as that lady would have rejoiced in 
 welcoming her as her niece, she would 
 scarcely care to give up her own posi- 
 tion to her protegee^ which of course, if 
 all things went well, she would have 
 to do.
 
 VORINDA. 205 
 
 'I am not generally nervous,' thought 
 the girl, ' but I wonder what on earth 
 she'll do !' 
 
 Miss de Broke, who had been eagerly 
 waiting for the denouement of her cher- 
 ished project, heard the approaching 
 footsteps, and, running to the door, 
 opened it ; then, seeing her brother and 
 his companion enter the room so amicably 
 together, she cried out excitedly : 
 
 'Is it all settled? Where is Julian? 
 Dorinda will never leave us now !' 
 
 'Never!' answered Sir Jasper, sol- 
 emnly, ' till death us do part ! for, Henrietta^ 
 my own dear sister, Dorinda has promised 
 to be — my wife /' 
 
 For once in her life Henrietta was 
 stricken dumb ! and for about the space
 
 206 DORINDA. 
 
 of a minute she looked from one to the 
 other, with a blank and expressionless 
 face ; then, in an uncontrollable fit of 
 anger and disappointment, all the latent 
 coarse vulgarity of the woman burst 
 forth. 
 
 * Dorinda !' she gasped, ' you double- 
 faced, sly, designing ' 
 
 ' Hold !' cried Sir Jasper, authorita- 
 tively. ' Henrietta Maria ! In your 
 own house, to a lady who is your guest !' 
 Then turning to his pale fiancee he kissed 
 her hand respectfully, and whispered, 
 tenderly : ' For my sake, sweet heart, 
 leave the room.' 
 
 Dorinda was only too glad to do so, 
 for she longed to be alone, to collect 
 her thoughts, being as much amazed as
 
 DORINDA. 207 
 
 Henrietta could be, at the turn things 
 had taken ; besides, the experience of 
 being unfairly accused of falsehood and 
 treachery (and certainly, as far as Sir 
 Jasper's attachment to her was con- 
 cerned, she was innocent as a babe !) 
 was quite a new experience, and not 
 altogether an unpleasant one. For the 
 first time, too, in her life, her heart 
 had spoken ; and as she threw herself on 
 the sofa in her bed-room, hiding her face in 
 the pillows, she recognised something akin 
 to real love for the noble and simple 
 nature of this man who loved her ! She 
 felt a longing to be a good true wife, with 
 one ever at her side who she could respect 
 sufficiently to obey ; one to whom she 
 could be open and truthful — ay ! and one
 
 208 DOPJNDA. 
 
 who (and, as she thought of this, the 
 blood seemed to course more rapidly 
 through her veins, and her eyes to fill 
 with delicious tears !) would perhaps give 
 her little children, who she would strive 
 to bring up to be as loyal and faithful as 
 their father ! — but here — the shadow of 
 another man, — of another life, — intruded 
 itself on her memory, seeming to darken, 
 envelope, and choke these good and happy 
 thoughts.
 
 209 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends ! 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 HEX the brother and sister were 
 left together in Henrietta's 
 boudoir, there was at first an 
 ominous silence between them; then Sir 
 Jasper spoke. 
 
 ' Henrietta, I am at a loss to com- 
 prehend your most singular behaviour ! I 
 thought that Miss Stratton was infinitely 
 VOL. I. p
 
 210 DORTNDA. 
 
 beloved by you ! x\lso 1 thought, from your 
 tender kindness of years, that my happi- 
 ness was dear to you, and that your great 
 object in life was the lightening of the 
 sore burden which God has seen fit to cast 
 
 upon me 
 
 * Jasper,' answered Henrietta, hardly, 
 * so it is, and so, God knows, it has been ! 
 but do you see nothing incongruous, no- 
 thing suspicious in Miss Stratton's exces- 
 sive readiness to transfer her affections so 
 speedily from Julian to yourself?' 
 
 ' Did she ever say she loved Julian ?' 
 asked Sir Jasper, hastily. 
 
 * No,' answered Henrietta, truthfully, 
 ' for I never asked her ; but it was by her 
 tacit approval that I endeavoured to 
 bring about her engagement to him.'
 
 DORINDA. 211 
 
 ' Did you never ask her if she loved 
 him ?' 
 
 ' No.' 
 
 ' Then how can you say or know she 
 did?' 
 
 ' Pah ! You men are so blind !' Then 
 she felt she would have died rather than 
 have made this apparently unfeeling 
 speech, so she continued, hurriedly, 'so 
 easily cheated ' 
 
 ' I know, dear, what you mean,' said Sir 
 Jasper, kindly. 
 
 'I know you do, Jasper!' said Henrietta, 
 now bursting into tears, ' and believe me 
 that by every means in my power, short 
 of telling her, I made her understand my 
 wishes for her marriage with Julian ! Why 
 did she show no repugnance to it?' 
 
 p2
 
 212 DORINDA. 
 
 ' Henrietta, she loved me ; and can you 
 have no sympathy for the awkwardness of 
 the girl's position ? She would have died, 
 no doubt, rather than, by word or hint, 
 betray her real feelings. Directly I men- 
 tioned Julian's offer, (remember you forced 
 me to speak to her about it, much against 
 my will,) she refused him, and then I felt 
 I was at liberty to speak for myself; for 
 oh, Henrietta ! I have loved her ever since 
 the first day she blessed us with her pre- 
 sence ! and if you had only seen her joy, 
 her surprise, when I told her of my love, 
 you would have been satisfied of her good 
 faith; 
 
 'Well, Jasper, for your sake I will 
 say no more, for it is just one of those 
 cases that one can't put into words ; but
 
 DORINDA, 213 
 
 I shall never care for her again, never !' 
 Sir Jasper looked pained. He was far 
 too noble, too simple a nature to suspect, 
 or even to understand that a great element 
 in his sister's anger consisted in the pros- 
 pective fall she would sustain in her 
 worldly position ; and also, that she would 
 have to play * second fiddle ' to one who 
 had been her humble protegee^ and who had 
 ever toadied her to the top of her bent ! But 
 this was not all ; Henrietta's amour proj^re 
 was wounded, for she suspected that she 
 had been made a fool of by Dorinda, 
 cheated under her very nose ! So she 
 hated the girl, and felt she always would. 
 
 ' Henrietta,' at last said Sir Jasper, 
 taking his sister's hand and kissing it 
 gently ; ' for years you and I have lived
 
 214 nORINDA. 
 
 together and loved one another, and all I 
 had was yours and will be, for I am sure 
 Dorinda will be the last to wish to separ- 
 ate us.' 
 
 Henrietta was touched with her brother 
 and kissed his forehead ; but his very 
 words, meant so kindly, had put crudely 
 before her that what had been her right 
 would now be a favour, (if she accepted it, 
 which she said to herself she would rather 
 die than do). So once more pressing her 
 lips to his forehead, she said, 
 
 ' Well, dear, as it seems so far settled 
 between you, I will go and speak kindly 
 to her.' And Sir Jasper, not understand- 
 ing either of the natures he had to deal 
 with, augured well from his sister s words, 
 and for the moment felt supremely happy.
 
 DORINDA. 215 
 
 ' They are both angelic natures in their 
 different ways,' he thought, 'and our 
 home will be a patriarchal one ! We will 
 all live together, I and my dear wife, my 
 sister and nephews. God has been very 
 good to me !' 
 
