tt?.» 
 
 w 
 
 mi
 
 I 
 
 ^ 
 
 1 

 
 L I E) RAR.Y 
 
 OF THE 
 
 U N IVLRSITY 
 
 or ILLI NOIS 
 
 82.3 
 C Ql &Zv\ 
 
 Y.I
 
 Ilflrtljtwtrc iprmrg. 
 
 THE AUTHOR OF " EVEELEY.' 
 
 'Esteeming Sorrow, whose employ 
 Is TO Develope, not destroy, 
 Far better than a barren joy." 
 
 MOKCKTON MiLNES. 
 
 YOL. I. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 JOSEPH MASTERS, ALDERSGATE STREET, 
 
 AND NEW BOND STREET. 
 
 MDCCCLVIJ.
 
 LONDON : 
 
 PKINTED BY JOSEPH MASTEE8 AND CO., 
 
 ALDEBSGATE STEEET.
 
 8^3 
 V. X 
 
 " The world but little cares, I ween, 
 
 To hear the minstrel's tuneful moan ; 
 Enough they think to bear the spleen 
 That is their own. 
 
 ** They love far more to hear a lay 
 
 Which speaks not of another's cares ; 
 But, with sweet music takes away 
 Or lessens theirs." 
 
 REV. T. DAVIS. 
 
 It was a dull, rainy day towards the end of June. 
 > The sky was of a leaden hue, which seemed to 
 ^ promise that the rain, which had fallen without 
 v intermission during the whole morning, would con- 
 % tinue for many hours. The water poured in tor- 
 A rents down the narrow streets of the old market 
 
 ■^ town of Peverstone ; every door and window was 
 ^ closed, scarcely a human being was visible, and the 
 
 ' iti place appeared almost deserted. 
 *^ At the upper end of the town, indifferent alike 
 ^ to rain or sunshine, stood the ancient Church, the 
 ^|>>pride of the inhabitants, and the, admiration of the 
 
 ^ visitors of Peverstone. The tall grey spire was 
 ^ visible for many miles, and the venerable walls and
 
 Z NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 Early English porch and windows were interesting, 
 as well for their antiquity, as their exquisite archi- 
 tecture. Nor was there less to delight the eye 
 of the beholder in the interior. The groined roof, 
 the massive pillars of polished granite and the 
 lancet windows were records of by-gone ages ; while 
 the open seats of newly carved oak, the encaustic 
 tiles with which the aisles were inlaid, and the rich 
 hues of the stained glass windows, bore witness to 
 the skilful hand of a modern architect. 
 
 The town was irregularly built, consisting of 
 long, winding streets and narrow alleys, all con- 
 verging towards an open space near the Church, 
 where the market was held. The best shops were 
 to be found here, but they were neither numerous 
 nor large, and also several good inns, and some old- 
 fashioned gentlemen's houses, which gave an air of 
 importance to the place. In addition to these, 
 there were many detached houses standing a little 
 out of the town, of which the most imposing, as 
 well as the most interesting, was situated at a short 
 distance from the Church, but so far separated from 
 the town that little was visible from it beyond the 
 iron gates, long ivied wall, and fine old trees by 
 which it was enclosed. 
 
 Northwode Priory, as it was called, was a stone 
 house, which had borne the brunt of wind and 
 weather for many centuries. It was a Gothic 
 building, with high-pitched roof and gable ends, 
 and small casement windows with stone muUions ; 
 but so completely covered was it with creepers 
 of every description, that little else was visible. 
 The house appeared to have been built at different 
 times, and each addition had been made in the pre- 
 vailing taste of the age, without regard to uni- 
 formity, which added to the picturesque efifect of 
 the whole. A smooth lawn covered with flower 
 beds and choice shrubs, extended for some distance
 
 IfOETHWODE PEIOET. 6 
 
 on either side, and two large handsome green- 
 houses stood at one end, near the house, with 
 which they communicated. 
 
 Northwode Priory had been purchased, some 
 centuries back, by a gentleman of the name of 
 Dudley Hesketh, who had amassed considerable 
 wealth in trade with Turkey and the Levant, and 
 in whose family it had remained ever since. The 
 present William Hesketh, to whom it belonged, had 
 been, in early life, a lawyer, but never having had 
 any taste for work, and possessing a property of 
 some thousands a year, had given up his profession, 
 and settled down into a country squire, devoting a 
 large portion of his time to agriculture, and to the 
 welfare of the parish, in which he was a large pro- 
 prietor. He was a kind-hearted, liberal man, his 
 principal failings being a natural impulsiveness, 
 which frequently carried him away, and induced 
 him to act rashly, upon the feeling of the moment, 
 rather than upon mature consideration, and a 
 weakness of character and inertness of disposition, 
 which was no slight failing in the father of a family. 
 
 He had four children, two sons and two daugh- 
 ters. His wife, to whom he had been deeply 
 attached, had died while the youngest w^as yet little 
 more than a child, and a maiden sister, conside- 
 rably older than himself, had since resided with 
 him, and endeavoured to superintend his house- 
 hold, and supply the place of a mother to his chil- 
 dren. Her character was too weak to cope with 
 dispositions such as those of her nephews and 
 nieces, but they were very fond of her ; and although 
 a mother's firm but tender hand had been wanting 
 in the training of some of them, their many fine 
 qualities and warm feelings had rendered it less 
 indispensable than would usually have been the 
 case. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh was fond of his children, even to
 
 4 NOETHWODE PKIOET. 
 
 weakness, but he interfered little with their edu- 
 cation or pursuits. He sent his eldest son, Wil- 
 liam, to Winchester, and from thence to Oxford ; 
 permitted him to choose his own profession, and 
 was well pleased when he decided upon following 
 in his father's steps and becoming a lawyer. He 
 told him that he did not expect him to make a live- 
 lihood by his profession for many years, but that 
 while he lived he should never want for money, and 
 that at his death he would inherit enough to render 
 him independent for life. Accordingly, as a bache- 
 lor, William's nominal home was at North wode 
 Priory, and when, after a short interval, he became 
 engaged to a young lady, extremely pretty, but 
 utterly portionless, Mr. Hesketh purchased for him 
 a house in the immediate neighbourhood of Pever- 
 stone, and increased his allowance suflSciently to 
 enable him to live in comfort and even style. But 
 the result of being thus rendered independent of 
 his profession was not such as his father fondly an- 
 ticipated. He inherited Mr. Hesketh' s disinclina- 
 tion for work, and although he still possessed a 
 nominal business in Peverstone, it was no longer 
 his first consideration, and was frequently neg- 
 lected for more congenial pursuits, such as hunting 
 and shooting, and other active sports. 
 
 Dudley, the second son, was as yet undecided in 
 his choice of a profession. He had also been at 
 Winchester, and Mr. Hesketh was desirous that 
 he should have a University education, but owing 
 to the natural indolence of his character, and his 
 father's weak indulgence, the time for his matricu- 
 lation was constantly postponed, and he remained 
 at home, idling away his time with his sisters, 
 entering into his brother's amusements, and for- 
 getting the little that his memory had brought 
 away from Winchester. 
 
 Prances Hesketh, who was twenty-two, and came
 
 IfOETHWODE PEIOET. O 
 
 between her brothers, was of a more decided, ener- 
 getic character than either ; but her energies were 
 not always well directed, and her temper was less 
 even and uniformly sweet than that of the rest of 
 her family. She loved power and authority, and 
 had almost succeeded in taking the reins of govern- 
 ment out of the hands of her aunt. To this Miss 
 Hesketh offered little opposition, for she had no 
 love of power, and was glad to shift the respon- 
 sibility upon another, especially when that other 
 was so eagerly desirous of it. Prances was no 
 favourite with her brothers ; they could not bear 
 the tone of authority which she assumed, or the 
 cool satire and quiet air of superiority, which always 
 coloured her remarks. They liked far better the 
 bright, gentle Mabel, with her sunny smile and 
 winning ways. She was the youngest of the family, 
 between eighteen and nineteen, and had been con- 
 stantly with her mother until the time of her death, 
 which occurred about five years before. The care- 
 ful training which she then received had had a 
 beneficial efiect upon her after-life, for, being de- 
 votedly fond of her mother, every piece of advice, 
 and every warning which she gave her, had been 
 treasured up by Mabel, and scrupulously observed, 
 long after they were forgotten by her sister. With 
 a naturally sweet temper and cheerful disposition, 
 she possessed the energy of Frances, united with 
 self-control ; and the sound Church principles and 
 stern sense of right and wrong, early instilled into 
 her by Mrs. Hesketh, still exerted the same influ- 
 ence over her daily life, that they had done when 
 constantly under her mother's watchful eye. 
 
 The drawing-room at Northwode Priory was 
 long and wide, but less lofty than is the case in 
 modern houses. There was an air of refinement 
 and comfort about it, although it contained scarcely 
 a single article that could be called costly. The
 
 6 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 walls were huDg with paintings, chiefly portraits 
 of the Hesketh family, with some water-colour 
 likenesses of Mabel and her brothers and sister. 
 There were comfortable sofas and easy chairs in 
 every part of the room, with stands and tables 
 covered with curiosities, both English and foreign, 
 as well as trays for books, portfolios, and work- 
 boxes, and many other articles, useful and orna- 
 mental. The windows were filled with hot-house 
 plants, and nosegays of bright flowers were to be 
 found on every table. 
 
 On the rainy afternoon before mentioned, this 
 room was occupied by two persons, a youth of 
 about twenty years of age, who lay stretched on a 
 sofa near the window, fast asleep, and a young 
 lady, apparently rather older, who was seated at 
 the centre table, writing a letter. The latter had 
 no pretensions to beauty, for although there was 
 something of the gipsy cast in her countenance, 
 the olive complexion, high colour, and sparkling 
 black eyes, her features were too irregular to be 
 termed handsome, and too much wanting in sweet- 
 ness to be considered pleasing. Her brother had 
 the advantage of her in this respect, for, on the arm 
 which formed his pillow, rested a face certainly not 
 wanting in good humour. As he slept, his straight, 
 light-brown hair partially covered a forehead, which 
 from its height and width, seemed to betoken con- 
 siderable intellect, if the indolence which might be 
 read in the languid blue eye, now closed in sleep, 
 could be sufficiently overcome to bring it into ac- 
 tion. The fair complexion and regular features 
 were a strong contrast to those of his sister, and, 
 but for the family likeness, which is frequently 
 discernible, when every feature taken separately 
 appears dissimilar, no one would have judged them 
 to be members of the same family. 
 
 At last the sleeper awoke, and raising himself
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 7 
 
 hastily from his recumbent position, and looking 
 eagerly out of the window, exclaimed, "E-aining 
 still, I vow ! Was there ever anything like it ? 
 June I It might as well be November!" 
 
 " Except that it is too hot for November," said 
 his sister, without looking up from her letter. 
 
 ''Hot!" repeated Dudley, walking about the 
 room, and pretending to shiver ; " I call it bitterly 
 cold. Let us draw the curtains, and have a fire 
 lit, and then we may stand a chance of forgetting 
 what wretched, dismal weather it is outside." 
 
 " Light a fire on the 26th of June, and draw 
 the curtains at half-past four in the afternoon," 
 said Frances, with a laugh. " Papa and Aunt 
 Anne would think we had taken leave of our 
 senses." 
 
 "I can't help what they think," said Dudley. 
 " It has been raining cats and dogs for the last 
 three days. I have not been able to set my foot 
 outside the door ; it is scarcely endurable ! We 
 shall have no summer, I know." 
 
 " I don't see that you have any great reason to 
 complain," replied his sister. " It is much worse 
 for me ; I had made an engagement to take a long 
 walk to-day, which I particularly wished to keep, 
 and have been forced to give it up." 
 
 " Oh; it is nothing for you," said Dudley, care- 
 lessly ; " there are plenty of things you can do in- 
 doors, but there is nothing that a man can do." 
 
 " Cannot men write letters ?" asked Frances, 
 mending her pen. 
 
 " They could if they chose, of course ; — if they 
 were little-minded enough for such woman's-work," 
 replied Dudley, contemptuously. 
 
 "Ah! I forgot," said his sister. "It is only 
 great minds that can waste a whole day in grum- 
 bling at the weather." 
 
 Dudley looked annoyed, and made no reply, but
 
 8 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 walked to the window, and continued talking in 
 the same strain. At last he said, 
 
 " I wonder what William has done with himself 
 all day. I would go and see, but I should get wet 
 through ; no umbrella would stand this rain." 
 
 "No, it is far too wet to venture out," said 
 Frances, " we must make up our minds to an even- 
 ing in doors." 
 
 "I shall go to bed after tea," said her brother, 
 decidedly. *' I don't see the fun of sitting up with 
 nothing to do, yawning for bed-time." 
 
 '* Not if one must yawn," replied Frances, "but 
 I don't see the necessity, while one has so many 
 rational occupations." 
 
 "Very likely not," said Dudley, "but as I said 
 before, you are a woman and can't understand 
 what men feel." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; and if all men feel like yourself, 
 Dudley, I would infinitely rather be a woman." 
 
 "That is a proof of a narrow mind," said her 
 brother, in the short, decided tone he always used 
 when she provoked him. " If you had an expan- 
 sive mind you wouldn't be content with sitting at 
 home all day long, writing fourteen sides crossed 
 to your ' dearest Olivia,' and fidgeting that needle 
 with the fish-hook at the end, and knitting purses 
 that are too smart to be used when they are made. 
 You would want to be on your horse's back, clear- 
 ing hedges and ditches, or bringing down birds 
 with your gun, or hooking the jolly little fishes. 
 But you don't care for any of these things, because 
 you are a woman, and have a narrow mind." 
 
 "I always thought," said Frances, " that a great 
 mind was one that could accommodate itself to all 
 circumstances." 
 
 " It must be a gigantic mind that could write 
 fourteen sides crossed to your ' dearest Olivia,' " 
 retorted Dudley.
 
 WOETHWODE PEIOET. 9 
 
 "Do you think so ?" asked Trances, in a tone 
 that was irritating from its very calmness. " Per- 
 haps it is not the best possible way of passing 
 time, and yet I would rather do that than sleep 
 away my senses and my temper on the sofa." 
 
 A reply was on Dudley's lips, but it was not 
 given, for just at that moment a merry voice was 
 heard singing outside, and presently the door 
 opened, and a comical figure made its appearance, 
 effectually putting a stop to the conversation. 
 
 " In the name of wonder where are you going. 
 May ?" exclaimed Dudley. 
 
 " With you to Woodbank," was the laughing 
 reply. " Dora has sent to entreat us to drink tea 
 with her, so make ready, like a good boy." 
 
 "Why, May, where are your senses?" asked 
 Dudley ; '*it isn't weather for a dog to be out of 
 doors." 
 
 "It won't hurt water-spaniels," replied Mabel. 
 "Will you come too, Frances ?" 
 
 " No, thank you, May. I agree with Dudley in 
 thinking it no weather for ladies and gentlemen 
 to be walking out. I wish you could see your- 
 self." 
 
 On this remark May turned to the mirror, to 
 see whether she was really the object her sister's 
 tone meant to represent. Her bright, golden hair 
 was almost hidden by a close straw bonnet, her 
 dress was pinned round her waist, and a long grey 
 cloak was fastened over it, displaying a pretty little 
 pair of slender ancles, and two little feet in go- 
 loshes. 
 
 " Oh ! I don't think I look very bad," she ex- 
 claimed, deprecatingly. " You are not ashamed to . 
 go with me, are you, Dudley ?" 
 
 ''Not I! I don't care how you dress," said 
 Dudley, good-humouredly. " I hope you don't 
 expect to keep up an umbrella."
 
 10 IfOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 "'No, I prepared for that; my cloak is water- 
 proof." 
 
 " I must say I think it is a very mad scheme," 
 observed Frances. 
 
 "Do you really?" asked Mabel, anxiously. 
 "You see, I expect poor Dora is lonely and de- 
 pressed, and she will be so glad to see us drop in." 
 
 " I don't know why this weather should be worse 
 for Dora than for ourselves," replied Trances. 
 
 " She is not so strong as we are, and then 
 children are always troublesome in wet weather." 
 
 '* And it is awful weather," said Dudley. " The 
 harvest will all be spoilt to a dead certainty." 
 
 "Oh! no, Dudley," said May, cheerfully. "It 
 is too early yet to spoil the harvest, and there is 
 no chance of bad weather continuing at this time 
 of the year." 
 
 " I meant to have ridden into Kilminster to-day 
 with "William and Hugh, if it had been fine," 
 said Dudley, casting a disconsolate look out of the 
 window. 
 
 " I wonder what has become of Hugh," said 
 Mabel; "it seems quite strange to pass three 
 whole days without seeing him." 
 
 " Mrs. Grahame told Aunt Anne that he had a 
 cold the other day," remarked Prances. " She 
 thinks so much of a cold, and he is always so 
 yielding when her wishes are concerned, that that 
 alone would account for our not having seen him, 
 even if the weather had been more favourable." 
 
 " Well, you * Friar of Orders Orey,' I am ready 
 to go," said Dudley; "that is, if you still persist 
 in this madcap proceeding." 
 
 '* Yes, let me first put my knitting into my 
 pocket," said Mabel. 
 
 " Does Judith know you are going ?" asked her 
 brother. 
 
 " No, no," said May, laughing. " I should never
 
 FOETHWODE PEIORT. 11 
 
 see Woodbank to-night if I consulted dear old 
 Judith. She was sitting down comfortably to an 
 early cup of tea in the housekeeper's room, so I 
 made the most of ray opportunity, and slipped on 
 my bonnet and cloak ; but we must be quick, 
 Dudley, or she will have finished her tea, and see 
 us go down the lawn." 
 
 " And nicely I shall catch it for allowing you to 
 venture out in such weather," said Dudley. '* I 
 shudder to think of the expression Judith's face 
 will put on every time she sees me for the next 
 fortnight." 
 
 " Grood-bye, Prances," said Mabel. " Tell papa 
 and Aunt Anne where we are gone. Shall I give 
 your love to Dora ?" 
 
 " Tell her that I don't thank her for inviting you 
 to tea on such a stormy evening," said Frances. 
 
 " There is Aunt Anne's book, ready for her to 
 read when she has had her tea, and her spectacles 
 by its side," and, with another "good-bye," she 
 left the room. 
 
 The walk, in itself, was not an agreeable one. 
 The wind put an umbrella out of the question, but 
 Mabel cared little for weather, and holding by 
 Dudley's arm, walked bravely on through wind 
 and rain, talking merrily all the while. 
 
 " Frances does provoke me," said her brother, 
 when they had passed the iron gates, and were 
 traversing the streets, which the mud rendered far 
 from pleasant. " That cool, irritating way of hers 
 is so intensely disagreeable ! and her self-sufficiency 
 — thinking no one can be right but herself." 
 
 " She is very often right," observed Mabel, " and 
 I think it is only because you retaliate that she 
 goes so far. I am sure she doesn't always mean 
 what she says." 
 
 " I can't help answering when I see her in that 
 way ; it does bother a fellow so !"
 
 12 FORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 " But, dear Dudley, if you would only try to re- 
 member that she does not mean it ; I am sure she 
 is sometimes sorry afterwards." 
 
 " It is the sarcasm I can't bear," exclaimed 
 Dudley. " If she would get into a downright pas- 
 sion one could understand it and make allowance, 
 but I hate that cool satire." 
 
 " I really think if you took no notice she would 
 soon leave it off." 
 
 " But I can't help taking notice, May. I feel 
 cross directly, and I say everything I can think of 
 to provoke her." 
 
 "Naughty boy!" said May, playfully. "It is 
 a great deal your own fault, for you love to irritate 
 her." 
 
 "Well, but, May, I never try to irritate you. 
 If Frances was only good-tempered I would leave 
 off directly." 
 
 " And then there would be no merit in your 
 doing so," observed Mabel. " It is a question of 
 whether you shall give up your love of teazing 
 first, or Frances her love of satire." 
 
 " If she would only give up her sarcastic tone, I 
 would never teaze her again. Tou must allow 
 that is fair." 
 
 " And if you would cease to teaze her she would 
 no longer be sarcastic ; so the one who has most 
 self-control will win the day," observed May lightly. 
 
 Dudley made no reply, and in a few minutes 
 they reached Woodbank. It was a very modern- 
 looking, square house, with sash windows opening 
 upon a small lawn, which was very pretty in fine 
 weather ; but now the geraniums and verbenas 
 were beaten down by the rain, and the hills oppo- 
 site, which were commanded by the drawing-room 
 windows, were shrouded in mist, presenting a most 
 dreary, unpleasing prospect. 
 
 Mabel entered the house, and, after giving one
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 13 
 
 glance into the drawing-room, which she found 
 empty, ran up stairs, followed by Dudley, and 
 tapped at the door of her sister's favourite morn- 
 ing room. A low voice said, " Come in," and, on 
 opening the door, she found Dora sitting in an 
 easy chair, with her baby in her lap, while a little 
 fellow of fourteen months old was playing on the 
 ground beside her. There was a worn expression 
 in the pretty, gentle face, and dark lines under the 
 eyes, and a careless disorder in the long, brown 
 curls, usually so smooth and neat, that let May at 
 once into the true state of the case, and made her 
 rejoice that she had braved the weather, and come 
 to chase away the headache she read there. As 
 her bright face made its appearance, Dora rose 
 with an exclamation of delight, and greeted her 
 with as much affection as if she had been her real 
 sister, instead of her sister-in-law. 
 
 " How kind of you to come, dear May," she 
 said, "and Dudley too; — I half repented after I 
 had sent my note, for it seemed so selfish to bring 
 you out this weather. Are you sure you are dry ?" 
 
 " Quite dry, Dora, thank you, but my cloak is 
 very wet." 
 
 Mrs. Hesketh rang the bell, and sent the cloak 
 to be dried, and May smoothed her bright hair, and 
 turned to the children. 
 
 " And how is my little Willy ? Will he come 
 and speak to Aunt May ? Are the naughty teeth 
 less troublesome ?" 
 
 " Why no, I am sorry to say they have been 
 teazing him a good deal this afternoon," said Dora, 
 wearily. " He has been sadly fretful, poor dar- 
 ling." 
 
 " And you are worn out, Dora," said Mabel, 
 compassionately, taking the baby from her, "I 
 can see that your head is aching. Lean back in 
 your chair, and forget nursery troubles for awhile."
 
 14 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 " Oh ! no, May, but it is dreary weather, and 
 "Willy misses his daily walk. We shall do very 
 well to-morrow, if the sun will come out." 
 
 Dudley took the little fellow on his knee, and 
 played with him for some time, while Mabel rocked 
 the baby to sleep, and Dora began to speak more 
 cheerfully. 
 
 *' William will be so glad you are come. We 
 will have tea here, for it is less dreary than the 
 drawing-room. What have you been doing to-day, 
 May ?" 
 
 " Working all the morning, and reading in my 
 own room part of the afternoon, until I shocked 
 Frances and Dudley by coming down stairs with 
 my bonnet and cloak on, and announced my inten- 
 tion of drinking tea here." 
 
 " Ah !" said Dora, gravely. " I thought Frances 
 would not be pleased at my proposing such a 
 thing." 
 
 " It is hard to say what Prances would be pleased 
 with," said Dudley. " Don't fret about that, Dora ; 
 the more you try to please her the harder you'll 
 find it." 
 
 " You shouldn't say so, Dudley," observed May ; 
 " we ought to try to please every body. Where 
 is William, Dora ?" 
 
 " I think he has been with Mr. Hesketh on busi- 
 ness. He went out at three o'clock, and said he 
 had arranged to meet him at Mr. Lushington's. 
 A strange gentleman called here to see William 
 the other day, and I fancy the business is con- 
 nected with him." 
 
 " On business," repeated Dudley, who had a 
 fair amount of curiosity in his composition. " I 
 wonder what it was about. Was he tall or short, 
 Dora?" 
 
 "Eeally, Dudley, I did not observe," replied 
 Dora. " I only saw him for an instant iu the hall ;
 
 HOETHWODE PEIORT. 15 
 
 ratber tall, I should say, and stout, but not exactly 
 a gentleman." 
 
 " And you didn't hear his name," said Dudley, in 
 an inquiring tone. 
 
 "No, I did not ; I bad no particular reason for 
 feeling interested in him, and William never men- 
 tioned it." 
 
 " I hear his footstep," remarked Dudley ; and 
 Dora rose and rang the bell for tea, while May 
 took the children to the nursery. 
 
 " We shall have a fine day to-morrow," were 
 William Hesketh's first words, as he entered the 
 room, and went over and kissed his wife, and greeted 
 Dudley. He was a tall man, with dark hair and 
 good features, but not absolutely handsome ; his 
 countenance was of the same stamp as his sister 
 Trances', with the dark complexion and black eyes, 
 but far sweeter expression. " The wind," he con- 
 tinued, " is going round to the west, and the rain 
 has almost ceased. Did I hear May's voice as 
 I entered ?" 
 
 " Yes : she has taken baby into the nursery ; 
 was it not kind of her to come out this weather ?" 
 
 " Very ; I suppose Erances is not here. How is 
 your head, Dora ?" 
 
 " Much better since May came ; her bright face 
 would cure any headache ; but I am afraid I was 
 wrong in bringing her out in such rain." 
 
 " I expect Judith will owe you a grudge for 
 some time to come. So, Dudley, we have lost our 
 ride." 
 
 "Tes," said Dudley, in a melancholy tone. " I 
 had set my heart on it too. Have you seen any- 
 thing of Hugh ?" 
 
 " No, I have been with my father all the after- 
 noon." 
 
 " On business," observed Dudley, with a sly wink 
 at May, who had just entered the room.
 
 16 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 " Yes, on business ; we had engaged to meet a 
 gentleman at Mr. Lushington's, so I was forced 
 to go in spite of the weather." 
 
 " Law business, I suppose," said Dudley, de- 
 termined to arrive at the bottom of the matter. 
 
 " Yes, law business, Curiosity ; is there any- 
 thing else you wish to know ?" 
 
 " Only what the business was," said Dudley, 
 with a laugh, while Mabel reproved him for his 
 impertinence. 
 
 " Well, I don't know why it should be kept 
 a secret," observed his brother. "He has bought 
 Monckton Court." 
 
 "You don't say so!" exclaimed Dudley, while 
 Dora and Mabel expressed their astonishment. 
 " Why it has been vacant for at least fourteen 
 years," added the former ; " what in the world 
 possessed the man to make him buy it ?" 
 
 " Nothing possessed the man, but the man pos- 
 sessed money," replied William, "and he knows 
 what he is about too. It is a capital bargain, and 
 when he has laid out two or three thousand pounds 
 upon the place, you will scarcely know it again." 
 
 '* What is his name ?" asked Dudley. 
 
 " Collier," was the reply ; " he intends taking 
 possession immediately. It seems that he is an 
 old acquaintance of my father's." 
 
 " Very odd," muttered Dudley. " I never heard 
 the name before ; is he a gentleman ?" 
 
 "Well," said William, slowly, "that depends 
 upon what you consider necessary qualifications for 
 a gentleman. He has plenty of money, and spends 
 it freely." 
 
 " O, William ! but that doesn't make him a gen- 
 tleman," observed Dora. 
 
 " No, Dora, not in your eyes or mine," replied 
 her husband, " but it goes down well with the 
 world in general."
 
 TTOETHWODE PRIOET. 17 
 
 "And what is your real opinion of him ?" asked 
 Mabel. 
 
 "You shall wait and judge for yourselves," re- 
 plied her brother. " It will not do to pass hasty 
 opinions upon our clients." 
 
 " Is he married ?" asked Dora. 
 
 " No, he is a bachelor ; but I don't suppose 
 he will always remain so. He looks about five-and- 
 thirty." 
 
 "Where does he come from ?" inquired Dudley. 
 
 " From town to-day," replied his brother, " but I 
 don't know where he has lived hitherto. And now, 
 if your curiosity is gratified, I shall have no objec- 
 tion to a cup of tea." 
 
 It was a merry evening, as evenings at Wood- 
 bank with Dudley and May usually were. Dora 
 recovered her spirits, and the lines of care had 
 quite disappeared from her face when Mabel rose 
 to leave. To Dora's distress it was found to be 
 raining more heavily than it had yet done during 
 the day, and she earnestly entreated her sister 
 to spend the night at Woodbank, and let Dudley 
 return home alone ; but Mabel would not hear 
 of such an arrangement, saying Judith would be 
 miserable if she did not return. Dora wrapped 
 her in as many shawls as she could induce her 
 to wear, and saw her depart with a whispered 
 " Good-bye, dearest Mabel, thank you for coming," 
 and returned to the sitting-room with the soliloquy, 
 " What willJudith say ?" 
 
 Judith Millar had been Mabel's nurse from her 
 birth, and consequently looked upon her as her own 
 especial charge. She had been highly valued and 
 esteemed by Mrs. Hesketh, to whom she had giv^n 
 a promise that she would never willingly leave Mr. 
 Hesketh' s service, but watch over and serve May, 
 as long as her age and Mabel's wishes permitted 
 her to do so. And faithfully she kept her promise, 
 c
 
 18 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 and although her stern appearance and frigid man- 
 ner made her no favourite with her master or his 
 other children, the tender care and unwavering 
 attention which she displayed towards May, gained 
 her the esteem of all, and the especial affection 
 of her charge. Although May had long ceased to 
 require her services in her original capacity, Judith 
 could never be induced to look upon her young 
 mistress in any other light than that of a child ; 
 and she still watched over and assumed towards her 
 the same half-respectful, half-authoritative manner 
 with which she had treated her in the nursery. In 
 appearance she was tall and gaunt, and the stern 
 expression of her dark grey eye and hard features 
 were far from pleasing. She was regarded with 
 some awe by Miss Hesketh as well as by Dudley 
 and Dora, and between Frances and herself a pas- 
 sive, but mutually understood, dislike existed, and 
 they seemed by consent to avoid coming into col- 
 lision. Mabel's affection and esteem for her old 
 nurse were deep and sincere, and although she did 
 not always submit to the respectful tyranny with 
 which Judith was disposed to treat her, she broke 
 loose from it with a playful determination that 
 always gained the day, without vexing or hurting 
 her feelings. 
 
 On her return from Woodbank she found Judith 
 waiting in her room, with an expression of strong 
 disapproval written on her features. Without 
 giving her time to commence the scolding which 
 Mabel well knew awaited her, she exclaimed, 
 " Such weather, Judith ! I don't think I ever re- 
 member such rain ; the streets are like rivers." 
 
 ■ " No doubt they are, Miss Mabel. More's the 
 pity that folks, who have no business abroad, can't 
 stay at home." 
 
 " Very true, Judith ; nothing but a strong motive 
 should induce people to venture out on such
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 19 
 
 a night. Just feel my cloak! Streaming, is it 
 not?" 
 
 "O, Miss May! Wet! Soaking! You'll catch 
 your death of cold, and that's certain." 
 
 " And my bonnet, Judith ; — " 
 
 " I didn't think it of you, Miss May ; just as I'd 
 turned my back too, to take a cup of tea, and you 
 to be off in a minute like that !" 
 
 " And my shoes, Judith ; — " 
 
 "Oh! dear! dear !" groaned Judith. 
 
 "And myself — as warm, and as dry, and as 
 happy — as if you wern't thinking me the most 
 perverse, self-willed being on the face of the earth, 
 Judith ; so put away your frowns and look 
 good-tempered again, for you know I would do 
 three times as much for a smile as I would for 
 a frown." 
 
 " It's no use talking to you, Miss May, I know," 
 observed Judith, despairingly. " If I do frown 'tis 
 only for your good, but I might have known you'd 
 go your own way in spite of me." 
 
 " Then you would have known very wrong," re- 
 plied May ; " I never go my own way in preference 
 to yours, except when mine is the more reasonable ; 
 and I shouldn't have gone out to-night, only poor 
 Dora was depressed and had a headache, and wanted 
 cheering." 
 
 " Better Mrs. William should have a headache 
 than that you should go out in this weather, and 
 catch a cold on the lungs and fall into a decline. 
 Miss May," replied Judith, shortly. 
 
 "Quite true," replied Mabel, "but I don*t 
 think I am consumptive, and I am sure I have not 
 caught cold to-night." 
 
 " It won't be your fault. Miss May, if ever you 
 see five-and-twenty," said Judith. " Brush your 
 hair, if you please, while I fetch you something to 
 prevent your catching cold."
 
 20 NOETHWODE PEIORY. 
 
 So saying, she left the room, and returned pre- 
 sently with a glass of hot wine and water, which 
 she insisted on Mabel's drinking, and having seen 
 her safe in bed, left her with a " Good night, Miss 
 May," that had less sternness in it than might 
 have been expected, considering the amount of the 
 offence.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Seldom have I found such peace 
 
 As in the soul's deep joy 
 Of passing onward free from harm 
 
 Through every day's employ. 
 
 If gems we seek, we only tire, 
 
 And lift our hopes too high ; 
 The constant flowers that line our way 
 
 Alone can satisfy." 
 
 REV. H. ALFORD. 
 
 Seyeral days of uninterrupted sunshine succeeded 
 the stormy one mentioned in the last chapter. 
 Dudley rode to Kilminster, Prances took her walk, 
 and Mabel resumed her ordinary routine, and paid 
 her daily visit to Woodbank without any fear of 
 receiving a reprimand from Judith. The weather 
 made little change in Miss Hesketh's quiet life ; 
 her most amusing occupation was receiving visi- 
 tors, and this was almost the only occasion on 
 which she took her position as the lady of the 
 house. Frances disliked what she called the gossip 
 and small-talk of morning calls, and as she seldom 
 undertook an unpleasant task from a feeling of 
 duty, the business of entertaining visitors devolved 
 entirely upon Miss Hesketh, to whom it was a 
 source of satisfaction rather than otherwise. List- 
 ening to the merry conversations of her nephews
 
 22 NOETHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 and nieces, and joining in them occasionally, writing 
 letters to old friends, and sometimes strolling 
 round the garden or returning a call with May, 
 who was her most frequent companion, she led 
 a quiet, happy life on the whole. Whether it was 
 a profitable one it was not Miss Hesketh's way to 
 consider, and had she done so, imagining herself at 
 the head of her brother's household, superintending 
 his servants, and acting the part of a mother to his 
 children, she would probably have returned a verdict 
 in her own favour. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh's tastes led him a good deal into the 
 open air, and his mornings were usually spent in 
 giving directions to his labourers, and in visiting and 
 inspecting his farms and property, while his after- 
 noons were devoted to public business. He generally 
 pursued these occupations alone, for business of any 
 description was not after Dudley's mind, and Wil- 
 liam's time was spent with his wife or brother, and 
 farming was his especial aversion. Mabel was 
 sometimes her father's companion, but being a 
 general favourite, and much in request, this was 
 not frequently the case. 
 
 The occupations of the sisters were very different. 
 Each had strong, decided characters, and abundance 
 of energy : but Mabel's energy was based upon 
 principle, while that of Frances arose merely from 
 impulse. Mabel's principles and motives of action 
 had been instilled into her by her mother, but with 
 Prances the same teaching had produced a different 
 result. Mabel's life was regulated by a sense of 
 duty — she rose early, attended the morning service, 
 devoted a part of each day to reading, visited in her 
 small district, paid her daily call at Woodbank, and 
 gave up the remainder of her time to her father or 
 aunt, or any one who might desire it. It was a 
 quietly consistent life ; methodical, without being 
 mechanical. She did not lay down stern laws and
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 23 
 
 carry them out in the face of opposition, or refuse 
 to depart from them -when they interfered with the 
 comfort and wishes of others. Such a rule may be 
 very good and excellent with some characters, or in 
 peculiar situations, but with Mabel Hesketh and 
 at North wode Priory it would have been unneces- 
 sary and injudicious. May's occupations were as 
 deeply imprinted in her mind, in their exact order, 
 as if she had made a solemn vow never to transgress 
 the rules she had made for each day ; but besides 
 having made a resolution to keep to them as far as 
 lay in her power, she had also formed a resolve never 
 to allow them to interfere unnecessarily with the 
 plans and comfort of the rest of her family. For 
 instance — if it was the hour for her visit to "Wood- 
 bank, and Dudley expressed a wish that she should 
 take a walk with him, she complied cheerfully and 
 without a sigh, and deferred the visit to Dora until 
 a later period of the day. She had home duties 
 also which were not to be neglected even for what 
 would appear at first sight to be more important 
 ones. 
 
 Although Frances loved power, she disliked the 
 labour which is its almost inevitable companion, 
 and this usually fell to Mabel's share. Miss Hes- 
 keth was the mistress of Northwode Priory in name. 
 Prances in authority, Mabel to all practical intents 
 and purposes. Miss Hesketh talked about the ad- 
 vantages of a store-room, and the necessity for 
 having it well stocked and neatly arranged ; Prances 
 carried the keys of the store-room at Northwode 
 Priory ; Mabel doled out the necessary articles for 
 each day's use and consumption, and ordered in 
 the requisite supplies for keeping it well stored. 
 Mabel's position was no sinecure, and it required 
 all her buoyancy of spirit, and steady, methodical 
 arrangement of time, to enable her to fulfil the du- 
 ties of each day.
 
 24 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 Frances possessed her sister's energy without her 
 method and high sense of duty ; when she was 
 regular, she was so from inclination and not upon 
 principle ; the same with every other duty. At 
 times she would rise earlier than Mabel, and for a 
 week together spend the whole morning in visiting 
 the poor of the parish. Or, if the inclination seized 
 her, she would shut herself up in her own room, 
 and study for some hours ; while at other times she 
 was in the habit of rising so late, as to enter the 
 breakfast room when every one was leaving the 
 table ; and when the fit for parochial work was over, 
 weeks would frequently pass by, and her foot never 
 crossed the threshold of a poor man's door. Her 
 books were apt to be forgotten, and her time spent 
 in writing letters, or in drawing out elaborate 
 schemes for a life of usefulness and self-devotion, 
 which were to be put in practice at some future 
 time. But she was not absolutely blind to her 
 own failings ; she did not imagine, as Miss Hesketh 
 would have done, that because she carried the keys 
 of the store-room, she was an excellent housekeeper, 
 and that the household could not go on without 
 her. She felt her life was useless and unprofitable, 
 but she had not steadiness of purpose or self-con- 
 trol to make it otherwise. She was constantly 
 craving for some good purpose to which to devote 
 all her energies : something new — something out of 
 the ordinary dull routine of every-day life. She 
 wanted perseverance, which a strong feeling of duty 
 alone could give her : for while she acted upon in- 
 clination, all occupations must after a time become 
 wearisome. The continual disappointment she met 
 with in every pursuit she took up, acted upon her 
 temper, but instead of making her fretful and irri- 
 table, as it would most people, she became sarcastic, 
 and took a delight in making cool, cutting speeches, 
 feeling a kind of satisfaction when she saw that
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 25 
 
 they annoyed and irritated the person to whom 
 they were addressed. 
 
 It was not to be wondered at, therefore, that she 
 was no favourite with her brothers or aunt. Miss 
 Hesketh was afraid of her ; she had a vague suspi- 
 cion that Frances was in the habit of making sati- 
 rical remarks upon her, although slie was not quick- 
 sighted enough to detect the satire at the time. 
 She knew that her elder niece was self-willed, and 
 quite beyond her control, and she therefore cared 
 more for Mabel, who was always docile and re- 
 spectful. William disliked Frances principally on 
 account of her behaviour to his wife ; she had al- 
 ways set her face against the marriage, for being 
 proud of her family she had considered the pretty, 
 gentle Dora Mackenzie, whose father was an officer 
 on half- pay, no fitting match for the eldest son of 
 Mr. Hesketh of Northwode Priory, 
 
 The contrast between the behaviour of Frances 
 and Mabel to their sister-in-law, was striking. Ma- 
 bel's was all affection and consideration; Frances' 
 all cold indifference. Mabel treated her as if she 
 had been her own sister ; Frances, as if she were 
 an intruder into the family. Dora was delicate and 
 sensitive, not naturally strong-minded, but of a 
 gentle, yielding disposition, with a sweet temper, 
 and she felt the treatment she met with from 
 Frances very acutely, and clung with increased af- 
 fection to Mabel. William resented the way in 
 which his wife was treated by his eldest sister, and 
 felt proportionately grateful to Mabel for the con- 
 sistent kindness of her behaviour. He loved his 
 wife dearly, and felt indignant when he found 
 her sad and depressed in consequence of Frances' 
 conduct. 
 
 To Dudley she was disagreeable on account of 
 her sarcasm ; and perhaps he was the most violent 
 of any in expressing his opinion with regard to her.
 
 26 FORTHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 Although he had naturally a good temper, he pos- 
 sessed but little self-control, and when she irritated 
 him, he usually made a passionate reply, which 
 called forth further satire. He was fond of Dora, 
 and joined with his brother in condemning Trances' 
 behaviour to her, so that on many accounts Trances' 
 position at Northwode Priory was by no means an 
 enviable one. 
 
 " How I wish we lived in a place where there 
 were no such things as poor people and parish 
 schools," said Dudley, one morning, throwing him- 
 self listlessly back on the sofa, and uttering the 
 words in a half-soliloquy. 
 
 " But we should have to do our own cooking, 
 Dudley, and who would kill the cows and sheep 
 for us ?" asked Miss Hesketh, in a gently reproach- 
 ful voice. 
 
 " Ah ! but I don't call cooks and butchers poor 
 people," replied Dudley, with a half-laugh. " I 
 was only speaking with reference to Mabel ; if there 
 were no poor people to visit, and no dirty children 
 to teach, she would spend her mornings at home, 
 but as it is . . ." The rest of the sentence was lost 
 in a long yawn. " How dull a country town is," 
 he continued. " Nothing to be done ! I don't 
 know, after all, whether I hadn't better matricu- 
 late in October. Oxford would be a pleasant change 
 from Peverstone." 
 
 " You won't be able to lead the idle life at Ox- 
 ford that you do here," observed Frances, who was 
 seated by the open window with a book in her hand. 
 "In that respect it would be a desirable change. 
 Time never lies heavy when people have enough 
 to do." 
 
 " People may be idle at Oxford as well as any 
 where else," replied her brother. " My studies 
 will consist chiefly of cricketing and boating, and 
 such-like healthful exercises."
 
 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 27 
 
 "Then you will be plucked," said Frances, shortly, 
 "and that will break papa's heart." 
 
 "Poor papa's heart!" repeated Dudley, in a pa- 
 thetic voice ; " what a fragile one it must be ! What 
 will become of it, I wonder, if I should be plucked 
 three consecutive times, as some men are ? It 
 couldn't break above once though, I suppose." 
 
 " I don't like to hear you talking so lightly of 
 such a serious thing as breaking hearts, Dudley," 
 said Miss Hesketh, looking up from her knitting. 
 '*If you had lived longer in the world, you would 
 not talk in that manner," 
 
 " Then you believe in the possibility of such a 
 thing, Aunt Anne," observed Dudley, "perhaps 
 even have undergone the process yourself. Will you 
 describe the sensation, for I have long wished . . ." 
 He paused suddenly, for the tall slight figure of a 
 young man of about twenty years of age made its 
 appearance at the open window. 
 
 " So ! my fine fellow ! You are out of the land 
 of broth and gruel at last ! Come in, come in, we 
 have been scarcely existing without you for the 
 last week !" 
 
 The visitor heartily returned the vigorous shake 
 of the hand with which Dudley greeted him. '* Tou 
 don't seem to have wasted away in my absence 
 at all events," he returned ; " from the tenor of the 
 note I received yesterday, I expected to find you 
 mere phantoms of your former selves." 
 
 " Par worse than that," said Dudley, " our very 
 spirits have taken leave of us. But seriously, 
 Hugh, what have you been doing these seven days 
 last past ?" 
 
 " I have been endeavouring to subsist upon the 
 broth and gruel before mentioned," replied Hugh 
 Grahame, who, by the help of Dudley's hand, had 
 contrived to make his entree through the window, 
 which had not been built with a view to being put
 
 28 ^OETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 to such a use, or abuse, as the case may be, and 
 was now greeting Miss Hesketh and Frances, and 
 delivering a message with which he had been 
 charged by his mother. When he had finished, he 
 remarked, " It was very poHte of the rain to come 
 down while I was incapable of enjoying fine wea- 
 ther, wasn't it, Dudley? We should have been 
 forced to postpone our ride, even if I had been 
 able to join you." 
 
 " Yes, that is the most philosophical way of 
 looking at things, certainly," replied Dudley; " but 
 the rain always has a bad effect upon my temper, 
 and I vented my ill-humour in growling inces- 
 santly for the whole of those four days." 
 
 *' Which had the pleasing effect of raising the 
 spirits of the rest of the household," observed 
 Hugh. 
 
 " Ton may well say that," remarked Frances ; 
 " if you had heard Dudley those four days you would 
 have thought that the sun was shining upon the 
 rest of the world, and the rain falling on him 
 only." 
 
 " Some people have internal sunshine," said 
 Hugh, thoughtfully ; '*a brightness of temper that 
 makes them impervious to external influences." 
 
 " Most true, and most poetically expressed," ex- 
 claimed Dudley, " but rare nevertheless." 
 
 " Yes, rare, certainly," replied Hugh, " but I 
 can tell you one — your May ! She could not have 
 had a better name, I am sure it seems to be 
 always May with her — * the merry, merry month of 
 May !' " 
 
 " And with some people it is always Novem- 
 ber," muttered Dudley, with a cautious glance at 
 Frances. " Piercing winds and chilling blasts, and 
 dark, frowning skies." 
 
 Nothing but a deeper contraction of Frances' 
 brow, betrayed that her quick ear had caught this
 
 KOETHWODE PEIORT. 29 
 
 speech ; she bent over her book, and presently 
 Hugh said, " And where is the Maybell ?" 
 
 " At the school as usual," replied Dudley, " it is 
 almost time she returned. She will not expect to 
 find you here, you have been such a stranger 
 lately. By the by, Hugh," he added, suddenly, 
 " was it nothing but a cold that kept you in dock 
 all those days ?" 
 
 " Nothing but a cold," replied Hugh, quietly, 
 although from the nervous way in which he 
 clenched the back of the chair on which his hand 
 rested, it was very evident that he could but ill 
 bear being laughed at. " Why do you ask, Dud- 
 ley, do you suspect any other reason ?" 
 
 " Not exactly," said Dudley, with a short laugh, 
 " but to tell you the truth, Hugh, I fancied you 
 too much of a man to stay at home and coddle for 
 a cold. It is so like a woman." 
 
 Hugh bit his lip, and said, " Perhaps I was not 
 quite right in saying that my cold was the only 
 reason for my remaining indoors, for in itself it 
 would have been no reason at all, as I care about 
 as much for a cold as yourself, Dudley; I had 
 another reason, but they were so closely connected 
 that I did not think of giving it at first." 
 
 " Was its mamma afraid it would make its cold 
 worse ?" asked Dudley, in a plaintive voice, for- 
 getting that his words were likely to give pain to 
 the person to whom they were addressed. 
 
 "For shame, Dudley," said Prances, sharply, 
 ''you ought to know better." 
 
 " I can bear being laughed at," said Hugh, good 
 humouredly, though the chair was clenched more 
 firmly than ever. " You have hit upon the truth, 
 Dudley ; it was to spare my mother any needless 
 anxiety that I consented to remain at home during 
 the bad weather ; and when you remember that I 
 am the only very near relation she has in the world,
 
 30 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 and that without me her life would be solitary 
 enough, I think you will say I was right in humour- 
 ing her in such a small matter." 
 
 " You are right, and I was wrong, old fellow," 
 exclaimed Dudley, in his bright, candid manner. 
 " I am sorry I chaffed you. Ah ! there is May's 
 footstep." 
 
 " I am very glad to see you, Hugh," said May, 
 as soon as she entered the room. " I hope your 
 cold is better. I have just seen Mrs. Grrahame." 
 
 " And who do you think I have just seen ?" ex- 
 claimed Hugh, as soon as he had greeted her. 
 
 " Mr. Chase carrying a pitcher of broth to an old 
 woman," suggested Frances. 
 
 "Or taking a sick baby out in his arms for an 
 airing," said Dudley. 
 
 " Or perhaps taking a tete-a-tete walk with Miss 
 Lushington," added Mabel, who considered this 
 the climax of improbability. 
 
 " No, nothing connected with Mr. Chase at all," 
 said Hugh, delighted to mystify them. " A far 
 more important personage." 
 
 After many vain guesses, he relieved their state 
 of suspense by exclaiming, " Why the man who 
 has taken Monckton Court. Mr. Collier, he is 
 called." 
 
 " Oh ! what is he like ?" cried several voices 
 at once. " Come, Hugh," added Dudley, " des- 
 cribe him ; I am dying to hear something about 
 him." 
 
 " I only saw him for a moment," replied Hugh, 
 " but he struck me as being several removes from 
 a gentleman, slightly above the middle height, 
 rather corpulent, his habiliments fitting as if they 
 had grown upon him, a false wig with no lack of 
 curls or pomatum, and a dandy little cane with a 
 silver top." 
 
 Dudley groaned audibly, and May said with a
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 3l 
 
 smile, " You seem to have seen a good deal in the 
 one moment's glance, Hugh." 
 
 " I was in Moore's shop as he passed, so I could 
 notice him well without being rude." 
 
 " We can see now why William was so cautious 
 in describing him," said Dudley. " How old did 
 he seem ?" 
 
 " Between forty and fifty, I should think, but he 
 evidently considers himself quite a youth still. I 
 wish you could have seen the air with which he 
 switched his cane, and the gold eye-glass stuck in 
 his eye. I will venture to assert that he never 
 for an instant forgot he was the purchaser of 
 Monckton Court." 
 
 " He is immensely rich, I believe," said Dudley. 
 
 "Whom are you speaking of?" asked Mr. Hes- 
 keth, who at that moment entered the room. 
 
 *' Of the man who has bought Monckton Court, 
 dear papa," answered May. 
 
 *' Lloyd Collier ; — yes, he is rich enough, and 
 a good sort of fellow. We must ask him to dinner 
 next week." 
 
 " Next week ! Please don't take me by sur- 
 prise, William," observed Aunt Anne. 
 
 " Well, we will say Tuesday, then ; and May can 
 ask William and Dora to dine with us as well. 
 
 " This Mr. Collier is an old acquaintance of 
 yours, is he not?" inquired Dudley. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh made no reply, and the question 
 was repeated. " Yes, I knew him some years ago. 
 Why do you ask ?" 
 
 " William happened to say so the other day ; and 
 it struck me as strange that we had never heard 
 his name." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh paused for a moment, and then 
 said, with an effort, " Some years ago we transacted 
 a good deal of business together, and I found him 
 a very kind friend ; therefore I wish, now that he
 
 32 ]S^OETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 is about to settle in the neighbourhood, to show 
 him every attention in my power." 
 
 Dudley shrugged his shoulders, with a comic 
 grimace at May, which he took care his father 
 should not see ; and beckoning to Hugh, carried 
 him off to inquire whether William was inclined 
 for a ride.
 
 CHAPTEE III. 
 
 " A life of honour, and of worth, 
 Has no eternity on earth, — 
 'Tis but a name." 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 About half a mile out of Peverstone there stood an 
 old brick house. It was large and irregularly built, 
 situated by the road side, but much enclosed by 
 tall poplar and elm trees. It had remained for many 
 years uninhabited, and Dudley and Mabel Hes- 
 keth had, as children, delighted to wander through 
 the deserted gardens, and pick the straggling roses 
 and neglected sweet-briar that clambered untrained 
 over the moss-grown walls ; or at times, with a feel- 
 ing of curiosity mingled with awe, they would 
 scramble up to the high window-sills, and peep 
 half frightened into the large gloomy rooms and 
 mysterious passages. To their childish imagina- 
 tions awful beings and things seemed to be con- 
 cealed in the dusky corners ; and the solemn si- 
 lence of the old house made it doubly interesting 
 to them. 
 
 As year after year passed by, finding it still un- 
 inhabited, the house grew more and more forlorn 
 and desolate. The gravel paths could no longer 
 be distinguished from the lawn, and both were 
 covered with luxuriant weeds, and long rank grass.
 
 34 KOETHWODE PEIOKT. 
 
 The stone steps were green and discoloured from 
 disuse, the door unpainted, without knocker or 
 handle, the windows broken, and the glass opaque, 
 owing to the accumulated dust of many years. 
 The garden was even worse than the house. Pine 
 trees were disfigured by broken limbs, and almost 
 lost to sight amidst the tangled labyrinth of roses 
 and brambles ; while shrubs and flowering trees 
 threw up long unruly shoots, which towered above 
 their lower neighbours, as though to remind a stray 
 visitor that they were still in existence, though half 
 choked by the medley of plants and briars that had 
 interwoven themselves into a hedge on every side. 
 The entrance was an entrance no longer ; the heavy 
 wooden gates were broken and unhinged, and no 
 pathway was visible to show why they had ever 
 been placed there at all. 
 
 Great, therefore, was the surprise of the Hes- 
 keths, and of many other inhabitants of Peverstone, 
 when they heard that Lynchbrook had been taken 
 at last ; and much did they wonder who and what 
 the people could be, that were bold enough to 
 take a place that had been vacant so long, and 
 which was regarded as little better than a ruin. 
 
 The motive that induced Hugh Grrahame and his 
 mother to settle at Lynchbrook is soon explained. 
 At the death of Colonel Grahame his son was but 
 fourteen years old. The house in which they had 
 hitherto lived was no longer within the compass of 
 their income, as a considerable portion of Colonel 
 Grahame's fortune died with him ; but as their 
 means were still more than sufficient to enable 
 them to live in comfort and even affluence, Mrs. 
 Grahame sought for a residence where their posi- 
 tion might be still maintained, though at an expen- 
 diture within their reduced circumstances. 
 
 Mrs. Grahame was an ambitious woman. Eank 
 and position, honour and wealth, were in her esti-
 
 ITORTHWODE PETOET. 35 
 
 mation the chief objects of life. For these she 
 lived, for these she laboured; and she in vain en- 
 deavoured to instil her own views into the mind of 
 her son. " The more appearance you keep up," 
 she would say, " the higher position you will take 
 in the world." And this, whether right or wrong, 
 was proved to be correct in her own case, by the 
 awe and respect with which she w^as regarded by 
 her neighbours at Peverstone, within a very short 
 time of her arrival. 
 
 She had almost despaired of meeting with a resi- 
 dence suited both to her taste and her income, 
 when she accidentally heard of Lynchbrook, near 
 Peverstone. The name sounded well, and the rent 
 was even less than she had contemplated giving. 
 As it was a long journey and she was a poor tra- 
 veller, the business of going to Peverstone and 
 bringing back a report of the house was entrusted 
 to Hugh, on whom, though still but a boy, his 
 mother thought she might depend, as his impres- 
 sions were usually correct and sensible. Such, 
 indeed, they were, but it did not follow that they 
 must always be in accordance with Mrs. Grraharae's 
 own views, as the result testified. 
 
 The gloomy retirement of Lynchbrook, the exten- 
 sive garden, long winding passages, and old-fash- 
 ioned rooms, took his fancy immediately. There 
 was a mystery and romance about the place very 
 attractive to a young imagination ; and return- 
 ing to his mother he gave a glowing descrip- 
 tion, which resulted in Mrs. G-rahame's taking it 
 W'ithout hesitation. There was so much to be done 
 before it could be made fit for the reception of 
 Mrs. Grahame, that Hugh, who was more indepen- 
 dent and matured for his years than most boys of 
 his age, persuaded her to let him precede her and 
 superintend the arrangements, that no time might 
 be lost before settling into their new home.
 
 36 KOETHWODE PEIOKT. 
 
 Before many weeks were over, a decided im- 
 provement was everywhere visible. The lawn had 
 been mown, gravel paths new laid, the shrubs 
 trimmed to reasonable dimensions, and relieved 
 from intruding weeds, which threatened to turn 
 them out altogether and take their place. Flower 
 beds were cut out in the grass, the trees pruned, 
 and in some places removed, and the creepers trained 
 over the dingy walls. The old wooden gate was 
 replaced by one of iron, the stone steps whitened, 
 and the whole house painted within and without. 
 
 The room into which Dudley and May had de- 
 lighted to peep was turned into a drawing-room. 
 Hugh had at first almost despaired of ever bring- 
 ing it to his mother's standard of what a drawing- 
 room should be ; but when a Brussels carpet had 
 been laid down, and the walls papered with a 
 sombre paper, to accord with their massive carved- 
 oak furniture and coverings of Utrecht velvet, he 
 found himself going in and out of the room, trying 
 to imagine the general effect upon his mother 
 on her first arrival, and anticipating the pleasant 
 surprise which it could not fail to be. 
 
 The hall was painted in imitation of oak, and 
 hung with large oil-colour paintings of former 
 Grahames, which had descended from father to son 
 for many generations. Hugh loved them for the 
 associations they awakened, and for the many his- 
 tories connected with each, which had been told 
 him, when a child, by Colonel Grahame. His 
 mother prized them because they were evidences 
 of a good old family, and relics of the times 
 when the Grahames had been rich and powerful 
 — days which she trusted Hugh would yet live to 
 restore. 
 
 Poor Hugh ! His labours were not rewarded as 
 he hoped and expected. Mrs. Grahame's first im- 
 pression, on arriving at Lynchbrook, was that of
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 37 
 
 keen disappointment. The mysterious gloom that 
 hung over the place, which to Hugh had been 
 its great attraction, possessed no charm for her; 
 and in the antiquated rooms and never-ending 
 galleries she saw nothing but a badlj^-built, ill- 
 contrived house. The drawing-room was low and 
 small, the hall large and draughty, and the garden 
 met with her especial disapprobation. The lawn 
 was like a field, with its coarse, rank grass, and the 
 shrubberies and flower-beds were bare and cheer- 
 less-looking. Still, when she had been there a few 
 days, and become used to the subdued light of the 
 low rooms, and the barren aspect of the garden, 
 she confessed to herself that there was a certain 
 presence, and air of respectability about the old 
 house, which was, to a great extent, what she had 
 desired to meet with. 
 
 Before the summer had passed, Lynchbrook would 
 scarcely have been recognized for the deserted place 
 Hugh had found it on his first arrival. He had 
 been a good deal distressed at the disappointment 
 evinced by his mother; and feeling that he had 
 himself chosen the house, he set to work vigorously 
 to make it such as she had expected to find it. 
 His chief attention was given to the garden, and 
 through the whole spring all his spare time was 
 devoted to rolling the grass, planting shrubs, and 
 sowing seeds. When Dudley and May were in- 
 vited, in July, to inspect his work, they were 
 astonished at the transformation his labours had 
 effected. New turf had been laid down in place of 
 the rank grass, and flower-beds of every device had 
 been cut out in it, which were full of bright 
 flowers. The smooth lawn was dotted over with 
 golden furze, araucarias, and deodaras, while the 
 bare shrubberies were filled up with rhododen- 
 drons, fuchsias, yellow and white brooms, with 
 other flowering shrubs.
 
 38 KOETHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 Since that time some years had elapsed, when, at 
 the commencement of our story, July, with her 
 sunshine and flowers, was again brightening the 
 quiet retirement of Lynchbrook. It had grown 
 dearer and dearer to Hugh each succeeding year, 
 and his great attachment to it had at last made his 
 mother cease to talk of seeking another home, at 
 the expiration of the term of years for which she 
 had taken it. His little dark study and dearly- 
 treasured books, his garden and flowers, and the 
 society of his friends at Northwode Priory, consti- 
 tuted the happiness of his life ; and if he had been 
 told that he should never have to leave Lynchbrook, 
 he would have been contented and happy to spend 
 his whole existence there. But this was not possi- 
 ble. He was no longer a boy, and his mother told 
 him, what his own feelings equally suggested, that 
 it was time his profession was chosen and life 
 begun in earnest. 
 
 Not that the years spent at Lynchbrook had 
 been unprofitable. Until lately he had been a day- 
 scholar at the Peverstone Grammar School, but he 
 felt now that manhood was creeping on him, and it 
 must not find him unprepared. Although he had 
 endeavoured by steady reading to keep up his 
 classics, yet he felt that, unassisted, if he lost no 
 ground, he could not be said to advance. 
 
 It was a bright, sunny morning, and in the 
 comfortable sittting-room at Lynchbrook sat Mrs. 
 G-rahame over her work. She was a tall, handsome 
 woman, erect in figure and dignified in her move- 
 ments, with regular features and a large, inquiring 
 grey eye. Her dress was in good taste, for she 
 never forget that she was a widow, nor desired that 
 others should forget it ; and although she wore no 
 widow's cap, yet the quiet folds of her rich black 
 silk, the light mantle thrown round her shoulders, 
 which she usually wore within doors, and the
 
 liTOETHWODE PEIOEY. 39 
 
 simple white cap, seemed equal evidences of the 
 fact. 
 
 Her work was a knitted comforter for Hugh. 
 He was her sole thought and care — the one object 
 of her life — for whom she would risk all things 
 if she could further his welfare, according to her 
 own views of it. Here was the mistake — not his 
 happiness, not his spiritual good, but his " welfare" 
 was her chief consideration ; and under the title of 
 welfare was comprehended his advancement in life, 
 the attainment of honour and wealth — the making 
 of a name. She lived on the hope of one day seeing 
 him a great man ; not a good man only, nor simply 
 a clever one, bat a great man. To attain this 
 object she would sacrifice everything, — comfort, 
 ease, even candour and sincerity, — for it was the 
 one thing for which she lived. The G-rahames had 
 once been a powerful family in Scotland, and she 
 earnestly desired that Hugh should restore the 
 name to what it had once been. She was proud 
 also of her own family, for she had been a Miss 
 Beauchamp, and it was her greatest wish that the 
 name of Hugh Beauchamp Grahame should be re- 
 garded as belonging to one noted alike for his 
 talents, connections, and wealth. 
 
 Hugh little shared these ambitious dreams. He 
 had earnest strivings after goodness, and set him- 
 self to improve his abilities because they were a 
 talent entrusted to him. For the name of G-rahame 
 he only cared because it had belonged to his father, 
 whose memory he reverenced as one whom he must 
 endeavour to imitate. Beauchamp was too foreign 
 a name to please him, and he usually ignored its 
 existence. The name of Hugh Grahame had come 
 down to him through many generations, and he 
 resolved that he would never do anything to sully 
 the honour of it. 
 
 His mother's care for him was scarcely com-
 
 40 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 patible with his hardy tastes and love of out- door 
 amusements and manly sports. The slightest ap- 
 pearance of a cold or cough made her so anxious 
 that at times it was almost more than his dutiful- 
 ness could endure, especially when he felt strong 
 and well himself, and saw others with their freedom 
 and independence, unwatched and unfettered. But 
 there were reasons why he was bound to be for- 
 bearing and yielding. As a child his chest had been 
 delicate, and Mrs. Grahame could not realize that 
 he had long since outgrown any susceptibility of 
 cold ; and when he recollected how all her earthly 
 wishes were bound up in him, the only very near 
 and dear one belonging to her, he curbed his impa- 
 tience, and bore with the imputation of being afraid 
 of cold and wet, and *'a coddle," from a sense of 
 duty. 
 
 Mrs. G-rahame's fingers were moving rapidly, and 
 her mind appeared scarcely less occupied, for the 
 door opened, and she did not perceive that Hugh 
 had entered, until she felt the touch of his hand 
 on her shoulder, when she started and looked up 
 suddenly. 
 
 *'Tou are looking fagged, dear Hugh. You 
 have been in your study ever since nine o'clock, 
 and now it is nearly twelve. I am afraid it is too 
 much strain upon your mind." 
 
 " It isn't that," replied Hugh, sadly, as he 
 walked to the window, and gazed out upon his 
 dearly-loved garden and favourite flowers. '* The 
 truth is, I am going back instead of improving my- 
 self, and I am afraid I shall be a disgrace to my 
 father's name. I shall go to Oxford and be dis- 
 honoured ;" and he sighed heavily. 
 
 " What makes you so depressed, my dear boy ?" 
 asked his mother, anxiously. " Have you done 
 worse than usual, or has anything happened ?" 
 
 " Nothing has happened, but I am fearfully ig-
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 41 
 
 norant, and I feel that I am wasting my time. I 
 go to Oxford in October, you know, mother, and a 
 regular dunce they will think me." 
 
 " You shall have a private tutor immediately," 
 said Mrs. Grahame. *' It shall be through no want 
 of advantages if you are backward. What will be 
 the expense of one for four months ?" 
 
 " A good deal, and I have thought of a better 
 plan than that." 
 
 ''"What is it?" asked Mrs. Grahame, eagerly, 
 *' Ton know, my dear boy, that I am ready to 
 make any sacrifices if I can only . . . ." 
 
 "I know that I am not one to allow you to 
 make any sacrifices that are not absolutely neces- 
 sary," said Hugh, interrupting her. " I don't 
 think my plan will require any sacrifices." 
 
 "Do explain it to me." 
 
 " You know Mr. Chase, mother ; he had a pupil 
 when he first came to Peverstone, who read with 
 him for two hours every day. Now, Mr. Chase is 
 a very clever man, although rather eccentric. He 
 took high honours at Oxford, and would be able to 
 put me in the way of improving myself; and I 
 would gladly go to him every day, if you thought 
 you could meet the expense." 
 
 " I know I can," replied Mrs. Grahame. " If 
 you are sure that he is a clever man, by all means 
 speak to him at once. Let us lose no time." 
 
 " But there is one drawback," said Hugh, 
 slowly. " You know the month after next is 
 September " 
 
 " And next month is August," said Mrs. Gra- 
 hame, not perceiving the drift of the observation. 
 
 " Yes, but September is the great shooting 
 month, and the Heskeths and I have been looking 
 forward to it for such a long time. We should 
 often be out all day long, and what would become 
 of Mr. Chase and the reading ?"
 
 42 NOETHWODE PEIOJIT. 
 
 " You have set your heart on the shooting," said 
 Mrs. Grahame, in an inquiring tone. 
 
 *' Oh ! yes, I couldn't give it up, it was such a 
 bad season last year. We have been looking for- 
 vsrard to next September to make up for it ever 
 since." 
 
 ** I wouldn't deprive you of the pleasure, on any 
 account, dear Hugh. Perhaps Mr. Chase would 
 take you for August and the first half of October." 
 
 ** And all I learnt in August I should forget in 
 September." 
 
 " Then perhaps he would take you by the lesson, 
 and you could go whenever it was not fine enough 
 for shootiug." 
 
 " I think that would be the best way," said 
 Hugh. " I shouldn't care to shoot every day, and 
 an occasional lesson would keep up my memory." 
 
 " Then speak to him this afternoon, and let no 
 time be lost," urged his mother. 
 
 ** I will ; but there is one thing more I wished to 
 speak to you about. It is quite time, mother, that 
 I decided upon a profession, but I can't quite 
 make up my mind. I never could be a lawyer, and 
 I would as soon be a butcher as a surgeon. Eor 
 many reasons I don't think I am quite fitted for a 
 clergyman ; I have no interest at the bar, and I 
 never could make up my mind to enter a merchant's 
 ofiice." 
 
 " A Grahame in a merchant's office !" repeated 
 his mother, disdainfully, "No, my dear Hugh, 
 never while I live. Mr. Hesketh is very anxious 
 that you should be a barrister." 
 
 " But I have no interest at the bar." 
 
 " He says your talents will raise you without in- 
 terest." 
 
 "My talents," repeated Hugh, mournfully. 
 
 " You will have my income, remember, dear 
 Hugh ; only it is not right that a Grahame should
 
 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 43 
 
 sink into insignificance in this countrj'- place upon 
 a few hundreds a year. Then, recollect, you may 
 expect sorae aid from your Uncle Beauchamp, who 
 stands high at the bar ; and your father's cousin, 
 Lord Foray, may be able to interest himself for 
 you. You must make yourself a name in the 
 world, and follow in the steps of your ancestors. 
 There have been not a few noted men ere now of 
 the name of Grahame." 
 
 " I haven't the talents of my ancestors, and the 
 bare fact of having a Scotch peer for a fifth cousin 
 five times removed, won't do me much good at the 
 bar. However, I would rather be a barrister than 
 anything else, so, suppose we decide upon that ; at 
 all events, now that I have matriculated, you wish 
 me to have a university education, I suppose." 
 
 The conversation was interrupted by the en- 
 trance of visitors, and the Miss Heskeths were 
 announced. Mrs. G-rahame's manner changed in- 
 stantly. While alone with Hugh she had been 
 the anxious, tender mother: now she was Mrs. 
 Grahame, of Lynchbrook, receiving her visitors 
 with gracious but stately condescension. "Without 
 being rude, she was politely unapproachable ; giv- 
 ing every one to understand that the distance be- 
 tween Grahames and ordinary mortals was vast 
 and impassable. 
 
 Frances was cool and undismayed; replying to 
 her inquiries in a self-possessed, off-hand manner, 
 that set Mrs. Grahame's dignity at defiance. Ma- 
 bel, shy and reserved, joyfully hailed the sight of 
 Hugh, for a visit to Lynchbrook was regarded as 
 one of the necessary penances that society was apt 
 to inflict. Frances occupied Mrs. Grahame, and 
 Mabel was considerably relieved when Hugh pro- 
 posed a visit to the garden, in order to show her 
 the tulip tree, which was now in full flower. 
 
 It was truly a magnificent tree, spreading its
 
 44 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 wide branches over the smooth lawn, and covered 
 with large bell-like flowers, of a dubious colour, 
 between yellow and green. May's warm admira- 
 tion was very gratifying, and Hugh insisted on 
 mounting to gather a peculiarly fine branch from 
 one of the upper boughs. 
 
 " The leaves are as beautiful as the flowers, I 
 think," said May, as she received the branch grate- 
 fully. " They are such a pretty green, and so 
 quaintly shaped. It is a tree to be proud of" 
 
 '* Come and see my verbena beds ; they were 
 never so full of flower as they are this year." 
 
 *' How very pretty your garden looks ! I can 
 scarcely fancy it the tangled wilderness it used to 
 be before you came." 
 
 " I am very fond of it," said Hugh, thought- 
 fully ; and after a few minutes' silence, he said 
 suddenly, '*Do you think Mr. Chase would have 
 me for a pupil ?" 
 
 "To be sure," said May, much surprised; "he 
 would be very glad, I am certain. Tou know, he 
 had a pupil once before, and I am afraid he is very 
 badly off"." 
 
 " I believe he is very clever." 
 
 " Tes, Mr. Erie told papa so when he first came ; 
 and his sermons, although they are peculiar, are 
 very thoughtful and deep. But do you require a 
 tutor, Hugh ?" 
 
 "Don't I?" was the emphatic reply. "I am 
 terribly backward, and I can't get on by myself. 
 I expect they will think me a great dunce when I 
 go to Oxford in October." 
 
 "But they matriculated you last month, and 
 papa thinks very highly indeed of your abilities." 
 
