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 A
 
 MRS. geeyille; 
 
 THE STORY OF A AVOMAN'S LIFE 
 
 TOLD BY 
 
 URSULA, 
 
 A SOMEWHILE SISTER OF MERCY. 
 
 *' Ask what is human life ? . . . . 
 A painful passage o'er a restless flood, 
 A vaiu pursuit of fugitive false good, 
 A scene of fancied bliss and heart-felt care." 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 *' Mon avis est qu'on ne peut creer des personnages quelorsque 
 Ton a beaucoup ^tudie les hommes, comme on ne peut parler une 
 langue qu'a la condition de I'avoir serieusement apprise. Ainsi 
 je me contente de raconter." — Dumas. 
 
 IN THREE VOLUMES. 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY 
 
 1874. 
 
 \All rights reserved.']
 
 82.3 
 
 V. I 
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 o 
 
 5^. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 CO 
 LO 
 
 cn " Here I disclaim all my paternal care, 
 
 Propinquity and property of blood, 
 And as a stranger to my heart and me 
 Hold thee, from this, for ever !" 
 
 King Lear. 
 
 
 . The country — a lovely summer's day — hot 
 
 "2 still, and heavy with the perfume of Hme 
 
 ? blossoms — insects humming lazily in the sun- 
 
 J shine — bees indulging too deeply in the 
 
 treacherous lime-cup, and lying helplessly 
 
 'I beneath the trees — birds singing in the ful- 
 
 *^ ness of joy — swift swallows darting down 
 
 '^ from their soaring flight on some unwary fly, 
 
 ^ and again winging their heavenward way — - 
 
 i gorgeous-hued emperors sailing slowly past in 
 
 1^ all the dignity of imperial solitude, scarcely as 
 
 VOL. I. 1
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 happy as their coquettish white kinsmen who, 
 dallying and toying in couples, chase each 
 other in the glad sunshine. 
 
 Thus without under nature's canopy. 
 
 Within — beneath the roof of a large, Gothic 
 building — sat, unmindful of the joyous sum- 
 mer's dalliance, a man, who, judging from his 
 attitude, was sunk in dejection. His arms 
 were crossed on the table before him, and his 
 gray head buried within them, while in one 
 hand was clenched a crumpled letter. 
 
 Windows wide open and reaching to the 
 ground, let in floods of sunshine and warm 
 fragrant air ; but they were lost on the occu- 
 pant of the room. 
 
 A quick, elastic step was unheard on the 
 sward, as a youth, barely two-and- twenty, 
 approached the window, where he paused for 
 a moment and then stepped in unperceived. 
 
 '' Father, "said he, finding himself unnoticed. 
 
 At the sound of his voice the other started 
 up, furiously, his old and withered face 
 blanching with anger. 
 
 " You here ?" cried he. " You ? How dare 
 you show your face here ? You received my 
 letter ?"
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 " I have," replied the other, in tones almost 
 feminine in their sweet, loving cadence, " and 
 it is because of that letter that I am here to- 
 day. You wrote in anger, father, but I feel 
 that such anger cannot last. See, yoTi have 
 been reading my letter,'' pointing to the 
 crumpled paper the other still held. *' I w^ill 
 not believe that the cruel words you wrote 
 were really meant. I have come to ask your 
 forgiveness — she would have come also, but 
 that I would not let her." 
 
 The old man sank wearily into his former 
 attitude, uttering no word. 
 
 " Father ! speak to me — say you forgive 
 us ;" and the youth bent his knee at his 
 father's side. 
 
 " Forgive you !" said he, wheeling back his 
 chair, and glancing with fury on his son, 
 *' never ! My affections were centred in you 
 — you have outraged them. My hopes rested 
 in you — you have destroyed them. My word 
 was pledged for you — you have compelled me 
 to break it. Begone ! If ever you ventine 
 to cross my threshold again, it will be at 
 your own peril, for my servants shall drive 
 you forth like a hound !" 
 
 1—2
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Stung to madness, tlie youth sprang to his 
 feet and faced the speaker, his countenance 
 scarcely less furious than his father's. 
 
 " Begone T reiterated his father, ^' and my 
 curse go with you. Cursed be the jade you 
 call wife, and cursed be the children she bears 
 you ! Go ! Depart from my sight for ever ! 
 You are no son of mine from this day forth 1" 
 
 The boy's winsome face was distorted with 
 passion. They bore a marvellous resemblance . 
 to each other — these two — father and son — 
 as they stood glaring murderously into each 
 other's eyes. 
 
 " Unsay that about my wife !" hissed 
 Philip, threateningly, as with hands clenched 
 and teeth set he drew nearer to the old man, 
 till their faces nearly met. 
 
 " Ha ! that touches you, does it ?" said the 
 other, fiendishly. 
 
 ''May the miserable jade — the — " The word 
 was unspoken. 
 
 Mad with passion the boy sprang at his 
 father's throat, and in the hundredth part of 
 another second would have throttled him ; 
 but even as he sprang, his eye caught the face 
 of his fair, young mother on the wall before
 
 MBS. GREYILLE. 
 
 him, and the soft sweet eyes seemed endowed 
 with life as they looked sadly down on hev boy. 
 He stopped with a sharp cry, like one shot 
 throuo-h the heart. For a moment he covered 
 his face with his hands, and then rushed from 
 the house which so nearly had witnessed the 
 fellest of all crimes. 
 
 Stern and merciless was the old man's face, 
 as he watched his son's rapidly vanishing 
 form down the avenue, until it was out of 
 sight, and then he sank down in his chair, 
 shuttinof all outward thino^s from view. And 
 still the sun shone bravely into the room — 
 still the birds twittered merrily from twig to 
 twig — still the lark poised mid-air, carolling 
 forth her grateful hymn to heaven — still the 
 sportive butterflies coquetted in the sunbeams 
 — still the drunken bees lay helplessly beneath , 
 the limes — still the blossoms wafted their per- 
 fumed breath, warm and sweet, through the 
 summer air — all was still unchanged without 
 — love, peace, beauty, and harmony reigned 
 throughout nature ; while within that room 
 had crept hate, malice, and fury — and murder 
 had only been saved by a miracle. 
 
 Alas 1 as ever since the fall of Paradi^^e, 8o
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 now, did sin and sorrow come of woman ; but 
 also as before, as salvation came through 
 woman, so now, through woman — a mother — 
 came that influence which saved a man from 
 parricide. 
 
 Do the spirits of the dead ever keep watch 
 over their loved ones on earth ? 
 
 One could almost think so — sometimes. 
 
 Nor was it strange that Philip Gaveston, 
 wildly rushing from temptation, should feel 
 that it was his mother's spirit hovering over 
 him which had saved him from an awful 
 crime. 
 
 He paused not till he reached the lodge 
 gates, when, springing into a trap that waited 
 him, he drove rapidly back to the town. 
 
 In those days a journey from Yorkshire to 
 London was a longer affair than now, and 
 long ere he reached the metropolis, young 
 Gaveston, with his usual impetuosity, had 
 decided on his course of action ; namely, that 
 of exchanging from the Guards into a regi- 
 ment bound for India. 
 
 His father had disowned him — disinherited 
 him. So be it. He would make his own 
 way, and never as long as he lived would he
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 accept the smallest dole at the hands of that 
 father ! 
 
 '' Not I !" cried he, one day, after some 
 such discussion in the mess-room ; '^ not I. 
 He has cursed not only me, but others. Let 
 the curse fall on himself !" 
 
 Gaveston's temper was getting the better of 
 him, when a gentlemanly man, somewhat his 
 senior, stepping forward, linked his arm in 
 his, saying, — 
 
 " I am just off to the Horse Guards to hear 
 when our regiment sails ; come with me, 
 Phil/' 
 
 And so Captain Greville drew him away, 
 and gradually calmed down the frenzy that 
 overpowered Philip whenever his father's 
 name was mentioned in his hearing. 
 
 The- prospect of active service was most 
 congenial to a man in his state of mind, and 
 during the fortnight that intervened before 
 the regiment embarked, there was little 
 leisure for dwelling on the quarrel with his 
 father. 
 
 At two-and-twenty, one is careless of the 
 future. It is such a long way off ! Besides, 
 was he not full of life, and health, and but
 
 MRi^. GREVILLE. 
 
 just married to a lovely girl, who worshipped 
 him with all the ardour of her Italian nature ! 
 And his father would fain have linked him to 
 a vulgar, red-headed cotton-spinner ! 
 
 Some such thought crossed him as, leaning 
 over the ship's side — they were far on their 
 way to India — his eyes rested lovingly on the 
 beautiful, high-bred girl who stood beside 
 him. 
 
 " And besides, caro mio,'' said she, continu- 
 ing their conversation, " suppose your brother 
 married and had children." 
 
 " By Jove, that's true !" exclaimed Philip ; 
 *' but you see, Teresa, it has never occurred 
 to any one that poor Gaveston would many. 
 He is very sickly, and — and deformed, and — 
 
 and " hesitated Philip, shrinking from 
 
 putting into plain words the belief which 
 every one entertained, that the invalid could 
 not live — " in fact my father has always 
 looked to me as the heir ; but by Jove ! what 
 a sell if Gaveston marries !" 
 
 *' And if he does ?" asked the Italian, lift- 
 ing her glorious black eyes to her husband's 
 face. 
 
 ** If he have a son, carina," replied he,
 
 IfRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 taking the cigar from his lips to kiss the up- 
 turned face, *' you will never be Countess of 
 Pierrepoint ; only a poor soldier's wife." 
 