 As Dorinda was sitting upon her sofa, 
 full of hopeful thoughts, some one opened 
 the door noisily and walked in. It was 
 Miss de Broke, looking still very red and 
 dishevelled. 
 
 She rolled majestically into the room, 
 and sat down ; and, as soon as she could 
 regain her breath, she said, with an air 
 of travaille dignity : 
 
 ' Miss Stratton.' 
 
 ' Why not " Dorinda !" ' murmured our 
 heroine.
 
 216 DORINDA. 
 
 ' Miss Stratton,' obstinately repeated 
 Henrietta. 
 
 ' " Dorinda," you mean,' persisted the 
 young lady, who had her own share of 
 obstinacy. 
 
 * Well — well,' gobbled Henrietta, irrita- 
 bly, ' I come to say that my brother 
 assures me you have not dealt unfairly — 
 or ' 
 
 ' Stop, Miss de Broke,' cried Dorinda, 
 ^ and, before you say more, hear me ! 
 How can you accuse me of entrapping Sir 
 Jasper (as I suppose that is what you sus- 
 pect me of) ? I have lived openly with you 
 all these months — so how can there have 
 been anything that you did not see ? How 
 could I tell you, or anyone, the thoughts 
 of my inmost soul? I have loved your
 
 DORIXDA. 217 
 
 brother ever since I saw him, but how 
 could I act differently from what 1 did ? 
 '\\^ould it have been maidenly, — delicate, 
 had I put into words your wishes concern- 
 ing your nephew and my future, — wishes 
 which you had, after all, only hinted 
 at? Wishes too — which I felt I should 
 reject ! Besides,— would you not have 
 cross-questioned me ? and then — then I 
 might have betrayed myself? Xo, no ! 
 Be fair — be just, and believe me when I 
 say that my wildest dreams never sug- 
 gested the possibility of my attaining 
 such happiness as your brother's love ! 
 It came upon me like a sudden flood of 
 God's blessed sunlight, and, oh ! Henri- 
 etta, I will make him a loving wife, and 
 vou a devoted sister !'
 
 218 DORINDA. 
 
 Then, throwing herself into the still- 
 indignant and unwilling lady's arms, 
 she wept tears of joy inexpressible. 
 
 Henrietta, of course, could say no more, 
 and, after some kisses and tears on both 
 sides, Dorinda hoped she had overcome 
 Henrietta's animosity ; but these hopes, 
 as we shall see, were not long-lived, nor 
 destined to bear fruit. 
 
 Henrietta now remembered the unfor- 
 tunate would-be lover, rlulian Edward, 
 who was all this time cooling his heels in 
 the music-room, wondering what they were 
 all about, and every moment expecting the 
 advent of a blushing and conscious Do- 
 rinda. Instead of her, however, his aunt 
 appeared, and, after giving him a highly- 
 coloured account of what had occurred, — 
 interlarding the recital with many imagin-
 
 DORINDA, 219 
 
 ary facts, and accusing Dorinda of having 
 laid a trap for them, into which thf^y 
 had all fkll^^n pell-mell — she advised the 
 wrathful young man (who was, of course, 
 after the manner and justice of }ouri;z 
 men, quite as irate against the wee pin;; 
 Henrietta's ' mismanagement ' as r ^ ! 
 the fair cause of all the huhbuby -.1: 
 
 up at once, and leav*^ the Abbe} — v,..x.,ix 
 he did; and we are not aware that 
 Dorinda and the indignant Bruin ever 
 met again, — except once, as we shall see, 
 and then accidentally. 
 
 Things went on quietly at the Abbey 
 for some days after these events, but as the 
 fact gradually impressed itself upon [{■:..- 
 rietta that people (the neighbours, ser- 
 vants, &c.) had already, after the fashion 
 of the world, begun to worship the
 
 220 DORINDA. 
 
 rising sun, and that the French cry of 
 ^ Le Roi est mort I Vive le Boi /' was ex- 
 emplified in her own case, she felt it bit- 
 terly, being neither noble nor unselfish 
 enough to join in the cry; and when, 
 one dreadful day, Dorinda appeared, with 
 Sir Jasper's royal ring upon her finger 
 — (hat ring containing Charles the Mar- 
 tyr's hair, which had never been worn, 
 except by the head of the family since 
 it had been presented by the ill-fated 
 monarch to their ancestor, Sir Aubry de 
 Broke, — the unhappy woman could bear 
 it no longer, and, in spite of the gen- 
 tleness and submission with which Do- 
 rinda thought it expedient to treat her, 
 (for the time,) she decided upon leaving 
 the Abbey at once, knowing that under
 
 DORINDA. 221 
 
 such circumstances our heroine must leave 
 it also, till such time as she should return 
 as its mistress. 
 
 Sir Jasper had to break his sisters 
 resolve to his fiancee^ at the same time 
 asking her tenderly her wishes about 
 the day of the marriage; and Dorinda 
 (feeling that now was the time for her 
 to hurry on events as much as she 
 decently could, so as to lessen the risk 
 of unpleasant revelations of any kind 
 coming between her and her happi- 
 ness) with many sighs and tears, and 
 with her bashful face pressed to his 
 breast, told Sir Jasper, for the first 
 time, of her wretched home, and un- 
 happy childhood; of her hard, cruel 
 mother, and her drunken and immoral
 
 222 DORINDA. 
 
 father ; all of which staggered poor Sir 
 Jasper, whose most solemn creed (next to 
 those in the Prayer-book) was embodied 
 in the expressive words, 'Noblesse oblige.^ 
 
 He had long suspected that all was not 
 as it should be between Dorinda and 
 her parents, for although he had already 
 received a few words from Lady Bal- 
 birnie from abroad, full of gushing joy at 
 the news (instantly communicated to her 
 by Dorinda) of her ' beloved child's ' 
 happiness, he had been surprised that 
 neither she nor Lord Balbirnie had ex- 
 pressed any intention of coming to Eng- 
 land; but now he understood it; for, 
 from what Dorinda had just confessed, he 
 suspected that debts kept them away. So 
 he determined not to humiliate his fiancee
 
 DORINDA. 223 
 
 by asking her any more questions ; and 
 he was inexpressibly touched by what he 
 considered her childlike innocence, when 
 one day as he was urging upon her the ne- 
 cessity of his going to London to make 
 settlements upon her, to alter his will for 
 her sake, &c., (fee, she burst into tears, and, 
 throwing her soft arms round his neck, 
 sobbed out: 
 
 ' Jasper ! give me one more proof of 
 your love, by granting me this favour. 
 Make no settlements upon me. I want 
 none. I only want you ! I come to you 
 a pauper, and I expect no riches — no 
 grandeur. Let us tell no one our mar- 
 riage-day; and let us walk to church 
 together, dear — the church in which I 
 saw you first ! — I in a cotton gown, and
 
 224 DORINDA. 
 
 you with your hand on ray shoulder, 
 guiding you ! and let us be quietly mar- 
 ried, without any preparation — any crowd. 
 The beadle,' she said, laughing, 'can 
 give me away ; and you can make settle- 
 ments afterwards ;' and she knew he would. 
 ('Anything, anything,' she said, nervously, 
 to herself, 'to get the marriage irrevoc- 
 ably over.') 
 