 " He doesn't know what an idle dog I have 
 been," was the blunt reply. 
 
 " But you have tried to keep up your reading." 
 
 " After a fashion ; but you know, May, a desul-
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 45 
 
 tory kind of reading, such as mine has been lately, 
 does very little good." 
 
 " Well, you have nearly four months before 
 
 you." 
 
 " Yes — no, not four, only three, because of Sep- 
 tember." 
 
 " Is it wrong to read in September ?" asked 
 May, smiling. 
 
 " Not wrong," said Hugh, hesitatingly, " but 
 you see, we have been looking forward to Septem- 
 ber, on account of the shooting. It was such a 
 bad year last year, and I have thought about it so 
 much, I couldn't give it up." 
 
 " Partridges versus Oxford," said May, smiling. 
 
 "A month couldn't make so very much differ- 
 ence," observed Hugh, with the air of one who is 
 trying to salve over an uneasy conscience. " It 
 isn't for the amount one learns in one month." 
 
 "Then why read at all ?" said May, rather spite- 
 fully. " It would never be worth while to read in 
 August if you learn nothing in one month." 
 
 Hugh felt himself caught, but laughed good- 
 humouredly. He looked thoughtful, however, a 
 moment afterwards, as he said, mournfully — " Then 
 you think I ought to give up the shooting." 
 
 " I think, perhaps, you will be happier in Octo- 
 ber, if you have spent September in reading instead 
 of shooting." 
 
 "You don't know what a sacrifice it would be, 
 and Dudley would be so disappointed." 
 
 " Never mind Dudley, you had better only think 
 of yourself. He ought to be reading, too, and we 
 don't know what effect a good example might have 
 upon him." 
 
 " Well, I will think about it ; but don't be sure 
 that I can do it. I have less self-control than you 
 think." 
 
 %^ray don't acknowledge it even to yourself,"
 
 46 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 said May, smiling. " This will be a test both for 
 yourself and for me ; and I don't much fear the 
 result." 
 
 " You think I shall give up my own pleasure — " 
 
 •' I think you will like duty better than inclina- 
 tion, when the two are not compatible. Good-bye, 
 Hugh ; here comes Frances." 
 
 On their return to Peverstone, Mabel went to 
 Woodbank to see her sister, and when, after half 
 an hour, she retraced her steps towards Northwode 
 Priory, she met Hugh on his way to Mr. Chase. 
 
 " Well, May, you have gained the day — it is all 
 up with the shooting, and the partridges will go 
 Scot free." 
 
 " I congratulate you, Hugh," said May, shaking 
 hands heartily. " Now you are going to Mr. 
 Chase, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes," — then just as he was passing on, he ob- 
 served, "May, you were right; I am glad you 
 made me see it. Tell me always when you think 
 I am wrong." 
 
 " You will be glad by and by," was all her an- 
 swer. 
 
 " I am glad now," said Hugh, and hurried off. 
 
 Mr. Chase's lodgings were none of the plea- 
 santest, situated over a grocer's shop, with a strong 
 smell of cheese and candles perfuming the low, 
 twisted staircase. The window of the sitting-room 
 looked out on a butcher's shop, with a side view of 
 a coach-house and stables, while the little room itself 
 presented an aspect far from inviting. A book- 
 case occupied one side, and the study table was 
 heaped with books, papers, tracts, and manuscript 
 sermons, with a small space kept clear on one side 
 for general use. A side table, standing against 
 the wall, supported a medley of straw bonnets, 
 caps, gloves, comforters, and mittens, prepared for 
 school prizes. A cupboard door, on the opposite
 
 NOETHWODE PRIORT. 47 
 
 side, stood open, displaying a lending library, the 
 soiled, greasy covers of the volumes showing the 
 class among whom they had been circulated. 
 
 Mr. Chase sat at the clear corner of the table, 
 writing. Hugh made his way towards him, stum- 
 bling first over a large cotton umbrella that inter- 
 cepted his path, and then sending Mr. Chase's 
 hat, which lay on the ground beside him, rolling to 
 the other side of the room, owing partly to the 
 general disorder, partly to his own confusion. At 
 the sound occasioned by this movement, the Curate 
 looked up, and giving his visitor a friendly wel- 
 come, found him a chair, picked up the unhappy 
 hat, which, however, was not capable of being much 
 injured by such usage, and placed the umbrella on 
 the table. 
 
 " I beg your pardon for being so clumsy — " be- 
 gan Hugh. 
 
 " Not at all ; I am always doing it myself. My 
 room is so small, and my arrangement of things so 
 bad, that I am the one that should apologise," and 
 as if it had just occurred to him that the room was 
 not altogether in an orderly condition, he pro- 
 ceeded to close the door of the lending library cup- 
 board, and to pile the books and papers on the 
 table into a more compact heap, although, when he 
 had finished, it was but a questionable improve- 
 ment, as they looked like the leaning tower of 
 Pisa, ready to be overset by the first movement in 
 the room. 
 
 " I hope I am not interrupting you," said Hugh. 
 " I came upon business ; I remember some time 
 ago you used to have a pupil ..." 
 
 "Yes — Murray, he was called. Do you want 
 his address ? I have it here somewhere in my 
 pocket-book ; but stay — I think I remember it — 
 Greorge Murray, Esq>, Stanford Hall, near ." 
 
 " Thank you," interrupted Hugh, " but I don't
 
 48 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 want his address. I came to ask whether you were 
 still willing to take a pupil ?" 
 
 "Willing! yes," said Mr. Chase, and his face 
 brightened ; " but I am afraid very few young men 
 would be disposed to domesticate themselves in 
 these lodgings. When I had Mr. Murray I lodged 
 in a more desirable part of the town, which circum- 
 stances have since forced me to leave." 
 
 "In the present case that will be no objection/' 
 replied Hugh ; and he proceeded to explain that he 
 was himself desirous of being the pupil, and wished 
 to walk in from Lynchbrook every day, if Mr. 
 Chase could give him some hours in the morning 
 to "rub up," as he expressed it, his classics. 
 
 The arrangement was made without much diffi- 
 culty, and when the hours were decided upon, and 
 Mr. Chase had given Hugh some advice upon the 
 books he should recommend him to study, the latter 
 took his leave, fearing he was occupying valuable 
 time. He made his exit with more care than he 
 had observed on entering, and knocked down no- 
 thing but a coat which was hung across the banis- 
 ters, and which made a rapid descent into the 
 passage below. His regrets were cut short by an 
 assurance that the coat had been placed there in 
 order that it might be sent to the tailor, and that 
 he had only assisted it so far on its journey. 
 
 Hugh walked home with a light step and a lighter 
 heart. He had the satisfaction of feeling that he 
 had conquered himself, and sacrificed pleasure to 
 self-improvement ; and what pleased him almost 
 as much, he felt conscious of having won May's 
 good opinion, which none, w^ho knew her well, 
 valued lightly. On reaching Lynchbrook, he sought 
 his mother to acquaint her with the result of his 
 visit. 
 
 Mrs. Grahame was much surprised to find that 
 the shooting had been relinquished, and her first
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 49 
 
 sensation was that of pride and exultation in her 
 son's good sense and strength of mind. But her 
 surprise increased greatly when he disclaimed all 
 praise, and said that May Hesketh had told him he 
 ought to give it up, but that he should never have 
 thought of it himself. 
 
 "Then you consulted Mabel upon the subject," 
 observed Mrs. Grahame, stiffly. 
 
 *' I don't think I exactly consulted her," replied 
 Hugh, thoughtfully, trying to recal the conversa- 
 tion. ** I told her that I intended to read with 
 Mr. Chase whenever there was no shooting, and 
 she said, if I was backward I ought to give up 
 shooting altogether. At least this was what she 
 expressed in other words." 
 
 No more was said on the subject, but it was evi- 
 dent that Mrs. Grahame's satisfaction in her son's 
 victory over self was considerably alloyed. Hugh 
 did not perceive this ; his own feeling of pleasure 
 in having done right was unabated, and he began 
 his reading with Mr. Chase the following week, 
 with all the energy natural to his character.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " Julia. What think' st thou of the rich Mercatio ? 
 Lucetta. Well of his wealth ; but of himself so so." 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 "I AM glad to see you bringing us some fresh 
 flowers, my love," said Miss Hesketh, one morning, 
 as May entered the room fresh from the green- 
 house, with a basket full of choice flowers; and 
 proceeded to fill a large white marble vase, which 
 stood in the centre of the table, with roses of dif- 
 ferent colours. 
 
 " The vase ought to have been filled several days 
 ago," observed Frances, reproachfully. 
 
 Mabel sighed, — she had been at the school every 
 day that week, and Frances had been comparatively 
 idle ; but she made no reply, and continued to ar- 
 range her flowers in silence. 
 
 "Who constituted May flower-girl?" asked 
 Dudley, who was basking in the sun on a garden 
 seat outside the window. 
 
 "Herself, I suppose," said Frances. "No one 
 ever asked her to be so, but as she generally ar- 
 ranges them one naturally looks upon it as her 
 business." 
 
 " And as she generally does everything, one 
 naturally looks upon everything as her business.
 
 FOETHWODE PRIOET. 51 
 
 If I were May, I would leave things to take their 
 chance for a fortnight, and then other people, who 
 can do nothing now but write letters and find fault, 
 would be forced to bestir themselves." 
 
 "And other people who now get their letters 
 written for them would be obliged to write them 
 themselves," retorted Frances. 
 
 " At any rate I don't get all I can out of May, 
 and then let fly at her," began Dudley, ending his 
 sentence with, *' Here is the Woodbank pony- 
 chaise, and Dora in it, with "William driving her. 
 Come, May, and receive them." 
 
 " Well, Dora, how are you ?" asked Mabel, as 
 she helped her sister to get out. 
 
 " Quite well, thank you ; here is baby come to 
 pay his first visit," and Dora received the baby 
 from the arms of the nurse who sat behind. 
 "Doesn't he grow ? Here, Dudley, come and exa- 
 mine him ; you must make an exception in your 
 general hatred of babies in favour of your own 
 nephew. Now, isn't he beautiful ? — with the germ 
 of a nose already, although he is only a month 
 old." 
 
 " Poor little mortal!" ejaculated Dudley, stand- 
 ing at a respectful distance, and peeping with con- 
 siderable awe into the aperture which Dora made 
 in the flannel wrappings, at the extremity of which 
 a very small face was visible. " Are you quite cer- 
 tain it is alive, Dora ? Don't you think the nurse 
 has stifled it in coming ? It doesn't look like any- 
 thing human to me." 
 
 " Oh ! Dudley, you know nothing about it. Let 
 me introduce him to Aunt Anne, who can appre- 
 ciate all his beauties better than you can." 
 
 " She understands the points of a baby," mut- 
 tered Dudley. 
 
 " We came to speak about baby's name," said 
 William. '* He is to be christened on Sunday." 
 
 mmRsiTY OF 
 
 ILLINOIS I IRr^&ov
 
 52 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 " And you have promised to be his godmother. 
 May," added Dora. 
 
 " What is he to be called ?" asked Miss Hesketh. 
 
 "That was the point," said William. "Dora 
 wished him to be called 'Archibald,' after her father, 
 and we came to see whether my father liked the 
 name." 
 
 "I know papa was desirous that he should be 
 called ' Dudley,' " said Trances, shortly, without 
 looking up from her letter. 
 
 " Of course if it is Mr. Hesketh's wish ..." 
 began Dora. 
 
 " I don't believe my father would care what it 
 was called," said William. " We should like to 
 have no name he really disliked, and 1 don't think 
 he would object to such a fine old name as Archi- 
 bald." 
 
 " Of course he wouldn't interfere," said Frances, 
 coldly. 
 
 " He knows that no suggestion of his would be 
 looked upon as an interference," said her brother, 
 looking annoyed. 
 
 "Couldn't baby be called both names?" said 
 Dora, anxious to close the discussion. 
 
 '* x^ot if Dudley was to come after Archibald," 
 said Frances, in a tone that was not pleasant. 
 
 William looked really angry, and Dora was be- 
 ginning to say she would give up Archibald alto- 
 gether, when Mabel interposed. 
 
 " I don't think Frances quite understood papa ; 
 he only said he supposed it would be called Dudley, 
 and I doubt whether he has any wishes on the sub- 
 ject. Even if he had, I am sure he would say Dora 
 was the first person to be consulted. As I am to be 
 baby's godmother, I am going to propose that he 
 shall be called * Archibald Kennedy,' for I think 
 that would please papa very much." 
 
 ''Tour mother's maiden name," said Dora.
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 53 
 
 ''Yes, and I give my cordial consent," said Wil- 
 liam. " It is a great improvement to the name, 
 and very nice on all accounts. Besides, it will be 
 his godmother's name." 
 
 " I never knew before that May's name was 
 Kennedy," said Dora. 
 
 " We trust to you to settle it with my father," 
 said William to Mabel, " and if he really wishes for 
 Dudley let us know." 
 
 *' Very well ; and Dora, I must not forget that 
 he commissioned me to ask you to dine here next 
 Tuesday, to meet Mr. Collier." 
 
 An hour later Mabel had taken refuge in the 
 garden, her usual place of resort when Frances' 
 temper was ruffled. Many happy solitary hours 
 had she spent in a quiet sunny nook, which Dudley 
 called ' May's Hermitage.' The spot was enclosed, 
 and hidden from sight by a cluster of chesnut trees, 
 and one flower-bed filled with her favourite plants 
 occupied the centre of a smooth piece of turf be- 
 neath the trees. Dudley had made a rough seat 
 in a sheltered corner, where she might sit with her 
 work or a book, and this retreat was one of her 
 chief comforts. She could retire there when vexed 
 or grieved with home disagreements, and the re- 
 pose of that quiet spot rested and refreshed her 
 immediately. She seemed to live in another world 
 there, a higher, purer, inner world, into which none 
 but herself could penetrate ; and after a short in- 
 terval so spent she felt calmed and strengthened, 
 and able to return and bear with her sister's tem- 
 per, or Miss Hesketh's insensibility, without a 
 word or feeling of impatience. 
 
 But none knew or guessed at the secret strug- 
 gles that went on in " May's hermitage ;" her ef- 
 forts against discontent and rebellion when Frances 
 was unjust and satirical ; her endeavours to control 
 fretfulness and irritation, when her aunt was weak-
 
 54 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 minded and interfering, and her grief when Dudley 
 was indolent, and trifling away his time, at an age 
 when exertion and application were so necessary to 
 the forming of his character. Above all, was the 
 longing and pining for her mother, and the yearn- 
 ing after that full and precious sympathy, which 
 had been snatched away from her just as she had 
 learned to prize it so fondly. This was the most 
 bitter trial of all. If her mother had lived, she 
 would have roused Dudley's dormant faculties, have 
 controlled Frances' wilful temper, and there would 
 have been no Aunt Anne to exercise injudicious 
 authority. It was a sad blank, but Mabel felt 
 that she must endeavour to supply her place, and 
 act as she would have done had she been living. 
 But how was this possible ? Remonstrance or en- 
 treaty would only have the effect of increasing 
 Erances' ill-humour, and indolence was too deeply 
 rooted ia Dudley's character to be eradicated by a 
 sister's influence. The more she tried to act as her 
 mother would have done, the more she seemed to 
 feel her loss, for what one gentle, authoritative 
 word from her would have effected, months of 
 patient, unwearied effort were powerless to accom- 
 plish. There was only one time in the day when 
 the craving for the guidance and affection she 
 had lost was satisfied, and that was during the 
 quiet half-hour which she daily spent at the morn- 
 ing service. Then indeed she seemed united with 
 her — uttering the words that had been her stay and 
 comfort, and fulfilling the last injunction that had 
 ever been given her, " My May, never neglect the 
 Daily Service — in all trouble and anxiety you will 
 find rest and guidance there." 
 
 Other struggles there were — struggles against 
 her own failings — against the temper it was hard 
 to control, when injustice and irony were the only 
 return for unceasing gentleness and forbearance ;
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 55 
 
 against the inertness which was constitutional in 
 the Hesketh family — an inertness that nothing but 
 a strong will, and an earnest desire to do right, 
 could overcome ; and against the despair and anx- 
 iety she felt disposed to indulge in, when she saw 
 William and Dudley wasting their abilities, idling 
 away years that could never be recalled, and sloth- 
 fully depending on their father's liberality for 
 the maintenance they ought to be earning for 
 themselves. 
 
 This was a grief indeed — to see the two brothers 
 she loved so well taking such a mistaken view of 
 life, passing by opportunities for which they were 
 deeply responsible, throwing away talents which 
 were entrusted to them as a sacred loan, forgetful 
 that life was passing, and that they were doing 
 good neither to themselves nor their fellow-crea- 
 tures. And for this she saw no remedy, but 
 could only pray that their eyes might be opened, 
 recollecting with a feeling of rest and resigna- 
 tion, that what her feeble efforts could not effect, 
 GtOd's all-powerful arm could bring about in- 
 stantaneously, whenever, and by whatever means, 
 He saw fit. 
 
 And yet there was much enjoyment in life, in 
 spite of these causes for uneasiness ; for Mabel's 
 heart was light and burthenless, and her spirits 
 buoyant. She saw loveliness everywhere, and while 
 looking above for strength, no troubles could over- 
 whelm her. The shadow cast over Prances' life by 
 the want of Church principles, and religious dis- 
 cipline, was unfelt by Mabel ; each hour had its 
 duty, each duty performed brought satisfaction, 
 and she had no time for idle dreams or morbid dis- 
 content. While Frances was sighing for a useful 
 life, Mabel was leading one, and although there 
 might be dreariness and disappointment in Frances' 
 high-flown visions, there could be none in Mabel's
 
 56 NOETHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 unostentatious fulfilment of each duty that lay 
 in her path. 
 
 The dinner-party, on Tuesday, was to be a quiet 
 one. Mr. Hesketh was not fond of large parties, 
 and as with William and Dora they numbered 
 a good many in their own family, no company 
 was invited beyond Hugh Grrahame, Mr. Collier, 
 and an acquaintance of the name of Miss Lush- 
 ington, a lady of about eight-and-twenty, who, 
 as she played a little, sang a little, and talked 
 a great deal, was a useful addition to a small 
 party. 
 
 The sisters looked well, dressed for the evening. 
 Prances, with her tall figure and black hair, her 
 dark dress and scarlet flowers, contrasting with 
 Mabel's slight form and gauzy dress, and the real 
 white roses fastened in her hair, while Dora in her 
 delicate silk gown, which set off her small, classical 
 head and hazel eyes, looked as unlike her sisters as 
 they were dissimilar to each other. 
 
 Mr. Collier verified Hugh's description, and 
 Mabel took shy, sidelong glances at him, fearing he 
 should catch her eye, and think she was admiring 
 him. His face was not bad, and would have been 
 infinitely more improved by a bald head, than by 
 the quantity of false curls on which he had evi- 
 dently bestowed no little labour. A want of good 
 taste was lamentably visible in his personal ap- 
 pearance; the massive gold chain fastened at his 
 waistcoat button, the coral studs, and profusion 
 of gorgeous rings which sparkled on his fingers, 
 showed that he considered that a gentleman might 
 be known by his jewels, as a watch is estimated by 
 its diamonds, or a ship by her guns. Hugh con- 
 trived to lean over the back of Mabel's sofa and 
 ask in a whisper whether his portrait had been cor- 
 rect, and whether she was agreeably surprised or 
 proportionately disappointed.
 
 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 57 
 
 " Hush !" whispered Mabel ; " we had better not 
 talk about him; — if only he wouldn't wear so 
 many rings !" 
 
 " Or so many curls," added Hugh. " Ah ! May ; 
 I hope he may take you in to dinner ; what an in- 
 tellectual treat is in store for you !" 
 
 " Thank you for the kind wish, but he will take 
 Aunt Anne. What should I have talked to him 
 about in such a case ?" 
 
 *' Tou would have had to dilate upon the beauties 
 of Monckton Court, and the happiness of Pever- 
 stone in obtaining such a parishioner." 
 
 " I should have told him the parish school was 
 greatly in want of funds, and offered to be the 
 medium for conveying a subscription from him to 
 Mr. Erie." 
 
 " And let him know that all the parochial chari- 
 ties have been hopping and skipping for joy, at the 
 thought of such a wealthy addition to their neigh- 
 bourhood." 
 
 *' Only, Hugh, we must be civil to him because 
 papa wished it." 
 
 " Well, and wouldn't that be civil ? Look at 
 Dudley asking about the deer-park and conserva- 
 tories in that bland, courteous manner, drawing 
 him out upon the beauties of the estate, with that 
 comical twist all the while in the corner of his 
 mouth, that shows he is deriving infinite enjoyment 
 from his visitor's ready politeness in replying to all 
 his inquiries." 
 
 " How very wrong of Dudley," exclaimed May, 
 without an approach to a smile on her face. " It 
 is not like a gentleman to make sport of his father's 
 guest." 
 
 " Well, here is the announcement of dinner, to 
 put an end to Dudley's sport for the present. 
 Might I take you in, May, or ought I to take 
 Trances as the elder sister?"
 
 58 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 " I think we shall both fall to your share," re- 
 plied Mabel. " You see ladies predominate." 
 
 Mabel need have been under no apprehension of 
 having to make conversation for Mr. Collier, as she 
 was seated at the other end of the table, between 
 her father and Hugh. Mr. Collier sat next Miss 
 Hesketh, with Mrs. William Hesketh on the other 
 side of him, and Mabel smiled to see Dora trying- 
 to make herself agreeable to her husband's client. 
 Miss Lushington was supremely happy, dividing 
 her attentions between William and Dudley, but 
 bestowing them more particularly on the latter, 
 who looked half-amused and half-frightened at 
 such an open flirtation. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh was silent and abstracted, and Mr. 
 Collier kept most of the conversation to himself, 
 with the exception of the laughing banter that 
 went on between Dudley and Miss Lushington, and 
 a little quiet conversation about Mr. Chase and the 
 reading, between Hugh and May. Although no 
 one would have called Mr. Collier gentlemanly, he 
 could not precisely be termed vulgar ; it was the 
 raised tone of voice, accompanied with a good deal 
 of action, and the pompous humility with which he 
 talked of ' my little place,' and ' my poor grounds,' 
 together with the affected disregard of wealth, and 
 the titled acquaintance who were brought in in 
 every other sentence, which showed that he lacked 
 the education and good taste of a true-born gentle- 
 man. 
 
 " His conversation is like his appearance," whis- 
 pered Hugh to Mabel. *' His titled friends are to 
 his mind what the gold chains and rings are to his 
 body ; he considers them a necessary appendage to 
 every man setting himself up for a gentleman. 
 What must he think of me, without a single chain 
 or ring, and not a lord or lady to talk about ?" 
 
 "Poor man!" said May. "It is his ignorance,
 
 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 59 
 
 but we must pity him for it. If lie makes a good 
 use of his money we will forgive him." 
 
 Dora patiently endured the infliction laid upon 
 her, and tried to acquiesce and feel interested in all 
 the remarks he made, but very glad was she when 
 Miss Hesketh moved, and she was able to leave 
 her talkative companion, and rest and refresh her 
 ideas in the cool drawing-room, seated in a quiet 
 corner of the sofa, with Mabel by her side. 
 
 The gentlemen were not long in following the 
 ladies, and Dudley came to the back of their sofa 
 to whisper to Dora, that Mr. Collier had pro- 
 nounced it his candid opinion, after they had left 
 the room, that Mrs. William Hesketh was a de- 
 lightful woman, as charming in mind as in person. 
 May resigned her place in her brother's favour, 
 and left him to amuse Dora with his merry non- 
 sense, and protect her from any further conversa- 
 tion with Mr. Collier. 
 
 William asked for some music, and Miss Lush- 
 ington played and sang with some execution and 
 no taste, exciting infinite admiration in Mr. 
 Collier, after which Frances took her place, and 
 played some grand marches, very imposing but not 
 pleasing, and then to May's satisfaction, Dora rose 
 and sang some short, simple songs, in her sweet, 
 bird-like voice. These were less to Mr. Collier's 
 taste, and with a patronizing, ' pretty, very pretty 
 little things,' he left the piano, and asked Dudley 
 to introduce him to his youngest sister, which the 
 latter did, in a deliberate, formal way, with a good 
 deal of malicious pleasure. 
 
 Hugh was sitting by Mabel's side as they ap- 
 proached, but he rose instantly, and took a vacant 
 seat by Frances, with a smothered exclamation, 
 *' the impudence of that low-bred fellow !" 
 
 " Very happy to make Miss Mabel Hesketh's 
 acquaintance," was Mr. Collier's introductory re-
 
 60 NORTHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 mark, as he took Hugh's place, and sent the co- 
 lour to May's cheeks, causing Dudley to make a 
 rapid retreat to hide the amusement written on his 
 face. 
 
 ** A nice place Peverstone is ; you have lived 
 here all your life, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes, all my life," said Mabel, wishing to say 
 more, but unable to think of any thing else. 
 
 " And not a very long one, to judge by appear- 
 ances," he added, with a smile, and a little kind of 
 polite bow that was very trying. 
 
 " Long enough to make me love it better than 
 any place 1 know," replied Mabel, with polite 
 dignity. 
 
 " But quiet, very quiet ; no balls, no public meet- 
 ings of any sort, without going fifteen or sixteen 
 miles for them," said Mr. Collier. 
 
 "We don't care much for balls," replied May. 
 " There is a little visiting round Peverstone, and 
 we seldom go further for it." 
 
 " Ah ! but all young ladies like balls and society ; 
 especially young ladies of such accomplished 
 grace ;" — he paused, and as Mabel looked as if she 
 did not understand the drift of his speech, he con- 
 tinued, " I shall hope to have the pleasure of lion- 
 izing you over my little place some day. I have 
 been speaking to Mrs. Hesketh, and she did not 
 seem to be aware of the great alterations and im- 
 provements I am effecting. A very different place 
 Monckton Court will be in a twelve months' time." 
 
 " It is a very fine place," observed Mabel. " In 
 summer when the trees are in leaf it looks very 
 lovely." 
 
 " Yes, just at present it is very fine. I was stay- 
 ing with my friend Lord John Ramsey the other 
 day, at his place in Scotland. Very much thought 
 of it is, but not to compare with my place here, 
 and I don't consider this anything of a seat."
 
 IfOETHWODE PEIOET. 61 
 
 Mabel played with some flowers she held in her 
 hand, and wondered whether she was expected to 
 contradict him. 
 
 " The old entrance was a bad one," he continued, 
 "very narrow and awkward; and the lodge was 
 nothing better than a mass of ivy. I have had it 
 pulled down, and in three months' time the new 
 one will be built ; and a capital one it will be, not 
 one of your antiquated cottages with small windows, 
 but a fine modern building, with handsome iron 
 gates ; and a pretty sum it will cost doing, I expect." 
 
 Mabel sighed at the thought of the unpretending 
 little ivy-covered lodge, which she had so often ad- 
 mired, and would never see again ; and then recol- 
 lecting that she ought to say something, observed, 
 " The labourers of Peverstone will be very thank- 
 ful to have work brought them so near their own 
 homes." 
 
 " Oh ! . . . Why, really, they were such a rough, 
 ignorant set of men, that I have hired labourers 
 from a distance, and find that it will be finished 
 three weeks sooner than if I had employed these 
 clumsy ill-conditioned boors." 
 
 " Are three weeks of so much consequence ?" 
 asked May, feeling very indignant at hearing her 
 dear Peverstone people so termed. 
 
 " Three weeks ! Of course it makes all the dif- 
 ference; I cannot ask my intimate friend the 
 Honourable Gi-eorge Chester, to visit me until it is 
 finished. Besides, why should I employ these 
 fellows when I can get it done quicker by bringing 
 men from a distance ?" 
 
 " Surely your own parish should have the first 
 claim upon you," said May. 
 
 Mr. Collier hesitated for a minute, and then said 
 condescendingly, " Ah ! a little prejudice in favour 
 of your native place. Very nice and pretty, that 
 sort of thing in young ladies, but it is no use for
 
 62 NOETRWODE PRIORY. 
 
 men of business to be swayed by those considera- 
 tions." 
 
 Mabel's dignity would allow her to make no 
 reply, and at the first opportunity she escaped from 
 his side, and took refuge under her aunt's wing. 
 
 The next morning the conversation turned upon 
 the dinner party, " Very pleasant, wasn't it. May ?" 
 said Dudley, with an arch look. 
 
 A feeling that her father would not like it, re- 
 strained Mabel from replying, but she shook her 
 head at her brother, and returned to the book she 
 was reading. 
 
 " Mr. Collier is a person of gentlemanly appear- 
 ance and refined taste," he continued; "a great 
 addition to the neighbourhood ; and it will be May's 
 fault if he is not her devoted admirer." 
 
 *• He is Dora's admirer," said Mabel, colouring. 
 
 "Tes, but if you had seen the earnestness with 
 which he entreated to be introduced to my sister — 
 the pretty one," said Dudley, pointedly casting a 
 glance at Frances, " Think, May, the possessor of 
 how many thousands a year — ?" 
 
 " Are you speaking of Mr. Collier, Dudley ?" 
 asked his father. "I daresay he has hard upon 
 twenty thousand a year." 
 
 " What good you might do with it, May ! Tou 
 might buy smock frocks for all the old men in 
 Peverstone, and shawls for their wives, to say no- 
 thing of straw hats and pinafores for their dear 
 little children." 
 
 "How strange it is," said Frances, "that wealth 
 almost always goes to those who are not likely to 
 make a good use of it." 
 
 " Perhaps it may be wealth that hardens their 
 hearts and makes them selfish," said Mabel; " or," 
 she added, thoughtfully, " it may be sent them as 
 a punishment — a temptation, which those who are 
 charitable and open-hearted are spared."
 
 KOETHWODE PEIORT. bd 
 
 Her father looked up at these words, and fondly 
 stroked her bright hair. " Yes, my little May ; 
 happy for you if you can look upon wealth in this 
 light. Strange, that the world should always be 
 struggling for what seldom brings them happiness 
 when attained." He sighed heavily, and almost 
 immediately left the room to attend to some public 
 business. 
 
 " Hugh is lost to us now, for good and all," said 
 Dudley ; '* he spends his mornings with Mr. Chase, 
 and declares he must devote the whole afternoon 
 to getting up his work." 
 
 " It does him great credit," said Frances, in an 
 acrid tone of voice. 
 
 " His brains will be in such a stupid tangle at 
 the end of a month that he will be good for no- 
 thing," said Dudley. " He will be something in 
 the predicament of the notorious Jack, who had all 
 work and no play." 
 
 " Mr. Chase thinks very highly of his abilities," 
 said Mabel. "Papa met him yesterday, and he 
 says that, if he has application, he will do great 
 things at Oxford." 
 
 " How proud Mrs. Grrahame will be of him," 
 observed Miss Hesketh. " She thinks there is no 
 one in the world like Hugh." 
 
 " And no family on earth good enough to asso- 
 ciate with the Grahames," said Frances. '*It is 
 pride that makes her care so much for Hugh. All 
 her hopes are centred in him, and she thinks he 
 will raise the name of Grahame to the position it 
 held in the days of Hugh's ancestors." 
 
 '* 0, Frances ! You are very unjust," said Ma- 
 bel. *' Mrs. Grahame may be proud and chilling, 
 but she loves Hugh dearly, and would make any 
 sacrifice for his sake." 
 
 " My love," said Miss Hesketh to Frances, in 
 her quiet voice. " I wish you were not so un-
 
 64 KOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 charitable in your opinions of people. Mrs. Gra- 
 hame is an excellent person, and if she is proud, 
 she has much to be proud of. She is well-born, 
 and her husband's family was as good as her own." 
 
 '' People who are really well-born are never 
 proud," said Frances. " It is only those who feel 
 their position in the world insecure, that have re- 
 course to pride, thinking, foolishly, that it will 
 help to secure it." 
 
 " I am glad to hear that such are your opinions, 
 Frances," said Dudley. " I always thought you as 
 proud as Lucifer, but I hope you have reformed." 
 
 *' If I am proud I am sorry for it," said Frances, 
 shortly, in the tone of a reproof rather than a con- 
 fession. " I despise all proud people." 
 
 "A capital day for fishing," said Dudley, walk- 
 ing to the window ; " not too bright. I am going 
 to call for William, and we shall fish down to 
 Westerton, and have a fine day's sport, I hope." 
 
 " How can William afford to give up a whole 
 day to fishing again so soon ?" observed Frances, 
 when her brother had left the room. *' It is well 
 he has some one to fall back upon, for his profes- 
 sion can be worth little or nothing to him." 
 
 '* Perhaps if he had not, it would make him de- 
 vote more time to it," said Mabel, with a sigh. 
 
 *' I thought two children would have that effect," 
 said Frances. '* What a pity that he has not a 
 wife who would urge him on to greater exertion, 
 instead of upholding him in his indolence." 
 
 "How little you know Dora," replied Mabel. 
 " She is very gentle and yielding, I allow, but so 
 far from upholding William in anything that is 
 wrong ..." 
 
 "Well, she makes no active opposition," said 
 Frances ; '* if William said he was going out fish- 
 ing, she would take it for granted that he was 
 right, and quietly acquiesce."
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 65 
 
 ** She has a great deal more good sense and high 
 principle than you attribute to her," said Mabel. 
 '* Perhaps, knowing William's character as we do, 
 we might wish to see her Avith a little more strength 
 of mind and determination ; but weakness is to be 
 pitied and not condemned, and her sweet, unvary- 
 ing temper makes her a real treasure to her hus- 
 band." 
 
 "I can't like those gentle, mindless beings," re- 
 plied her sister ; *' I would rather have a strong- 
 minded woman with a stiff will and a hard head of 
 her own ; and then it should be a trial of strength 
 between us, and the strongest should conquer, but 
 for people like Dora one can feel nothing but pity 
 and indifference." 
 
 Mabel shook her head with a smile, and Miss 
 Hesketh remarked, that she was glad for "William's 
 sake that Frances had not had the choosing of a 
 wife for him. 
 
 " In fact, Judith would have been the sort of 
 character you wish for, Frances," said May, smil- 
 ing." 
 
 "I call Judith an old, spoiled servant, with a 
 bad temper, who does not know her place," replied 
 Frances. 
 
 Mabel looked annoyed, and made no answer, and 
 Miss Hesketh reproved Frances, and called her 
 uncharitable, while May left the room, to begin 
 her day's work.
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 " Know we not that he who intermits 
 The appointed task and duties of the day, 
 Untunes full oft the pleasures of the day ; 
 Checking the liner spirits that refuse 
 To flow, when purposes are lightly changed." 
 
 The Excursion. 
 
 Mabel sat in the sunny window-seat at the Priory, 
 one morning, reading, her head resting on her hand 
 and her eyes riveted on her book. Prances was 
 sitting opposite her, and a book was in her hand 
 also, but it was half closed, and she leant listlessly 
 back in her chair, and watched the bees that were 
 buzzing about the honeysuckle that clustered round 
 the window. The sisters had been silent for some 
 time, as Mabel was interested in her book, and 
 fancied Prances the same. A knock at the door 
 made them both look up, and a moment afterwards 
 Mr. Chase was announced. 
 
 He was by no means an unusual visitor, but he 
 was awkward and confused in the presence of la- 
 dies, and in his confusion forgot to take off" his hat, 
 until a surprised glance from Prances recalled it 
 to his memory, when he removed it with a hurried 
 apology, and set it on the table, at the infinite risk 
 of oversetting a vase of flowers, which Mabel quietly 
 removed.
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 67 
 
 " A business visit as usual, I suppose, Mr. 
 Chase," she observed, placing a chair for him to sit 
 down. 
 
 " Tes, there are several matters about which I 
 wished to speak to you. In the first place about 
 the school, — it is not one of your days to-day." 
 
 *' No, I was there yesterday ; if you have any 
 advice to give me, or any suggestions to make, I 
 shall be very glad to follow them." 
 
 " I didn't come to find fault ; I wish every one 
 was as regular as yourself. I think the catechism 
 you use a little too hard, and I have brought a sim- 
 pler one for you to look at, but don't think I mean 
 to interfere." 
 
 " I wish you to interfere whenever it is for the 
 good of me or my class. It lessens my own feel- 
 ing of responsibility, when I think some one is 
 looking after me." 
 
 " Look at this book, then, and see what you 
 think of it. I examined your class yesterday, and 
 I think they are improved ; but it is too large. 
 You can't give them sufiicient individual atten- 
 tion." 
 
 May looked a little disappointed, for she felt 
 loath to part with any of her class, just as they 
 were beginning to show signs of improvement ; 
 but she recollected instantly that she ought to 
 work under direction, and that anything Mr. Chase 
 might advise would be for her good ; and when this 
 had passed through her mind, she replied, "Do 
 you wish me to part with some of them ?" 
 
 " Well, I should advise you to do so," said Mr. 
 Chase. " I think it would be for the advantage of 
 those who remained. In fact, when I had examined 
 them yesterday I marked three whom I thought it 
 would be advisable to remove. I will give you 
 their names." 
 
 Mabel took the paper he held towards her and
 
 68 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 read the names. One of them was that of her 
 particular favourite, a modest little girl, unequal 
 to the others in ability, for which reason Mr. 
 Chase had sentenced her to be removed. Mabel 
 sighed, and Frances, who had looked over her 
 shoulder, and had often heard the name of Ma- 
 bel's little favourite, raised her head with an in- 
 dignant glance, but Mabel gently laid her hand 
 on her sister's, and said, " I will do whatever you 
 wish. I would rather part with Jane Cooper than 
 with little Mary "Willis ; do you think I might 
 change those names ?" 
 
 " Jane Cooper is very superior to Mary Willis," 
 was the reply. " I don't think you will be wise if 
 you do so." 
 
 "Very well," said Mabel, "I suppose by and by 
 she will be improved and able to return to me." 
 
 " Possibly," replied Mr. Chase, who saw no rea- 
 son why the gentle, shrinking little Mary Willis 
 should be preferred to the tall, bold Jane Cooper, 
 and looked at the matter in a cool common-sense 
 way. " I came to tell you also that the prizes will 
 be given away to-morrow, and that Mr. Erie wished 
 those of the ladies and gentlemen who take an in- 
 terest in the school to be present." 
 
 Mabel promised to be there, and Mr. Chase 
 continued, " The school is progressing, slowly but 
 surely ; our greatest drawback is a want of teachers. 
 I am surprised. Miss Hesketh," and he turned to 
 Frances, " that you are not among the regular visi- 
 tors of the school." 
 
 " You would soon have reason to regret it if I 
 consented to become one," replied Frances. 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
 " Because I would never bear being interfered 
 with. If I couldn't pursue my own system I would 
 leave altogether." 
 
 " Then I agree with you in thinking it better
 
 NORTHWODE PRIORY. 69 
 
 you should stay away ; we have four or five lady 
 visitors, and if every one carried out her own sys- 
 tem, what would become of the school ?" 
 
 " Of course I should teach from such books as 
 you approved of, but I could never bear to have 
 my favourite child quietly dismissed from my 
 class." 
 
 " There ought to be no such thing as favourites 
 in school teaching," said Mr. Chase ; "and if one 
 or more children are inferior in ability to the rest 
 of a class, it is necessary both for the sake of order, 
 and for the children's improvement, that they 
 should be removed into a lower class." 
 
 "Well, I am not fitted for school teaching," 
 said Frances, quickly. " I couldn't teach unless 
 I felt myself a free agent, and therefore it is better 
 not to attempt it." 
 
 " Perhaps so ; but I confess that I thought a 
 young lady, with no particular calls upon her time, 
 might be glad to turn her talents to some good 
 account." 
 
 "There are other ways of doing good besides 
 school teaching," said Frances, colouring. 
 
 " Very true, but there is the danger of forming 
 a line of duty for ourselves, instead of following 
 the one which God has marked out for us." 
 
 "I have no reason to think that teaching the 
 school children is a duty especially marked out for 
 me." 
 
 " Perhaps you do not think so, but we can soon 
 find out whether you are right in this belief or 
 not. Every one's first duty is to their home and 
 family ; have you very heavy duties in your 
 home?" 
 
 Prances hesitated ; it was humiliating to confess 
 that she had not, and an answer in the affirmative 
 would have silenced Mr. Chase, and overthrown 
 the argument, which she foresaw would end in her
 
 70 NOETHWODE PEIORY. 
 
 defeat; but then it would be at the sacrifice of 
 truth, so she replied, '' No, I have no heavy duties 
 in my home, or if I have, I am afraid I do not per- 
 form them. Gro on." 
 
 Mr. Chase looked pleased -with, the answer, and 
 continued, "It is very necessary that our girls' 
 schools should be visited by some ladies, and to 
 whom are we to look ? Married women have their 
 own households to attend to, and frequently their 
 own children, and it is very rarely that one is found 
 who has time or power to combine both, therefore 
 it is to those ladies, who have no particular calls at 
 home, that w^e look for assistance." 
 
 " But perhaps teaching is not in their line, and 
 they may have tried it, and found that it didn't 
 succeed, and if so they have no right to undertake 
 it again." 
 
 " That is a question between themselves and 
 their consciences. They may not have given their 
 whole heart to the attempt, and they may have 
 thrown it up when they found it less agreeable and 
 interesting than they expected. But, Miss Hes- 
 keth, I must tell you that true happiness is only 
 to be found in the fulfilment of each individual 
 duty that lies in your path, whether pleasant or 
 otherwise. Happiness may be sought elsewhere, 
 but it will never be found. I speak from experi- 
 ence, and you will find one day that my words are 
 true." 
 
 He stopped speaking, looked at his watch, and 
 then suddenly remarked, "I have stayed longer 
 than I had intended ; I am afraid Grahame will 
 be waiting for me. Good-bye : if I have removed 
 a favourite out of your class," he observed to Ma- 
 be], " I am sorry ; but I think it will be both for 
 her good and for that of the other children. 
 Good-bye." 
 " How can you bear such interference, May ?"
 
 NOKTHWODE PRIOEY. 71 
 
 asked Prances, as the door dosed behind him. 
 " What affair can it be of his, whether Mary Willis 
 stays in your class or not ?" 
 
 " You see, Frances," said May, thoughtfully, " I 
 am not working for my own pleasure, but only for 
 the benefit of the children, and so I am in duty 
 bound, if it is for their advantage, to follow Mr. 
 Chase's advice. Besides, if one really felt as one 
 ought, it would be a pleasure to do anything for 
 their good, and one's own feelings should not enter 
 into the question at all." 
 
 " But there is so much in the manner of doing 
 a thing. Mr. Chase's tone is so cool and dicta- 
 torial. I never could or would bear it." 
 
 " And yet it is a great responsibility to act in- 
 dependently of a clergyman's direction. I feel so 
 young and inexperienced myself that it is quite a 
 relief sometimes to know that the responsibility 
 lies in a measure with them, and that I have only 
 to do as I am told." 
 
 '* I never feel that," replied Frances. " I see 
 no reason why I shouldn't know as well as they 
 do ; and Mr. Chase is so blunt and uncompro- 
 mising." 
 
 " Yes, his manner is very much against him ; 
 but I always pity him rather for that ; and I often 
 think that his blunt speeches mean no more than 
 many people's smooth, civil ones, only that his 
 manner is rough and brusque." 
 
 " Aunt Anne is right, and you are more chari- 
 table than I am. May ; but then that is in a measure 
 owing to your easy, placid disposition, and your 
 not having yet discovered the deceitfulness and 
 hoUowness of the world. It makes one harsh and 
 uncharitable to look below the surface." 
 
 " But I think, Frances, that if you looked below 
 the second surface you would find a great deal of 
 right feeling and kindness of heart, that people are
 
 72 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 either too awkward or shy to exhibit. I often feel 
 that persons do not know my real character, be- 
 cause I am too reserved to show^ it, and I try to 
 make the same allowance for others. Don't you 
 think it is a bad thing to begin with a conviction 
 that people are cold and hypocritical ? And don't 
 you think that we are likely to see the worst side 
 of their characters if this impression is in our minds 
 when we come in contact w^ith them ? Let me 
 read you a verse I have just met with in this book ; 
 it expresses exactly what I mean. 
 
 " * There's no dearth of kindness 
 
 In this world of ours ; 
 Only in our blindness 
 
 We gather thorns for flowers ! 
 Outward, we are spurning, — 
 
 Trampling one another ! 
 While we are inly yearning 
 
 At the name of Brother !' " 
 
 " I think if we had this verse in our minds when 
 we are mixing with people, we should be more 
 likely to find out the good in their characters. So, 
 often, I fancy, a harsh repelling manner, or a cool 
 satirical one, calls forth the worst side of the cha- 
 racters of those we are talking with. Now, I 
 will give you an example, — do you think Mrs. 
 Grahame is likely to find out the best points in 
 those she talks with ?" 
 
 " No ; I am certain she never does. She thinks 
 me a proud, wilful, domineering girl, and dislikes 
 me proportionately." 
 
 " And she thinks me a dull, timid creature, with- 
 out an idea in my head ; and certainly my ideas 
 seem to freeze directly I come into her presence." 
 
 Frances was thoughtful for some time, with her 
 eyes resting on May's face, w4iich was turned 
 towards the window. It was not a beautiful face, 
 but there was generally a bright delicate colour on
 
 NOETHWODE PRIORY. 73 
 
 her cheeks, and the expression of her clear blue 
 eye was exquisitely geutle and childlike. There 
 was such purity of thought and feeling written on 
 every feature, and her hair with its shining golden 
 hue was really beautiful, forming a back-ground to 
 the delicately chiselled features. Sometimes a wish 
 crossed Frances' mind that she was as sweet and 
 gentle as her sister, but it was almost immediately 
 put away with the reflection, " My childish days 
 are past ; life can never again appear as bright and 
 sunny to me as it does to her. A few more years 
 and she will be saddened too, and that look of re- 
 pose will have changed for one of care and anxiety. 
 Poor little May ! But it is every one's fate !" 
 
 And yet in spite of Frances' love for Mabel they 
 were little like sisters. Indeed there was more of 
 a sisterly feeling between Dora and May, although 
 even there Mabel did not find all she wished for. 
 With Frances she thought differently on almost 
 every subject, with the exception of that one vague 
 theory about a useful life, with which Mabel en- 
 tirely sympathized, but even here their views on 
 the subject were directly opposed. Dora loved and 
 respected Mabel above all words, and fully agreed 
 wdth all her opinions, and was quite happy when 
 resting on the sofa, listening to May, as she talked 
 about her plans and wishes, and theorised upon the 
 bringing up of children, and drew visions of the 
 future lives of her little nephews. There was one 
 pet scheme in which Dora fully participated. It 
 was made for Archie, May's godson, a tiny creature 
 in a cap and long white robes, who lay sleeping in 
 his aunt's arms, little thinking what golden dreams 
 those two fair faces that bent over him with such 
 tenderness were indulging in. Archie was to be 
 a clergyman ; a noble self-devoted man, with his 
 vrhole heart in his profession. And, moreover, 
 he was to be Yicar of Peverstone, and live in the
 
 7-i IfOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 pretty, quiet vicarage ; and if Dora had other 
 calls and was unable to live with him herself, 
 May was to be a maiden aunt, and keep house for 
 him. 
 
 They were very happy with their schemes and 
 visions, but sometimes it came across Mabel's mind 
 that the schemes were all her own, and, that al- 
 though Dora coincided with them, she never formed 
 any ; and a sensation of disappointment came over 
 her, when her heart was full of high and holy 
 thoughts, and Dora was but gently acquiescent, and 
 incapable of entering into and sharing them with 
 her. But she felt as if she were wronging her, after 
 such thoughts had passed through her mind, and, 
 driving them hastily away, dwelt instead upon her 
 sweet temper, and gentle, clinging nature. 
 
 There was a certain degree of truth in Frances' 
 remarks upon her sister-in-law, although they were 
 severe, and tinged with bitterness. Dora's charac- 
 ter had never been called forth — her natural bias 
 was toward the right side, but it was not deve- 
 loped, and her yielding nature caused her to be 
 led, where often she should rather have led others. 
 Her health was far from robust, and this disposed 
 her to less exertion than she might otherwise have 
 made. 
 
 Trances' first feeling towards her had been a 
 prejudiced one ; she thought it great presumption 
 in one of her birth and circumstances to dare to 
 marry William Hesketh, the heir to Northwode 
 Priory. When she saw Dora herself, and became 
 acquainted with her mind and character, her dis- 
 like increased ; all her gentleness and sweetness 
 went for nothing, and Frances only saw that her 
 will was a weak one, and that she would never cor- 
 rect in William those feelings which his sisters de- 
 plored. It never occurred to Frances that it might 
 be in her power to draw forth Dora's energies, and
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 75 
 
 strengthen her character, but when she discovered 
 that her sister-in-law was so far from being the 
 wife she would have chosen for William, she 
 separated herself from her, and held coldly aloof, 
 seldom thinking or speaking of her, except to con- 
 demn her weaknesses, and criticise her actions. 
 
 On that same day, at three o'clock in the after- 
 noon, Mabel walked up and down the smooth lawn 
 outside the house, arrayed in a black cloth riding 
 habit, with a little cap, adorned w^ith a black ostrich 
 feather, on her head, waiting for the arrival of the 
 horses. She was going to ride with Mr. Hesketh, 
 and as neither he nor their steeds were in readi- 
 ness, she was beguiling the time in the sunshine, 
 beheading the tiny daisies, that were, contrary to 
 law, making their appearance in the mossy grass, 
 with her little silver-handled whip. 
 
 She was startled by a clear whistle at no very 
 great distance from her, and, looking up, saw Hugh 
 coming towards her across the grass. He had 
 several heavy books under his arrg^and looked 
 fagged with having read the whole morning. 
 
 " I envy you, May," was his first remark, as he 
 shook hands with her. " What wouldn't I give 
 for a scamper over the heath and furze this splendid 
 afternoon, instead of grinding away at Thucydides, 
 stopping my ears that I mayn't hear the birds 
 sing, for fear they should distract my attention. 
 Oh, May ! I am working very hard, I can tell 
 you," he exclaimed, wearily, as he threw himself 
 on the grass at her feet. 
 
 "And why shouldn't you have a holiday for 
 once ?" asked Mabel. *' You would work with 
 double energy this evening, if you rested your mind 
 now. Dudley's horse is saddled in the stable, and 
 he has changed his mind and gone fishing instead 
 of riding ; papa will be vexed when he finds that 
 Gipsy is not going to be taken out again to-day,
 
 76 NOETHWODE PEIORY. 
 
 SO, if you think it a good suggestion, you will be 
 conferring a great favour on both Gipsy and papa 
 by using him." 
 
 Hugh sprang from the grass, and the life that 
 beamed in his eyes made him look a different being 
 from the one that had cast himself on the ground 
 so heavily and wearily a moment before. " 
 May! you have gladdened my heart!" he ex- 
 claimed. " You don't know what a wicked, en- 
 vious wretch I was a second ago. Thinking what 
 an easy, jolly life Dudley was leading, while I was 
 plodding from morning till night, wearing out my 
 brains, — and all for what ?" 
 
 May's riding whip was laid upon his arm. " For 
 a great deal, Hugh. Eor the improvement of 
 time, and the use of your abilities, and for the re- 
 spect and esteem of all your friends." 
 
 "For your esteem. May?" he asked, eagerly. 
 *' Do you really think you shall ever esteem me ? 
 Such an idle, good-for-nothing fellow as I have 
 been ! I shan't think my plodding of no use if it 
 ever makes you esteem me." 
 
 Mabel laughed at his warmth, and he looked 
 half-vexed at her treating his earnestness so lightly. 
 " Where are you going to ride ?" he asked, after a 
 moment's pause. 
 
 " Over the Western Beacon, and home by 
 Monckton Court, so I shall be glad of a com- 
 panion, for papa wishes to see Mr. Collier, and we 
 can ride up and down outside, as I have no wish 
 to pay him a visit." 
 
 '*No," exclaimed Hugh, " and I hope, May, you 
 will not be very intimate with him — such an under- 
 bred, presuming coxcomb !" 
 
 " I never shall from choice," replied Mabel ; 
 "but I think papa wishes us to be on friendly 
 terms, and his will is my will. Here is G-eorge 
 with the horses. Will you hold Die, while I
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 77 
 
 mount, Hugh ? and then George shall go back and 
 fetch Gipsy." 
 
 Hugh placed his hand for May's little foot, and 
 she sprang lightly into the saddle, and stroked Die 
 Vernon's pretty chesnut neck, while Hugh altered 
 her stirrup, and arranged her reins, and wished 
 that it were the fashion for ladies always to wear 
 little black riding hats, with ostrich feathers, and 
 pretty white gauntlet gloves. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh came out of the house at that 
 minute, and stood in the doorway, watching the 
 group before him — Die, arching her neck, and 
 looking proud of her light burden, May's slight, 
 graceful figure bending over her, and Hugh with 
 one arm round the horse's neck, looking up in 
 Mabel's face ; while the groom stood at a short dis- 
 tance holding the other two horses ; the beautifully 
 kept pleasure ground, and the graceful copper 
 beech and cedar trees, forming a background to 
 the picture. 
 
 " Oh ! there is papa !" cried Mabel, and he came 
 to her side, and settled the folds of her habit, 
 and called her his Mayflower, while Mabel ex- 
 plained that Dudley had played truant, and that 
 Hugh was willing to take his place, at which Mr. 
 Hesketh looked well satisfied. 
 
 Hugh vaulted into his saddle with a feeling of 
 exultation and delight that he had seldom felt be- 
 fore, on accomplishing such a simple act ; and the 
 cause was soon explained in a side whisper to Ma- 
 bel, " Ah ! May ! This is a pleasure earned, and 
 far more appreciated, than when riding and shoot- 
 ing were my only employments." 
 
 They walked their horses quietly until they had 
 left the town and gained the high road ; Mabel 
 riding between her two escorts, and Hugh hardly 
 able to bridle his own impatience for a gallop. 
 When there was no further occasion for doing so,
 
 78 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 they set off at a pace that would have been truly 
 enjoyable but for the intense heat. It was almost 
 too much for May, and Mr. Hesketh recommended 
 that they should take it more quietly, but Hugh 
 reminded them that there would be a fresh breeze 
 on the Western Beacon, and that the sooner that 
 was gained, the sooner the annoyance would be over. 
 
 The Western Beacon was the highest point of a 
 long range of common, covered with gorse and 
 flints, which commanded a magnificent view of all 
 the surrounding country. However sultry the day 
 might be, there was always a cool, refreshing 
 breeze there, and as Mr. Hesketh and his two 
 companions reached the summit, the pure, fresh 
 air swept over their faces, causing a sensation, 
 as Hugh said, too delicious to describe. 
 
 Beneath them lay many miles of richly wooded 
 country ; in the valley, on the left, they could see 
 their own home, Peverstone, the tower of the beau- 
 tiful church, May's pride and glory, round which 
 all her truest, deepest feelings seemed wound, rising 
 above the tall beech and elm trees by which it 
 was inclosed ; and by its side, like a grey speck 
 in the distance, stood Northwode Priory, second 
 only in her affections. They could trace the course 
 of the river by the richness of its banks, and far 
 away in the dim distance was to be seen the town 
 of Kilminster, easily recognised by the smoky haze 
 that enveloped it. How Mabel loved every inch 
 of that fair scene, and how her earliest and happiest 
 memories were interwoven with Church, river, lanes, 
 and even gates and hedges ! 
 
 Hugh could not feel for it as Mabel did. He 
 loved it better than any other spot on earth, but 
 with him it was an adopted home, and not the home 
 of his childhood; and the same associations were 
 not blended with it so inseparably in his heart, as 
 in that of Mabel. But he could understand and
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 79 
 
 enter into her feelings, and his expressions of ad- 
 miration and affection were little less fervent than 
 her own. His eyes wandered up the river, seeking 
 for some spot that he had not yet discovered, and 
 presently he exclaimed, " Yes ! There is Lynch- 
 brook ! — the little red spot, just this side of the 
 wear. May ; I know it by the poplar trees, and the 
 cottages just beyond." 
 
 " And there is Monckton Court, looking grander 
 and more imposing than ever," observed Mabel. 
 "But surely a great many of the fine old trees 
 are gone — and look at that frightful white patch, 
 where the dear little lodge, and old Deborah Har- 
 wood, in her black stuff gown and white apron, used 
 to be ! Can that be Mr. Collier's new lodge ?" 
 
 " lu all probability," said Hugh, with an ex- 
 pression of disgust written on his face. " Just like 
 the man's taste." 
 
 " "We must continue our ride," observed Mr. 
 Hesketh. " This breeze is very delightful, but not 
 very prudent, my little May, after the heat you 
 were in just now." 
 
 They galloped over the heath, the horses seeming 
 to revel in the sound of their native turf, as it 
 echoed beneath their feet. Hugh, feeling as if the 
 rapid motion, and cool air, and change of scene, 
 were removing a dull, leaden weight from his 
 brow, and the delicious sense of freedom and inde- 
 pendence being doubly grateful, after the confine- 
 ment and hard study of the last fortnight. 
 
 His enjoyment was Mabel's also. After having 
 urged him to apply himself to his studies, and 
 having persuaded him to relinquish his favourite 
 pursuits, she watched him with some anxiety and a 
 feeling of responsibility, lest his health should 
 suffer from such close application to his books. 
 And when, half-an-hour before, she had seen him 
 languid and depressed, with a colourless face and
 
 80 TfOETHWODE PRIORT. 
 
 weary manner, a pang of self-reproach had come 
 across her, lest she had done wrong in advising him 
 to give up his healthy amusements for hard and 
 sedentary work, and she therefore rejoiced heartily 
 when she saw his cheeks resuming their old tinge of 
 rich dark red, and his brown eyes sparkling with 
 spirit and energy. She resolved, that if she could 
 help it, he should not again give up all exercise, 
 and having set her mind at ease, she felt at liberty 
 to give herself up entirely to the enjoyment of the 
 ride. 
 
 They rode through narrow, winding lanes, with 
 thick brushwood almost meeting over their heads, 
 protecting them from the heat of the sun, until 
 they reached the entrance to Monckton Court, and 
 as Mr. Hesketh had no wish to expose his little 
 daughter to an interview with Mr. Collier, he 
 recommended them to make themselves indepen- 
 dent of him, and ride home by any route that 
 pleased them best. They followed his advice, and 
 passed the new lodge, when Hugh had an opportu- 
 nity of giving vent to his feelings, and abusing that 
 " ignorant, presuming cockney," who had dared to 
 pull down the rustic little lodge, "that had been 
 good enough for many a better one than himself," 
 and replace it by such an eye-sore as he declared 
 the new one to be. 
 
 Mabel was indignant also, but it was on another 
 score. Instead of the well-known Peverstone faces, 
 who were seldom without a respectful smile and a 
 pull of the forelock when she passed, five or six im- 
 pudent-looking men were employed upon the new 
 lodge, and their coarse, harsh voices, as they halloed 
 to one another, were heard long before the riders 
 were near enough to perceive them. 
 
 Hugh did not look upon this insult to May's 
 " dear Peverstone people" in the same way as she 
 did, as a personal affront, but it was pleasant
 
 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 81 
 
 enough to hear her indignant with "that fellow," 
 to whom Hugh had taken a violent dislike, on any 
 grounds whatever, and he fully participated in all 
 the displeasure she evinced against Mr. Collier. It 
 was not till after they had passed the lodge for some 
 time, and were out of hearing of the rough voices 
 with their unfamiliar accent, that the subject was 
 dropped, and other matters discussed. 
 
 " You like your new tutor, Hugh," was Mabel's 
 first remark. 
 
 " Very much indeed," said Hugh, heartily. " In 
 spite of his eccentricities and unprepossessing man- 
 ner, he is a thoroughly good fellow." 
 
 "Does his roughness wear ofi" when you know 
 him better?" 
 
 Hugh paused ; " Well, I don't know that I can 
 say it does, exactly. He is certainly less con- 
 strained with me than formerly, but sometimes he 
 brings out the plainest things in the most uncere- 
 monious way." 
 
 " I can fancy him doing that," said May. 
 
 " I wDl tell you what he said only this morning. 
 I had a splitting headache yesterday evening, in 
 consequence of which my work was not as well pre- 
 pared as usual this morning. He took it very 
 quietly at first, but just as I was leaving he said, 
 ' Headaches are all very well for idle people who 
 have plenty of time for them, but if you mean to 
 do anything at Oxford, the sooner you leave them 
 off" the better.' " 
 
 " Poor Hugh," said Mabel, with a smile. 
 
 " I didn't much like it at the time, I confess ; 
 particularly as I had resisted my mother's, attempt 
 to make me go to bed, and sat up reading and ana- 
 lysing until eleven o'clock, doing very little good, I 
 am afraid, but still determined not to give up. 
 However, I recollected that Mr. Chase said one 
 day that he had never had a headache in his life,
 
 82 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 and didn't know what it was to feel unwell ; so I 
 have forgiven him, and in spite of his queer ways, I 
 am certain that he never intentionally made a speech 
 to hurt any one in his life." 
 
 " And he is in earnest," observed May. " How 
 many faults that seems to expiate !" 
 
 " He is more in earnest than any one knows," 
 replied Hugh. " A friend of mine is very well ac- 
 quainted with him, and told me a great many things 
 about him, and I am sure it cannot be wrong to tell 
 you. May, for they will make you esteem him more 
 highly than ever, and I am not afraid of your 
 repeating them again." 
 
 "I shall never repeat anything you tell me in 
 confidence, Hugh, you may be sure." 
 
 " Well ; Mr. Chase's father was a solicitor, and 
 died, some time before Mr. Chase had taken Holy 
 Orders, very deeply involved. All his property was 
 sold to satisfy the creditors, and Mr. Chase and his 
 only sister were left absolutely unprovided for. 
 Miss Chase was a great invalid, very much deformed, 
 and perfectly unable to do anything towards sup- 
 porting herself. She went to live with a relation, 
 who was herself in very poor circumstances, and 
 Mr. Chase promised to allow her a sufficient sum 
 to enable her to live in tolerable comfort. This he 
 has never failed to do, from that time to the present, 
 though how he does it no one can tell, for his 
 stipend, in spite of being a very good one, as things 
 go, is a mere pittance for two people to live upon. 
 My friend tells me that every sixpence he earns 
 by pupils is put aside to purchase some comfort 
 for his poor suffering sister, and that his life is 
 one of never-ceasing self-denial and privation, and 
 the sum of his yearly expenditure so small as to be 
 scarcely credible." 
 
 " 0, Hugh ! How little we dreamt of this when 
 we laughed at his cotton umbrella and worn coat !
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 83 
 
 How small and contemptible I feel to think that I 
 should ever have criticised one so noble and self- 
 denying ! Thank you for telling me ; it will be a 
 lesson through life, to teach me never to ridicule 
 those of whose motives I am ignorant." 
 
 "I haven't a clear conscience either on that 
 score, May. I think of it every time I see Mr. 
 Chase. With all his self-denial, he finds means 
 for being charitable to the Peverstone poor, and he 
 is kind and considerate in spite of his rough ways. 
 I have been told that often and often when he 
 hasn't the means of relieving a sick parishioner, 
 his own dinner has been sent to the person, and he 
 himself has gone almost without necessary food. " 
 
 There were tears in Mabel's eyes ; partly at 
 hearing of the privation and self-denial of one 
 whom she had always in her heart esteemed ; and 
 partly at the recollection of the many times she 
 had joined in a laugh at the shabby dress and well- 
 worn hat, which she had looked upon as one of his 
 many eccentricities. She turned her head aside 
 to conceal them, but not before they had been 
 observed by Hugh, who silently appreciated the 
 feeling that called them forth. 
 
 " He is an excellent fellow, indeed," said Hugh ; 
 " and I wish to my heart that I could get him a 
 pupil that should succeed me in October." 
 
 " We will write to our friends and try," replied 
 Mabel. *' I suppose you would wish me not to 
 tell Trances, Hugh, but I am afraid she doesn't 
 think as highly of Mr. Chase as he deserves." 
 
 "I leave it to your own discretion. May," was 
 the reply ; "but I feel anxious that it should not 
 be generally known." 
 
 " Then I won't tell Frances at present, but trust 
 to her own good sense and discernment for looking 
 beneath the surface, and finding out his worth for 
 herself."
 
 84 NORTHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 Presently May asked ; *' Does your friend know 
 Miss Chase, Hugh?" 
 
 " Yes, he has seen her several times. The cousin 
 with whom she boards, is, as I told you, very poorly 
 circumstanced. They live in small lodgings in 
 London, about the worst place in the world for 
 Miss Chase's health, I believe ; and my friend said, 
 when he saw her a short time ago, he thought her 
 very much altered for the worse." 
 
 " How little one realizes the misery that goes on 
 in the world, until it is brought before one's no- 
 tice !" said Mabel. 
 
 " I think Mr. Chase is more to be pitied than 
 his sister," observed Hugh. "His position must 
 be a very unhappy one ; barely able with the ut- 
 most self-denial to maintain her in her present 
 home, and then knowing that it is the worst place 
 in England for her health." 
 
 " But surely it would be as inexpensive to live in 
 small lodgings in the country, as in London." 
 
 " That is just what I said ; but the cousin has 
 relations in London, and cannot be persuaded to 
 leave it, so the Chases are perfectly helpless." 
 
 " Oh ! I am so sorry for them," said Mabel, with 
 along-drawn sigh. "How wrong it seems to be 
 living in ease and comfort, when others are work- 
 ing and toiling for their daily bread with such 
 heavy hearts." 
 
 " If ever I am a rich man, May, what a pleasure 
 it will be to help people like the Chases !" 
 
 " Yes, to bring the sick sister to Peverstone, and 
 give them enough to live upon in comfort." 
 
 " And perhaps I may be rich some day. May ; 
 who knows ?" exclaimed Hugh, smacking his whip. 
 
 " You are going the right way to work to be- 
 come so," said Mabel. 
 
 "And I am not ambitious," replied Hugh. " I 
 never wish for great riches."
 
 NORTHWODE PRIOET. 85 
 
 " Only for enough to enable you to help others," 
 said May. 
 
 Hugh looked thoughtful, and as they were en- 
 tering the town, neither spoke again until they 
 reached the Priory, where they found Dudley lying 
 on the lawn, with eight fine trout spread on the 
 grass before hira, which he was surveying with in- 
 tense satisfaction. 
 
 " Did you catch them all yourself, Dudley ?" 
 asked Hugh. 
 
 " Yes, and William caught six fine fellows. One 
 of them weighed three pounds, twice the size of 
 this one," he said, holding up a pretty, shining, 
 speckled one, while May knelt down beside him, 
 and gently bemoaned their sad fate. 
 
 "Nonsense, you goose !" exclaimed Dudley, try- 
 ing to slip a fish into her hand, " That is just 
 like Trances. She exclaims at my being so cruel 
 and unfeeling, and moralises upon the brutality of 
 man, and winds the whole up very consistently by 
 taking a fish and a half to her own share the next 
 morning, and soothing their imaginary torments 
 with plenty of vinegar and pepper." 
 
 " Well, 'if I pity the poor little fish, I don't help 
 to eat them," observed May ; "but then it is only 
 because I don't like them, for it is just as cruel to 
 eat salmon or whiting." 
 
 " Just as cruel, and just as absurd to think about 
 it at all," said Dudley. 
 
 " We have had such a ride, Dudley," said Ma- 
 bel, " over the Western Beacon, and home by 
 Monckton Court." 
 
 " I was very glad to find that Hugh had taken 
 Gipsy out," replied Dudley. " Tou are come to 
 dine and spend a jolly evening, Hugh, of course." 
 
 Por one moment Hugh looked undecided. The 
 thought of a merry evening at the Priory was far 
 more tempting than the contemplation of several
 
 Ob NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 hours of hard reading at Lynchbrook, in the silent 
 study, with his books and papers strewn on the 
 table round him ; and his mother sitting calm and 
 grave over her work, fearing to move lest she 
 should disturb him. One evening could not make 
 much difference, but just then May's thoughtful 
 blue eyes w^ere raised to his face, and something in 
 their expression made him say, 
 
 "No, thank you, Dudley. I have had my holi- 
 day this afternoon, and very enjoyable it has been, 
 I can tell you. My head is quite clear and fresh, 
 and I must work well this evening." 
 
 " And we challenge you to a walk to-morrow, if 
 the weather is fine," said Mabel. "Dora is going 
 with us." 
 
 Hugh's face brightened. " Do you think I may 
 always walk and ride with you, just the same as 
 ever. May ? Or will it be too much time to take 
 from the reading ?" 
 
 " Tou will see whether to-day's ride will have 
 helped you in your reading," said May. '* Tou 
 looked so fagged when you came here this after- 
 noon, that I should not think your head could 
 have been capable of much." 
 
 " Then I looked just as I felt," said Hugh ; 
 *' and if I can get up all my work to-night, to say 
 the least, as well as usual, I will walk with you to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " How can you plod over those books, Hugh ?" 
 asked Dudley, stretching himself full length on the 
 grass, and gazing at the trout, evidently drawing a 
 comparison in his own mind between the delight 
 of fishing and the drudgery of study. " Slow 
 work, it must be, I shall get enough of it at Ox- 
 ford by and by." 
 
 "Ah! Dudley," said May, who was sitting be- 
 side him ; " when you are undergoing the ordeal of 
 the schools, you will wish that your time had been
 
 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 87 
 
 as well spent as Hugh's, and it will be too late 
 then." 
 
 " Never mind, I am quite prepared for a pluck, 
 and I shall bear it with my usual stoicism," said 
 Dudley. *' I wish you were going instead of me. 
 May, what wonders you would do ! Tou would 
 be a first-class maiden, I am certain." And he 
 played with the ends of her long curls. 
 
 " A ' sweet girl graduate,' " said Hugh, a little 
 ashamed of a quotation. " Well, good-bye, May, 
 I hope we shall have the walk to»raorrow."
 
 CHAPTEE yi. 
 
 " Smooth runs the water, where the brook is deep." 
 
 SHAKESPEARE. 
 
 In the small but stately drawing room at Lynch- 
 brook, sat Mrs. Grabame, one bright afternoon. 
 In spite of the genial influences of the day, there 
 was a sombre frigidity about the room and its oc- 
 cupant, strangely out of harmony with the stream 
 of light that came in through the half closed Vene- 
 tian blinds. The furniture was of the form and 
 fashion of the last generation, solid and handsome, 
 but stiff and ungraceful, and arranged with orderly 
 precision against the walls. On the table lay an 
 even number of picture books and annuals, bound 
 in morocco, while in the centre stood a china dish 
 filled with visiting cards. Mrs. Grahame sat by 
 the table, with a small work-basket beside her. 
 Her dress was of black silk, far from new, but 
 smooth and without a crease, the quiet folds sweep- 
 ing the ground, and according well with her tall 
 decided figure. 
 