 We need not record the loving answer nor 
 the subsequent conversation that flowed softly 
 on beneath the silvery light of the sea-born 
 moon. It has nothing to do with our story : 
 they were young, happy, and in love : was 
 anything more wanting to make this world a 
 Paradise to them ? 
 
 Lord Pierrepoint did not rally as his son 
 had done ; but then he was not twenty -two, 
 and in love, with a soldier's career before him. 
 Somewhat late in life, and still unmarried, he 
 had succeeded to estates which, large as they 
 were, were heavily mortgaged. The next 
 heir to the title was a distant cousin, with 
 whom Lord Pierrepoint was on very bad 
 terms ; and matters had not been mended by 
 that cousin remonstrating at the reckless way 
 in which Lord Pierrepoint was ruining the 
 estate by cutting down even the ornamental 
 timber. 
 
 This remonstrance had the effect of putting 
 him in a towering passion, and of making him 
 turn his thoughts to matrimony, and thus for
 
 10 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 ever destroy Mr. John Gaveston's audacious 
 hopes ; and not long after, the world was in- 
 formed that Lord Pierrepoint was married to 
 a young girl, penniless, but well-born and 
 beautiful. 
 
 She lived for twelve years after their mar- 
 riage, and bore her husband several children, 
 of whom, however, only the two eldest lived 
 — Lord Gaveston and Philip. 
 
 Nature, so capricious in her gifts, had been 
 as lavish to the latter as she had been nig- 
 gardly to the former. Whether from disease 
 or some fall in his infancy, no one knew, but 
 the little viscount was a sickly, deformed child, 
 dwarfed in stature, and with never a day's 
 health. Contrary to all expectation, he lived 
 ■ — a peevish, irritable child — acutely sensitive 
 to his infirmity, and shrinking from every one 
 save his mother. She was his haven ; for 
 there is 
 
 '• In all this cold and hollow world, 
 No fount of deep, strong, deathless love, 
 Save that within a mother's heart." 
 
 And when she died, he was indeed left friend- 
 less ; for his father hated him, and never 
 forgave him for being the eldest -born, instead
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 11 
 
 of the comely, frank-hearted Phihp — a disUke 
 which had not diminished as year succeeded 
 year, and still the viscount lived while other 
 blooming children were born to him only to 
 fade away and die. 
 
 Poor child ! his was a hard fate — one of 
 those mysteries none can fathom ; and it was 
 hardly a grief to him when his father, under 
 the plea of a milder climate better suiting his 
 feeble health, banished him to a small estate 
 he had on the iron-bound coast of Cornwall. 
 
 Here he lived his lonely life, exaggerating 
 every evil, and encouraging his naturally 
 morbid feelings; shrinking from his fellow- 
 creatures, and resenting almost with ferocity 
 his brother s attempts at a more friendly inter- 
 course ; and thus he dropped out of the family 
 circle ; and save that Philip was still '' Master 
 Gaveston," this latter was to all intents and 
 purposes the heir. 
 
 While the years dragged slowly on with 
 the eldest son, they sped on joyously with 
 the younger. 
 
 An idle scamp enough at Eton, and the 
 hero of many a boyish scrape, he was the most 
 popular boy in his form ; and even his natural
 
 12 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 enemies, the masters, had a kindly feeling 
 for the lad, whose honest face and laughing 
 blue eyes were an index to the true, gentle- 
 manly character that lay beneath the comely 
 exterior. 
 
 He carried his popularity with him into the 
 Household Brigade, and if he brought but 
 little classical lore from Eton, he had gained 
 an unrivalled reputation for athletic sports 
 and for being a " thorough good fellow." 
 
 His father's estate was, as I said, heavily 
 mortgaged ; and one day, after many remon- 
 strances, Lord Pierrepoint's lawyer informed 
 him that he was on the brink of ruin — that 
 Mr. Money, a nobody, but a millionnaire and 
 who had gradually become the mortgagee of 
 the greater part of the estates, had threatened 
 to foreclose. 
 
 " If it were not for my boy, he might do it 
 
 and be d d !" retorted the earl. " You 
 
 must stop this, Cookson ; find some means. I 
 leave it to you." 
 
 Thus authorised, Mr. Cookson went to 
 Manchester, saw Mr. Money, and saw Mr. 
 Money's daughter — an only child — and after 
 some conversation thought he saw the
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 13 
 
 means. Mr. Money did not aspire to an 
 earldom himself, but had no objection to be- 
 coming the grandfather of one. In fact, the 
 idea so tickled him that he was ready to 
 assent to any proposition from Mr, Cookson. 
 
 " H'm 1" said the earl, laconically, when the 
 lawyer proposed a marriage between Philip 
 and Miss Money as the only means of salva- 
 tion. " What's the woman like ? Present- 
 able r 
 
 '* She's not a woman yet ; only thirteen." 
 
 " God bless my soul I marry at that age ?" 
 
 " No ; not for a year or two," returned the 
 lawyer, who never wasted more time nor 
 words than he could help. 
 
 *'And the family — what is that like?" 
 asked the other, after a pause. 
 
 " No family at all. Father and mother, 
 and this girl. Father, a foundling, as far as 
 I can make out," said the lawyer, drumming 
 with his fingers on the table. 
 
 " A nice father-in-law for my boy !" quoth 
 the earl, grimly. 
 
 '' Better than if he had a swarm of vulgar 
 relations," retorted the other, dryly. " Look 
 here, my lord," he continued, seeing how the
 
 14 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 earl hesitated ; "just look at things as they 
 are. There is not an acre you can fairly call 
 your own — a threatened foreclosure is on one 
 hand — on the other, a young woman with a 
 million of money ready to come forward and 
 redeem the whole. You object to her pedi- 
 gree, or rather the want of one/' he continued, 
 with grim wit, *^ and you think that Mr. 
 Philip might find an equally rich wife in his 
 own sphere. Heiresses are rare in the nobi- 
 lity ; but even if you found one, do you think 
 that any father would give such a daughter — 
 a prize for a duke — to the second son — a boy 
 — a child — of a ruined earl ? And remember, 
 my lord," he added, significantly — "remem- 
 ber, Mr. Philip is not the eldest son." 
 
 Lord Pierrepoint checked the words that 
 rose to his lips, and began pacing the room in 
 silence. 
 
 The conversation continued some time, but 
 the upshot was that a very courteous invita- 
 tion to Gaveston Abbey was sent to Mr. 
 Money, his wife, and daughter. 
 
 The visit was uncomfortable enough, though 
 Philip, a bright, handsome boy about eighteen,
 
 MBS. GBEVTLLE. 15 
 
 and all unconscious of the honour in store for 
 him, charmed Mr. Money. 
 
 After the guests had departed, Philip in- 
 formed his father that they were " a rum 
 lot," whereupon the Earl of Pierrepoint 
 deemed it expedient to postpone his com- 
 munication to a more convenient season. 
 When it was made, Philip laughed with the 
 insouciance of youth that has never been 
 thwarted, for events in the far future, and 
 simply saying, " What, that rum girl with the 
 red hair ? Lord bless us !" went back to 
 Windsor to join his regiment, and forgot an 
 affair which he had regarded in the light of a 
 joke. 
 
 Not so his father ; but as the time was 
 still distant, and as Miss Money was to be 
 sent to a Parisian school to be fitted for the 
 position of the future Countess of Pierre- 
 point, he deemed it better to be silent for the 
 present, and see what the effect on his son 
 would be, when his future bride, properly 
 finished, dressed, and trained, should appear 
 before him. 
 
 Meanwhile, and shortly before Miss Money 
 was to be returned to her relations — finished
 
 16 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 — Philip had taken a trip to Italy, where he 
 fell in love with a lovely, high-born young 
 Italian, married her then and there, in oppo- 
 sition to her own family, who, rigid Roman 
 Catholics, were furious at her entering a 
 heretic family. 
 
 Philip, certain of a welcome from the father 
 who had never yet opposed his wishes, brought 
 home his penniless bride, with what results 
 we know.
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " He brings Earl Ormond to receive my vows ! 
 dreadful change ! For Tancred, haughty Ormond." 
 Tancked and Sigismunda. 
 
 "Lord, we know what we are, but we 
 Know not what we may be." 
 
 Hamlet. 
 
 The interview with Mr. Money was not a 
 pleasant one, but Mr. Cookson smoothed 
 matters over, and it was settled that the old 
 agreement should hold good — only — Lord 
 Gaveston's name was to be inserted instead of 
 Philip's. The change was hardly fair, but as 
 Mr. Cookson impressed on the merchant, the 
 viscount might marry and have children ; and 
 if so, there would have been an end to his 
 ambitious hopes for his daughter had she 
 married Philip. 
 
 To his infinite surprise, Lord Gaveston was 
 VOL. I. 2
 
 18 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 summoned home ; and soon after, the mar- 
 riage was solemnized with much pomp and 
 magnificence. A bitter satire on the whole 
 aiFair. 
 
 In due time two sons were born to them, 
 weakly children, it is true, but they might 
 have grown stronger had less care been be- 
 stowed on them ; but what with doctors, and 
 experienced nurses, and their grandfather's 
 incessant vigilance, they bid fair to be killed 
 by kindness. 
 
 Meantime Philip was fighting in India, 
 but on hearing of his brother's marriage, he 
 found time to write him a very friendly letter, 
 giving him at the same time a glowing account 
 of his exciting life, and of his glorious hopes 
 and ambition. A hurried postscript an- 
 nounced the birth of a little daughter. 
 