 ' My own sweet heart,' answered Sir 
 Jasper. ' It is like you to be so trust- 
 ful ! And happy am I to find one who 
 despises pomp and circumstance. I too 
 have a little confession to make. I am 
 weak and foolish enough to dread parad- 
 ing my misfortune before others ; and I 
 too am anxious to get the marriage over 
 in our quiet little country church, with-
 
 DORINDA. 225 
 
 out any lookers-on ! And we can only 
 do this by concealing the day, — and by 
 its taking place before it has been gos- 
 sipped about. So write, dearest, and tell 
 your parents that I am going to steal 
 you — almost surreptitiously.' 
 
 Dorinda required no second bidding ; 
 indeed, she had already written to her 
 mother warning her of the possible danger 
 of procrastination, and of the chance 
 (although a remote one) of her incon- 
 venient lover (number one) turning up, 
 and ' spoiling the whole thing.' 
 
 So Lady Balbirnie had taken the hint, 
 and wrote by return to Sir Jasper, saying 
 that her husband's precarious state of 
 health precluded her return home for 
 months, and that, 'as, upon principle,' 
 
 VOL. I. Q
 
 226 DORINDA. 
 
 (how Dorinda laughed when she read this!) 
 'she objected to long engagements (and 
 especially so in the present case, for ob- 
 vious reasons), she trusted arrangements 
 might be made for a quiet and a speedy 
 marriage.' She enclosed a small sum for 
 the trousseau^ and finished her epistle 
 by invoking blessings upon the heads of 
 all parties concerned in the business, — and 
 upon Sir Jasper's in particular. 
 
 Sir Jasper, seeing, to his great satis- 
 faction, that everyone's wishes coincided 
 with his own, and becoming every day 
 more attached to Dorinda, and anxious 
 to shield her from the daily petty annoy- 
 ances inflicted upon her by Henrietta's 
 jealousy, decided that the marriage should 
 take place immediately ; and that instead
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 of his sister leaving the Abbey at once, 
 as she vindictively declared she would, 
 she was, under pain of her brother s last- 
 ing displeasure, to stay there till the day 
 before the marriage, when she and Do- 
 rinda were to move to the Vicarage (the 
 Vicar's wife was a great ally of Sir 
 Jasper's), and stay there that night. 
 The wedding would then take place the 
 following day from the Vicarage, the 
 bride and her husband returning directly 
 after the ceremony to the Abbey, where 
 tbey would spend the honeymoon. 
 
 After some difficulty, Henrietta con- 
 sented, though with a bad grace ; and, 
 everything being arranged to Dorinda's 
 satisfaction, she was on the very threshold 
 of happiness ; but at times a shadow luoidd 
 
 q2
 
 228 DORINDA. 
 
 come over her, and she would hear a 
 voice, ' God deal ivitJi us^ as we ... ' 
 and a hand would seem to draw her 
 away, as she clung to her future husband's 
 side. 
 
 But she would not hear! She resolutely 
 closed her eyes and heart to the Past. 
 
 ' Once his wife ! once his wife !' she 
 muttered, ' and he will forgive me for 
 his own sake, for he loves me so ; and 
 it won't be worth Edward Julians while 
 to wreck his uncle's happiness. And yet 
 — oh, yet ! how will it all end ? I cannot 
 pray to God for help ! He would not hear 
 me ! Shall I pray to Fate ? — or to the 
 Devil ? Shall I call the Devil to my aid ? 
 Anything — anything, so that I am once 
 his wife.'
 
 229 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 Oh, that a man might know 
 The end of this day's business ere it come ! 
 But it sufficeth that the day will end, 
 And then the end is known.' 
 
 HE eve of the marriage had 
 arrived, and the young Sum- 
 mer's first beauties seemed put 
 forth to welcome the coming festival. This 
 night Dorinda was to sleep at the Vicar- 
 age, and, having been chafed almost past 
 bearing and irritated all day by Henrietta's
 
 230 DOPdNDA. 
 
 insolences, as soon as dinner was over, she 
 put on her hat and hurriedly went out into 
 the park for a quiet stroll, to wile away 
 the hour or so, before her departure for 
 the Vicarage. 
 
 ^ I will take a very short walk,' she 
 thought, as she started, ^ and, when I 
 feel sure Henrietta is upstairs worrying 
 her maid about her smart gown, I will 
 creep back, and sit with my beloved 
 in his own den. In four-and-twenty 
 hours' time,' she whispered, ' I shall 
 be Jasper's wife, Lady de Broke, and 
 a few hours later, T shall have returned 
 to the Abbey as its mistress ! Oh, how 
 happy I shall be !' — but she shrank, and 
 a chill seemed to creep over her, in spite 
 of the summer weather. ^ Shall I be
 
 DORINDA. 231 
 
 happy ? Avith such a black secret twined 
 round and round me like a serpent ? Psha ! 
 Any change would be preferable to my 
 life before I knew Jasper ! But I shall 
 not feel safe, I am not safe — really safe, 
 till his ring is round my finger ; and 
 yet — there can in realitv be no danorer 
 of his return ! Oh ! all my life I will 
 try to compensate for this deception, 
 this concealment, by my love — my lifelong 
 devotion to my husband !' 
 
 Just then she came to a small bridore 
 which stretched across a narrow stream, 
 and she stood for one moment, watchincr 
 the water as it meandered lazily by, and 
 admiring the reflection of the moon which 
 trembled on its surface. The bridge was 
 composed of a single arch, and the rise to
 
 232 DORINDA. 
 
 its summit was very steep. Pausing to 
 regain her breath, she leisurely descended 
 on the other side, and entered a group of 
 trees which grew close to the water's edge. 
 The moonbeams shone brightly between 
 the branches, clearly marking the pathway 
 through the wood ; but the shadows 
 amongst the trees were very deep. Enter- 
 ing the wood Dorinda stooped to admire 
 and pick some primroses, when — suddenly 
 her heart stood still, for she became aware 
 of a man evidently watching her from 
 behind a tree. 
 
 She was much alarmed, and turning 
 abruptly, endeavoured tore-gain the bridge. 
 She did so ; but as she toiled up the steep 
 pathway, to her dismay a hurried but 
 
 firm tread followed — sfained upon her. She 
 
 &'
 
 DORINDA. 233 
 
 quickened her pace, but her strength 
 failed, her legs refused their office ; then a 
 hand she knew too well, was roughly laid 
 upon her shoulder! 
 
 She neither screamed nor fainted, nor 
 did she at first venture to look round ; for 
 instinctively she knew that what she had 
 dreaded — what she had schemed against — 
 what she would have sold her soul to avert, 
 had come upon her! — That Edward Julian, 
 her beggar-lover, was by her side ! 
 
 At first she stood transfixed; then turned 
 to look piteously in his face, in the wild 
 hope of mercy ; but there was no mercy 
 there. 
 
 ' Dorinda,' he said, and his voice was 
 low and hoarse, * I have been watching for 
 you all day, and now I have you face to
 
 234 DORINDA. 
 
 face, and alone ! Nay, you need not fear. 
 I am not goin^ to murder you,' (with a 
 bitter smile). ' Now tell me,' and as he 
 spoke, his hand involuntarily clutched her 
 shoulder till she shrank and cried out ; 
 but he took no notice, — only repeating 
 roughly, 
 
 'Now tell me! Is it true what 1 hear, 
 that you are on the point of marriage with 
 Sir Jasper, with my ujicle ? yes or no,' 
 peering into her face ; ' but, psha !' he pur- 
 sued, pushing her violently from him, 
 ' why do I ask ? for you'd lie your soul 
 away — if you have one ! but lying is of no 
 use now.' 
 