 The house was singularly still and noiseless. 
 Hugh was gone to the Priory to walk with the 
 Heskeths, and Mrs. Grahame was busy with her 
 own thoughts, and never moved or looked up, until 
 a knock at the door arrested her attention.
 
 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 89 
 
 Miss Lushington was announced, and Mrs. Gra- 
 liame slowly rose, and received her with the air of 
 a duchess, just touching her hand, and then mo- 
 tioning to her to take a seat by her side on the sofa. 
 Miss Lushington was not easily overwhelmed even 
 by the dignity of Mrs. G-rahame, and her manner 
 was as friendly and easy as if she had been calling 
 upon the quiet, gentle Miss Hesketh. 
 
 Mrs. Grahame began with her usual visiting ob- 
 servations, — the weather, the crops, the garden, 
 and finally the newspapers ; and Miss Lushington 
 entered into each topic as it was brought forward. 
 But she had not walked to Lynchbrook to discuss 
 the weather, or the garden, or even the newspa- 
 pers ; and having politely waited until each subject 
 had been fully dealt with and dismissed, she pro- 
 ceeded cautiously towards the point, on which it 
 was her intention to sound Mrs. Grahame. 
 
 " Your son is still with you," she observed. "I 
 suppose he will be leaving for Oxford very shortly. 
 You will miss him very much." 
 
 "Yes," was the reply. "We have never been 
 separated, and it will be a great trial to me when 
 October comes." 
 
 " Ah ! he leaves you in October. He is reading 
 with Mr. Chase, is he not ?" 
 
 " Yes; Mr. Chase is a clever man." 
 
 *' Undoubtedly ;" and Miss Lushington paused 
 to consider what the next step should be. After 
 a moment's reflection she continued, "Mr. Gra- 
 hame seems very fond of Peverstone. I met him 
 at the Priory a short time ago, and I was quite 
 amused at the affection he expressed for it." 
 
 " I think it is Lynchbrook rather than Pever- 
 stone of which he is so fond," replied Mrs. Gra- 
 hame. " He has taken a great deal of trouble with 
 the garden, watching every tree and shrub, and 
 that attaches people to places, I think."
 
 90 FORTHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 "And it is so much improved," said Miss Lush- 
 ington. 
 
 '* Yes, it was in sad disorder when we came 
 here. I felt the change very much after living 
 for several months at my brother's beautiful country 
 seat." 
 
 Miss Lushington began to fear they were getting 
 away from the subject, and hastily brought Mrs. 
 Grahame back again. 
 
 " You are fond of Peverstone yourself, are you 
 not, Mrs. Grrahame ?" 
 
 " It is like all country towns," replied Mrs. 
 Grahame. *' There is the usual complement of 
 clergymen, surgeons, and lawyers ; but it is very 
 quiet, of course." 
 
 Miss Lushington was annoyed. Her father was 
 a lawyer; and although probably Mrs. Grahame 
 had forgotten that such was the case. Miss Lush- 
 ington chose to look upon it as a premeditated 
 slight, and having arrived at the desired point in 
 the conversation, she remarked with a little more 
 malice prepense than she had originally felt, *' Pe- 
 verstone must have charms for your son greater 
 than it contains for yourself. Indeed, I have heard 
 that such is the case ; but I hope I am not ven- 
 turing on forbidden ground." 
 
 Mrs. Grahame looked quietly perplexed, and 
 waited for her guest to explain herself. There was 
 something in the grave cold glance of that inquir- 
 ing eye, that made Miss Lushington feel inclined to 
 wish she had not touched upon the subject, but 
 then she had come for the express purpose, and it 
 was now too late to retract. So she proceeded with 
 somewhat the feeling of Ulysses, when he is made 
 to say, in the Homeric Ballads, 
 
 ** But now 'tis too late, since to talk is my fate, 
 For my tongue to keep back what it means to relate."
 
 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 91 
 
 And with a short laugh, she continued, " Why, my 
 dear Mrs. Grahame, it is reported in Peverstone 
 that the secret of your son's love for the neigh- 
 bourhood is to be traced to Northwode Priory. 
 I am not fond of gossip myself, and I make a 
 point of never encouraging it, but reports will get 
 about, you know, and this seems so very probable, 
 that . . ." 
 
 "And why should it seem so very probable ?" 
 was the cold distant reply. 
 
 " Oh ! such a nice, handsome young man as your 
 son, and such a sweet girl . . ." 
 
 " May I ask to which of the Miss Heskeths re- 
 port has been kind enough to give my son ?" 
 
 '* Oh ! to Mabel, of course. But, my dear Mrs. 
 Grahame, I should never have mentioned it, only 
 I thought it right to let you know ..." 
 
 " I feel extremely indebted to you for giving me 
 an opportunity of contradicting such an absurd 
 report," replied Mrs. Grahame, with a contemp- 
 tuous smile. " It is very true that my son is a 
 good deal at Northwode Priory, and that Dudley 
 Hesketh and himself are great friends ; but that 
 he has any preference for either of the sisters, I 
 may safely deny, and I believe that he likes them 
 both equally well." 
 
 So far Miss Lushington was satisfied, but she 
 wished to discover whether such a match would 
 meet with Mrs. Grahame's approval, and therefore 
 continued, " But the Heskeths are such nice girls, 
 and the family, as well as Mr. Hesketh's circum- 
 stances, so good, that you could scarcely wish for 
 a better connection for your son, my dear Mrs. 
 Grahame." 
 
 This was going a little too far, and Mrs. Gra- 
 hame drew herself up, and replied, " No doubt they 
 are very amiable girls, but my son is far too young 
 to render such speculations anything but most
 
 92 NOETHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 ridiculous. In ten years' time I trust he will begin 
 to think of these things, but at present he is much 
 too wise." 
 
 This was far from satisfactory, but Miss Lush- 
 ington saw that Mrs. Grrahame was assuming the 
 impenetrable distant politeness that bid defiance 
 to all curiosity, so she forbore pressing the matter 
 further, and a few minutes afterwards took her 
 leave, with a profusion of apologies in case she 
 should have touched upon an unpleasant subject, 
 and a hope that Mrs. Grahame would treat the 
 matter as lightly as such rumours deserved, which 
 Mrs. Grahame failed not to assure her she should 
 certainly do. 
 
 "With a face expressive of the utmost unconcern, 
 Mrs. Grahame saw her visitor depart, but when 
 once the door was closed, there was no longer any 
 necessity for acting a part. The stern cold face 
 grew troubled and anxious, and the real effect which 
 Miss Lushington's friendly information had had 
 upon her, was but too apparent. 
 
 Mrs. Grahame was not one of those persons who 
 give vent to their feelings in a flood of tears, and 
 cast aside all self-restraint when no eye is upon 
 them in their trouble. On the contrary, she re- 
 seated herself on the sofa, tall and erect, with firmly 
 clasped hands, and a face on which the lines of 
 care and anxiety were the only index to the feel- 
 ings working within. 
 
 Hugh was her hope and pride — he was her dar- 
 ling too, but this was a secondary consideration. 
 Prom his childhood it had been her fondest hope 
 that she might live to see him regain the position 
 held by his ancestors, and restore the name of 
 Grahame to what it had been a generation or two 
 before. This was the great scheme of her life, and 
 towards attaining this object every thought and 
 action were directed. She was one of those who
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 93 
 
 completely and almost wilfully deceive themselves. 
 She thought it was her love for Hugh that made all 
 sacrifices seem light, if they were tending to raise 
 him in the world ; that it was her affection for him 
 which made her feel ready and willing to deny her- 
 self every luxury, if by so doing she could give him 
 a single advantage that should improve his abilities, 
 and increase the probability of his distinguishing 
 himself, first at Oxford, and afterwards at the bar. 
 But it was not so. Mrs. Grahame loved Hugh, it 
 was true, but it was not love that prompted her to 
 sacrifice every thing to his advancement in life — it 
 was ambition. Pride and ambition were the ruling 
 features of her character, and in this particular she 
 was strangely opposed to Hugh. He inherited his 
 father's contented, retiring disposition, and although 
 he was anxious to make the most of his time and 
 talents, it was with no view to his future aggrandise- 
 ment, but simply because he was responsible for 
 them. 
 
 But the attainment of Mrs. Grrahame's wishes 
 was no easy matter. Her own income was a mo- 
 derate one, and she knew that the bar would, in all 
 probability, be no lucrative profession for many 
 years. But to meet this difficulty she had another 
 scheme, and one with which Miss Lushington's re- 
 marks, if true, would materially interfere. Hugh 
 must make a wealthy marriage, and not only a 
 wealthy, but also an aristocratic one, — one that 
 should give him weight and connections, and a 
 standing in the world. His own family was good, 
 and he was handsome, and a lady with money of 
 her own would be well content with this. So Mrs. 
 Grahame schemed, and therefore Miss Lushington's 
 observations were singularly unacceptable. Mabel 
 Hesketh was pretty and lady-like, and she might 
 have a little property eventually, but what was this 
 compared with the wealth and high birth she had
 
 94 NORTHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 decided upon for him ? Eapidly, without a mo- 
 ment's hesitation, Mrs. Grahame resolved that it 
 should never be. She would be cautious and si- 
 lent, and take no immediate steps for alienating 
 Hugh from the Priory, but quietly and surely she 
 would lessen the intercourse, and when once he 
 was at Oxford, he would forget all about such a 
 passing fancy, or, if such were not the case, she 
 must take some step to prevent their meeting. 
 But after all, was she not premature in anticipating 
 the necessity for such caution ? Hugh never spoke 
 of Mabel except when he coupled her with Dudley 
 and Frances, and instead of spending a part of 
 every day at the Priory, as had been his wont to do, 
 he only went there occasionally, and devoted him- 
 self to his books instead. True, Mabel had ad- 
 vised him to do so, but then, if he really cared for 
 her, was it likely that he would willingly forego 
 the pleasure of seeing her, and shut himself up for 
 hours together over his work ? So Mrs. Grahame 
 reflected, until she had almost reasoned herself into 
 the belief, that it was but an idle rumour after all, 
 and she resolved to sound Hugh cautiously on the 
 subject, and, if she found no ground for anxiety, 
 forget it, and allow things to go on as usual. 
 
 She had just arrived at this decision, when Hugh's 
 step in the hall announced his return, and the look 
 of anxious thought was put away, and her usual 
 quiet smile met him as he opened the door. He 
 was flushed and eager. " O mother ! Poor Mr. 
 Chase has had a letter from London, to say that 
 his sister is worse, and he is forced to go to town 
 immediately. I am so sorry for him ! Poor fel- 
 low ! he looked so heart-stricken, when he found 
 that she was worse." 
 
 " I am very sorry," replied Mrs. Grrahame. *' Is 
 he gone to town already, or only going ?" 
 
 " Groue by this time, I should think. Mr. Erie
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 95 
 
 lent him his chaise to drive to Kilminster. He 
 said he hoped to be back in a day or two, but I 
 begged him not to consider me in the least." 
 
 Mrs. Grahame again expressed her regret, and 
 Hugh walked to the window, meditating on the sub- 
 ject. He thoroughly liked and esteemed his tutor, 
 and felt very much interested in the invalid sister, 
 and self-denying brother, clinging to each other 
 in the midst of a cold, unfeeling world, without an- 
 other relation to whom to look for affection or help. 
 
 "Have you had a pleasant walk, Hugh ?" asked 
 his mother. 
 
 " Yery pleasant," was the absent reply. 
 
 '' Which way did you go ?" 
 
 " I forget— no, where was it ? — by the river, I 
 think." 
 
 " Very soon to have forgotten," said Mrs. Qra- 
 hame, inwardly triumphing over what she considered 
 involuntary evidence on Hugh's part, that he looked 
 upon the Heskeths as ordinary friends. With a 
 load taken off her mind, she ventured a little fur- 
 ther. 
 
 " You don't see as much of the Heskeths now as 
 formerly, Hugh." 
 
 "No," and this time there was a sigh. "It re- 
 quires a great deal of self-control, mother, to give 
 up so much time to those books." 
 
 "You do not like the Heskeths less than you 
 did, do you ?" continued Mrs. Grahame. 
 
 " Oh ! no ! more if anything," said Hugh, ener- 
 getically. 
 
 " Dudley is a nice companion for you, and I like 
 Mr. William Hesketh very much, also," observed 
 Mrs. Grahame, waiting to see if this called forth 
 any remark. But Hugh was silent, and his mother 
 felt too anxious to let the subject drop. 
 
 " Which of the two girls do you prefer, Hugh ? 
 Trances seems a clever, intelligent person."
 
 96 KORTHWODE PKIORY. 
 
 " I don't much like Frances," replied Hugh. 
 "May is very superior. I lil^e Mabel best of all." 
 
 Mrs. Grahame's heart sank — here was a confir- 
 mation of her worst fears, but it would be folly to 
 let Hugh see that it was a matter of any conse- 
 quence to her. 
 
 " Mabel is a pretty girl," she observed, " but she 
 has very little character." 
 
 "A plain proof that you don't know her, mo- 
 ther," said Hugh, quietly. " I think I know no 
 one with such settled principles and so much firm- 
 ness of character, although she is so gentle and re- 
 tiring, that scarcely any one finds it out." 
 
 "And how have you found it out, Hugh ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I have seen a good deal of her, and we 
 are on such friendly terms, that she is not reserved 
 with me. I wish you knew her better, mother, 
 you could not help liking her." 
 
 Mrs. Grahame doubted whether anything in the 
 world would make her like Mabel Hesketh after all 
 she had heard that afternoon, and feeling unable to 
 talk with assumed indifference on the subject any 
 longer, she soon afterwards left the room. 
 
 Hugh little guessed the feelings that were work- 
 ing in his mother's mind. Open as the day him- 
 self, and simple-hearted and unambitious, he never 
 suspected that those around him could be schem- 
 ing or acting a part. Dearly as he loved his mo- 
 ther, there was very little sympathy between them, 
 for he could not enter into her views, or participate 
 in her plans for the future. Far more in union 
 with his own he found Mabel's mind ; the earnest, 
 straightforward wish to do right, and the quiet 
 contentment with the state of life in which she had 
 been placed by God, were precisely what he felt 
 himself, while her higher and more unworldly cha- 
 racter, made him esteem and respect her far more 
 than he did his mother, in spite of her resolute will
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 97 
 
 and firm mind. The difference was obvious. Mrs. 
 Grahame*s strength of mind was little more than 
 self-will, and it was directed towards the attain- 
 ment of her own selfish wishes. May's strength 
 was not her own, and it was used humbly in the 
 service of Him Who gave it. This was the differ- 
 ence Hugh felt — a difference that could not fail to 
 be felt by all who came in contact with them.
 
 CHAPTER yil. 
 
 " Mercy is a natural debt, not left to our discretion. He 
 that stands in need of our help is to have it. Inclination, 
 friendship, vain generosity, are selfish motives." 
 
 BISHOP WILSON. 
 
 " This is a late hour for you, my little May," said 
 Mr. Hesketh, one evening, looking up from some 
 writing in which he was busily engaged, at the 
 silent little figure by his side. " Do you know 
 that it is nearly eleven o'clock, and you ought to 
 have been in bed and asleep an hour ago ?" 
 
 " Well, papa, put down your writing, and talk 
 to me for a few minutes, and then I will be a good 
 child, go away, and leave you to finish your work 
 in peace." 
 
 "You are no very great interruption to me, 
 May," said her father, stroking her hair fondly. 
 " I don't believe you have spoken once during the 
 last two hours. "What do you wish to talk about ?" 
 
 " Why, papa, I have been thinking a great deal 
 about poor Mr. Chase and his sister. Did you 
 hear Hugh say that he had returned ?" 
 
 " Yes, I heard something about it. His sister 
 is an invalid, is she not ?" 
 
 " Yes, and a great sufferer. She is better again 
 for the present, Hugh says, but London does not
 
 KOETHWODE PEIOET. 99 
 
 agree with her, and the medical men say she can- 
 not live long if she remains there." 
 
 " I suppose she will leave it then, won't she ?" 
 
 " Ah ! but, papa, they can't afford to leave it. 
 I have heard a great deal about them that is so 
 sad, and although I may not tell you all, I may 
 just say this, that she would be removed from 
 London immediately if they had but the means." 
 
 *' Has she no relation in the country she can 
 stay with ?" asked Mr. Hesketh. 
 
 " No, not one ; it seems so sad, I cannot get it 
 out of my mind. To think she must die, and that 
 they have not the means of giving her the change 
 which might possibly save her ! Don't you pity 
 them, papa ?" 
 
 "Prom my heart, May," said Mr. Hesketh, with 
 all the natural warmth of his character. " She ought 
 to come to Peverstone ; the climate is so mild, and 
 the air so pure, and she would also be near her 
 brother. I would willingly help towards the ex- 
 pense." 
 
 " But could one offer them money ?" asked 
 May, doubtfully. " It would be a great expense, 
 too, for she could not come by herself, and her 
 brother's lodgings would be too small for them 
 both." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh looked puzzled, but after a few 
 minutes' reflection, he said, " Why couldn't she 
 come and stay here, May? It would be more 
 comfortable than in lodgings, and her brother could 
 come and see her. Only you must consult Aunt 
 Anne before we do anything rash." 
 
 May's face was turned upward with a bright 
 smile, and kissing her father's hand, she seemed 
 lost in thought. It was just the kind of scheme 
 she loved, and the idea of the pleasure it would 
 give Mr. Chase, and the benefit it might do his 
 sister, made her feel truly and unselfishly happy.
 
 100 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 But then there were drawbacks — Miss Hesketh 
 would be likely to raise a diflBcultj, and Frances 
 was almost certain to object, for she had an aver- 
 sion to Mr. Chase. Dudley, too, although good- 
 tempered and kind-hearted, would not quite approve 
 of an invalid in the house, and all these disincli- 
 nations might render Miss Chase's visit far from 
 pleasant, especially if Frances should take against 
 her, and she should be a gentle, sensitive creature, 
 such as May pictured her. Before any invitation 
 was sent, every person interested must give their 
 hearty concurrence in the plan, and these thoughts 
 having passed rapidly through her mind, she men- 
 tioned them in as few words as possible to her 
 father. 
 
 "Well, my love, it is in your hands," was the reply. 
 " If we ask Miss Chase, every one must certainly 
 be prepared to make the visit pleasant to her. It 
 is our duty to help our fellow-creatures. May, and 
 we can seldom do so without a little self-sacrifice. 
 If you find your aunt, and Frances, and Dudley, 
 willing to make this sacrifice, send an invitation ; 
 but you must use your own judgment in the mat- 
 ter. At all events you have my sanction to do as 
 you think right." 
 
 " Then, papa, I will talk it over with Aunt Anne 
 to-morrow ; 1 should be very sorry to bring Miss 
 Chase here to be uncomfortable." 
 
 " It will be a tie upon you. May. An invalid re- 
 quires a good deal of attention. How shall you 
 like that ?" 
 
 " It seems selfish to think of myself after hear- 
 ing of Mr. Chase's self-denial," observed Mabel. 
 ** What would a little extra fatigue be, compared 
 with her suflferings ?" 
 
 " Yery true, but you must be prepared for it. It 
 would not do after she had arrived here to find that 
 you did not like the trouble of entertaining her."
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 101 
 
 " Oh ! no, papa," said May, a little hurt. " You 
 need not be afraid of that. If she comes, I will 
 try with all my power to make her comfortable." 
 
 "I believe you will," said her father, kindly. 
 " I might have felt sure that such a good little 
 daughter would make a kind hostess. And now 
 good-night, my darling, it is time you were in 
 bed." 
 
 Dudley was the first person consulted by Mabel 
 the next morning. Careless and indolent as he 
 was, there was more sympathy between May and 
 himself than between the sisters. He appreciated 
 and admired, while he laughed at, all the good 
 points in her character, and if he wanted advice or 
 consolation, she was the one from whom he always 
 sought it. With Frances it was different. She 
 thought Mabel a bright little thing, with a simple 
 mind, but she did not respect or admire her ; she 
 was too well satisfied with her own powers to do 
 that, and looked upon May rather as a child to be 
 directed and patronised, than as a sister to be 
 valued and consulted. Mabel felt this difference, 
 and knowing that a scheme proposed by her would 
 be looked at with a prejudiced eye by her sister, 
 preferred seeking Dudley's opinion first. 
 
 She found him, at last, in the summer-house, 
 cleaning his. gun, and was instantly called upon 
 to hold the stock. This was merely a pretext for 
 keeping her near him, for Dudley, in common with 
 many other brothers, liked company, if merely for 
 the sake of having his operations watched, and ex- 
 changing a word or two now and then. Mabel 
 gladly obeyed the summons, and seating herself on 
 the grass near him, began at once, according to 
 her usual habit, when speaking to him on any par- 
 ticular subject. 
 
 "Dudley, you heard Hugh speaking of Miss 
 Chase yesterday; don't you think it would be
 
 102 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 a very good plan to ask her to come and stay- 
 here ?" 
 
 " Here ! what at the Priory ? Why she is a de- 
 formity—a ' Eiquet with the Tuft,' May !" 
 
 " Doii't laugh, dear Dudley. Poor thing ! she 
 wants country air, and they can't afford to get 
 it for her. Papa proposed last night that we should 
 invite her ; but then, unless every one is willing to 
 help to make her comfortable, I don't like the idea 
 of bringing her here." 
 
 " And so you have come to find out what I am 
 ready to do," said Dudley. *' Well, I will catch 
 trout for her breakfast, and kill sparrows for her 
 supper, and pick parsley for her broth." 
 
 May laughed. " And you think it will be a good 
 plan, Dudley, and will do your part to make her 
 happy?" 
 
 " If her happiness consists in sparrows and pars- 
 ley, she shall be as happy as the day is long all the 
 time she is here. What more can I say ?" 
 
 " And you will not mind having an invalid in the 
 house," said May. "If she is very delicate she 
 may not like a noise always, you know, and we 
 must think of these things." 
 
 " I shall emigrate to Woodbank when that is the 
 case," said Dudley. " I hope she isn't a sour, ill- 
 tempered thing ; she and Frances will arrive at the 
 touching conclusion of the Kilkenny cats before 
 a week is out, if that is the case. Can't you write 
 and get her character first, May ? You know it 
 will be easier to import than export her." 
 
 " Yes, but as we are going to invite her for her 
 health, and not for our pleasure, we must make up 
 our minds to run the risk of what her temper may be. 
 She bears all her sufferings without a complaint, so 
 I am sure she cannot be bad-tempered." 
 
 " Give me the ramrod. May. Well, if you want 
 my consent I give you leave to do just as you like,
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 103 
 
 only don't ask me to take her out an airing every- 
 day, or anything of that sort." 
 
 " Thank you, Dudley. I am quite satisfied with 
 what you have said. If you don't want me any 
 more, I will go in and consult Trances." 
 
 The consultation with Frances was less satisfac- 
 tory than with Dudley. " If she is like her bro- 
 ther, it will be excessively unpleasant, Mabel, and 
 I really don't see the necessity. Mr. Chase will be 
 constantly calling here, and he is so brusque and 
 uncourteous, that he has no right to expect people 
 to put themselves out of the way to help him or his 
 sister." 
 
 " No, he has no right to expect it, and I don't 
 suppose the idea ever crossed his mind, but his 
 manner is his misfortune and not his fault, and 
 it would be hard to visit his failings upon his 
 sister." 
 
 " Well, Mabel," said Erances, in a tone of some 
 annoyance, " you may do as you please ; but con- 
 sider first what you are bringing upon yourself. 
 It is no light matter to wait on the whims and 
 caprices of an invalid, and I think it right to tell 
 you that you must not look to me for assistance, 
 as I have neither time nor inclination for such a 
 task." 
 
 Mabel was silent, and her sister asked what she 
 was thinking about. May paused for an instant, 
 but then her straightforward mind made her re- 
 ply, " I was wondering, Frances, how you could 
 wish the other day that you were a sister of mercy. 
 Every occupation to which they devote themselves 
 is repugnant to you." 
 
 " It is not for my younger sister to take me to 
 task," observed Frances, coldly. 
 
 "Eemember, you asked for my thoughts," said 
 May, " otherwise I should never have given them 
 to you. Then I suppose I must give up all idea
 
 104 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 of inviting Miss Chase, as you are averse to my 
 doing so." 
 
 " I never remember saying that I vras averse to 
 it, Mabel. You are quite at liberty to do as you 
 please, only don't expect me to help in nursing 
 her." 
 
 " I don't ask you to do that, but unless you will 
 be glad to see her, I am afraid it will make her 
 visit uncomfortable." 
 
 " She will be your visitor, not mine," was the 
 reply. " If you are willing to take all the trouble 
 upon yourself, I see no reason why you should not 
 invite her, but I particularly wish you to under- 
 stand that it is no affair of mine." 
 
 Poor May felt troubled and perplexed at this 
 answer, and resolved to do nothing rash upon her 
 own responsibility. She consulted her father again, 
 and he said that Frances' opinion was of little 
 consequence, if she did not vent her ill-humour upon 
 their visitor. After a little consideration he said he 
 saw no reason why Miss Chase should not be asked, 
 and with his authority Mabel was satisfied. 
 
 Miss Hesketh offered no opposition, it was merely 
 a matter of form asking her opinion at all, and she 
 quietly consented, provided it was no inconvenience 
 to herself. May persuaded her to make the invita- 
 tion in the first instance to Mr, Chase himself, and 
 when she reported that he seemed very grateful, 
 but was more hurried and blunt than ever. May 
 wrote a kind note to his sister, conveying the invi- 
 tation in her Aunt's name. 
 
 None guessed at the relief it was to the poor 
 young Curate. None guessed that Miss Hesketh's 
 proposal had removed a load of care from his mind, 
 which had been preying upon his spirits for months, 
 causing anxious days and sleepless nights. None 
 knew that the blunt, uncourteous manner with 
 which the invitation had been received, was as-
 
 irOETHWODE PRIOET. 105 
 
 sumed to hide the emotion that filled his heart. 
 How little did Erances think when she smiled con- 
 temptuously at the gracious reception May's invi- 
 tation had met with, that Mr. Chase was at that 
 moment thanking God on his knees in his lonely, 
 comfortless lodging, for the Providence which had 
 brought the accomplishment of his most earnest 
 wishes, from a quarter whence he would least have 
 looked for it ! 
 
 To have the pure country air for his sister, 
 instead of the close, smoky atmosphere of London, 
 which was death to her, was in itself enough to 
 fill his heart with gratitude ; but to have her at 
 Peverstone, in a comfortable home where he could 
 see and watch over her daily, was more than his 
 utmost wishes had ever led him to hope for; and 
 yet this great happiness had been brought to them 
 both, at the time and by means that he least 
 expected. 
 
 How little do we remember, in our daily life 
 of ease and comfort, that there are those around us 
 pining for the blessings we scarcely value ; and how 
 little do we consider that actions, trifling and insig- 
 nificant to ourselves, might fill the hearts of our 
 fellow-creatures with joy and thankfulness, were we 
 unselfish enough, and sufficiently considerate of the 
 wants of others, to perform them ! 
 
 It was a day of thankfulness to Mr. Chase, on 
 which the proposal was made, and it was a day of 
 intense happiness and gratitude to his suffering 
 sister when she received May's kind note, and her 
 brother's letter of congratulation and joy. There 
 could be no doubt as to the answer, and a letter 
 filled with most sincere and earnest thanks, was 
 pencilled in a weak, trembling hand, and inclosed 
 to Mr! Chase to be delivered to Mabel. 
 
 Very much pleased was Hugh when he heard 
 from his tutor what had been done, and through
 
 106 TfOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 him May discovered Mr. Chase's real feelings on 
 the subject, and found that reserve and awkward- 
 ness had prevented him from expressing them at 
 the time. Not that she had done him the injustice, 
 even in her thoughts, to suppose that he was insen- 
 sible to the kindness that had prompted the offer, 
 for she saw beneath the unprepossessing exterior, 
 and knew that he had a warm heart, and the mind 
 and feeling of a true gentleman, although they were 
 so closely concealed from sight.
 
 CHAPTEE YIII. 
 
 ** So should we live, that every hour 
 May die as dies the natural flower, — 
 A self-reviving thing of power." 
 
 MONCKTON MILNES. 
 
 DoEA sat in her morning room one day, with her 
 eldest boy playing on the ground beside her. She 
 had a work basket by her side, but it stood there 
 that she might not appear indolent, not because 
 she was really industrious. She was not fond of 
 needlework, and as her husband had a conside- 
 rable income from his father she thought herself 
 justified in keeping a servant to take that portion 
 of her matronly duties off her hands ; and while 
 she usually kept some work near, that she might 
 not seem a useless, fine lady, she found it more 
 interesting to play with her child, and to read sto- 
 ries to him, and watch his pretty amusing ways. 
 It was thus she was at present employed. A pic- 
 ture book lay in his lap, and he was turning over 
 the pages pretending to read, his mamma explain- 
 ing each picture to him, and trying to draw out 
 his broken lisping words. 
 
 Mabel's knock was heard at the door, and "Willy, 
 who knew it nearly as well as his mamma, tottered 
 forward to meet her. She sat down beside him, 
 and admired the toys and books that were held up
 
 108 NOETHWODE PfilORT. 
 
 for her inspection, heard him go through the words 
 and sounds he had already mastered, and listened 
 with delight to the new word that had been learnt 
 since last she had seen him. The little fellow was 
 very fond of her, and they were a pretty contrast 
 as they sat on the ground together, his dark curly 
 head resting in her lap, and his large brown eyes 
 fixed on her face, as she bent over him with her 
 light shining hair almost touching his cheek, and 
 her delicately fair, clear complexion looking still 
 fairer by comparison with his brown skin. 
 
 She was always merry and playful with him, but 
 to-day Dora fancied her a shade graver than usual, 
 and as Mabel was truthful and open as the day the 
 cause soon appeared. 
 
 '* If you had come five minutes sooner," observed 
 Dora, "you would have caught William." 
 
 "I met him," was the reply. "He is going to 
 ride into Kilminster with papa and Dudley, is he 
 not ?" 
 
 " Yes, he has a lovely day ; it is just the weather 
 for riding." 
 
 " Is he going there on business ?" 
 
 " No, merely for the sake of the ride." 
 
 Mabel made no reply, but absently watched her 
 sister as she took away a picture-book which Willy 
 was tearing unmercifully, and replaced it by a toy, 
 just in time to avert the cry that was impending. 
 When he was happy again, and Dora had returned 
 to her seat. May drew her chair to her sister's side 
 and began, earnestly, "Dora, is it right that Wil- 
 liam should neglect his business as he does ?" 
 
 Dora looked at her suddenly, with an expression 
 of pain on her face. " O, May ! do you really mean 
 it ? It sounds so unlike you !" 
 
 " Why should you say it is unlike me ?" asked 
 May. "Do you think it a matter of no conse- 
 quence to me whether William is right or wrong ?"
 
 IJOETHWODE PEIOET. 109 
 
 *' No, indeed," said Dora ; " but are you not rather 
 hard upon him ? Is there any occasion for him to 
 work like those whose daily bread depends upon 
 their profession?" 
 
 " Certainly not ; if that is the only light in which 
 we need regard it," replied Mabel. " But, Dora, 
 is worldly gain the sole object of this life ?" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" asked her sister. 
 
 " I mean that independence in a pecuniary sense 
 is no excuse for a life of indolence." 
 
 " No," said Dora, hesitatingly ; "but this is not 
 the only reason for William's spending so little 
 time over his business. He says he never enters 
 the office without getting a headache." 
 
 Mabel looked thoughtful, and after a pause of 
 some minutes, she observed, '* What would become 
 of William if he had no father to support him, 
 Dora ? If his office gives him headaches, he would 
 have no profession to fall back upon." 
 
 " Ah !" said Dora, with a smile, " but if such were 
 the case, dear May, he would be forced to over- 
 come them." 
 
 " And if they are to be overcome," said Mabel, 
 gravely, " surely he should do so now." 
 
 " It is human nature," said Dora, with a half 
 sigh. "Men never work unless they are obliged." 
 
 " All our faults may be attributed to our human 
 nature," replied Mabel ; *' but as we are placed in 
 the world to struggle against the weakness of our 
 nature, being human is no excuse for yielding to 
 our failings." 
 
 Dora looked scarcely able to comprehend this, 
 and presently observed, " I would rather see him 
 neglectful of his business, May, than an avaricious 
 man, working for the love of money, when he has 
 already more than he wants." 
 
 " Must it be a choice of evils P" said Mabel. 
 " I know he does not need money ; yet surely this
 
 110 NOHTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 is no excuse for an indolent life. I only wisli to 
 see him apply himself to his profession, because 
 that seems the line of duty marked out for him, 
 and it is lowering and injurious to a man's charac- 
 ter to be always in a state of dependence. Wil- 
 liam knows that if circumstances by any chance 
 rendered papa unable to continue his allowance, 
 he would have no means of supporting his wife and 
 children." 
 
 " But this is so improbable, dearest May," said 
 Dora. 
 
 "I hope so, but who can tell? And to show 
 you that I am not avaricious, as you call it, Dora, 
 I will tell you that if William were useful in an- 
 other sphere, if I could feel that his life was spent 
 in a manner of which he would be able to render 
 a good account hereafter, I should care nothing 
 about the business. If he were benefiting his fel- 
 low-creatures, and doing GrOD service, I should feel 
 confident that if his circumstances were changed, 
 God would provide for him. But, Dora, we have 
 no right to think that GrOD will provide for one, 
 the best years of whose life were wasted in his own 
 gratification." 
 
 Dora looked sad and half hurt at May's words. 
 Mabel kissed her, and continued, " You think me 
 unkind, Dora, but it is because my brothers seem 
 almost a part of myself, that I feel and speak so 
 strongly on this subject. Eor William's worldly 
 prosperity I care comparatively little, but is he 
 living for another world ? Are fishing and shoot- 
 ing and riding fit objects for a man's whole life to 
 be engrossed in ?" 
 
 " You forget, Mabel," said Dora, reproachfully, 
 " that all you say condemns Dudley equally with 
 William." 
 
 "No, I don't forget it," said May, while her 
 eyes filled with tears. " You couldn't "have touched
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. Ill 
 
 upon a more painful subject. One of my great 
 reasons for wishing to see William's time better 
 employed, is in order that he may be an example 
 to Dudley. Hugh has already turned his abilities 
 to a better account, and if "William would do the 
 same, Dudley's chief inducements to remain idling 
 at home would be gone. Eemember that William's 
 responsibilities are greater than Dudley's, for his 
 example must necessarily have weight with his 
 younger brother, and by and by what will be the 
 effect upon his own boys ?" 
 
 Dora sighed wearily, and pressed her hand to 
 her forehead. 
 
 *' Have I brought a headache ?" asked Mabel, 
 affectionately. " I am very, very sorry, and I will 
 soon leave you, and perhaps rest and quiet may 
 drive it away again ; but first I want you to pro- 
 mise me that you will speak to William, and try 
 to make him take a right view of the uselessness of 
 his present life." 
 
 " You had far better do it, May. I can't put 
 things before him as strongly as you do to me. I 
 shall forget what you have said, and do no good." 
 
 " It isn't the place of a younger sister to find 
 fault," said Mabel, " but it must always be a wife's 
 part to keep her husband in mind of his duties, and 
 set his responsibilities before him. Besides, Wil- 
 liam will bear from you what from me might make 
 him angry." 
 
 " You are not going to leave me yet," said Dora, 
 as Mabel rose. 
 
 "I fear I must," replied May. "We expect 
 Miss Chase this afternoon, and I have some ar- 
 rangements to make before she arrives. I hope 
 your headache may soon pass away. Good-bye ; 
 remember I leave William and Dudley's best in- 
 terests in your hands." 
 
 It has been said that Dora wanted strength of
 
 112 NORTHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 mind. Mabel's conversation seemed almost to have 
 crushed her. She could not rise with a brave 
 heart, and resolve to meet and struggle with such 
 trials, like one who has an inward strength to sup- 
 port her, but with a gentle, passive resignation, she 
 told herself that it was sent as a trial, and as such 
 she must receive and bear it without a murmur. 
 She did not remember that it was possibly in her 
 own power to remove the cause of her anxiety, for 
 although, in obedience to Mabel's request, she re- 
 solved to speak to her husband, so little did she 
 contemplate the possibility of anything she might 
 say making a permanent impression upon him, that 
 she regarded it almost as a form that must be gone 
 through because May had desired it. 
 
 Yet William was far from callous or self-willed. 
 A strong mind might have ruled him absolutely. 
 But his gentle, amiable wife had been so com- 
 pletely in the habit of leaning upon him, and be- 
 lieving that all he did must be right, that he had 
 learned to look upon her as a sweet, affectionate 
 being, whom he must cherish and love, not as one 
 whom he could honour and esteem. Her chief power 
 over him arose from her sweet helplessness — her 
 incapability of battling with the world, and the 
 knowledge that he was as necessary to her as the 
 oak is to the ivy ; but when she had to appeal to 
 his higher feelings, and to his sense of right and 
 wrong, she felt that her power was weak, and that 
 his first reflection would be that she was no judge 
 of such matters. 
 
 She therefore knew well that remonstrance from 
 her lips would have but a slight and transient 
 effect. Still, as Mabel had wished her to speak to 
 her husband, she did so on his return. 
 
 " You have had a lovely day," was her first ob- 
 servation, as he entered the room. 
 
 " Yes, the most delightful ride ! If this weather
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 113 
 
 continues, I am going to Kil minster again to- 
 morrow with Dudley. I met an old schoolfellow 
 to-day, and as he remains there a few days, I 
 should like to see him once more." 
 
 Dora made no immediate reply, but after think- 
 ing for some time, she said, " How does your office 
 go on without you, AVilliam ?" 
 
 " Oh ! very well," he replied, with a laugh. 
 ** E/Ogers is a steady fellow, I can quite depend 
 upon him. You know, dear Dora, although it is a 
 good thing to have a profession, yet, when a man is 
 in independent circumstances, he cannot be ex- 
 pected to devote a great deal of his time to it." 
 
 " May thinks people should lead useful lives, 
 whether they are independent or not," observed 
 Dora, hesitatingly; wondering whether she was 
 expressing Mabel's feelings correctly. 
 
 " May is so fond of work herself, that she can- 
 not understand how other people find it irksome." 
 
 " She thinks, if anything occurred to stop your 
 allowance, that you would have no profession to 
 fall back upon." 
 
 " If we yielded to every ' if ' that enters our 
 minds, life would be insupportable," said her hus- 
 band, decidedly. " Few things are more improbable 
 than that my father should be unable to continue 
 my allowance. My father's income is a very good 
 one, and he has a small family ; besides, the girls 
 have our mother's property, which was worth three 
 hundred. a year. It was very unlike May to come 
 and frighten you, Dora." 
 
 " She didn't frighten me," replied his wife ; " be- 
 sides, I know that your profession must be worth 
 a good deal, in spite of your devoting so little time 
 to it." 
 
 " Not so much as you think," said "William, 
 with the candour that was one of the strong cha- 
 racteristics of the Heskeths, and which they iu- 
 I
 
 114 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 herited chiefly from their mother, Mr. Hesketh 
 being naturally more reserved than any of his chil- 
 dren. *' You must not trust to that, Dora. I 
 cannot say my profession is worth very much to me." 
 
 " How can that be, dear William ? when first 
 you started in Peverstone, Mr. Lushington told 
 your father that you might easily make an income 
 of a thousand a-year." 
 
 " In the first place I think he exaggerated, and 
 you must remember that the ground was very 
 much pre-occupied. Mr. Lushington's business is 
 a capital one." 
 
 " Do you mean to say then that we could not 
 live upon your profession if it were necessary ?" 
 
 " Certainly not, Dora ; my profession is very 
 little more than a nominal thing, and the very 
 small income it brings me in is almost entirely swal- 
 lowed up in the expenses of my office and clerk. 
 But as we shall never have to live upon it, there 
 can be no occasion to make yourself anxious. I 
 wish May had not put such thoughts into your 
 head." 
 
 " She didn't frighten me about our income," re- 
 plied Dora. " It was only because she cared for 
 you so much, that she spoke on the subject at all. 
 She said her brothers seemed almost a part of her- 
 self. We talked a good deal about matters," she 
 added, hesitatingly, " and we agreed that people 
 ought to lead such useful lives, in order that they 
 may get God's blessing, and be able to give a good 
 account of their time, by and by." 
 
 " You are a pretty little moralist," said her hus- 
 band, kissing her. "And now let us dismiss the 
 subject, and you may feel quite sure that I would 
 work night and day for you and our children, if 
 there were any necessity." 
 
 So Dora was forced to say no more, although she 
 felt that her words had been of no avail, and al-
 
 NOETHWODE PRIORT. 115 
 
 though she knew that "William would continue his 
 thoughtless search after pleasure, as fully as if they 
 had had no conversation on the point. 
 
 Mabel had hastened home to receive Miss Chase. 
 All was prepared for her reception. May's own 
 quiet bedroom had been given up, and she now 
 sought it to see what the first effect would be to a 
 stranger on entering. It was a simple, unosten- 
 tatious room, but the prevailing feature was re- 
 finement. The delicate pink and white hangings 
 contrasting with the green trellis paper, the pictures 
 in frames of narrow gold beading, the book-shelves 
 well filled, the workboxes and vases that stood on 
 the table, were a true index to the mind of the 
 owner. Perfectly simple but exquisitely refined, 
 Mabel found no pleasure in rich damask curtains, or 
 massive gold frames. Everything connected with 
 her was elegant and in good taste, but nothing was 
 costly or gorgeous. Her very person exhibited the 
 same trait. While others wore heavy plaits and 
 coronets, May's hair was simply arranged, some- 
 times drawn off her face, displaying her thoughtful, 
 classical features, or at other times let loose in 
 long, thick curls, half shading the face to which 
 they were such an ornament. While ^Frances 
 chose elegant barege dresses, May preferred a quiet 
 muslin, and the characters that displayed them- 
 selves so clearly in such a small matter, were 
 equally opposed in more essential points. 
 
 A vase of fresh flowers stood on the toilet table, 
 and through the open lattice intruded sprays of 
 roses and sweet-briar. Mabel paused on the thres- 
 hold for one moment, and then having decided 
 that a stranger must be filled with delight and ad- 
 miration on first entering, she turned toward the 
 room that had been prepared for her temporary 
 accommodation, to remove her bonnet. 
 
 She had, with some difficulty, prevailed on Judith
 
 116 NOETHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 to transfer her services from herself to the expected 
 visitor. Judith had for some time been perverse 
 and obstinate. " I am your nurse, Miss May, and 
 I have no wish to be any one else's lady's maid. 
 I have quite enough to do looking after you, with- 
 out attending to a fine lady's fidgets. May be 
 Sarah will wait on the lady, but it's my business 
 to attend to you, and that I shall do." 
 
 " Then I can see you do not really care for me, 
 Judith, as, if you will not attend upon Miss Chase, 
 I must do so myself. An invalid requires some- 
 thing more than the chance attendance of a house- 
 maid." 
 
 '* I do care for you, Miss May, and that is why 
 I say I will wait upon you, instead of leaving you 
 for a strange lady. I know how it would be if you 
 hadn't got me to look after you, for I never knew no 
 one that had less idea of taking care of herself. 
 You'd scarcely have been living now, Miss May, 
 if it hadn't been for me." 
 
 May laughed. " But, Judith, I am not asking 
 you to go away from me, and waiting upon Miss 
 Chase need not prevent you from looking after me, 
 as you call it. Now just imagine, Judith, that I 
 am an invalid and going to stay a long way off. 
 Shouldn't you say it was very unkind of any one 
 who refused to attend upon me, and do what they 
 could to make my sufferings less ?" 
 
 " Well, Miss May, of course you will get your 
 own way before you have done," said Judith, 
 shortly. " But if Miss Chase is a fine lady, you 
 can't expect me to be dancing about all day long 
 after her. Any thing reasonable I will do, to please 
 you. Miss May." 
 
 " Thank you, Judith, this is all I ask of you. I 
 do not think we shall find her either a fine lady or 
 unreasonable." 
 
 Mabel had certain vague, indefinite expectations
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. Il7 
 
 about Miss Chase, whicli she confided to no one 
 but Hugh. She pictured her gentle, pale and in- 
 teresting, very sweet and affectionate, and full of 
 gratitude for any little services that might be ren- 
 dered her. Hugh warned her not to raise her ex- 
 pectations too high, as, if her anticipations proved 
 correct, Miss Chase must be strangely unlike her 
 brother. Still May clung to them, and cherished 
 a hope that she might be going to find a real 
 friend, one as gentle and sweet as Dora, with a 
 stronger character, and better able to enter into 
 her higher and holier feelings — one as decided and 
 energetic as Frances, without her unhappy temper 
 and impulsiveness. 
 
 Frances herself declared that she felt certain 
 Miss Chase was unengaging, dictatorial, and had a 
 bad temper. She said she had her reasons for saying 
 so. First of all because Mr. Chase's sister must 
 be unengaging and dictatorial, and secondly be- 
 cause she saw evidences of a bad temper in her 
 handwriting. Dudley devoutly hoped such might 
 not be the case, and if it was he could only say he 
 trusted that on the homoeopathic principle of " like 
 cures like,'* Frances and Miss Chase might mutu- 
 ally benefit one another. 
 
 As four o'clock struck, the hour at which she 
 was expected, May ran down stairs, and found Mr. 
 Chase in the drawing-room, come to receive his 
 sister. 
 
 Miss Hesketh and Frances were entertaining 
 him, but the entertainment appeared anything but 
 an agreeable one. Frances was conversing with 
 him, and her part in the conversation seemed to 
 consist in differing from everything he said, whether 
 important or otherwise. As Mabel entered, she 
 heard Mr. Chase say, 
 
 " It has been a very sultry afternoon, not a 
 breatli of air stirring."
 
 118 FOETHWODE PRIOEY. 
 
 " I should call it very seasonable weather," was 
 the reply, in a short, disagreeable tone. " When 
 would people have heat if not in August ?" 
 
 "I was not complaining of the heat," said Mr. 
 Chase, in his quiet, unconcerned voice, " but you 
 must allow me to tell you that you are not a good 
 judge of it in this cool, pleasant room. If you had 
 been standing in a close, suffocating cottage for 
 the last two hours, you would be better calculated 
 to pass an opinion," 
 
 " I am inclined to doubt whether a close cot- 
 tage is the best place for judging of the tempera- 
 ture," said Trances. 
 
 " At least it is the best place for feeling the 
 heat," said Mr. Chase, who was standing at the 
 open window, watching for his sister. " If we 
 wished to give an accurate account of the precise 
 degree of heat to-day, we should scarcely go into 
 an ice-house or a hot-house to discover it, but when 
 we speak from experience, we state what we have 
 felt, wherever we may have happened to be, if we 
 are correct." 
 
 " Only it is the fashion with Englishmen to 
 grumble at whatever may be sent them," said 
 Prances. 
 
 " GrOD forbid that I should grumble at weather, 
 or anything else He may be pleased to send," re- 
 plied Mr. Chase, earnestly. " But you should dis- 
 tinguish. Miss Hesketh, between grumbling and 
 merely making an observation." 
 
 " Here is something to bring your argument to 
 a conclusion," said May, as a carriage drove up to 
 the house. 
 
 They all went into the hall, and Mr. Chase 
 opened the carriage door and lifted his sister out. 
 It was a trying moment for Mabel. At the first 
 glance all her bright visions were dispelled. Miss 
 Chase was a very short person, extremely deformed.
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 11^ 
 
 m feature remarkably like her brother, with a sal- 
 low complexion, and a pair of cold grey eyes, the 
 very opposite of the eyes May had led herself to 
 expect. All the romance of the self-denying bro- 
 ther and invalid sister, seemed to have vanished in 
 a moment. But such thoughts as these were not 
 in accordance with May's real character, and a 
 second glance at the poor, helpless figure, and care- 
 worn face, drawn with anxiety and suffering, re- 
 called her sympathy and interest, and she sprang 
 forward with a warm greeting, to try and make the 
 visitor feel at home. 
 
 Another source of disappointment was the meet- 
 ing between the brother and sister. After pic- 
 turing the delight with which they would be 
 brought together again, it was trying, to say the 
 least, to see the one quiet kiss, and the mat- 
 ter-of-fact, " How are you, John ?" and " Well, 
 my dear Mina," which was all that passed between 
 them. 
 
 It was not the habit of the Chase family to dis- 
 play much feeling in public, and deeply thankful 
 and happy as the brother and sister were feeling 
 at that moment, their real sensations were shrouded 
 in a veil of reserve, that even Mabel could not pene- 
 trate. Leaning on her brother and Mabel, Miss 
 Chase was assisted to the drawing-room, but not 
 before Trances had cast one glance of triumph at 
 her sister, which seemed to say, " You see my pro- 
 phecies were correct." > 
 
 After the invalid had been seated on a sofa, and 
 some of her travelling gear removed, Mabel began 
 to hope she had judged hastily ; for, when the 
 large unbecoming bonnet had been taken off, it 
 displayed a good deal of soft brown hair, neatly 
 arranged, which seemed to hide the strong resem- 
 blance to the brother, that had struck them so 
 forcibly on first sight. And something in May's
 
 120 NOBTHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 kind, winning manner, appeared to make the cold 
 grey eyes look less cold. But then, to set against 
 this, the voice was harsh and immelodious, and 
 Miss Chase's speeches short and abrupt, like those 
 of her brother. 
 
 Poor May was sadly disappointed. Yet what 
 seemed unfortunate in one respect, worked for 
 good in another. When Judith found that in- 
 stead of a fine lady, she had a poor, unattractive, 
 unassuming girl to wait upon, her prejudices gave 
 way, and instead of looking on Miss Chase as an 
 interloper, who took her away from her own es- 
 pecial charge, she entered into Mabel's schemes 
 for her comfort with all her heart, and contrived 
 to watch as carefully as ever over Mabel, while 
 she was most kind and attentive to the poor 
 invalid. 
 
 Mabel felt more inclined than ever to think she 
 had judged hastily, when a few days' intercourse 
 had made her better acquainted with her visitor. 
 Few persons were less prepossessing externally 
 than Mina Chase ; but when May had observed 
 the perfect resignation to GtOd's will, that made 
 her bear acute suffering with the most unmurmur- 
 ing patience, and the delicate tact and considera- 
 tion that prompted her to endeavour to conceal 
 the extent of what she endured from those around 
 her, it was impossible to help esteeming and even 
 loving her. The room which May had so carefully 
 prepared, did not call forth the delight and admira- 
 tion she had expected ; but she felt more than re- 
 warded when Judith told her in the evening, that 
 Miss Chase had inquired whose care had prepared 
 it for her, and, on hearing that it was Mabel's, the 
 tears had come in-to her eyes, and she had turned 
 away to hide them. 
 
 So it ia that we go through the world misjudging 
 one another, because our sight is but finite, and our
 
 KOETHWODE PEIOET. 121 
 
 charity so sadly far from being that '* which hopeth 
 all things." So it is that those who are blessed 
 with outward gifts, pleasing manners, kind words, 
 and a readiness of expressing their feelings, are 
 loved, admired, sought after, while those endued 
 with deep, warm sensations, hearts full of grati- 
 tude for kindness, and who are leading lives of 
 self-denial and control, bending their wills and 
 their human frailties before God's chastisements, 
 and thereby winning an eternal crown in a, better 
 world, are by an unhappy reserve cut off from 
 affection and sympathy, misjudged, and conse- 
 quently uncared for by those, whom they are most 
 inclined to love. 
 
 But Mabel was not one to be long misled by 
 external appearances. True she was disappointed, 
 but this was only natural at the sanguine age of 
 eighteen. At that age the eye seeks beauty every- 
 where, and one of life's lessons is as yet scarce 
 learned, that beauty and goodness are not in- 
 separable. May reproached herself that night for 
 having exalted mere sweetness of feature and ex- 
 pression above inward worth and goodness ; and 
 resolved to atone for her injustice by additional 
 care and attention the following day. So that, al- 
 though on Miss Chase's first arrival, appearances 
 seemed to bespeak sensations that threatened to 
 make her^ visit far from enjoyable, yet the good 
 sense and right feeling of one person averted this 
 result, and by exercising due restraint and kind 
 courtesy herself, she placed her visitor at ease, 
 and drew forth similar feelings from her father 
 and aunt. 
 
 Several days' intercourse wrought great changes. 
 Part of Mina's reserve wore away, and she seemed 
 to take a pleasure in May's society, while Dudley's 
 careless good-humour amused her; and when he 
 discovered that she could smile at a joke, and un-
 
 122 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 derstand his wild way of talking, he made friends 
 with her, so that she was soon on comfortable 
 terms with the whole family, excepting Prances, 
 who either held aloof, or rendered every one un- 
 comfortable by her sharp, satirical speeches. These 
 seemed to fall with a blunted edge upon Mina. 
 Sometimes she would gravely return the smile with 
 which Dudley endeavoured to pass them off, or at 
 other times she would make a serious reply that 
 set Frances' satire in its true light. Frances felt 
 that she had no power over her, and this seemed 
 to make her even more bitter, while Mr. Chase 
 never entered her presence without being chal- 
 lenged to some argument, that gave full scope to 
 her powers of sarcasm. Mabel felt all this strongly. 
 The rudeness to their visitor, and the uukindness 
 to herself, hurt her greatly ; but she wisely for- 
 bore to notice it, and atoned to Mina for the pain 
 it must necessarily cause her, by increased gentle- 
 ness and attention. 
 
 On fine mornings, as soon as breakfast was over, 
 Mina's couch was drawn out into the garden, and 
 placed beneath a shady tree, and Mabel, with her 
 work or a book in her hand, would seat herself near 
 on the grass, or on a camp-stool. In this way 
 many pleasant hours were spent, and the morning 
 seldom wore away 'without having brought some 
 visitors, Mr. Chase, or Dora, or Hugh. The change 
 in Mina's life seemed almost to overpower her at 
 first, and she would close her eyes and say that it 
 was like a dream ; that it had been her one bright 
 vision during her lonely life in London to imagine 
 herself in the country, smelling the scent of the 
 flowers, and listening to the birds and bees on every 
 side. No one could imagine the delight it was to 
 her, for she seldom gave vent to her feelings ; but 
 had Mabel or Hugh seen her a fortnight before, 
 in her close, dark London room, with one solitary
 
 ;prOETHWODE PEIOET. 123 
 
 buncli of violets by lier side, the only bit of country 
 life her means would allow her to obtain, spending 
 hour after hour with no change, no variety, save 
 the greater or less degrees of pain with which she 
 was visited, they might better have been able to 
 appreciate her feelings on being suddenly trans- 
 ported to a calm, sunny, country home, surrounded 
 by ease and comfort, and a bright, cheerful, never 
 weary attendant and companion, like Mabel Hes- 
 keth, continually at her side. 
 
 How it gladdened her brother's heart to see her 
 thus happily placed ! How intensely grateful did 
 he feel to Mr. Hesketh and May for the considera- 
 tion that had brought her to the Priory, and how 
 anxiously did he watch for returning colour to 
 those wan, wasted cheeks, and strength to that 
 crippled frame, no words can tell ! 
 
 It was not Mina alone that was benefited ; her 
 well-balanced, self-controlled mind was fully esti- 
 mated by Mabel, and was not without its influence 
 on her own. Mabel felt the strengthening effect 
 of watching Mina's strong will triumphing over 
 the weakness of nature, when her sufferings threat- 
 ened to overcome her self-command ; and the love 
 for God, and reliance on His goodness, that ren- 
 dered her weary life of trial supportable, and taught 
 her to regard her sufferings as but a rough road to 
 a world of rest and happiness. 
 
 Mabel felt an intense longing to know something 
 of the inner workings of Mina's mind ; she felt 
 certain that the thoughts and feelings of one who 
 had such resolution and control, must be of no or- 
 dinary character. But Mina was too reserved to 
 talk much of herself, or to express her opinions 
 until she felt on terms of closer intimacy. She 
 was satisfied with listening to Mabel, and preferred 
 hearing her criticisms upon books and characters, 
 to giving her own.
 
 124 NOETH"WODE PEIORr, 
 
 And so the first week of her visit passed away, 
 and all but Frances vied with each other in their 
 kindness and attention to her, and although her 
 health made but little progress, she grew more 
 cheerful and sociable, and May's unvarying so- 
 licitude for her comfort and amusement seemed 
 to be penetrating her natural reserve.
 
 CHAPTEE IX. 
 
 " All common things — each day's events, 
 That with the hour begin and end ; 
 Our pleasures, and our discontents. 
 Are rounds by which we may ascend. 
 
 " We have not wings — we cannot soar — 
 But we have feet to scale and climb 
 By slow degrees — by more and more — 
 The cloudy summits of our time." 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 Mabel did not feel justified in neglecting her dis- 
 trict or class even to attend to Mina, therefore she 
 was forced to leave her sometimes, but she gene- 
 rally provided her with a book, that she might not 
 feel the solitude wearisome. On one of these oc- 
 casions Mr. Hesketh happening to return from his 
 morning walk, saw her lying on her couch beneath 
 a hawthorn tree, looking extremely thoughtful, 
 and in the kindness of his heart fancied she was 
 dull in May's absence. He accordingly sent 
 for Frances, and requested her to sit with Miss 
 Chase until her sister's return. 
 
 " Miss Chase is no friend of mine, papa," was 
 the reply. 
 
 " She is your visitor," said her father; " and it 
 is my wish that you should be attentive to her, 
 and that must be enough." 
 
 " She is better by herself," said Trances. " We
 
 126 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 like each other too little to derive any pleasure 
 from being together." 
 
 "Frances," said her father, sternly, " while Miss 
 Chase is in this house I expect my daughters to 
 treat her with courtesy and consideration. Tou 
 should learn by your younger sister's example to 
 be more obedient and amiable. It is my desire 
 that you should sit with Miss Chase until May's 
 return." 
 
 With her proud heart swelling at this unusually 
 peremptory speech from her father, Frances crossed 
 the lawn with a sweeping step, and her head erect. 
 Mina, who felt grateful for the smallest attention, 
 met her with a smile of welcome. 
 
 "How cold it is!" said Frances, seating herself 
 hastily on Mabel's camp stool. " I can't think how 
 you can stay here so long. It must be very bad 
 for you." 
 
 " I don't feel cold," replied Mina. " Mabel gave 
 me this shawl before she left ; would you like to 
 put it on ?" 
 
 " No, I thank you ; how long do you intend to 
 remain here ?" 
 
 " Very likely John will pay me a visit this morn- 
 ing. I would rather stay until he has been here." 
 
 " Tou waited for him yesterday, and he never 
 came after all." 
 
 " No ; he was sent for to baptize a sick child. I 
 hope he will never let me interfere with his other 
 duties." 
 
 " Tou wish to be visited in turn with his other 
 sick parishioners." 
 
 " I think I should expect rather more than that 
 from a brother," said Mina, quietly. " But whe- 
 ther John comes often or seldom I shall feel sure 
 that he is doing what is right." 
 
 " And why should you feel sure of that ?" asked 
 Frances, sharply. " Is he infallible ?"
 
 KOETHWODE PEIORT. 127 
 
 " I feel sure he will do what is right, because 
 the whole experience of my life teaches me to be- 
 lieve it," said Mina. ** No human being is infalli- 
 ble, but some men are less apt to do wrong than 
 others." 
 
 " True in the abstract ; whether true or not in 
 this individual instance, perhaps I am not calcu- 
 lated to determine." 
 
 Mina prudently allowed the subject to drop, and 
 began talking of the Church, which could be easily 
 seen from the Priory garden. 
 
 " What a privilege to live so close to that beau- 
 tiful church," she observed. 
 
 Frances assented coldly. 
 
 " Are you as fond of Peverstone as your sister ?" 
 
 " I like it pretty well. All country towns are 
 stupid !" 
 
 "Oh!" exclaimed Mina. *'Do you think so? 
 I wish you could spend a twelvemonth in Lon- 
 don." . 
 
 " A kind wish, since you consider London the 
 essence of all that is odious," said Prances. 
 
 Mina smiled. '* It would teach you to appre- 
 ciate the country," she observed. 
 
 " I don't see why I should be taught to do any- 
 thing that is undesirable," replied Prances. " Edu- 
 cated people must prefer living in the midst of art 
 and intelligence to vegetating in a country town." 
 
 " I might reply that there is no art like the art 
 of nature," said Mina ; " and that surrounded by 
 books as you are at Northwode Priory, intellect 
 has even greater scope than in the smoky, noisy 
 atmosphere of a large town." 
 
 "And I might possibly differ from you," said 
 Prances. " Intellect, however powerful, must be 
 starved to death in a place like Peverstone." 
 
 Mina never made quotations, but she was silently 
 reflecting that some find ' tongues in trees, books
 
 128 FOETHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good 
 in everything.' Again she let the subject drop, 
 and started another. 
 
 " Have you a district as well as Mabel ?" 
 
 " No," replied Frances ; and this was rather a 
 tender point to have touched upon. '* I cannot 
 act under direction as my sister does. The clergy- 
 men are too fond of interfering in this parish." 
 
 "I suppose all district visitors could not be 
 trusted to act independently of direction." 
 
 " Why not ? Clergymen are liable to make mis- 
 takes as well as other people." 
 
 " But clergymen are commissioned by God to 
 watch over His people, and it is their duty to see 
 that nothing is taught contrary to His word." 
 
 " And who would do such a thing ? No ; I 
 grant you that clergymen should have a certain 
 authority, but when it comes to interfering in un- 
 important matters, I cannot submit." 
 
 "Are we the best judges of what is unimpor- 
 tant ?" asked Mina. 
 
 "You are determined to argue the point," said 
 Frances, in a tone that was far from polite. 
 " While we diifer so much in our opinions we can 
 never arrive at a conclusion. Here is Mabel ; you 
 will find her more after your mind than myself, so 
 I leave you to her." 
 
 Mr. Chase and Hugh accompanied May, having 
 joined her in the street. After a little conversa- 
 tion round Mina's sofa, Mabel carried Hugh off, 
 in order to leave the brother and sister alone toge- 
 ther. She was going to enter the house, but Hugh 
 entreated her to take one turn on the terrace, say- 
 ing it was such a long time since they had seen 
 each other. 
 
 Mabel felt tired, so they sat down on a bank by 
 the side of a stream tliat ran through the garden 
 close by May's hermitage, and out of sight of the
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 129 
 
 hawthorn tree, under which Miss Chase's sofa was 
 placed. Hugh was much more thoughtful than 
 usual, and Mabel, who was one of the least obtru- 
 sive of human beings, waited patiently until he 
 should think fit to impart his thoughts. At last 
 they came out with a sudden burst, " How one 
 seems to be going through the world blindfold, 
 May!" 
 
 "Blindfold!" repeated Mabel, with only a slight 
 smile at the abruptness of the observation. " I sup- 
 pose one does. There would be no necessity for 
 faith and reliance upon a higher Power if it were 
 not so." 
 
 " But do you never feel, May, as if you would 
 give worlds to know what your path in life was to 
 be ? As if suspense and uncertainty were intole- 
 rable ?" 
 
 " I suppose one may feel it a little sometimes," 
 replied Mabel, thoughtfully. " I don't think I do 
 very often, for my life seems very clearly defined." 
 
 " In what way ?" 
 
 " Uneventful, Hugh, certainly, full of small, un- 
 important duties — care for papa — attention to Aunt 
 Anne, patience with Prances, sympathy with Dora, 
 and perseverance in urging Dudley to rouse himself 
 to a life of energy — the brightest parts being one's 
 own thoughts and feelings, books and flowers, and 
 satisfaction when one has done right." 
 
 *' May ! if I could only look at it in that light, 
 with your patience and contentment, instead of my 
 own rebellious, impatient feehngs !" 
 
 " I don't think there is any merit in patience and 
 contentment such as mine, Hugh. I have no real 
 trials to be patient under, and if I were not con- 
 tented, with everything to make me happy, when 
 could I be ? If I were Miss Chase ! How beauti- 
 fully patient she is, Hugh ! Did you ever see any 
 one so humble and resigned ?" 
 
 K
 
 130 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 ''No," replied Hugh, absently, *'I suppose a 
 man's life is rather different from a woman's ; more 
 variable and uncertain, more dependent upon his 
 own character." 
 
 "Yes, it must be so," said Mabel, "but he is 
 better able to meet changes than a woman." 
 
 " I doubt it," replied Hugh. " I want you, May, 
 to understand my feeling. I am longing to know 
 what my fate will be — whether I shall be successful 
 at the bar, or whether I should do better in another 
 profession — whether I shall ever distinguish my- 
 self in the way my mother is bent upon my doing 
 — whether the thoughts and dreams I have indulged 
 in for years will ever be realised, and a hundred 
 other things. When I think that I may not know 
 any of this for years, the suspense is hardly endur- 
 able, and it paralyses one's present energies." 
 
 *' And yet there are things we are intended not 
 to know, Hugh. We are always to be on the 
 * verge of good or ill,' that we may learn to lean 
 upon the ' guiding Hand unseen.' Impatience 
 can never teach us to do this." 
 
 " Preach to me. May, it will do me good. I can 
 bear to wait and work on when I have been talking 
 to you, but when I hear my mother laying such 
 stress upon ' greatness,' and talking so sanguinely 
 of my * distinguishing myself,' as she calls it, I feel 
 as if I hated learning, and would gladly be a dunce 
 all my life, to be left in peaceful obscurity. Not 
 that I expect ever to be a great man, if I strain 
 every nerve to become so ; great men are made of 
 a different kind of stuff, May, and they are never 
 so wanting in ambition as I am." 
 
 "There are two sorts of greatness," suggested 
 Mabel, '* one that begins and ends in this world, 
 and one that has its aim in the next ; there have 
 been many great men without learning, and many 
 learned men who were not truly great."
 
 WOETHWODE PEIOKY. 131 
 
 ** What is true greatness ?" said Hugh, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 "Nothing of this world," observed Mabel. 
 
 "Except so far as talent and genius are made 
 subservient to higher ends than merely to obtain 
 glory of men," said Hugh. " In that case, they 
 lead out of this world." 
 
 " Yes, and for this kind of greatness you can try, 
 can't you ? Do you know, I think the real difference 
 is that the world's greatness can be attained by very 
 few, but the better sort is within the reach of all." 
 
 " Mabel, the little child, and those who resembled 
 him most closely in innocence and purity, it was 
 said, would be greatest in the next world. What a 
 rebuke to ambition !" 
 
 Mabel was silent, and Hugh continued — 
 
 " When I hear so much about honour and posi- 
 tion, it makes me worldly, and I get to care less 
 for other things — higher things I mean ; I forget 
 that this world is not every thing. It is very hard 
 to live for this world and the next too, May." 
 
 " Yes," said Mabel, slowly, " unless we take 
 care that in living for this world we are indirectly 
 winning the next. I suppose we can only make 
 sure that we are doing this by asking ourselves con- 
 stantly for what object we are working. Can you 
 understand what I have expressed so badly ?" 
 
 " Yes,.>you mean that every action has an object, 
 and if we take care that the object is a good one, 
 we shall not be living in vain. I think that is a 
 safe test ; now, will you help to apply it to myself ? 
 What is the object of my reading ?" 
 
 " You can answer that question best ; but your 
 object ought to be, to improve the abilities which 
 have been given you." 
 
 " To make my one talent ten," suggested Hugh, 
 " I suppose this is a plain duty ; but I am not sure 
 this is really my object."
 
 132 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 " There may be other secondary ones," said 
 Mabel, " such as pleasing your mother, for instance." 
 
 " And succeeding at Oxford," added Hugh. 
 " Ah ! May, there is the ambition, in spite of what 
 I said. I couldn't bear to do badly at Oxford." 
 
 " I don't know that it deserves the name of ' am- 
 bition,' " said Mabel. " I think a certain amount 
 of proper pride is compatible even with humility. 
 Tou would be a strange person if you could look 
 forward to failure, without any feelings of disap- 
 pointment and shame." 
 
 " I suppose I should ; I wish my mother thought 
 more of goodness and less of greatness ; it would 
 be safer for me. When she reminds me that I am 
 a Grahame, and that I must prove as worthy of the 
 name as my father and grandfather were before me, 
 I get perplexed, and often I wish. May, that I was 
 called Tomkins, or Smith, or anything that I couldn't 
 be proud of." 
 
 Mabel smiled, and Hugh added, 
 
 " It would have been better for me if my father 
 had been a cobbler, and I was to be the same. If 
 I had been brought up to believe that honesty and 
 energy were the two great things to be striven for, 
 in order that the name of Tomkins might undergo 
 no diminution of its long-established respectability, 
 and that I might prove myself a worthy scion of 
 that illustrious house, I should stand a chance of 
 being a wiser and a better man than I do now." 
 
 " No, Hugh, I hope not," was the reply. "Energy 
 and honesty are as indispensable in a barrister as a 
 cobbler, and Grahames and Tomkinses are all de- 
 scended alike from Adam." 
 
 " Thank you, May, that is a very sensible remark ; 
 but I wonder what my mother would say if she 
 heard you ? 0, May ! I am afraid one goes back 
 as one grows older. Our feelings are less fresh 
 and pure than when we were children, and we care
 
 NORTHWODE PEIOEY. 133 
 
 less about things that should be all-important to 
 us." He leant back upon the turf, and his eye 
 wandered listlessly over the green fields and blue 
 hills, and back again to the flowers that grew on 
 the banks of the stream. Then, as if ashamed of 
 the weariness of spirit that could find no relief in 
 nature, he said, with a smile, that had more of sad- 
 ness than mirth in it, 
 
 " I remember, I remember, 
 
 The fir trees dark and high ; 
 I used to think their slender spires 
 
 Were close against the sky ! 
 It was a childish ignorance, — 
 
 But now 'tis little joy 
 To know I'm farther off from heaven 
 
 Than when I was a boy." 
 
 " Not really, Hugh," said Mabel ; " more may be 
 expected of us now than formerly, but if we are 
 striving with our whole hearts, we are not really 
 farther from Heaven. How could we bear to think 
 we were ?" 
 
 " It is our motives want purifying," said Hugh, 
 after a moment's thought. " If they were single 
 and disinterested, how much better we should be !" 
 
 " It is hard to believe yours can be interested," 
 said Mabel, smiling. 
 
 " They are," he replied. " I hardly do anything 
 from a pure, high motive ; secondary motives are 
 always at work, more or less, and I do nothing, or 
 next to nothing, because it is my duty." 
 
 " I do not think that is true ; what did you give 
 up the shooting for ?" 
 
 " Well, I did that, certainly, because it was right, 
 but you put it into my head." 
 
 " That is nothing to the purpose, for the sacrifice 
 was yours and not mine. I think you are scarcely 
 fair to yourself, Hugh ; but I suppose something 
 has happened to depress you."
 