 Once more — when he heard that Lord 
 Gaveston had a son born to him — he wrote 
 again and for the last time, for the final 
 storming of Bhurtpore, which shortly occurred, 
 and which saw the end of the Burmese war, 
 saw also the end of Philip Gaveston's career. 
 He fell, shot through the breast, just two 
 years after he and his young wife had landed
 
 MRS. GEEVILLE. 19 
 
 in India. His old friend, Greville, was near 
 him when he fell, and to him he confided his 
 wife and child, and feebly returning the 
 pressure of his hand, his life-blood ebbed 
 away. 
 
 As Colonel Greville told off some men to 
 bear the body of the brave young captain to 
 the rear, he felt that he would rather lead 
 a dozen forlorn hopes than carry the fatal 
 tidings to the young wife whose adoration of 
 her husband was proverbial. He was a brave 
 man, but the veriest coward could not have 
 trembled under fire more than he did when 
 he bethought him of the ordeal that awaited 
 him. 
 
 He broke the tidings as gently as he could, 
 but such tidings never come gently, and he 
 was glad enough when peace being shortly 
 concluded, he was able to take Mrs. Gaveston 
 and her child to England. 
 
 Her wild passion of grief was followed by 
 an apathy from which nothing roused her ; 
 she was very gentle, acquiescing in all the 
 arrangements made for her, but never evinc- 
 ing the slightest interest in anything. Her 
 heart seemed dead.
 
 20 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Colonel Greville, on their arrival in London, 
 left her in a quiet hotel, and then waited on 
 Lord Pierrepoint. He was aware of the 
 breach that had existed between father and 
 son, but, like all generous natures, he could 
 not believe that any animosity would survive 
 the grave. He little knew the hard, im- 
 placable man he had to deal with. 
 
 The earl was then not only the delighted 
 grandfather of one boy, but was further 
 rejoicing over the expectant birth of a second, 
 and if he felt any grief at the untimely death 
 of his once favourite son, he concealed it well, 
 and utterly repudiating all connection with 
 the widow, simply offered to take charge of 
 the child, if she — the mother — would return 
 to her native country with a solemn promise 
 never to hold any communication with her 
 daughter. 
 
 Colonel Greville cast back the cruel, in- 
 sulting offer with such bitter words, that, 
 haughty, arrogant, insolent as was Lord 
 Pierrepoint, he literally shivered as he heard 
 them. 
 
 For some moments he had no power to 
 arrest the torrent of scorn and wrath that
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 21 
 
 was poured forth on him from the soldier's 
 lips. The curse that had driven forth the 
 son to his death, was verily hurled back on 
 the father. 
 
 *' Go ! go !" screamed, this latter, inarticu- 
 late with rage, and pointing to the door. 
 
 " Yes,'' replied Greville, '' I go ; but ere I 
 leave this room, I tell you that as sure as 
 there is justice in Heaven, your cruel, un- 
 natural curse shall fall a hundred-fold on your 
 own head. You are an old man, with one 
 foot already in the grave ; but you will live 
 to see Heaven's vengeance recoil on you. It 
 has beofun. One son is dead — a son of whom 
 you might well be proud — and disgrace is 
 already looming on you and yours !" 
 
 " It is false ! Go ! Out of my house !" 
 screamed the old man, in his weak treble, 
 furiously pulling the bell. 
 
 " It is true, Lord Pierrepoint," said Gre- 
 ville, as he left the room. 
 
 Colonel Greville did not speak idly when 
 he prophesied to Lord Pierrepoint, though it 
 needed but little prescience, for rumour was 
 already rife with Lady Gaveston's name. 
 
 Ere a year had passed away, children's
 
 22 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 voices had ceased to be heard in the Abbey. 
 Nor money, nor care (perhaps in consequence 
 of them) could keep hfe in the little sickly 
 frames of the young Gavestons ; they pined 
 away, and were laid with much pomp in the 
 family vault. 
 
 The viscountess had had a hard time of it. 
 A querulous, captious husband whom she de- 
 spised, and who disliked her ; a stern old 
 father-in-law, of whom she stood in mortal 
 terror, and who allowed her no control over 
 her children, made Lady Gaveston feel that 
 her title had been too dearly purchased. 
 Her time, since the death of her children, 
 had been chiefly spent at her father's house, 
 and one day she left it — but not alone. 
 
 Immediate steps were taken for a divorce, 
 and the consequent shame and disgrace — for 
 such had never been known in the annals of 
 the Pierrepoint family, where men were 
 brave and women virtuous — together with 
 his father's anger, so told on Lord Gaveston's 
 health, that he sank beneath the weight and 
 soon followed his children to the grave. 
 
 Lord Pierrepoint lingered out the remain- 
 der of his life in dreary solitude. Too im-
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 placable to make any advance to Mrs. 
 Gaveston, and too violent for any one to care 
 to live with Kim, he died alone and unre- 
 gretted. 
 
 Strangely enough, the very means he had 
 taken to deprive his cousin of the estates, 
 were destined to have a contrary effect ; for, 
 on the birth of Lord Gaveston s son, the pro- 
 perty had been so strictly re-entailed that 
 the w^hole went with the title to the next 
 heir — thus does human malice often frustrate 
 itself. 
 
 Colonel Greville did not think it necessary 
 to give any details to Mrs. Gaveston of the 
 interview that he had had with her father-in- 
 law. 
 
 He knew perfectly well that she would not 
 part with her child, and he also knew that her 
 own family had utterly repudiated her for 
 marrying a heretic. She was, therefore, com- 
 pletely throvv^n on his hands — a serious charge 
 for a young man not thirty years of age ; but 
 he was not one to turn from any responsibility 
 intrusted to him. 
 
 Ilis next step was to seek his sister, Mrs.
 
 24 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Dacres, a widow, twenty years older than 
 himself, who lived a very retired life in the 
 South of Wales. 
 
 Her heart at once warmed to the poor for- 
 lorn stranger and her child, and she readily 
 agreed to take them as inmates. 
 
 " The kindness is to me," she replied, in 
 answer to her brother's fear that the charge 
 might weary her ; "I am getting old, and 
 solitude begins to grow dull now that my 
 sight fails me. A young child, too, about the 
 place will brighten it once more." 
 
 Her lips quivered as she spoke, for in the 
 churchyard hard by stood a tombstone, sacred 
 to the memory of Charles Dacres, aged thirty- 
 two, and his two children, aged five and seven 
 years. 
 
 It is true that many, many years had 
 elapsed since that time ; but the dead never 
 grow old, and Mrs. Dacres only recalled the 
 husband of her youth, and their little chil- 
 dren who had graced a few years of their 
 lives, as she had last seen them. 
 
 " God bless you, Mary,'** said her brother, 
 fervently ; *' you were ever the best and 
 kindest woman on earth."
 
 MBS. GREVILLE. 25 
 
 And thus were Philip's widow and child 
 provided for. 
 
 True to his instincts as a soldier, Greville 
 had first attended to duty ; but no sooner 
 was this done, than he hastened to claim the 
 hand of the girl to whom he had been en- 
 gaged before he had left for India. 
 
 He little thought, in the loyalty of his own 
 heart, the blow that awaited him. Commu- 
 nication with India in those days was not so 
 rapid as now. His letter, announcing his re- 
 turn and his accession to fortune, crossed one 
 which reached India after his departure ; and 
 when he arrived at his darling's house, with 
 eager hopes and throbbing heart, it was to 
 learn that she was already the wife of another 
 man ! 
 
 And he had trusted and believed in her, as 
 we always do believe in those we love, and he 
 had lost her ! It was a staggering blow, one 
 of those hits that shake a man's faith in 
 woman ; so, taking a man's remedy for a sore 
 heart, he packed his portmanteau and gun- 
 case, and went abroad to seek in the excite- 
 ment and adventures of foreisfn travel a 
 
 o 
 
 panacea for his woes,
 
 26 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 For twelve years he led a wandering life, 
 chiefly in the other hemisphere, when business 
 recalled him to his own country. 
 
 He had long since been cured of his love, 
 but had never again trusted his heart to 
 woman's keeping, and it w^as wdth perfect 
 indifference that shortly after his return he 
 met in a gay, fashionable w^oman of the 
 world his earthly dream of perfect woman- 
 hood. 
 
 He watched her not only without his 
 pulses beating faster, but with a grim satis- 
 faction that the flippant, rouged woman he 
 was regarding w^as not his wdfe. 
 
 It was at a ball in town. She had not re- 
 cognised her former lover in the bronzed, 
 bearded man who stood looking at her for 
 some time, with a queer expression of amused 
 wonderment in his face. 
 
 " Who is that man ?" she asked, in a pause 
 of the valse, pointing out Greville, who leant 
 indolently against the wall, caressing his 
 beard as he surveyed the room full of people, 
 many of whom he had known as children, but 
 strangers to him now. 
 
 "That's Greville, the famous traveller/'
 
 MRS, GREVILLE. 27 
 
 replied her partner, a young guardsman, 
 who had just joined, and some fifteen years 
 her junior ; "he is a mighty hunter, they 
 say ; has killed no end of tigers and that sort 
 of thing, you know," and circling her waist 
 they again whirled away. 
 
 Greville presently approached her, and 
 begged to be allowed to re-introduce himself. 
 There was not the least trace of pleasure nor 
 bitterness, nor regret in his calm, courteous 
 recognition, a fact which vexed the lady not a 
 little ; for though women throw men over — 
 lose all care for them — they never like to feel 
 that their power is at an end. 
 
 She took his arm and exerted every effort to 
 captivate him. In vain ! the same amused 
 look now and then passed over his face, and 
 with no little pique, the lady left him, reply- 
 ing to a friend, w^ho asked her what she 
 thought of the great Nimrod, " My dear, he 
 is quite odious — a bear !" 
 