 Then, seizing her again by the shoulder, 
 he stooped down and uttered a word in 
 her ear. Whereupon she turned upon
 
 DORIXDA. 235 
 
 him like some hwnted animal at bay. 
 
 ' Take your lianci off my shoulder,' she 
 said, in a savage whisper, ' a better man's 
 hand than yours has rested there.' 
 
 ' Yes,' he answered, ' and for the last 
 time ! You little thought,' he added, 
 mockingly, his eyes glittering like a viper's, 
 ' that your quondam lover would return — 
 just in time — just in time I You thought 
 he was away, miles away, beyond the sea, 
 working, poor fool, working for you ! Ay, 
 and you would have let him work, — die. — 
 rot out there, before one word from your 
 sweet lips would have saved him ! Then, 
 forsooth, you must try "your hand upon 
 the heir, and you cheated him also ! for it 
 pleased you better to reign at once. So 
 you cast your covetous eyes on the poor
 
 236 DORINDA. 
 
 blind man, and — Delilah that you are ! — 
 fooled us all three !' 
 
 He paused, gasping for breath, and for 
 the first time Dorinda remarked that he 
 looked deadly pale and ill. 
 
 ' Oh, God !' she impiously prayed, 
 ' strike him dead ! strike him dead !' then 
 seeing that he still was silent, apparently 
 from sheer weakness, and that he must 
 perforce listen to her words, the unhappy 
 girl said eagerly : . 
 
 ' Julian ! hear me ! So help me God, I 
 never tried to win Sir Jasper ; he loved 
 me all unsought. Oh, Julian ! Julian ! 
 You don't know what a hell is in my 
 heart ! You don't know my wretched 
 life! I was ever an ill-used, unhappy 
 child, educated by blows and harshness,
 
 DORINDA. 237 
 
 taught to lie and deceive. Save, oh, save 
 me from being a broken-hearted, reckless, 
 miserable woman. Don't — don't betray 
 me ! for I long so for a Home ! Give me a 
 chance, and let me lead a good, useful life 
 — a happy life — with a good man. Julian, 
 you can save me ! Have mercy !' 
 
 She threw herself at his feet ; but, 
 raising her roughly, he said, with a 
 sneer : 
 
 ' Mercy ! Mercy you ask from me ! 
 Had you mercy when / pleaded for help at 
 your hands, so that I might begin a new 
 and honourable life? Didi you have mercy 
 when you let me go — you neither knew nor 
 cared where — so that I went ? /, too, who 
 loved what others would have scorned ! 
 Listen, Dorinda ! up to yesterday even I
 
 238 DORINDA. 
 
 loved you. for, with all your faults that I 
 knew of, I thought you were true to me. 
 When T left you, I travelled day after 
 day in that dreadful ship, working like a 
 common sailor ; miserable, friendless, down- 
 hearted, but with the thought of you and 
 your love uppermost ! For I looked upon 
 you as my wife, exce|)t in the name. I 
 was stricken with fever, and I thought, 
 (indeed the}^ all thought,^ I should die, and 
 never see you again ; and oh ! how I longed 
 to see your face, to hear your voice, to 
 feel the touch of your hand ! So I paid 
 my last shilling to return in a homeward- 
 bound vessel. Weak and ill I returned, 
 only yesterday, to my brother, and, oh 
 ray God ! that I had died before hearing 
 the shameful story of your falseness ! Do-
 
 DORINDA. 23D 
 
 rinda, you are mine, and you know it ; 
 but I would not touch your soiled hand in 
 love again, not to save my unhappy life — 
 or yours. Nor will I say one word to save 
 you from the life of baseness and pollution 
 which such as you must end in.' 
 
 Dorinda here made a mute gesture of 
 supplication, but he went on : 
 
 ' Yes, you have worked and schemed 
 cleverly to hurry on your marriage, think- 
 ing that, once a good man's wife, you 
 would be safe. But I am here to save 
 that good man from the disgrace of call- 
 ing a thing like you — wife ! His arms 
 shall never embrace you, for mine have 
 done so first; his lips shall never touch 
 yours, for they are polluted lips ! Your 
 children shall never own these lands, and
 
 240 DORINDA. 
 
 your dishonoured dust shall never defile 
 the graves of the De Brokes !' 
 
 He paused, as though lacking strength 
 to proceed, and Dorinda would have 
 spoken ; but, raising his hand imperiously, 
 he said, in a fainter voice : 
 
 ' One word more. I once told you, in 
 the heat of my foolish passion, that I had 
 rather see you dead at my feet than be- 
 longing to another ; but that folly is past. 
 You may marry — deceive who you like, 
 I care not ; and my revenge ends here. 
 Only leave my family untouched, un- 
 polluted by your presence, and from me 
 you will have nothing to fear, for the De 
 Brokes,' (proudly,) 'are all gentlemen where 
 a woman, (even though she be as base as 
 you), is concerned !'
 
 DOPJNDA. 241 
 
 He ceased, and as the wretched girl 
 heard these terrible words, not only of 
 dead love, but of disgust and contempt, 
 she felt there was no hope. She had suffi- 
 cient knowledge of the character of the 
 man by her side to be certain that nothing 
 now could move him. 
 
 ' You mean to betray me, then, to Sir 
 Jasper?' she said, coldly. 
 
 Edward Julian laughed. 
 
 ' I mean to prevent your betraying 
 him.' 
 
 ' Then,' she said, pointing to the Abbey, 
 ' your way lies there. Go, and be the 
 bearer of sorrow and evil tidings ! I 
 doubt your welcome. As for me, I will 
 never darken those beloved doors again.' 
 Then, turning towards the young man, she 
 
 VOL. I. R
 
 242 DORINDA. 
 
 said, deliberately, and almost calmly : 
 ' And may God's curse go with you 
 now, and wherever you go !' 
 
 Before he could answer, she turned and 
 left him, striking into the thickest part of 
 the high ferns and brushwood which grew 
 to a man's height, and disappearing at 
 once in the darkness. 
 
 Edward Julian stood irresolute for a 
 moment, but the girl hurried on through 
 the damp grass, deeper and deeper into 
 the wood, then sank exhausted upon a 
 felled tree, while through the stillness of 
 the summer night she could distinctly 
 hear the echo of the young man's foot- 
 steps, as he strode hastily towards the 
 Abbey.
 
 243 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 By mine honour, I will deal in this 
 As secretly and justly, as your soul 
 Should with your body. 
 
 Shakespeabe. 
 
 HE most maddening thouglits 
 now racked the wretched girl's 
 brain, and, amid them all, one 
 grand, calm, noble face stood out clear 
 and sharp in her imagination, and she 
 shuddered to think how that face would 
 look now! After awhile, though over- 
 
 r2
 
 244 DORINDA. 
 
 come by weeping and despair, she tried to 
 struggle onward, she knew not, — cared not 
 whither; but presently she heard the sound 
 of voices, and saw the light of two lanterns, 
 and, being near enough to hear the con- 
 versation, she gathered that the old 
 gardener (a trusted and valued friend and 
 servant of the family) accompanied by his 
 wife, and with a pony-chair at the rear, 
 had been sent by Sir Jasper to seek the 
 unhappy fugitive ; so she cast herself on 
 the grass, crouching close beneath the 
 felled trunk, and lay still as death, till 
 they had passed by, in an agony lest they 
 should discover her ; for she felt that any 
 torture would be preferable to that of 
 returning to the Abbey, and meeting Hen- 
 rietta's triumphant glances.
 