 ]34l NORTHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 " I wonder whether we shall always be friends," 
 said Hugh, abruptly, without replying to her ob- 
 servation. " Sometimes I have doubts, May." 
 
 " Doubts as to my friendship ?" inquired Mabel, 
 with some surprise. ** It will be your own fault if 
 ever you forfeit it, Hugh ; I am not changeable." 
 
 " No, no, I know that — and I have no fear of 
 losing it if it depends on myself It was foolish of 
 me to ask you such a question, but the wisest 
 people have doubts and misgivings sometimes." 
 
 Mabel was at a loss to account for such doubts 
 and despondency having taken possession of Hugh's 
 usually bright, sanguine mind. She could not di- 
 vine that they were the result of a long conversation 
 with his mother the previous evening, when he had 
 first begun to suspect, that, in her anxious schemes 
 for his aggrandisement, she contemplated the sacri- 
 fice of all his private hopes and affections. One 
 great idea had taken root in her mind, and every- 
 thing else, she resolved, should bend to it. Hugh, 
 though yielding, was by no means weak ; but while 
 resolved to have his own way wherever he felt 
 certain of being right, an undefined dread, that 
 these schemes might come between him and his 
 happiness, clung to him, in a way that he could not 
 shake off". Mabel quieted him for a time, and, in 
 talking to her, he forgot his despondency. 
 
 " I ought not to be dismal now," he said, " for T 
 am getting on gloriously with Mr. Chase. There 
 is something in his blunt decision that was just 
 what I wanted. When my work is slovenly and 
 badly got up, I know I shall hear the plain truth 
 about it, and be told I am wasting my time, and 
 that it is dishonest in him to take my money, when 
 he is doing me no good. Poor man ! he tries 
 hard enough too ! I am an idle dog, May ! I feel 
 as if I could flog myself sometimes, when I have 
 not worked as hard as I might have done, and
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 135 
 
 he looks grave and disappointed. If I should be 
 plucked, I really believe he will wish to refund 
 the money he is now earning by such honest hard 
 work." 
 
 " I am so glad to hear you are getting on." 
 
 " It is a double benefit too, for while he is im- 
 proving me, the money must be a help to him. I 
 wish I could get him some pupils, for I could 
 honestly recommend him as a tutor." 
 
 The sound of the luncheon bell recalled them to 
 the house. Miss Hesketh was writing an answer 
 to a gilt-edged note that lay before her, and Dudley 
 was giving Mina an eager description of the note 
 or the writer, that had called a smile to her face. 
 
 "An invitation from Monckton Court!" he ex- 
 claimed, in a tone of intense delight, as May and 
 Hugh entered. 
 
 " Impossible ! O, Dudley ! you are only in fun, 
 I hope." 
 
 " Never less so, May !" replied her brother, en- 
 joying her look of undisguised concern. " Go at 
 five, and inspect the house and grounds, and give 
 our opinion upon the taste exhibited in the altera- 
 tions — dinner at six — and our host earnestly en-> 
 treats that he may be allowed to drive us home 
 afterwards. What can be more considerate and 
 hospitable ?" 
 
 " Dudley ! you can't mean it !" exclaimed May, 
 seizing the note with a faint hope that it might 
 prove one of Dudley's romances. But there she 
 found it, almost word for word, rendered doubly 
 distasteful by the pale pink paper and gilt edges, 
 the mercantile hand-writing adorned with innume- 
 rable studied and elaborate flourishes, and the ob- 
 long envelope, with the Collier crest attached to it. 
 "William and Dora, it was stated, had received a 
 similar invitation, and Dudley declared that it was 
 to be a family party, for Mr. Collier evidently wished
 
 136 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 them to consider him in the light of a most inti- 
 mate acquaintance, in fact as one of the family. 
 
 " You are not accepting, Aunt Anne, surely ?" 
 asked May. 
 
 " No, my love, your papa says he has an engage- 
 ment that day, and it will be a sufficient excuse 
 that we cannot go without him." 
 
 " I am very glad !" exclaimed Mabel. " He will 
 see now, I hope, that any further advances towards 
 intimacy are unwelcome." 
 
 " I do not wonder at his presumption in asking 
 us," observed Frances ; " papa makes so much of 
 him, that he thinks we court his acquaintance." 
 
 All felt that Frances was unjust, but it was not 
 easy to contradict her, as Mr. Hesketh had un- 
 doubtedly been pointedly attentive in calling on 
 and inviting Mr. Collier. It had been thought that 
 he did it for William's sake, as the law business 
 of a man in his position could be of no insignificant 
 amount. Every one felt relieved to find that it was 
 their father's own wish, that the invitation should be 
 declined, and Miss Hesketh having written a polite 
 refusal, Mabel fastened it up and prepared to 
 send it. 
 
 As she reached the door the handle was turned 
 on the other side, and Mr. Hesketh entered. He 
 took the note from May, and said " This contains 
 a refusal, does it not ?" 
 
 "Yes, you said you had an engagement ..." 
 began Aunt Anne. 
 
 " But I have considered that I can put off my 
 engagement until the following day, and it is my 
 wdsh that we should all go to Monckton Court next 
 Tuesday." Appalled by the sight of the conster- 
 nation that was plainly written on every face, he 
 said hastily, 
 
 " Never mind, Anne, I will send an answer. 
 May, let Dora and William know that I wish they
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOBT. 1ST 
 
 should not refuse. It is very hospitable of Mr. 
 Collier," and hurriedly leaving the room, he es- 
 caped the exclamations that burst forth as soon as 
 the door was closed. 
 
 " Preposterous !" was Dudley's remark. 
 
 " Oh ! dear, I am so sorry !" was May's obser- 
 vation. 
 
 "What can have made "William change his 
 mind ?" meditated Miss Hesketh. 
 
 " Nothing shall induce me to go," said Frances, 
 in her most resolute tone. 
 
 " No, I don't really see why we need go," chimed 
 in Dudley. " If it is for William's sake my father 
 keeps in with this man, William and Dora may go, 
 but I won't associate with such an underbred fel- 
 low for any one." 
 
 " Papa ought to have more consideration for his 
 daughters than to throw them into the society of 
 such a person," added Prances. " I have quite 
 made up my mind that I won't go to Monckton 
 Court next Tuesday." 
 
 "Nor I,"saidDudley. "I don't see the necessity." 
 
 But Mabel's right feeling stepped in, " We must 
 not forget that it is papa's wish," she said. " If he 
 tells us to go, we have no right to say we will stay 
 at home." 
 
 Both Prances and Dudley raised dissenting 
 voices at this observation. Dudley said May's 
 ideas of right and wrong were overstrained, and 
 Prances said if her father had no care for his 
 daughter's dignity, she must guard it herself. 
 ' Duty' was by no means the watchword at North- 
 wode Priory. Mabel was the only one with whom 
 it was a moving spring of action, and she was 
 looked upon as a being of unheard-of strictness, 
 whose notions were too rigid ever to be carried out 
 by any one but herself. Dudley said she should 
 have been called ' Must,' and not ' May,' and Wil-
 
 138 NORTHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 liam declared her motto was ' Lictors, do your 
 duty!' while Frances smiled in silent contempt, 
 yet could never feel satisfied when acting in oppo- 
 sition to Mabel's principles. 
 
 " Mabel is right, my dears," said Aunt Anne's 
 quiet voice. '* Indeed, Frances, you must do as 
 your papa wishes." 
 
 " Not when he wishes me to do wrong,'* said 
 Prances, impatient at being interfered with. 
 
 "Dear Frances, you are carrying it too far," 
 said May, in her gentlest tone. " Tou cannot 
 mean that you will act in opposition to papa, for 
 there can be no right and wrong in such a case as 
 this." 
 
 "I thought there was a right and wrong in 
 everything," replied Frances, in a voice that seemed 
 to have a sneer in it. " Where is your consistency, 
 Mabel ?" 
 
 " Obedience is right, disobedience wrong," said 
 Hugh, who had been a silent listener. '*Let us 
 take care that we have no motes in our own eyes, 
 before we call May inconsistent." 
 
 " Go to Frances for consistency !" observed 
 Dudley, who never let slip an opportunity of an- 
 noying her. " If you want method and order, re- 
 gular habits, and consistent temper, and steady 
 perseverance, go to Frances. She, who is always 
 pulling up other people, must surely be perfect 
 herself." 
 
 At any time Frances could scarcely have borne 
 such a speech as this, but in the presence of Miss 
 Chase it was intolerable. With a flashing eye, 
 and scarcely able to restrain the bitter reply that 
 was on her lips, she swept past Dudley and left the 
 room ; but the laugh with which her brother 
 marked the scarcely controlled temper that could 
 be seen in her step, and the carriage of her head, 
 and heard in the fierce slam with which the draw-
 
 ITOETHWODE PEIOET. 13& 
 
 ing-room door closed, reached her as she ascended 
 the staircase to her own room. 
 
 '* O, Dudley !" said May's sad, reproachful voice. 
 
 " Well, don't let her inflict her ill-temper upon 
 us," said Dudley, whose conscience smote him a 
 little. 
 
 " Eeally, May, I think she deserved it for attack- 
 ing you," said Hugh. 
 
 " My dears, you are always quarrelling with 
 Frances," observed Aunt Anne. " What is the 
 matter ? Why has she left the room ?" 
 
 " She thought it better to carry her bad temper 
 into her own room, Aunt xlnne," replied Dudley. 
 " Well, May, it is nonsense to spoil her in that 
 way !" 
 
 Mabel had quietly left the room, and gone to see 
 for Frances, The door of her bed-room was un- 
 fastened, and on opening it she found her sister 
 seated by the table, reading. Her head was still 
 erect, and her lip curled with her own peculiar ex- 
 pression of contempt and annoyance. 
 
 " Frances, dear, you are not vexed ?" said Mabel, 
 kissing her. 
 
 " I require no sympathy or commiseration, thank 
 you, May . You had better go down to your friends, 
 for I prefer being by myself." 
 
 " Tour own sister, Frances — " escaped from 
 May's lips, and the tears started to her eyes. 
 
 " Miss Chase is more like your sister than I am ; 
 I give up the title." 
 
 " Miss Chase, whom I have known for a few 
 days, and you with whom I have lived all my life ! 
 — 0, Frances ! what would our mother say ?" 
 
 Frances was silent, and appeared to be reading 
 her book, but Mabel was not to be bajffled. 
 
 " Frances ! my dearest sister ! do not let them 
 sow enmity between us. Oh ! if mamma were 
 only here to soften you !"
 
 140 NOETHWODE TEIOET. 
 
 " Dudley would not behave so if she were," and 
 the proud tears swelled to Frances' eyes. 
 
 " But, Frances, apart from Dudley, what would 
 she say to see her two daughters like this ? O, 
 Frances ! she said we must be sisters always." 
 
 " You have got Miss Chase," repeated Frances, 
 coldly. 
 
 " And what is Miss Chase to me compared with 
 you ? Tou throw me off from you." 
 
 " Go down stairs, May. I wish to say nothing 
 more about it." 
 
 Mabel sighed ; Frances was in one of her impene- 
 trable moods ; it was throwing words away to rea- 
 son with her, and she was open to no impression 
 through her feelings. 
 
 " Then you will not be friends, Frances," she said. 
 
 "I have not quarrelled with yow," was the 
 evasive reply. 
 
 Seeing it was useless to say more, Mabel unwill- 
 ingly left her sister to her book, and her own 
 meditations, 
 
 Hugh had gone home almost immediately upon 
 May's leaving the room, and Miss Hesketh being 
 employed in letter-writing, Mina and Dudley had 
 a tete-h-tete in the farther end of the room. The 
 former had been very silent all through the dis- 
 cussion, and Dudley felt curious to know what her 
 opinion had been. For some time this was rather 
 hard to discover, but at last, when his remarks 
 upon his sister's temper were becoming rather se- 
 vere, Mina asked in her short, blunt manner, 
 
 *' Do you ever expect to improve it by satire ?" 
 
 " I never expect to improve it at all." 
 
 *' Do you mean that you have no wish to do so ?" 
 
 " No, not exactly that ; but I know it is hope- 
 less, so it is no use to try." 
 
 " Have you ever tried yet ?" 
 
 " I am always telling her of it, and trying to
 
 .NOETHWODE PEIOET. 141 
 
 show her what every one must think of it, and 
 holding up May as an example to her." 
 
 "Have you ever tried to show her how sinful 
 it is?" 
 
 " That is for you and May, Miss Chase," said 
 Dudley, with a laugh. " I may ridicule, but I 
 can't preach to her." 
 
 " There is another way besides preaching. You 
 know we are told that example is better than pre- 
 cept." 
 
 "Now really you are unfair, Miss Chase. No 
 one can accuse me of having a bad temper." 
 
 " A had temper — no ; an unforbearing one — yes. 
 Tou are as uncontrolled in your answers as I'rances 
 in her remarks." 
 
 " But she has nothing to annoy her in the first 
 instance, and it is very hard for me to be controlled 
 after her snappish observations." 
 
 " Tou mean that it is harder for you to control a 
 good temper than for your sister to regulate a bad 
 one." 
 
 Dudley laughed ; " Tou are determined to catch 
 me. Miss Chase." 
 
 " Tou have caught yourself," said Mina, smiling. 
 " Tou pride yourself upon having a good temper, 
 but beg to be allowed to be ill-humoured whenever- 
 you are provoked." 
 
 " "Well, I don't mean that exactly ; but don't 
 you think that Frances would provoke an angel?" 
 
 " I never knew an angel," said Mina, so gravely, 
 that Dudley could not smile. " She does not suc- 
 ceed in provoking Mabel." 
 
 ** Because May is something .... something, 
 quite out of the common. Tou must not judge of 
 us by her." 
 
 There was silence for a few minutes, and then 
 Dudley said, 
 
 " Tou think we don't act rightly by Prances ?"
 
 142 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 " I think if you had a blind sister, you would 
 not be angry with her every time she could not see 
 what you desired she should." 
 
 " But that is very different." 
 
 " A bad temper may be even a worse infirmity 
 than blindness." 
 
 " But people have no right to give way to one, 
 and they cannot help the other." 
 
 " I am not speaking of their own feelings and 
 responsibilities, but of yours. You are as much 
 bound to be forbearing with a bad temper as with 
 a natural infirmity. You are not angry with me 
 because I cannot get up and walk about, and run 
 as you do, yet perhaps I think my sufferings a 
 lighter infliction than a bad temper." 
 
 Dudley's kind heart was touched. ** I will go 
 up and tell her I am sorry. Is that what you ad- 
 vise ?" 
 
 "You know her best," said Miss Chase. "If 
 she will receive you kindly, go to her ; if not, be 
 satisfied with guarding your temper carefully next 
 time." 
 
 The probability of Frances receiving kindly any 
 advance from Dudley seemed so extremely small, 
 that he gave up the idea, and promised to remem- 
 ber, next time she provoked him, that her temper 
 was a greater misfortune to herself, than to any 
 with whom she came in contact.
 
 CHAPTEE X. 
 
 " The furnace of affliction may be fierce, but if it refineth thy 
 soul, 
 The good of one meek thought shall outweigh years of tor- 
 ment." 
 
 Ihipper's Proverbial Philosophy. 
 
 The next was one of Mina's bad days. She re- 
 mained in her room all the morning, admitting 
 no one but Judith ; and when, towards evening, 
 she was partially dressed and removed to a sofa, 
 and May permitted to visit her, she found her even 
 paler and more worn than usual, and afraid to 
 move lest she should bring back a return of her 
 sufferings. There was no expression of weariness 
 or impatience on her face, but the same resigna- 
 tion as ever, and Mabel could not resist the im- 
 pulse that made her bend over and kiss the thin, 
 white cheek, with a feeling of reverence and in- 
 feriority for which she could not account. 
 
 There was nothing to touch the imagination in 
 waiting upon Mina ; no sweet, winning ways, in- 
 expressibly touching from the helplessness and de- 
 pendence which they expressed. There was no 
 poetry in the reclining figure and wasted form, 
 even the voice was unmelodious and unattractive. 
 It was the force of simple goodness and silent suf- 
 fering, that drew May towards her, much more
 
 144 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 than slie might have been drawn towards many 
 more outwardly interesting. 
 
 A book lay on Mina's lap, and her hand rested 
 on the open page. Mabel bent over it, as if asking 
 to read the part thus chosen. Mina's hand was 
 instantly removed, and she said, " They are appli- 
 cable to me, but not to you ; some day you may 
 feel as I do about them." 
 
 " Were it not better to lie still, 
 Let Him strike home and bless the rod, 
 
 Never so safe as when our will 
 
 Yields undiscerned by all but God ?" 
 
 "How happy for you that you can feel that," 
 said Mabel. 
 
 "It has been a long trial," said Mina. " Once 
 my will was as strong and as perverse as any one's 
 could be, and my illness was sent as a punish- 
 ment." 
 
 " I cannot fancy you with a perverse will," re- 
 plied May, kneeling beside her, and smoothing her 
 cushions. 
 
 " It is only too much so even now, at times, 
 Mabel ; you will wonder at me when I tell you 
 that I have lived to bless my sufferings." 
 
 " Tet they must be very trying and wearisome 
 to you sometimes ?" 
 
 " Yes, inexpressibly so ; but I have moments of 
 great happiness, too. I am as perfectly happy 
 this morning as I shall ever be again in this world." 
 
 "This morning?" echoed May. "And how I 
 have been pitying you all the time !" 
 
 " Ah ! you cannot realise the change that the 
 country is to me, after my dark room in town. 
 Mabel, shall I tell you about it ?" 
 
 May acquiesced, feeling much gratified at re- 
 ceiving the confidence of one, who had been hitherto 
 so reserved. 
 
 I
 
 KOETHWODE PEIOET. 145 
 
 "It was very small," began Mina — "a little 
 room in such a dark, dirty street ! I can tell you 
 of our poverty, Mabel, for your kind heart will only 
 sympathise, and not despise us for it. My cousin 
 had very small means, and I had almost nothing. 
 John's stipend was not over-large, yet he made it 
 enough for us both. How he has done it I cannot 
 tell. With all ray care and economy I must have 
 required far more than he could spare, without the 
 most rigid self-denial. Tet you would scarcely be- 
 lieve the small sum on which I lived. Had I in- 
 dulged in one single luxury, it would have seemed 
 like robbing John. God will bless him for all he 
 has been to me." 
 
 After a few moments' pause, she continued, 
 " "We began in a cheerful, bright lodging, with a 
 little garden, for I knew very little about money, 
 and fancied I could meet the expense. Besides, I 
 used to do a little fancy work, and my cousin dis- 
 posed of it; but when I became worse, I was 
 forced to give that up, and about the same time I 
 heard how John was denying himself, so I saw it 
 was not right to continue in those lodgings. We 
 then moved to this dreary little room, in such a 
 street ! You may imagine what the back streets 
 of London are, May. I wanted to get into the 
 suburbs, but my cousin had friends in town, and 
 liked to be constantly visiting them. She was out 
 nearly every day for many hours, so it did not sig- 
 nify so much to her. I became worse soon after 
 we removed, and I used to spend many solitary 
 hours in such pain, that I could not raise myself to 
 ring the bell. Those were the hours that did me 
 good," continued Mina, earnestly. "I learnt to 
 think of another world then, and to subdue my own 
 will to God's, Three years I have lived in that 
 dreary home, but wretched as it seemed to me on 
 my first arrival, I can think of it now with grati- 
 
 L
 
 146 NOETHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 tude and affection, on account of all the good 
 thoughts that have come to me there, to while away 
 the long, lonely hours. A clergyman came some- 
 times to visit me, but the parish was large, and I 
 did not see him often. When I was well enough 
 I went to Church, and this was almost all the 
 variety in my life for nearly three years. May, 
 you may fancy what my feelings must have been 
 on coming here!" 
 
 Mabel silently smoothed the wasted hand in 
 hers, and reflected how they had all misjudged 
 her. 
 
 " To be near John, yet no expense to him, in the 
 bright, beautiful country, that I had not seen for 
 so long, — in this comfortable house, and with you 
 always ready and willing to be my companion, — 
 it has been like a gleam of sunshine in my path, 
 Mabel." 
 
 " How glad I am we thought of it," said Mabel. 
 
 "When first I received your invitation," con- 
 tinued Mina, "it was almost too much for me. 
 You can never know how I have pined for the 
 country, May. When I found that I was really 
 coming to it, and above all places to Peverstone, of 
 which I had heard so much from John, I felt as if 
 health and vigour, and freedom from pain, were all 
 coming back to me once more. Oh ! Mabel, Ma- 
 bel ! you do not know the ecstasy of that feeling ! 
 I never realised how dear life was, or the blessed- 
 ness of good health, till that moment ; I fancied my- 
 self strong and active, running about enjoying the 
 bright country and the sunshine, as I had done 
 when I was a girl. I tried to fancy what it would 
 be to have no bodily suffering, to leave this weary 
 sofa, and walk about by myself wherever I pleased. 
 My head reeled, Mabel, when I thought of doing 
 these things again, and the almost perfect happi- 
 ness it would be to me."
 
 IfOKTHWODE PEIOET. 147 
 
 " God grant it may come soon," said Mabel, ear- 
 nestly. 
 
 " No, dear Mabel, do not wish that. G-od, in His 
 mercy, has reconciled me to my fate, and I can 
 once more bear to think of never leaving my sofa 
 again. He knows that it is best for me that it 
 should be so, for I could not keep that other world 
 in my heart, if I were ever to return to this one. 
 Ah ! it is such a different life, mixing with the 
 world in health and happiness, making plans and 
 schemes for the future, and looking forward to 
 many years of uninterrupted good health and en- 
 joyment, from what it is living on this quiet sofa, 
 feeling that the end is approaching, slowly but 
 surely, striving while yet there is time, to bring 
 my will into perfect subjection to His, and realising 
 so fully that awful Presence, into which I may at 
 any time without warning be hurried." 
 
 " But do you really mean that you feel this — that 
 you have no hope ?" asked Mabel, with tearful eyes. 
 
 '*A hope! yes, thank G-od, how bright a hope 
 none can tell, — a hope of feeling all that I have 
 been describing, in another world. May, tenfold 
 brighter than I can imagine it now. I shall never 
 be better in this world ; and I can see that it is so 
 best, for my truest and happiest feelings seemed less 
 dear to me, when I looked forward to getting 
 strong and well again. And when the thought of 
 that wayward, unchastened will comes back to me, 
 I can see clearly what fearful danger I should be in, 
 if I returned to the world. My temptations are 
 so few here that I am comparatively safe ; but 
 when I see Frances and her uncontrolled temper, 
 I am glad that pain and suffering have brought me 
 to what I am, for I feel sure that trials will come 
 to her as they have to me, in some shape or other, 
 until that is subdued, and I cannot wish that fierce 
 conflict to be still in store for me."
 
 148 KOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 " Nor for her," said Mabel. *' Is it weakness 
 that makes me wish to spare them all from suffer- 
 ing — Dudley and Frances, "William and Dora, and 
 dear papa ? I do not think I could bear to think 
 heavy trials were in store for any of them." 
 
 " But you could bear them for yourself, and you 
 must learn to do so for them. They may bring 
 more real blessing with them than years of ease 
 and prosperity, and you must learn to see God's 
 Hand in all things." 
 
 *' It is easier to bear for oneself than for other 
 people," observed Mabel. 
 
 " And therefore perhaps it may be your lot to 
 bear for others. At all events, God knows what 
 we can bear, and what we cannot, and He never 
 sends too much." 
 
 *' Without accompanying strength," added Ma- 
 bel. "Few trials can be worse than yours." 
 
 *' Yes, indeed they may ; trials from which we 
 cannot look to a certain fixed period for relief. 
 Death will end my troubles before very long, but 
 some may be looked forward to for an indefinite 
 number of years ; and we may even leave the world 
 knowing that others are still struggling beneath 
 the burden of our sins and shortcomings." 
 
 " That must be fearful," sighed May. 
 
 " Fearful, but the case with millions. God grant 
 it may never be ours !" 
 
 " You did not finish telling me about yourself 
 and your London life. Miss Chase," said Mabel. 
 
 " No ; but I must ask you first to call me Mina. 
 I always call you May, and why should you be 
 more formal with me ?" 
 
 May smiled. " I can understand," said Mina, 
 with a sigh. " I am cold and repelling, I know ; 
 all our family are so. Sometimes I fancy that we 
 were not born for love." 
 
 " That I intend to disprove," said May, gently
 
 IS^OETHWODE PEIOKT. 149 
 
 kissing Mina's foreliead. " None who look beneath 
 the surface would say so." 
 
 " But the surface is unpromising, and when that 
 is the case, who will exert themselves to probe be- 
 neath it ? Sometimes my heart is full of love and 
 I cannot show it." 
 
 "But you will always show it to me," said Ma- 
 bel. " Now that the reserve has been once thrown 
 off, it shall be banished for ever ; and I shall call 
 you Mina, and make you see that you were born 
 for love." 
 
 *' It will be a new thing to see that," replied 
 Mina. " But I must go on with what I was telling 
 you. I was a wilful girl, always bent on having 
 my own way, and considering the wishes of no one 
 else. My father died while we were young, and 
 my mother had no influence over us. John was 
 always right-minded, and in spite of these disad- 
 vantages never got into trouble ; he was always 
 steady and economical. I lived with our mother, 
 and contrived to gain a complete ascendancy over 
 her. I do not think I exactly misused this, for I 
 loved her, and was very kind to her ; but I can re- 
 member many a time when the tone in which I ad- 
 dressed her was superior and dictatorial, very un- 
 like that of a daughter to a mother. She had the 
 pension of a captain's widow, and we could live 
 upon that with care. John almost supported him- 
 self at college, obtaining a tutorship during the 
 vacations, and spending an incredibly small sum 
 while at Oxford. My mother died when I was 
 twenty-eight, leaving me without any means of 
 subsistence. I was bitterly grieved and repentant 
 after her death, for the want of submission and 
 respect that must have caused her many an hour 
 of sorrow. I had nursed her carefully, and shown 
 her the greatest affection, but I made my will 
 paramount, and allowed her to have no will of her
 
 150 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 own. If she held out against my wishes a longer 
 time than I liked, I made myself appear depressed 
 and injured for several days ; and then, when her 
 heart was touched, for she was far too good to me, 
 and when she had kissed me, and said it should 
 be as I liked, I was all spirit and affection again. 
 Oh ! May, I can bear to talk of it now, on ac- 
 count of the deep, heartfelt repentance that lies 
 between that time and this, but many an hour of 
 true shame and grief have I known, and many a 
 fruitless longing to have her back again, and atone 
 for my unduti fulness, before I could speak of it as 
 I do, with such calmness. After her death I ob- 
 tained a situation as governess in a family where 
 there were a great number of children. It matters 
 little whether I was comfortable or not ; perhaps 
 the humiliation that my pride there underwent was 
 the first beginning of the long course of trial that 
 finally subdued it. At the end of two years my 
 health gave way, — it had always been delicate, — 
 and I was forced to leave. John was so kind 
 then ; he persuaded our widowed cousin to let me 
 live with her, and promised to send me enough 
 out of his small income to put with hers, that 
 we might live in tolerable comfort. She is a good- 
 tempered person, unrefined, fond of society and 
 gossip, the very last being upon earth I should 
 have chosen for a companion. As she has been 
 kind to me I will say nothing of her failings. After 
 all, perhaps they were less serious than my own. 
 I have told you of the weary hours spent in town. 
 It was when lying day after day on a couch, unable 
 to move, without books, or work, or companionship, 
 that my thoughts first really turned to my past 
 life, and discovered the grievous errors I had made, 
 when it was too late to atone for them. It was 
 then. May, that I first looked inward at my own 
 heart, and found how full of pride and sin it was.
 
 NOETHTVODE PRIOET. 151 
 
 Since then I trust I have become better acquainted 
 with it, and that the greatest failings are rooted 
 out or subdued. I think you will no longer 
 wonder that I do not regret all I have gone 
 through." 
 
 " Perhaps not ; but it makes me look into my- 
 self, and wonder whether the same chastening may 
 not be needful for me." 
 
 *' Do not resist the impulse that makes you do 
 so," said Mina. ''Few can say they require no 
 chastening, and although your character may need 
 it less than mine, I shall be glad to have told you 
 all this, if it teaches you to examine into your own 
 
 "May I ask you one thing?" asked Mabel. 
 " In what way did you exert your own will with 
 your mother, for you speak so strongly about 
 that ?" 
 
 " I will tell you. My mother was nervous, and 
 suffered from headaches, and our income being 
 small, she was anxious to settle in a quiet, retired 
 village by the sea-side, soon after my brother left 
 us for college. I was different then from what I 
 am now, and I thought to myself that it would be 
 very unpleasant to live in this quiet place, and de- 
 cided that I should prefer a larger and gayer one. 
 My mother was sadly averse to settling in a large 
 town, and John advised me to sacrifice my own 
 will and do as she wished ; but I was so self-willed, 
 Mabel, that I cared for no one but myself, and per- 
 severed in my endeavour to gain my point, until 
 my mother from sheer weariness gave way. I was 
 not happy after I had succeeded, for her health was 
 bad, and we had few acquaintances, and at last 
 John persuaded me to take her to the quiet sea- 
 side town, where she had first wished to go. It 
 was far better suited to her, and we remained there 
 a year or more, until she was taken from me.
 
 152 NORTHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 This is but one instance, but I am sorry to say I 
 could give you many." 
 
 Mina was so exhausted with the conversation, 
 that May thought right to leave her for a time, 
 and, supplying her with books, left her, promising 
 to return as soon as she was fully rested. 
 
 Dora was in the drawing-room, entertained by 
 Prances, and looking exceedingly ill at ease. 
 
 " Don't you intend to dine at Monckton Court 
 next Tuesday ?" she was asking, as Mabel entered. 
 
 " No, I do not, but Mabel does, and papa wishes 
 that William and yourself should do so." 
 
 " We will go readily, if Mr. Hesketh wishes it," 
 said Dora, with her sweet, gentle smile. " How 
 do you intend to go ? Shall you take advantage of 
 Mr. Collier's offer for returning?" 
 
 "Certainly not," said Trances. "There is no 
 reason why we should place ourselves under any 
 unnecessary obligation to him." 
 
 " Papa says our own carriage shall fetch us," 
 said May. " We can make room for you, dear 
 Dora, and for William also, I am sure." 
 
 " It will be a great convenience if you cau," re- 
 plied Dora. " What shall you wear. May ?" 
 
 " Something very quiet, as there will be gorgeous- 
 ness and display enough there, without adding 
 to it." 
 
 •' I have a new grey silk dress that will be just 
 the thing. You have not seen it. May ; it looks so 
 well, made up." 
 
 "Some people can always afford to be having 
 new dresses," observed rrances, with her bitterest 
 accent. 
 
 A burning flush rose to Dora's face, and Mabel 
 could see tears in her eyes. " It w^as William's 
 present to me on my birthday, Frances," she said, 
 reproachfully. 
 
 " I do not remember making any allusion to you,' '
 
 NOETHWODE PRIORY. 153 
 
 began Frances, but the spirit of truth came to her 
 rescue, and she added, " nevertheless, I cannot 
 deny, that I think you have many more dresses 
 than you require, already, and I had expected that 
 two children would make you more careful." 
 
 Pew things are more trying than for a married 
 woman to be lectured by an unmarried sister-in- 
 law, and even Dora's meek spirit was roused. 
 
 "William is the best judge of what we can 
 afford, and when he makes me presents, I see no 
 reason why I should refuse them." 
 
 " And a husband, so devoted to his profession as 
 WilHam, naturally feels justified in gratifying his 
 tastes as well as those of his wife." 
 
 *' Frances ! Frances !" murmured Mabel, en- 
 treatingly, while Dora turned away to hide how 
 much she was hurt. 
 
 " It is of no use. May," said Frances, vehemently, 
 " why should I not speak plainly, if no one else 
 will ? Is it not too bad that William should spend 
 his life in pleasure-hunting, with a wife and two 
 children dependent on him, and that Dora should 
 encourage him in his indolence ?" 
 
 There was a gleam of fire in Dora's soft brown 
 eyes, as she turned round and observed, " If Mr. 
 Hesketh has any complaint to make, let him make 
 it to his son. Such remarks upon my husband 
 shall never be repeated in my presence." 
 
 She paused for a moment, and then continued, 
 " Is this the openness upon which you pride your- 
 self? Why not say these things before William's 
 lace, and not to his wife behind his back?" 
 
 " You mistake, Dora," said Frances, quietly, " I 
 am not one to say in a person's absence, what I 
 would fear to say in their presence. The reason 
 w^hy I speak to you instead of to William, is, be- 
 cause I know warnings would be thrown away upon 
 him, while you are upholding him."
 
 154 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 '*Is it true that I uphold him, May?" asked 
 Dora, in a faltering voice. 
 
 "No," said Mabel, "and I have told Frances so. 
 She fancies you have more influence over him than 
 you really have ; and, Dora, I must say, in her pre- 
 sence, that although she speaks harshly and satiri- 
 cally, she has your real interest at heart, and is 
 only anxious to see William exert himself, as, in 
 his position, he is bound to do." 
 
 " My darling May," said Dora, with a half-sob ; 
 " what can I do ? He is so good and kind, and so 
 right-minded in everything else, but he cannot see 
 this. I have spoken — I can do no more," and Dora 
 passed her arm round May's waist, and laid her 
 tearful face on her shoulder. She was nothing but 
 a child, after all, and May could not restrain a 
 sigh, when she felt that Dora could never have the 
 strength of mind and character, that "William 
 needed in his wife. 
 
 Frances was a little touched at the sight of her 
 distress ; but she had no sympathy with weakness. 
 
 " It is of no use to cry, Dora," she said abruptly. 
 "I wish I could be in your position for three 
 months, and I would soon teach William to exert 
 himself. If you would only be more resolute and 
 determined with him, and make him see that he is 
 wrong!" 
 
 How easy it is to see the duties of others, and 
 how hard to act up to our own ! If inertness was 
 William's failing, it was no less that of Frances, 
 though shown in a different way, by the want of 
 perseverance and method, that would have turned 
 her wasted energies to good account. 
 
 " I have done all I can," repeated Dora. " 1 
 know that it would be better if William would de- 
 vote himself more to his business, but he does not 
 see it in the same light : and why should you all 
 be so anxious ? Our income is more than suffi-
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 155 
 
 cient for our wants, and May says she has no rea- 
 son for thinking that Mr. Hesketh will ever have 
 to withdraw it." 
 
 " And you can be content to look forward to a 
 life of indolence and dependence," said Prances, 
 in a tone of undisguised contempt. 
 
 Dora looked completely bewildered, and clung 
 to May's arm ; and Mabel, motioning to Prances 
 to be silent, led her into the garden, and talked 
 quietly of other matters, until she had brought a 
 smile to her face, when she returned to the sub- 
 ject, with an air of quiet resolution, that made 
 Dora feel greatly her junior, instead of four years 
 older. 
 
 *' I will make one remark, Dora, upon all that 
 Frances has been saying, and then we will drop 
 the subject altogether. Frances means well, al- 
 though her manner is unfortunate, and I agree 
 with her in thinking th^t William takes a mistaken 
 view of life. If you have tried to put this before 
 him and he cannot see it, you can do no more, ex- 
 cept by example, and he is one to be more worked 
 upon in that way than in any other. Try, dear 
 Dora, and, by showing him that you feel it right 
 to be industrious yourself, make him feel the same. 
 This is the only thing I can recommend to you, 
 and I think it will make you happy to feel that 
 you are trying to do him good." 
 
 " I can see you all think me weak and foolish, 
 May," said Dora, in a voice that sounded pitiably 
 doleful. " You think I am not fit for William." 
 
 "I think you my own dear little sister," said 
 Mabel, afiectiouately ; " and I think that you have 
 great drawbacks, that Frances does not take into 
 account. I think, too, that you will try to bear 
 up against them, and obtain an influence over 
 William, which, when you have got it, I know you 
 will use well."
 
 156 NORTKWODE PRIOET. 
 
 *'I will try, May," said Dora, with more resolu- 
 tion. " I know I am weak and often give way 
 when I should not. And I think sometimes that 
 "William looks upon me more as a child than a 
 wife, and, while that is the case, I shall never have 
 any influence over him." 
 
 " And you will try to prove that you are no 
 child," observed Mabel. " He will soon look upon 
 you in a different light, and this is not the light in 
 which a husband should look upon a wife, Dora." 
 
 " No, I often feel that. Well, I will really try. 
 And now walk home with me, for I would rather 
 not go into the house ao^ain." 
 
 They parted at the Woodbank gate, and Dora's 
 last words w^ere, " I will try, May, but you must 
 expect to see me fail many times. Eemember, I 
 have not your strength of mind." 
 
 Delicate health and low spirits had been Dora's 
 great trials since her marriage. Naturally indo- 
 lent, she had never struggled against these weak- 
 nesses, and while seeing, with May, the necessity 
 for so doing, had not had energy to do so. 
 
 Now, she entered the house with more resolu- 
 tion, and a stronger wish to do right than usual. 
 Her first trial met her iu the doorway. 
 
 "If you please, ma'am," said Anne, the house- 
 maid, " nurse has just heard that her father is ill, 
 and she is in a sad way upstairs." 
 
 Dora's warm heart was moved directly. She 
 flew up stairs at her most rapid pace, and found 
 nurse rocking the baby to sleep, with a face be- 
 dewed in tears. 
 
 "I am so sorry to hear about your father, 
 nurse," she exclaimed, taking the baby from her, 
 a,nd walking up and down the room to hush his 
 cries. " Go home directly ; we will manage till 
 you come back again. Stay, there is no coach to 
 Kilminster again to-day. George shall drive you
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 157 
 
 in the pony carriage. Never mind baby, you had 
 better lose no time ; I can take care of him." 
 
 " You are very kind, ma'am, but I am afraid he 
 will tire you sadly till I come back." 
 
 " No, no, I shall not care. I would not keep 
 you from your father for worlds. Tou had better 
 be quick." 
 
 Thus far Dora only yielded to the impulse of a 
 kind -heart, but the new-made resolutions were 
 destined to be considerably tested before nurse's 
 return. 
 
 In the middle of dinner there was a long piteous 
 cry, followed by an indefinite number of sobs, 
 which seemed to proceed from the room above. 
 Dora hastened up stairs, and found Willy with a 
 large black bruise on his forehead, having fallen 
 from his rocking-horse. Kisses and sugar-plums 
 were of no avail in checking the sobs, and at length 
 he was carried off to be comforted by papa. A 
 ride round the room on papa's shoulder had the 
 desired effect, and a plate full of almonds and 
 raisins completed the cure. " The worst thing in 
 the world for him," his mamma observed, but the 
 sobs began again in full force, directly the plate 
 was removed, and at last William gave up trying 
 to make him happy without them, and removing 
 half, consoled himself with the reflection that 
 " there was no help for it." 
 
 " AVhere are you going, Dora ?" he asked, a mo- 
 ment afterwards. 
 
 " To the nursery to put baby to bed. It is 
 Anne's tea time." 
 
 Baby was fretful and would not sleep, but, after 
 walking up and down the room with him in her 
 arms for more than half an hour, Dora found that 
 he had fallen into a light doze, and gently de- 
 posited him in his cot. Willy was sent for, and 
 came riding up on his papa's shoulder, all smiles
 
 158 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 and good-temper ; but no sooner had William left 
 the room, than he set up a long, loud cry, in which 
 he was immediately joined by the baby. 
 
 Dora felt almost distracted. She gave Willy 
 over to Anne, took the baby again in her arms, 
 and paced the room again for another half hour. 
 At last the nursery was quiet once more, and 
 she was at liberty to go down stairs, feeling that 
 she never knew before the comfort nurse was to 
 her. 
 
 A headache was the result the ensuing day, and 
 as she had to sit with the children all the morning, 
 there seemed little prospect of getting rid of it. 
 Willy was cutting a tooth which made him fretful, 
 and baby could not be rocked to sleep in any arms 
 but those of his nurse. 
 
 At two o'clock Mabel came, and then things 
 grew brighter, as they always did in her presence. 
 The sash windows in the drawing-room were 
 opened, and Willy allowed to play on the grass in 
 the sunshine. Dora was forced to lie on the sofa, 
 and a strong cup of tea was made as a remedy for 
 the headache. Baby, in the quiet that followed 
 Willy's absence, fell asleep, and was placed in his 
 berceaunette, and May silently watched all three, 
 until Willy's return, in about an hour, woke his 
 little brother, and began the noise and disturbance 
 all over again. Dora's head was, however, a little 
 better, and she pronounced herself equal to the 
 management of them. 
 
 To the untold relief of all parties, Willy was 
 carried off to Northwode Priory by his aunt, where 
 he was spoilt by his grandpapa, and his uncle and 
 aunts, to his heart's content, and taken to pay his 
 mamma a long daily visit, until the return of nurse, 
 at the end of a week, put an end to the nursery 
 troubles. Many a time during that week, Dora 
 had occasion to remind herself of Mabel's exhorta-
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 159 
 
 tion, and many a time, when she felt faint-hearted 
 and weary, the motive for energy, which May had 
 suggested, urged her on with renewed courage to 
 fresh efforts ; and even if she should not succeed 
 in her object, of rousing William to energy, yet 
 she would have no cause to regret throwing aside 
 her own indolence.
 
 CHAPTEE XI. 
 
 ** 1st Lord. Royal cheer, I warrant you. 
 
 3rd Lord. Doubt not that, if money, and the season, 
 can yield it." 
 
 Timon of Athens. 
 
 The gates of the new lodge at Monckton Court 
 opened with a loud, pompous swing, as the Hes- 
 keths' carriage drove through on Tuesday evening. 
 Miss Hesketh sat in the back of the carriage, in 
 her stiff embroidered silk dress, and lace scarf, and 
 blonde cap with its quiet, matronly flowers. Mabel 
 was next her, looking very grave and uncomfort- 
 able, in an old black net dress, that had been 
 revived for the occasion, relieved by pink ribbons, 
 for she declared that a smarter one would place 
 her on a level with the rings and chains, and yielded 
 to the weakness that made her feel dignified and 
 superior, in her old, unbecoming attire. Mr. Hes- 
 keth was silent and reserved, and Dudley laughed 
 and talked for the whole party. 
 
 The door was opened by a footman in gaudy 
 livery, and May sprang out lest he should offer to 
 assist her. Two more stood in the wide hall, and 
 a dim vision of a butler was to be seen in the 
 distance. 
 
 They were ushered into the drawing-room, a 
 wide, lofty apartment, at the further end of which
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 161 
 
 stood Mr. Collier with Mr. and Miss Lushington. 
 His cordiality and expressions of pleasure on seeing 
 them at Moncktou Court were quite overpowering, 
 and May gladly sank into a seat by the side of 
 Miss Lushington. 
 
 The room was certainly very handsome; two 
 rooms had been thrown into one to make it, and in 
 spite of the want of an educated taste in the fur- 
 nishing and adornment of it, the effect was striking. 
 The best of everything that could be obtained for 
 money was to be found there. The stone-coloured 
 paper was almost covered with a gold pattern, and 
 Mabel counted no less than eight very large pier- 
 glasses in heavy gold frames, in different parts of 
 the room. The walls were hung all round with 
 engravings, but the beauty of the pictures was 
 almost absorbed in the magnificence of the frames, 
 and the effect was less good than if elegance and 
 simplicity had been studied, rather than grandeur 
 and solidity. The rich pile carpet, and large white 
 hearth-rug, next met Mabel's eye, and the end- 
 less variety of chairs and couches amused her, as she 
 had never seen so many different kinds before. The 
 curtains were of ruby coloured silk damask, and 
 the tables, covered with porcelain and papier mache, 
 made her say to herself, " Poor man ! how hard he 
 must have worked to collect so many pretty things 
 together in this short time !" It was with quite 
 a revulsion of feeling that she turned from ex- 
 amining the luxurious and costly display in the 
 room, to the owner of it. How self-satisfied he 
 looked, feeling sure that his visitors must be quite 
 overcome with the sight of such magnificence, and 
 at the evidence it held forth of boundless wealth at 
 command ! It seemed a mystery to Mabel how 
 her father could tolerate such a man. He was 
 naturally so over-particular, and had so little for- 
 bearance towards vulgar display, that she was sur- 
 
 M
 
 162 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 prised to see him on such sociable and even friendly 
 terms with Mr. Collier, whom she looked upon as 
 the essence of refined vulgarity ; yet, he had never 
 been heard to make a remark upon him, and was now 
 conversing with him, and bearing his familiarity as 
 patiently as if he had been talking with a true- 
 born gentleman. May could not help fancying 
 there was some mystery in this, yet what that 
 mystery was she could not divine. Mr. Hesketh 
 had certainly been acquainted with him before the 
 purchase of Monckton Court, but in what way that 
 could affect his present behaviour, it was hard to 
 say. 
 
 In the midst of these considerations "William and 
 Dora were announced, and May forgot her won- 
 derings about her father and their host, in her 
 pleasure at finding a seat for Dora on the sofa 
 by her side, and in talking to her the time passed 
 pleasantly enough until dinner was announced. 
 
 The dining-room bore the same marks of un- 
 sparing expense as the drawing-room, and it was 
 the same with the dinner. Dora amused herself 
 with counting the footmen, and May with counting 
 the courses. All the guests found the dinner more 
 or less wearisome, and conversation flagged more 
 than once. The Heskeths knew the Lushingtons 
 well, but in the presence of Mr. Collier it was im- 
 possible to keep the conversation upon the topics 
 which would be most interesting to them ; and, 
 whereas, if they had been dining alone they would 
 have been sociable and unrestrained, all felt that 
 Mr. Collier could not be admitted to the same 
 familiar footing. 
 
 After the dessert had been placed on the table, 
 and the footmen had retired, Mr. Collier's powers 
 of conversation broke forth. He addressed himself 
 to Mr. Hesketh, but all his guests were intended 
 to benefit by what they heard.
 
 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 163 
 
 " Splendid day it has been !" he observed. . " You 
 have been out, of course. I drove into Kilminster 
 this morning, and have only. just returned; at 
 least, I mean about an hour or so before you 
 arrived." 
 
 " It has indeed been a beautiful day," replied 
 Mr. Hesketh. " I spend the greater part of every 
 day in the open air, and in vreather like this it 
 is truly enjoyable. You must have had a delight- 
 ful drive into Kilminster." 
 
 " Very, and the road in itself is very fine, I mean 
 the view. The fact is," he continued, with grave 
 pomposity, " I went in upon business. You may 
 have heard that I am coming forward as a public 
 man ; I have been appointed a magistrate for the 
 county," and Mr. Collier coughed, and smoothed 
 his chin, and endeavoured to conceal the intense 
 satisfaction, that was visible to every one present. 
 
 "Indeed!" exclaimed Mr. Hesketh. "No, I 
 had not heard of it. Allow me to congratulate 
 you." 
 
 " Thank you ; no doubt it is a very important 
 position. It puts one, if I may so say, on an 
 equality with the first men in the county. It 
 forces one to give up all thoughts of a retired life," 
 he added, with a melancholy air, that made some of 
 the company smile ; " but, I suppose, when a man 
 buys an estate like Monckton Court, he cannot 
 expect to be left in retirement." 
 
 "I hope you are well satisfied with your pur- 
 chase," observed Mr. Hesketh. 
 
 " Perfectly so ; it is an uncommonly fine place. 
 And there is great satisfaction in making such an 
 estate what it ought to be, after it has lain waste so 
 many years. I hope in a short time you will see 
 great alterations here. With my income," he ob- 
 served, with an air of humility that was trying to 
 his listeners, " with my income, Monckton Court
 
 164 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 will stand a chance of becoming, what it is fully 
 qualified to be, the first gentleman's seat in the 
 county ; 1 make no exception — the very first." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh looked annoyed, and tried to turn 
 the subject. " You find a great deal to be done, of 
 course." 
 
 '* Yes, an enormous deal, and I spare no expense. 
 The drawing-room, I think you will say, looks 
 well, and the best that Kilminster can do has been 
 done for the dining-room. My dining-room chairs, 
 sir, cost five guineas a-piece !" and Mr. Collier 
 looked round the table, to enjoy the expression of 
 awe and astonishment, which, he felt sure, such a 
 proof of his wealth must have raised on their faces. 
 
 But he was a little puzzled. Miss Hesketh, it 
 was true, looked lost in surprise, and Miss Lush- 
 ingtou was loudly proclaiming, that such generous 
 expenditure was delightful to contemplate in these 
 sordid times, when everyone kept their money to 
 themselves ; but next to Miss Lushington sat Wil- 
 liam lost in thought, and Mabel looking quietly 
 grave and polite, and Dora excessively amused. 
 Dudley's face was unreadable, for his father's eye 
 was upon him, and Mr. Hesketh's own face was 
 rigid. 
 
 What a relief it was when Miss Hesketh made 
 the signal to move ! The drawing-room was plea- 
 sant enough when they had it all to themselves, 
 and May thoroughly enjoyed the repose of resting 
 on the soft damask couch, at liberty to be silent, 
 and annoyed by nothing but Miss Lushington's 
 cool, satirical remarks, as she strolled round the 
 room, examining and observing upon everything in 
 a manner widely different from that which she had 
 assumed in Mr. Collier's presence. The books, 
 which bore strong evidence of having been bought 
 by the yard ; the pictures hung indiscriminately, 
 without reference to their subjects — Madonnas,
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 165 
 
 dog's heads, fancy portraits of Moore's and Byron's 
 beauties, and even sacred subjects, grouped toge- 
 ther in an incongruous manner, without considera- 
 tion for anything but effect — all came under the 
 severe ordeal of Miss Lushington's unsparing criti- 
 cism. She seemed to have forgotten that the 
 hospitality of their owner had brought her there 
 that night, and regarded everything as fair game 
 for ridicule, that displayed his lack of good taste and 
 education. Even Miss Hesketh was struck by it 
 at last, and observed in her mild tone, " No doubt 
 he is open to criticism ; but, poor man, he means 
 kindly, and his faults are only his misfortunes, for 
 he has never been taught better." 
 
 " Yes, but it is singularly ridiculous to see such 
 bad taste combined with his wealth and love of dis- 
 play," replied Miss Lushington. ** Mabel, you 
 must come and look at his collection of poets ; he 
 can evidently know little beyond the covers, to 
 class them in this way." 
 
 " I cannot laugh at him in his own house," re- 
 plied May. 
 
 " I don't see why people are not to be laughed 
 at, if they are ridiculous," replied Miss Lushing- 
 ton. " Well, I suppose I must wait till Dudley 
 comes." 
 
 Mabel was vexed that Dudley should be tempted 
 to do what was especially displeasing to Mr. Hes- 
 keth at any time, and particularly in Mr. Collier's 
 house ; but thinking remonstrance would not come 
 well from her, she said no more. 
 
 Little did Mabel dream of the annoyance that 
 was in store for her ere the evening was over. 
 When the gentlemen entered the room, Mr. Col- 
 lier's eyes travelled deliberately round his company, 
 until they discovered the corner in which May was 
 seated, and then, without hesitation or ceremony, 
 be placed himself by her side, and paid her the
 
 166 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 most open and unrefined devotion that lay within 
 his power. Mabel's state of mind is hardly to be 
 described, but remembering she was his guest, she 
 controlled her intense annoyance, and endeavoured 
 by the most solemn dignity to show him how un- 
 welcome his attentions were. But the person she 
 had to deal with was not one to take hints. He 
 accounted for her reserve by attributing it to " a 
 little maiden bashfulness — very artless and pretty 
 — -but soon to be overcome by additional attention 
 on his part." So he proceeded to draw May out, and 
 conquer her reluctance by the impressiveness of his 
 manner, while Mr. Hesketh seemed to be deep in 
 conversation with Mr. Lushington on the opposite 
 side of the room, but was silently writhing under 
 the coarse, unveiled attention, which his little pure, 
 jealously-guarded May-flower was receiviug from 
 the man, whom of all others she disliked and de- 
 spised. Dudley was in convulsions of laughter, 
 bending over a volume of engravings, and Miss 
 Lushington was whispering malicious things in hia 
 ear, to Mr. Hesketh's unspeakable annoyance. 
 
 At last, Dora, who felt heartily for Mabel, made 
 a movement in her favour. She proposed that they 
 should have some music, and when Mr. Collier ac- 
 quiesced, thinking he should have Mabel more en- 
 tirely to himself when the piano was the centre of 
 attraction, she sent her husband across the room, 
 to lead her first to the piano, and gave him a hint 
 not to leave her side until she had finished. 
 
 Mr. Collier was disconcerted at this move, and 
 exclaimed, " Oh ! we cannot have our conversation 
 interrupted ! Miss Lushington will kindly favour 
 us. Miss Hesketh, indeed we cannot have our con- 
 versation broken in upon — can we ?'* 
 
 " I prefer music to conversation," said Mabel, 
 abruptly, clinging to her brother's arm, as if he 
 were her guardian angel. "When once at the piano,
 
 NORTHWODE PRIORT. 167 
 
 she was comparatively safe, and althoagh Mr. Col- 
 lier came, and leant over her in a way that was 
 sufficiently distressing, yet William was on the 
 other side, and there was no conversation. 
 
 Dora took her under her friendly protection when 
 she left the piano, making room for her between 
 Aunt Anne and herself, on the sofa. Miss Lush- 
 ington proceeded to sing, and as William took her 
 place by Dudley's side, Mr. Collier was fairly 
 caught, and was kept turning over the leaves for 
 her, until the Heskeths' carriage was announced. 
 
 " Have you enjoyed yourself. Miss May ?" was 
 Judith's salutation, as Mabel entered her bedroom, 
 with a weary, disconcerted expression on her 
 face. 
 
 " I never expected to enjoy myself, Judith," was 
 the reply, in dolorous accents, " but I never thought 
 it would be as bad as it has proved. Be as quick 
 as you can, and don't keep me waiting, for I am 
 tired out." 
 
 "No need for such hurry. Miss May," said 
 Judith, gruffly. " There — you have gone and torn 
 your black lace, just because you couldn't wait for 
 me to take off your bows ! When shall I make you 
 patient, I wonder ?" 
 
 " When you leave off preaching to me," said 
 May, smiling. "I wonder you are not tired, Ju- 
 dith, when you find what an incorrigible creature I 
 am." 
 
 *' Old servants' preaching goes for nothing," said 
 Judith, crossly. " If you had been a child of my 
 own, Miss May, I couldn't have taken more pains 
 with you than I have." 
 
 " Think yourself happy at not being blessed with 
 such a troublesome child," said May, laughing. 
 *' Certainly, Judith, whatever my faults may be, 
 you have done your best to cure them, and perhaps 
 I am more grateful than I seem."
 
 168 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 "I'm not one to look for gratitude," replied 
 Judith ; " if I did, maybe I should be disappointed. 
 I do what I think my duty, like it who may." 
 
 " I like it for one," observed Mabel. 
 
 " No, Miss May, you don't. Tou think me old 
 and ill-tempered, and so do many besides. But if 
 we thought only of what people liked, we should be 
 but bad folks. Bad people goes down best with 
 the world in these days." 
 
 '' Judith !" exclaimed May. " I will not let 
 you say such dreadful things ! I am sure bad 
 people never go down with me." 
 
 " So you say, Miss May, but you like smooth 
 tongues, and smiling faces, better than plain words 
 and grave looks. It isn't your fault, it's nature, I 
 suppose." 
 
 " It is nature makes me particularly sleepy to- 
 night ; so good-night, Judith, and to-morrow morn- 
 ing let me know what reasons you have for thinking 
 that bad people go down better with the world than 
 good." 
 
 Peverstone was situated seven miles from the 
 sea coast, and one day, when Mina was better than 
 usual, Dudley proposed that they should drive to a 
 watering place called Cheriton Bay, spend a long 
 day, and return in the evening. Mina had not 
 seen the sea for many years, and caught eagerly at 
 the proposal. Hugh was invited to join them, and 
 Mina and the two sisters were driven by Mr. Hes- 
 keth in the carriage, while Dudley and Hugh rode 
 by the side on horseback. 
 
 It was a bright, fresh day in September. There 
 was a high breeze and almost a cloudless sky, and 
 all the party were in high spirits. Mina had the 
 back seat of the carriage to herself, converted into 
 a temporary sofa, and was well enough to enjoy the 
 drive as much as any one, while even Frances was 
 sufficiently amiable to reply occasionally to her re-
 
 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 169 
 
 marks, in a tone that was not absolutely ill- 
 tempered. 
 
 Cheriton Bay was a pretty watering-place, the 
 high sloping ground, that fronted the sea, being 
 covered with villas and gardens, interspersed with 
 beech and elm trees. The sands were covered with 
 ladies and children, the former sitting near the 
 edge of the water, with a book or work in their 
 laps, and the latter picking up shells, or building 
 sand castles, and digging moats with small wooden 
 spades. The sea was as clear as crystal and covered 
 with pleasure-boats, which rode over the white 
 crested waves, with an easy, fearless motion, that 
 made those standing on shore long to be in 
 them. 
 
 The picnic dinner was to be spread on the sands, 
 in a retired part of the beach, and May felt that 
 bread and water on the Cheriton sands would be 
 infinitely more delicious, than the extravagant dis- 
 play of delicacies on Mr. Collier's diniug-table, and, 
 having recovered from the annoyance she had un- 
 dergone that day, she was proportionately disposed 
 to enjoy the present. Dudley's spirits were almost 
 wild, and he amused himself all dinner time with 
 giving Hugh an exaggerated account of Mr. Collier's 
 attentions to May, which were received in solemn 
 scorn, and concluded by declaring that the tempta- 
 tions of Monckton Court were by no means slight. 
 
 " Oh ! how I should like to be on the water !" 
 exclaimed Mina, as a little green pleasure-boat flew 
 swiftly past them, cutting through the water, and 
 leaving a line of white foam on its track. 
 
 " And so you shall !" said Dudley. " Why should 
 we not hire a boat and go out? There is such 
 a fresh breeze, it is the very weather for a sail." 
 
 " Do you think it is not too rough, Dudley ?" 
 asked Mabel, who was always the prudent one of 
 the party.
 
 170 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 " Eough ! Do you call this rough ? I should 
 like you to see some of the seas I have been out iu, 
 with William. Tou would laugh at a little swell 
 like this, if you had." 
 
 " But you must remember Mina," suggested 
 May. " She is not equal to very much, and those 
 boats seem to toss a good deal," 
 
 " I scarcely think it will be prudent, Dudley," 
 said his father. " We are all such ignorant sailors, 
 that I scarcely like to undertake such a respon- 
 sibility." 
 
 " I beg to state that I am by no means an igno- 
 rant sailor," said Dudley, with a self-satisfied air. 
 " I have been out often with William, and know a 
 good deal about it, and you may safely trust your- 
 selves with me. Besides, we can have a man, if 
 you like." 
 
 " I certainly shall not venture out without one," 
 replied Mr. Hesketh. " I doubt whether it is a 
 prudent step for Miss Chase to take, in any 
 weather." 
 
 But Mina declared she was equal to it. She saw 
 that Dudley's heart was set upon going, and was 
 too unselfish to consider herself in any way. Mr. 
 Hesketh raised no further objection, and Dudley 
 started off in quest of a boat. 
 
 In the course of ten minutes he returned in the 
 boat itself, with an old sailor in a blue serge dress 
 and red cap, whom he introduced as " Tom Hutch- 
 ings," who pronounced the sea as smooth as a 
 mill-pond, and, deriving a little assurance from this 
 exaggerated phrase, Mr. Hesketh lifted Mina into 
 the seat, which May had prepared for her with 
 shawls and cloaks. 
 
 The mill-pond was certainly an agitated one, but 
 Dudley turned the toss of the boat into ridicule, 
 and Frances observed that it was pleasanter than a 
 still, calm sea. Mr. Hesketh wished Tom Hutch-
 
 KOETHWODE PRIOBT. I7l 
 
 ings to take the helm, but Dudley vehemently pro- 
 tested that he knew quite as much about it as 
 any sailor, and constituted himself pilot without 
 opposition. 
 
 They sailed several times up and down near the 
 shore, and found it very enjoyable, when the first 
 feelings of nervousness had worn off, and then 
 Frances proposed that they should go further from 
 shore, and get a bird's-eyeviewof the town and sands. 
 It was even prettier in the distance than near, and 
 looked a perfect picture of sunshine and enjoyment. 
 There is always a peculiar reflection that must 
 strike every one at a watering-place, that the sole 
 aim and object of every person is health and amuse- 
 ment. The cares and responsibilities of life seem 
 thrown aside there for awhile, and all appear to be 
 idle and pleasure-seeking. Rides, drives, walks, 
 strolls on the clifis and beach, and luxurious hours 
 of idleness passed in reading a new book on the 
 sands by the water's edge, all are tried in turn, en- 
 joyed, put aside, and a new amusement taken up. 
 Everything but business and anxiety seems to be 
 thought of. When those who thus enjoy the re- 
 laxation from care, that is obtained more thoroughly 
 by the sea-side than any where else, are merely 
 bracing up their minds and energies for new exer- 
 tions on returning to the tasks and trials of life, 
 there can be no doubt that time so spent is profit- 
 able as well as enjoyable. 
 
 Dudley was by no means a skilful steersman, 
 and, even had he been so, his great heedlessness 
 would have rendered him a very unsafe pilot. 
 "While all was clear sailing he managed well enough, 
 and he took them further and further out to sea, 
 that their sails might catch all the breeze that was 
 to be had. 
 
 " This day month," said Hugh, " I shall be in 
 Oxford."
 
 172 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 " I wish Dudley was to be there too," observed 
 Mr. Hesketh. 
 
 " So does not Dudley," said his son, making 
 a long face at May. " Poor Hugh ! how he will be 
 grinding away at books and lectures, while I am 
 riding and fishing as happy as a lark ! I begin to 
 think Hugh will turn out a musty old book- 
 worm after all. He hasn't been out once with 
 his gun all this month, and last year he was mad 
 about it." 
 
 Hugh and May exchanged glances. ** Let those 
 laugh who win," observed Mr. Hesketh. " When 
 your names both appear in the Class List, you will 
 wish you had been a little less mad about shooting, 
 Dudley." 
 
 " I never expect to see my name in the Class List 
 at all," replied Dudley, with provoking nonchalance. 
 " I was born a dunce, and it is throwing money to 
 the winds to send me to College." 
 
 "At any rate it shall be no fault of your father's 
 if you remain a dunce, Dudley," said Mr. Hesketh. 
 " 1 would almost rather have you one, than see you 
 wasting good abilities." 
 
 Dudley did not quite like this speech, as it 
 roused uncomfortable feelings. He hastily changed 
 the subject. 
 
 " How long shall you be away, Hugh ?" 
 
 " Eather more than two months. I shall spend 
 Christmas at Peverstone, of course." 
 
 " It will be very lonely for Mrs. Grahame when 
 you are gone," said May. 
 
 "She is accustomed to live to herself," said 
 Frances. " I do not suppose she dislikes a solitary 
 
 " I should fancy she cared little about society," 
 said May ; "but then a son is different." 
 
 Frances, who was leaning over the side of the 
 boat, called to them all to look at the large, beauti-
 
 NOETHWODE PKIOET. 173 
 
 ful seaweeds, which grew at the bottom of the sea, 
 and which, iu the shallow water they were then 
 sailing over, could be seen distinctly. All, except 
 Mina, bent over, and watched them as they ap- 
 peared to float by in rapid succession, each more 
 beautiful than the last. Hugh, who was fond of 
 such subjects, exclaimed, as each well-known one 
 came in sight. The broad red leaf of the Deleseria, 
 waving to and fro with the swell of the waves, the 
 feathery clusters of the Ptilosa, and the green flags 
 of the TJlva, were recognised and admired in turn, 
 as they spread themselves over the clear white sand, 
 until, on their sailing ofi* again into deep water, 
 they were lost to sight. Hugh was anxious to re- 
 turn and see them all again, but Mr. Hesketh said 
 they were too near the rocks for his peace of mind, 
 and Dudley wished to get more breeze, so he turned 
 the vessel out to sea. 
 
 There was silence for some time, till May ex- 
 claimed, '* Oh ! what a beautiful little yacht ! Gro 
 nearer, Dudley, and let us look at it." 
 
 Dudley did as he was desired, and the little 
 yacht cut swiftly through the waves, her white sails 
 full of wind, and leaning very much to one side, 
 from the pace at which she was going. The sailor 
 informed them that it belonged to a gentleman 
 living in the neighbourhood of Cheriton, who 
 spent most of his time on the water. They 
 watched it in silence for some minutes, while it 
 seemed to be sailing from them, but suddenly it 
 tacked, changed its course, and came swiftly to- 
 wards them. 
 
 " Don't let her run into us, sir," observed the 
 sailor. 
 
 "No fear of that," replied Dudley. 
 
 But there seemed much more danger of such a 
 catastrophe than Dudley's tone would have implied, 
 for the yacht came bearing down upon them with
 
 174 NOETHWODE PKIOET. 
 
 incredible swiftness, and Dudley in his ignorance 
 or heedlessness, or thinking it beneath his dignity 
 to move too quickly out of the way, kept them in 
 the direct course of the yacht, until his father ex- 
 claimed, 
 
 "Dudley! where on earth are you steering? 
 How can you be so rash ?" 
 
 Frances screamed with terror, as she saw that 
 the yacht was close upon them, and that none of 
 those on deck seemed to perceive the danger the 
 little sailing vessel was in. May clasped her hands 
 silently, and Mina's cheek was blanched, while 
 Hutchings vainly endeavoured to make Dudley 
 comprehend his directions, and made a desperate 
 dash towards the stern of the boat ; but Dudley 
 was too utterly confused and bewildered to obey 
 the instructions, and, in his confusion, moved the 
 tiller in the wrong direction, turning the broad- 
 side of the boat immediately before .the bow of the 
 yacht. 
 
 May saw no more — there were screams and con- 
 fused cries of, '* She is on us ! we are lost !" a 
 crash and a violent shock, and an agonized cry of 
 " the gunwale is broken away ! the water is rushing 
 in ! we are sinking ! No ! no ! the yacht has 
 tacked, she will pick us up !" and with a reeling 
 brain she covered her face with her hands, and 
 lifted up her heart in prayer to Him, into Whose 
 Presence she, and those with her, might be hurried 
 in a few seconds. 
 
 They were fearful moments! Hutchings and 
 Mr. Hesketh, and Hugh baled the water out, as 
 fast as their arms could move. The yacht came 
 back, and they endeavoured to raise Mina into it. 
 The boat was broadside with the waves, and rolled 
 in such a way as to make Mabel's head turn giddy. 
 She stood up and clung to the mast, with the con- 
 vulsive grasp of one, who felt thought, sense, and
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 175 
 
 life all going. Everything swam before lier — she 
 could no longer distinguish the voices around her 
 — the boat seemed sinking — her brain reeling — her 
 grasp growing fainter and less firm — death and the 
 other world seemed to come nearer and more near. 
 Suddenly, a strong arm was passed round her 
 waist — her giddy head sank on a firm shoulder, and 
 a clear well-known voice whispered in her ear, 
 " May ! dear May ! while I have life you are safe 
 — bear up for a few minutes — you shall be saved, 
 or we will die together. Pray that GrOD will spare 
 us — your prayers are better than mine — He will 
 surely hear them !" She felt herself lifted in his 
 arms as if she had been a child, and a moment 
 afterwards she was lying almost insensible on the 
 deck of the yacht, and Hugh was saying that all 
 the danger was past, all were safe ; May's prayer 
 had been heard, and God, in His mercy, had 
 stretched forth His arm, and rescued them from a 
 watery grave. 
 
 All were safe, but it had been a narrow escape ; 
 another five minutes, or even less, and the boat must 
 have gone down with them. With every roll of 
 the waves the water had poured in over the gun- 
 wale, and before Hugh, with May in his arms, had 
 gained the deck of the yacht, the boat was fast 
 sinking. Dudley's vaunted courage and skill had 
 been of but little avail, and he was among the first 
 to ensure his safety by scrambling up the side of 
 the yacht. Mr. Hesketh had been the last to 
 leave the ill-fated little vessel, and it was with in- 
 describable thankfulness, that he looked round 
 upon the drooping, prostrate forms of those he 
 most valued upon earth, and knew that they had 
 escaped the peril, by which they had been sur- 
 rounded a few minutes before. 
 
 Perhaps May was the most overcome of all. 
 She lay on the deck with closed eyes, and a colour-
 
 176 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 less face. She had remained in the boat after her 
 sister and Mina were placed in safety, and the 
 agony of the moment, when death seemed closing 
 round her, and those she best loved, had paralysed 
 every nerve and energy to such an extent, that it 
 took some time to restore them. Mina, with her 
 grave stoicism and self-control, was perfectly col- 
 lected and calm, and seemed little shaken by what 
 she had gone through. Her danger had been of 
 shorter duration than any one's, for Mr. Hesketh, 
 before considering his own children, had seen that 
 the helpless form be had taken under his protection 
 should be placed in safety. 
 
 Mr. Osborne, the owner of the yacht, had used 
 every endeavour to repair the mischief of which 
 he had unintentionally been the cause. He was a 
 short, firm-set, gentlemanly man, apparently not 
 thirty years of age, with an honest, good-tempered 
 face, and a pleasant courteous manner. Everything 
 that his yacht could afford was placed at the dis- 
 posal of the ladies, even to the close six-foot-by-ten 
 cabin, to which May entreated so earnestly not to 
 be removed, that Hugh and Dudley constructed 
 two couches for herself and Mina upon deck, with 
 cloaks and cushions. Mr. Osborne recommended a 
 glass of wine as the best restorative, and, before 
 they reached the shore, the whole party were in a 
 great measure recovered, and could smile at Mr. 
 Osborne's attempts at hospitality, which the size 
 and circumstances of his vessel rendered rather 
 limited. 
 
 He was very anxious that they should drive to 
 his house, which stood about a quarter of a mile 
 from Cheriton, and rest and refresh themselves, 
 but all were anxious to go home, and Mr. Hesketh 
 returned his hospitality by a warm invitation to 
 Northwode Priory, which was readily accepted. It 
 was with some feelings of dread and hesitation that
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 177 
 
 they stepped from the yacht into the boat which 
 was to convey them to shore ; but the distance was 
 so short, and the presence of Mr. Osborne's two 
 strong, hale sailors so reassuring, that all was ac- 
 complished without May's nerves having been much 
 further shaken.
 
 CHAPTEE XII. 
 
 ** In guise of love, ambition lurks within." 
 
 Thoughts in Past Years. 
 