 " And that," soliloquised Greville, as he 
 walked up Pall Mall, smoking his cigar, 
 " that is Caroline Buller, whom I once thought 
 scarce less than angel ! Yerily, ' we know
 
 28 MRS. GBEVILLE. 
 
 what we are, but we not what we id ay be.' 
 Thy madness, Ophelia, was philosophic.'' 
 
 Hereupon he let himself into his lodgings 
 and went to bed. 
 
 Thus ended Colonel Greville's first love.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " si el dolor que siento se acabara 
 Y el bien que tanto anhelo se cumpliese ! 
 Como por desdichado que ahore fuese 
 La mas alta ventura no envidiara !" 
 
 MiLENDEZ. 
 
 " A lovely child sbe was, of looks serene, 
 And motions which o'er things indifferent shed 
 The grace and gentleness from whence they came." 
 
 Shelley. 
 
 The foregoing twelve years had passed very 
 quietly with the two widowed ladies in the 
 Welsh cottao^e. Nothino^ occurred to disturb 
 the even tenour of their way, save that Mrs. 
 Gaveston's health grew gradually weaker, 
 while her religious fervour took a sterner 
 character as she neared the goal of human 
 suffering ; for the dear, precious hope of meet- 
 ing in heaven the beloved ones over whom 
 the grave has closed — that blessed hope which
 
 30 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 has led more than one to strive after better 
 things, and which has soothed the bitterest 
 grief — for the heart is of the earth, earthy — 
 was denied to her ; for how could she, a devout 
 Koman Catholic, hope to meet a heretic in 
 heaven ? 
 
 Eternity without him ! O God ! have 
 mercy ! 
 
 She had but one resource — one desperate 
 hope — to which she clung with all the passion 
 of her nature. 
 
 She could pray for, and have masses offered 
 up for his soul — she could inflict penances on 
 herself, how severe none other knew — she 
 could pass her nights in vigils, praying that 
 the heresy of her husband might be forgiven, 
 and that they might meet at last. 
 
 And her child, his child ? If only she 
 might dedicate that pure, innocent soul to 
 God, it was possible that it might redeem 
 that other one ! But she gave no utterance 
 to this — the yearning of her heart — and con- 
 scientiously left the dearest of all tasks — the 
 religious training of her child — to Mrs. 
 Dacres ; for before that child had been born, 
 and again on that fatal day which never
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 31 
 
 brought him back, Mrs. Gaveston had pro- 
 mised her husband that it should be brought 
 up in his faith. 
 
 She honourably kept her vow, but in order 
 to save her two dear ones, she mortified her 
 tender flesh beyond her powers of endurance ; 
 austerities which gradually shortened her life. 
 But what were pain and suffering in compari- 
 son with the blessed hope in prospect ? So, 
 in the small oratory which she fitted up, pros- 
 trated before the crucifix, or bowed down 
 before the shrine of the Mother of Sorrows, 
 the unhappy lady spent the greater part of 
 her life. 
 
 In vain did Mrs. Dacres seek to comfort her 
 with the tender, blessed promises of her own 
 faith ; any influence which she might have 
 gained was speedily destroyed by the ascetic 
 priest who frequently visited his charge, and 
 to whom Mrs. Gaveston confided half of the 
 income which she received, for masses for 
 PhiHp's soul. 
 
 It may be all wrong, a mistaken faith ; but 
 who shall dare to say that such fervour — such 
 terrible struggles — shall count for nought 
 with the Father of all mercies ? that the in-
 
 MRS. GREVILLE, 
 
 tense, earnest belief of the Roman Catholic 
 shall be cast aside in the great day of judg- 
 ment ? 
 
 Well for us that He judges not as man 
 judges, nor sees with human eyes. 
 
 The one bright thinof in that saddened 
 home was the child, Eveline. Exquisitely 
 lovely was the little girl, and every day she 
 increased in beauty and in the caressing fas- 
 cination of her sweet, childish ways, winning 
 her way to every heart. 
 
 Her loving, gentle temper was one of 
 those that no petting nor indulgence ever 
 spoils ; indeed the atmosphere of love that 
 surrounded her, only called into fuller 
 blossom every sweet quality of her grate- 
 ful, affectionate nature, and developed to an 
 almost dangerous degree her utter unsel- 
 fishness. 
 
 The mystery that to her childish eyes 
 surrounded her mother, gave a touch of awe 
 to the devotion — painful in its intensity — 
 that she felt for her. It was a love too holy 
 to be spoken of ; it was an adoration that was 
 shut up in the mysteries of her little heart, 
 but which sometimes showed itself in a pas-
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 33 
 
 sionate burst of tears as she clasped the 
 suffering mother in her tiny arms, straining 
 her to her bosom with all her childish strength. 
 No one but herself knew the agony that she 
 went through when sometimes her mother's 
 reserve made her imagine she was not be- 
 loved in return. 
 
 With Mrs. Dacres— " Aunt Mary/' as the 
 child called her — she was on equal terms, and 
 it was touching to see the aged lady with her 
 small companion tending the sick and the 
 poor, or keeping in order the graves of Aunt 
 Mary's little children — angels in Heaven — 
 who became Eveline's spirit companions. 
 
 It was a very quiet life, but to the child a 
 very happy one — the young need so little to 
 make life joyous to them : affection and ten- 
 derness are the sunshine of their little lives ; 
 and without a cloud on hers, Eveline grew 
 into as bright a,nd beautiful a blossom as ever 
 graced the earth. 
 
 VOL. r.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 " The hour arrived— years having roll'd away — 
 Upon his return the gods no more delay. 
 Lo ! Ithaca the Fates award : — and then 
 New trials meet the wanderer." 
 
 The Odyssey. 
 
 What is life but an ocean ? and wliat are we 
 but the ships that sail safely upon its bosom ? 
 or the derelicts that are tossed to and fro — 
 mere toys on the waves of passion — -now 
 stranded on a desolate shore, to wither and 
 decay, now cast into a friendly harbour, where 
 kindly hands once more put together the 
 weather-beaten hull, and where, fresh rigged, 
 it is made once more fit for service ? 
 
 Disappointed — disgusted — Colonel Greville 
 had quitted the land of his birth, seeking in 
 strange, wild scenes, in barbarous hordes, 
 oblivion of woman's treachery. The untruth
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 35 
 
 of one had made him mistrustful of the whole 
 sex, and often unjust, he was always hard — 
 had taught himself to believe that frivolity 
 and vanity were the guiding principles of 
 woman's heart, and that truth and innocence 
 had no part therein. 
 
 He had at first betaken himself to the 
 wildest regions of the world in search of ex- 
 citement, but after a time he found his way 
 back to the civilized cities of Europe, though 
 to England he did not return for many years ; 
 and when he did, it was matters of business 
 that recalled him, not any love of country, 
 or friends, or home, or that yearning for old 
 scenes, old associations, which brings back so 
 many wanderers. He said, and believed, that 
 he hated England and everything connected 
 with it ; but being there, he felt that he ought 
 to run down to Wales and see how Mrs. 
 Gaveston and her child were getting on. 
 True, he occasionally wrote to his sister, and 
 had given his lawyer directions respecting 
 pecuniary matters as regarded Mrs. Gaveston, 
 but beyond this he had taken no further 
 trouble about the sacred charge that had been 
 confided to him : and it was with some slio'ht 
 
 3—2
 
 36 MRS. GEEVILLE. 
 
 feeling of compunction tliat he travelled west, 
 and found himself at Llanfenydd. 
 
 His ward was about fifteen then, and she 
 looked forward to his arrival as only the 
 young can look forward to unknown events. 
 It was the first one in her life, that of welcom- 
 ing Aunt Mary's " young brother," her own 
 stranger guardian, but whose letters were like 
 revelations from another world to her. She 
 had formed her own idea of his appearance, 
 and as the day, the hour, of his arrival drew 
 near, she was in a state of pleasurable excite- 
 ment w^hich was shared by the two ladies. 
 
 Surely the coach was very late — perhaps he 
 would miss his way — should she run down to 
 the village to meet him ? By all means, said 
 Aunt Mary, it would be a kindly attention. 
 Thus authorised, she started like a young 
 fawn across the garden and paddock, taking a 
 short cut to the village, through which, inno- 
 cent of a railroad, the coach passed three 
 times a week. 
 
 She reached the inn, found that the stranger 
 had been put down, and that the coach had 
 already gone on. She looked inquisitively at 
 a portmanteau that stood in the porch, and
 
 MBS. GREVILLE. 
 
 seemof that Colonel Greville's name was 
 clearly written on it, was satisfied that it was 
 all right, and after many injunctions to the 
 landlady about the room, she sped lightly 
 home, bounding in by the open window as 
 Colonel Greville entered, more decorously, by 
 the door. 
 
 ''He has come. Aunt Mary, I have seen his 
 luggage. I have missed him, but he is sure 
 to be here directly, for he told them that he 
 knew his way." 
 
 She spoke eagerly, not perceiving that he 
 was standing in the doorway, gazing at the 
 beautiful child who so warmly heralded his 
 coming. He uttered his sister's name. Mrs. 
 Dacres started up, hesitated a moment, and 
 then — to Eveline's unbounded astonishment — 
 she clasped the rugged stranger in her arms. 
 
 " Is this the young brother ?" she asked 
 herself, in amazement. " Why, he is an old 
 man." 
 
 Fifteen thinks forty very old ; but when 
 fifteen approaches that venerable age, it makes 
 a good many allowances ; at the present mo- 
 ment, however, the girl regarded him as a 
 sort of Methuselah.
 