 DORINDA. 245 
 
 When everything was again quiet, she 
 raised herself wearily upon the tree-trunk, 
 and as she sat, she could distinctly see the 
 old Abbey, and she watched as one by one 
 the coloured lights, emanating from the 
 painted glass of the gothic windows, were 
 extinguished, — those windows which ever 
 made the building appear church-like and 
 sacred, and all the more so to her now. 
 As she looked, she noticed that one solitary 
 lamp still burned brightly. It was, she 
 knew, in the music-room ; and she moaned 
 as she reflected who it was that still 
 waked and watched, and perhaps wept for 
 her sake. 
 
 At last, feeling chilled to the bone, and 
 wet through, from the falling dew, she 
 rose slowly, aching in every limb, and the
 
 246 DORINDA. 
 
 thought forced itself upon her, * I cannot 
 stay out of doors all night ! I will go to 
 the Vicarage. The Vicar is a man of God, 
 and therefore ought to be a man of mercy 
 and pity ! Perhaps he will give me shelter 
 for the night, and to-morrow I will return 
 — home,' (she shuddered at the word). 
 'Thank God my father and mother are 
 away ! I will send for Estelle from the 
 Abbey.' 
 
 As these thoughts passed through her 
 mind, she approached the Vicarage door — 
 a door which the Vicar forbad should ever 
 be locked night or day, so that, he said, 
 the suffering and outcasts might claim his 
 help at all hours. 
 
 Turning the door-handle, Dorinda en- 
 tered the small hall, but upon seeing the
 
 DOniNDA. 247 
 
 flowers and festive decorations, — prepara- 
 tions for her marriao;e the next dav, that 
 marriage which would now never take 
 place, — the full misery of her position, and 
 the utterly hopeless weight of her wretch- 
 edness, seemed more than her heart. — her 
 brain could bear ; and with one bitter and 
 despairing cry, which seemed to ring 
 through the small silent house, and up 
 into its very rafters, she fell forward upon 
 her face in a dead faint. 
 
 How long she remained unconscious she 
 never knew — never cared to ask ; but when 
 she came to herself she was in bed, the 
 Vicar's wife by her side, in tears, and 
 holding her hand. She felt too weak, too 
 powerless even to turn her head, but she 
 whispered :
 
 248 DORINDA. 
 
 'Where am I? — where is Jasper?' and, 
 the sound of her own words brino^ing back 
 with them all the horrors of recollection, 
 she swooned again. 
 
 For days her case was very critical ; she 
 wandered in her mind, knew no one, and 
 then became dangerously violent, — would 
 have strangled herself with her handker- 
 chief, and, when that danger was averted, 
 endeavoured to dash her head against the 
 wall. She constantly and piteously called 
 out, ' Jasper, Jasper ! I love you, Jasper ! 
 and I have a fire in my head !' and once a 
 vague misty fancy seized her, — that as she 
 called out, — a cool tender hand took her 
 burning one, — a face with dark sad eyes 
 bent over hers, — that tears fell upon her 
 face, — refreshing her as a summer shower
 
 DORINDA. 249 
 
 would a dying flower withered up by a 
 pitiless burning sun. Be this as it may, 
 the feverish outbursts were quelled, but 
 utter, perilous weakness succeeded. The 
 blessed fancy, however, never left her, till 
 gradually it became fainter and fainter, 
 and everything once more became chaos. 
 
 But one day, — one wretched day, — she 
 became confusedly aware that church bells 
 were ringing somewhere near, and she 
 heard a man's voice say : 
 
 ' She "\vill do now — only keep her very 
 quiet.' 
 
 She opened her eyes, and, turning her 
 head, again saw the Vicar's wife, who came 
 forward, and, after forbidding her to speak, 
 put a pencil and a slate at her side. She 
 took no notice, and for hours obstinately
 
 250 DORINDA. 
 
 refused food. Then tlie Vicar himself ap- 
 peared at her bed-side, and warned her 
 that, unless she ate, she must die. 
 
 ^ Let me die !' she murmured. 
 
 ' Are you prepared to die ?' the good 
 man asked. 
 
 She made no reply ; but, when the 
 holy man began to speak gently of 
 Jesus' tenderness for sinners, — of Hope 
 for the Future, she shook her head with 
 a gesture of disgust, and wrote upon the 
 slate : 
 
 ' No hope for me, but as a gentleman I 
 require you to keep my story to yourself 
 — as secret as though it were a con- 
 fession.' 
 
 The Vicar bowed and answered, 
 
 ' Your confidence will be respected ; and
 
 DORINDA, 251 
 
 I am further empowered by — hj 
 
 The girl looked quickly at him, and sat 
 up, then hiding her face with one fever- 
 wasted hand, put the other out deprecat- 
 ingly, signing to him that she understood 
 his meaning — but imploring him for mercy's 
 sake, not to mention the dear name. 
 
 ' I am empowered,' the Yicar continued, 
 with much gentleness, * to say that the 
 last few months will be to him as far as 
 possible (as well as to those in his house) 
 as though they had never been. Also that 
 his most sacred endeavour will be to shield 
 you and your name from harm, and he 
 prays God to bless and keep you now and 
 always.' 
 
 Dorinda made no answer, but sank back 
 on her pillow, closing her eyes as though
 
 252 DORINDA, 
 
 she heard not ; but one large tear escaped 
 from the closed and deeply-fringed lid, like 
 the thunder-drop which heralds a storm — 
 a storm which by God's mercy broke forth 
 in an overwhelming shower, relieving the 
 aching bosom, which was bursting with 
 pent-up sorrow. 
 
 Grateful to see her weep, with a touch 
 of sympathy upon the unhappy girl's 
 shoulder, the Vicar left the room, and 
 his wife re-entered it. After the first 
 violence of her sobbing was over, Do- 
 rinda lay back motionless; then, sud- 
 denly seizing the slate and pencil, she 
 wrote, 
 
 ' Thank you for care ; feel much stronger, 
 but from henceforth will see or speak to 
 no one but you. I will receive no letters,
 
 DOniNDA. 
 
 will hear no news ; as soon as I am able, I 
 shall go to London. Send for Es telle from 
 the Abbey.' 
 
 After writing, she sank back exhausted ; 
 and she kept her resolve, seeing and speak- 
 ing to no one, and keeping her eyes 
 persistently closed. She scarcely moved, 
 looked ghastly pale, and barely ate enough 
 to keep body and soul together. 
 
 One day Estelle arrived, and ap- 
 proached Dorinda's bedside. The poor 
 maid's eyes were swelled with weeping, 
 and she kissed her mistress's hand, as 
 it lay pale and thin upon the coverlid. 
 Dorinda opened her eyes, smiled slightly 
 at seeing her, and raised herself in bed. She 
 gave the Frenchwoman some private in- 
 structions, and lay down again, and, upon
 
 254 DORINDA. 
 
 leaving her mistress, Estelle quickly put 
 up the few things that Dorinda had 
 brought with her, laid others out ready 
 for her to wear, and quietly left the 
 Vicarage. 
 