 The eventful visit to Cheriton Bay passed over 
 without leaving any serious results. Mabel's 
 spirits recovered their usual elasticity, and the 
 many remarks, half jest, half satire, that had been 
 passed upon Dudley's skill in seamanship, and 
 presence of mind when danger seemed impending, 
 were, to his great relief, beginning to wear them- 
 selves out. September had passed away too, and 
 October with its shortened evenings, and keen, 
 bracing mornings, had taken its place. The second 
 week saw Hugh's departure, and Peverstone seemed 
 to the Heskeths a good deal changed without him. 
 Mr. Chase appeared quite lost without his pupil, 
 and Mr. Hesketh, and Hugh himself, tried hard to 
 get another to fill his place. 
 
 Mina's spirits were better, although there was 
 no visible improvement in her health ; indeed, she 
 had given up looking for that. Her reserve with 
 May had entirely worn off, and many a long, in- 
 teresting conversation was held in Mina's room, 
 not without their good effect upon Mabel ; and a 
 month spent in studying Mina's firm, resolute will 
 and self-control, did much towards forming Mabel's 
 own character, and showed her how the worst trials
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 179 
 
 could be patiently endured, and sanctified for good, 
 by God's assistance. 
 
 Mr. Chase had resolved that his sister should 
 not return to London, and had vainly endeavoured 
 to plan some means, by which she might still con- 
 tinue in the country. Miss Hesketh, who had 
 become very much interested in Mina during her 
 visit, exerted herself in the same way, and with 
 better effect. She recollected having heard that a 
 maiden lady, who had once been a friend of hers, 
 had received into her house several ladies in dis- 
 tressed circumstances, to assist her in the manage- 
 ment of some orphan children, whom she had taken 
 under her charge. Mina, it was true, could be of 
 but little service in this way, but it occurred to 
 Miss Hesketh that, by the payment of a moderate 
 annual sum, her friend might be induced to give 
 Mina a comfortable home, and, in the kindness of 
 her heart, she wrote, and made the proposal. Miss 
 Clayton, whose sole object was to do all the good 
 that lay in her power, willingly consented, and 
 named a sum that came quite within the compass 
 of Mr. Chase's limited means. Bramshaw was a 
 quiet country town, in one of the midland counties, 
 and Mina was delighted at the prospect of going 
 there instead of returning to London. She could 
 have wished it had not been so far from Pever- 
 stone, for it was several hours' journey by railroad, 
 but she knew she could not h^ve everything, and 
 Mabel promised that she would come and see her 
 sometimes. 
 
 Mabel was hardly aware how much Mina, with 
 all her blunt sincerity, had attached herself to her, 
 until the time of parting drew near, and she began 
 to realize how greatly she should miss her occupa- 
 tion of waiting on her, and the many pleasant 
 hours of conversation to which this had led. 
 
 It wanted only a fortnight to the time of her
 
 180 NORTHWODE PEIOKY. 
 
 departure, when Mr. Hesketh observed one morn- 
 ing, that he wished to invite some friends to din- 
 ner the following week. In talking it over after- 
 wards, Aunt Anne discovered that they had not 
 given a dinner party for a long while, and were in 
 many people's debt, and as she delighted in such 
 arrangements, she cordially entered into the pro- 
 posal, and forthwith proceeded to issue the invita- 
 tions. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh wished that Mrs. Grahame and 
 Mr. Osborne should be asked, and Aunt Anne, 
 who was not fond of writing, begged Mabel to 
 walk to Lynchbrook, and deliver the invitation in 
 person. May liked the walk, but she dreaded Mrs. 
 Grrahame ; she endeavoured to persuade Frances to 
 accompany her, but on I^rances' refusing to do so, 
 she was forced to go alone. 
 
 It was far worse to go there when Hugh was 
 absent, than when he was home, and there was the 
 possibility of meeting him. Mrs. Grrahame seemed 
 to retire more completely into herself when left 
 alone, and Lynchbrook would have appeared almost 
 a fabulous place, were it not for the iron gates, and 
 the distant view of chimneys, to be seen from the 
 road. 
 
 Mabel raised the ponderous knocker, and almost 
 shrank into herself at the loud sound that it made 
 as it descended. She was shown into the still, 
 stately drawing-room, and was left while the ser- 
 vant went to call her mistress. Even in that pain- 
 fully neat room, without a chair out of place, and 
 with the Venetian blinds closed to exclude every 
 vestige of sunshine, there were traces of Hugh to 
 be discovered, and May hailed them with a feeling 
 of relief and companionship. She almost felt as if 
 their presence would be a protection during the 
 interview, which she was ashamed to confess to 
 herself how much she dreaded. She was half in-
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 181 
 
 clined to think that Mrs. Grrahame could have no 
 right to his inkstand, and the favourite books they 
 had so often talked over together, for Hugh seemed 
 to belong so little to his grave, stern mother ; then, 
 frightened at having indulged in such thoughts, she 
 contented herself with looking into one of them, 
 until the door opened. 
 
 It might have been the head of Medusa that 
 entered the room, instead of Mrs. Grahame, to 
 judge by the eflfect upon Mabel. All the bright, 
 gentle ease of her manner was gone, and she was 
 as stiff, constrained, and reserved, as Mrs. Gra- 
 hame herself. 
 
 Mrs. Grahame was formal and frigid to all peo- 
 ple, but to May Hesketh she was particularly so. 
 She regarded her with feelings of suspicion and 
 dislike, thinking she had a design upon Hugh, and 
 considering such a scheme the very acme of pre- 
 sumption. Poor Mabel ! how little she guessed 
 all that was working in Mrs. Grahame's mind. Of 
 all people in the world she was the last to have de- 
 signs upon any one, and could not imagine why 
 she was treated with such stern condescension. 
 It was intended she should perceive that the 
 distance which lay between the Grahames and 
 Heskeths was vast and insurmountable, and that 
 the notion of a Grahame connecting himself with 
 a Hesketh was simply ludicrous. It was true that 
 her reception did not carry precisely this idea to 
 Mabel's mind, but she sat in Mrs. Grahame's pre- 
 sence with a feeling of immeasurable inferiority, 
 and found it hard to believe, that she could lately 
 have been on terms of such close intimacy with 
 Hugh as had been the case. 
 
 She was not one to allow Mrs. Grahame to per- 
 ceive all that she was feeling, and with a calm, 
 business-like air, delivered her message, and awaited 
 the reply. The invitation was, of course, politely
 
 182 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 refused, as Mrs. Grahame said she wished to give 
 up visiting during her son's absence. 
 
 *' Have you heard from Hugh lately ?" asked 
 Mabel, feeling it a most natural, common-place 
 question, and wondering why it made her uncom- 
 fortable. 
 
 '* I heard yesterday," was the brief, uncourteous 
 reply. 
 
 " I hope he was very well," said May, feeling 
 still more uncomfortable, yet not knowing that 
 Hugh was forbidden ground between Mrs. Grra- 
 hame and herself. 
 
 *' Quite well." 
 
 ** And was he pleased with his rooms ?" 
 
 " I believe he was." 
 
 A pause ensued of some moments' duration. 
 Mrs. Grahame would not break it, lest by so doing 
 she should allow May to get on a more intimate 
 footing ; she sat silently with her cold grey eyes 
 fixed on Mabel's face. May tried in vain to find 
 something to talk about, and could think of no- 
 thing that did not more or less concern Hugh. 
 At last she hastily asked, " How is your garden, 
 Mrs. Grahame ? I suppose your flowers are almost 
 gone," 
 
 The garden was a great deal too closely con- 
 nected with Hugh to be an agreeable subject to 
 Mrs. Grahame, and she replied, stiffly, " There are 
 no flowers left, I believe ; but I have not been into 
 the garden once since ... I mean for more than 
 a week." 
 
 " Miss Chase leaves us in a fortnight," observed 
 May. 
 
 "I hope the change has done her good." 
 
 ** Not so much as we hoped. I am very happy 
 to say she is not going to return to Loudon, so 
 that she will not be leaving the country for good." 
 
 " Where is she going to reside ?"
 
 NORTHWODE PBIOET. 183 
 
 " At Bramshaw ; a very quiet town about three 
 hours' journey by railroad from Kilminster. An 
 old friend of Aunt Anne's has consented to receive 
 her into her house, and we hope it will be a very 
 happy home for her." 
 
 " Mr. Chase will miss her a good deal." 
 
 "I am afraid he will; but the time will soon 
 pass, and at Christmas he is going to spend a week 
 at Bramshaw, to be near her. Christmas Day 
 would be very lonely for her among strangers." 
 
 " Yes ; it is a day on which one likes to have 
 friends and relations around one." 
 
 " How glad you will be to have Hugh with you 
 again then," exclaimed Mabel, inadvertently. 
 
 " If he comes," was the icy reply. 
 
 " Oh ! is there any doubt of it ?" 
 
 "It is very uncertain," replied Mrs. G-rahame, 
 although the possibility of his not doing so had 
 never crossed her mind until that moment. 
 
 Mabel felt as if she had been guilty of a very 
 unmaidenly breach of decorum in asking such ques- 
 tions, and feeling unable to weigh her words any 
 longer, she hastily rose to take leave, casting 5ne 
 glance of sympathy at the inkstand and books, 
 which she was leaving in the frigid atmosphere, 
 from which she was herself so glad to escape. 
 
 "When she was gone, Mrs. Grahame seated her- 
 self in her own peculiar arm-chair, remarkable for 
 anything but the ease which it afforded, and with 
 her work-basket by her side, reconsidered Mabel's 
 visit. 
 
 Poor May ! How little she thought, during her 
 walk home, that every look, word, and expression, 
 of which she had been guilty while at Lynchbrook, 
 was being recalled and commented upon, and in- 
 vested with some subtle, deeply-concealed meaning, 
 tending to the capture of Hugh. Mrs. Grahame 
 considered herself a far-seeing, clear-sighted wo-
 
 184 NOETHWODE PBIORT. 
 
 man, and, having made up her mind that Mabel 
 Hesketh was bent on entrapping her son, nothing 
 would have dispossessed her of the idea. Now, 
 how this was to be frustrated, was the second con- 
 sideration. Had Hugh been indifferent, there 
 would have been but little difficulty in the case, 
 but Mrs. Grahame had most unwillingly been forced 
 to admit to herself that Hugh was by no means 
 indifferent to Mabel. She had sounded him repeat- 
 edly on the subject, and her observations were far 
 from satisfactory. It occurred to her once or twice, 
 that if Hugh's affections were engaged, the step 
 she was bent upon taking could bring nothing but 
 unhappiness upon the person she loved best in 
 the world ; but pride triumphed over affection, 
 and she murmured to herself, " No, my child. A 
 better fate awaits you than that. Your mother 
 knows what is for your happiness, my Hugh, and 
 she will take that happiness into her own keeping." 
 
 Not that Mrs. Grahame wished to keep her son 
 entirely to herself, lest other ties might weaken his 
 love for her and for his home. She wished him 
 eventually to marry, but he was to have a wife of 
 her own choosing, and one who would in every way 
 assist him in gaining the position she coveted for 
 him. The mental qualifications of this ideal being 
 for making him happy were overlooked, even her 
 personal attractions were but a secondary conside- 
 ration ; if she was but presentable and well-edu- 
 cated, mere beauty could be dispensed with. But 
 two things were absolutely necessary, — rank and 
 fortune, — without these Hugh must never think of 
 marrying, and Mabel Hesketh had neither. And 
 how she should contrive to eradicate such an un- 
 fortunate fancy from Hugh's mind, was now the 
 subject of Mrs. Grahame's meditations. 
 
 Until that morning the possibility of keeping 
 him from Peverstone during the Christmas vaca-
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 185 
 
 tion had never occurred to her, but while talking 
 with Mabel the wish had been so strong within 
 her, that she began to reflect whether it was in 
 her power to accomplish so desirable a scheme ; 
 she did not, however, see how it was possible. 
 Hugh's heart was set on returning to Peverstone 
 at Christmas ; and his last remark on leaving had 
 been, " Christmas will soon be here, and then I 
 shall come home again." In addition to this, she 
 knew not where to send him, if his own inclina- 
 tions could be overcome, for she had few friends, 
 none indeed whom she would like Hugh to visit. 
 The Christmas vacation must be endured, and one 
 month could do but little further harm, after the 
 many passed in close intimacy with the Heskeths. 
 Before Easter there would be time to make other 
 arrangements, and if Hugh then devoted himself 
 to his reading as much as he had done lately, there 
 would be but little superfluous time to be wasted at 
 Northwode Priory. 
 
 The feejings with which she regarded Mabel 
 were peculiar to her suspicious, strongly biassed 
 nature. An indifferent observer would have said, 
 it was impossible to find anything to dislike in 
 May Hesketh. But Mrs. Grahame was a proof 
 of the contrary. She regarded even the modest 
 blue eyes, that always fell beneath her cold glance, 
 the sweetly formed mouth, and clear, delicate com- 
 plexion, with feelings of the utmost aversion, for in 
 them she only saw so many snares, into which her 
 Hugh was likely to fall. The slight, graceful figure 
 and quiet dress, and the bright golden hair, were 
 observed with annoyance, for all had been praised 
 in her hearing by Hugh himself, and while listen- 
 ing to the subdued tones of May's peculiarly sweet 
 voice, she occupied herself in imagining the effect 
 it had on her son, until her own became harsh and 
 discordant, as though she found a pleasure in making
 
 186 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 herself as different from Mabel, as nature would 
 permit. 
 
 With regard to Hugh, Mabel's feelings were 
 simply those of a sister. She viewed him in every 
 respect in the same light as Dudley, except so far 
 as one might be more worthy of esteem and affection 
 than the other. She took the same interest in 
 their plans, and was equally the confidante of both, 
 though, unconsciously, her respect for Hugh, and 
 her reliance on his judgment, had latterly far ex- 
 ceeded what she felt for Dudley on those points. 
 Hugh's principles were higher and more fully de- 
 veloped, and his energy and self-control had left 
 Dudley far in the rear, and while she felt confidence 
 and comfort in the one, she was tormented with 
 anxiety and fear for the other. A twelvemonth 
 ago, their position had been almost the same, but 
 since then how much had it altered ! While Dud- 
 ley was slothful, inert, wasteful of time and energies, 
 and as fond of pleasure-hunting as ever, Hugh had 
 roused himself, improved his time and opportunities, 
 sacrificed self-enjoyment at the shrine of duty, and 
 was leading an earnest, practical life, which would 
 tend greatly to the formation of his character, as 
 Mabel hoped and believed. Though full of affec- 
 tion for Dudley, it was impossible for her not to 
 feel that something was wanting in his character, 
 and to long and pray for the time when she might 
 rest securely on his judgment, and feel certain 
 that, as far as all higher points were concerned, he 
 was, humanly speaking, safe. How could she feel 
 that now ? Were indolence and self-indulgence 
 good preparations for following in the narrow, 
 thorny path that leads to life eternal ? Yet he was 
 impervious to all entreaty and remonstrance. A 
 laughing answer was the only reply to a serious ap- 
 peal to his better judgment, and Mr. Hesketh's 
 mild authority was without influence, and was met
 
 FOETHWODE PRIOET. 187 
 
 with, " I was born to be a dunce, and it is only- 
 throwing money away to send me to college. Why 
 will every one trouble themselves about me ? — if I 
 am idle t shall only suffer for it myself." 
 
 It seemed indeed hopeless, and when William*s 
 indolence was brought forward and commented 
 upon by Prances, May could read the look of suffer- 
 ing in her father's face, and fully enter into his ex- 
 clamation, " If I had only been stiffer with those 
 boys when they were young !" Even now a father*s 
 authority might have compelled Dudley to exer- 
 tion, but it was the Hesketh failing — that lamen- 
 table inertness that allowed things to take their 
 own course, when a firm hand might have set all 
 right. The sons inherited it from Mr. Hesketh, 
 and he, while deploring it in them, was blind to it 
 in his own case. 
 
 The influence of a younger sister over Dudley 
 was of course limited, although he respected May 
 almost more than any of his immediate relations, 
 and felt grieved and angry with himself when he 
 saw her vexed and disappointed at his indolence. 
 But this was not a sufficient impulse to rouse him 
 to exertion ; and Mabel could only mourn in silence, 
 and wish that their mother was there to set all 
 right with her gentle authority, and awaken Dudley 
 to a sense of the sinfulness of thus wasting the best 
 years of his life. 
 
 Half an hour before the company were expected, 
 on the day of the dinner party. May, ready dressed, 
 knocked at the door of Prances' room. Prances 
 was almost ready, standing in front of the glass, 
 while a servant was fastening a wreath of flowers 
 in her hair. 
 
 " Oh ! that will never do, Grace," exclaimed 
 Mabel, springing forward. " Prances, dear, may I 
 be your lady's maid ? I think Grace is wanted 
 downstairs."
 
 188 K-ORTHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 Prances gave a gracious consent, and Grrace left 
 the room. They formed a pretty picture. There 
 was no light in the room beyond the calm twilight 
 that stole through the small gothic window, and 
 fell on the two figures that stood within. Frances, 
 in a dark blue dress, that suited well with her 
 height and black hair, sat in front of the glass, while 
 May's slender figure bent over her, as she arranged 
 the white convolvulus in her sister's hair. She 
 was in white herself, for Mr. Hesketh liked hia 
 Maybell best in that dress, and some real flowers 
 were fastened in her hair. They were very little 
 like sisters ; the hair and complexion being utterly 
 dissimilar, but the contrast was, notwithstanding, 
 extremely pretty. 
 
 " You look very nice," said May, at length. " I 
 scarcely thought the blue poplin would suit you so 
 well, but the white convolvulus gives just the rehef 
 it required." 
 
 " A home dinner-party is an uninteresting thing," 
 said Frances ; " especially in a small place where 
 the same people must meet continually." 
 
 *'But to-day there will be papa's two friends, 
 and Mr. Osborne," replied May. " Mr. Chase, 
 too, he has never dined here before, I think." 
 
 "I hope he will commit no fatal blunders," ob- 
 served Frances. " Try to be in the hall when he 
 arrives, Mabel, my dear, and see that he doesn't 
 bring his umbrella into the drawing-room." 
 
 " I shall take him under my protection," said 
 May. " I hope you have arranged for him to take 
 me in to dinner, Frances." 
 
 "I rather think he has Geraldine Egerton," re- 
 plied Frances. " But you can change if you 
 like." 
 
 "Oh! he would never get on with Geraldine," 
 said May. " Never were two beings more un- 
 suited. Mr. Osborne had better take her."
 
 NOETHWODE PRIORS'. 189 
 
 " Thank you, my dear, but Mr. Osborne I have 
 reserved for myself. I was victimised last time, so 
 I felt myself justified in securing an amusing neigh- 
 bour to-day." 
 
 "There is 'fun' written in Mr. Osborne's eyes," 
 remarked May. " Miss Lushington will never rest 
 until she has made his acquaintance." 
 
 " Then for once she will not succeed. I shall 
 make a point of not introducing her. With Dudley 
 to practise her enchantments on this evening, and 
 Mr. Collier in reserve, I think Mr. Osborne may 
 be spared." 
 
 In the drawing-room they found Mina on the 
 sofa, looking her very best, owing to May's having 
 superintended her toilet. She was certainly a 
 different looking person from the care-worn, weary 
 one that had first set foot in Northwode Priory 
 some weeks before. Her cheeks were still pale, 
 for even country air and May's nursing could not 
 bring back to them the hue of health, but the fair 
 hair was prettily arranged, and in place of the se- 
 vere expression, that had been so painfully striking 
 at first, there was a smile on her face, and a gentle- 
 ness in the grey eye, as it rested on May's sweet 
 features. Her black silk dress was relieved only 
 by a bunch of hot-house flowers, for Mina had a 
 peculiar feeling that laces and coloured ribbons 
 were unfitted for one in her state of health. She 
 was to remain in the drawing-room during dinner, 
 as she could not be prevailed upon to dine with the 
 company, and a new periodical lay by her side, to 
 prevent her from feeling dull. 
 
 It was an infinite relief to May when she found 
 herself in the dining-room, with Mr. Chase safe by 
 her side. Although in one of his most absent 
 moods, he got through the dinner with very few 
 blunders, his worst error having been that of asking 
 a lady opposite to take wine, and while filling his
 
 190 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 glass forgetting that he had done so, and drinking it 
 quietly off while the young lady waited in vain for 
 his bow, with her glass in her hand, to May's in- 
 finite discomfiture^ 
 
 ** I hope you did not catch cold the last time 
 I had the pleasure of seeing you, Mr. Chase," said 
 Miss Lushington, when the dessert was placed on 
 the table. 
 
 *' Let me see — ," meditated Mr. Chase, " the 
 last time was — really, I can't quite remember." 
 
 " Have you forgotten already ? Well, I must 
 help you a little. Do you not remember my com- 
 ing suddenly upon you on the Western Beacon, 
 about three weeks ago ? You were behind a furze 
 bush, and I screamed the moment I saw you." 
 
 The scream appeared more forcibly imprinted on 
 Mr. Chase's memory than the meeting itself, for 
 he said, 
 
 "Ah! yes, I remember somebody screaming, 
 and now I think I recollect that it was you. By 
 the by, I couldn't tell why you screamed ; I 
 thought of it once or twice that evening, and I 
 couldn't make it out at all." 
 
 " Oh ! I screamed because it was a lonely part 
 of the common, and you know you might have 
 been a robber or a highwayman. I always con- 
 sider it safest to scream." 
 
 " Well, but suppose I had been concealed there 
 for the purpose of robbing you, what good could 
 your screaming have done ?" 
 
 "Why, it might have brought people to the 
 rescue, or, even if there were none within hearing, 
 it would have shown you that I was not one to be 
 trifled with." 
 
 Mr. Chase looked thoughtful, and Miss Lushing- 
 ton continued, " I have been anxious to know how 
 you have progressed in your studies since that day. 
 Mabel, would you believe that I found Mr. Chase
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 191 
 
 intent in studying a book of arithmetic, and doing 
 elaborate sums on the back of a letter in pencil." 
 
 " Is it impertinent to ask what you were doing 
 it for, Mr. Chase ?" asked Mabel. 
 
 " JSTot at all," was the reply. " The time was, 
 some years ago, when I knew arithmetic v^ry well, 
 but, my studies not having lain in that direction 
 latterly, I was considerably posed a short time ago, 
 when our parish schoolmaster requested me to set 
 a sum in vulgar fractions, to test the capability of 
 the head boy." 
 
 "You said, of course," observed Mr. Osborne, 
 from the opposite side of the table, " that a press- 
 ing engagement prevented your doing so at that 
 particular time, but you should have great pleasure 
 at your earliest leisure . . . ." 
 
 " No," said Mr. Chase, deliberately. " If I had 
 really had an engagement, I might have done so, 
 but I couldn't think of any." 
 
 " What did you do, then ?" asked Miss Egerton, 
 a pretty young lady, seated by Mr. Osborne's side. 
 
 " I said the first thing that came into my head, 
 simply that I had forgotten too much of my arith- 
 metic to do as I was asked, but that I would gladly 
 bring him one the next time I came." 
 
 "Much the best way," said Mr. Osborne. "He 
 would only have suspected you, if you had framed 
 any excuse." 
 
 " And in the mean time you rubbed up your 
 arithmetic," said Miss Egerton. 
 
 " Yes, Miss Lushington discovered me in the 
 act." 
 
 To Mabel's infinite surprise, Frances seemed to 
 be enjoying herself in a way, that was very un- 
 usual for her at a dinner party. She was seated 
 by the side of Mr. Osborne, and all her cold sar- 
 casm seemed to have left her, and she was as smil- 
 ing, and good-humoured, as she was generally
 
 192 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 frigid, and repelling. It was happiness enough to 
 May to watch her, so seldom had her countenance 
 appeared so little overcast. Mr. Osborne was a 
 pleasant companion, frank and sailor-like, with a 
 face not handsome, but good-tempered, little grey 
 eyes, sparkling with fun, and a quantity of close 
 auburn curls. There was not the refinement and 
 polish of Hugh's manners and conversation, but 
 the character and appearance were so widely dif- 
 ferent, that they were scarcely missed. Trances' 
 dignity could not withstand the blunt sociability 
 of his conversation, and long before the second 
 course had commenced, she was laughing and talk- 
 ing with him in his own strain. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh was also looking cheerful. May 
 was quite strutjk with the absence of care she ob- 
 served on his countenance, and it occurred to her 
 how very much more thoughtful and anxious he had 
 become within the last twelvemonth, than before, 
 and she tried in vain to account for it. 
 
 " You have had an acquisition to your Peverstone 
 society lately, Mr. Hesketh," said Mr. Osborne. 
 " I have met Collier several times, and he seems a 
 good sort of fellow." 
 
 May's eyes were fixed on her father. "Why 
 should he dislike hearing even Mr. Collier's name 
 mentioned, when he was so pointedly friendly and 
 polite to him ? That the name gave rise to an un- 
 easiness in his mind, could not be doubted, for his 
 reply was peculiarly constrained. 
 
 " Yes, he is exceedingly amiable and hospitable. 
 We dined with him a short time ago, and he cer- 
 tainly keeps a most generous table." 
 
 " He can well afford it," said Mr. Osborne. 
 " His wealth is almost incredible, I am told." 
 
 " How did he make it ?" asked Dudley. 
 
 " I scarcely know, but he is a great speculator, 
 and always seems to have luck on his side. I have
 
 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 193 
 
 heard that he is not invariably as amiable as he 
 appears, and he is well known to be as cunning as 
 an old Jew." 
 
 Mabel smiled at the want of caution Mr. Os- 
 borne displayed, and would have been simply 
 amused at it, had not the returning look of care on 
 her father's brow distressed her. 
 
 "In what way is he cunning ?" asked Frances. 
 
 " For one thing, he is fond of lending money at 
 an enormous rate of interest, and, in more than 
 one case, I have known him come down unex- 
 pectedly on the unfortunate debtor, and reduce 
 him to absolute poverty by the severity of his 
 measures." 
 
 " What a scoundrel !" muttered Dudley. 
 
 May stole one timid glance at her father, whose 
 brow was knit, while his firmly compressed lips be- 
 tokened that he listened with no pleasurable sen- 
 sations. 
 
 " Then he is no better than a rogue," said 
 Frances. 
 
 " I don't know whether you can absolutely call 
 him that," said Mr. Osborne. "He knows better 
 than to be guilty of an illegal act, and the folly 
 lies in people placing themselves in such a man's 
 power." 
 
 " The less said in public on such matters the 
 better," observed Mr. Hesketh, hastily. " Mr. 
 Osborne, may I have the pleasure of a glass of 
 wine with you ?" 
 
 The hint was taken and the subject dropped. 
 Soon afterwards the ladies retired, and May went 
 to her own room to arrange a disorderly ringlet. 
 She was followed by Miss Egerton. 
 
 " Dear Mabel ! what an age since we last met." 
 
 The Egertons lived about seven miles from Paver- 
 stone, and were old friends of the Heskeths, al- 
 though but a limited intercourse was kept up be- 
 o
 
 194 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 tween them, owing to the distance. May returned 
 the kiss which accompanied the words, and replied, 
 " I am afraid you will say we are to blame, G-eral- 
 dine ; but, since Miss Chase has been with us, we 
 have given up a great deal of our time to her, and 
 our drives have been shortened, in order that she 
 may accompany us." 
 
 " I have often wished for you this summer," said 
 G-eraldine. ""We must contrive to meet oftener, 
 Mabel. As a good beginning, we purpose carrying 
 Dudley back with us this evening. Papa asked him 
 just now, and he is quite willing." _ 
 
 " No doubt he is willing," said May, with a 
 laugh. " Dudley and yourself were always old 
 friends, and he will enjoy it very much, I know." 
 
 " And can't you come with him, Mabel ? Mam- 
 ma would be so pleased to have you, and I would 
 give you half my room. Mary and Louisa are at 
 home now, and you have not seen them since they 
 left school." 
 
 "Ah! Geraldine!" said May, playfully, "you 
 little know what an important person I am, if you 
 imagine I can be so easily spared. A thousand 
 thanks for wishing to have me, but it is quite 
 impossible for me to leave home." 
 
 " But Frances can take your place." 
 
 " No, indeed she cannot ; and in addition to this, 
 Judith would never give her consent to my leaving 
 home at this time of the year, when she could not 
 watch over colds, and coughs, and damp feet." 
 
 " Judith is still ' lord of all,' then." 
 
 " What a question ! As if she would ever be 
 anything else ! She has a firm conviction, that the 
 moment she loses sight of me, I shall do something 
 imprudent, and fall into a decline. Poor Judith ! 
 She is a sad tyrant !" 
 
 " How can you bear it ?" 
 
 " Ah ! Geraldine ! It is too pleasant to feel that
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 195 
 
 a person loves you with all their heart, to mind 
 a few little annoyances." 
 
 " But it is such a strange way of showing love." 
 
 " Not so strange as you would think. She is the 
 only person in the house who looks after me, and 
 prudence is not one of my cardinal virtues." 
 
 " Then I must give up the hope of having you, 
 but it will be something to have Dudley, and when 
 Miss Chase is gone, you must drive over." 
 
 "And now come down and make Miss Chase's 
 acquaintance. E-emember, you must not judge by 
 the outside, for she is very reserved, and requires 
 to be well known to be appreciated." 
 
 Geraldine Egerton was the playmate of Mabel's 
 childhood, rather than the chosen companion of 
 after years. She was exceedingly pretty, and sweet- 
 tempered, but too volatile, and fond of society, to 
 come up to May's ideal of a ' friend.' Mabel had 
 more sympathy with Mina, in spite of her unpre- 
 possessing manner, and unattractive exterior. In 
 one there was truth, earnestness, and a high serious 
 view of life, a character to look up to and lean upon, 
 and a self-control to admire and imitate — in the 
 other there was little beyond a pretty, laughing, 
 good-tempered girl. G-eraldine was highly accom- 
 plished, and her manners were finished and lady- 
 like in the extreme, but this was all, and May 
 looked for more than this in a friend. She played 
 exquisitely, and remained good-humouredly at the 
 piano as long as her listeners wished, and she 
 always made a point of compassionating the most 
 neglected individual in the room, and Mr. Chase 
 being that person, on the evening in question, she 
 seated herself by his side and forced him to talk, 
 and, incongruous as their characters were, she 
 called him forth in a way that won for her May's 
 warmest gratitude. 
 
 Mina had not been in society for many years,
 
 196 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 and the evening brought back recollections, that 
 had almost been forgotten. Dudley divided his 
 attentions between her and Geraldine, and as 
 Dora sat by her sofa, she felt perfectly at home. 
 
 Colonel Egerton and his daughter left early, on 
 account of their long drive home, and Dudley 
 accompanied them. Mabel followed Frances to 
 her room, but was quickly dismissed with, " It has 
 been a very pleasant evening, but I am too tired to 
 talk of it to-night. Good night, May ; by the 
 way, what excellent friends Geraldine and Dudley 
 are !" 
 
 " I think they always were," said Mabel thought- 
 fully. 
 
 " Perhaps so, some years ago ; but lately he has 
 seen very little of her, and to-night seems to have 
 revived all his old admiration." 
 
 " She is prettier than ever" — 
 
 " Very pretty, certainly, and I think she likes 
 Dudley as well as he likes her." 
 
 " If Dudley were five-and-twenty it might come 
 to something," said Mabel, carelessly ; " as it is, I 
 am glad he is safe, for she is not the wife for him." 
 
 " Too gay," observed Frances, " but still I like 
 her, and she is as sensible as Dora." 
 
 " No, no, Frances — she has not Dora's right 
 feelings and love of home. Besides, if William 
 wants energy and decision in a wife, Dudley does 
 so infinitely more." 
 
 " Yes, and papa wants no more married sons to 
 have the pleasure of supporting. Good night, 
 May ; I am very tired."
 
 CHAPTEE XIII. 
 
 " I know not, if that day of love 
 Will all be lost, or e'er repaid ; 
 Or if the prayer was heard above, 
 
 Which kneeling down at night I made ; 
 That that dear friend, and I might meet 
 Hereafter at our Saviour's feet." 
 
 Sacred Thoughts in Verse, 
 
 Frances' fit of amiability passed away with the 
 dinner-party, and Mabel felt much grieved that 
 Mina's last days should be rendered uncomfortable 
 by the ill-humour that succeeded it. 
 
 To avoid bringing them into collision, she had 
 Mina's sofa wheeled out on the lawn, the last day 
 of her visit, carefully protecting her from cold by 
 shawls, which the October morning made desirable, 
 in spite of the bright sunshine. Mabel was read- 
 ing to her, but after some time she laid down the 
 book. 
 
 "Tou are tired. May," said Mina, gently. 
 
 " Not tired, but I cannot spend our last morning 
 in reading," replied Mabel. "You don't know 
 how I shall miss you, Mina." 
 
 An expression of pleasure stole over Mina's face, 
 and she took May's hand between hers. 
 
 " It makes me very happy to think you will miss 
 me," she said, " but I fear it is only the trouble I 
 give you that you will miss."
 
 198 NOETHWODE PKIOET. 
 
 "How cau you say so?" asked Mabel. "You 
 have done me a great deal of good." 
 
 " I never thought I could do any one good," said 
 Mina, with a sigh. " Will you tell me in what 
 way ?" 
 
 " I think I have learned how to face trouble, since 
 you have been with us," replied Mabel. " I have 
 learned, too, to take your view of life, and accus- 
 tom myself to consider how present circumstances 
 will appear, when I look back upon them at the 
 close of it. How badly I have expressed myself, 
 but, Mina, you understand ; they are almost your 
 own words." 
 
 " Yes, I understand, May. "When you look 
 back upon life as I do, and know that it is all 
 drawing to a close, little trials will seem too insig- 
 nificant to deserve the name, and even great trials 
 will appear small, when the pleasures and sorrows 
 of life are all passing away." 
 
 " It is a safe criterion by which to judge of one's 
 present actions," said Mabel. " The aspect of 
 things is so different, if looked at with a view to 
 present comfort, or future happiness." 
 
 " What is present comfort after all ! Oh ! how 
 hard to learn, of what little importance it is !" ex- 
 claimed Mina. " What will it be worth twenty 
 years hence, or even less — a twelvemonth hence 
 how little Me shall think of the joys and sorrows 
 that seem of such consequence to us now ! I often 
 think, May, that, blind as the belief of S. Simeon 
 Stylites was, resolution such as his is rarely to be 
 met with now. If we could but carry his determi- 
 nation into our every-day life, how much better we 
 should be !" 
 
 " It frightens me to think how little control we 
 have over ourselves ; how, with all our longings to 
 do right, we are perpetually doing wrong ; and how, 
 frequently, when one has fallen asleep at night with
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 199 
 
 an earnest determination to grow better, and to 
 sacrifice present comfort for future happiness, the 
 morning finds one weak, wavering, self-indulgent as 
 ever ! O Mina ! What can I do when this is the 
 case ?" 
 
 " I have often felt it. One's first impulse is to 
 despair. But I will tell you my remedy. Strong 
 minds, you know, require strong remedies, and 
 I find that nothing but a rigid self-denial will con- 
 quer the weakness of nature. Try it, May ; sacri- 
 fice some especial pleasures, and think that you are 
 doing it to render yourself more fit to serve God, 
 as He should be served. One, who has never done 
 this, would not believe how much better able he 
 w^ould feel to give his whole heart to God, when 
 earthly passions have been mortified. In Bible 
 words, * If ye through the Spirit do mortify the 
 deeds of the body, ye shall live' — that is, live for 
 ever, May, in Heaven." 
 
 " I have tried it, too ; but after a day or two I 
 forget — I fear sometimes that I cannot be really in 
 earnest, to forget so easily." 
 
 " It is the great object of our spiritual enemy to 
 make us forget, and the effort to remember will be 
 a perpetual warfare against his power to the end of 
 our lives. Yes, it is hard to face, May, but we 
 have strength given us, and the more we use that 
 strength, the more it will increase. I will tell you 
 one help towards remembering, which I have tried. 
 It is, to fix upon certain resting-places in the day, 
 at which to pause and consider how you are spending 
 it. Once a day may be sufficient for people with 
 strong wills, but, with weak ones, twice, or even 
 three times, will not be too often. We are less 
 likely to forget, if we do this, and a prayer for 
 strength will enable us to go on with fresh vigour. 
 We are like ships, that are bound for a long voyage, 
 and are forced to stop at certain ports to renew
 
 200 T^OETHWODE PRIOEY. 
 
 their supplies. "We can only go a short distance, 
 without requiring a renewal of grace, to carry us 
 onward on the voyage of life." 
 
 " Thank you, Mina ; I can feel that will be a 
 help. It seems as if at ISTorthwode Priory I could 
 have no trials or very slight ones, and so it might 
 be, if I v/ere only better in myself. I should be 
 ashamed to tell you my faults, they are so small — 
 not small in themselves, but little-minded. I think, 
 if I were hasty and passionate, I could speak of it 
 without feeling ashamed, but my own failings are 
 so different, so much to be despised. I am afraid I 
 must be little-minded to have such faults." 
 
 "Shall you mind telling them to me?" asked 
 Mina, gently. 
 
 " No, because you will only be sorry for me, and 
 besides, you told me of yours once. One, and it is 
 one I am very much ashamed of, is that, sometimes, 
 I find myself thinking that I am better than the 
 others, Erances, and Dudley, and the rest, because 
 I am the only one who goes to church every day, or 
 who cares for the schools, and the parish. O Mina ! 
 you cannot help despising such a feeling I I can 
 see, too, that they think me better, or at least some 
 of them do, and, sometimes, I am pleased that they 
 should do so, and am even glad for them to think 
 me better than I really am. And then I am apt to 
 do things because they are expected of me, and not 
 simply because they are right ; and one day, when 
 Hugh said something about pure motives, I felt, 
 that it was a reproof to me — that my motives are 
 not always pure. But when I go to Church, it all 
 comes right again, and I see how really weak and 
 sinful I am, and that I have been deceiving myself; 
 and I am better for a little while, until I hear them 
 say that they are not so good as I am, when all the 
 pride and self-sufficiency come back once more, and 
 I get to think so too. O Mina ! I am ashamed to 
 tell you of such things !"
 
 TTORTHWODE PEIORT. 201 
 
 The pride and self-sufficiency of which May spoke, 
 seemed strangely out of character with the deep 
 humility of her confession ; but Mina fully under- 
 stood the feelings over which she grieved, and the 
 danger of her position, for it was a danger that had 
 occurred to her more than once during her visit, 
 although Mabel's retiring, unpresuming behaviour 
 had made her hope the temptation to indulge in 
 such feelings was not likely to prove a temptation 
 to her. Her naturally harsh voice was peculiarly 
 soft and gentle, as she replied, 
 
 " Tou must not expect to be without faults, May, 
 and the character of our failings is comparatively 
 unimportant, if our whole heart is set on rooting 
 them out. If for some years you carefully guard 
 against this disposition to think too highly of your- 
 self, you will find, as you grow older, that you will 
 be too fully conscious of your imperfections to hold 
 anything but a low opinion of yourself, and you 
 will be less inclined to compare yourself with others, 
 knowing how full of faults we all are. Whenever 
 you feel the temptation coming, go and think over 
 all that you have done wrong during that one day, 
 and after that, I do not fancy you will feel disposed 
 to imagine you are better than others." 
 
 *' I am afraid I must be little-minded for such 
 thoughts to come to me." 
 
 " Certainly, if indulged in, they would become 
 the proofs of a little mind," replied Mina. "But 
 we are all liable to such thoughts sometimes, and 
 if we struggle with them, in time they will leave us." 
 
 " In such a home, too, it seems as if one could 
 have nothing to make one wicked," said May, 
 thoughtfully, as she turned round and gazed at the 
 Priory. 
 
 Mina's eyes were fixed upon her face, and she 
 could see the expression of affection that came over 
 it, as she looked at the home, where all her life had 
 been spent, and every stone of which was associ-
 
 202 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 ated with some precious memory in her mind. 
 "Winter was slowly robbing it of all its autumn 
 charms, but even yet there remained relics of the 
 red Virginian creeper, clinging feebly to the centre 
 gable. Every day exposed more of the sombre- 
 tinted, grey stone walls, as the leaves, which had 
 completely hidden them all the summer, fell to the 
 ground, yellow and withered, unable to withstand 
 the fresh October breezes. The French honey- 
 suckle, the jessamine, and cleanthus, were all looking 
 faded, and their freshness was gone ; yet the ivy 
 clung, green as ever, entirely robing one gable, and 
 stealing affectionately round May's small Grothic 
 window, as if the neighbourhood were congenial. 
 
 " If the spring leaves only find us better and 
 wiser than the autumn ones leave us, we have no 
 cause for complaint," said Mabel, with a smile. 
 
 " And if they are to do so, we have work before 
 us, which will leave no time for sad thoughts," said 
 Mina, cheerfully. " Will two months make me 
 love Bramshaw as well as they have taught me to 
 appreciate Peverstone, May ? I can scarcely hope 
 to meet there with the sympathy and kindness that 
 I have found here." 
 
 " But you will like Miss Clayton," said Mabel. 
 *' One who has given herself up to unselfish, chari- 
 table works, as she has done, cannot fail to be 
 loveable." 
 
 " I feel as if I could never be grateful enough 
 to her," said Mina, earnestly. '* It will never be 
 in my power to reward her ; but perhaps, May, 
 prayers may be more valuable than any earthly 
 recompense, and if so she shall never want mine." 
 
 " Such kindness as hers will bring its own recom- 
 pense," said May ; " and if she will only let me 
 come and see you sometimes, Mina, she will gain 
 the gratitude of two people instead of one." 
 
 "And twofold gratitude from me, I am sure,"
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOBT. 203 
 
 said Mina, warmly. " Tour visits, and John's, will 
 be like gleams of sunshine stealing into a darkened 
 room to my solitary life. I never thought I should 
 grow poetical. May, but there is a poetry about 
 Northwode Priory and your bright, quiet life here, 
 that has infused itself even into my matter-of-fact 
 nature. However, I shall soon get commonplace 
 again at Bramshaw." 
 
 " "What a desirable result," said May, laughing. 
 ** I am sure you are more poetical than you would 
 have the world believe, for no beautiful view, or 
 picturesque object, escapes your notice, and you 
 can fully enter into and appreciate them." 
 
 It had been thought best for Mina not to attend 
 the Daily Service at Peverstone during her visit, 
 as any position but a recumbent one was painful 
 to her. This last day she entreated to be allowed 
 to go, and Mabel could not resist. Both had a 
 feeling that it would hallow their last evening, if a 
 part of it were so spent, and in Mina's state of 
 health it was impossible to look forward to their 
 next meeting without feeling that there was a cer- 
 tain amount of presumption in so doing. 
 
 Mina was wheeled to the church porch in a gar- 
 den chair, and by the aid of her brother's arm was 
 placed in a quiet seat behind a pillar, near the west 
 entrance. No one, with any feelings of devotion, 
 however dormant, could look unmoved through the 
 long vista of Early English pillars, to the exqui- 
 sitely carved reredos, over which the stained glass 
 windows of the clerestory threw a calm subdued 
 light. Mina looked in silence, and felt that it was 
 indeed a House meet for the worship of God, and 
 to May's mind came the verse : 
 
 " Religion's softened glories shine 
 Like light thro' summer foliage stealing, 
 Shedding a glow of such mild hue, 
 So soft and yet so shadowy too,
 
 204 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 As makes the very darkness there, 
 More beautiful than light elsewhere." 
 
 There was a solemnity and repose about that even- 
 ing service at Peverstone strangely different from 
 the formal, hurried service in many a town church. 
 Quiet reigned within and without, and there was 
 nothing to distract the mind, or call off the atten- 
 tion from the one object for which they were met 
 together. May felt that if ever heaven could be 
 approached upon earth, it was in her own church 
 at that quiet hour, — when the world and its trials 
 and temptations were laid aside for a space, and the 
 heart raised to Him Who is ever present, where 
 two or three in His Name are gathered together. 
 
 Mina's heart was full when she left the church. 
 She paused at the west porch, and turned back to 
 look once again. " May," she whispered, " it is 
 'the gate of heaven.' Oh! that we were better 
 able to appreciate it. What will not be expected 
 of those to whom so great a privilege is per- 
 mitted ?" 
 
 "I am afraid to think of that," replied May. 
 " I know I have never valued it as I ought, and 
 yet every feeling of my heart is wound round that 
 Church, in a way that neither time, nor absence, 
 could ever affect. It seems my home, Mina, — my 
 highest, dearest, truest home, and it is the home 
 now of the one whom I loved best upon earth." 
 She turned aside, and directed Mina's notice to a 
 plain, upright marble cross, on which was carved the 
 name of ' Mary Agnes Hesketh.' Tears stood in 
 Mabel's eyes. " It is my best earthly guide, Mina. 
 I pass it every day as I come to church, and it 
 seems to speak to me of the other world, where she 
 is at rest now, perhaps watching over her children, 
 although they know it not." 
 
 Mina was silent, and Mabel continued, *' She 
 chose the spot herself beneath the elm tree, and
 
 NOETHWODE PKIOET. 205 
 
 she wished that there should be a cross instead of 
 a tombstone. She said it would raise holy thoughts 
 in the minds of those who saw it. I like to think 
 of her, Mina, resting beneath the shadow of the 
 church she loved so well, and so near the home 
 where her happiest days were spent. The distance 
 between us does not appear so very great some- 
 times, and she left thoughts and feelings in my 
 mind that make her seem, to me at least, ever- 
 present." 
 
 " And when in this world of trouble you have 
 sorrows and anxieties, you must feel happy to think 
 of her as beyond the reach of them," said Mina, 
 " in a world where care and sorrow are unknown." 
 
 " Only that I long for her so at those times," 
 said May, sadly. " I feel then that I have no one 
 to lean upon, no one to guide me and keep me 
 straight." 
 
 " And then you remember that there is One 
 only on Whom it is safe to lean," said Mina, gently ; 
 " One only Guide Who will be always at hand to 
 direct you." 
 
 *' Yes, I am learning to remember that. She 
 tried to teach me that this must be my first thought, 
 and perhaps she was removed to make the lesson 
 more perfect." 
 
 They were joined by Mr. Chase, who came to 
 the help of his sister, and she was brought back 
 safely to the Priory without much fatigue. 
 
 Late in the evening Frances sat alone in the 
 drawing-room. Miss Hesketh had gone to Wood- 
 bank, and Mr. Hesketh was engaged in his study. 
 May was in Mina's room, assisting in her prepara- 
 tions for the next day's journey. 
 
 For several reasons Frances felt peculiarly out 
 of humour. She was particularly annoyed at May's 
 ajQfection for Mina, and could not help seeing that 
 her sister found a more congenial spirit in Miss
 
 206 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 Chase than she had ever done in herself. She waa 
 displeased at Miss Hesketh's visit to Woodbank, 
 as she had set her face against it, and pronounced 
 the night air unsafe for her aunt to return in. 
 Miss Hesketh so generally yielded to her wishes, 
 that she felt aggrieved when they were disregarded, 
 and was disposed to wish in her own mind that a 
 severe cold would be the result of a step taken 
 without her sanction. All the world were perverse 
 and self-willed, and she the only sensible one was 
 overlooked and set at nought ; and devoured by the 
 unhappy spirit that had laid hold of her, she had 
 seated herself at a writing table and was venting 
 her lamentations over the hollowness and uucon- 
 geniality of the world to her sympathising friend 
 Olivia Bruce. 
 
 At this unfortunate crisis Mr. Chase was an- 
 nounced. Frances could scarcely restrain her an- 
 noyance at the interruption. With a hasty move- 
 ment she placed her half-written letter in the desk 
 and closed it with a loud noise. 
 
 "Good evening," she said, as she placed her 
 hand coldly in his. 
 
 " Mr. Hesketh invited me to spend the last 
 evening with Mina," remarked Mr. Chase, with an 
 uncomfortable sensation that he was an unwelcome 
 guest. " I am sorry I was not able to come before, 
 but I was detained at the Eectory on business." 
 
 " Tou are come soon enough, if to see Miss Chase 
 was the object of your visit," replied Frances. " She 
 has been closeted with Mabel for the last two hours." 
 
 " Before she leaves, I wish to thank you very 
 much for your kindness to her during her visit. 
 "We are both most deeply grateful for it." 
 
 " You have nothing to thank me for," was the 
 blunt reply. " She is Mabel's friend, not mine, and 
 I have never shown her any kindness." 
 
 " But, if not individually, you have in common
 
 NORTHWODE PRIOET. 207 
 
 with the rest of your family," said Mr. Chase. 
 " She tells me, no words can describe the kindness 
 she has received." 
 
 " I could hardly have been kind without being 
 aware of it," replied Frances. 
 
 " You do not like receiving thanks," said Mr. 
 Chase, with a smile. " But I shall be grateful to 
 you, nevertheless." 
 
 A momentary feeling of shame came over Frances, 
 as she observed that he could not realize the possi- 
 bility of her having spent two months in the com- 
 pany of his invalid sister, without having shown 
 some kindness, or attention, which would entitle her 
 to his gratitude. It was but a momentary feeling, 
 however, and then ill-temper again usurped its sway. 
 
 " Was Mina tired with going to Church ?" 
 
 " Not that I am aware of." 
 
 " I should have been sorry for her to leave Fever- 
 stone without attending the evening service." 
 
 "Why?"— 
 
 " Because it must raise the mind, and purify the 
 heart. Those who are in the habit of attending it 
 from an earnest motive, must be better than those 
 who stay away." 
 
 " I know you have peculiar views on the sub- 
 ject," replied Frances. " I do not myself see how 
 the bare fact of going to Church can make any one 
 good." 
 
 " The action, if it be but mechanical, certainly 
 cannot," said Mr. Chase. "I said when people 
 went from an earnest motive. Miss Hesketh, for I 
 need not remind you for what purpose we meet 
 together there." 
 
 "No, I suppose not," was the reply; "but I 
 think you draw harsh conclusions, Mr. Chase. 
 Tour remark is condemning your own sister, for 
 this evening is the first time she lias attended the 
 Daily Service at Peverstone, since she came."
 
 208 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 " Because she had been forbidden to do so," re- 
 plied Mr. Chase. " Tou little know Mina, if you 
 think she would voluntarily abstain from attend- 
 ing it." 
 
 " I don't pretend to know her," said Prances, 
 hastily, longing for some vent for her ill-humour. 
 " I do not believe that goodness depends upon 
 going to Church every day, or, that every one 
 is wicked, who does not do so." 
 
 Mr. Chase paused, a little puzzled at this remark, 
 and tried to recollect what he had said. " Tou 
 have mistaken me, I see, Miss Hesketh. I made 
 no such sweeping assertion, and I very much regret 
 the view you take on the subject. I cannot forget 
 that 1 am your clergyman, and that, if your opi- 
 nions are erroneous, the responsibility of correct- 
 ing them in a measure lies with me." 
 
 "Thank you," said Frances, abruptly. "When 
 I need clerical advice I will appeal to you." 
 
 Mr. Chase walked to the window and meditated. 
 He was a straightforward, unshrinking man, but he 
 especially disliked dealing with ladies ; yet such ill- 
 humour as Frances displayed was not to be passed 
 over in silence. It was plainly his duty to remon- 
 strate with her, but the foreknowledge of the way 
 in which it would be received, was far from en- 
 couraging. The disrespect to himself he cared for 
 but little, but the disrespect to his office was a more 
 serious offence, and it was far from being the first 
 time he had met with such treatment from Frances. 
 After a few minutes' reflection, he returned to the 
 table where she was sitting, and said, gravely, 
 " Miss Hesketh, if you were a poor person, whom 
 I was in the habit of visiting, I should feel it my 
 duty to warn you against the danger of yielding to 
 ill-temper — I cannot see that circumstances alter 
 the relation in which I stand to you, for, although 
 you may not be in need of temporal assistance, your
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 209 
 
 spiritual condition raust be a matter of as much 
 moment to me, as if you were one of the poorest 
 of the parishioners whom I visit." He paused, 
 and Frances' face wore an expression of polite 
 attention, that was more disheartening than down- 
 right anger would have been. 
 
 " I told you that I could not forget I was your 
 clergyman," continued Mr. Chase. " With God 
 there are no distinctions of rich and poor, and 
 those who undertake to promote the spiritual wel- 
 fare of their flock, are equally bound to work for 
 the eternal interests of the rich as of the poor. I 
 can see you are disposed to think that I can have 
 no concern in matters affecting yourself, but I 
 judge differently, and, as long as I am God's minis- 
 ter, I will not shrink from my duty. I warn you, 
 most earnestly, to struggle against this failing, for 
 it is one that, if yielded to, will increase in a way 
 you may scarcely realize now, and you know that 
 the Bible tells us, that he, who wilfully off'ends on 
 one point, is guilty of all." 
 
 " And, because my will is stronger, and my 
 speech plainer, than the rest of my family, I am 
 supposed to have a bad temper," said Frances, 
 calmly. 
 
 " I am plain-spoken myself, Miss Hesketh," re- 
 turned Mr. Chase, " and therefore not likely to 
 misjudge you on that point. If you tell me I am 
 mistaken in supposing that you yield to unkind 
 feelings, I will say no more, as, of course, I am in- 
 capable of arguing with you under such circum- 
 stances." 
 
 Frances was silent, for the "still, small voice" 
 forbade such an assertion. 
 
 " I caution you as a friend and a clergyman, in a 
 
 worldly as well as a spiritual view, to consider your 
 
 own happiness, and strive against such a failing. 
 
 Some years hence it will have alienated from you 
 
 p
 
 210 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 your friends and relations, even your own imme- 
 diate family. No love can be proof against such 
 a chilling, withering influence. And then, when 
 you have no one to love, and none to love you, you 
 will be thrown back upon the resources of an un- 
 happy, dissatisfied disposition ; you will be feared 
 by all, your worst enemy will be yourself, and your 
 temper that is past control. Of the future I will 
 say little, but a person who has yielded to one of 
 the worst failings our nature is capable of for so 
 many years, will be able to look upon the future with 
 few feelings, but those of awe and uncertainty." 
 
 "A pleasant picture, certainly," observed Frances, 
 while her eyes were fixed upon Mr. Chase, with an 
 expression of the utmost dislike. 
 
 " Scarcely more pleasant for me to describe, than 
 for you to hear," was the reply. " I see too plainly 
 that you will disregard my warning, and. Miss 
 Hesketh, I can only hope and pray, that you may 
 never regret having done so." 
 
 "I feel sincerely grateful for the interest you 
 take in me," said Frances, with a faint smile, that 
 had a tinge of satire in it. " I am not one to pay 
 compliments, Mr. Chase, but I shall always know 
 where to come when I wish to hear the truth." 
 
 " If you would but think it truth." 
 
 ''Perhaps I am the best judge, whether it be 
 indeed truth, or not, but, at all events, you have 
 quite acquitted yourself of any responsibility in the 
 matter," and with a cold bow Frances left the 
 room. 
 
 Mr. Chase was excessively uncomfortable. He 
 had never been brought into contact with any one 
 so haughty and impenetrable as Frances, and he 
 was lamentably conscious, that both his words and 
 manner were not those to work upon her feelings, 
 or penetrate into her better nature. He had al- 
 ways found a kind friend in Mr. Hesketh, and
 
 jSOETHWODE prioet. 211 
 
 it had been a task of no little pain to find fault 
 with his daughter. Still, right was right, and 
 secondary considerations must not be allowed to 
 influence him. The entrance of his sister banished 
 uncomfortable reflections, and, in the mixed feeling 
 of pain and pleasure, to which spending their last 
 evening together gave rise, Frances was forgotten. 
 It was pleasing to hear of May's gentle, unvarying 
 attention, and the sunshine, which her friendship 
 seemed to have cast over Mina's life, after the very 
 difierent character he had been dealing with ; and 
 Mina's feelings seemed to have thawed, and lost 
 some of their reserve, in the genial atmosphere she 
 had been breathing. It was with hearts full of 
 affection and gratitude for the kindness that had 
 brightened the last two months of their lives, that 
 the brother and sister parted that night.
 
 CHAPTEE XIY. 
 
 ** Woe to the youth whom Fancy gains, 
 Winning from Reason's hand the reins." 
 
 SCOTT. 
 
 The October sun shone full into the pleasant draw- 
 ing-room at Marbury House. Geraldine Egerton 
 sat at her embroidery frame in the bow window, 
 and Dudley was lounging against the wall by her 
 side. She was exceedingly pretty, with pink 
 cheeks and blue eyes, and a bright, good-humoured 
 expression. Dudley evidently thought so, for he 
 scarcely took his eyes off her face, and she looked 
 up every now and then with a smile, that would 
 have won many a stouter heart than his. Gerald- 
 ine was called a flirt, she was not at all ashamed of 
 it, but delighted in the power she possessed of fas- 
 cinating so many with whom she talked. 
 
 She had completely fascinated Dudley. He had 
 admired her much in former times, but now he 
 thought her lovely, and her easy, amusing conver- 
 sation was just what he liked. Had he reflected, 
 he would have discovered that Mabel's earnestness, 
 and steady thoughtfulness, were wanting, and that 
 there was no stability in G-eraldine's character to 
 rest on, or confide in ; but Dudley's was not a re-
 
 FOETHWODE PEIORT. 213 
 
 flective miud, and present influences were all- 
 powerful with him. 
 
 " You must not think of returning yet, Dudley," 
 observed Greraldine. " It is so like old times to 
 have you here again, and such a pleasure to papa ; 
 I shall write and tell Mabel not to expect you." 
 
 " Do you really wish me to stay ?" asked Dud- 
 ley. " I have been here a week and more, and I 
 am afraid you will get tired of me." 
 
 " Well, I will tell you when I do. Ton used not 
 to be afraid of our tiring of you, Dudley." 
 
 "You were a child then," replied Dudley, " and 
 I knew you enjoyed our wild freaks together too 
 much to think such a thing, but now you are a 
 sober young lady, Greraldine." 
 
 "Very sober — " said Geraldine, with an arch 
 smile. " I am not sure that I am past the freaks 
 
 " Come out fishing with me this morning, then," 
 exclaimed Dudley. " Many a fish you have hooked 
 before now!" 
 
 *' I am afraid papa would say it was an unlady- 
 like accomplishment now," replied Greraldine, "but 
 I am childish enough to confess, that I should en- 
 joy it as much as ever." 
 
 " Do you remember our birds-nesting expedi- 
 tions, and how angry Mrs. Egerton was, when you 
 tore your best dress in the old yew tree ?" 
 
 " And how May cried over the thought of the 
 old bird returning, and finding its children gone," 
 added Geraldine. "Yes, mamma was very angry 
 that day — it was a new dress, too, and a birthday 
 present from papa. I can recollect now, how 
 frightened I was.'* 
 
 '* We consoled ourselves with making a feast of 
 cakes and walnuts in the old summer-house," said 
 Dudley ; " and, in the middle, who should march in 
 but Miss Grrantham, looking the very essence of
 
 214 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 ill-humour. How she scattered our feast to the 
 winds, and carried you oiFto practise on the piano, 
 for an unconscionable time !" 
 
 " And Mary and Louisa were such good, demure 
 little girls, that my offences seemed all the blacker," 
 said Geraldine, laughing. "I believe poor papa 
 was quite worn out, at last, with complaints about 
 me." 
 
 "So May was constituted your companion in- 
 stead of me, and, under her influence, you were 
 found to be more tractable." 
 
 " I am afraid I shocked May often by my head- 
 strong ways, for, with all her merriment, she was as 
 docile as a child, and would have been horrified at 
 the idea of braving mamma's displeasure." 
 
 "Do you remember how she begged you off, 
 when Miss Grantham had shut you up in the 
 school-room for a whole afternoon ?" 
 
 '* And how badly I returned her kindness, by go- 
 ing out on the river with you in the forbidden 
 boat, in spite of all her intreaties." 
 
 " We always found ' stolen sweets were sweetest,' 
 I am afraid." 
 
 " They were dear old days," sighed Geraldine, 
 " only to be equalled by my visits to the Priory, 
 and our rides on the old black pony, when Mrs. 
 Hesketh used to accompany us, and we drank tea 
 on the Western Beacon, and boiled our own kettle. 
 It was not so easy to be naughty at the Priory, as 
 it was here." 
 
 " And the absence of Miss Grantham was such 
 a relief," said Dudley. 
 
 " Yes, Mrs. Hesketh could enter into our fun, 
 and control us when we were inclined to pass 
 bounds. How often her kind, reproachful face 
 comes before me, when I see flies on the window 
 pane !" 
 
 " That was one of your worst transgressions.
 
 FOETHWODE PEIOET. 215 
 
 The poor flies were seldom safe when you were in 
 the room. How very long ago all that appears." 
 
 " And how everything has changed since then. 
 All but May, she strikes me as the same gentle, 
 docile being as ever, in spite of the difference in 
 appearance." 
 
 " She is the same as ever, I think." 
 
 " And you — are you the same as ever, Dud- 
 ley?" 
 
 "Exactly the same," said Dudley, heartily, as he 
 seated himself on a cushion at her feet, and looked 
 up into her face. 
 
 " Excepting that you are a man now, and I am a 
 woman," said Geraldine, with another sigh. "I 
 wish we could be children over again." 
 
 " So we can ; I see no impediment." 
 
 " Ah ! but there are impediments. In the first 
 place, there is that odious thing that the world 
 calls ' etiquette.' It would not be ' etiquette' now 
 for us to take rambles together without a cha- 
 perone." 
 
 "Stuff! etiquette! Don't let us be bound by 
 such nonsensical considerations 1 Old times can 
 never come back again, if we are." 
 
 " They never can at all, Dudley. It is no use 
 thinking of them. We must grow formal and po- 
 lite to each other, and I shall begin at once by 
 calling you Mr. Hesketh, and you must call me 
 Miss Egerton." 
 
 "Not I!" exclaimed Dudley. "Come, Gerald- 
 ine, I thought you were above such nonsense. 
 Let us have a walk together this morning, and 
 defy etiquette." 
 
 Greraldine shook her head. " Not without Mary 
 or Louisa. I must not, indeed, Dudley, although 
 you know how I should ebjoy it." 
 
 " I don't believe you really care about it as much 
 as I do."
 
 216 NORTHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 " O Dudley ! How unkind ! If you knew how- 
 sad it makes me to think times are so changed !" 
 
 " Why should they be changed ?" exclaimed 
 Dudley, vehemently, taking her hand. " If our 
 feelings are the same, we will take the law into our 
 own hands. These last few days have brought 
 back old recollections so vividly ! They were the 
 happiest days of my life, Geraldine, and they must, 
 and shall come back again!" 
 
 Poor Dudley ! Eeflection, prudence, youth — 
 everything was forgotten, and in the admiration, 
 which Geraldine's beauty, and winning manners, 
 called forth, he fancied that he had always loved 
 her, and that she was absolutely necessary to his 
 happiness. He told her, and repeated the words 
 to himself, with tenfold vehemence, that his life 
 would be unendurable without her, and that for 
 her sake he would toil night and day, and win 
 honour and wealth if she would but care for him, 
 and give him leave to care for her. He felt con- 
 scious of strength, he said, and that he wanted 
 nothing but such an impulse to urge him forward, 
 and make him conquer indolence and every other 
 failing. 
 
 His pleading was successful. Geraldine's heart 
 was as soft as Dudley's, and yielded at discretion. 
 They had been friends for so long, their tastes were 
 so similar, and he was so kind-hearted, and good- 
 tempered, she felt sure it must be for her hap- 
 piness. In a worldly sense, too, and Geraldine 
 was not above such considerations, she would have 
 no reason to complain. The Heskeths of Pever- 
 stone had always siood high in the county, and 
 Mr. Hesketh was looked upon as a man of good 
 circumstances, who, with such a small family, could 
 well afford to provide for them all. Colonel Eger- 
 ton might think Dudley's age against an engage- 
 ment, but he was almost twenty-one, and, if Mr.
 
 NOKTHWODE PEIORT. 217 
 
 Hesketh was willing to provide for him, no ob- 
 jection could be raised in two years' time ; and 
 at seventeen Geraldine could look forward to an 
 engagement of two years, without any serious 
 fears. 
 
 Dudley's mind was not quite so easy, when he 
 reconsidered the step that had been taken. He 
 dreaded less Colonel Egerton's first inquiry should 
 be on the state of his prospects. No doubt his 
 father would help him as he had helped William, 
 but the Colonel might reasonably desire to see him 
 started in a profession, before he entrusted his 
 daughter to his care. Three years at College, with 
 hard work, and separation from Geraldine, pre- 
 sented no inviting prospect, and although he had 
 declared that he could win honours and wealth for 
 her sake, the doubt suggested itself whether, after 
 the entire indolence of the last two years, these 
 were still within his reach. 
 
 He did not fear that his father would raise any 
 objection. There seemed no reason why he should 
 be less indulgently dealt with, than William. It 
 might be possible to get some appointment, for 
 which a University education would be no recom- 
 mendation, and then, if Mr. Hesketh would make 
 him the same liberal allowance as he did William, 
 all would be fair sailing. This, however, must 
 depend a good deal upon Colonel Egerton, and 
 Dudley gently sounded Geraldine on the subject. 
 
 " What will your father say to such presumption, 
 Geraldine ?" 
 
 " Papa is not so hard-hearted as you think. I 
 can coax him into allowing anything. But what 
 will Mr. Hesketh say, Dudley ?" 
 
 " Oh ! we need not be uneasy about him ; but I 
 am afraid of the Colonel, Geraldine. I wish that 
 was over. How shall we break it to him ?" 
 
 " Leave that to me. I shall speak to him this
 
 218 NORTHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 evening, just when he is in a good temper, and 
 I know he can't be angry." 
 
 " He will ask what my circumstances are, and 
 what shall I say ?" 
 
 This was no easy question for Greraldine to an- 
 swer, and she was silent. 
 
 " I shall say that I have no doubt my father will 
 do by me, as he has done by William. Will that 
 satisfy him ?" 
 
 " Oh ! yes !" said Geraldine, with a laugh. " Mr. 
 William Hesketh seems very well off. Papa could 
 not wish for more than that." 
 
 " But he may require to see me in a profession." 
 
 " Well — perhaps — I know nothing about that." 
 
 " And that would take some time. But we won't 
 be daunted! ' Where there's a will there's a way!' " 
 
 What would Mabel say? — was Dudley's next 
 consideration. He cared more for her opinion 
 than he would have owned, and if she was vexed, 
 and considered it an imprudent step, he would be 
 sorry, not because he had done it, but because 
 she was vexed. 
 
 The news was gently broken to Colonel Egerton 
 that evening by Geraldine. He was excessively 
 astonished, for he had always regarded Dudley 
 in the light of a mere boy ; and much as his 
 daughter and Dudley had been together lately, 
 and appeared to delight in each other's society, he 
 had fancied it merely a renewal of their childish 
 intimacy. The idea of their entertaining more 
 serious thoughts never occurred to him, until Ge- 
 raldine softly whispered to him, that they only 
 waited for his consent, to be formally engaged. 
 
 His first feeling was that of alarm, and concern. 
 Dudley's youth appeared an insuperable objection, 
 and the idea of two such giddy heads coming to- 
 gether, was matter enough for most anxious fears. 
 For a moment he considered, and mentally resolved
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 219 
 
 to treat it as a childish fancy. He therefore told 
 his daughter that he could not hear of such a thing, 
 that it was simple folly, and the sooner she forgot 
 it the better — that Dudley would have twenty simi- 
 lar fancies before he finally settled, and that it 
 would be years before he could be fairly started in 
 a profession, and able to maintain himself, much 
 more a wife — that she was very ill-calculated to bear 
 a long engagement patiently, and it would be the 
 height of folly to enter upon anything of the sort. 
 
 But Geraldine was not to be so easily disposed 
 of. In a quiet, decided way she assured him, that 
 it was no passing fancy, that she had long liked 
 Dudley, and he had never cared for any one but 
 her — that there was more in him than people 
 would believe, and that she had quite made up her 
 mind never to have any one else. Certainly, if he 
 her father seriously objected, she would follow his 
 wishes, and give up the thought of an engagement, 
 but she felt convinced she should never be happy 
 again, and he would be wrecking the happiness of 
 two, who might have a very bright life before them. 
 
 Colonel Egerton was wholly disconcerted. He 
 endeavoured, in vain, to reason Geraldine out of such 
 a fancy, but finding her inexorable, sent for his wife, 
 and held a long consultation with her, and finally 
 summoned Dudley, to inquire into his prospects, 
 and sound him on the subject. Dudley sought the 
 study in a state of great trepidation. The first 
 question almost annihilated him. " What are your 
 prospects, and what line in life have you chalked 
 out for yourself?" The answer was not exactly 
 satisfactory. His father, he felt sure, would help 
 him, and he felt willing and able to do anything, 
 with such an object before him. If Colonel Eger- 
 ton would allow him, he would find out at once 
 from his father what assistance he might expect 
 from him, and everything should depend upon that.
 
 220 NOETHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 He would never press his suit if he had not suffi- 
 cient to enable Geraldine to live in as much com- 
 fort, as she did in her father's home, but of this he 
 felt sanguine ; and for the rest he would place him- 
 self in the Colonel's hands. 
 
 To Dudley's intense delight the engagement was 
 allowed to stand over, subject to two conditions. 
 The first being Mr. Hesketh's willing consent, with- 
 out which it should be considered as immediately at 
 an end ; the second that Dudley should go to the 
 University, and make a good use of his time, a 
 far from agreeable proposal, as he had hoped to 
 escape this. Everything, however, was forgotten, 
 in the delight of being accepted. He was to ride 
 home the next day, and acquaint his father with 
 what had taken place, and if all was satisfactory he 
 was to return to Marbury House, when more defi- 
 nite arrangements could be made with regard to the 
 future, and his Oxford career. 
 
 It had been a rapid afiair. Until the last fort- 
 night Dudley had been quite happy in his home 
 life, and if he thought of Geraldine at all, it was 
 merely as the pleasant companion of his childhood. 
 But he felt pleased and flattered at being invited to 
 Marbury House, and at G-eraldine's evident liking 
 for him, and the undisguised satisfaction his so- 
 ciety aff'orded her. That one so pretty and ac- 
 complished, and'moreover so much admired, should 
 care about him, was sufficient to turn a not very 
 strong head, and the revival of old times and asso- 
 ciations, completed the victory. Under such in- 
 fluences, it was easy to persuade himself, that he 
 had always cared more for Geraldine than other 
 girls, that he could never be happy without her, 
 and when once he had made up his mind to this, he 
 threw his whole heart and energies into the mat- 
 ter, and it seemed likely to become the one absorb- 
 ing object of his life.
 
 CHAPTEE Xy. 
 
 ** Labour— with indolence and gloom, where wealth falleth from 
 a father, 
 Labour is good for a man, bracing up his energies to conquest, 
 And without it life is dull, the man perceiving himself use- 
 less." 
 
 Proverbial Philosophy . 
 