 38 MRS. GEEYILLE, 
 
 " I need not ask if this is my fair ward, 
 who, wlien I last saw her, was no higher than 
 the table ;' and Colonel Greville, taking the 
 blushing girl by both her hands, looked 
 earnestly at her and kissed her on the fore- 
 head. " Your father was my oldest and 
 dearest friend — you are very like him." 
 
 '' Am I ?" said Eveline, looking up pleased. 
 '* I am very glad." 
 
 Greville laughed sarcastically. *' Woman's 
 vanity," thought he, " even in this child. 
 Inherent in the sex." Then aloud: "You 
 may well be pleased to resemble him, he was 
 the handsomest young fellow I ever saw." 
 
 " It was not for that," said she, reproach- 
 fully. "You knoiu it was not ! I am glad, 
 because my mother has no picture of my 
 father," and the dark blue eyes, moist with 
 upbraiding tears, gazed fearlessly into his. 
 
 The look brought back to him soine boyish 
 dispute with Philip Gaveston, who had 
 looked at him with just such eyes — wet — 
 reproachful — challenging an unjust accusa- 
 tion. He was touched, and he now said to 
 the daughter, what he had said to her father
 
 MRS. GBEVILLE. 39 
 
 five-and-twenty years before, " Forgive me," 
 and held out his hand. 
 
 They were friends again in a moment, and 
 the afternoon and evening went all too fast 
 for her. It was a rare pleasure in her young 
 life to meet with one who had seen and tra- 
 velled so much, and who had met with such 
 wonderful adventures — they made a short cut 
 to intimacy. 
 
 "It is delightful to walk with you," said 
 she, with naive enthusiasm, as on the follow- 
 ing morning, after breakfast, they started off 
 on a long expedition, she assuring him that 
 nothing ever tired her. " I have never walked 
 with any one — not a real walk, you know — 
 except Nero — down ! old fellow !" she cried, 
 as the Newfoundland, hearinor his name, 
 jumped upon her. " I am very fond of him ; 
 but for all he looks so wise, I am afraid that 
 he don't understand a great deal that I say 
 to him — do you, old boy T 
 
 " And what are these mystic conversations 
 that you hold with him ?" 
 
 "I don't quite know, myself; but I have 
 great ideas," said she, solemnly. 
 
 Colonel GreviUe burst out laughing.
 
 40 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 *' You laugh because you can enjoy what / 
 think about T said Eveline. 
 
 " Not knowing what it is that you think 
 about, I cannot answer that." 
 
 " I think of vast worlds," — and the child 
 stopped in their walk, and gazed around with 
 a look as though she saw far beyond the 
 horizon — ** and I people them with grand, 
 noble beings, who live to perform great 
 actions and do away with all the misery in 
 the world. For I suppose there is some 
 misery ? " 
 
 "I am afraid that there is a good deal/* 
 • " Is there, really ? I am very sorry to hear 
 that.'* And the child was silent for a while, 
 then she began again : ''Don't you love the 
 old Crusaders ? don't you wish that you had 
 lived in those grand days ? I do. Though I 
 should like to have been a Cavalier, and 
 helped to put my king on his throne. I often 
 think of those days and the noble deeds done 
 then." 
 
 " What a Jacobite I have found here ! " 
 laughed her guardian. " What will you say, 
 I wonder, when I tell you that I admire 
 Cromwell a great deal more than Charles ? "
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 41 
 
 She looked at him in blank astonishment. 
 
 " I won't believe it," said she, stoutly. 
 
 Presently their conversation turned on 
 poetry ; and she spoke enthusiastically of 
 '* Excelsior." Colonel Greville was very 
 prosaic, and, partly to tease her, said — 
 
 " You mean the story of the young man 
 who goes up a mountain for no particular 
 purpose, except that a star may fall ; which 
 would probably crush the world." 
 
 " ' A voice like a falling star,' " said Eve- 
 line, musingly. '*Can you not imagine it? A 
 silver bell, so ethereal, that in its descent 
 it echoes through all the world, bidding us 
 up — calling us on to glorious regions. I often 
 sing that, and try to get a note like my idea. 
 Listen." And her sweet young voice rose high 
 in the air, with so much power and in such 
 perfect intonation, that Colonel Greville was 
 startled. 
 
 " Who taught you to sing, child T said he. 
 
 " No one," she answered, simply ; " I sing 
 to the clouds — I sing to the mountains — I 
 sing to the river. Sometimes I get a large 
 leaf and put a twig through it (that I may 
 know it again), and I float it on the river and
 
 42 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 watch tlie current carry it down. And if it gets 
 stranded, I sing a dirge ; but sometimes it goes 
 sailing on till, I dare say, it reaches the ocean ; 
 and then I think of all it sees and hears, 
 above and below — the coral caves and sea- 
 nymphs. If you promise not to laugh, I will 
 show you a story I have written about my 
 leaf on the river, and the illustrations I have 
 made for it." 
 
 *' And do you pass all your days in this 
 dreamy way?" asked Colonel Greville, touched 
 at the solitary life the child was leading. 
 
 " Not all my days — only part of my days. 
 I could not trouble my mother nor Aunt Mary 
 with my rubbish." 
 
 *'But you may your guardian," laughed he, 
 but pleased at the confidence reposed in him. 
 
 "I beg your pardon. I am so sorry. I fear I 
 have been teasing you," said she, penitently. 
 
 Colonel Greville assured her to the con- 
 trary, but she felt that politeness alone had 
 induced him to listen to her, so she strove to 
 be sensible and more agreeable. And signally 
 failed. 
 
 Her guardian began to blame himself for 
 having left this sweet flower to blossom
 
 MRS. G REV ILLS. 43 
 
 without any coinpanionship but that of an 
 elderly lady and a sick mother, and felt that 
 he had hardly done his duty by her, and won- 
 dered whether it would not be a good plan to 
 send her to school, where she would have 
 young companions. He asked her. 
 
 '' School V cried she, amazed. " Why 
 should you send me to school ?" 
 
 He told her his reasons, but she shook her 
 head. 
 
 " What friends can I want but la mia 
 madre and Aunt Mary ? And now I have got 
 you. I want nobody else ; and as for com- 
 panions, are there not the flowers — the trees 
 — the river — the stars (though you don't be- 
 lieve in mi/ stars)," she said, archly, "and the 
 sun 'sailino^ on to his home in the far, far 
 west,' — are they not companions ? I talk to 
 them, and they talk to me." 
 
 " Have you no friends, child — human 
 friends, I mean — in the neighbourhood ?" 
 asked her guardian, to whom she was a per- 
 fect puzzle — so bright, so happy, yet so 
 dreamy and solitary. 
 
 " Well, everybody is our friend ; they all 
 love us. Aunt Maiy is so good to them."
 
 44 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 Colonel Greville explained his meaning more 
 clearly to this child of nature, who studied a 
 moment, and then answered — 
 
 " I suppovse that Mrs. Jones, the clergy- 
 man's wife, is a lady ; she is very kind to me 
 — she teaches me to make jams. 
 
 " Jams ?" re23eated he, inquiringly. 
 
 Eveline nodded her head. " She says that 
 I ought to understand preserving, but I am 
 afraid I don't care much about it,'' and she 
 looked up with a pretty, deprecating look. 
 
 He fairly laughed. 
 
 " Then you don't think it so important for 
 a woman ?" she asked, encouraged by his 
 laugh. 
 
 " I should think it important for my house- 
 keeper," he rejoined, " but I think we may 
 leave it out of your education." 
 
 " I am so glad," replied his ward, with a 
 sigh of relief, "for I do think that I have a 
 soul above jams." 
 
 '^ Well, I do not exactly care about your 
 being a cook," said her guardian, much 
 amused. 
 
 " T am glad to hear it," said she, seri- 
 ously ; " those jams have been greatly on mj
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 4b 
 
 mind. It's a sticky business — and then stand- 
 ing over a kitchen fire on a lovely summer's 
 day — when everything is calling one out — {5 
 a trial. Jams are made in summer, you 
 know," she added, shaking her little head 
 very wisely. '*Mr. and Mrs. Lloydd call 
 sometimes — they are neighbours — and I 
 gather flowers for her ; and she says, ' Thank 
 you, my pretty dear ; you do grow, indeed ! 
 you are quite overtopping Aunt Mary.' Then 
 he — meaning a great joke — says, ' Very im- 
 proper behaviour, young lady ; yes, indeed/ 
 and he shakes his fist at me, and then they 
 get into their carriage and drive away. / 
 laugh, but Aunt Mary won't ; she laughs in 
 her heart, I know, for I see her biting her 
 lips not to smile." 
 
 Colonel Greville laughed, and asked if any- 
 one fished the river in these parts. 
 
 " Only Mr. Owen's deaf and dumb boy ; 
 he caught those sewin you had for breakfast. 
 The river belongs to Mr. Owen ; he lives up 
 the hill yonder, on the other side. His poor 
 son's only pleasure is fishing. I dare say we 
 shall meet him as we come back by the river,
 
 46 MRS, GREVILLE. 
 
 and then you can ask him for leave to fish — 
 you fish, I suppose ?" 
 
 Yes, Colonel Greville did fish. 
 
 " I suppose you do everything," said she, 
 with innocent admiration. " Were you ever 
 afraid when you were alone in the desert, and 
 lions attacked you V 
 
 " Not very often," and the black moustache 
 twitched. 
 
 " We used to be afraid for you, I can tell 
 you, especially when you did not write for a 
 year or more. Did you never long to come 
 
 back r 
 
 " Well, no, I don't think I did," said he, 
 amused at her frank questioning, 
 
 " I am sure / could not go away for all 
 these years. It must be dreadfiilJ' 
 
 " I did not find it so. I went abroad to — 
 forget." 
 