 Dorinda, as soon as she was alone, 
 rose, looked eagerly at the clock, stag- 
 gered to the door and locked it ; then, 
 approaching the looking-glass, she stood 
 amazed at the change in her appearance. 
 Looking round, she spied some brandy 
 which had been placed there during 
 her illness ; and, with a shaking hand, 
 she poured out half a wineglass full, 
 and drank it pure. It seemed to 
 strengthen her, and she hurriedly dressed, 
 throwing a large cloak over her, which 
 completely hid her figure, and covering
 
 DOPJNDA. 255 
 
 her face \^dth a thick black lace veil. 
 Puttinpj a small velvet case in her 
 pocket, she opened the door, crept down- 
 stairs, and glided unnoticed from the 
 house. 
 
 She passed quickly out of the Vicarage 
 garden, into the Broke Abbey Park, 
 fancying that the very deer started 
 and fled from her, as from an unsettled 
 and cursed spirit ! She walked on quickly 
 till she came close to the Abbey, and, see- 
 ing that the carriage was at the door, she 
 hid herself under the high ferns, and 
 waited. 
 
 She saw Henrietta, looking happy, fat, 
 and well-liking, roll up the carriage- 
 steps, and sink placidly amongst the 
 carriage cushions. Her two nephews
 
 256 DORINDA. 
 
 followed her, the eldest looking sullen 
 and stupid, and the youngest pale and 
 unhappy. 
 
 How little they knew who was crouch- 
 ing so close, as almost to touch them; 
 nor who cursed them with bitter curses 
 as they all three passed. 
 
 As soon as the carriage was out of 
 sight, Dorinda crept round the corner, 
 to the other side of the house, — still 
 concealed by the shrubs and ferns, — and 
 reconnoitered. Suddenly a familiar sound 
 struck her ear, and, as the tones of the 
 organ' rose and fell, swelled and subsided, 
 she whispered to herself : 
 
 'I have timed it well. I thought I 
 should find him alone at this hour ;' 
 for she knew ivho was the musician,
 
 DOPdNDA. 257 
 
 and a wild, uncontrollable lonmno: had 
 entered her heart, to be once more alone 
 with the one being who, for a time, 
 she had loved as well — and now and 
 then better — than herself! Ay, and 
 she loved him then, better than she 
 knew. (But that knowledge increased as 
 the years rolled on ! Poor, wretched 
 Dorinda !) 
 
 ' If, by good luck,' she said to herself, 
 ' the window in the music-room, — which 
 opens to the ground, — is ajar, I shall 
 obtain my desire.' 
 
 So, creeping beneath the lilac and 
 laburnum-trees, which were in fullest 
 bloom, and thick enough in foliage to 
 hide her slender figure, she approached 
 the window. Oh, joy ! it was open ; 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 258 DORINDA. 
 
 and in a moment she was standing inside 
 the room ! No one, she knew, dared 
 disturb Sir Jasper while at the organ, 
 so she sank down in a chair, weak 
 from illness, — faint from emotion, — and 
 watched him. Oh, how changed ! how 
 pale ! how broken he looked ! and, as he 
 continued playing, the music seemed, to 
 Dorinda's heated imagination, to weep and 
 wail out, ^ Dorinda ! Dorinda ! No hope ! 
 No hope !' 
 
 Presently, she stealthily approached the 
 blind man, whose whole soul seemed to go 
 out in the chords, — a hand he knew seized 
 his own, — and, before he could speak, he 
 felt it pressed by soft clinging lips, — and 
 bedewed by raining tears. 
 
 A ring — his own royal ring — was placed
 
 DORINDA. 259 
 
 iij^on his finger, then he heard a sob — a cry 
 of anguish, the rustling of a woman's gown, 
 — hasty footsteps, — and he was alone ! 
 
 Like a dark phantom Dorinda passed 
 quickly out of the window, beneath the 
 lilac-bushes (from which she plucked one 
 blossom and hid it in her breast), and with- 
 out pausing, sped through the park. Pass- 
 ing through a gate, she found a hired 
 vehicle, with Estelle awaiting her. 
 
 She entered the carriage, and as the 
 frightened Frenchwoman uttered an ex- 
 clamation of dismay at her mistress's wild 
 appearance, Dorinda said imperiously, 
 almost savagely, 
 
 ' Don't speak to me, do you hear ? and 
 — take me back to my wretched home !'
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 Affliction may one day smile again, and till then, 
 Sit thou down, sorrow. 
 
 Shakespeabe. 
 
 FTER the overwhelming cata- 
 strophe related in our last 
 chapter, Dorinda went through 
 sufficient distress of mind, and weakness of 
 body, to have satisfied the malice of her bitter- 
 est enemies. She kept her bed for many 
 days (after her return home) and her room 
 for weeks, — in fact, till her parents' return ;
 
 DOPJNDA. 261 
 
 and after tliat (to her) unwelcome event, 
 she sternly refused all companionship ; for 
 hers was not a home where the comfort of 
 sympathy would be offered. No, she 
 knew she would be looked upon by her 
 family in the same light as a certain 
 youthful acrobat, whose performance she 
 had once witnessed, who, while attempting 
 a difficult flying feat, not only had failed, 
 but had had the further misfortune 
 of kicking his instructor's nose in his 
 flio^ht ! thus brino-ino; discredit on that 
 worthy's teaching, and personal damage 
 as well. Dorinda's mother had been her 
 life-long instructress, so she expected 
 no sympathy from her ; nor from her 
 father, for the matter of that ; for both 
 parents were equally disgusted at not
 
 262 DORINDA. 
 
 having got rid of an encumbrance ; and 
 they also greatly feared that the story of 
 their daughter's discomfiture would get 
 about, and bring public dishonour and 
 ridicule upon them all, — indeed, for some 
 time they lived in abject terror lest 
 ' something should come out.' But such 
 natures as theirs, could little understand 
 the agony of Sir Jasper's wounded affec- 
 tion, or fathom his fastidious tenderness 
 for, and care of, the reputation of the 
 woman he had so loved. By his own 
 rigid silence upon the subject, — a silence 
 which, at the risk of his heaviest dis- 
 pleasure, he enforced upon his family and 
 household, — the story was but a nine 
 da3's' wonder, never quite understood, and 
 quickly forgotten ; so that, to the sur-
 
 DORINDA. 
 
 prise of her parents, nothing ever did 'come 
 out ' ; and once more Lady Balbirnie had 
 reason to confess that Dorinda had clever- 
 ly ^ wriggled ' out of this scrape also ! 
 
 After Dorinda's recovery, she underwent 
 one stormy interview with her mother, 
 which culminated in Lady Balbirnie's 
 coming to two decisions. The first being 
 that she should at once discharge the 
 French maid Estelle, as an uselessly ex- 
 pensive luxury ; and the second, that she 
 would keep her daughter at home a little 
 longer, and give her one more chance. 
 