 Me. Hesketh sat alone in his study, writing, the 
 following morning. It was a comfortable, but 
 sombre room. The casement windows opened on 
 a narrow portion of the lawn, behind the green- 
 houses, and commanded a view of the river and its 
 banks. It was the darkest room in the house, 
 owing partly to the single window, and the shade 
 of the greenhouses, as well as to the oak-panelled 
 walls. Two sides of the room were occupied by 
 book-shelves, and a study table stood in the middle. 
 The crimson carpet and curtains made it look com- 
 fortable, and a bright fire blazed on the low hearth, 
 near which Mr. Hesketh sat. 
 
 Several sacred pictures were hung round the walls, 
 and over the mantelpiece was one of Mrs. Hesketh, 
 placed there because it was considered too precious 
 for every one's gaze. It was but a sketch, yet the 
 outline of the delicately chiselled face was ex- 
 quisitely sweet, and in the winning expression and 
 thoughtful eye, could be traced a strong resem- 
 blance to Mabel. It was Mr. Hesketh's especial
 
 222 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 treasure, and every now and then his gaze was 
 directed to it with a sorrowful expression, that 
 showed how much he still missed her, who had once 
 been the light of his home. While she lived all had 
 seemed to go on well, but now in his son's indolence, 
 and Frances' uncontrolled temper, he thought he 
 could trace the want of that gentle, guiding hand, 
 that had smoothed and directed all things. He 
 felt his own inability to supply her place, and was 
 painfully conscious of his sister's incompetency to 
 fulfil the position she had undertaken, and at times 
 he felt almost despairing ; but then the gentle ex- 
 pression in those soft brown eyes, towards which 
 his own were so often, and so sadly turned, seemed 
 to say in her own words, ' Do your best, and leave 
 the rest in God's Hands.' 
 
 His eyes were fixed upon the picture now, and 
 as the sound of a horse's feet fell upon his ear, he 
 turned away with a sigh, and resumed his pen. In 
 a few moments the door was quietly opened, and 
 Dudley entered, with his whip in his hand. 
 
 " Are you come home, Dudley ?" was his father's 
 remark. *' Well, have you enjoyed your visit ?" 
 
 " Very much, thank you — I am not come home 
 for good though, I intend to return again to-mor- 
 row — that is to say, . . . if . . ." 
 
 "Ifwhat— ?" 
 
 " I came over to speak to you about something 
 
 — to tell you something I mean, to consult 
 
 you. The truth is, father, that I like Geraldine 
 Egerton very much indeed." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh looked up in astonishment at the 
 confused, stammering tone, so unlike Dudley. 
 
 " Well, Dudley, and so do I— what of that ?" 
 
 " You misunderstand me," said Dudley, while 
 the colour rose to his temples. "I don't mean 
 that I like her as I do other girls, but very much 
 more — so much, indeed, that I want ... I wish . . .
 
 • NOETHWODE PEIOET. 223 
 
 I want to marry her!" The conclusion was start- 
 lingly abrupt, and Mr. Hesketh was quite unpre- 
 pared for such an announcement. He could not 
 restrain a smile, and Dudley's dignity was offended. 
 
 " Tou all look upon me as a boy, I know ; but 
 you forget that I shall be twenty-one next month." 
 
 " But twenty-one is rather young to think of a 
 wife," observed Mr. Hesketh. 
 
 " Tou used to say you approved of long engage- 
 ments," replied Dudley. " In two years' time we 
 shall be quite old enough, and we shall know each 
 other much better then, than we do now." 
 
 " Then you have consulted Geraldiue." 
 
 "Yes," stammered Dudley, "I thought she was 
 the first person to be consulted." 
 
 *' Perhaps so — What does the Colonel say ?" 
 
 " He will not object if you consent." 
 
 " Is it impertinent to ask what you are going to 
 live upon?" 
 
 Dudley's colour deepened, until his face and 
 neck were crimson. He had not expected such 
 close questioning from his father. He made no 
 reply, but played with his riding whip, and his fa- 
 ther relieved his confusion. 
 
 " Did the Colonel inquire into your prospects ?" 
 
 "Tes," said Dudley, with some hesitation. 
 ** He asked me what they were." 
 
 " And what did you tell him ?" 
 
 There was a pause, and for the first time Dudley 
 became conscious of the folly he had committed — 
 for the first time he asked himself what right he 
 had to expect assistance from his father, or to lead 
 the Colonel to believe that such would be given 
 him. William's case had been a precedent for 
 grounding such an expectation upon, certainly, but 
 Mr. Hesketh might justly be annoyed that his sons 
 should look to him for the means of support, when 
 work was within their own power. Yet why should
 
 224 IfORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 lie anticipate such an objection from the father, 
 who had never yet denied him any indulgence ? 
 Mr. Hesketh had enough for all, and if so, no man 
 on earth would be more ready to share it with his 
 children. While Dudley reflected in this manner, 
 Mr. Hesketh's eyes were fixed gravely upon him, 
 and no attempt was made to relieve him of his em- 
 barrassment. At length he looked up and said, 
 
 " It is better to be candid with you, father, and 
 if I have done wrong, I can but be sorry for it. I 
 told the Colonel that I was willing to work to the 
 best of my ability, and that I thought you would 
 perhaps .... very likely .... help me as you have 
 done William." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh sighed, and passed his hand over his 
 forehead. For a few moments there appeared to 
 be a struggle going on in his mind, and when he 
 removed his hand from his face, as if to speak, he 
 was paler than before, and there seemed an expres- 
 sion of suffering upon his brow. 
 
 " Dudley, I am willing, and at present, able, 
 thank God, to give you my assistance. Nothing 
 could give me greater happiness than to assist all 
 my children to the utmost of my power. Whether 
 I am wise in doing this is another question. Whe- 
 ther it would not be for your eventual happiness to 
 make you depend on your own exertions, 1 feel by 
 no means certain. At present I have sufficient for 
 all, but it occurs to me sometimes, that if any ac- 
 cident or misfortune were to prevent my continuing 
 to help them, every one of my children must be 
 brought to poverty — absolute beggary. You are 
 old enough, and sensible enough, to know whether 
 this is as it should be. My own opinion is, that it 
 would be far better and happier for you to work for 
 your own livelihood, that you may have the satis- 
 faction of feeling you have nothing to depend on 
 but your own exertions."
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 225 
 
 " Then good-bye to Geraldine," sighed Dudley. 
 
 " Nay, you have the choice in your own hands, 
 but I give you a father's advice. At my age, I can 
 see more plainly what will be for your real happi- 
 ness than you can ; and I see that dependence can 
 bring no true comfort." 
 
 " But I will work — I will render myself inde- 
 pendent, only, for Geraldine's sake, I ask you to 
 give me the promise of that, which shall induce the 
 Colonel to sanction our engagement. It shall 
 make no difference in my exertions ; I will work 
 hard to make a livelihood for myself, only — " 
 
 " Well, Dudley, I have given you your choice. 
 I may wish that you should have chosen differently, 
 but if you prefer present enjoyment to future hap- 
 piness, I give you the promise of assistance, cer- 
 tainly not as great as I give William, because you 
 are the second son, but sufficient to enable you to 
 meet the Colonel's inquiry into your prospects, 
 without shame." 
 
 Dudley's transports were beyond bounds. He 
 said he felt certain his father would never have 
 cause to regret such liberality — that he should work 
 harder than ever to prove that he was sensible of 
 such kindness; but all his expressions of delight 
 and gratitude could not call up more than a melan- 
 choly smile on his father's face. If he could make 
 three or four hundred a-year by a profession, to add 
 to the promised allowance, Colonel Egerton could 
 raise no obstacles, and, with such a promise even 
 a portion of the two years allotted to the engage- 
 ment might possibly be dispensed with. Mr. Hes- 
 keth was by no means satisfied with the heedless 
 joy to which his words had given rise ; it seemed 
 trifling and unbecoming in a young man, who en- 
 tertained serious thoughts of settliug in life. He 
 called Dudley to resume his seat, and talked gravely 
 to him on the necessity of considering circumstances 
 Q
 
 226 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 carefully, before any final step was taken. He re- 
 minded him that it would be needful to work hard at 
 college, if lost time was to be regained, that pru- 
 dence would make him resolve on completing his 
 education, and entering on a profession, before he 
 thought of marrying — that Geraldine had been 
 brought up in ease and indulgence, and would find 
 the assistance he had promised to render them but 
 a small income, if that was to be all, and that 
 straitened circumstances were often the cause of 
 much unhappiness in married life, if the persons 
 had not been taught to accommodate their wants 
 to their means. 
 
 The words fell on an unheeding ear. Dudley 
 was considering how he should break the news to 
 May, and was waiting impatiently until his father's 
 advice should arrive at a conclusion, that he might 
 seek her and hear her opinion. At length Mr. 
 Hesketh saw that he was talking to no purpose, 
 and with a sigh told his son, that he had no longer 
 any wish to detain him. Dudley, with a repetition 
 of his earnest thanks, flew off", and when his 
 thoughtless son was gone, Mr. Hesketh, with a 
 heavy heart, and a tearful glance at the sweet face, 
 that appeared to be looking down upon him, knelt 
 in fervent supplication, that their child might never 
 have cause to repent the step he had thus rashly and 
 inconsiderately taken. 
 
 Dudley hastened to the sitting-room to inquire 
 for May. Miss Hesketh was there alone, and she 
 told him that Mabel had left for Woodbank, about 
 an hour before. He set off" to seek her there, and 
 met her at the Priory gate, returning. He put his 
 arm round her waist and kissed her, and she ex- 
 pressed her surprise at seeing him back so unex- 
 pectedly. 
 
 " Take a turn on the terrace, May, I want to tell 
 you something."
 
 IfOETHWODE PEIOET. 227 
 
 " "What is it, Dudley ? Good news I see by 
 your face." 
 
 " I hope you will think it good, May." 
 
 *' Something particular, to have brought you 
 back so suddenly, I suppose." 
 
 " Yes — how should you like Geraldine for a sis- 
 ter. May ?" 
 
 "A sister! How? 0, Dudley ! do you mean it ?" 
 
 "Are you glad, May?" 
 
 Mabel's face was turned from him, and she made 
 no reply. "When he caught sight of it there were 
 tears in her eyes, and her lip quivered as she re- 
 plied to his question, 
 
 '* If it is for your happiness, dear Dudley ; but 
 I hope you have considered well." 
 
 " You are not glad, I am sure. I can see by 
 your face, May. I thought you were fond of her." 
 
 " I am — I think she is sweetly pretty and good- 
 tempered, and accomplished, but it is your happi- 
 ness I am anxious about." 
 
 "And you think it is not for my happiness." 
 
 '* Oh ! no, I do not say so, only I cannot feel 
 sure. But, Dudley, if it is all settled, I have no 
 right to say such things." 
 
 " Yes, you must tell me, it is not exactly quite 
 settled, and I want to hear your opinion." 
 
 " Why, I fancy that you would be happier with 
 a quiet, serious-minded person, whom you could 
 look up to, and lean upon. Geraldine is a sweet, 
 fascinating girl, but do you think she has steady 
 principles enough for you?" 
 
 " I am not like you about those things ; if a per- 
 son is good, that is sufficient for me." 
 
 Mabel sighed ; " It will have to be a long en- 
 gagement, Dudley. How Avill she bear it ?" 
 
 " I have no fear ! O, May ! you have forgotten 
 her, she is such a sweet creature, and our mother 
 used to be fond of her !"
 
 228 NOETHWODE PEIOJIT. 
 
 Mabel felt it was not her place to argue on such 
 a point, although her mother's fondness had been 
 tempered with a great deal of disapprobation at the 
 reckless, daring character of Geraldine, and accom- 
 panied by much anxiety, lest her own children 
 should imbibe the same disposition. 
 
 " If you have considered well, and are sure it is 
 for your happiness, I am satisfied," she said. " I 
 cannot pretend to be a good judge of what will 
 best suit you, and you may depend on my looking 
 upon Geraldine as a sister, for your sake, dear 
 Dudley." 
 
 "Not for her own," said Dudley. 
 
 " Yes, for her own, too. You know that I like 
 and admire her, only you will require a great deal 
 of firmness of character yourself, for one cannot go 
 through the world laughing and singing." 
 
 " I see now what you mean ; you think we are 
 both too giddy to come together, and that I wanted 
 a steadier person to control my follies." 
 
 " I think, while all is bright and sunshiny, 
 you will be happy as the day is long, but when 
 the realities of life come, I am afraid for you, 
 Dudley." 
 
 " Do you think we shall be unable to meet 
 them ?" 
 
 " I do not say so, yet I cannot feel sure ; but 
 look upon a long engagement as a blessing, for it 
 will test the sincerity of both." 
 
 " O, May ! Those are bard words from you ! 
 Of myself I can feel sure, and I know Geraldine 
 would be true to me through everything. Indeed 
 you do not know her — I would trust her as I would 
 myself." 
 
 " I would not for worlds raise one single doubt 
 in your mind," replied Mabel. " It is years since 
 I knew much of her, and I will take her on trust 
 from you. Don't look at me in that way, Dudley ;
 
 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 229 
 
 I promise to think of her as a sister, from this 
 time forth." 
 
 *' I had set my heart on your being glad, and 
 you cannot make me believe that you really are," 
 said Dudley. " 0, May ! I am so sure you are 
 mistaken." 
 
 " Mistaken in what ? In wishing to look upon 
 her as a sister ?" asked Mabel, smiling. " What 
 does papa say, Dudley ?" 
 
 " He has been so kind ! He promises to assist 
 us by and by, and gives his full consent." 
 
 " Then I suppose it is finally settled. You 
 should tell Aunt Anne, she is in the drawing-room ; 
 good-bye, for I must take off" my bonnet. You do 
 not return till to-morrow ?" 
 
 Once in her own room, Mabel gave way to her 
 real feelings. She was deeply, bitterly disappointed. 
 Of all girls in the world, Geraldine was the last she 
 would have chosen for Dudley. There was a want 
 of principle, a frivolous, light tone about her, pecu- 
 liarly opposed to all Mabel's views. She delighted 
 in gaiety, and in receiving the attention which 
 she always obtained. Her name had already been 
 coupled with more than one of her admirers, in a 
 way that Mabel could not approve of. As long as 
 Dudley was prosperous, she would be true to him, 
 but of her faithfulness in adversity, Mabel had 
 serious doubts. True, she seemed little likely to 
 be tried, but there was but negative comfort in 
 this, and Dudley must infallibly become more and 
 more heedless and inert, under such influences. It 
 was a sore trial, but her own path lay clearly de- 
 fined before her. A sister's opposition could be of 
 no use, and would only create ill-will, that might 
 preclude the possibility of rendering them real assist- 
 ance by and by ; while a sister's influence on Ge- 
 raldine might make her more fitted for the position 
 she was to fill. Dudley must at all events be her
 
 230 FOETHWODE PETOET. 
 
 first thought. If it was in her power to further 
 his happiness, everything must be sacrificed to this, 
 and as the engagement appeared really to have 
 taken place, no one had a right to raise doubt and 
 distrust between them. Mr. Hesketh was, next to 
 Dudley, the one most concerned in the matter, and 
 if he was satisfied, it was plainly Mabel's duty to 
 endeavour to feel so also. Yet it was a hard strug- 
 gle. She had felt anxious about Dudley for a long 
 while, and had often wondered, sadly, what would 
 rouse him to exertion, and prayed that the time 
 might not be far distant, which would see him 
 shake off" his inertness, and take a right view of his 
 responsibilities. And now at the very period of his 
 life, when it was all-important he should be urged 
 forward and forced to leave off" trifling, came this 
 engagement, which would from henceforth be the 
 all-engrossing thought of his life, and for which, 
 Mabel plainly saw, all serious considerations would 
 be thrown aside. 
 
 What a pleasure there was in turning from such 
 reflections to dwell upon Hugh ! How thoroughly 
 she felt she could depend upon him, though every 
 one else disappointed her! Every day seemed 
 strengthening his principles and making him more 
 and more earnest and practical. Could hei confi- 
 dence in him ever be shaken ? She hoped and be- 
 lieved not. How unlikely that he would ever be 
 ensnared by a pretty face and pleasing manners, as 
 Dudley had been ! Yet even this thought could 
 not make up for the loss of her brother — the 
 brother with whom all her life had been spent. 
 They had shared every amusement, every trouble, 
 every enjoyment, and although there had been dis- 
 similarities, and the tone of their minds, of late 
 years especially, had developed in opposite direc- 
 tions, yet the love was the same, and May could 
 not but feel that her brother was from henceforth
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 231 
 
 comparatively lost to her. The influence of a mind 
 like Geraldine's must have the effect of separating 
 him from her, and the confidences, that had been 
 formerly brought to her, would now be carried to 
 Geraldine. This, however, was but the course of 
 nature — what she had alvv^ays led herself to expect 
 — and had Geraldine been one, who would have 
 raised his mind, and led him to seek higher things, 
 Mabel could have felt reconciled to her own loss. 
 But there was much to sadden her in the event, 
 and she could only remind herself that He, Who 
 ordereth all things well, must have ordained it for 
 Dudley's good eventually, if not immediately, and 
 that He could bring good out of evil. 
 
 When she descended to the drawing-room, she 
 found Miss Hesketh alone, musing over the news 
 that had just been communicated to her, and evi- 
 dently glad to obtain a sharer in her speculations on 
 the engagement. Mabel felt little disposed to dis- 
 cuss the matter coolly, but dutifulness to her aunt 
 outweighed private feelings, and she patiently 
 submitted. 
 
 " Well, my love, we must congratulate each other 
 upon this event. We have every reason to rejoice." 
 
 " Dudley has been telling you," observed Mabel, 
 feeling it hard to reply to her aunt's observation. 
 
 " Yes, dear fellow, he told me directly. I am sure 
 your father must be well pleased. Everything that 
 he could wish — family, beauty, accomplishments, 
 even money, to a small amount, I suppose." 
 
 " Not much of that, I should think," replied May. 
 
 " Well, but as your father has promised him 
 a handsome allowance, it will be of little conse- 
 quence ; still, I should think Colonel Egerton must 
 be sufficiently well off to portion his daughters 
 handsomely." 
 
 *• The money is a very trifling consideration com- 
 pared with Dudley's happiness," said Mabel.
 
 232 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 " Very," replied Miss Hesketh, absently. " I 
 have been telling Frances that the connection is 
 all that we could wish." 
 
 " What did Frances say ?" 
 
 " Why, she is peculiar, my dear, and I don't 
 think she quite likes the engagement ; she said 
 connection was all nonsense, and that it was going 
 to be William's case over again — that Dudley was 
 to be idle, and your papa was to support him ; but 
 that won't be the case, for Dudley intends to work 
 hard, from this time forward." 
 
 May sighed. " You have not seen papa since, 
 Aunt Anne ?" 
 
 " No, my love, he has been in his study ; he gave 
 his full consent as soon as Dudley asked him. No 
 doubt he is very much pleased. Geraldine Egerton 
 is such a sweet, fascinating creature !" 
 
 " Just the words," thought May, " sweet and 
 fascinating, and there the tale is told. But sweet- 
 ness and fascination will not do for a married life, 
 if there is nothing beneath." 
 
 " Dudley is rather young, certainly," soliloquized 
 Miss Hesketh ; " but as they are willing to wait, 
 that can be no objection. William was not quite 
 twenty-four when he married, and he has been very 
 happy." 
 
 " Papa was married young," observed Mabel. 
 
 "Yes," and Miss Hesketh sighed. "But not 
 so young as Dudley, he was twenty-six. Your 
 mamma was four years younger. I wish you could 
 have seen her then, May." 
 
 " Tell me about her," said May, eagerly. 
 
 " It had been a long affair," continued her aunt. 
 " William had loved her many years, but until your 
 grandfather's death, it was not allowed to be an 
 engagement. Your mamma was very pretty, and 
 had many good offers, but she said she did not 
 care for money, and that she would rather wait for
 
 NORTHWODE PRIOET. 233 
 
 "William, even if it were twenty years before he 
 could make sufficient to marry upon. When your 
 grandfather died there was no longer any occasion 
 for waiting, as Northwode Priory, and most of the 
 property, came to your papa. Few people ever 
 had a happier married life than he had." 
 
 " You were saying you wished I could have seen 
 her then," said May. 
 
 " She was very pretty ; no — not pretty, exactly, 
 that is not the word ; her expression was her great 
 charm, it was so sweet and full of feeling. You 
 can remember that yourself. May, but you cannot 
 remember her light brown hair and bright colour. 
 She looked scarcely more than a girl when she was 
 married. I remember, when I saw her, for the 
 first time, in her white dress and bridal wreath, I 
 didn't wonder William was so deeply in love with 
 her." 
 
 " Is Frances at all what she was then ?" asked 
 May. 
 
 "Not in the least, never could two people be 
 more unlike. Your papa says you have her ex- 
 pression. May, but her hair was darker than yours, 
 and you have the Hesketh features." 
 
 " I wish I could be like her in every way," said 
 May. 
 
 *' You never will, my dear," said her aunt, not 
 entering into her full meaning. " Her expression 
 you have, certainly, and her eyes, but all your fea- 
 tures are your papa's." 
 
 Mabel was thoughtful for some time, and then 
 her aunt remarked, *' It is a great comfort to dear 
 Dudley that his mother was fond of Greraldine, 
 He says he feels sure that she would have approved 
 of his choice." 
 
 " And what do you think. Aunt Anne ?" asked 
 Mabel. 
 
 " Oh ! my love, I have no doubt about the matter.
 
 234 NOETHWODE PEIORY. 
 
 What could any one wish for more ? I dare say 
 you scarcely know what a good connection it is. 
 Mrs. Egerton's brother is a Member of Parlia- 
 ment, and the Colonel's father was a Baronet, and 
 had a magnificent estate in the north of England, 
 The Colonel was a younger son, unfortunately, and 
 succeeded to very little of the property, but his 
 brother is now Sir John Egerton, and married to a 
 lady of high rank." 
 
 " But these are not the things mamma would 
 have considered," suggested May. 
 
 " Well, my love, then as to the money, I have 
 no doubt the Colonel will give her something ; and 
 money is not exactly an object with Dudley. 
 Against the want of fortune, too, we may place 
 Sir John Egerton's interest, which will of course 
 be exerted for Dudley." 
 
 " Mamma never thought of money,'* gaid Mabel, 
 hopeless of showing her aunt her true meaning. 
 
 " Money is by no means the first consideration, 
 of course," said Miss Hesketh, in a sage tone. 
 " But, my love, you mast remember that an old 
 proverb tells us, ' When poverty comes in at the 
 door, love flies out at the window.' "
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 " Then sanctified be this sweet, hallow'd time, 
 That brings the sun and summer of our hopes 
 In the mid-winter, and on the decline 
 And winter of our age scatters fair flowers 
 Of all the spring, the modest flowers that breathe 
 Of infancy and hope, and of our God 
 Coming a little Child to dwell with us ; 
 For thou art very summer to the soul. 
 Thawing the thick-ribb'd ice around the heart, 
 Lighting the eye with sunshine." 
 
 The Christian Seasons. 
 
 Dudley's fit of energy began to evaporate when 
 lie found his point gained, and Greraldine really hie 
 own. But this was not to Colonel Egerton's 
 mind, and he insisted on Dudley's matriculating at 
 once, that his season of idleness might be over, 
 hoping that he would then see the necessity for 
 regaining lost time, and reading in earnest. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh wished that Mr. Chase should be 
 again brought into requisition, but Dudley ener- 
 getically assured them all that he could never read 
 steadily while separated from Geraldine ; in conse- 
 quence of which his books were removed to Mar- 
 bury, and two hours of every day were nominally 
 devoted to study, but in reality spent in bright, 
 vague dreams of the future, which were to be im- 
 parted to Geraldine, as soon as the two hours of 
 banishment were over.
 
 236 KORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 November, with its short evenings and twilight 
 days, was as dreary at Peverstone as elsewhere. 
 Mabel was inclined to feel lonely and depressed 
 without her two companions, but in devoting her- 
 self to her home and parish duties, in trying to 
 keep up Dora's flagging spirits, and assisting to 
 control the children, she found no time for dwell- 
 ing on her own feelings. 
 
 Frances was dissatisfied, changeable, sarcastic as 
 ever, and now that she had not Dudley to vent her 
 ill-humour upon. May got her full share, and found 
 it hard to bear patiently with the injustice and 
 satire that met her continually. Long letters from 
 Mina were a great pleasure, full, as they always 
 were, of the kindness with which she was treated ; 
 and although she could report no progress in her 
 health, Mabel could feel thankful that the re- 
 mainder of her life was to be spent in a place, 
 where she had the full advantages of those Church 
 privileges in which she was able to join, and where 
 she could meet with full sympathy from those by 
 whom she was surrounded. 
 
 . December brought Hugh to Peverstone, full of 
 health and spirits, and improved even by his short 
 residence at Oxford. His tutor hoped great things 
 from him, and his own confidence in himself was in 
 a measure restored. He felt full of vigour, and 
 came home prepared to make the most of his time. 
 
 A second invitation from Monckton Court had 
 been politely refused, but Mr. Collier seemed very 
 much indisposed to let the intimacy drop. One 
 unhappy Sunday, when the heavy rain rendered it 
 but neighbourly to offer some civilities to those 
 whose homes lay at a distance, Mr. Hesketh asked 
 him to lunch at the Priory, instead of walking home 
 between the services, and this was made an excuse 
 for doing the same every Sunday : a move which 
 met with the decided disapproval of all the family.
 
 NOBTHWODE PRIORY. 237 
 
 At first it had been simply vexatious, but after a 
 time it became extremely annoying. The reserve 
 that he had at first worn during his visits to the 
 Priory, passed away, and he became familiar and 
 p^resnming. He paid open devotion to Mabel, and 
 although tortured at witnessing such a profanation, 
 Mr. Hesketh felt unable to prevent it, and some 
 private feeling made him still outwardly courteous 
 and friendly with the intruder, although he in- 
 wardly writhed under his familiar vulgarity. Ma- 
 bel was the most to be pitied. Not all her cold 
 dignity could repel his advances, and although she 
 avoided him as much as possible, and left the room 
 when she knew he was expected, he always contrived 
 to find opportunities for distressing her with his at- 
 tentions, and more than once met her returning 
 from Woodbank, and escorted her to the Priory gate. 
 
 Dudley's amusement was extreme, and his mirth 
 and jokes on the subject, whenever he was at the 
 Priory, were rather more than May liked. She 
 bore with them, however, good-humouredly, think- 
 ing that they would soon die a natural death, and 
 knowing, that if she exhibited any annoyance, it 
 would only perpetuate Dudley's delight in teazing 
 her on the subject. 
 
 It was a great trial to Mrs. Grahame, when she 
 found Hugh as fond of Northwode Priory as ever, 
 and spending all his spare time there. She felt 
 forced to submit quietly, but her resolution was 
 fully taken, that the Easter vacation should not be 
 passed at Lynchbrook, and she considered, anx- 
 iously, how to arrange this without arousing 
 Hugh's suspicions. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh made a great point of Dudley's 
 spending Christmas Day at home, as he liked to 
 have all his children around him at that time. 
 G-eraldine was invited also, but the Colonel would 
 not hear of parting with her, and Dudley, consider-
 
 238 FOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 ably torn between conflicting wishes, yielded to his 
 father's desire, and returned to Peverstone two 
 days previous to Christmas Day. 
 
 Christmas Eve was a bright, clear, frosty day. 
 The air was keen and piercing, although there was 
 no appearance of snow. It was spent by Mabel 
 and Hugh in assisting to decorate the church, and 
 the ivy, and holly, and fir, against and round the 
 massive pillars, altar rails, screen, and other parts 
 of the church, seemed meet tokens of holy joy and 
 gladness, at the arrival of Him Who brought peace 
 and good-will from God to man. 
 
 Hugh returned to the Priory, to spend a part of 
 theEve itself with Dudley and May. Seldom had the 
 drawing-room appeared more thoroughly comfort- 
 able and enjoyable, than it did that night. A large 
 ashen faggot blazed in the open grate ; Mr. Hes- 
 keth sat in his easy chair on one side, while, on a 
 stool at his feet, with her head resting against his 
 chair, and her golden curls straying over the arm 
 that was round her, sat May. Next her was 
 Hugh, then Dudley, in a low, luxurious chair, his 
 feet on the fender, the very picture of ease and en- 
 joyment. Miss Hesketh was knitting by the fire- 
 light, while Prances sat in the corner, very silent 
 and disposed to be melancholy, though the cause 
 was not assigned, and not inquired into. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh looked happy, although lines of 
 care were leaving their traces on his face, and a faint 
 sprinkling of silver was tinging his dark hair. He 
 was still a handsome man, more so than either of 
 his sons, and his tall, firm figure put to shame 
 Dudley's bent shoulders and careless carriage. 
 There was peace and happiness written on the faces 
 of Mabel and Hugh, and Miss Hesketh's invariably 
 kind face was even more benignant than usual, 
 this night. 
 
 **I like a bright, cold Christmas Day," said
 
 KOETHWODE PEIOET. 239 
 
 Hugh, thoughtfullj. " I think it must be fine to- 
 morrow. Is the barometer still high, May ?" 
 
 " Yes, rising a little. Tou need have no fears." 
 
 '* I wonder whether our friend will honour us 
 with his society to-morrow?" said Dudley. 
 
 " What friend ?" inquired Hugh. 
 
 "What friend?" repeated Dudley, scornfully. 
 " I pity your ignorance, Hugh. Are you not 
 aware that we have a weekly visitor, an honoured 
 guest, no less a person than May's friend and ad- 
 mirer, Mr. Collier ?" 
 
 "Stuff!" exclaimed Hugh, testily. "Why will 
 you be so absurd, Dudley ? Can't you talk com- 
 mon sense, instead of connecting names together in 
 that way ? It is very wrong." 
 
 "Oh! ho!" said Dudley, "and so the young 
 gentleman's mettle is up ; and pray what can it 
 signify to you how I choose to denominate the indi- 
 vidual in question ?" 
 
 " It matters a great deal," replied Hugh, in a 
 tone that was unusually fierce for him. " If he 
 were a gentleman it would be another thing, but a 
 vulgar, ill-bred, presuming, insolent upstart like 
 that " 
 
 " I say !" cried Dudley, springing up, and col- 
 laring Hugh. " This is not to be borne ! ' Fetters 
 and warder for the G-raeme.' Is our most valued, 
 esteemed, and respected friend to be loaded with 
 insulting epithets in our presence, and the pre- 
 sumptuous offender to pass unscathed ?" 
 
 " There, Dudley, thank you, that will do," said 
 Hugh, shaking off his grasp, rather impatiently. 
 " You are at liberty to call Mr. Collier anything 
 you like, of course, but I can only say I am sorry 
 for your taste." 
 
 "It is your taste that is at fault," retorted Dud- 
 ley, while May and the others merely smiled, think- 
 ing Hugh could not really take Dudley's jest in
 
 240 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 sober earnest, and feeling too thorough a contempt 
 for the person in question, to deem it necessary to 
 say so. Hugh relapsed into thoughtful silence, 
 though his face was considerably redder than it 
 had been before, whether from the increased heat 
 of the fire, or the late conversation, was uncertain. 
 
 "Here, I have some amusement for you," ob- 
 served Dudley, producing a bag of Barcelona nuts. 
 " We were burning them at Marbury the other 
 day, and I thought it would be good fun to initiate 
 you into the mysteries of the 'performance.' " 
 
 " Burning nuts, Dudley," said May ; " what fun 
 can there be in that ?" 
 
 " You shall see," said her brother, selecting two 
 large ones out of the bag. *' Now, who shall these 
 be ? Shall we burn Hugh and Miss Lushington, 
 or whom ?" 
 
 " Not me, with any one, I thank you, Dudley," 
 replied Hugh, shortly. 
 
 "Then Mr. Chase and Miss Lushington," said 
 Dudley. " Or no, Mr. Chase and Erances ! They 
 have always had a secret predilection for each 
 other, let us try their fate." 
 
 Frances looked on and listened in utter con- 
 tempt, but Mr. Hesketh interposed, saying, *' No 
 clergyman, Dudley ; you may burn any one else, 
 but I do not approve of having them put in a ludi- 
 crous position." 
 
 " Well, but whom can we burn, then ?" 
 
 " It is a great foll}^," said Frances. 
 
 " No folly at all," replied her brother. " Frances 
 shall be burnt, I am determined, and with whom ? 
 — why, Mr. Osborne, he will do very well, espe- 
 cially as he was the means of rescuing her from a 
 watery grave." 
 
 It was beneath her dignity to look annoyed, or 
 make any opposition, and with a curl on her lip, 
 she silently watched the two nuts, as Dudley,
 
 ITORTHWODE PEIOEY. 241 
 
 placing them near each other on the lowest bar of 
 the grate, decided that the larger should be Mr. 
 Osborne, and the smaller one F'rances. 
 
 Por some time there was a silence, when Dudley 
 exclaimed, " He smokes ! That is right ! Quite 
 proper it should begin on his side ! And oh ! 
 look, she smokes too, not very violently, but 
 enough to encourage him." 
 
 " And now he has caught fire, Dudley !" ex- 
 claimed Mabel. " What do you see from that ?" 
 
 " Oh ! he is getting desperate — his feelings 
 overpower him ! What a blaze ! There, and she 
 is catching fire, too ! Now, if the flames meet, it 
 is all right. How they are blazing ! I never 
 thought there was so much warmth in her !" 
 
 "The flames are very near now, Dudley," ob- 
 served his aunt, who was watching the nuts with 
 great interest. 
 
 " Yes, one moment more, and they must meet. 
 Oh ! dear, what a pity, he has rolled over into the 
 fire ! Bad luck, Frances, shall we try you again ?" 
 
 "No, thank you, I am quite satisfied," replied 
 his sister, smiling. " I daresay I shall survive the 
 disappointment." 
 
 " But what did it mean, Dudley ?" asked May. 
 
 " Why, nothing exactly ; if he had grown cool 
 upon it, he would have rolled over this way. 
 It looks like a case of desperation and self- 
 destruction." 
 
 " What a melancholy conclusion," said May. " I 
 am glad it is so improbable." 
 
 " Well, who is to be the next ? May and Mr. 
 Collier, I propose, and Hugh shall put them on." 
 
 "I won't stay to see that odious man burnt!" 
 exclaimed Hugh, rising to leave. 
 
 **No no, sit down, Hugh," said Mabel. "Dud- 
 ley does not mean it. He is only teasing you, 
 because he thinks you dislike Mr. Collier."
 
 242 FOETHWODE PRIORT. 
 
 " And, in revenge, we will burn Dudley and 
 Geraldine," said Miss Hesketh. 
 
 " I will put them on," said Hugb, who had re- 
 covered his equilibrium at May's speech. 
 
 " AVith all my heart," replied Dudley. 
 
 The two nuts were placed on the bar, and in 
 a moment began simultaneously to smoke. Soon 
 the smoke rose into a blaze, and then Dudley 
 began to fidget, and look uncouifortable. The 
 nut whieh represented himself burnt clearly and 
 steadily, but the other flickered and wavered, and 
 Mabel, though the most unsuperstitious of beings, 
 could not help reflecting, that it was a true type 
 of Geraldine's character. Dudley's uneasiness in- 
 creased as the nuts burnt on, and at last, when the 
 smaller one rolled deliberately over, on to the 
 hearth beneath, he was totally upset. 
 
 " It is all nonsense !" he exclaimed. "They are 
 bad nuts, we won't do any more. They did much 
 better at Marbury the other night. Hugh put 
 these on badly, I am sure." 
 
 **'Well, Dudley, I did not think you were so 
 superstitious," said his father, smiling at his evi- 
 dent vexation. " Does Geraldine's fidelity depend 
 on the burning of a nut ?" 
 
 " You don't suppose that I care about it, I 
 hope," -said Dudley, a little impatiently. 
 
 " Why, I am not so sure," replied Mr. Hes- 
 keth. " But I certainly object to burning engaged 
 people, and I am by no means sure, that it is 
 an amusement calculated to promote either fun, or 
 good-temper." 
 
 " I am sorry I proposed burning you, my dear, if 
 you have taken it as an ill-omen," observed his aunt. 
 
 Dudley got up hastily. " Why will every one 
 try to put me out of temper ?" he exclaimed. 
 " Do you suppose I care for those absurd nuts ? 
 It is too provoking, I declare !"
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 243 
 
 " 0, my dear ! I am very sorry," said his aunt, in 
 a distressed tone. " I really thought it was all 
 about the nuts, and I had no idea" anything else 
 had happened to vex you." 
 
 " How can I help being vexed, when you all try 
 to persuade me that I am out of temper ?" 
 
 " That wasn't what I meant to persuade you of," 
 said Miss Hesketh, gently. " I was going to show 
 you, if you had given me time, tliat it was very 
 hard to judge of Greraldine by such a trifle." 
 
 "I shall get regularly savage in a minute," mut- 
 tered Dudley, between his teeth ; but he was 
 checked by the sound of his father's grave voice, 
 " It is your aunt who is speaking to you, Dudley." 
 
 Mabel suddenly scattered the coming cloud, that 
 threatened to overshadow the evening, by seating 
 herself on the floor, and proposing that the nuts 
 should be put to their proper use. Dudley was 
 despatched for nut-crackers, and by the time he 
 came back seemed to have recovered his good- 
 humour. 
 
 As Hugh wished Mabel good night, he asked, 
 " Did I seem cross just now ? I was sorry after- 
 wards, but I can't restrain my feelings when they 
 talk of that man." 
 
 " Christmas Eve is not a time for feeling un- 
 kindly towards any one, is it ?" asked May, in 
 reply ; "and least of all towards those of our own 
 parish." 
 
 A cloud came over his face ; "I am afraid you 
 are all getting to like him." 
 
 " You are quite mistaken," said Mabel, with a 
 smile. " Dudley talks of him simply to teaze you, 
 and we only bear with him on papa's account, 
 because it is his wish." 
 
 " He is no associate for you," said Hugh, shortly. 
 
 "At all events we needn't think of him to- 
 night," observed May.
 
 244 NOETHWODE PRIORT. 
 
 It was late before Mabel went to bed that aigbt. 
 Christmas was one of her most precious anniversa- 
 ries ; recalling, as it did, tbe recollection of so 
 many words and looks of one wbo had been taken 
 from ber, and tbe treasured remembrance of many 
 an earnest prayer, that had been breathed over her 
 on tbat night, and wbicb it was bitter grief to feel 
 were at an end for ever. If it was a day for 
 musing on the past, it was also one for considering 
 tbe future. It was what Mina would bave called a 
 " resting place," and as such May had always re- 
 garded it. With a sad heart, but unflinchingly, 
 she went over the faults and shortcomings of the 
 past year, and tried to remember how much she 
 had struggled against them, and how much more she 
 might have done so, had the spirit been more willing, 
 and the flesh less weak. She tried to compare her 
 present state with what she had been a twelve- 
 month before, and with a thankful heart ventured 
 to hope, that the year had not been unproductive 
 of good — that faults, which she had grieved over 
 bitterly then, were now partially cured, and that the 
 self-discipline and restraint, which had been waver- 
 ing and uncertain then, were now become habitual 
 to her, or at least, comparatively so. Mina's firm, 
 blunt example had given the required impetus to 
 Mabel's more gentle, and shrinking nature, and 
 her character was daily strengthening and maturing. 
 The disappointment of Dudley's engagement had 
 been met in a braver and more resigned spirit, than 
 it would have been some time ago, and with the 
 reflection, that it was one of the trials sent to wean 
 her from this uncertain world, and make her fix 
 her hopes and affections on higher objects. 
 
 She tried to bring back every recollection of her 
 mother, and by the fire-light read over many a 
 letter, and many a chapter in her Bible that had 
 received her pencil mark. They seemed to help
 
 TfOETHWODE PRIOET. 245 
 
 her to realise what her views and feelings had 
 been, and after reading them, she could better con- 
 sider how far she was treading in the paths that 
 her mother would have desired — how far she was 
 following the narrow way, which led to the Home 
 where she was already at rest. 
 
 It was a happy, peaceful time — that Christmas- 
 tide — full of recollections half-sad, half-happy — re- 
 collections of Christmas-days long past, when they 
 had all been children together, wild with health 
 and spirits, but tempered down into a subdued joy, 
 by the thoughts which their mother put into their 
 minds at this season — thoughts of the holy Child 
 and His mother, of the lowly manger, and of the 
 glorious angels appearing to the simple shepherds, 
 as they watched their flocks by night, summoning 
 them to pay adoration to their new-born King, 
 thoughts full of awe and mystery to their child- 
 like minds, but sufficiently comprehended to teach 
 them, that wild, thoughtless mirth was no fit way 
 of celebrating Christmas, and to make them appre- 
 ciate the quiet, happy evenings presided over by 
 their mother, when she would read aloud to them, 
 or talk in a way, that made those evenings more 
 enjoyable, than the wild, boisterous ones, when 
 "William, Dudley, and Geraldine were together, 
 frightening the whole household by their uncon- 
 trolled spirits. Then came the recollection of later 
 times, when William had returned from College, 
 and Dudley from Winchester, in order that they 
 might all be together at that season, and when Mr. 
 Hesketh, in the fulness of his domestic happiness, 
 sat in his arm-chair surrounded by his children, 
 with a face of placid enjoyment, feeling that every- 
 thing was prospering with him, that his home, his 
 wife, his children, were all that he could desire — 
 and their mother, with her peculiarly sweet smile, 
 making the Priory too dear a home for this transi-
 
 246 FOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 tory life. Little had they thought then of such 
 things, until the blow, that made their father a 
 saddened man, and took from them the centre of 
 their affections, taught them to realise that such 
 happiness had been too bright to last, and that 
 earth with its bare, unloving realities, was all that 
 was left them. A strangely different Christmas 
 was the one which followed that sad time — when 
 Mr. Hesketh sat, with bowed head, in the same 
 accustomed place, and his children with heavy, ach- 
 ing hearts, gathered round him, longing to soothe 
 his grief, yet too heart-stricken to trust their 
 voices to make the attempt ; and when May, the 
 most utterly bereaved and broken down of all, crept 
 to his side, that the pressure of his arm round 
 her might lessen the feeling of loneliness and de- 
 solation, which seemed greater than she could bear. 
 Oh! the silent anguish they had felt when, for the 
 first time in their lives, they had gone to rest on 
 Christmas Eve, without their mother's kiss and 
 blessing ; and May's agonized tears, as she sobbed 
 herself to sleep in Judith's arms, and doubted 
 whether it would be possible to pass a long life 
 without the mother, who had been her all-in-all 
 upon earth ! 
 
 Although five years had passed since then, her 
 bereavement seemed still too real, and too recent, 
 to be thought of without the feeling that an aching 
 void still remained, and that the Priory, dear and 
 precious as it was, in every tree and every stone, 
 had lost its best treasure to her. It had indeed be- 
 come home again to them, their father had in a 
 great measure recovered his former cheerfulness, and 
 Mabel was tryiug hard to fill the place that had 
 been so long vacant. But their loss was still felfc 
 every day, and the faults that Mr. Hesketh failed 
 to check, which one look, or one word, from their 
 mother would have controlled, made that word and 
 look sadly felt to be wanting.
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 247 
 
 Tears were in Mabel's eyes, as in tliouglit she 
 went over that time, and knew that on earth that 
 smile, and that gentle voice, were gone from her 
 for ever — tears — but not the hopeless, agonising 
 tears she had shed at first, for deep and true as 
 was her grief, she no longer felt that a blight had 
 been cast over her life, or that she was incapable 
 of ever again feeling happiness. There was work 
 in abundance before her, and on all sides of her, 
 and it w^as the knowledge of this that had first 
 roused her from the lethargy into which, after the 
 first overwhelming shock, she had fallen. Work, 
 and anxiety for others, had first shown her, that 
 she still had an interest in life, and after a time, 
 when the acuteness of the loss was in a measure 
 deadened, she found that even pleasure and light- 
 heartedness were still in store for her, although it 
 was long before she could indulge in them, or 
 forget that her greatest source of happiness was 
 gone. Then came the remembrance that in yielding 
 to grief and despondency, she was refusing to bow 
 to the Hand of God, and this thought seemed to 
 brace up her energies most of all, and in her un- 
 selfish love for others, and the resignation which 
 she taught herself, her mind recovered its usual 
 tone. 
 
 Affection and consideration for others were es- 
 pecially in the ascendant on this night. Not mor- 
 bid fears, and melancholy anticipations as to the 
 trials that might yet be in store for them, but the 
 faith and confidence that made her commit those 
 she loved to a Higher Care, and pray that what 
 trials were yet awaiting them might be sent in 
 mercy and not in judgment, and be accompanied 
 by strength sufficient for the occasion — that the 
 lesson they were intended to teach might be ac- 
 cepted, and learnt in a humble spirit, and so good 
 might come out of evil. She prayed for Mina on 
 her couch of suffering — for Frances, as for one
 
 248 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 who needed her prayers even more — for her father, 
 for Dudley, Hugh, William, Dora — all whom she 
 loved — and for one whom she especially regarded 
 as a sacred charge — her little God-child. All were 
 remembered, and last of all she prayed for herself, 
 with deep humility, feeling how much she needed 
 strength. 
 
 She was interrupted by a sound of voices in the 
 open air, and rising from her knees, recollected that 
 they were the Carol siugers, carolling in the anni- 
 versary of the Birth of Cheist. She threw a 
 shawl over her shoulders, and opened the casement 
 window. Exquisitely sweet were the distant voices, 
 as they came to her on the night air. The sky 
 was clear, and the stars were shining brightly. 
 Louder and louder the voices swelled, until she 
 could distinguish the words of their Carol, 
 
 " Upon the snow- clad earth without 
 
 The stars are shining bright, 
 As Heav'n had hung out all her lamps 
 
 To hail our festal night. 
 For on this night, long years ago, 
 
 The blessed Babe was born ; 
 The saints of old were wont to keep 
 
 Their vigil until dawn." 
 
 Everything else was still and silent, and she 
 could scarcely discern the lawn and shrubs in the 
 starlight. A light still burned in her father's room, 
 which, as it was situated in a projecting gable, she 
 could just see, and she knew that his meditations 
 had not been far different from her own. It came 
 across her how dearly she loved the Priory, and 
 every one within it, and with a full heart, she 
 closed the casement, and went to bed. 
 
 It was a happy Christmas Day. Mr. Hesketh 
 was unusually cheerful, when he met his children 
 at tlie breakfast table, and produced his Christmas 
 gifts. A gold watch for Dudley, a brooch of Mrs.
 
 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 249 
 
 Hesketli's for Trances, and for May the present 
 which of all others she coveted, her mother's Bible 
 and Prayer Book. How well she recollected the 
 silver cross and clasps, and the initials M. A. H., 
 and the dark purple covers, well worn with daily 
 use. No gift could have been more inestimably 
 precious. The words with which it was accom- 
 panied almost upset May's self-control, ' Tour 
 mother's blessing with it, my May-flower.' She 
 felt that the words really brought her the Christ- 
 mas blessing, that had been such a void on that 
 day for some years, and it sent her on her way 
 with a glad heart. 
 
 Hugh met them at the Church porch, and they 
 went in together. It was a beautiful service ; the 
 psalms, the lessons, the hymns, all seemed to speak 
 of the joy that should be felt this day. Every face 
 looked more than usually bright, and when the 
 hymn was sung, which Mabel knew to be Hugh's 
 favourite, she could not resist one glance at him, 
 to read his feelings in his countenance. The cold 
 rays of the winter sun beamed through the stained 
 windows, and fell on the white pillars, with their 
 green garlands, and on Hugh's face, which was 
 slightly raised. His thoughts were far distant, the 
 music had borne them off into a realm, of which 
 May only could guess, but she noticed the expres- 
 sion of purity on his face, the broad, white fore- 
 head, and dark chestnut curls, and the deep blue 
 eye, lost in the workings of the mind, and thought 
 if any one were worthy to dream of that unseen 
 world, he was surely that one. 
 
 The stern, hard features by his side were a 
 strange contrast. The iron-grey eye — iron in its 
 expression, as well as colour, — and the firm, unim- 
 passioned mouth, true index to the mind and heart ; 
 no high, spiritual feeling could there be read, all 
 was of the earth, earthy. Earth-bound visions,
 
 250 NOKTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 hopes and plans, filled that cold, calculating mind ; 
 worldly aggrandisement was the chief thought and 
 desire; where again could mother and son have 
 beeu found, more widely opposed in heart as well 
 as in principles ? 
 
 Even Mr. Collier's visit was bearable under the 
 soothing effect of the morning service. The most 
 distressing part was that Hugh came to the 
 Priory also, and could scarcely bear the visitor's 
 intimate familiarity with the Heskeths. lie was 
 even inclined to wish May would show him more 
 openly how excessively annoying his attentions 
 were, and could not understand that her father's 
 wishes put a restraint upon her in this respect. 
 She felt truly glad when the Church bell broke up 
 the party, and was thankful for the repose of the 
 afternoon service, to soothe her mind again. 
 
 After that she went to Woodbank. William 
 and Dora were to dine at the Priory, and Willy 
 was to accompany them. As Dora and Mabel en- 
 tered the nursery, he was seen standing on a chair 
 in the middle of the room, with a piteous look on 
 his usually merry face, while the nurse curled his 
 short brown hair to make him look, as she coax- 
 ingly observed, "a little gentleman." 'No sooner 
 was Mabel spied out, than the long face broke into 
 a cry, and the little arms were held out beseech- 
 ingly. May, who was called by Dora a sworn foe 
 to nurses, caught the little fellow in her arms, 
 declaring that "Aunty May liked the tumbled 
 head much better than the smart curls," and 
 covered him with kisses, to the infinite alarm of 
 nurse, who gazed in terror on the white frock, 
 with deep embroidery and crimson sash, which had 
 been put on to spend Christmas Day with grand- 
 papa. Willy knew by intuition that smart clothes 
 need not be considered when Aunt May was pre- 
 sent, and, with his arms round her neck, the crim-
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 251 
 
 son sash and bows were disregarded. Yet he was 
 not without a spice of vanity himself, and pe- 
 remptorily forced upon the notice of his mamma 
 and aunt the red morocco shoes, which were put 
 on for the first time to-night. Mabel delivered 
 him over to his mamma, and turned to the white 
 cot where her little godson slept. His small, 
 round, plump arms were over his head, and half hid 
 his smooth pink cheeks, and May bent over and 
 kissed the baby arms, and prayed that his inno- 
 cence might long remain. 
 
 It was no fault of his uncle and aunt's that 
 Willy was not transformed into a spoilt child that 
 evening. Even Frances contributed her share to 
 the general petting and spoiling, until Dora was 
 ashamed to remonstrate any longer, and trusted to 
 Mabel's good sense for putting a limit to the in- 
 dulgences, which were showered upon him. All 
 his broken sentences were rehearsed again and 
 again, until May was forced to put her veto upon 
 Dudley's unprincipled system of extortion. *' AVilly, 
 say ' TJncie Dudley ' again, and then you shall have 
 another cake." Then came the lisping " Uncoo 
 Duddy," and the cake was stuffed into the little 
 open mouth, amid the general applause. But 
 Mabel carried the little fellow off to find a more 
 wholesome amusement elsewhere, and set Dora's 
 mind at rest.
 
 CHAPTEE XYII. 
 
 For we walk blindfold, and a minute may be much, — a 
 
 step may reach the precipice : 
 What earthly loss, what heavenly gain, may not this day 
 
 produce ?" 
 
 ** Miss Mabel, my master has been asking for 
 you," said Judith, one morning. " He is in the 
 study, and wishes to see you there." 
 
 " Thank you, Judith," and Mabel hastened to 
 obey the summons, and with a slight feeling of 
 wonder, knocked at her father's door. 
 
 He was seated at the table, his face buried in 
 his hands, his hair disordered, and seemed uncon- 
 scious of her entrance. 
 
 She was a little frightened. Letters and papers 
 lay on the table before him, but she could not tell 
 what had upset him. She approached, and caress- 
 ingly putting her arm round his neck, kissed his 
 forehead. He rose hastily, and paced the room in 
 great agitation. 
 
 " Dear papa, is anything the matter ?" asked 
 Mabel, really frightened. 
 
 For some time she could get no answer. At 
 last her father paused suddenly in his walk up and 
 down the room, and seating himself near the table, 
 motioned her to a chair by his side.
 
 FOETHWODE PEIOET, 253 
 
 "Dear papa, I would so much rather know. 
 Don't be afraid to tell me. I have a great deal 
 more strength of mind than you think." 
 
 " I know you have, my own Mayflower. Yet I 
 dread to tell you this ; but as you must know 
 sooner or later, you shall read it for yourself, and 
 give me your answer." 
 
 In fear and trembling Mabel took the letter he 
 held towards her. Her hand shook so that she 
 could scarcely open it, and the sight of " Monckton 
 Court" at the beginning, scarcely allayed her 
 fears. 
 
 With a scornful air, and flushing cheek, she read 
 the contents. It was addressed to Mr. Hesketh, 
 and contained a proposal, couched in terms of easy 
 freedom, for the hand of his youngest daughter. 
 There was a tone of confidence in the whole letter 
 that was barely endurable, and tears of insulted 
 dignity filled May's eyes, as she concluded. 
 
 She was by no means inclined to delay giving her 
 answer, but her father with a haste and anxiety 
 she could not understand, raised his hand and 
 silenced her. 
 
 '*May, my child, go to your room, and think this 
 well over before you give me your decision. Weigh 
 every thing seriously, and in an hour come back, 
 and we will talk it over." 
 
 She was surprised at the order, and would have 
 remonstrated, but the expression of anguish on his 
 face deterred her. 
 
 When she reached her room, and tried to do as 
 she had been told, she could not tell what to think 
 about. Only one answer could be given, and there 
 could be no need for meditation upon that. Every 
 thing connected with Mr. Collier was so loathsome 
 and offensive to her, that she recoiled from it with 
 disgust, and could only pray for guidance to decide 
 aright. It was with great anxiety that she thought
 
 254 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 of her father's agitation, and wondered how an offer 
 from a man like Mr. Collier could possibly affect him 
 so deeply. She recollected the nervous apprehen- 
 sion he always exhibited when even the name was 
 mentioned, the desire to propitiate him, at the 
 sacrifice of dignity and inclination, and the quiet 
 way in which all his insolence had been borne, and 
 could not help thinking some mystery lay beneath. 
 What a long hour it seemed ! The hands of 
 May's little Grenevan watch, which she had laid on 
 the table by her side, seemed to crawl round at the 
 pace of a tortoise. At first she took up a book 
 and tried to read, but the white page, on which 
 her eye rested, seemed indelibly engraven with the 
 odious letters, " Tour's sincerely, Lloyd Collier." 
 She turned over the leaf, but the words followed 
 her, and every thought and expression, contained 
 in the letter, recurred again and again to her mind. 
 Then, for a moment, she imagined the possibility 
 of some terrific secret being connected with him, 
 and her being forced to have him against her will ; 
 and in fancy she saw his face before her, with its 
 self-conceited smile, and condescending affability. 
 How she recoiled from the thought of every thing 
 connected with him ! And that he should have 
 had the presumption to propose for her ! Yet the 
 law was in her own hands, and a single word from 
 her would release her from his attentions for ever. 
 There was more reason to rejoice, therefore, at the 
 letter than otherwise, for no man of common feel- 
 ing and spirit would continue his attentions to one 
 by whom he had been refused. If her father's 
 distress did not continue, all would be well, and a 
 most troublesome visitor disposed of. She took 
 her workbasket, and set diligently to work, that 
 the time might pass more rapidly ; and when next 
 she looked at the watch, two minutes more than 
 the hour had expired.
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 255 
 
 The study door was fastened when she again 
 tried the handle, but it was immediately opened by 
 Mr. Hesketb, whose face was even paler and more 
 careworn, than when she had left him. She passed 
 her arm through his, and lifted up her face to re- 
 ceive his kiss. 
 
 " Dear papa, why should it distress you ? You 
 must know what my answer will be." 
 
 " Tou have quite decided, then, May ?" 
 
 " It was scarcely a case for decision," said Ma- 
 bel. "I could have only one feeling towards him, 
 that of the strongest repugnance. Her decision 
 would, I know, have been the same," and her eyes 
 turned towards her mother's picture. 
 
 " And you could never like him ?" said Mr. 
 Hesketh, inquiringly. 
 
 " Never," said Mabel, in a tone far more decided 
 than usual. " There is no man on earth I more 
 thoroughly dislike and despise." 
 
 " Then I will write, and let him know your de- 
 cision," said Mr. Hesketh, passing his hand over 
 his forehead, as if his head were aching. *' Leave 
 me, my love, I must have time for considera- 
 tion." 
 
 " Tou will tell no one," observed May. 
 
 " Of course not, if such is your wish. After all, 
 an interview might be better. I will ride over 
 there this afternoon, and speak to him." 
 
 Mabel stole out of the room, casting back one 
 glance, when she reached the door, at the troubled 
 face of her father, who, as soon as he believed him- 
 self to be alone, gave way to the harassed expres- 
 sion, that he had worn on her first entrance. It 
 was an impenetrable mystery, which no ingenuity 
 of his daughter could unravel. 
 
 The same morning, in a private room at Mr. 
 Lushington's office, that gentleman and Mr. Col- 
 lier had been transacting some business together.
 
 256 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 Their interview was almost ended, and Mr. Collier 
 stood by the table with his hat in his hand. 
 
 "It was a good purchase for you," observed Mr. 
 Lushington, in a familiar tone. " You gave less 
 than the real worth of the estate, owing to its hav- 
 ing been vacant so long ; and with the improve- 
 ments you have since made, you might get half as 
 much again for it to-morrow, if you liked." 
 
 "I am very well satisfied,'" was the reply. 
 " Money is of no consideration to me, and I have 
 contrived at last to make it habitable." 
 
 "It wants a lady," remarked Mr. Lushington, 
 smiling. " Is there no hope of our ever seeing one 
 there?" 
 
 " Every hope — " said Mr. Collier, confidentially. 
 " In fact, I don't know why I should conceal it 
 from you ; you may expect very soon to see a lady 
 at Monckton Court." 
 
 " Eeally ? I am truly glad ! I offer you my 
 sincerest congratulations. Is it premature to ask 
 who the lady may be ?" 
 
 " Not at all ; it would be but a poor compliment 
 to the Peverstone ladies, if I went elsewhere for a 
 bride. Miss Mabel Hesketh is the person on 
 whom ray choice has fallen, and I think you will 
 commend my judgment." 
 
 " I shall indeed," said Mr. Lushington, not a 
 little surprised. " I think it will be much for your 
 happiness, if my opinion of her is correct. It will be 
 extremely pleasant for my friend Hesketh, to have 
 his daughter so well settled in the neighbourhood." 
 
 " Just so ; it is a pleasant arrangement for all 
 parties. I confess to being tired of solitude." 
 
 The gentlemen parted, and Mr. Lushington went 
 to his wife's sitting room, where he found Mrs. 
 Lushington and his daughter at work. 
 
 " News !" he observed, on entering. " Our 
 friend Collier is going to be married !"
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 257- 
 
 Miss Lushington looked as if the news were not 
 altogether satisfactory, but she asked eagerly who 
 the person was. 
 
 " Well, you will be astonished when I tell you. 
 With all his wealth, I should scarcely have ex- 
 pected her to sacrifice herself to ' Mammon.' I al- 
 ways fancied young Grahame had a liking there, 
 but I suppose it would have been years before he 
 could have come forward." 
 
 " You mean Mabel Hesketh, then," said his 
 daughter. " It will be the most thorough money- 
 match that was ever made, for a blind man might 
 have seen that she detested him, the evening we 
 dined together at Monckton Court." 
 
 "Very few heads could withstand Monckton 
 Court, and twenty thousand a-year," said Mr. 
 Lushington. " She will improve him very much, too, 
 and I have no doubt he will make her very happy." 
 
 " If Hugh Grrahame had had twenty thousand 
 a year, Mr. Collier would never have been success- 
 ful," said Miss Lushington, with a cold sneer. 
 
 " Monckton Court and twenty thousand a-year 
 is better than ' love in a cottage,' my dear," said her 
 mother. " It does not do to say so to the world, 
 because romance and disinterestedness are much 
 more popular in theory, but money has a great 
 deal to do with happiness." 
 
 "Are you sure it is true, papa ?" 
 
 " I have just heard it from his own lips ; I don't 
 know what better authority you can wish for. It 
 is evidently a settled thing." 
 
 Some people find it hard to retain news at all, 
 and some find it especially hard to resist the ma- 
 licious pleasure of telling it to those, whom they 
 think it will most deeply afiect. Miss Lushington 
 came under both these heads, and consequently, 
 after luncheon, she started to pay a visit that had 
 been long owing at Lynchbrook. 
 s
 
 258 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 A double knock was always a signal for Hugh to 
 make his escape from the drawing-room, that he 
 might avoid what he considered the infliction of 
 morniug visitors. He closed the door of his own 
 room, as Miss Lushington was ushered into his 
 mother's presence, and that lady was by no means 
 sorry not to find him there. 
 
 Persons experienced in the art of gossip know 
 better than to bring out their news in their first 
 sentence ; and few people were ever more accom- 
 plished in this branch of education than Miss Lush- 
 ington. Every subject, interesting, or uninterest- 
 ing, sensible, or trifling, had been brought forward 
 and discussed, and Mrs. Grahame was beginning to 
 feel a little weary, before the real object of her 
 visit was alluded to. 
 
 " I remember some months ago," said Miss 
 Lushington, " venturiug to congratulate you on 
 what I believed to be the engagement of your son, 
 or, at least, the strong predilection he exhibited in 
 a certain quarter. At the time I fancied you must 
 be mistaken in telling me my suspicions were 
 groundless, but now I am come to apologize for my 
 disbelief." 
 
 " I think such subjects better forgotten," replied 
 Mrs. Grahame, in a tone of some annoyance. " I 
 must necessarily be the best judge of my son's feel- 
 ings, and I am not in the habit of making incorrect 
 statements." 
 
 " Excuse me, but it was the consciousness that 
 I had done you this injustice that made me broach 
 the subject again. You must, of course, know your 
 son's feelings best, and if I had any previous doubts 
 as to those Mabel Hesketh might entertain towards 
 him, on this point I caii^no longer . . . ." 
 
 "AVbat do you mean?' asked Mrs. Grahame, 
 sternly. 
 
 " Surely you have heard the last piece of Pever-
 
 2T0ETHW0DE PKIOEY. 259 
 
 stone news. Is it possible it has not reached 
 your ears ? I mean the fact of Mabel Hesketh 
 being engaged to Mr, Collier." 
 
 A gleam of satisfaction lighted up Mrs. Gra- 
 hame's hard features. " Are you sure of the truth 
 of this?" 
 
 " I can scarcely doubt it, when it came from the 
 gentleman himself. It is an acknowledged engage- 
 ment, I believe." 
 
 "An acknowledged engagement! It is very 
 strange we have never heard anything of the sort. 
 And yet — I have heard that he has been a good 
 deal at Northwode Priory lately, but it never oc- 
 cuiTed to me that he had any such motive for going 
 there." 
 
 " I was inclined to be surprised at first, that such 
 a girl as Mabel Hesketh should accept a person 
 like Mr. Collier, but considering the great advan- 
 tages she will gain, I suppose it is not to be won- 
 dered at." 
 
 " Certainly not ; it is most highly satisfactory 
 in every respect," said Mrs. Grraharae, heartily. 
 "Hugh will be surprised when I tell him. You 
 are quite certain that the information is correct ?" 
 
 "Can there be a doubt?" asked Miss Lushing- 
 ton. "Mr. Collier and Mabel must be the two 
 most likely to know ; and my father was himself 
 informed of it by the former." 
 
 '* Xo, very true ; there could be no surer evi- 
 dence of its truth," said Mrs. Grahame, thought- 
 fully. 
 
 When her visitor was gone, she reconsidered the 
 news she had just heard. Nothing could have 
 brought her greater joy and relief. All her trou- 
 bles were at an end by Mabel's own act. Eeinou- 
 strance and entreaty might have checked Hugh's 
 ardour, but they could not have rooted out the 
 attachment from his heart, as this must effectually
 
 260 I^^OBTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 do. It occurred to her that great sorrow and dis- 
 appointment must be the result of communicating 
 the intelligence to him, but the mother, who was 
 so unselfishly tender and considerate for his bodily 
 welfare, was callous here. "Worldly feelings, and 
 mercenary schemes, had choked all better impulses, 
 and she could think of his grief without pain, be- 
 cause she told herself it was for his good ; and it 
 was even without sympathy that she contemplated 
 breaking the news to him that evening.
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII 
 
 " God loves His own, and leads them by a road 
 Unerring to their goal ; but He knows best 
 The path which leads to heaven ; otherwise 
 We oft should murmur at successive storms, 
 Which burst on those who seem to need them least." 
 
 The Parish. 
 
 The drawing-room fire burnt clear and bright at 
 Lynchbrook, lighting up the sombre paper with its 
 golden fleur-de-lis, and throwing a warm hue over 
 Mrs. Grahame's close cap and black dress. Hugh 
 had drawn a small table to the vicinity of the hearth- 
 rug, and seated in a comfortable arm-chair was 
 trying to read. His eyes were, however, turned 
 to the fire, and he seemed to be reading in the 
 mountains and valleys, castles and grotesque faces, 
 formed by the glowing coals, visions of the future, 
 for nothing less could have riveted his gaze so ear- 
 nestly. It seemed a bright future too, for there 
 was hope and contentment written on his brow, 
 and when he turned his eyes back to the book it 
 was with a sigh, but only because the visions in 
 which he had been indulging, were as yet far ofi". 
 
 And could Mrs. Grahame look calmly on that 
 serene, happy face, and know that ere another hour 
 had passed, the intelligence she had to communi- 
 cate would have cast a cold shadow over his sunny
 
 262 NOETmVODE PEIOEY. 
 
 dreams, and have roughly scattered to the winds 
 the hopes which were even now shedding such a 
 lustre over his life ? 
 
 Yes, she could anticipate all this unmoved, for 
 pride and ambition were in the ascendant, and her 
 greatest obstacle to his worldly prosperity had been 
 unexpectedly swept away. Hers was too strong 
 a mind to have partial feelings, and her satisfaction 
 was too unmixed to leave any room for sympathy 
 or commiseration. 
 
 " "What have you been doing with yourself all 
 day ?" she asked, as Hugh raised his head. 
 
 " Very little, mother ; I went to the Priory this 
 morning, but I only saw Dudley, and we took a 
 walk together." 
 
 " Did he tell you the news ?" 
 
 " What news ?— No ; none, that I remember." 
 
 " Not about Mabel and Mr. Collier ?" 
 
 " Who has told you that nonsense, mother ? It 
 is too bad the way people gossip in this place !" 
 and Hugh's face flushed indignantly. 
 
 " It is no nonsense, it is a settled thing." 
 
 *' A settled humbug !" said Hugh, fiercely. " One 
 of those abominable scandals that the Peverstone 
 people revel in. I should scarcely have expected 
 you, mother, to be taken in with such an improba- 
 ble invention." 
 
 " It is no invention, Hugh," said his mother ra- 
 ther sternly. " It comes from Mr. Collier himself. 
 He has proposed, and Mabel has accepted him; 
 and it is an acknowledged engagement." 
 
 She pronounced the words with thrilling em- 
 phasis. Every syllable sank deep into Hugh's heart 
 like a two-edged sword. His face became ghastly 
 white and rigid ; and when he tried to move his 
 lips to speak they were parched and dry, and seemed 
 glued together. He rose from his seat, but stag- 
 gered against it, and at last summoning all his
 
 NOETHWOI>E PEIOET. 263 
 
 energies, darted towards the door, and never paused 
 until he had reached his own room, bolted the door, 
 and sunk stupified upon his bed. 
 
 He was literally stunned by this overwhelming 
 and unexpected blow. He was conscious of no 
 exact sensations, but felt only one vast crushing 
 weight of anguish, which had been thrust suddenly 
 upon him. *' Life or death, — it were all one," he 
 thought, in the agony of that first moment ; " if 
 she were not to be his might death only come 
 speedily and end his sufferings ! May ! May !" he 
 groaned aloud, *' it cannot be that you have given 
 yourself away from me ! that these years of silent, 
 devoted love have met with no return, and that 
 you are lost to me for ever :" and burying his face 
 in the pillow, he tried to drown sense and thought, 
 and repeated to himself over and over again the 
 words, " It cannot be true ! I will never believe 
 it!" 
 
 When Mrs. Grahame found that he did not 
 return, her anxiety was aroused, and seeking his 
 room she knocked at the door, and entreated earn- 
 estly to be admitted. Eor some time no answ^er 
 was given, but at length the door was partially 
 opened, and Hugh, pale and stern, in a deep voice 
 begged that he might not be disturbed. She en- 
 treated him to come down stairs again — to tell her 
 What was the matter — to let her bring him some- 
 thing — but with a brief reply that he wished for 
 nothing, he again closed the door, and no knocks, 
 no entreaties could obtain an answer, or cause it 
 to be re-opened. 
 
 In the morning he came down as usual, but the 
 lines of suffering on his face, the compressed lips 
 and knit brow, bore testimony to the struggle that 
 had been going on during the night. But morning 
 and reflection had brought with them doubts of the 
 truth of what he had heard, and when he thought
 
 264 2^'OETIIWODE PEIOET. 
 
 of Mabel's refinement and purity, it seemed im- 
 possible the report could be correct. At all events 
 be was resolved not to believe it, or act upon it, 
 until he had tested its truth, and that before the 
 day was over. His mother watched him anxiously. 
 He was utterly unable to settle down to anything, 
 and, silent and reserved, he at length turned in 
 desperation to the garden, where, although it was 
 snowing heavily, he wandered about without his 
 hat, scarcely conscious of what he was doing. The 
 garden he had once so delighted in was distasteful 
 now, crowded with associations that were almost 
 too much for his self-control. He would have gone 
 at once to the Priory, but he felt that he ought to 
 be more composed first, and the idea of what might 
 there be awaiting him, made him feel how neces- 
 sary it was that he should have recovered his self- 
 command. 
 
 The previous day, according to appointment, Mr. 
 Hesketh rode to Monckton Court. Mr. Collier 
 was waiting for him in a private room, but the 
 expression of eager welcome with which he re- 
 ceived him, settled down into a sullen decision of 
 countenance, as the import of his visit was disclosed. 
 
 " So this is your daughter's final resolve," he ob- 
 served, as Mr. Hesketh concluded. " It is in her 
 own hands, of course. I presume you have ac- 
 quainted her with the nature of our connection, 
 and the way in which we are involved together." 
 
 The little colour in Mr. Hesketh's cheek died 
 suddenly away. " No," he said, with the open 
 sincerity of a true gentleman. " I have not thought 
 fit to tell my daughter anything of the sort. I 
 wished that her decision should be influenced by no 
 consideration for me." 
 