 " To forget ?" she cried, in amazement. 
 *'Can any one loish to forget? I hope 1 
 never may forget a single event in my life." 
 
 Colonel Greville looked curiously at this 
 bright creature, and involuntarily sighed. 
 
 The two days that he had promised to 
 spend with his sister, drew out to a fortnight,
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 47 
 
 and with this child for his companion, the time 
 passed more quickly than he — the cynic, the 
 hard, unbelieving man of the world — would 
 have quite cared to own. The pure, un- 
 sullied page of nature's sweetest book — a 
 guileless young girl — was open before him, 
 and he looked thereon and was fascinated. 
 Then laughing at his own childishness, he 
 took his leave and went abroad ao^ain for two 
 years. 
 
 Why should any one be ashamed of own- 
 ino^ to himself that he can resiofn himself, if 
 only for an hour, to the sweet feeling of inno- 
 cence and childhood ? What is philosophy in 
 comparison to innocent happiness ? The only 
 grief is, that the latter passes from us all too 
 soon. 
 
 Since his betrayal, Colonel Greville had 
 sedulously closed his heart against anything 
 like affection. To harden his feelinofs, to dis- 
 believe in all women, to make a world to him- 
 self, had been the principal clauses in the 
 ethical religion that he laid down for his 
 guidance ; and finding an increasing tender- 
 ness of feeling towards the child of his old
 
 48 MUS. GREVILLE, 
 
 friend coming over him and breaking the 
 covering of ice in which he imagined himself 
 encased, he went away before he was de- 
 moralized !
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 " She was just the kind of person that takes the judgment 
 by storm : whether grave or gay, there was so charming and 
 irresistible a grace about her. She seemed born not only to 
 captivate the giddy, but to turn the heads of the sage." 
 
 BuLWER Lytton. 
 
 Beauty 1 — sung from the days of Helen till 
 now, and will be till time is time no more — 
 how great and blessed a gift art thou ! Soft- 
 ening the heart of one, cheering another, and 
 stealing into all ! Truly thou art a divine 
 attribute, but how hard to paint ! 
 
 " WTio hath not proved how feebly words essay 
 To fix one spark of beauty's heavenly ray T 
 
 for there is a beauty far beyond that of mere 
 form — a beauty which is the child of the 
 heart — which emanates from the soul, and 
 from a sweet loving nature ; and such was the 
 VOL. I. 4
 
 50 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 beauty of Eveline Gaveston when Colonel 
 Greville, at the expiration of two years, found 
 himself once more in the presence of his ward. 
 She had passed the mystic boundary — the 
 child had developed into the woman — and the 
 most lovely one that had ever dawned upon 
 his satiated eyes. 
 
 It was not only the glorious symmetry of 
 her perfect womanhood, nor the exquisite 
 features, nor the faultless complexion, nor the 
 golden hair — all were beautiful, but it was 
 
 " The light of love, the purity of grace, 
 The mind, the music breathing from the face, 
 The heart whose softness harmonised the whole," 
 
 which broke upon him as the fairest vision he 
 had ever seen. None could look on that face 
 and not feel that he was gazing into a mirror 
 of truth and purity. 
 
 Colonel Greville was startled, charmed, be- 
 witched. The half shyness of dawning wo- 
 manhood mingled with the lingering freedom 
 of the child, as she came forward with a soft, 
 winning way, peculiarly her own, to welcome 
 back the traveller. 
 
 Beautiful she was, and no man is insensible 
 to beauty ; but it was not that alone which
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 61 
 
 gave her so gi'eat a charm in his eyes. It was 
 the unsuspecting truth which knew no evil ; 
 it was the child-Hke trust and guilelessness 
 which showed in ev^ery thought, word, and 
 deed, that came as a new revelation to him, 
 and which brought back, as day by day he 
 watched her, his better and softer feelings, 
 his belief in woman's truth and goodness, and 
 all the natural chivalry of his nature. The 
 hard, proud man, who imagined that he had a 
 mind above such frivolity as love — who be- 
 lieved that he despised women and the world 
 — was fast succumbing to the true, untainted 
 nature of a girl of seventeen ! 
 
 Is it the narrowness of our mortality which 
 puts it in the power of one being to so shake 
 our faith in human nature that we grow to 
 distrust a whole sex ? which makes us be- 
 lieve that if the one who was to us the embodi- 
 ment of all truth and goodness can be false, 
 that all must be false ? which makes us take 
 that one as the type of half the humaa race ? 
 It is a small, illiberal view, and yet one which 
 even the most generous and the most trustful 
 have accepted in its greatest keenness. 
 
 But the divine spark, though it may lie 
 
 4—2 
 LIBRARY
 
 52 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 dormant for years, is rarely wholly extin- 
 guished : and time — blessed healer ! — will dull 
 the pain, and perchance bring before us an- 
 other being who shall restore to us our holy 
 faith in good. 
 
 Verily is our judgment more swayed by 
 our feelings than many of us — men especially 
 — are willing to own ! 
 
 If Eveline Gaveston had a fault, it was 
 not one which a man was likely to quarrel 
 with ; and it was one which only a moflier — 
 more loving and thoughtful for her child than 
 for herself — could restrain without throwing 
 the tender, loving heart back upon itself 
 She was generous and self-sacrificing to a 
 fault, and her unselfishness made her yielding 
 almost to weakness. 
 
 Guarded, sheltered by love and pure sur- 
 * roundings from every evil, no harm could arise 
 from so sweet and amiable a quality, and 
 emanating as it did from one who had been 
 indulged and petted from her birth, it pos- 
 sessed a double charm. But how might it be 
 in after years, when sterner stuff is needed to 
 meet the battle of life ? 
 
 But this was not a thought that occurred
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 53 
 
 to Colonel Greville, who, delighted with her 
 earnest, cultivated, and refined mind, took a 
 keen pleasure in directing her intellect through 
 the flowery paths of learning, or — no mean 
 artist himself — in guiding the genius that his 
 young ward displayed for drawing. 
 
 They were happy days then, when mounted 
 on the Arab that he had brought for her, he 
 first taught her to ride, or rambled with her 
 by the river-side, or rowed her along its cur- 
 rfent,^r exchanging thoughts and ideas, or 
 recounting to her such incidents of his travels 
 as would interest her. 
 
 The days flowed on like a summer stream : 
 laughing, whispering, babbling in the sun- 
 shine without one thouo-ht of the ocean to 
 which it was speeding. 
 
 How his old comrades would have laughed 
 to have seen the man who never yet found 
 any excitement sufficient for him, contentedly 
 passing his time in amusing — or as he called 
 it, forming the mind of his young ward — and 
 spending his evenings at the fireside of his 
 aged sister, waiting on an invalid ! But 
 what of the young voice, that though un- 
 taught, sang with such heavenly sweetness ?
 
 54 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 that, equally melodious in talking, would 
 eagerly enter into discussions with him, con- 
 tradicting with the instinct of truth — not by 
 the force of knowledge^s:-his most morbid but 
 cherished convictions ? 
 
 Herein the charm — the dangerous charm — 
 for a guardian still in the prime of life when 
 his ward is young and beautiful. 
 
 Dangerous to him, but how to her, to whom 
 he was an elderly man — a second father — a 
 kind guardian — to be scolded if necessary, but 
 always to be revered ? 
 
 The danger was not to her ; but in the 
 very familiarity of her ways with him, there 
 was peril to him, and very rapidly was she 
 becoming dearer than life to the once hardened 
 traveller, whose crust of ice she had com- 
 pletely thawed. But so calmly and peacefully 
 did the days pass by, that love stole upon 
 him unawares, like a midsummers dream. 
 He gave it no name — the affection which he 
 felt for the child of his dead friend : he was 
 very happy and asked himself no questions, 
 till in one moment — in a flash of lightning — 
 the truth was revealed to him. He loved
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 55 
 
 once more, with a deep, passionate love, 
 greater than he had ever felt for Caroline 
 Buller. 
 
 And Eveline, did she love him ?
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 " Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart 
 An instant sunshine thro' the heart ; 
 As if the soul that minute caught 
 Some treasure it thro' life had sought ; 
 As if the very lips and eyes 
 Predestined to have all our sighs, 
 And never be forgot again, 
 Sparkled and spoke before us then." 
 
 Lalla Rookh. 
 
 Colonel Greville had left Llanfenydd for a 
 few days, and in his absence his pupil was 
 preparing a chef-d'ceuvre in water-colours 
 wherewith to astonish him on his return. 
 
 The spot she had selected for her subject 
 was on the banks of her loved river, not in its 
 calmly flowing beauty, but where a mountain 
 torrent, streaming away from its birth-place 
 and gathering strength from every spring in 
 its headlong course, hurried down the wooded
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 hill-side and foamed over dark rich- coloured 
 rocks into a deep, quiet pool — too deep to be 
 troubled by its noisy chattering — in which 
 were mirrored the overhanging trees, the deep 
 blue sky, and the crimson clouds of sunset. 
 Peacefully flowed the river through the deep 
 pool, while on the rocks, that kept in the dark 
 waters, grew rich-tinted mosses and graceful 
 ferns. 
 
 It was as lovely a spot as ever charrned an 
 artist s eye ; and thither had Eveline repaired 
 to finish her sketch. She was deeply absorbed 
 in her occupation when the light, sunset 
 breeze of autumn carried off her straw hat 
 and deposited it in the river. 
 