 The discharge of her maid was a great 
 trouble to Dorinda. There had been per- 
 fect confidence between her and Estelle ; 
 begun at first on both sides from interest, 
 and increased by habit. Both mistress
 
 264 DORINDA. 
 
 and maid were, alas ! unscrupulous and 
 unprincipled ; but the dominant passion 
 in Estelle's bosom was love for, and ad- 
 miration of, her beautiful mistress ; and, 
 in spite of her many shortcomings, the 
 poor maid had a warm and steadfast heart. 
 She had gloried in Dorinda's beauty and 
 successes, and had often helped to bring 
 about the latter; she had also seen her 
 through her great sorrow at Broke Abbey 
 — indeed, at that time, she alone had had 
 it in her power to show sympathy to 
 the unhappy girl (who fiercely rejected 
 it) ; and, wdien Lady Balbirnie discharged 
 her, Estelle's grief was very real ; and the 
 day she left, and for weeks after, she was 
 haunted by the last sight she had had 
 of the beautiful face, defiantly miserable,
 
 DORIXDA. 265 
 
 which gazed out after her from the garret- 
 window, with eyes that glared like living 
 coals, quenching any tears which might 
 have refreshed them. 
 
 Ay ! and as the poor, erring French- 
 woman wended her dusty way to the 
 station (she never forgot the circum- 
 stance), she met two blackguards, Italian 
 cowards, leading a muzzled bear between 
 them (no larger than a big dog), which, 
 in their mean and beggarly cruelty, they 
 belaboured with sticks, while the beast, 
 in its hopeless and passionate rage, growled 
 out its hate and contempt of its persecu- 
 tors, and tore up the ground in its pathetic 
 despair ! 
 
 Estelle, seeing the beast, loved it — under- 
 standing and respecting the dignity of its
 
 266 DORINDA. 
 
 untameable nature — doubly grand, because 
 coupled with wretched helplessness ; be- 
 sides, in its defiant and courageous misery, 
 she saw a type of her unhappy mistress ! 
 So she sat under a hedge as the two brutes 
 and the Bear passed her by — and wept — 
 and was late for the train ! 
 
 During the one discussion which took 
 place between Dorinda and her mother, 
 the former discovered that in her once 
 callous heart, she experienced some secret- 
 ly gentle tendencies, which, if indulged 
 in, would prove traitors to her advance- 
 ment in life ; so she set to work at once, 
 and ruthlessly, — remorselessly, — stamped 
 them out (or thought she did), much 
 as history of nearly two hundred years 
 ago tells us, a certain royal favourite
 
 DORINDA. 267 
 
 crushed a once-beloved, — still-beautiful, — 
 but now dead Face, beneath her mere- 
 tricious high-heeled shoe ! 
 
 Other tendencies less unnerving, and 
 more useful, our heroine determined to 
 foster and develop ; so for nearly three 
 years (during which time she considered it 
 expedient to remain perdue) she untiringly 
 cultivated her many talents and accom- 
 plishments. 
 
 During this retirement, she made but 
 one acquaintance, which, however, quickly 
 ripened (at all events upon one side) into 
 real friendship. 
 
 A young married lady, called Lady 
 Olive Ramsay, was one day walking with 
 her husband and baby-girl beneath the 
 trees of Richmond Park. The child (be- 
 tween two and three years old) was in
 
 268 DORINDA. 
 
 high glee, chasing a ball which her father 
 was throwing on in front, and, seeing no 
 obstacle in his way, Mr. Ramsay had just 
 launched the ball amongst some shrubs, 
 when a lady emerged therefrom, holding 
 her handkerchief up to her face, having 
 evidently received the missile upon her 
 forehead. Apologies were tendered, which 
 were laughingly received by Dorinda (for 
 it was she), and the two ladies, who had 
 known one another by name, and by sight, 
 for long, improved the occasion, and ended 
 by becoming intimately acquainted. 
 
 Mr. and Lady Olive Ramsay were at 
 this time residing at the latter's pretty 
 house on the Thames, called Riverstairs, 
 which was situated close to Falcon's Rest, 
 the beautiful property of Mr. Ramsay's
 
 DORINDA. 269 
 
 parents, Lord and Lady Glenalmond. The 
 gardens of both houses lay side by side, 
 each having a hanging terrace over the 
 river, and there was a door of communica- 
 tion between the two, ' whereby hung a 
 tale,' for the said door had been formed 
 during the happy days when Ion Ramsay 
 and Olive Roslyon were lovers, by the 
 breaking through of the old, ivy-clad, 
 high brick wall, which the young people 
 had decided should no longer divide 
 them. 
 
 Both Falcon's Rest and Riverstairs were 
 but a short distance from the ill-kept, 
 vulgar suburban \dlla inhabited by the 
 ruined gamester and his wife, Lord and 
 Lady Balbirnie ; and Olive's heart had 
 often ached at the sio^ht of the beautiful 
 
 CD
 
 270 DORINDA. 
 
 and solitary girl whose pale face and 
 swollen eyes told their own story of 
 sorrow and neglect. 
 
 Little by little, after their accidentally- 
 formed acquaintance, Olive's ready sym- 
 pathy encouraged Dorinda to confess to 
 her new friend, the wretchedness of her 
 home ; and no doubt Olive's kindness of 
 heart and cheerful companionship would 
 have considerably lightened the weight of 
 Dorinda's troubles ; — besides, who knows 
 what the wholesome friendship of a true, 
 good woman might not have been to the 
 unhappy friendless girl— at that moment ! 
 But it was not to be, for a change came 
 over Olive's circumstances, which we will 
 proceed to relate. 
 
 Mr. Ramsay's health began to fail, and.
 
 DORINDA. 271 
 
 with a cold, nameless dread, Lady Olive 
 heard the doctor inquire into the medical 
 history of the young man's family, whether 
 any of his blood relations were, or had 
 been, afflicted Avith pulmonary disease? 
 
 Alas ! yes. His mother's sister, also his 
 eldest brother, and his brother's youno: 
 wife (who also was a cousin), had all died 
 of the insidious malady. 
 
 The doctor received these revelations 
 with a serious face, and beofged for further 
 advice. An eminent ph3'sician and sub- 
 sequently a specialist were called in, and 
 they all agreed that the young man must 
 start at once for Italy, which he did, ac- 
 companied by his sorrowing wife ; and for 
 the present Dorinda saw Olive no more. 
 
 Lord and Lady Glenalmond were a cold,
 
 272 DORINDA. 
 
 proud pair, steeped to the lips in the 
 sense of their own dignity, and in a selfish 
 indifference to the feelinojs of those around 
 them. They rejoiced in an old title, and 
 in great wealth, both of which facts they 
 carefully impressed, by word and action, 
 upon all with whom they came in contact. 
 Lord Glenalmond possessed magnificent 
 estates, and an ancient castle in the High- 
 lands ; and he had married a Miss Rose- 
 mount — a beauty, and a great heiress of 
 lands, also in the Highlands, — and she was 
 in every way as proud of her family and 
 pedigree as Lord Glenalmond was of his. 
 From their earlv vouth both had lived 
 
 ml m 
 
 entirely in the north (hence their unmiti- 
 gated brogue, of which they were vastly 
 proud). Both had become orphans in
 
 DORINDA. 273 
 
 their earliest youth, and, both beino^ rich, 
 everyone about them had conspired to 
 toady them, and ruin their natures. 
 
 After marriage they continued to live 
 among their own people, who respected 
 their wealth, their grandeur, and their 
 passionless respectability ; — flattered them 
 to the top of their bent, — and heartily 
 hated them. 
 