 " So be it, then," said Mr. Collier, coolly. " Our 
 interest in each other ceases from henceforth. At 
 your leisure let our accounts be settled."
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 265 
 
 Mr. Hesketh was silent, feeling the bitter humi- 
 liation of his position, and controlling, by an effort, 
 the desperate inclination he felt to spurn the con- 
 temptible being before him. 
 
 Mr. ColUer's cunning eye fell beneath the steady 
 glance of his visitor. But his mean, calculating 
 mind was fully made up, and he gloried in the re- 
 flection, that it was within his power bitterly to re- 
 venge himself upon the person, who had dared to 
 slight his ofter. 
 
 " I know that I am in a measure within your 
 power," said Mr. Hesketh, at length. " I certainly 
 did not expect such treatment from you, for the 
 money, which is of no real consequence to you, and 
 which is as well invested in my hands as you could 
 wish, if pressed for, will, you well know, involve 
 myself and my whole family in absolute ruin. I 
 am in your hands, however, Mr. Collier, and you 
 can act as you think proper." 
 
 " You have no right to expect anything else 
 of me," was the reply. "Had your daughter 
 accepted my ofler, your interest would have been 
 mine, and so far from pressing you unreasonably, I 
 would have assisted you and yours, in every way in 
 my power. I request that you will tell your 
 daughter the consequences of her refusal, and you 
 may also tell her, that if she chooses to change her 
 mind, she has still the option of doing so." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh bit his lip, in mental agony. " I 
 will never force my child to do violence to her 
 feelings," he said ; " but I trust that reflection will 
 soften your intentions, and that you will never 
 visit her refusal upon her, and upon us all, in the 
 way you threaten," 
 
 " You have no right to expect anything of the 
 sort," was the reply. "Her acceptance of my 
 ofler would be a small return for the consideration 
 and forbearance you have received from me for the
 
 266 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 last ten years, and a return that I have a right to 
 look for." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh'a eyes flashed fire, and he could 
 barely restrain his indignation, but a galling thought 
 came across him, and as if it had been an iron 
 chain, his spirit sank beneath the weight of it. 
 
 " Excuse me," he said, with a bitter accent. 
 ** It is true your loan has been of great assistance 
 to me, but where is the forbearance and considera- 
 tion that lends money on good security, at seven 
 per cent, interest ? Tour money is your own, you 
 can recal it when you please, but you are ruining 
 one who has never injured you, and bringing un- 
 speakable misery on a person for whom you say you 
 care." 
 
 " She has the power of averting the misery." 
 
 " But supposing she persists in her refusal, and 
 you are determined to recal your money, at least 
 you will, I hope, give me time, and allow me to pay 
 it by instalments, at stated intervals. You cannot 
 deliberately bring ruin upon a whole family for a 
 case of private pique." 
 
 " And why not ?" exclaimed Mr. Collier, striking 
 the table with his fist. " Why not ? Do you 
 suppose I will patiently submit to be refused and 
 disdained by the very person, who owes me a debt 
 of gratitude nothing can repay ?" 
 
 Mr. Hesketh writhed in silence, and listened 
 with the involuntary resignation of a powerless 
 man. 
 
 " And what is the return I demand for all this ? 
 — I offer her a magnificent home — wealth, station, 
 luxury — everything a woman can wish for, and she 
 scorns my offer ! And am I to take no revenge ? 
 Am I to be generous, considerate, forbearing still, 
 to those who treat me in this way ?" 
 
 It was with an effort that Mr. Hesketh con- 
 trolled the words that hung upon his lips, " Eecom-
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 267 
 
 pense to no man evil for evil," but he felt that such 
 a man was dead to good and high feelings, and that 
 revenge was to him more precious than the com- 
 mand of his GrOD. 
 
 " And you will make no compromise ?" 
 
 "No, why should I do so? Your daughter 
 accepts my offer, or I claim my money — unless you 
 bring Stephen Kennedy to life again to redeem his 
 pledge and set you free." 
 
 "Enough of that," said Mr. Hesketh, sternly. 
 
 " "Well, I have no wish to discuss the point any 
 further. I request you to lay all this before your 
 daughter, and if she persists in this decision, I 
 should wish to have an interview with her my- 
 self." 
 
 They parted, and Mr. Hesketh returned to the 
 Priory, to lay before Mabel the nature of his in- 
 volvement with Mr. Collier, scarcely daring to in- 
 quire into his own feelings, and uncertain whether 
 he would be disappointed or not, if she persisted in 
 her refusal. A strong mind would have taken the 
 reponsibility of the decision upon itself in such 
 a case, instead of allowing it to fall, with all its 
 crushing weight, upon one too young, and too 
 tender, to be exposed to such a trial. A strong 
 mind would have seen that the coarse, irreligious 
 man with whom it had just come into contact, was 
 no husband for the refined, gentle girl, to whose 
 hand he had presumed to aspire. But Mr. Hes- 
 keth' s mind was not a strong one. On the one 
 hand, he was vividly conscious of all the misery 
 that must ensue on Mabel's refusal — the loss of the 
 Priory, which had been in the Hesketh family for 
 generations — almost complete destitution to them 
 all — unknown want and trouble to William and 
 Dora, and their helpless children — the conclusion 
 of Dudley's engagement, and a train of vague trials 
 and humiliations, that crowded on his mind, with
 
 268 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 overpowering rapidity. Tlie picture bad two sides, 
 it was true, but conscious all the while of his own 
 weakness, he blinded himself to the misery atten- 
 dant on his child's acceptance of the offer, and 
 recollecting only the wealth and ease such an 
 union would afford her, determined to leave it en- 
 tirely to her own free will, and resolutely to refrain 
 from biassing her in either direction. 
 
 Yet he was not a selfish man. His children 
 were dear to him as his own life, but in this 
 case William and his family, Frances and Dudley, 
 were weighed in the balance against Mabel ; that 
 old, miserable failing, the bane of his life — the 
 want of moral courage — seemed threatening the 
 sacrifice of his youngest and most dearly cherished 
 child. He could not face the prospect of ruin, 
 and the wretchedness in which all his children 
 would be involved, and he felt, in his secret heart, 
 that his May would not be able to do so either ; 
 that a personal sacrifice would be more welcome to 
 her than to witness the suffering, which her re- 
 fusal would entail upon those she best loved. He 
 recounted mentally all the good points he could 
 discover in Mr. Collier's character, and tried to 
 convince himself, that in the power of relieving 
 others and doing good, and in the residence within 
 her own parish, Mabel might yet find happiness as 
 his wife. 
 
 He told himself he could not be doing wrong in 
 laying every thing before her, and leaving her to 
 form her own decision, and it never occurred to 
 him, that before she could arrive at that decision 
 her mind must be torn between the conflicting ar- 
 guments of duty and inclination, and that he was 
 casting off from his own shoulders a burden which 
 would fall, with intensified weight and anguish, 
 upon her, so young and unprepared. 
 
 Mabel could not understand the expression of
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 269 
 
 her father's face on his return. It was anxious 
 still, although not quite as much so as in the morn- 
 ing, and when, putting his arm round her, he drew 
 her into the study, she felt that the worst was yet 
 to come. 
 
 As usual, she would not anticipate evil, but 
 asked cheerfully, ""Well, papa, is it all settled ?'* 
 
 " Far from it. May ; Mr. Collier will not accept 
 your refusal, until you Jiave heard a story, which I 
 have never yet told to any of my children, but 
 which it has become right now that you should 
 know." 
 
 Feeling as if she were on the brink of a volcano, 
 Mabel listened, with an undefined terror, to the 
 tale her father told her, and which effectually 
 changed the aspect of things. 
 
 " You are aware, Mabel, that you have an uncle 
 of whom you know but little. I say ' have,' but I 
 should rather say had, for he is no longer living. 
 This uncle was your mother's only brother. He 
 was younger than she was, and strangely different 
 from her in every respect. Your grandfather, Mr. 
 Kennedy, died soon after our marriage, and we 
 encouraged Stephen to look upon the Priory as his 
 home. He was a handsome, thoughtless fellow, 
 what the world would call ' fast ;' and, well as your 
 mother loved him, he was a continual source of 
 anxiety and grief to her. He inherited a small 
 property from his father, which was soon swallowed 
 up by his debts and extravagance. We used every 
 endeavour to persuade him to take up some pro- 
 fession, but without success, and how he lived was 
 a mystery, for although we continually assisted 
 him, his extravagance and recklessness far exceeded 
 any assistance he received. At last, however, the 
 mystery was explained, and, apparently, penitent 
 and thoroughly broken down, he came and threw 
 himself upon our bounty. His debts were past
 
 270 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 belief. He had fallen into the hands of the Jews, 
 and after encouraging liim to borrow money with 
 fair promises of waiting his full convenience for 
 payment, they came down suddenly upon him, and 
 disgrace and ruin stared him in the face. I could 
 not endure the sight of your mother's distress, 
 May, and he appeared so truly crushed and re- 
 pentant, that I felt deeply for him. At length he 
 came to me in an unguarded moment, represented 
 his wretched position, made the most solemn pro- 
 mises of amendment, and ended by telling me that 
 if I would go through the mere form of putting 
 my signature to a paper he held in his hand, Lloyd 
 Collier, who was his great friend, was willing to 
 advance him the money, and make him a free man 
 again. The paper was a receipt for the amount of 
 his debts, and by placing my name there, I should 
 become security for the payment of the sum. For 
 some time I hesitated, but his earnestness seemed 
 so real, his penitence so full and sincere, and his 
 promises that it should be but a nominal security, 
 so sacred, that at last I gave way, and to save him 
 from prison and disgrace, I signed my name to that 
 ill-fated note." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh paused, and drew a long, deep 
 breath, as if the recollection of that act was too 
 much for him. In a moment he continued, 
 
 " When your mother discovered what I had 
 done she was bitterly grieved, for dearly as she loved 
 her brother, she said our first duty was to our 
 children. She would have had me let the Priory and 
 live in strict economy, for the purpose of liquidat- 
 ing the debt. It seemed that her faith in Stephen's 
 repentance was less implicit than my own ; but 
 relying upon his solemn vows that I should never 
 be called upon for payment, and Lloyd Collier's 
 assurances that while he received a good percentage 
 for the money, the principal was of no consequence
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 271 
 
 to him, I resisted her entreaties, and we remained 
 here as we had done before. Stephen emigrated 
 to Australia, where he declared he should rapidly 
 make his fortune, and release me from my liability. 
 What he did there, how he lived, whether he really 
 worked hard, or relapsed into his old habits, we 
 never knew. We were never able to hear any 
 tidings of him, until a year after your mother died, 
 when the news of his death reached me, and since 
 then his debts have become my own, and I alone 
 am responsible to Mr. Collier for the immense sum 
 for which I guaranteed payment. You will wonder, 
 my child, that I have borne the knowledge of this 
 fact so quietly, and taken no steps to free myself, 
 and on this point I confess I have been to blame. 
 But I have hoped that when all my children were 
 settled out in the world, and independent of my 
 assistance, I should be able to devote the greater 
 portion of my income to the payment of the debt." 
 
 He paused, and looked at May, who, with her 
 elbow on the table was shading her face, so that he 
 could not judge of her sensations. 
 
 " You will see. May, how this has influenced me 
 in my behaviour towards Mr. Collier. I am pain- 
 fully conscious of being completely in his power, 
 knowing that all I have, my home, my land, my 
 every thing — is his, and not my own ; for if he de- 
 manded payment, nothing but the sale of all I 
 possess would liquidate the debt. Even then it 
 would not be fully paid, and I am very anxious to 
 make you understand our position with regard to 
 him. jNTow, Mabel, this was what affected me so 
 deeply when his offer arrived this morning. I felt 
 that if he were offended, the consequences might 
 be terrible : and the worst part is yet to come. In 
 case of your persisting in your refusal Mr. Collier 
 demands the money, and he desired me to acquaint 
 you with these particulars."
 
 272 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 Still May's face was hid, and her father tried to 
 read her feelings in vain. 
 
 "My child," he continued, "your decision shall 
 be your own. I give you no opinion, nor do I even 
 express a wish ; your own happiness must be alone 
 consulted, and if you feel as you said this morning, 
 that you never could like him, God forbid that I 
 should urge you to unite yourself to a man you 
 disliked. Yet, Mabel, all that you have heard may 
 influence you, inasmuch as if you are not averse to 
 the idea, there are great, very, very great advan- 
 tages to be gained by your consent. But, I am 
 afraid to trust myself to speak on the subject, lest 
 I should seem to be influencing you. I leave you 
 entirely to yourself, and whatever you decide upon, 
 I will bow to. May, my own dear child, look up, 
 and tell me what you think." 
 
 But the face was not uncovered, and presently a 
 stifled voice said, " I must have time for thought. 
 Give me till to-morrow morning, and you shall 
 have my answer." 
 
 She rose to leave the room, but her father drew 
 her towards him, and gently removing her hand, 
 disclosed her white face and quivering lips, and the 
 eyes full of tears, which her self-command re- 
 strained from falling. His heart ached for her, 
 and he thought of his wife's last injunction, 
 " Watch over our May ; she is little fitted to cope 
 with the cold, hard world. You must be father and 
 mother both to her." How was he fulfilling the 
 promise he made then ? 
 
 '* You must not distress yourself, my May. You 
 shall be forced to do nothing against your will. If it 
 is distasteful to you, say so, and let him do his worst." 
 
 " Only let me go now, please, dear papa. I can- 
 not decide so hastily ; I must think first and try 
 to , . ." her voice faltered, and kissing his fore- 
 head, she escaped from the room.
 
 KOETHWODE PEIOET. 273 
 
 She was unnaturally calm and composed, exter- 
 nally, for her mind was in a tumult. Heart-sick and 
 terrified, her first impulse was to give way to an 
 agony of tears, yet the tears never came, and it 
 would have been a relief if they had. She sank on 
 her knees by her bed-side, for although she could 
 not collect her thoughts to pray, there was safety 
 in the attitude. Utter fear had taken possession of 
 her. It was coming on, slowly and surely, with 
 unfaltering step — that fearful stroke, that she fan- 
 cied now she had felt approaching for some time. 
 All the mystery was explained ; and he, the only 
 being in the world whom she thoroughly loathed 
 and despised, was the one whom fate had pointed 
 out as her companion through life ! It could not 
 be ! The sacrifice was too great, it could not be 
 required! That dreadful man — the very thought 
 of whom made her clasp her hands over her face 
 in an agony of terror and disgust ! To promise to 
 love and honour him whom she detested ! Could 
 it be right ? But then the other side of the pic- 
 ture presented itself. Her father, her aunt, 
 Prances, Dudley, all turned out of their home, their 
 own dearly-loved Priory, their mother's home ! — 
 cast friendless and unprovided for upon the hard, 
 unfeeling world ! — William and Dora, and their 
 little ones, involved in the same fate — their income 
 suddenly withdrawn, and no profession to fall back 
 upon ; Dudley's engagement broken off", his pros- 
 pects ruined, himself unable to receive the college 
 education he was just entering upon — ruin, want, 
 disappointment, suffering for all ! How could May, 
 poor gentle May, whose heart ached for every trial 
 and vexation that came - upon those she loved, 
 bring all this upon them ? Would she not rather 
 bear any amount of misery herself, if she could 
 spare those she loved so well ? By accepting this 
 offer she would be placed in a position to help them
 
 274 IfORTHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 in a hundred ways ; she might even force Mr. 
 Collier to cancel the debt, and set her father's mind 
 at rest. Yes, it must be, although she felt as if 
 death would surely come first, and end the utter 
 wretchedness, which the prospect brought with it. 
 
 When she faced the thought and realised the 
 life that would lie before her, it was too much for 
 her already shattered self-control, and the tears 
 which had been hitherto pent up, burst forth into 
 sobs which shook her whole frame. How long she 
 knelt by her bed-side, overwhelmed with the terri- 
 ble conflict going on within her, she never knew, 
 but it was late at night and quite dark, and she was 
 conscious of nothing but the low moanings which 
 were the only vent to her wretchedness, when a 
 strong arm was placed round her, and she was 
 lifted and laid on the bed, as if she had been a 
 child, and the kind, harsh tones of Judith's voice 
 broke the silence. 
 
 " Miss May, my dear Miss May, what is the 
 matter? Why arn't you in bed and asleep, and 
 wiiat has happened to make you sob and cry in 
 this way ? Oh ! dear ! dear ! something dreadful 
 must have happened, or you would never take on 
 so. Do stop and speak to me, and tell me if you 
 are ill." 
 
 But poor May was past words ; she could only 
 throw her arm round Judith's neck, lay her ach- 
 ing head on her shoulder, and sob convulsively. 
 Closer and closer did she cling to her old nurse, as 
 she had done years before when childish troubles had 
 been too much for her. Now she felt as if Judith 
 were the only one in the wide world to whom she 
 could come for comfort or affection ; and although 
 she could not tell the source of her distress, the 
 kind, strong arms that held her so closely, and the 
 blunt, affectionate expressions of concern and dis- 
 may, were indescribably welcome in that heart-
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOEY. 275 
 
 sick, lonely hour. At length, when she could exer- 
 cise a little restraint, and control her tears, Judith 
 persuaded her to go to bed, and promised not to 
 leave her; and with the hard, rough hand between 
 her two soft ones, and the broken exclamation of 
 " O mamma ! mamma ! if she were but here !" 
 poor Mabel laid her throbbing head on the pillow, 
 and tried to sleep. 
 
 Silently and untiringly Judith sat by her side all 
 night, but no sleep visited Mabel's weary eyes. 
 Again and again the two pictures came back to her 
 mind, in the one the misery that must fall on all 
 she best loved, if she refused ; in the other the life 
 that lay before her, if she consented. It was a ter- 
 rible alternative, but she felt that she could better 
 bear the life of suffering to herself, than the con- 
 sciousness that she had brought sorrow and poverty 
 upon all her family. Would not God bless such a 
 sacrifice, and turn it all to good ? If this life were 
 blighted to her would it not be amply recompensed 
 in another? And yet it was an awful thought, 
 that she would have to make vows with her lips, 
 which her heart denied. There seemed grief, pain, 
 conflicting duties, doubt and uncertainty on every 
 side of her. How was it possible to act aright ? 
 She closed her eyes and tried to pray, but the 
 v.'ords were confused and incoherent, and, worn 
 out, and broken down in spirit, she said mentally, 
 that it must be right to accept the suffering that 
 would fall only on herself, rather than be the cause 
 of inflicting it on others, and if her heart were but 
 pure and unselfish God would bless her, and with 
 His blessing all things else would be bearable. 
 The prospect of the sacrifice was indeed terrible, 
 but it would entail no pain on others, and this 
 must be her comfort ; and, utterly weary, she sank 
 into a state bordering on stupor, drowning thought, 
 yet unable to lose consciousness in sleep.
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ** Hard thy task, yet meet it, maiden, 
 With a true and steadfast will, 
 Though thy heart, with care o'erladen, 
 
 Faint beneath the burden still, — 
 Through thy worst temptations prove 
 Firm in duty, firm in love. 
 
 *' Better go, a saint unspotted. 
 To thy glorious home above, 
 Than, by this world's gauds besotted. 
 
 Lose for ever life and love ; 
 Throned in empty state and show ; 
 Empress of a world of woe." 
 
 MOULTRIE. 
 
 Aptee the long, wakeful night, it was a relief to 
 see the obscure, dusky light of a January morning 
 steal into the room. Mabel lay, silently wretched, 
 with closed eyes and aching temples, and Judith 
 fancied she slept ; but the same struggle was going 
 on in her mind, and the terrible decision she had to 
 make that day, was brought more forcibly to her 
 remembrance by the morning light. Her mind 
 w^as almost made up, for her unselfish nature pre- 
 ferred any personal sacrifice to bringing distress 
 upon others, yet the decision was not calculated to 
 bring her peace of mind, for it promised to doom 
 her to a life more utterly blighted and miserable, 
 than she could ever have conceived.
 
 NOETHWODE PRIORT. 277 
 
 Judith was strangely perplexed as to the cause 
 of May's unwonted distress, but a natural delicacy, 
 singularly at variance with her external brusque- 
 ness, kept her from pressing her inquiries ; and 
 May, who dreaded being asked, kept her eyes 
 closed, that Judith might fancy she was inclined to 
 sleep, and preserve silence. 
 
 She had tried to persuade Judith to go to bed, 
 or at least lie down, but without success ; for while 
 her charge was unhappy she would not leave her, 
 and silenced May's entreaties by the remark, that 
 she could sleep as comfortably on a chair as in bed. 
 Not that Mabel credited the assertion, but she 
 knew, by experience, that when Judith's mind was 
 made up, it was throwing words away to argue 
 with her, and it was better to yield at once. 
 
 At length believing her to be asleep, Judith 
 stole away, and Mabel remained motionless, be- 
 cause the exertion of moving was almost too much 
 for her, and life and motion would only make her 
 realise everything more vividly. But soon Judith 
 returned and lit the fire, to see if it were possi- 
 ble to cheer her in any way. It succeeded so 
 far only as that her considerateness touched May's 
 heart, and putting her arms round Judith, she fal- 
 tered, 
 
 '• 0, Judith ! Tou are very kind to me ! You 
 don't know how miserable I am, and I can't tell 
 you why. Oh ! if I had got mamma to advise 
 me !" 
 
 *' There now. Miss May, don't cry. It was 
 God's will, and we know she's happy. But it 
 wouldn't make her happy to see you here fretting 
 in this way, and I don't think she'd say 'twas 
 right." 
 
 •' It is very weak of me," sighed Mabel ; " but I 
 feel that no one can take her place, and it is such 
 a weary world without her."
 
 278 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 , " But you've a-many left you, Miss May, and 
 you ought to feel glad they're not taken too." 
 
 "And so I do," said May, tearfully, "and I'm 
 thankful for you, dear old Judith. Mamma said 
 you'd be true to me always." 
 
 " Please God, and so I will. Who should I be 
 true to else ? You're all but my own child, if time 
 and care can make you so ; and I consider I've a 
 right to speak my mind to you, and I don't think 
 vou're right to go fretting there like that. Miss 
 May." 
 
 " No, I am not right, but I have more cause for 
 fretting than you think, Judith." After a mo- 
 ment's thought she. added, "You said you'd be 
 true to me always, Judith, and you would never 
 leave me, would you, whatever became of me ?" 
 
 " What should I leave you for ? — and what 
 would become of you if I did, I wonder. Miss 
 May ? You're not fit to take care of yourself, 
 that's certain." 
 
 " But I have to act for myself, little as I am 
 fitted for that," murmured Mabel. And indeed 
 the change that the last four-and-twenty hours had 
 wrought in her, seemed to bear out her words. 
 From a bright, happy girl she had been transformed 
 into a thoughtful, saddened woman, and when she 
 turned to her glass to arrange her hair, she was 
 startled at the face that met her sight. It was 
 white and careworn, with dark lines under the eyes, 
 and the eyelids heavy and drooping. For beauty 
 she cared but little, yet she could not restrain a sigh 
 as she fancied that even youthfulness was leaving 
 her, and age and anxiety taking its place. " Well," 
 she thought, " they will better befit the life that 
 is in store for me. What could youth or light- 
 heartedness have to do with him .^" 
 
 Unspeakably dear did everything connected with 
 her home seem now — now that either it was pass-
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 279 
 
 ing away from her, or she from it. She would 
 never be really at home there again. And who 
 would prize it as she had done ? Who would live 
 in that quiet Priory beneath S. Edward's old grey 
 tower, and daily and hourly feel the blessing and 
 privilege of such a lot, as she had felt it ? Even if 
 it remained to them, as it would do if her decision 
 continued as at that moment, would her father, or 
 Frances, ever love it as she had done ? Would 
 every nook and every stone bring associations to 
 them, as they did to her ? It was a heart-rending 
 thought, that the past was at an end for ever, that 
 all she most loved was passing away ; yet it was 
 God's will, aud she must steel her heart to meet 
 it. She opened her window, as on Christmas Eve, 
 and looked out on the hills, and the river, and the 
 garden, that from childhood had brought her her 
 first morning thoughts. How every part of her 
 home seemed linked to her heart with chains it was 
 agony to sever ! In utter misery, that refused to 
 find relief in tears, she turned away, and her eye 
 fell upon the silver-bound Bible that had been her 
 Christmas gift. The morocco cover seemed still to 
 retain traces of the fingers that had so often used 
 them, and, involuntarily, Mabel pressed it to her 
 lips, with the thought, " Where can I seek rest and 
 guidance, if not here ? Mother, although you are 
 no longer present with me, yet, the book that was 
 your comfort on earth, shall guide your child in 
 this sore difliculty," and May turned to the les- 
 sons for the day, not questioning but that she 
 should there find direction, as she had often sought 
 before, when in doubt and uncertainty, and never 
 sought in vain. 
 
 It was the fourth of January, and one of the 
 chapters for the day had received her mother's pen- 
 cil-mark ; it had been placed in the margin, to 
 emphasize the verse, that pronounces condem.na-
 
 280 FORTHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 tion on those who " do evil that good may come." 
 Mabel paused for a moment — was not the self- 
 sacrifice she was contemplating, in reality " doing 
 evil that good might come ?" Would she not be 
 taking false vows at God's Altar, and could she 
 expect a blessing to ensue ? Would it be either 
 more or less than perjury, to vow love and honour 
 to one, whom in her heart she despised and de- 
 tested ? There was more moral courage necessary 
 to witness the grief she would be bringing on 
 others, than weakly to fly from this trial, and seek 
 refuge in a heinous sin. She had called it self-de- 
 votion and unselfishness, and such it had appeared, 
 yet she felt that it was harder to face the misery 
 that would be in store for them all, than to bear 
 the suffering that would fall only on herself, unen- 
 durable as that might seem. 
 
 She knelt down, and prayed for grace to see 
 whether alternative lay in the path of duty ; and 
 when she rose from her knees, although she shrank 
 from contemplating the consequences of the step 
 she was about to take, yet her mind was fully made 
 up. With those words before her she could not 
 doubt; falsehood must be "evil," and "evil" must 
 bring its own recompense. On the one hand were 
 truth and moral courage — on the other, cowardice 
 and dissimulation. A fearful ordeal lay before her, 
 but she could not doubt that strength would be 
 given her, wherewith to meet it, and resolving to 
 trust on High, she put aside, at once, and for ever, 
 all doubt and indecision. 
 
 She thought the observations on her pale looks 
 and heavy eyes would never cease at breakfast tim'e ; 
 and, as no one knew the cause of her distress, it 
 was difficult to parry their remarks. Mr. Hes- 
 keth came down very late, and as soon as breakfast 
 was over asked Mabel to come to him in his study. 
 
 " My poor child, you have had a bad night," he
 
 NOETHWODE PRIORT. 281 
 
 said, kindly, putting his arm round her and kissing 
 her. 
 
 " I could not sleep, papa. I hope you will think 
 I have done right, bat it has been very, very hard 
 to come to a decision, and you may think me selfish 
 for the one I have made, but God knows that it is 
 no selfish motive has led me to do so." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh's cheek blanched. " Let me hear 
 your decision, and you may be sure I shall not 
 think your motives selfish." 
 
 Mabel could hardly bring out the words which 
 she felt would convey keen disappointment to her 
 father. At length she said abruptly, " I couldn't 
 do it, papa, — at least I could if it were right, but 
 it wouldn't be so." 
 
 " Even your inclination is quite sufiicieut, May. 
 Do not fear that I would press you to take such a 
 solemn step against your will." 
 
 " Oh ! papa, it isn't will," said Mabel ; and her 
 eyes filled with tears. " If it were only inclination 
 1 would do anything to save you and them all, and 
 I had almost persuaded myself that I ought to con- 
 sent, but this morning I met with the words about 
 ' doing evil that good may come,' and then I knew 
 at once that it was wrong." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh pondered on the words. "Yes, May, 
 you are right," but his voice failed him, and leaning 
 his arms on the table he buried his face in them. 
 
 It wrung his poor child's heart to witness his 
 emotion. She shrank from the thought of all she 
 should have to see before the result of her decision 
 was accomplished. Had she been one whit less 
 firm and courageous, her heart would have failed, 
 and she would have yielded to the temptation, for 
 it was a kind of temptation, and spared those she 
 loved at her own sacrifice. 
 
 "Papa, papa! It has been so hard, — 'Only say 
 you forgive me for bringing you so much misery."
 
 282 NOETHWGDE PEIOEY. 
 
 " It is quite right, May. I have brought it on 
 myself. Leave me, my dear child ; I would not 
 have you feel my weakness as a reproach." 
 
 She longed to say a word of comfort, but he did 
 not look up. She lingered in the room unable to 
 leave without one attempt. " God will take care 
 of us now, papa, as He has always done." Her 
 father looked up for an instant, and kissed and 
 blessed her, and then seeing he wished to be alone, 
 she went away. 
 
 She stole to her room, there to indulge for a 
 little while her silent wretchedness. Mr. Hesketh 
 might suffer, but his sufferings were not like hers, 
 for he had thrown off the responsibility of the de- 
 cision, and it had fallen with all its crushing weight 
 upon her. Had he taken the affair into his own 
 hands her position would have been changed, and 
 she would have felt truly that their trials were the 
 result of their father's weakness and imprudence, 
 under which they were all bound to be resigned. 
 But now she could not divest herself of the idea 
 that she was the author of the sorrow, and that it 
 might have been averted by her act. There was 
 something in Mr. Hesketh's manner that, uncon- 
 sciously indeed, fostered this feeling, and made her 
 grief and self-reproach the more keen, in spite of 
 knowing that she was acting right, and that a con- 
 trary decision would have been in direct opposition 
 to the teaching of God's servants. 
 
 This was but at best a world of trial ; and a life 
 of disappointment, and daily struggle with poverty, 
 was what thousands were bravely facing, and she 
 knew that '*whom the Loed loveth He chas- 
 teneth." In another world what would the pains 
 and pleasures of the present life signify ? But if 
 she yielded — with the stain of falsehood and perjury 
 on her conscience, deliberately committed in the 
 face of God's warning — could she ever regain peace
 
 FOETHWODE PEIORT. 283 
 
 of mind in this world, or hope for happiness in 
 another ? — would any trials of poverty, or even the 
 grief of seeing others suffer, be as hard to bear as 
 the self-reproach she must have endured had she 
 yielded ? In the midst of her sorrow she could 
 feel thankful that she had been warned against 
 such a sin, and pray that her resolution might 
 never fail. 
 
 " What is all this mystery. Aunt Anne ?" asked 
 Frances, about an hour afterwards. 
 
 " Mystery, my dear ?" 
 
 **Yes; Mabel and papa were shut np in the 
 study for a long time yesterday, and to-day they 
 are gone there again ; and when Mabel comes out 
 she looks white and haggard, and rushes off to her 
 room and bolts the door." 
 
 Miss Hesketh looked perplexed. " I am sure, 
 my dear, I have no notion. I hadn't noticed it, 
 indeed ; but now I remember that May looked ill 
 at breakfast time, and ate nothing, and your papa 
 was very late." 
 
 " I hate such reserve !" exclaimed Frances, who 
 was very jealous of her position as elder daughter. 
 " If anything is wrong I think / ought to be ac- 
 quainted with it, for my opinion must be more ma- 
 tured than Mabel's." 
 
 " Oh ! there is nothing wrong, my love," said 
 her aunt, composedly. " Please to put my knit- 
 ting right, Frances ; I have dropped two stitches, 
 I think." 
 
 Frances complied rather hastily, and placing the 
 knitting on her aunt's table, left the room. She 
 was fuming at the idea that her dignity had been 
 slighted, and was resolved that she would not be 
 always set aside, and treated as nobody. First of 
 all she went to May's room, and found the door 
 fastened, and after gently trying it she went down- 
 stairs again to her father's study.
 
 284 IfORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 He told her to come in, and she saw with the 
 first quick scrutinising glance, that there were 
 traces of no ordinary agitation on his face. Usually 
 her feelings would have been moved at the sight 
 of his emotion, but her wounded dignity was too 
 alive to its own injuries, to sympathise with aught 
 besides. 
 
 " There is some marvellous mystery going on," she 
 observed, in as offended a tone as she dared assume 
 in his presence. " Mabel is thoroughly upset, and 
 you look much the same, papa. Am I to be kept 
 in ignorance of what affects you both so much ?" 
 
 " It would be kinder to do so," said Mr. Hes- 
 keth, sadly ; " but as you must know sooner or 
 later, I have no wish to have any unnecessary mys- 
 teries with you." 
 
 He motioned her to sit down, and in a quiet, 
 concise way told her all her uncle's history, his 
 own involvement with Mr. Collier, the offer to 
 Mabel, and her decided refusal of it. Frances was 
 not one to be easily overcome. She listened in 
 silence, and gave no opinion until her father had 
 concluded. 
 
 " And Mabel prefers her own inclination to the 
 welfare of her father and his whole family," was 
 her first remark. " Poverty, disgrace, and ruin 
 stare us in the face, which she alone can prevent, 
 and she declines doing so. I have been very much 
 mistaken in my opinion of Mabel." 
 
 " She is doing what she believes right, and I will 
 pledge myself for her motives being unselfish. It 
 is a hard matter, and we must be very tender and 
 lenient with her. Poor little thing, she has suf- 
 fered sufficiently." 
 
 " If I had been in her place I would have borne 
 any personal sacrifice to save those I loved. Oh ! 
 papa, the selfishness of the world ! and that it 
 should have infected our little Mabel!"
 
 KOETHWODE PEIOET. 285 
 
 " Selfishness is a hard word. May is, I feel cer- 
 tain, acting from a sense of duty, she could not take 
 vows which she did not feel." 
 
 " And do you believe that with such a motive 
 allowance would not be made ? Don't you believe, 
 papa, that such a sacrifice would be accepted and 
 blessed ?" 
 
 " I can't say — I don't know, — my mind is be- 
 wildered ! Eemember, however, I will not have 
 Mabel urged." 
 
 " Papa, you are wrong," said Frances, firmly. 
 '* Mabel is only a child, she has no mother to advise 
 her, she can scarcely distinguish between right and 
 wrong. I am the one who ought to take a mother's 
 place to her, and if everything were put fairly be- 
 fore her, and true, high motives instilled into her 
 mind, instead of the weak feeling of fear and shrink- 
 ing, that has made her decide in this way, she 
 would see what she ought to do, and God would 
 bring her happiness and prosperity as a reward for 
 the sacrifice." 
 
 " No, no," said Mr. Hesketh, faintly ; ''I cannot 
 have her urged." 
 
 " And for want of a little decision and moral 
 courage, our home is to be taken from us, and we 
 are to be cast destitute upon the wide world," re- 
 plied Frances, in an irritable tone. 
 
 " Well, but how — what would you do ?" 
 
 "I would do nothing myself; I wouldn't even 
 try to influence Mabel. Her choice should be free 
 and unbiassed ; but I would not be guilty of the 
 responsibility of letting her decide upon her own 
 judgment, without having had right and wrong put 
 before her. She would be incurring lasting self- 
 reproach, by deciding as she at present io tends." 
 
 " Not so, for she believes she is right." 
 
 " No doubt she does, poor child. At her age, 
 how should she be able to distinguish between duty
 
 286 :n-orthwode peioet. 
 
 and inclination ? I am thinking how she will 
 feel by and by, papa, when we are all ruined 
 through her act, and reparation is not within her 
 power." 
 
 " Not through her act . . ." murmured Mr. Hes- 
 keth. 
 
 "Yes, in effect ; other circumstances brought 
 things to their present crisis, but she may prevent 
 their going farther." 
 
 " Well, Frances, I trust to you ; only be gentle 
 and cautious with her, and do not on any account 
 influence, or urge her." 
 
 " Thank you, papa ; you may trust me. I have 
 the interest of you all at heart, and my poor little 
 sister's as much as any one's." 
 
 May's door was opened by Judith, when Frances 
 returned. It was wdth no amiable expression of 
 countenance that Judith found who the intruder 
 was, and her reception was not altogetlier courteous. 
 
 " I hope, Miss, you won't go for to worrit Miss 
 May," she said, bluntly. *' If you've nothing par- 
 ticular to say to her, I think you'd better leave her 
 alone." 
 
 " But I have something particular to say to her," 
 replied Frances, haughtily. 
 
 " If it's anything she'd rather not hear, I must 
 ask you to put it off, Miss. She's had no sleep all 
 night, and it's my duty to look after her." 
 
 " And it is my duty to do so, too. I suppose 
 her sister can be trusted to take care of her." 
 
 " It's not my place to consider who can, or who 
 can't, take care of her. Tour mamma told me to 
 do so, and I shall obey her orders, while Miss May 
 allows me." 
 
 " I don't think mamma ever told you to forget 
 what was due to her elder daughter. I wish to 
 speak alone with my sister." 
 
 " I know my place, Miss Frances, and if Miss
 
 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 287 
 
 Mabel wishes it I will go ; but it don't seem as 
 though you brought her much comfort." 
 
 " And will you bring me the sal volatile in half 
 an hour, dear Judith?" said May, raising herself 
 from the bed on which she was lying, apparently 
 quite exhausted. 
 
 " Very well, Miss," said Judith, adding sotto 
 voce, as she left the room, "and then I'll bring you 
 a double dose, for I guess you'll want it bad enough 
 by that time, poor dear!" 
 
 " Well, Mabel, my dear, it's no use giving way," 
 said Trances, in what was meant for an exhila- 
 rating tone. " I have been having a conversation 
 with papa, and I want to talk over this disagreeable 
 business with you." 
 
 Mabel sighed, and looked as if it were an effort 
 to be resigned, but she made no remark. 
 
 " I quite understand all the feelings that have 
 made you decide as you have done, you know, love, 
 but I want you to consider whether you have right 
 and duty on your side." 
 
 Mabel made no reply and her sister went on. 
 
 " My own share in the matter I am quite willing 
 and able to bear, but it is of your happiness I am 
 thinking. I can understand your shrinking from 
 the idea of accepting Mr. Collier's offer, and at 
 first sight the notion is repulsive, I confess ; but I, 
 who know so much more of the world than you do, 
 look at it in a different light, and question how 
 you will feel about it by and by." 
 
 " You are mistaken, Frances ; if inclination were 
 everything, I would sacrifice it to-morrow." 
 
 " Don't interrupt me ; of the advantages of the 
 offer I don't wish to speak, for they are not much 
 in your way ; but I want you to reflect how you 
 will feel by and by, when we are reduced to po- 
 verty and want, and you recollect that you had it 
 in your power to prevent it ?"
 
 288 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 " Do not try me so hard," said Mabel, in a tone 
 of piteous entreaty. " I have gone over it all, and 
 my mind is made up." 
 
 " I am putting it before you for my own ease of 
 mind, and I must do what I think right, at the 
 risk of paining you," said Frances, in a tone of 
 dignified condescension. " You are very young, 
 Mabel, and I must do as our mother would have 
 done, had she been here. At present, personal feeling 
 is everything with you — you think because you do 
 not love him as you have read of loving people, 
 that it would be wicked to marry him ; but, Mabel, 
 what a blessing would attend such an act of self- 
 devotion ! How would G OD bless and reward such 
 unselfishness ! We are told in the Bible that those 
 who * sow in tears shall reap in joy,' and if any- 
 thing could win an eternal reward, it would be such 
 an act as this — think, dear Mabel, are not unsel- 
 fishness and self-devotion held up in the Bible for 
 our especial observance and imitation ?" 
 
 " We must not * do evil that good may come,' " 
 said May, faintly. 
 
 " Disinterestedness must bring its own reward," 
 continued Erances : *' but, dear Mabel, remember I 
 would not, for worlds, influence your decision, only 
 I am considering how you will feel by and by — 
 whether you will not be inclined to reproach your- 
 self, when you see papa broken down by want and 
 sorrow, our brothers' prospects blighted, and our 
 friends turning their backs upon us and shunning 
 us, and remember that it might have been averted. 
 Of Mr. Collier I neither will, nor can, say much, 
 but there is a great deal to make him endurable : 
 you could never M^ant for anything, you might do 
 immense good with his money, and you would not 
 be leaving your home or family, for Monckton 
 Court would be close to us, and in time you might 
 get really to like him."
 
 KORTHWODE PRIORY. 2«y 
 
 Mabel shuddered ; " I must not do ' evil,' " was 
 her almost inaudible reply. 
 
 " Then, my dear, if your mind is made up, it is 
 no use saying anything more. We must prepare 
 to meet our fate, — to leave our dear home," she 
 continued, in a low voice, "to become houseless 
 and friendless wanderers on the face of the earth — 
 to see poverty and hard labour come upon our 
 father in his old age, distress and anxiety upon 
 William and his helpless wife and children — shame 
 and contempt upon us all ! Weigh all this well, 
 Mabel, that you may never regret the step you are 
 taking, for soon the choice will be beyond your 
 reach." 
 
 There was no reply, and when Frances turned 
 towards her sister, to continue what she was say- 
 ing, the motionless white face, and closed eyes, 
 showed that she had fainted. Much alarmed, and 
 not knowing what steps to take, Frances sprang 
 up, and rang the bell violently. Almost imme- 
 diately the door flew open, and Judith entered, 
 with a face on which a storm seemed brooding. 
 One glance at the pale, insensible form was suffi- 
 cient, and unable to control her wrath and indigna- 
 tion, she unhesitatingly waved to the author of the 
 mischief to leave the room, and closing the door 
 behind her with a loud sound, returned to the bed, 
 to bend over her charge, and pour forth her anger 
 unheard. 
 
 Mabel was not again left to Frances' tender care. 
 Judith watched by her unwearyingly, and rest and 
 quiet was all she desired, for her sister had aroused 
 all the struggles and doubts of the preceding night, 
 and nothing but earnest prayer and reflection could 
 again restore tranquillity. 
 
 Frances, on leaving Mabel's room, went to the 
 study, and told her father that Mabel was incon- 
 vincible, and unable to bear much conversation.
 
 290 NOETHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 His last hope gone, he rang for a servant, and 
 despatched to Monckton Court a note he had pre- 
 viously written, containing his child's refusal of 
 the offer. But even this was insufficient for Mr. 
 Collier, who, in addition to really admiring Mabel, 
 and desiring her for a wife, was keenly alive to the 
 degradation of being refused. He wrote in answer 
 to request an interview during the afternoon, and 
 mentioned the hour at which he would be at the 
 Priory. 
 
 Poor May ! She had fancied her worst trials 
 were over, and she felt little equal to the agitation, 
 which such an interview must occasion her. She 
 raised no objection, however, when the note was 
 placed in her hands, and only requested to be loft 
 alone with Judith, that she might recover her com- 
 posure before Mr. Collier arrived. She did not 
 doubt as to the course she must pursue ; Frances' 
 arguments, harrowing as they had been, only 
 strengthened her resolution more effectually in the 
 end, for she perceived their fallacy. She knew that 
 she must do what was right in the present instance, 
 and leave the rest in God's hands. He could 
 bring good out of evil ; and who could dure to say 
 what the result of her decision might be ? True, 
 it seemed as if ruin and want must inevitably be 
 their fate, but could not He, without Whom not a 
 sparrow falls to the ground, protect and provide 
 for them ? Suffering they must expect as the 
 result of former imprudence, but He could temper 
 it, and even turn it into a blessing, and it was His 
 to ordain how long it should last. Into His hands 
 she committed herself, and He, Who had pointed 
 out to her the course she ought to take, would 
 bear her safely through it, and send her strength 
 sufficient for the occasion. 
 
 She was very calm and determined when her 
 father came to tell her that Mr. Collier was in the
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 291 
 
 drawing-room. He had himself had some conver- 
 sation with him, but had found him resolute as to 
 the line he meant to pursue, if Mabel persisted in 
 rejecting him. This was but what she expected, and 
 it did not overcome her composure. With a firm 
 step she crossed the hall, and hastily opened the 
 drawing-room door, that her self-command might 
 not have time to fail. Her father remained be- 
 hind, and she was left alone. 
 
 Mr. Collier advanced, as she entered, and took 
 her hand, with all the gentleness of which his coarse 
 nature was capable. May greeted him with few 
 words, withdrew her hand instantly, and remained 
 standing by the fireplace, in order to show him that 
 it was essentially a business interview. 
 
 Her calm dignity a little repulsed him, and the 
 speech he had been conning over in his mind, while 
 left alone, suddenly forsook him, and he could think 
 of nothing appropriate to say by way of opening 
 the conversation. The awkward pause wearied 
 Mabel, and she quietly began the subject herself. 
 
 " You expressed a wish to speak with me, Mr. 
 Collier. I think it only fair to tell you at once 
 that my decision is unchangeable, as I have not 
 made it hastily, but I will listen patiently to any- 
 thing you may wish to say." 
 
 " I fear you must be deceiving yourself into the 
 idea that I shall change my mind. Miss Hesketh, 
 and not recal the money that has so long been 
 in your father's hands, if you persist in your re- 
 fusal of my offer. I think it only honourable to 
 tell you, that, in believing this, you are deceiving 
 yourself, for if I am slighted, and treated with con- 
 tempt, I will show no mercy to those who have so 
 treated me." 
 
 " Mr. Collier," said May, and her slight figure 
 looked tall and erect, as she confronted him with 
 unflinching eye, " I deceive myself iu no such
 
 292 ]S'OETHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 way ! I am well aware that w-e are at your mercy, 
 and that you can bitterly revenge yourself upon us, 
 if you please. There is one thing I w^ould remind 
 you of, that God has said, ' Blessed are the merci- 
 ful, for they shall obtain mercy ;' in disobeying this 
 plain command, you are forfeiting this promise of 
 mercy hereafter, which no one, I should think, 
 could value lightly. This is all I have to say — 
 if vengeance is so precious to you, you have it in 
 your own hands, and we are prepared to meet it." 
 
 " And you won't even put out your hand to save 
 your father, and your family from ruin !" exclaimed 
 Mr. Collier, vehemently ; " for ruin it shall be ! 
 Yes — ruin, disgrace, utter destitution — I will spare 
 nothing! I will have every penny — 1 will bring 
 contempt upon those, who have brought contempt 
 upon me!" 
 
 "And you will only succeed in bringing upon 
 yourself the perfect contempt of every high-minded, 
 right-thinking person," replied Mabel, in so calm a 
 tone, that it sounded like a lull after a thunder- 
 storm. •' On one point you are mistaken — ruin 
 and destitution you can bring on us, but disgrace 
 — never!" 
 
 " Never ! do you say ?" repeated Mr. Collier. 
 " Never ! You shall see ; and when that time 
 comes, it will be too late to change your mind, 
 and I hope you will then remember how you 
 scorned my offer, and rejected the luxurious home 
 that was offered you. Of one thing feel sure — 
 that if you do not remember it, others will." 
 
 " I consented to this interview, believing that 
 you wished to have a little quiet conversation with 
 me," said Mabel. " If this is not the case, I must 
 beg you to excuse me." 
 
 " No, you must not go," he exclaimed, laying his 
 hand on her arm, while May tried not to recoil in 
 disgust at his touch. " I have more to say yet.
 
 NOETHWODE PRIORI. 293 
 
 If you accept me, I will cancel the bond and set 
 your father free, I will provide for your younger 
 brother, and assist the elder one ; I will do more 
 for your family than you dream of, and you your- 
 self shall have every luxury, every indulgence, and 
 more money than you can wish for." 
 
 Mabel's quiet smile of ineffable contempt made 
 him, for a moment, realize the sordid inducements 
 he was holding out to her. *' And do you really 
 know me so little ?" she asked, " as to imagine 
 that my affections are to be bought ? Tou offer 
 me a luxurious home, but let me tell you, that if 
 you changed it into a castle and a coronet, my feel- 
 ings would undergo no change. For my own part, 
 I care so little for money, that, but for leaving my 
 home, a hundred a year, and leave to reside in 
 Peverstone, is all that is necessary to my happiness." 
 
 "And that home you shall leave!" exclaimed 
 Mr. Collier, unable to control his anger and disap- 
 pointment. " Before this day week, I will have 
 ray money, or, in its place, everything you possess. 
 Northwode Priory is yours for one week more, and 
 for no longer!" 
 
 MabeFs feelings were proof against such violent 
 threats, and unmoved she said, " If this is your 
 final determination, I will leave you, Mr. Collier. 
 I will only pray that GrOD may change your mind, 
 and that He may never visit upon your own head, 
 the vengeance you are wreaking upon us." 
 
 She was leaving the room, but he hastily ap- 
 proached her, and again laying hold of her arm, 
 and this time with no light grasp, he exclaimed, 
 
 " You will have it then ? Tou will involve them 
 all in poverty, when a word from you might save 
 them ! But you shall repent, and that bitterly ! 
 Bemember, now it is too late — too late !" 
 
 She shook him off with flashing eyes, and swept 
 past him with an air of dignified contempt. He
 
 294 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 was not worthy of another word, and seeking her 
 room, she left him standing there, his face ex- 
 pressive of such strong and varied emotions, that 
 nothing was distinguishable but the bitter scowl, 
 that predominated over all. Little enough of mercy 
 was visible there, and still less in the owner's heart, 
 for money, and making money, had been the one 
 thought of his life, and it had been with him as 
 with a neglected garden, in which the weeds had 
 been suffered to increase, until they had turned the 
 flowers out. 
 
 The interview had been far less agitating than 
 Mabel expected, far less so than those with her 
 father and Trances, for Mr. Collier's passions had 
 been so violent and uncontrolled, that her feelings 
 were dead to aught besides ; and pity and disdain 
 were so uppermost in her mind, that sadder reflec- 
 tions were for the time in abeyance.
 
 CHAPTEE XX. 
 
 " Nor wealth, nor joy, nor aught but pain, 
 Was e'er to mortals' lot secure : — 
 Our first, best lesson — to endure." 
 
 SCHILLER. 
 
 With a fearful heart, Hugh had turned his steps 
 towards Northwode Priory that same afternoon. 
 He was calm, externally, for he had schooled his 
 feelings into calmness, and although a dread fore- 
 boding hung over him, he was resolved to bear up, 
 until he had fathomed the truth of the report. 
 His mother had tried in vain to read his thoughts, 
 but he was too fully aware of the difference in 
 their views, to be communicative. He therefore 
 locked up his hopes and fears in his own heart, and 
 left her to draw what conclusions she pleased. 
 
 The different step, with which he now entered 
 the Priory gate, from what he had been wont to 
 do, struck him painfully ; but the load on his heart 
 was a weightier consideration. He could not tell 
 for whom to ask — some feeling restrained him from 
 entering, as usual, without knocking, and whether 
 to ask for Mabel, or Mr. Hesketh, he felt uncertain. 
 It seemed so like a formal visit, and if he inquired 
 for Mr. Hesketh, it would be naturally supposed 
 that he came for a specific purpose, and that would 
 place him in an awkward position.
 
 296 IfOKTHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 Absorbed in thought, he advaoced over the 
 snow-covered grass. Everything looked just as 
 usual, but he had no eyes for external objects ; al- 
 most before being aware of it, he found himself at 
 the front door, and his hand was raised mechani- 
 cally to ring the bell, but, ere he had done so, his 
 attention was arrested. 
 
 The drawing-room window, with its stone mul- 
 lions, through which, in happier days, Hugh had so 
 often made his entrance, was close to the porch ; 
 and as he stood there he could see into the room. 
 A clear fire was burning, and on the hearth stood 
 two persons. Hugh's heart beat quick — that 
 slight, bent form, with the golden hair — who was 
 it ? — could there be a doubt ? And near her, in 
 deep conversation, stood the man he most dreaded 
 to see — the only man in the world he detested — 
 the man he had told himself that May never would 
 — never could, think of! 
 
 Mechanically, like one walking in a dream, he 
 retraced his steps. The last spark of hope had 
 been suddenly extinguished ; his mind was only 
 capable of entertaining one thought — May was lost 
 to him for ever ! To think of her in future would 
 be a sin, until he had taught himself to regard 
 her as an indifferent person, one affianced to an- 
 other. 
 
 Until the last four- and-t went j hours he had 
 never fathomed the self-control, that lay dormant 
 within him. During that time it had been severely 
 tested, and now the only traces of emotion visible 
 on his face, were to be seen in the rigid lips, that 
 might have been carved in white marble, the stern 
 eye, and the throbbing of the pulses in his temple. 
 His mother was watching for him anxiously. 
 When she heard the gate swing, she went into the 
 entrance hall, but Hugh entered, and passing her 
 without a word, went to his own room.
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 297 
 
 " He has received confirmation of the report, and 
 it has been too much for him," she meditated ; " a 
 little rest will do him good, and then, by and by, I 
 must get change of scene for him." 
 
 It was a relief to her mind that the news had 
 been confirmed, for she had begun to doubt its pro- 
 bability, and she felt confident that Hugh w^ould 
 soon get over ' this unfortunate attachment.' Long 
 she sat musing as to w4iere she should send him, and 
 how she should divert his mind, and obliterate this 
 disappointment from his memory. 
 
 The evening was closing in, and Mrs. Grahame 
 was thinking of ringing, to have the curtains 
 drawn, and the lamp brought in, when a light 
 step came behind her, and Hugh in a deep voice 
 said, 
 
 " Mother, good-bye — I cannot stay in Pever- 
 stone. You shall hear from me soon." 
 
 " Hugh — my dearest Hugh, what do you mean ? 
 You will not leave me, you are not going ?" 
 
 " I can't stay ; I shall never be able to endure 
 Peverstone again." 
 
 " But where are you going — to Oxford ?" 
 
 " To Oxford ! — no, somewhere, where no one 
 will know me, nor I them. All the world is alike 
 to me now." 
 
 He was muffled up in a rough great coat, with a 
 cap drawn over his brows. A small carpet-bag was 
 in his hand, and it was evident he had thought but 
 little of how or where he was going. 
 
 " Oh, Hugh ! you mustn't go ! Have you no 
 consideration for me ? How can you care suffi- 
 ciently for this mercenary girl, to destroy all our 
 home happiness?" 
 
 Hugh's brow grew dark. *' Good-bye — and 
 please, when you write, make no mention of the 
 Peverstone people. You shall have my address 
 very soon. God bless you, mother."
 
 298 NOETHWODE PllIORY. 
 
 He was gone before she could remonstrate any- 
 further. She went into the hall, and strained her 
 eyes to catch another glimpse of him, but without 
 success ; and whither he had directed his steps, she 
 never knew for three weary days, when the follow- 
 ing note reached her. 
 
 " My deae Mother, 
 
 " I hope you have not been anxious about 
 me. I am all right, in this quiet Welch village. 
 How long I shall stay here I don't know ; you 
 need tell no one where I am. If I go away, I will 
 WTite and let you know. Please don't think me 
 unkind. 
 
 " Your affectionate son, 
 "H. Grahame." 
 
 And this was all she knew of him, for, in answer 
 to her earnest inquiries after his health and spirits, 
 she could gain nothing more than '*I am all right." 
 A month passed in this unsatisfactory way, while 
 Mrs. Grahame vainly turned in her mind some 
 scheme for luring him from his retreat, and filling 
 up the void in his heart, in a way that would be 
 favourable to her own views. 
 
 Among her various schemes, her thoughts re- 
 verted to a distant cousin of her husband's, of 
 whom she had heard nothing for some years — a 
 Scotch peer, who had been very kind to Hugh in 
 past times. That he had daughters, she knew, but 
 of what age or character, she was ignorant, yet the 
 daughter of a peer could be no bad match even for 
 a Grahame, and if the connection could be re- 
 opened, and Hugh invited to Scotland, her plans 
 would be at once matured. 
 
 A most diplomatic letter was penned the next 
 day, and in the course of a week it produced the 
 following answer :
 
 noethwode prioet. 299 
 
 " Mt dear Mrs. Gtrahame, 
 
 " It gave me much pleasure to receive your 
 letter a few days ago, and to hear that you and 
 my friend Hugh were in good health. I have heard 
 of you occasionally through mutual friends, but 
 our intercourse has been for so long suspended 
 that you probably know little about my family. 
 My wife, 1 grieve to say, is still in delicate health, 
 and unable to enter into society ; but her place is 
 in a measure filled up by our eldest daughter Eu- 
 genia, who has lately returned from a three years' 
 residence in Paris, where she has been finishing her 
 education. She is considered very handsome, and, 
 having had the advantage of first-rate masters, 
 while on the continent, is highly accomplished. I 
 much wish she could be introduced to you, as I am 
 quite sure you would be pleased with her. Grace, 
 our second daughter, is to take Eugenia's place in 
 the Parisian Academy, in the course of a few 
 months. She promises to be less handsome than her 
 sister, but is all we could desire in other respects. 
 My sons are a source of great satisfaction to me. 
 Eobert is at present in England. 
 
 # * # * « 
 
 *' It would give us much pleasure to renew our 
 acquaintance with Hugh, if he would give us the 
 opportunity. This is not the best season of the 
 year for a Scotch visit, but at any time he will 
 mention, we shall be glad to see him. My friend 
 Grahame's son must always be a welcome guest. 
 Lady Eoray unites with me in kind regards. 
 •* Believe me, 
 
 '* Yours truly, 
 
 "FORAT." 
 
 Nothing could be more satisfactory to Mrs. Gra- 
 hame. She wrote and proposed an immediate visit, 
 and urged Hugh strongly to lose no time in renew-
 
 300 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 ing the acquaintance. It was some time before 
 she succeeded in overcoming his objections, for he 
 only longed for obscurity and quiet. Happiness 
 he despaired of ever finding again ; and having in 
 the first anguish of his disappointment cast away 
 his books, and thrown aside all thoughts of Oxford 
 and honours, he had nothing to relieve the state of 
 silent despondency into which he had fallen. 
 
 It is hard to remain in obscurity anywhere for 
 long, and Hugh soon discovered that even in his 
 quiet retreat the busy tongues of the curious were 
 already discussing him. It was not to be won- 
 dered at. His tall, slight figure was to be seen at 
 all hours on the clifis and hills, and wandering on 
 the sea-shore ; and the stern, gloomy expression 
 his face had assumed, and the absent air which he 
 continually wore, gave rise to endless speculations, 
 of which he could not remain long in ignorance. 
 
 Sick at heart, and feeling all places alike to him 
 now, he yielded to his mother's entreaties, and 
 agreed to visit his Scotch connections. It was the 
 end of March when he left "Wales for Scotland, but 
 much, of which he was ignorant, had occurred at 
 Peverstone, during the interval. 
 
 After his interview with Mabel, Mr. Collier 
 returned to Monckton Court, and took immediate 
 steps for carrying out his threats, and repaying 
 himself the money that had been so long owing. 
 One week was all the time he would allow them, 
 and his will once made up was inflexible. 
 
 May's consideration for others was not abated, 
 even in the midst of her own distress. She felt fear- 
 ful that Dora would hear the inteUigence abruptly, 
 and determined to break it to her herself, harrow- 
 ing as the task would be. She could not trust 
 Trances to do so ; and taking Judith with her, lest 
 she should meet Mr, Collier, she went to Wood- 
 bank.
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 301 
 
 Dora was alone in her sitting-room. "Why, 
 May, you are quite a stranger," she exclaimed, as 
 Mabel entered. " Tou were not here yesterday, 
 nor the day before, and you have so spoilt me by 
 your daily visits that I cannot .... but May, 
 dearest!" she suddenly said, " what has given you 
 that pale face and those dark lines ? Has anything 
 dreadful happened ?" 
 
 " Yes, I have bad news for you, Dora. We are in 
 great trouble ; but do not be frightened, — it is not 
 a case of life and death." 
 
 "What— oh! what?" gasped Dora. 
 
 "Money troubles," replied Mabel; ''but we 
 must not despair. God will take care of us through 
 everything, and Dora, dear, promise that you will 
 trust to Him." 
 
 "Oh! May, May! You frighten me! What 
 can it be ? Are we ruined ?" 
 
 "Not absolutely ruined," said Mabel, with a 
 firm voice, but quivering lip. " My mother's little 
 property is left to us, and while that is the case it 
 cannot be utter ruin ; but we shall have to leave 
 our Priory, and live somewhere else." 
 
 " Oh ! Mabel, how dreadful !" exclaimed Dora, 
 forgetting, for an instant, their own immediate in- 
 terest in Mr. Hesketh's misfortunes, and recollect- 
 ing only May's aifection for her home ; but her 
 babies came to her mind, and she said, " Is it really 
 so bad ? How can it have come to pass ?" 
 
 The story was soon told, and it was with no little 
 anxiety that Mabel watched her sister's face, as 
 her own decision was made known. It expressed 
 bewilderment more than any other feeling. 
 
 " Oh ! May, and you could never have liked 
 him ?" 
 
 Mabel looked hurt ; " Your own feelings can 
 surely tell you what mine must be." 
 
 " Forgive me, May, — I'm very selfish ; but my
 
 302 NOETHWODE PEIORY. 
 
 children, — my husband . . . ." and covering her 
 face with her hands, Dora burst into tears. 
 
 Mabel could offer no comfort, she stood by her 
 side in silent wretchedness. " There is William's 
 profession, Dora," she ventured to remark at last. 
 " With great economy it will be sufficient for the 
 present, and then . . . ." 
 
 " No, no, it is but a nominal thing. The ex- 
 penses swallow up the income. We are penniless, 
 — absolutely penniless!" 
 
 " Have you no faith, Dora, dearest ?" asked May, 
 kneeling beside her. " Is God less able to take 
 care of us now than before ? Do not despond, it 
 can never bring a blessing." 
 
 " My children, — my poor little children," faltered 
 Dora. " If it were not for them I could bear it." 
 
 " Oh ! Dora, have a little consideration for me," 
 exclaimed Mabel, quite overcome. " If you knew 
 all that I have suffered you would feel for me." 
 
 " I do feel for you, dear May," said Dora, amidst 
 her tears. " I am very weak, but indeed I will try 
 to bear it." 
 
 They were silent for some moments, while Mabel 
 struggled hard to regain her self-command, and 
 Dora's tears streamed fast and silently. Before 
 long she said, " Tell me about your plans, May." 
 
 "We have got none yet," said Mabel, sadly. 
 " We must leave the Priory within a week ; and 
 we have not had time yet to think of where we 
 shall go." 
 
 "And we must leave Woodbank," observed 
 Dora, in a stifled voice. 
 
 "I cannot talk of these things yet," said May, 
 whose head was aching sadly. " I will come to 
 you to-morrow, and we will think what is best to 
 be done. William's profession ought, surely, to be 
 worth something." 
 
 " No ; he hardly clears anything by it. We have
 
 NORTHWODE PRIORY. 303 
 
 nothing to look to, — not five pounds a year of our 
 own !" and Dora's grief broke out afresh. 
 
 It was almost too much for May, but fortunately, 
 at that moment Judith was heard at the door, for 
 she dreaded the effect of any more scenes upon 
 Mabel's strength, and thought they had been long 
 enough together. It seemed hard to leave Dora 
 in such distress, but Judith was peremptory, and 
 would allow of no delay. 
 
 " Dora, dearest, you will forgive me for the 
 misery I have brought you," she whispered, kneel- 
 ing with her arm round her sister. " Tell me that 
 you see I was right ; it will be such a relief. You 
 would not have had me marry a person I could not 
 love and honour ?" 
 
 A scarcely audible "no," was all May could 
 catch, and it did not bring much comfort, for she 
 fancied the heart was not in it. " Good-bye ; you 
 must tell William, and let him know all my reasons 
 for refusing. Tell him that I could not ' do evil 
 that good might come.' " 
 
 Judith drew her away, and Dora did not raise 
 her head. May paused for one moment at the 
 nursery door, and entreated to be allowed to look 
 at her little god-child. He was asleep in his nurse's 
 arms. She took him into her own, and as she bent 
 over his happy, peaceful face, large tears fell on 
 his white robe. That innocent child, for whom she 
 had promised so much, and whom she loved in all 
 the depth of her warm heart, — and now she was 
 bringing his parents to ruin, and turning him out 
 of his home ! Yet this was not the true way of 
 looking at it. The promises had been entirely 
 spiritual ones; and if it were GtOd's will that his 
 parents should be obliged to depend solely on their 
 own exertions, it might be an incalculable blessing 
 to the children : and in every fresh revival of her 
 sorrow she could thankfully think of the words,
 
 304 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 " The LoED is on my side," and while this was the 
 case all must be right with her. 
 
 As she walked home she meditated on the 
 strangeness of Hugh's non-appearance for so many- 
 days, and supposed it to be owing to Dudley's ab- 
 sence. It would have been an inexpressible com- 
 fort to have seen him, or to have heard his opinion 
 of her decision, though she knew well what that 
 would be. There was Dudley still to be informed 
 of it, and what the consequences would be with 
 regard to his engagement she was afraid to think. 
 The accumulation of miseries that pressed upon her 
 was too much for her already overtaxed strength, 
 and her head ached in a way she had never felt be- 
 fore. When they reached home Judith was not 
 a little alarmed to see the burning red spot on her 
 cheek, and to feel the dry scorching heat of her 
 hands. She insisted upon her immediately lying 
 down in the quiet of her own room, and called Mr. 
 Hesketh to come and see her. 
 
 It was a bitter trial to him to feel, that, whereas 
 he would formerly have sent immediately for a 
 doctor, he would not now be justified in doing so, 
 unless the necessity were more urgent. Before 
 long, however, anxiety triumphed over every other 
 consideration, and Dr. G-rainger was summoned. It 
 was well that he was, for he pronounced Mabel to 
 be alarmingly ill, and feared it would be impossible 
 to avert the fever he saw impending. 
 
 Everyone's sympathies were in a measure aroused, 
 when they heard that May was really ill. Even 
 Frances, who had been very distant and bitter, ever 
 since she had failed in convincing her sister that 
 she was wrong, now offered to nurse and watch by 
 her during the night ; but she was unceremoni- 
 ously dismissed by Judith, who would allow no one 
 to share her privilege of tending her charge. 
 
 The news of their misfortunes had been received,
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOKT. 305 
 
 in various ways, by different members of the fa- 
 mily. Frances had been entrusted with the task 
 of breaking it to her aunt, which slie did bluntly, 
 and without preparation. Miss Hesketh seemed 
 incapable of realising the astounding intelligence ; 
 and when her niece had perseveringly repeated it 
 under every conceivable form, and she compre- 
 hended it a little better, she only observed that 
 Mabel would change her mind soon, and never 
 refuse such a highly desirable offer. She con- 
 tinued to dilate upon the advantages of such a 
 marriage, the estate, the wealth, and the position 
 that a person like Mabel would take, until even 
 Frances was weary, and exclaimed, " You say no- 
 thing about the man himself, Aunt Anne. I dare 
 say you agree with me, that the estate and the 
 wealth would be more desirable, if they could be 
 obtained without their owner. But, please, say no 
 more about it, for Mabel has made up her mind, 
 and is deaf to all entreaty." 
 
 AVilliam and Dora shared their distress together, 
 for his was scarcely less than hers. He said cer- 
 tain starvation was before them, for he could not 
 reckon upon forty pounds a year from his pro- 
 fession ; they must leave Woodbank, and go — he 
 knew not where ! Little however was said by 
 them about May's share in the matter, for in spite 
 of wishing most earnestly that she could have said 
 '* Yes," they loved her too well to wish she had 
 done what she felt wrong, and William could not 
 deny that, feeling as she did, it would have been 
 wrong to marry a person she so thoroughly dis- 
 liked. Yet he wished from his heart it could have 
 been otherwise, and without saying a word to each 
 other upon the subject, both clung to a lingering 
 hope that she might yet change her mind, and dis- 
 cover that she was not really as averse to him, as 
 she had imagined.
 
 306 NOETHWODE PRIORY. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh summoned Dudley home, for he 
 did not wish to send the intelligence to Marbury, 
 until the blow seemed absolutely inevitable, which, 
 he tried to persuade himself, it was not yet. No 
 one felt certain how Geraldine would receive the 
 news, and whether, or not, it would terminate the 
 engagement. Erances thought Geraldine would 
 behave nobly, and prove herself above all mer- 
 cenary considerations ; but Mr. Hesketh looked 
 grave, and Mabel shook her head. Dudley was 
 terribly upset, when he heard the news that awaited 
 him. Not that he doubted Geraldine's fidelity for 
 an instant ; he declared that she loved him for 
 himself, and cared nothing for his circumstances. 
 He thought Mabel might have had Mr. Collier, 
 but, when he heard of the danger she was in, he 
 repented in a moment, and forbore passing any 
 further remark. 
 
 Meanwhile, May lay restless and feverish, with 
 Judith watching and waiting on her unceasingly. 
 Her thoughts brought her more suffering than 
 anything else. All day and all night, while awake, 
 she dwelt on the events of the last few days, and 
 as she contemplated the suffering her decision was 
 bringing to all, weakened and exhausted in body 
 and mind, she fancied it must be her duty to yield, 
 and that she could never again feel peace, if she 
 brought poverty upon them. 
 
 These morbid feelings increased to such an ex- 
 tent, that she grew fairly bewildered, and her terror 
 lest she should act wrongly, agitated her so greatly, 
 that both the doctor and Mr. Hesketh were alarmed. 
 In vain did Dr. Grainger insist that she must be 
 kept quiet, and every thing exciting witliheld from 
 her ; her thoughts no one could take away : very 
 thankful she would have felt if they could have 
 done so. 
 
 One weary night, when she had been turning
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 307 
 
 uneasily from side to side, and could not compose 
 her thoughts sufficiently to allow of her sleeping, 
 Judith observed, 
 
 " There is something on your mind, Miss May. 
 I am afraid you will never be better until your 
 mind's easy. What can I do to stay you from 
 thinking. Miss ?" 
 
 " Judith," said May, in a soft whisper, " there is 
 one thing I have thought of that would ease me 
 very much, and you can do it if you like ; but I 
 am not sure whether you will." 
 
 " Let me hear what it is, before I promise, Miss," 
 said Judith, cautiously. 
 
 " Could you write a letter for me, if I told you 
 what to say?" and Mabel raised herself, eagerly, 
 to listen for the answer. 
 
 "Lie down. Miss," said Judith, hastily. "I'm 
 no great hand at my pen, but I don't mind trying, 
 if you think it will make you feel easier." 
 
 "Oh! it will so much," sighed May, sinking 
 back. 
 
 Judith left the room for writing materials, and 
 when she returned Mabel dictated a letter to Mina, 
 stating the difficult position she was in, and begging 
 for her advice. She could safely trust Judith with 
 the knowledge of every thing, and she felt that 
 Mina's opinion would be of great value. Not that 
 she would resolve to abide by it, whatever it might 
 be, but it would greatly influence her decision. 
 