 Laughing at the mischance, she was about 
 to send her Newfoundland after it, when she 
 saw it dexterously caught with a rod and 
 line, and turning to thank, as she supposed, 
 her deaf and dumb friend, young Owen, she 
 encountered the gaze of a stranger, and a very 
 admiring gaze too, as he stood there — dripping 
 hat in hand. 
 
 He was a man whose like she had never 
 seen. Young, graceful, slight — but with a 
 well-knit figure — plainly but faultlessly
 
 58 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 dressed, and with a nameless air of ease and 
 refinement which may nearly always be traced 
 to early and habitual association with high- 
 bred women. 
 
 She started, blushed, and said something 
 about thinking that it was Mr. Owen who had 
 rescued her hat. 
 
 " Mr. Owen is more fortunate than myself 
 in having the pleasure of knowing you," said 
 the other, wdth easy grace ; "I am only his 
 guest since to-day." 
 
 **Have you then come to fish our river?" 
 asked Eveline, with the curiosity of youth. 
 
 " Our river ?" repeated the stranger ; " are 
 you then Mr. Owen's — ," and there he stopped 
 — that lovely girl, daughter to his burly 
 host ? Impossible. 
 
 " ' Daughter,' you would say," replied 
 Eveline, the pride of race showing in the 
 sudden curve of the short upper Up, and in 
 the unconscious uprearing of the little stag- 
 like head ; *' no, I have not that honour." 
 
 " Pardon me ; one could not suppose it. I 
 was about to ask if you were part owner of 
 the river," said he, audaciously. 
 
 The sense of the ridiculous so struck Eveline,
 
 3IBS. GREVILLE. 59 
 
 that she broke into a merry, silvery laugh, so 
 infectious that the stranger joined in it. 
 
 " No, I am neither Mr. Owen's daughter, 
 nor owner of the river ; but I live here all the 
 same,'' she said, looking round with pardon- 
 able pride in her proprietorship of the lovely 
 scenery. 
 
 '' Is it possible T 
 
 " Quite possible — why not ?" asked Eveline, 
 with the frank astonishment of a child in the 
 large, blue eyes w^hich she turned upon him. 
 
 *' I should hardly have thought that one 
 
 so ;" the ingenuous look on the childlike 
 
 face stopped the careless gallantries that were 
 on his lips. 
 
 After a moment's pause, 
 
 " You have chosen a lovely spot for your 
 sketch," he said. " How well the light breaks 
 in upon those distant hills, touching the river 
 that winds like a silver thread round those 
 dark rocks ! It is like a vision of happiness, 
 seen in the distance — never to be reached — 
 and as fleeting; for see ! the light has already 
 vanished." 
 
 His melancholy philosophy w^as as Greek to 
 Eveline, who saw sunshine everywhere ; but
 
 60 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 it sounded very poetical and romantic, espe- 
 cially as the voice that uttered it was remark- 
 ably melodious ; and she looked with greater 
 interest at one who seemed so bright and care- 
 less, yet who must, she imagined, have known 
 much sorrow, to talk of happiness being 
 evanescent. He was gazing into the far 
 distance so lost in thouofht, that he was unob- 
 servant, apparently, of her scrutiny, which 
 partook as much of the curiosity of a child, as 
 of the deeper feeling of a woman for one who 
 has awakened her interest. 
 
 He was, what seemed to her, past youth — 
 that is, he might be seven- and-twenty — had 
 curling, brown hair, well-grown auburn mous- 
 taches and whiskers, a shapely chin with a 
 dimple in it, but with no particular claim to 
 beauty ; but before she could decide on the 
 expression of a face that puzzled her, he 
 turned it towards her — a lurking smile be- 
 neath his moustache — and met a pair of dark 
 blue eyes, fixed intently on him — eyes which 
 instantly dropped beneath their long, curved, 
 black lashes, with a painful feeling of shy- 
 ness. 
 
 What he might have said — for he was not
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 61 
 
 troubled with diffidence — remains unknown, 
 for the harsh guttural voice of the deaf and 
 dumb boy broke the tete-d-tete, and not caring 
 for the invidious position in which the boy's 
 appearance placed him, the fisherman gathered 
 up his rod, raised his hat, and went on his 
 way. 
 
 Eveline, regardless of the wrathful excla- 
 mations of the dumb boy, who was dancing 
 about her in a frenzy of jealousy, to which he 
 could give no articulate utterance, gazed on 
 the gray tweed figure that went down the 
 river side with an easy, swinging grace. 
 
 " Who is that fellow you were talking to V 
 he snapped off his fingers. 
 
 " How dare you be so rude ? You forget to 
 whom you are speaking," was the young lady's 
 response, as she packed up her drawing things 
 — painting was at an end for that day. 
 
 " Oh, Eveline, don't say that ! Anything 
 but that !" and the boy fell on his knees be- 
 fore his idol. 
 
 The idol relented, and condescended to 
 inform him of the circumstance. 
 
 " But don't you know liim ? He is staying 
 at your house."
 
 62 MRS, GREVILLE. 
 
 Owen did not know him, he had been from 
 home, and was only just returning. Aunt 
 Mary was getting old, and her sight growing 
 dim, or she would probably have noticed the 
 blush that tinged Eveline's cheek as she re- 
 counted what was to her an adventure, with a 
 friend of Mr. Owen's. 
 
 Evidently no friend of Mr. Owen's could be 
 worth talking of, for Aunt Mary only said, 
 " Did you, my dear T and with a slight shiver 
 and a glance at the open window, observed 
 that the evening was very chilly. 
 
 " Dear aunty, why did you not have the 
 fire lighted ?" exclaimed Eveline, in a second 
 shutting the window and putting a match to 
 the fire. 
 
 *' It was quite an adventure. Aunt Mary," 
 presently said the girl, resting her round arm 
 on the old lady's knees, and watching the 
 blazing wood. " My hat blew off, and be 
 caught it so neatly." 
 
 " I hope he did not bite it, my dear ; he 
 quite spoilt your last one," said Aunt Mary, 
 thinking of Nero's last exploit. 
 
 Eveline's laugh still rang in the room when 
 her mother, assisted by her maid, came in.
 
 3IES. GREVILLE. 63 
 
 In an instant her strong young arm was round 
 the invalid, helping her to her couch by the 
 fireside. 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston shivered, and seeinof her 
 child still with her walking things on, won- 
 dered how she could stay out so late on these 
 cold evenings. 
 
 Eveline did not say that the evening was 
 lovely or that the soft, autumn breeze was 
 warm and delicious to her young blood, but 
 tenderly wrapping a warm Indian shawl round 
 the invalid, she nestled down at her side, 
 silent and caressinof. 
 
 Who has not felt that there are times when 
 not only are words not wanting, but are im- 
 possible ? 
 
 Doubtless very different thoughts were 
 flowing through the hearts of mother and 
 child; but as Mrs. Gaveston stroked the 
 golden head that rested against her, neither 
 needed words to tell the other of the deep 
 love that existed between them. 
 
 The reserve that had pained Eveline as a 
 child, had greatly passed away as she neared 
 womanhood — the weaker nature, ihe feebler 
 frame, now leant on the stronger — and the
 
 64 MR^. GREVILLE. 
 
 bond between them was very precious, very 
 tender. 
 
 On the following day, Eveline, with a 
 strange feeling of coyness, lingered about 
 going down to the river side. 
 
 Mrs. Dacres reminded her that the after- 
 noon was passing away, and that the drawing 
 would not be finished by the morrow. 
 
 " You had better take the pony-carriage, or 
 you will be so late. It is a very pretty 
 picture," she said, taking up the block. 
 
 '^ Come with me, aunty,^' coaxed Eveline ; 
 '' come and see it." 
 
 " Not to-day, my dear, I really must be 
 busy now. Some other day you shall drive 
 me there." 
 
 Was Eveline pleased, or not, that she 
 was thus compelled to run the chance of 
 meeting the stranger again alone ? She 
 could not tell, but her heart beat faster 
 than usual as she pulled up at the sketch- 
 ing place. 
 
 Up and down the river did she look, but 
 not a soul was in sight ; so reassured, she 
 dismissed the pony-carriage, took up her 
 position^ — ^her dog by her side — and was soon
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 65 
 
 too absorbed by her occupation to think of 
 anything else. 
 
 An hour had passed on, her sketch was 
 finished, and she was holding it at arm's 
 length, criticising it, siDging to herself the 
 while. 
 
 " Move eastward, happy earth, and leave 
 Yon orange sunset waning slow : 
 From fringes of the faded eve, 
 Oh, happy planet, eastward go, 
 Till over thy dark shoulder glow 
 My silver sister-world, and rise 
 To glass herself in dewy eyes, 
 That watch me from the glen below.'^ 
 
 Nero's tail was flapping a lazy welcome, but 
 not till a shadow fell across her drawing, did 
 she know that she was not alone. This time 
 she did not suppose that it was the dumb 
 boy, but looked up, blushing " celestial rosy- 
 red." 
 
 " Happy earth, to be apostrophised by so 
 sweet a voice," said the fisherman, lifting his 
 hat. " I thought that perhaps this splendid 
 sunset might tempt you here again — the 
 weather looks likely to change." 
 
 " Hardly," said Eveline, perturbed, but 
 relieved as the subject of his conversation 
 
 VOL. I. 5
 
 66 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 changed to so prosaic a vein, and glancing up 
 at the sky. " The clouds are gathering 
 heavily, but I think it is only the heat. We 
 seldom have storms from the north." 
 
 *' How well you draw," said the fisherman, 
 taking up the block that she had placed on 
 the bank ; " and how well you sing. I suppose 
 you have masters in London ?" 
 