 Being now in the sere and yellow leaf. 
 Lord Glenalmond had discovered that he 
 could neither shoot nor fish as he once 
 could, while my-lady, having married all 
 her daughters, had no one now living with 
 her, who it was any amusement to bully 
 or browbeat ; so, to tell the truth, the two 
 old people had become rather bored, — some- 
 what overfilled with each other's company ; 
 
 VOL. i. T
 
 274 DORINDA. 
 
 they therefore decided to leave Scotland, 
 and live for a while, at all events, at 
 Falcon's Rest, — their lovely place on the 
 Thames, where they would see more people 
 than in the Highlands ; — and it was in con- 
 sequence of this move, that their second 
 son, Ion, became acquainted with the 
 pretty Olive Roslyon, whose mother's 
 place ' marched ' with the Falcon's Rest 
 property. 
 
 Lord and Lady Glenalmond, although 
 not relations, were curiously alike in ap- 
 pearance, both being tall, angular, and 
 bony. Both had eyes set close to each 
 other, both had cruel, aquiline noses and 
 thin lips. The principal difference be- 
 tween the faces was that, whereas my-lord's 
 eyes were the very palest blue, like a
 
 DORINDA. 275 
 
 vulture's, my-lady's were piercingly black, 
 
 like an eagle's, and when she was in a 
 stern mood, (which she generally was), her 
 brows would meet in a straight line over 
 her nose, and the eyes would apparently 
 contract, getting closer and closer, till, to 
 the alarmed observer, they appeared to 
 meet, and become one eye instead of two I 
 Whether they really did so, or whether it 
 was only an optical delusion caused by 
 the awe the lady inspired, her ladyship's 
 dependants dared not look long enough 
 to decide. 
 
 Lord Glenalmond invariably wore a 
 skull-cap of some black material ; and vul- 
 garians (like the traditional fool, that 
 rushes in where angels fear to tread) 
 whispered that his lordship was — bald I Xo 
 
 T 2
 
 276 DORINDA. 
 
 one, however, bat his lordship's valet 
 could be certain of the fact, and it was too 
 sacred and awful a subject to be meddled 
 with. 
 
 Lady Glenalmond's hair was snowy white, 
 and the contrast between it and her black 
 eyes and eyebrows, was terrifying in the 
 extreme — especially to children. 
 
 This amiable couj)le had had a family of 
 three daughters (all married, luckily for 
 them, and ' awa !') and two sons, both of 
 whom (as we stated above) were attacked 
 and eventually carried oiF by the pitiless 
 disease — consumption. The elder son 
 Lord Ramsay and his wife (a first cousin) 
 both died, (being yet young,) leaving a 
 large family of sons and one daughter. 
 The second son, Ion Ramsay, married Olive
 
 DORIS DA. 277 
 
 Roslyon, and it was always supposed that 
 any little parental feeling which Lord and 
 Lady Glenalmond possessed was centred in 
 their younojer son ; anyhow, one would have 
 supposed, that, after losing one son, the 
 survivor would have been doubly precious 
 to them, but this was not their way. 
 They had ever been hard and overbearin »• 
 in their natures, and remained so, both to 
 their children, and to their children's 
 children ; and, although Ion survived his 
 brother for some years, they never became 
 one whit more gentle towards him, nor 
 more anxious to make his life happy. 
 
 Lord Ramsay died a few months after 
 his wife, leaving his sons, and his love- 
 ly little Leonora to his parents' care, 
 writinir a touchinoj letter to his mother
 
 278 DORINDA. 
 
 recommending them to her tenderness (?) 
 and parental care. The old people, how- 
 ever, were not in the least touched, and 
 were overwhelmed with indignation at 
 the dead man's bad taste and want of tact^ 
 first, in dying so inconveniently, when he 
 had such a large family of young children, 
 and last, not least, at his leaving the said 
 family under their charge. Consequently 
 they were adamantine in their treatment 
 of the hapless orphans, and only anxious 
 to bring them up on as little money 
 and as little love as it was possible for 
 young bodies and hearts to live upon. 
 The boys were scattered hither and thither 
 to cheap (and generally nasty) schools, 
 and the little Leonora was packed off at 
 once to a pensionnat at Versailles, and was
 
 DOPdNDA. 279 
 
 never allowed to return, even for the 
 holidays. 
 
 One day (Ion and Olive were living 
 happily together at Riverstairs — which had 
 recently become Olive's own property) 
 Lady Glenalmond sent hurriedly for her 
 son, to break to him, with expressions of 
 the bitterest annoyance, that an intima- 
 tion had arrived from Versailles, stating 
 that Leonora's school-mistress had died 
 suddenly ; that the school was broken up ; 
 and that Leonora Ramsay, (then sixteen 
 years of age,) must leave Versailles at 
 once, and be consigned to the care of her 
 nearest relations. 
 
 As if the bare fact of this disastrous 
 news were not calamitous enough, in it- 
 self, in the eyes of her grand-parents,
 
 280 DORINDA. 
 
 the unwelcome young lady actually ar- 
 rived, almost as soon as the disquieting 
 notice ! 
 
 Ion chanced to be present at the mo- 
 ment of Leonora's arrival, and was shocked 
 and disgusted at the poor child's recep- 
 tion ; for Lord and Lady Glenalmond were 
 at no pains to conceal their contemptuous 
 aggravation, when the girl, (not being versed 
 in the ' repose which stamps the caste of 
 Vere de Vere,' and further, feeling hungry, 
 — tired from the long and hurried journey, 
 — and grieved to the heart at the loss of 
 the kind lady who for so many years 
 had been her teacher, friend, and al- 
 most mother,) sank weeping upon a chair, 
 and then anxiously, — inquiringly, — looked 
 round to see what manner of people
 
 DORINDA. 281 
 
 her relations must be to receive lier thus 
 coldly. 
 
 She was quite old enough now, to resent 
 the neglect of the last ten years ; and 
 when the realisation of it was forced upon 
 her by the contrast between the grandeur 
 of Falcon's Rest and its establishment, 
 and the niggardly, — often disputed, — and 
 openly grudged payments, which arrived 
 quarterly at Versailles for her ' board and 
 keep,' she felt bitterly indignant, and angry 
 with herself for betraying any emotion ; 
 so, quickly gulping down her sobs, she 
 rose proudly from her seat, and, without 
 vouchsafing a word to her grand-parents, 
 exclaimed, (addressing no one in par- 
 ticular :) 
 
 * So this is Falcon's Rest ! One would
 
 282 DORINDA. 
 
 hardly believe, from my reception, that I 
 was one of the brood.' Then, motioning 
 haughtily to a domestic to show her her 
 apartments, she flounced from the room, 
 looking alarmingly ferocious. But, as soon 
 as she was alone, she again broke down, 
 and, shedding bitter tears, vowed (for she 
 had a high spirit, albeit a tender one) 
 to ' hold her own, by fair means or by 
 foul.' 
 
 She became softened, however, in a few 
 minutes ; for as she lay sobbing dismally, 
 with her head buried in the pillows of her 
 strange bed, she felt an arm thrown round 
 her, and heard caressing whispers in her 
 ear, and, on looking up, she saw her young 
 uncle Ion Ramsay by her side. He had
 
 DORINDA, 283 
 
 followed her to her room, and soon soothed 
 the angry girl's outraged feelings by assur- 
 ing her that in him and his Olive she 
 would find two staunch and sympathising 
 friends. 
 
 END OF THE FIRST VOLUME. 
 
 LONDON: PRINTED BY DUNCAN .« AODONaLD, BLENHEIM HOUSK.
 
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