 Judith had a most unusual and irksome task 
 before her, but she made no complaint. Mabel 
 could not help smiling, as she watched the large, 
 unwieldy hand, laboriously tracing the strange cha- 
 racters, every letter of which was of a different 
 size and shape. Poor Judith could never have re- 
 ceived much schooling, and on reading the letter 
 afterwards May felt afraid, whether, between the 
 writing and the spelling, Mina would ever decipher
 
 308 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 the raeauing. Even May herself found it rather 
 hard to read, and felt it necessary to borrow the 
 pen and ink, and make it more intelligible. She 
 thanked Judith gratefully, however, and, her mind 
 much rested, she lay down comparatively easy, and 
 fell asleep almost immediately.
 
 CHAPTEE XXI. 
 
 " When winter fortunes cloud the brows 
 
 Of summer -friends — when eyes grow strange, — 
 When plighted faith forgets its vows, 
 
 When earth and all things in it change, — 
 O Lord, Thy mercies fail me never — 
 Where once Thou lov'st Thou lov'st for ever." 
 
 JOHN QUARLES. 
 
 In spite of Mabel's mind being more at ease, the 
 fever increased, and she startled Judith one night 
 by springing up, delirious, and asking where she 
 was, and who was taking away the Priory. Dr. 
 Grainger was sent for, and his grave face filled Mr. 
 Hesketh with uneasiness. It wanted only two days 
 to the expiration of the week allotted them by Mr. 
 Collier for quitting their home. Poor Mr. Hes- 
 keth seemed almost beside himself, between anxiety 
 for his child, and perplexity about the future. Ju- 
 dith, who, since writing to Mina, had been ac- 
 quainted with the cause of all the distress she saw 
 around her, sympathised in silence. 
 
 No steps had been taken towards breaking up 
 the establishment, or providing a future residence. 
 Opinions differed so widely, whenever the subject 
 was brought forward, and Mr. Hesketh felt so in- 
 capable of taking any active steps, with no one to 
 support his authority, and his mind torn between 
 anxiety and self-reproach, that day after day passed
 
 310 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 by, without any plans having been made. Frances 
 would, if asked, have undertaken the management 
 of everything, but Mr. Hesketh did not feel suffi- 
 cient confidence in her to commit to her such a 
 responsible office. Miss Hesketh was fully per- 
 suaded that Mabel would yet change her mind, 
 and ridiculed the notion of seeking another home. 
 Indeed every one but herself, felt so bewildered 
 and helpless, so anxious about Mabel, and so des- 
 ponding about the future, that nothing was done, 
 and as the last day of their probation approached, 
 they awaited its arrival, with the dull resignation 
 of despair. 
 
 Meanwhile, Geraldine wrote to entreat that she 
 might be told the cause of Dudley's sudden depar- 
 ture, and Mr. Hesketh thought she should no 
 longer be kept in ignorance. Dudley was very 
 confident that she would be above all sordid con- 
 siderations, and that this change in his prospects 
 would make no difierence, except in the length of 
 their engagement. 
 
 *' Well, I hope it may be so," said his father, 
 with a sigh. " I should recommend you to write 
 to her, instead of riding over as you proposed. 
 Your presence might influence her in deciding 
 upon the future, and it is better her decision 
 should be calm and unbiassed. Of course you will 
 release her from the engagement, as it was made 
 while your prospects were so different." 
 
 " Yes, I will do that, but 1 know she will accept 
 of no release. I wish you knew her, she is not as 
 mercenary as you think." 
 
 "I am glad to hear it," said Mr. Hesketh; 
 " your course, however, is clear, you must set her 
 perfectly free." 
 
 " I am not afraid," said Dudley, with a bright, 
 confident smile. '*She cares for me for myself, 
 and money will make no difference."
 
 KOETHWODE PEIORT. 311 
 
 " But position may ; we are no longer the Hes- 
 keths of Northwode Priory." 
 
 " But I am the same Dudley Hesketh she cared 
 for before, and that is all she will care for now." 
 
 The letter was written. It contained a long 
 account of their misfortunes, and the change that 
 had come over their prospects, and finally released 
 her from her engagement, although it was easy 
 to see that Dudley looked upon this as a mere 
 form, and never contemplated the possibility of his 
 release being accepted. 
 
 The suspense he had to endure before he could 
 receive an answer, was painfully wearisome, and 
 many times he wished he had followed his own 
 inclination, and ridden over. He sadly missed a 
 companion, for he had not been allowed to see 
 Mabel, Hugh was gone, he knew not where, and 
 William and Dora were absorbed in their own 
 plans and fears for the future ; the time therefore 
 hung heavily on his hands, and he wandered about 
 the house and gardens in a desultory manner, which 
 was but a poor preparation for the life of self- 
 exertion that lay before him. 
 
 Every-one's thoughts were concentrated on the 
 sick room. The fever grew higher and higher, and 
 Dr. Grainger looked graver and more grave. Ju- 
 dith never left Mabel's side, day or night. She 
 did not seem to know what fatigue was, and she 
 had so completely taken into her own hands the 
 control of the sick room, that no one dared to dis- 
 pute her authority, or intrude there without her 
 sanction. Mr. Hesketh was always admitted, and 
 he could scarcely tear himself away from the room, 
 where his poor suffering child lay restless and de- 
 lirious, for something seemed to tell him that he 
 had brought it upon her, by his anxiety to spare 
 himself any unnecessary responsibility and distress. 
 He felt easier when watching by her side, and
 
 312 NORTHWODE PEIORY. 
 
 Judith allowed him to bathe her head and face, 
 and moisten her parched lips, when she saw that 
 he was happiest while so employed. Frances and 
 Dudley were rigorously excluded, and the former 
 felt that she could not rebel, for she was conscious 
 of having brought no comfort to her sister, the last 
 time she had been admitted. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh had just left the room, and having 
 met Frances in the passage, stood there talking, 
 and Judith heard what they were saying. 
 
 " God only knows what the end will be," said 
 Mr. Hesketh. " She gets gradually weaker, and 
 the fever still increases. Our respite ends to-mor- 
 row, and Mr. Collier is just the person to do as he 
 has said, and turn us out at a moment's warning. 
 He doesn't know the meaning of mercy, and if he 
 should carry his threats into execution, it is certain 
 death to my poor child. O, Frances ! — the Hand 
 of God is heavy upon us — what will the end of it 
 all be?" 
 
 '* He cannot turn us out, papa," said Frances. 
 "It would be inhuman with May in this state." 
 
 **He can, and he will, I firmly believe. You 
 don't know him — he is capable of anything ; and 
 his wish for revenge is so deep-rooted and bitter, 
 that we must look for no mercy at his hands." 
 
 Judith heard in silence, and when Mr. Hesketh 
 returned, she asked leave of absence for two hours. 
 It was readily granted, and he promised to take 
 her place, and not leave Mabel's side till she came 
 back. 
 
 What could be the matter ? — thought every one, 
 as Judith, in her antiquated black silk bonnet and 
 scarlet shawl, left the house, and crossed the lawn, 
 at her own peculiar and rather unfeminine pace. 
 " May is worse ! She is gone to call Dr. Grainger !" 
 cried Frances, springing from her seat, and flying 
 to her sister's ronm, where, to her relief, she found
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 313 
 
 all as it had been when last she inquired. Mr. 
 Hesketh, less uncompromising than Judith, allowed 
 her to sit quietly by the bedside, and she valued 
 the privilege in proportion to her annoyance when 
 it had been denied her. 
 
 The black silk bonnet and scarlet shawl pro- 
 ceeded in the direction of Monckton Court, and 
 Judith, abjuring the back entrance, gave a deter- 
 mined ring at the front door. The powdered foot- 
 man in crimson and drab livery, exhibited not a 
 little astonishment at the presumption of the pecu- 
 liar visitor who met his gaze, as he answered the 
 summoDS. 
 
 " Is your master at home ?" 
 
 "Tes — no — I mean what do you want ?" 
 
 "I want a civil answer in the first place. Is 
 Mr. Collier at home or not ?" 
 
 " He is, but I'm not sure that you can see 
 him." 
 
 "Then I will wait till I can," was the resolute 
 reply, as Judith stepped past him, and seated her- 
 self on one of the hall chairs. " You m^ay go and 
 tell him I am here, and as soon as he can make it 
 convenient, he can send for me." 
 
 The man looked astonished. " Who am I to 
 say ?" 
 
 ** Say ' a person,' that will be enough." 
 
 " But Mr. Collier will be displeased — he won't 
 see you." 
 
 " If you will deliver your message, young man, 
 that is all that is required of you." 
 
 The visitor was an unusual one, and the footman, 
 somewhat puzzled, did as he was ordered. In 
 a few minutes he returned, and desired Judith 
 to follow him into his master's presence. 
 
 Mr. Collier was seated alone in his dining-room, 
 the cloth having been removed, and dessert laid ou 
 the table. He turned half round, as Judith en-
 
 314 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 tered, and replied to her salutation by a gracious 
 inclination of the head. 
 
 " "Well, my good woman, what is your business ? 
 Take a seat and let me know." 
 
 But Judith preferred standing, and said in a de- 
 liberate way — " I am Miss Mabel Hesketh's nurse, 
 sir, and I came to inform you that she is dan- 
 gerously ill." 
 
 " Sorry to hear it," was the reply. 
 
 " I understand, sir, that you gave orders that the 
 Priory should be left to-morrow, and as that can't 
 be done, "I thought it would be as w^ell to let you 
 know." 
 
 " Can't be done ! But it shall be done ! Do 
 you know that the Priory, and everything else be- 
 longing to Mr. Hesketh, is mine ? I intend to 
 take possession to-morrow, and, during the next 
 four-and -twenty hours, I desire that every person 
 will remove out of it." 
 
 " Then you desire what won't be done, sir. 
 Miss Mabel Hesketh will not be well enough to 
 move for three weeks, or more, and until she is fit 
 she will remain there, and I shall stay to nurse 
 her." 
 
 " You will, will you ? The Priory is mine, and 
 no one shall stay there without my leave." 
 
 " Then, sir, I hope you will give your leave, for 
 Miss Mabel shall not be moved while she is in this 
 state!" 
 
 *' Shall not, indeed ! You are a most impertinent 
 woman. You shall do as I tell you, and not dic- 
 tate to me. Four-and-tweuty hours I give you to 
 take your departure. Now, you have your an- 
 swer, and you may go." 
 
 " Before I leave, sir, I must have a writing from 
 you to say that we shall stay at the Priory, until 
 Miss Mabel is able to move." 
 
 Mr. Collier rose and rang the bell ; " Insufierable
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 315 
 
 insolence !" he muttered. Judith stood still in a 
 respectful silence, awaiting his reply. 
 
 The door opened, and a footman appeared. "Show 
 this woman out," said his master; but the tall 
 form stood immoveable, and the man looked puz- 
 zled. 
 
 "Do as I tell you!" exclaimed Mr. Collier, 
 angrily. " Show the woman out." 
 
 Judith turned towards the footman, and said 
 with all her natural dignity, •' Young man, you 
 may leave. I have private business with Mr. Col- 
 lier, and when that is finished, I will show myself 
 out." 
 
 The man obeyed involuntarily, and Mr. Collier's 
 brow grew dark. "What is the meaning of 
 this?" 
 
 " I wish to make you understand, sir, that while 
 my young lady is in this state, no power shall make 
 me allow her to be moved. You could go to justice 
 about it, may-be, but the court would cry shame 
 on you for wishing to do such a thing, and I would 
 appear against you, and tell of your behaviour to 
 those who never did you no harm." 
 
 "You are going to threaten me, are you ?" 
 
 " I don't care what you call it. If you knew 
 Judith Millar, you'd know that what she says she'll 
 do. Every one shall know of your dealings with 
 Mr. Hesketh, and the place shall be too hot to 
 hold you. But, perhaps you'll think better of it, 
 sir, and give me the paper." 
 
 "What paper?" 
 
 " A written paper giving Mr. Hesketh leave to 
 stay at the Priory, until Miss Mabel is well enough 
 to move." 
 
 " I shall do no such thing, after the way I have 
 been treated by the Heskeths. You are the most 
 impudent woman I ever met with." 
 
 " Very likely, sir ; I hope you won't keep me
 
 316 K^ORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 waiting longer than you can help, for I'm wanting 
 to be home." 
 
 " Pray go, as soon as it suits your convenience. 
 Tou will get nothing from me." 
 
 " Very well, sir, then it will be done without 
 your leave, and if you choose to go to court, and 
 tell all the world that you are an unfeeling, bad 
 man, I'll be there to meet you, and speak a bit of 
 my mind." 
 
 Mr. Collier looked rather uncomfortable. It 
 would not become a magistrate to be accused as an 
 * unfeeling, bad man.' He felt that Judith was 
 not a person to be trifled with, and public feeling 
 would side with the Heskeths. In addition to 
 these considerations, he was very jealous over his 
 public character, and had deluded himself into the 
 idea that he held a high position in the county. 
 After all, three weeks could not make much differ- 
 ence, it would be wiser to give way. 
 
 " Is Miss Mabel Hesketh so very ill, then ? 
 Very strange I never heard of it." 
 
 " It would be a wonder if she wasn't ill, after all 
 she has gone through." 
 
 " Who is attending her ? I hope it is nothing 
 serious." 
 
 " Dr. Grainger, and it is something serious," 
 said Judith, shortly. 
 
 " If that is the case, I am not the man you take 
 me for. Why couldn't you tell me so at once ? I 
 thought, from your way, it was only a little nervous 
 indisposition." 
 
 '* You couldn't think no such thing!" began 
 Judith, angrily, but prudence checked her, and she 
 said in a milder tone, " Then, perhaps you'll be 
 good enough to write the paper I asked you for." 
 
 Mr. Collier drew a pencil and card out of his 
 pocket, and said, " What do you wish me to write ?" 
 
 Judith dictated, " Mr. Hesketh and family may
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 317 
 
 stay at Northwode Priory till Miss Mabel Hesketh 
 is quite able to move. — Lloyd Collier." 
 
 The signature was his own addition. Judith re- 
 ceived the card, and hastened from the presence of 
 a person she regarded with such disgust. As she 
 had promised, she let herself out, and hastened 
 home. 
 
 Frances, hearing her heavy step on the stairs, 
 beat a rapid retreat into an adjoining room, so she 
 found Mr. Hesketh alone with May. The card 
 was quickly placed in his hand to his infinite as- 
 tonishment. 
 
 " Judith ! what is this ? How did you ever ob- 
 tain it." 
 
 '* I have been to Monckton Court, sir." 
 
 " But did Mr. Collier really write this ? How 
 did you ever persuade him ?" 
 
 " Not by a smooth tongue, may-be," muttered 
 Judith. 
 
 " God bless you, Judith," said Mr. Hesketh, 
 earnestly. " You have taken a load off my mind. 
 How did you become acquainted with the anxiety 
 I was in ?" 
 
 " I heard you in the passage, sir. I wasn't 
 listening, but I couldn't help hearing, and I won't 
 make no bad use of what I do hear." 
 
 " I trust you," said Mr. Hesketh. " All present 
 anxiety is removed, at all events." 
 
 " How has Miss May been, sir ?" 
 
 " Very restless ; Dr. Grrainger has been here, 
 and says we must expect a change for better 
 or worse at the expiration of the seventh day. 
 GrOD, in His mercy, grant it may not be for the 
 worse !" 
 
 " The seventh day !" repeated Judith. " That 
 will be to-morrow evening." 
 
 " What a weary week it has been !" sighed Mr. 
 Hesketh, as he left the room to ease Frances' and
 
 318 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 Dudley's minds about the time of quitting their 
 home. 
 
 The following morning brought a letter from 
 Marbury. Dudley's colour changed as he broke 
 the seal, though he was not really fearful of the 
 contents. 
 
 It was short, kind, vague, and indefinite ; be- 
 ginning with extravagant expressions of grief and 
 sympathy at the troubles which had come upon 
 them, hoping their circumstances might prove bet- 
 ter than was anticipated, conveying assurances of 
 warm friendship and affection to Frances and Ma- 
 bel, and commiseration from the Colonel to Mr. 
 Hesketh. Towards the end she wrote : — 
 
 '* Many, many thanks for your most kind and ge- 
 nerous behaviour, dear Dudley. It is a terrible trial 
 that our engagement cannot continue, but you will 
 not so easily lose my affection, and who knows that 
 brighter days may not yet be in store for us ? It is 
 true long engagements are very trying, and seldom 
 bring much happiness, but if by and by your cir- 
 cumstances should improve, and we are both free, 
 our engagement may be renewed. But, whatever 
 happens, believe, me, dear Dudley, I shall never 
 cease to look back with affection upon the many 
 happy hours we have spent together." 
 
 Dudley laid down the letter, bewildered and 
 keenly disappointed. What did it all mean ? 
 Might he still hope on, or was the engagement ab- 
 solutely at an end ? His father could take a less 
 prejudiced view of the matter, than he felt capable 
 of doing himself, and accordingly it was laid before 
 him. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh read it in silence, and at the end 
 observed calmly, " A heartless, worldly-minded 
 girl! — Tou have nothing to regret, Dudley. It 
 would have been better taste to say plain * yes' or
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 319 
 
 Dudley felt it deeply. His whole heart had 
 been in the engagement from the first. He tried 
 to persuade himself G-eraldine did not mean all 
 that his father thought, yet he knew that May 
 would not be astonished at such a conclusion, that 
 she had in fact anticipated it from the first. Could 
 he have been mistaken in her ? "Was she really fri- 
 volous and worldly-minded ? "With all his levity and 
 thoughtlessness, he could not bear to think she was 
 not all he had imagined her. The most heedless 
 and frivolous men appreciate a disinterested, single- 
 minded woman. He felt at the time as if he could 
 never trust again — as if all the world were heartless 
 and inconstant. Could he only have poured out 
 his sorrows to Mabel, and asked her opinion, it 
 would have brought untold relief, and as the next 
 best resource he went to "Woodbank, and told his 
 troubles to Dora. 
 
 Mr. Chase had been a daily visitor at the Priory, 
 ever since Mabel's illness commenced. She was 
 not capable of receiving him, or of deriving any re- 
 lief or comfort from his visits, yet still he came, to 
 inquire for her, and offer sympathy to those who 
 were so anxious about her. He considered that 
 sympathy in time of health, was a preparation for 
 influence and consolation in sickness and other 
 trials. But apart from his duty as a Clergyman, 
 Mr. Chase felt a regard for Mabel beyond his other 
 parishioners. She had been a true friend to his 
 sister, and invariably courteous and considerate 
 towards himself; and to one who was leading an 
 earnest, but a lonely and clouded life, every smile 
 and kindly word were as drops of grateful rain 
 upon a parched soil. Mabel had a kind word and 
 a sweet smile for all, and strangely had she woven 
 herself round the hearts of those about her. The 
 inquiries after her were numerous and incessant, 
 and very grateful to poor Mr. Hesketh, who ecu-
 
 320 NOETHWODE PEIOKT. 
 
 soled himself with the thought, that, if his circum- 
 stances changed, he should still have true friends, 
 to lighten the trials of poverty by their sympathy. 
 
 One day, Mr, Chase brought an answer from 
 Mina to May's letter, but she was not in a state to 
 comprehend it, and he reserved it until she should 
 be better. Mina had felt bound not to tell her 
 brother all that Judith's letter had confided to her ; 
 but she entreated him to endeavour to gain Mabel's 
 confidence, as she had a trouble on her mind which 
 would make her glad of a Clergyman's advice. 
 
 The seventh day had failed to bring the hoped- 
 for amendment, and they all looked forward eagerly 
 to the fourteenth, hoping the desired improvement 
 might come then. Meanwhile, the fever increased ; 
 and as the time when a change might be looked for 
 approached, Mr. Hesketh's anxiety grew worse and 
 worse. Perhaps self-reproach was the most bitter 
 of all his sensations, for he could not but attribute 
 May's illness to the terrible struggles between duty 
 and inclination, through which she had gone. He 
 knew that he might have saved her this, and every 
 time he entered his study, he fancied that there was 
 a reproachful expression in the gentle face, towards 
 which his eyes involuntarily turned. He had not 
 kept his promise, and if he lost his most cherished 
 child, he would feel, throughout life, that he had 
 failed in a father's part towards her. 
 
 She was sinking gradually — every day found her 
 thinner and paler, weaker and more weak. The 
 fever seemed slowly wasting away her strength, 
 and the doctor tried to prepare them for the great 
 danger he foresaw. Not that Mr. Hesketh needed 
 preparation ; he was fully alive to the danger, and 
 could scarcely bear to lose sight of her, w^ho might 
 so soon be taken from him. He slept in an adjoin- 
 ing room, that if any change took place, he might 
 speedily be summoned. Judith had scarcely closed
 
 NORTHWODE PRIOET. 321 
 
 her eyes for nearly a fortnight, yet she showed no 
 signs of weariness, and resisted all entreaties that 
 she would take rest. 
 
 The fortnight had elapsed, and early on the 
 morning of the following day, Judith knocked 
 at Mr. Hesketh's door. In an incredibly short 
 time he was dressed, and in the sick room, scarcely- 
 daring to ask why he was summoned. 
 
 " She is worse, sir," said Judith, in a low voice. 
 
 He knelt by the bed-side, and bent over the pale 
 face of his chihi She was talking wildly and in- 
 coherently, and her thin, white hands were roaming 
 restlessly over the sheet. There was a vacancy in 
 the large blue eyes, which were turned on him, 
 without recognising him, that struck terror into 
 his heart. 
 
 " Send for Dr. Grainger," he faltered ; and Judith 
 instantly obeyed. 
 
 It was a terrible time during which he was left 
 alone with his child. He tried to pray, but her wan- 
 dering exclamations distracted his mind. " O, mam- 
 ma ! mamma !" she said, wildly, raising herself as 
 far as her strength would allow. "Why won't 
 you tell me ? I have no one left ! I can't make 
 them all miserable ! I don't know what is right ! 
 Don't let them hurt me !" and again she sank back 
 exhausted. Mr. Hesketh knew well what it meant. 
 Her waking struggles were on her mind still, and it 
 showed how terrible the conflict must have been. 
 He gently stroked her hair, and caressed her, and 
 asked if she did not know him, but without effect. 
 "Mamma! Mamma!" was her cry, with inco- 
 herent sentences, which he could trace back to the 
 terrible decision she had been forced to make. 
 
 Presently, I'rances crept in, wrapped in a white 
 
 dressing-gown. She had heard Judith's step, and 
 
 guessed Dr. Grainger was being sent for. She was 
 
 yery much softened, and the tears streamed over 
 
 X
 
 322 FOETHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 her cheeks, as she looked upon her unconscious 
 sister. 
 
 " All hope is gone, Prances," said Mr. Hesketh, 
 in a quivering tone. " We must prepare to part 
 with her. What will life be to any of us without 
 her!" 
 
 Frances sat down, and cried bitterly. " O papa ! 
 Are you sure ? Is there no hope ? My own 
 sweet May ! And it is partly my doing !" 
 
 " What do you mean ?" 
 
 " Oh ! I disobeyed you, and tried to convince 
 her against her own convictions ! I spoke harshly, 
 and tried to work upon her feelings, and she 
 fainted." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh drew a long, deep sigh. His own 
 conscience was reproaching him more keenly than 
 even Prances'. 
 
 " Thank God ! that she is so pure ! We can have 
 no fear for her future," he said. " Oh ! my May ! 
 I feel as if we had never valued you as we ought. 
 We are giving you back to mamma, though, and if it 
 were not for the share we have had in it, we should 
 feel glad that you were being spared the hard life 
 that lies before us !" 
 
 "It will be a harder life without her," said 
 Frances. 
 
 Judith returned with Dr. Grainger. He con- 
 firmed their belief that she was worse, and said 
 it would be a false kindness to buoy them up with 
 hope. She might yet recover, it was true, but the 
 danger was great, and he had little hope himself 
 that such would be the case. Yet, there was no 
 immediate danger, she might linger for many days, 
 and if her strength lasted another week, it was 
 possible they might then see a change for the 
 better; but her weakness was so great that he 
 feared she would sink before. 
 
 All her golden curls were to be cut off, and her
 
 NORTH WODE PEIOET. 323 
 
 head bathed continually ; and every effort must be 
 made to keep up her strength, as all would depend 
 upon that. 
 
 As the day advanced, she sank into a kind of 
 torpor — lying motionless, with half-closed eyes, and 
 parted lips. It was a melancholy task to cut off 
 the bright curls, that had been one of her chief 
 claims to beauty, and, when they were gone, in the 
 thin white face and sunken cheeks Frances could 
 scarcely recognise her sweet, smiling sister. 
 
 Dudley begged to be allowed to see her. Be- 
 tween his lost engagement and his grief at Mabel's 
 illness, he seemed almost crushed for the time. 
 He was shocked when Mr. Hesketh took him into 
 the room, and he saw her lying there, more like 
 death than life, and recollected how full of health 
 and spirit she had been, when he left home. He 
 knelt by the bed-side, and kissed her colourless 
 hand. A terrible blight had fallen on the house, 
 and all it contained ; it seemed almost like a doom, 
 that had robbed them of all the brightness of life 
 for ever. 
 
 The long, anxious days wore wearily on, the 
 watchers counting every hour, looking and long- 
 ing to see the fever turn. Towards night the 
 delirium returned, and no one could blind them- 
 selves to the fact that each day found her weaker. 
 Dr. Grainger still hoped, although it seemed against 
 hope, and awaited the twenty-first day with great 
 anxiety, as he foretold a decisive change then, 
 either for better or worse. 
 
 "William and Dora were at JSTorthwode Priory 
 twice a day, and the latter had been urgent in her 
 offers as a nurse ; but her strength was insufficient 
 for such a post, and while Judith remained untired, 
 she would hear of no rivals in the sick room.
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 *' Ye voices that arose 
 After the evening's close, 
 And whispered to my restless heart repose ! 
 
 " Go, breathe it in the ear 
 Of all who doubt and fear, 
 And say to them, ' Be of good cheer !' " 
 
 LONGFELLOW. 
 
 " No change," sighed Mr. Hesketh, as he bent over 
 Mabel the evening of the twenty -first day. " You 
 had better go to bed, Frances ; she is growing 
 restless, and it will only distress you to see her 
 delirious. We have nothing to hope for now." 
 
 " Let me stay," said Frances, whose face was 
 blistered with tears. "Who knows how long I may 
 be able to watch by her ?" 
 
 Judith closed the room for the night, and took 
 her station by the side of Mabel's bed. Mr. Hes- 
 keth and Frances sat by the fireside ; the latter 
 with a book, the former wrapped in his own sad 
 thoughts. May was quieter than usual, but even 
 this brought a vague fear to her father, for he 
 dreaded lest it should be the stillness that preceded 
 death. Her mind still wandered, but this was 
 shown now in low murmurings, and not in the 
 wild exclamations of the last fortnight, and her 
 strength was so exhausted, that this was easily
 
 IfOETHWODE PEIORT. 325 
 
 accounted for. Judith laid handkerchiefs on her 
 forehead, soaked in cooling lotion, and when she 
 took them off they were burning hot. 
 
 Several times during the night Mr. Hesketh 
 stole to the bed-side, and bent over his darling, to 
 see that she was still with them, for he felt that they 
 could no longer reckon on hours, or even minutes. 
 If the murmurings ceased for a few moments a 
 cold chill fell on his heart, and he crept towards 
 her to listen for the low uneasy breathing, that fell 
 like music on his ear. 
 
 Frances said little of what she was feeling, but 
 her eyes were not free from tears that night. Bit- 
 ter self-reproach was working within her, — recol- 
 lections of contemptuous looks and hard words, that 
 she had used towards the sister, who seemed now 
 passing away from her. Memory told her that she 
 had caused that gentle one many a secret tear, and 
 that she had often repulsed the advances that 
 Mabel had made in their mother's name, and had 
 ridiculed her when she had reminded her that they 
 were sisters. Now, what would she not give if 
 that sister might only be spared her ! But per- 
 haps it was too late, and having helped to deal the 
 blow which laid Mabel on her sick bed, the punish- 
 ment was to be that she was to leave them for ever, 
 — leave them to the recollection that they had 
 never appreciated her while she was with them, 
 and that, but for their unkindness, she might have 
 been with them still. 
 
 Towards morning Judith announced that she 
 was sleeping, and Mr. Hesketh moved his seat to 
 her side, with a feeling of fear he scarcely dared 
 confess to himself. Two hours he sat there, mo- 
 tionless and heart-aching ; then there was a slight 
 movement. 
 
 " A light, Judith. Oh ! Frances, is she worse ?'* 
 
 Frances sprang to the bed-side — Judith endea-
 
 326 NORTHWODE PRIOEY. 
 
 voured to light the caudle, but before she could 
 succeed a sweet, low voice said, " Dear papa !" 
 
 " My precious child. — Thank God ! Are you 
 better ?" 
 
 "I don't know — my head is weak." 
 
 Was it the consciousness that preceded death, 
 or was it the change that they had looked for so 
 eagerly ? He dared not think, but she spoke again 
 in a faint voice, — 
 
 " Has it been a long time ? I can't remember. 
 Frances, is it you? — and Judith ; it seems so long 
 since I saw you all." Her voice was so low and 
 weak they could scarcely catch what she said. 
 
 " But you are better now, darling," said Prances. 
 "You will soon be strong and well again." 
 
 " I hope so," sighed May. " I have a feeling of 
 something sad, but I can't remember." 
 
 " Don't try, my child," said her father. '* There 
 is no sadness, if you are only spared to us. You 
 must keep very quiet, and try not to think." 
 
 " And won't you tell me ? I fancy it is some- 
 thing about mamma, but it is all confused." 
 
 " "When you are stronger, love, we will tell you 
 everything," said Trances; *'but till then you 
 mustn't ask." 
 
 Judith motioned that she must not be allowed 
 to talk, and drew the curtains that she might, if 
 possible, again sleep. Mabel lay very quiet; she 
 saw she had been in great danger, and even yet the 
 danger might not be past. Although she had been 
 forbidden to think, it could not be wrong to pray ; 
 to pray that if it were God's pleasure she should 
 be taken, her sins might be forgiven, — if she w^ere 
 to live, that it might be a better life than hereto- 
 fore. It was a fearful thought, that she had nearly 
 been taken without warning, and without prepa- 
 ration, — suddenly, as it were. Can the holiest 
 contemplate a sudden death without awe and dread ?
 
 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 327 
 
 Is the human heart ever in such a state of pre- 
 paration, as to feel ready to be hurried, without 
 warning, into the presence of its God ? Mabel 
 felt unutterably thankful that she had been spared 
 such a death, and with closed eyes she lay quietly 
 thinking of all she had to be thankful for, until 
 Dr. G-rainger came to pay his morning visit. 
 
 He greeted her kindly, taking her hand and 
 inquiring how she felt, and how loug since con- 
 sciousness had returned. May wondered that he 
 passed no opinion, but when he turned from her 
 she saw him grasp Mr. Hesketh's hand, and ex- 
 claim, " All your anxiety is, I trust, at an end ! I 
 wish you joy ; the immediate danger is past. All 
 that remains now is to keep up her strength." 
 
 It was a moment of intense thankfulness. 
 Frances' tears streamed down her cheeks, and 
 there were tears on Mr. Hesketh's face, and even 
 in Judith's hard, grey eye. After he had given 
 the necessary directions Dr. Grainger left, and Mr. 
 Hesketh turned towards his child. A movement 
 with her hand beckoned him to bend down his 
 head, and he caught the whispered words — 
 
 " Papa, would you mind reading the ' Thanks- 
 giving Prayer ?'" 
 
 He knelt by her side and repeated the Church's 
 words of thankfulness for God's mercy. His 
 heart was scarcely less full than her own, as she 
 folded her hands, and repeated the words after him. 
 He never forgot the expression of her face, as she 
 joined in the prayer ; he could almost have fan- 
 cied it her mother's face but for the greater youth- 
 fulness, for the pure spiritual expression was the 
 same. 
 
 When he had finished, she closed her eyes, and 
 seemed to wish for quiet. Her weakness and ex- 
 haustion were so great, that even the exertion of 
 thought, and the few words she had spoken, were
 
 328 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 too much for her; and Judith begged that the 
 room might be left, in order that she should get 
 some sleep. She was very glad when the room was 
 quiet, for Judith was an admirable nurse, and she 
 felt almost unconscious of her presence. Although 
 the immediate danger was past, the most trying 
 part of her illness to poor May was yet to come, 
 and it was distressing to watch her extreme weak- 
 ness, and the weariness of the long hours, when, 
 unable to bear the excitement of a companion, she 
 lay in silent thought, longing for health and strength. 
 The remembrance of Mina's patient sufferings 
 brought her a practical lesson of resignation ; and 
 often, when the feeliug of languor was almost in- 
 supportable, she thought of the verse she had found 
 Mina reading, — 
 
 " Were it not better to lie still, 
 
 Let Him strike home and bless the rod, 
 Never so safe as when our will 
 
 Yields undiscerned by all but God." 
 
 What were her transient sufferings to Mina's 
 long, unceasing pain ? Tet how submissively had 
 that been borne, while a few weeks' languor and 
 weakness were almost more than she could bear. 
 She taught herself to regard it as a punishment for 
 many a thought and act of impatience, and when 
 once she could look upon it as a trial sent for her 
 good, it was easier to be patient and uncomplaining. 
 
 At leugth Dora was admitted, and allowed to read 
 to her, and then the time passed more quickly and 
 easily. When the extreme weakness was gone, 
 and she could receive short visits from all, and bear 
 to have them talking and laughing in her room, she 
 felt inclined to wish that the present state of things 
 could continue ; for the thought of all the anxiety 
 and grief that would commence with her recovery,
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 829 
 
 made the repose she was then enjoying, very pre- 
 cious. 
 
 Yet it was a joyful day to all, when Dr. Grainger 
 granted them permission to remove her from the 
 bed to a sofa in the room. It was the first step 
 towards getting up and walking about as usual, 
 which she longed to do ; and a promised visit 
 from Mr. Chase had been delayed, until this step 
 should have been granted. 
 
 Mr. Hesketh carried her gently to the sofa, 
 which was placed by the fire-side, where Judith 
 had made a clear, bright fire, that the cheerfulness 
 within the room might atone for the cold, gloomy 
 day without. It was real pleasure to leave the bed, 
 which seemed associated with thoughts of sickness 
 and weariness, and -Judith, after her quiet, unde- 
 monstrative fashion, was scarcely less glad than 
 Mabel. 
 
 '* Do I look less like an invalid now ?" she asked, 
 as Judith robed her in her white dressing-gown 
 and little worked cap. 
 
 " Well — not much to boast of. Miss May. I 
 don't like them pale cheeks, and the hair makes a 
 difference." 
 
 " Oh ! I forgot the hair ! Please bring me my 
 glass, and let me see how I look without it." 
 
 "No, no. Miss, you don't want a glass. It will 
 be time enough when you come to put on a bonnet, 
 to look there." 
 
 " Please, Judith, I wish particularly to see — you 
 can't refuse me my first request." 
 
 " 'Tisn't for what you'll see there. Miss May. 
 You'd better think of yourself with the pink cheeka 
 and the curls, for it will be many a long day before 
 you see them again." 
 
 " Well, if you won't give it me, I must jump up 
 and get it myself." 
 
 " For shame, Miss May ! You that can't tie a
 
 330 KORTHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 string for yourself yet ! But you're just as wilful 
 as ever, and it's no use arguing with you," and the 
 glass was reluctantly advanced. 
 
 She had prepared herself to see a change, but the 
 worn, wasted features, and large, prominent eyes, 
 unsoftened by the curls she had been used to see 
 there, were a greater shock to her than Judith ap- 
 proved of. 
 
 " I look more dead than alive," she said, gravely ; 
 and Judith hastily removed the glass, and fetched a 
 large scarlet shawl, which she wrapped round Ma- 
 bel, to relieve the deadly whiteness. 
 
 Pull of thoughtfulness and care for her charge, 
 she drew a little table to the side of the sofa, plac- 
 ing on it Mabel's books, and a nosegay of hothouse 
 flowers, which Dudley had brought her, one of the 
 last she could hope to see from the Priory hot- 
 house. Mr. Chase was then sent for, who was 
 waiting in the drawing-room below, talking to Miss 
 Hesketh and Frances. 
 
 Earnest and kind-hearted as he was, a sick-room 
 did not appear to be his peculiar province. When 
 he entered the darkened room from the light pas- 
 sage, he could scarcely distinguish anything, and 
 turned mechanically towards the bed, which was 
 the lightest object in the room. May's gentle 
 voice from the sofa directed him where to find her, 
 and turning hastily round, he greeted her with few 
 words, but those few full of congratulation and 
 sympathy. 
 
 '*I am not to allow you to talk much, but I have 
 something which I think you will like better than 
 conversation," he remarked, as he produced Mina's 
 letter. 
 
 " Ah ! you don't know what a welcome sight 
 that is," said Mabel, stretching out her transparent 
 white hand to receive it, "I shall be better when 
 I have read this."
 
 IfOETHWODE PKIOEY. 331 
 
 " But are you allowed to read yet ?" 
 
 "No — I had forgotten," she said with a disap- 
 pointed look. " Do you think this one letter could 
 hurt— ?" 
 
 " Well, although we don't see how it could in- 
 jure you, perhaps obedience may be safest. Do 
 you think you could trust me to read it to 
 you ?" 
 
 " Thank you," said May, wistfully ; " it would be 
 very nice, only — perhaps you don't know the con- 
 tents." 
 
 "Mr. Hesketh has told me a good deal, and 
 I think I may be trusted, even if it contains 
 secrets." 
 
 " No secrets that I should wish to keep from 
 you," said Mabel, sadly, laying her head wearily 
 back upon the cushion, for the exertion of talking 
 had been too much for her. Mr. Chase broke the 
 seal, and began to read the letter aloud. The first 
 words in Mina's peculiar, quiet, matter-of-fact way, 
 fell chillingly on May's eager ear. 
 
 " Bramshaw. January 20th. 
 " My dear Mabel, 
 
 " I received your letter some days since, but 
 deferred answering it, until I had been able to give 
 it full consideration. Even now I am afraid I can- 
 not send you as long a letter as I should wish, for 
 I write with great difficulty, not being allowed to 
 sit up. You have asked my advice upon a difficult 
 point, but I have prayed that I may be able to ad- 
 vise you rightly, and I feel that I ought not to 
 shrink from giving you my opinion, although the 
 consciousness of my own weakness would tempt 
 me to do so. One thing seems clear — if you can 
 make up your mind as to what is your right course, 
 you must not be deterred from following it, through 
 fear of the consequences : these you must leave in
 
 332 NOETHWODE PRIOBY. 
 
 God's Hands. This makes the decision more 
 simple, for it reduces it to the one question, 
 ' Would it be right, or wrong, in you to marry Mr. 
 Collier ?' 
 
 " Now, Mabel, this is easily resolved upon, for in 
 this difficulty we can go to the Church for assist- 
 ance. I need not tell you that to take false vows 
 would be a fearful sin, a sin of which you must 
 never be guilty, as you hope for Cod's blessing. 
 Therefore turn to the Marriage Service, and con- 
 sider whether you could, from your heart, make 
 those vows to him. Can you promise to love him, 
 to honour, and to obey him, and feel that you can 
 keep the promise ? If so, accept his offer — but if 
 not, refuse it, and trust in God's mercy. This is 
 all my advice, and I do not think I can help you by 
 adding more. But one thing let me say to you — 
 put 'perfect trust in Him. He will never leave you, 
 nor forsake you, and with Him ' all things are pos- 
 sible,' Eead the sixth chapter of S. Matthew, and 
 then put away fear for the future. God help you, 
 my poor May, in this time of trial. My prayers 
 will be yours always. 
 
 ** Ever, your true friend, 
 " MiNA Chase." 
 
 Mabel's weakness was so great, that she could 
 not control the tears that streamed down her cheeks, 
 though why they came, she scarcely knew. "When 
 Mr. Chase had finished, she said — 
 
 "That is just what I wanted; it silences my 
 doubts for ever." 
 
 " It may seem presumptuous in me to pass an 
 opinion," observed Mr. Chase, *'but, as your cler- 
 gyman, I may say that you will never live to repent 
 the course you have taken. Stop — " he said, hold- 
 ing up his hand, as Mabel moved her lips to speak ; 
 •' I must not let you talk, but listen quietly to what
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 333 
 
 I have to say. Great trials are at hand for you, 
 but they will not be more than you can bear ; and 
 you have the satisfaction of knowing, that they are 
 not in the most remote degree your own causing. 
 I am afraid you do not realize this, and I very much 
 wish that you should do so. Now, let me try to 
 put it clearly before you." 
 
 Mabel gave a faint smile of acquiescence, but 
 made no effort to apeak. 
 
 "It is God's will," he continued, "that we 
 should frequently receive the punishment of our 
 faults, even in this world. Mr. Hesketh has told 
 me the circumstances, that led to the present crisis 
 in his affairs, and he attributes his misfortunes 
 justly to his own rashness. Tar be it from me 
 to hold up to you the faults of your parent, from 
 any motive but that of teaching you to view them 
 aright. The world does not look upon weakness as 
 a sin, but, to say the least, it is a grievous failing ; 
 and of this failing Mr. Hesketh was guilty, when 
 he yielded to his brother-in-law's entreaties, and at 
 the risk of the welfare of his wife and children, 
 rendered himself responsible for a sum equal to his 
 whole possessions. And the weakness did not end 
 here — he has told me that he had not sufficient 
 strength of mind to follow out his wife's wishes, 
 which were that he should leave the Priory, and 
 live in retirement, until he was freed from the debt. 
 Eor this weakness you are all suffering now, and it 
 is his wish that I should show you, that you are in 
 no degree responsible for the misfortunes God has 
 thought fit to bring upon you. True, you had it in 
 your power to avert thetn, but this was only by an 
 act of undeniable sin — a sin of which, to save present 
 suffering, no servant of God should be guilty. If 
 He, in His wisdom, has seen, that it is for the eter- 
 nal welfare of those you love, that ease and affluence 
 should be taken from them,, what are you that you
 
 334 NOETHWODE PEIOBT. 
 
 should commit a fearful sin to intercept His all- 
 wise, and all-merciful dispensation ?" 
 
 A faint colour rose on Mabel's pale face; how 
 could she ever have doubted that to yield would be 
 sin? 
 
 " I must not agitate you," said Mr. Chase, watch- 
 ing her narrowly. " I hope the effect of what I am 
 saying may be that of setting your mind at rest. 
 You have acted rightly, and God will bless you. 
 Years hence you will look back, and see that what 
 seems now a heavy judgment, was in reality but the 
 token of a Father's tender care. Can you not 
 place yourself in God's hands, and feel certain that 
 everything He ordains is for the eventual welfare 
 of His servants ? His means are not our means — 
 we act for present ease and comfort. He acts for 
 future good. We see and feel His dispensations, 
 and we murmur at them, because our sight is im- 
 perfect, and we cannot trace the guiding Hand that 
 is leading us, through trouble and distress, to our 
 desired haven. We cannot see that our souls want 
 to be purified by afiliction, before they can be fit for 
 His heavenly kingdom. Cannot you look upon this 
 as a trial sent for your good, which you must bear 
 uncomplainingly, forgetting your own part in it ?" 
 
 " That is so hard," said Mabel, raising her head, 
 and speaking in a weak voice. " Thank you for all 
 you have been saying ; it seems to throw a new 
 light upon what has passed. If I could only forget 
 that I had the option of saving them all this — but, 
 as you say, if it is ordered for good, how could I 
 have dared to turn aside God's purpose ?" 
 
 " If honourable, justifiable means laadbeen offered 
 you, the case would have been difterent ; but they 
 were such that you could not accept them without 
 sin, so they ceased to be means at all. God never 
 wills that one man shall do wrong to spare another 
 sorrow. E-ecollect this, and, for the present, while
 
 ifOETHWODE PEIOET. 336 
 
 the mind and body are weak, try not to dwell on the 
 past at all. By and by, you will be able to take 
 a more healthy view of it. It is more courageous 
 to flee from temptation, when we feel ourselves 
 weak, than to remain, and run the risk of facing 
 the danger. Your safety for the present will be in 
 prayer and forgetfulness. The past is gone and 
 cannot be recalled; instead therefore of dwelling 
 upon it any longer now, brace up your energies to 
 meet the future. When once your strength is 
 returned, you will have enough to do in trying 
 to lighten the burden of poverty to those you love. 
 Till then, it is your plain duty to nurse that 
 strength, and yield to no feelings that may retard 
 your recovery." 
 
 " You have done me so much good," said May, 
 with her own sweet smile. " Your words, andMina's 
 letter, have done more to make me well, than all 
 Dr. Grrainger's prescriptions. I wish I could tell 
 you what a friend I feel Mina to be." 
 
 The words brought a look of sincere pleasure to 
 Mr. Chase's face. "We have both known what 
 poverty and anxiety are ; but the worst for us is, I 
 trust, past ; and I can look back now, and see that 
 our troubles have been sent in mercy, and not in 
 wrath. Of myself I need not speak, though few 
 have wanted chastening more, but Mina has come 
 purified out of her trials, and lived to bless the 
 hour that brought them upon us. Experience has 
 taught me that every trouble, from a child's first 
 fall to the utter destitution of an old, helpless man, 
 is sent with a good and wise purpose. The child 
 requires to be hardened and taught endurance, that 
 it may be fitted to cope with the hardships of life ; 
 the old man, while hovering on the verge of the grave, 
 is still unripe for heaven. If we could fully realise 
 this, and when sorrow comes, seek to derive from 
 it the benefit it is intended to bring, how every
 
 336 NOETHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 year would find us nearer and nearer to Chbist's 
 kingdom, more and more fitted for the purity of 
 the next world ! Shakspeare has said — 
 
 ** * There is a tide in the affairs of men, 
 
 Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune ; 
 Omitted, all the voyage of their life 
 Is bound in shallows, and in miseries.' 
 
 This is true of our spiritual life also. God sends 
 us trials to turn our hearts to Him ; if we accept 
 the opportunities He grants us, we shall grow 
 nearer and nearer Him ; every sorrow will but draw 
 us to Him more closely; but let us reject these, 
 His opportunities, and our hearts grow colder and 
 more cold, 'the voyage of our life is bound in 
 shallows and in miseries,' until our hearts are inca- 
 pable of loving Him, and we seek in vain for a 
 place of repentance. But I fear I have tired you." 
 
 "No, indeed," said Mabel. "If I am tired 
 bodily, I am rested in mind, which is of greater 
 consequence." 
 
 " But we must be careful of your bodily strength, 
 too. If you would like it I will read to you the 
 chapter in S. Matthew, which Mina asks you to 
 look at. No — don't speak of trouble, it will be a 
 pleasure." 
 
 When he had finished, he said — " No chapter in 
 the Bible, I think, shows us so plainly as this, how 
 fully our Saviour entered into all our minor 
 troubles and anxieties — anxieties we should have 
 thought too trifling to bring to Him — care for our 
 bodily necessities, food and even raiment ; yet He 
 tells us our Heavenly Father knows that we have 
 need of these things. Does it seem possible to 
 want faith after such words as these ?" 
 
 " No," said Mabel, sadly ; " if I could feel always 
 as I do at this moment, I should not fear any-
 
 KORTHWODE PRIOET. 337 
 
 thing that might come. But feelings so soon pass 
 away." 
 
 " They do ; habits remain, however, and this is 
 our chief comfort. We strive to be good and we 
 fail, we strive again, and perhaps fail again, and 
 our hearts are inclined to despair ; but something 
 whispers ' strive once more,' and though life is 
 made up of struggles and failures, habits of striv- 
 ing are formed, and then the chief point is gained. 
 Continual efforts will always be eventually blest 
 with success, and we must expect life to be made 
 up of continual efforts." 
 
 He rose to leave, but before wishing her good- 
 bye, knelt by her sofa and repeated some prayers. 
 He prayed that God, *' knowing us to be set in 
 the midst of so many and great dangers, that by 
 reason of the frailty of our nature we cannot always 
 stand upright, would grant us such strength and 
 protection, as might support us in all dangers, and 
 carry us through all temptations." 
 
 Mabel felt rested, and refreshed in mind, by his 
 visit, though otherwise much fatigued ; and when 
 he gave her the Church's blessing, as he wished 
 her good-bye, she could not help thinking that 
 there was something in his blunt earnestness, more 
 soothing and attractive, than in many a more cour- 
 teous manner, and more polished address. He 
 offered to pay a daily visit, that he might read to her 
 the psalms, and say as many of the daily prayers 
 as she could bear; an offer which she gratefully 
 accepted, for the loss of the Church services had 
 been one of her chief sources of regret, during her 
 slow recovery ; and the sound of the bell, morning 
 and evening, whose call she had so invariably 
 obeyed while in health, often brought tears to her 
 eyes. 
 
 As Mr. Chase left the room, Judith entered, and 
 finding her charge faint and weak, insisted that
 
 338 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 she should go to bed again. Mabel was too ex- 
 hausted to offer any opposition, and was thankful 
 to lay her head on the pillow, and close her senses 
 to all external sight and sound, and when Judith 
 bent over her, half-an-hour afterwards, she found 
 her in a deep, quiet sleep.
 
 CHAPTEE XXIII. 
 
 " He that suffers most, 
 He outwardly, and inwardly perhaps, 
 The most serene, with most undaunted eye." 
 
 The Excursion. 
 
 Mabel's strength returned but slowly. She was 
 removed to the sofa for a few hours every day, and 
 allowed to receive Mr. Chase, and occasionally 
 another visitor. That other visitor was generally 
 Frances or Dudley, for Mr. Hesketh was always 
 admitted, and Dora read to her for some time 
 every morning. Miss Hesketh had proposed sit- 
 ting with her, but Frances had discouraged the 
 idea, for she could not afford to relinquish her 
 privilege, and her aunt had yielded quietly at the 
 first opposition. 
 
 It was a great happiness to Mabel to find Frances 
 so much more forbearing and affectionate. She 
 told herself that she must expect this to wear off 
 as her strength returned, and she ceased to be an 
 object of compassion, but she was fully alive to the 
 delight of having found her sister again, and if 
 anything could make Frances' affection lasting, it 
 must have been the gentle, winning ways, that 
 were exercised to the full, when she was present. 
 
 Care was telling on the faces of all ; and anxious 
 consultations were held in the downstair rooms about
 
 340 NORTHWODE PEIOBT. 
 
 the future which they must soon prepare to face. 
 [Frances was sadly desponding, and Mr. Hesketh 
 appeared to be infected by her dreary opinions, 
 while Dudley seldom did anything but lament over 
 the cloud, that had come over all their prospects. 
 "When Dora was admitted to the consultations, she 
 could do little but cry bitterly, and dwell on her 
 anxiety for her helpless children, and the hopeless- 
 ness of their position. Pale faces and heavy eyes 
 were seen everywhere, and it was a comfort to turn 
 to May's peaceful room, and hear her low, cheer- 
 ing voice. 
 
 They thought she was ignorant of the anxiety 
 that was preying on them all, but this was far 
 from being the case. She discerned the trace of 
 every tear, her quick ear caught every smothered 
 sigh, and her heart ached for all ; but they care- 
 fully avoided speaking of their fears and doubts in 
 her presence, and she wisely concealed her own 
 feelings, and strove to cheer them with kind, bright 
 words. 
 
 In spite of Mr. Chase's advice, it was very hard 
 to help dwelling on the past, and when they saw 
 her smile, and talk cheerfully, and thought she had 
 ceased to feel anxious, they little knew the heavy 
 heart that lay beneath the calm exterior. But she 
 had faith, and could now feel certain that all was 
 working for good ; and when distrust and anxiety 
 threatened to overcome her self-control, prayer 
 would restore her mind to its former quiet resigna- 
 tion. "With the exception of Mr. Hesketh, none 
 felt so deeply as Mabel the change that had come 
 over their life, yet none appeared as even in spirits 
 or as uncomplaining as she did. It was a mystery 
 to them all, which they could only explain by sup- 
 posing the fever had deadened her senses, and that 
 she did not fully realise that their home must be 
 left, and that they depended almost entirely on
 
 IfOETHWODE PRIORY. 341 
 
 their own exertions for future support. None 
 attributed her calmness to its true source, trust in 
 God and unceasing prayer. They little thought, 
 when they came heavy-hearted into her room, and 
 were met with her sweet smile and cheerful words, 
 that she was inwardly praying for strength, and 
 trying to drown the thought, that she had once 
 had it in her power to spare them the suffering she 
 read in their faces. No one was allowed to show 
 grief before her, as excitement and agitation would 
 inevitably delay her recovery. 
 
 " Time is passing on," said Mr. Hesketh, one 
 day, " and we have still made no arrangements for 
 the future. Let us set to work in earnest, and see 
 what is to be done." 
 
 " Well, papa," said Frances, with a sigh, "it is 
 quite time something was settled. We can't ex- 
 pect Mr. Collier to be patient much longer." 
 
 '* I am glad your aunt is absent, for I wanted to 
 speak to Dudley and yourself about an arrangement 
 I have thought of for her." 
 
 *'I have wished several times that some plan 
 could be made for her," said Dudley. "It will be 
 very hard for her to come down to small means, 
 and she hasn't at all made up her mind to it yet." 
 
 " It would be easier to economise without her," 
 said Frances. " After the way she has been brought 
 up she can't understand the value of money : and 
 I am sure she could never bear to give up her place 
 as mistress of the house." 
 
 •' I have written to my brother in Lancashire," 
 said Mr. Hesketh, " for although he has not the 
 means of helping us out of our difficulties, he can 
 well afford to give your aunt a home, and I am 
 sure he will readily do so." 
 
 " Will Aunt Anne like to leave us ?" asked 
 Frances. 
 
 *' I don't think she will object," replied Mr.
 
 342 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 Hesketh. " You see you are all grown up now, 
 and, as you say, she is very unfit for coping with 
 small means, and all the attendant worries and 
 annoyances." 
 
 " Have you considered what income will be left 
 us when Mr. Collier has taken his due ?" asked 
 Frances. 
 
 " It does not require much thought," said her 
 father. " Your mother's fortune is settled on 
 May and yourself, and everything else Mr. Collier 
 will appropriate." 
 
 "Everything!" echoed Prances, in a dreary 
 tone. 
 
 "Yes, every farthing!" 
 
 " My share in our mother's money I give to you, 
 papa," observed Frances. 
 
 " Thank you, my dear child, but we must not 
 wholly depend upon that." 
 
 " How much is my mother's settlement ?" asked 
 Dudley. 
 
 "About three hundred a-year," replied his 
 fkther. " Have you made any plans for yourself, 
 Dudley ? I am afraid you must relinquish all 
 thoughts of the University." 
 
 " Well, that is no great loss," said Dudley. "I 
 should only have got plucked, and been no credit 
 to the name of Hesketh." 
 
 " Oh ! no, Oxford mustn't be given up," ex- 
 claimed Frances. " We shall never want three 
 hundred a-year, papa; we can spare enough for 
 Dudley's College expenses, and he will be very 
 economical. I am sure May will never hear of it." 
 
 " I am as loath as yourself, my dear, that he 
 should give up what would be an advantage to him 
 through life. But I am afraid three hundred a- 
 year will not go as far as you fancy. Besides, we 
 must consider William and Dora." 
 
 "William has received an excellent education,
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 343 
 
 and you have spared no expense to start him well 
 in the world," remarked Frances, with the old 
 cloud coming over her face. " It is not fair that 
 Dudley should be set aside for him now." 
 
 " I might have almost finished my Oxford educa- 
 tion, if I had matriculated when my father first 
 wished it," said Dudley, sadly. 
 
 *' Dudley knows that I have riever felt or shown 
 the slightest preference to either of my sons," ob- 
 served Mr. Hesketh. " I had intended doing by 
 him as I had done by William, had my circum- 
 stances remained unaltered, but you take a mis- 
 taken view of the subject, Trances." 
 
 " How, papa ?" 
 
 " Well, my love, the difficulty of my present po- 
 sition, with regard to William, is traceable to the 
 same failing that has brought us to this strait. I 
 was weak enough to allow him to believe, that 
 while I lived he should never want. Under this 
 conviction he married ; and knowing my property 
 to be considerable, he never exerted himself to look 
 after his practice, in consequence of which it is 
 entirely a nominal thing. I saw this, yet I scarcely 
 remonstrated with him, because I hoped I should 
 always have enough for all. Now that poverty has 
 come upon me it has come upon him also, and I 
 can't help feeling that I am as much bound to 
 provide for him and his family, as for Dudley, and 
 Mabel, and yourself." 
 
 " I call that rather overstrained, dear papa," said 
 Frances. "William is a man with good sense, 
 good abilities, and a good profession if he had trou- 
 bled himself to look after it. His having had every 
 indulgence through life seems to me to be no rea- 
 son why he should expect to live and enjoy himself 
 at your expense, when you have nothing left for 
 yourself. He has always had a handsome allow- 
 ance hitherto, but is that to incapacitate him for
 
 344 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 
 
 providing for his own family, when it is with- 
 drawn ?" 
 
 " My dear, this is all very true, and "William has 
 been greatly to blame in neglecting his profession, 
 because he knew that he could look to me for as- 
 sistance. But all this does not alter my own pri- 
 vate feeling. For the last five years I have allowed 
 this to go on unchecked ; or, if I remonstrated now 
 and then, it was not in a way to cure the evil. I 
 never led him to suppose that my allowance would 
 be withdrawn, and 1 now feel that I am in a great 
 measure responsible for the utter destitution to 
 which he has been brought," 
 
 " Well, — I can't see it, papa." 
 
 " If William were a single man the case would 
 be different, but I have allowed him to marry ; and 
 even if he is himself to blame, his wife and chil- 
 dren are innocent, and my chief anxiety is for 
 them. Dudley, my dear boy, if ever you should 
 have sons, profit by your father's failing, and let 
 them begin life entirely dependent on their own 
 exertions. Had I done this, William would have 
 had a profession to fall back upon, more than suffi- 
 cient to maintain his family in comfort, and you 
 would be prepared to provide for yourself. If my 
 weakness had been visited only on myself, it would 
 have been easy to bear, but it is hard to see my 
 children suffering for their father's fault." 
 
 " No, no," said Dudley. " It was only too great 
 kindness, and that can never be a fault." 
 
 "Injudicious kindness can," was the reply. 
 "Ah ! if your mother had only lived ..." 
 
 " Dear papa, you mustn't reproach yourself," 
 said Frances, affectionately. " We can never feel 
 anything but grateful for all you have ever done 
 for us— judicious or injudicious." 
 
 " But you may live to wish I had been a wise 
 father instead of a fond one. My dear child, I
 
 KOETHWODE PEIOEY. ^45 
 
 have more to reproach myself with than you can 
 understand." 
 
 There was silence for some moments, which was 
 broken by Mr. Hesketh saying, "I have been 
 thinking about our future home. There should be 
 no time lost in deciding upon it." 
 
 "You don't think of leaving Peverstone ?" in- 
 quired Dudley. 
 
 " O ! yes," said Frances. " We can never live 
 here under such different circumstances ! I am 
 sure I could not bear to meet our friends, when we 
 were no longer the Heskeths of Northwode Priory." 
 
 Mr. Hesketh covered his face with his hands ; 
 these words seemed to bring before him the change 
 in his position more fully than anything had yet 
 done. 
 
 " We must leave," continued Frances. " In a 
 new place we shall begin afresh, without prejudices. 
 If we took a respectable position, we should have 
 no mortifications ; but here everything would be 
 reminding us how different it had once been. And 
 then to see the Priory let — our dear home in 
 strangers' hands ! Oh ! we could never bear it !" 
 
 " I don't think we could," said Mr. Hesketh, in 
 a hoarse voice. 
 
 " But William and Dora must remain here," re- 
 marked Dudley. 
 
 " Tes, but it will be different for them," replied 
 Frances. " Every time we passed the Priory gate 
 it would all be brought back. And now, if we 
 leave, we may return some day, when things are 
 forgotten, and we have learnt to care less. Besides, 
 I don't see where we could go in Peverstone. 
 There is only one house vacant — the Aliens', and 
 that is such a dismal, red-brick affair — in the street, 
 too!" 
 
 " And the rent about double what we could af- 
 ford to give," said Mr. Hesketh. " If we decide
 
 346 NOETHWODE PEIOEY. 
 
 to remain here, I have thought of poor Brownlow'a 
 cottage. It is a part of your mother's settlement, 
 and has been vacant for nearly eighteen months.'* 
 
 *' My dear papa !" said Frances, in consternation. 
 *' That poor, miserable place, with the dark, dismal 
 little rooms, and the cabbage garden in front !" 
 
 " Beggars must not be choosers, my dear child," 
 said her father, sadly. " It is a dead loss to us at 
 present, and I see no prospect of letting it. It 
 was not so bad in the Brownlows' time, and the 
 cabbage garden could soon be altered." 
 
 " But Brownlow was a mere clerk ! He had no 
 appearance to keep up. We can never hold up our 
 heads again in Peverstone, if we go to such a place." 
 
 " My poor child ! you have yet to learn that we 
 must accommodate our ideas to our means. The 
 Aliens' house is quite beyond our reach, and sup- 
 posing we took it, Brownlow's cottage will remain 
 vacant, going rapidly to decay, a loss of about 
 twenty or five-and-twenty pounds a-year to us, which 
 we can ill afford to lose." 
 
 "Then do let us leave Peverstone," urged Frances. 
 " I could bear the cottage a hundred miles away, 
 but it would be unendurable here. Fancy our feel- 
 ings when Mrs. Grahame came to call, with her 
 cool condescension and the bitter mortification of 
 receiving her in such a place !" 
 
 " We must be above such feelings," sighed Mr. 
 Hesketh. 
 
 " What would become of Dora without May ?" 
 said Dudley. 
 
 " She ought not to be so dependent on Mabel," 
 observed Frances. " It would be better for May 
 that we should leave Peverstone, and begin with- 
 out any painful associations." 
 
 " Perhaps it would," said her father. " I should 
 like to know what she thinks. She will soon be 
 well enough now to give her opinion."
 
 NORTHWODE PEIOET. 347 
 
 " But if we leave Peverstone the cottage will re- 
 main unlet," said Dudley ; " and we shall be pay- 
 ing house-rent elsewhere." 
 
 " In that case we should be about fifty pounds 
 a-year poorer than if we inhabited it," said Mr. 
 Hesketh. " Besides, I really don't know where we 
 should go. No place seems to have any claim 
 upon us." 
 
 '* But that will not really be a difficulty, if we 
 decide to leave," remarked Frances. " Almost any 
 place will suit us, the farther off the better." 
 
 " What about Dudley ?" said Mr. Hesketh ; " we 
 have forgotten him again." 
 
 *' We must wait and see what our expenses are 
 likely to be," replied Frances. "I can't help 
 thinking, that with good management, there will be 
 enough for all." 
 
 " But that could only be at an inferior College," 
 said her brother ; " which would be but a nega- 
 tive sort of advantage, purchased by great sacri- 
 fices." 
 
 '* This will require further consideration," said 
 Mr. Hesketh. "The servants must all be dis- 
 missed, of course." 
 
 " Poor old George !" said Dudley. " How sorry 
 he will be to go ! Judith, too — will she ever be 
 persuaded to leave May ?" 
 
 " That shall remain for May's decision," said his 
 father ; " her place, however, will be sadly changed 
 to her now." 
 
 "And Die and Gipsy — May's favourite Die," 
 continued Dudley, " she will never mount her 
 again." 
 
 " Here is Dr. Grainger," said Mr. Hesketh. '* I 
 will go with him to May's room, and we must re- 
 consider these matters at another time." 
 
 When the doctor left, Frances went to her 
 sister. She was lying back on the sofa, with her
 
 348 NORTHWODE PEIORT. 
 
 eyes closed. "With a silent step, Prances ap- 
 proached, and gently kissed her forehead. 
 
 " Dear Frances," said May, affectionately, " I 
 have been hoping you would come. I feel so much 
 stronger to-day, and Dr. Grainger says that in less 
 than a week I may come down stairs. It seems 
 such a very long time since the fever began." 
 
 " There is a little more colour in those pale 
 cheeks to-day ; but it comes very slowly." 
 
 " Never mind that, if it does come. When 
 once I can leave this room I shall get strength 
 quickly. You can't, think how tired I am of stay- 
 ing here." 
 
 " And it is very different, love, without you 
 downstairs. Dudley misses you very much." 
 
 " Frances," said Mabel, after thinking some time, 
 " can you tell me what has become of Hugh ? It 
 seems such a long time since I heard his name 
 mentioned." 
 
 " It is a long time since any one heard of him," 
 said Frances, shortly. " I am grievously disap- 
 pointed in Hugh, I confess, but I suppose he is 
 like the rest of the world." 
 
 " Then do you think he has heard . . . ?" asked 
 Mabel, faintly, while a burning red spot rose on 
 either cheek. 
 
 " I conclude so ; it seems to be spreading apace, 
 like all ill-news. If Miss Lushington gets hold of 
 it she will be kind enough to make all Peverstone 
 acquainted with it before night. But we will not 
 talk of sad things." 
 
 " You haven't seen Mrs. Grrahame ?" asked 
 Mabel, hastily. 
 
 "No, we may expect to see very little of her 
 for the future. We shall be classed now amongst 
 those whom she despatches with an annual duty- 
 visit. You know, love, we are no longer fit to 
 associate with Grahames."
 
 NOETHWODE PEIOET. 349 
 
 ''I will not let you be satirical," said Mabel, 
 laying her white, trembling hand on her sister's 
 lips. " Have you been making any plans for the 
 future ?" 
 
 " We have been considering matters ; but I must 
 not talk to you about these things. What shall I 
 do to amuse you? Let me read to you — what 
 is this book with the paper knife in it ?" 
 
 " ' Woodstock' — Dora was reading it to me ; 
 but, dear Frances, I would rather talk when you 
 are here." 
 
 " I am afraid you must be tired with all the 
 visitors you have had." 
 
 " Oh ! no ; Mr. Chase never tires me ; and to- 
 day he only read the psalms and lessons, and left 
 again without conversing as usual. Mr. Erie is 
 away, and he has a great many sick to visit. Do 
 you know, Frances, I like his visiting me in his 
 parish rounds, taking me in turn with the other 
 sick. It makes me look upon him so much more 
 in the light of a Clergyman, than if I was visited 
 as a lady. With all his goodness, Mr. Erie 
 never impresses me in the same way. He comes 
 as a friend, and talks of things happening in the 
 parish, and only says a prayer just as he is going 
 away. But I ought not to criticise, for he is so 
 good in himself, and the Church is all one could 
 wish." 
 
 " I can't think how you can prefer Mr. Chase to 
 Mr. Erie." 
 
 "Mr. Erie is much more gentlemanly and po- 
 lished, but Mr. Chase is so good and sincere ; then 
 I know him so much better, and Mina is a bond 
 of sympathy between us. I always feel, too, that 
 I never could gossip to him, and that is a nice 
 feeling." 
 
 " I never knew before that gossiping was a pro- 
 pensity of yours."
 
 350 NOETHWODE PEIOBT. 
 
 May laughed ; *' No, but with Mr. Erie I am 
 obliged to talk a little of the Peverstone people, or 
 else we should never get on." 
 
 " And what do you talk of with the other ?" 
 
 *' I don't think I talk at all — he talks to me, 
 and puts good thoughts into my mind — high 
 thoughts and high views, such as he and Mina take. 
 Prances, love, I hope you will like him some day," 
 — and Mabel's hand was passed caressingly over her 
 sister's fingers. 
 
 " We are diametrically opposed on every point, 
 so you are hoping for an impossibility. But I 
 must not let you talk so much, May. I should 
 like to read a chapter of ' Woodstock,' and brush 
 uj) my old recollections of it." 
 
 When the twilight closed in, Frances shut up 
 the book, and went down stairs, at May's request, 
 to make it cheerful for Mr. Hesketh and Dudley. 
 " I should like their last evenings at the Priory to 
 be as bright as they can be in the midst of so much 
 sadness," she said, with her soft blue eyes full of 
 tears. " Prances, will another home ever be as 
 dear?" 
 
 '* Never — but it is not our doing, and you must 
 try not to think about it." 
 
 "We shall still be together," said Mabel. 
 " Kiss me before you go." 
 
 Prances threw her arms round her sister, and 
 May leant her head on her shoulder, and cried 
 bitterly. It was the first time she had thoroughly 
 given way to her feelings, and for some time she 
 could not control them. When she at last raised 
 her head, she was smiling through her tears, and 
 her first words were, 
 
 " Leave me, and go to them ; they must be so sad 
 downstairs. I shall be better directly, and if you 
 like you can send Judith."
 
 NOETHWODE PRIOET. 351 
 
 " But how can I leave you like this ?" 
 " Oh ! I am quite right again ; look at me, they 
 are all gone," and she raised her tearful, smiling 
 face to her sister's. 
 
 When Frances was gone, and she lay alone in the 
 quiet fire-light, the faint colour on her cheeks died 
 away, and she leant her pale face against the 
 cushion. Her trial had seemed heavy before, but 
 God had seen fit to aggravate it to its utmost 
 extent. Hugh, whom she had esteemed so highly, 
 and placed on a level with Dudley in her affection 
 — who had been named in her morning and evening 
 prayers with those nearest and dearest, and who 
 had seemed latterly to have grown in self-control 
 and right feeling, more than her highest hopes 
 could have anticipated, had proved insincere with the 
 rest of the world, and in the hour of their trial had 
 fallen away and forsaken them. No one, who knew 
 not how she had learned to look up to him, and 
 place confidence in his opinion and in his friend- 
 ship, could realise the bitter disappointment it was 
 to find him unworthy of her regard. She had 
 thought him so different from his cold, worldly- 
 minded mother, yet when his sincerity was tested, 
 he proved wanting. All that she most valued and 
 treasured had, in little more than one short month, 
 been swept away from her. Was every earthly 
 happiness, that had hitherto shone over her path in 
 life, to be withdrawn, in order to fix her heart 
 more surely on Heaven ? Oh ! that it might not 
 be a very long life ! Yet God's will was best, 
 and in that next world, awaiting her, was the 
 mother, who had been her all-in-all on earth — 
 a short, stern life of preparation for the next 
 world, and when once the haven of rest was 
 reached, what would present trials appear ? There 
 was a sweet, sad smile on her face, in spite of the
 
 352 KOETHWODE PEIOET. 
 
 weight at her heart, as she repeated to herself the 
 words — 
 
 *' Snatch' d sudden from th'avenging rod, 
 Safe in the bosom of thy God, 
 How wilt thou then look back, and smile 
 On thoughts that bitterest seem'd erewhile, 
 And bless the pangs that made thee see 
 This was no world of rest for thee !" 
 
 END or YOLUME I. 
 
 JOSEPH MASTERS AND CO., PEINTEES, ALDERSGATE STEEET.
 
 //? 
 
 2 
 
 <<