 " No, I have never been to London. I 
 have lived here all my life, but I have a very 
 good master, nevertheless. I am afraid I am 
 not a very creditable pupil," she continued, 
 bending a keen gaze on the distant landscape, 
 "for I cannot get those glorious gleams of 
 light, those delicate yet vivid tints which 
 linger everywhere in nature." 
 
 " Do you think art can ever equal na- 
 ture ?" said the gray man, admiring the per- 
 fect ease and unstudied grace of the girl's 
 attitude. 
 
 " I have never seen any pictures," she re- 
 plied, all unconscious of the tone of admiration 
 in which he spoke, a tone which a more 
 polished young lady would at once have de- 
 tected, "but I thought that the old masters 
 — and indeed some modern ones — had at-
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 67 
 
 tained perfection," and she looked up inquir- 
 ingly. 
 
 " The perfection of art, perhaps ; not the 
 perfection of nature." 
 
 ** N — no," she repUed, considering. " I 
 can understand that ; for a painting can only 
 represent a given moment, whereas in nature 
 nothing is still. And there is the great 
 charm — that incessant change ! Look at that 
 mist curling up the hill-side, gaining beauty 
 every moment as it rises into the golden light 
 of the hill- tops, and see what a lovely picture 
 it leaves to view !" 
 
 ''Is it possible that at your age you already 
 feel satiety and love of change V asked the 
 stranger, with an amused smile. 
 
 " Satiety V repeated Eveline. " I don't 
 quite understand what the word means ; at 
 any rate, I cannot reahse it ; but I do love to 
 watch the changes in nature. Look at those 
 trees," and she bent her head towards a small, 
 but beautiful wood, where oak, birch, maple, 
 in theirbrilliant autumn livery, contrasted with 
 the dark green firs in colour and in senti- 
 ment, — " look at them, just tinted with the 
 hues of their coming death — can anything
 
 68 MRS. GREVILLB. 
 
 equal the splendour of that red and golden 
 sheen ? Yet a month ago the wealth of 
 summer foliage was, m its way, as beautiful — 
 and will be, later on, when every tender spray 
 is laden with hoar-frost-^silver trees, glitter- 
 ing with diamonds as the sun shines forth. 
 Not all the jewelled trees of the Eastern 
 story-teller could equal one of those." 
 
 " You have a poetical imagination." 
 
 Eveline, who had spoken out of the fulness 
 of her love for nature, coloured, and was half 
 ashamed of an enthusiasm which came of her 
 southern blood. 
 
 " And do you like change in all things V 
 pursued the fisherman, charmed with the 
 young girl who was so unconscious of an 
 admiration which many women sighed for in 
 v^ain, for Henry Yandeleur's verdict went a 
 long way in London drawing-rooms. It was 
 something new to find that his admiration 
 was neither sought nor felt, and the novelty 
 piqued him. 
 
 " Oh, no !" replied Eveline warmly, and think- 
 ing of her mother. " There are some things 
 that I would not only stop, but put back in 
 the wheel of time."
 
 MRS. GBEVILLE. 69 
 
 Such as- 
 
 " My mother is very ill." 
 
 She strove to steady her voice, but the 
 giving utterance to the sorrow that filled her 
 heart broke down her self-control, and she 
 burst into a flood of tears. 
 
 Inexpressibly shocked and concerned. Van - 
 deleur longed to speak some soothing words 
 to stop the tears that he had so unintention- 
 ally evoked ; but the grief was so genuine 
 that he was somewhat taken aback, and he 
 was much minded to draw her golden head on 
 his breast and whisper words of consolation — 
 words that would recall the brilliant smile 
 that but a moment ago had lighted up her face 
 like a sunbeam. Would she be angry if he 
 did ? Pshaw ! a mere child, if not in years, 
 certainly in knowledge of the world. 
 
 He was close to her — her head perilously 
 near, when Eveline, all unconscious of the 
 impending danger, looked up — her eyes still 
 swimming in tears — ^and murmured some un- 
 intelligible words- 
 
 Vandeleur, nearly taken iii flagrante delicto, 
 started back. 
 
 " Forgive me, Miss Gaveston," said he ;
 
 70 MRS. GBEVILLE. 
 
 " forgive the unpardonable gcmcJierie which 
 could cause you even a moment's pain." 
 
 Eveline looked up, her dark eyelashes still 
 laden with tears, a sight which nea,rly dis- 
 tracted him — such eyes ! *^ Sapphires set in 
 diamonds — pshaw ! violets dipped in dew — 
 worse and worse ; fathomless depths of hea- 
 ven — that is nearer the mark," thought he, 
 as she looked up innocently and asked how 
 he knew her name. 
 
 He drew closer to her — all the closer that 
 she turned so shyly from him. 
 
 "" Of course I know your name," he spoke, 
 in a low, caressing tone, which vibrated 
 strangely on her heart. " Did you think that 
 I should forget our meeting yesterday ? Did 
 you believe that I could see you, and not ask 
 who you were ? Are you vexed with me for 
 coming here to-day in the sweet hope of seeing 
 yoii again ?" 
 
 Lower and softer sank the voice, and the 
 river went murmuring on, laughing, rippling 
 as before, and lower drooped the blushing face 
 beneath the ardent gaze. 
 
 Oh ! Yandeleur, was this right ? Was this 
 well ? Such tones, such words, would be but
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 71 
 
 sparks from flint and steel, uttered to the 
 pretty triflers that you have hitherto toyed 
 with — but to this child of nature, to whom 
 words not faithful to themselves are things 
 unknown ? 
 
 I can fancy some of my fair readers scoffingly 
 say that such want of pride deserved a punish- 
 ment — that to accept attentions from an un- 
 known man, proves an utter want of delicacy. 
 
 Possibly — where a girl has been brought 
 up in the world with young companions, and 
 has the run of a circulating library. But 
 Eveline had lived her seventeen years almost 
 alone -^ — had never read a novel, and was 
 ignorant and confiding as a child of seven. 
 Why or wherefore the tones thrilled through 
 her heart she could not say ; but that they 
 did, the blushinor cheek and downcast face 
 plainly told. How was she to know that it was 
 but summer pastime to him ? — that he was 
 amusing himself, as the butterfly hovers over 
 the rose to flit away to the tulip ? 
 
 Some feeling of compunction came over 
 Yandeleur as he saw her trouble, and he be- 
 thought him that he was going rather far 
 with the pretty village maiden, who took his
 
 MRS. GBEYILLE. 
 
 badinage so seriously. He drew back, and 
 leaning aganst the bank, he called the dog to 
 him and lazily pulled his long ears. 
 
 The mesmeric influence that he had cast 
 over her hke a spell was broken, and, ashamed 
 at her momentary perturbation, Eveline was 
 herself again. 
 
 " I believe I know your people in York- 
 shire," said Yandeleur, " but I am very sure 
 that they do not know of your existence down 
 here. Have you ever been to Gaveston 
 Abbey r 
 
 " I have no people except mamma and 
 Aunt Mary, and she is not really my aunt," 
 replied Eveline. 
 
 " Surely, I am not mistaken in thinking 
 you are a granddaughter of the late Lord 
 Pierrepoint ?" 
 
 " No, you are right," she answered ; " but 
 he died a long time ago, and the present 
 people are no relations." 
 
 *' That means you will not own them," said 
 Vandeleur, laughing ; " they look on the late 
 earl as a cousin, I assure you." 
 
 '^ Do they ? But mamma is my only rela- 
 tion, and she is a Colonna." The words were
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 proud, but not the voice, which simply uttered 
 a truth. 
 
 " A great name ; but even a Colonna may 
 claim relationship with the Gavestons with- 
 out losing caste," replied Vandeleur, with a 
 smi]e. 
 
 " Of course !" retorted Eveline, drawing up 
 her little head. " Am I not half a Gaveston 
 myself? I meant that my mother, being 
 Italian, does not care to seek out English 
 connections of ever so many degrees off.'' 
 
 *' The loss is theirs, at all events, " he re- 
 plied, " but not an irretrievable one. I hope 
 I may have the pleasure of meeting you at 
 Gaveston some day." 
 
 " Nothing more unlikely," laughed Eve- 
 line, packing up her drawing materials, and 
 rising to return home. " Besides, nothing 
 would induce me to leave my dear mother — 
 Aunt Mary — my happy home. No ; I shall 
 never go to Gaveston." 
 
 ** Don t be too sure," replied Yandeleur. 
 " We never know what we may do in this 
 world. Let me carry your block — our roads 
 lie together. Your master will be pleased 
 with this, surely."
 
 74 MRS. GMEVILLE. 
 
 " He is always pleased, but never satisfied, 
 even with his own sketches — a thousand times 
 better than that." 
 
 " Is he, then, so stern a master T 
 
 " Stern ?" repeated Eveline, stopping short 
 in her amazement : " what could make you 
 suppose it? He is the kindest old man. He 
 is my guardian. So clever — so agreeable. I 
 wish he were here that you might judge for 
 yourself. I always fancy that he is what my 
 father would have been to me. You know 
 the Gavestons — I wonder if you ever saw my 
 father ?" 
 
 *' I only know this branch, and never was 
 at Gaveston till they came into possession," 
 answered the other. " And how old is this 
 venerable guardian who has the good fortune 
 to call Miss Gaveston his ward ?" 
 
 " Ah, do not say good fortune. Eemember, 
 I am only his ward because I have lost my 
 father." 
 
 " Forgive me," said Yandeleur, " I seem 
 fated to utter some hetise every time I speak 
 to you. How you will hate me." 
 
 " Hate you ? Why should I hate you ?" 
 said Eveline, looking up with a bright, frank
 
 MRS. GREYILLE, 75 
 
 face, but her eyes dropped before the look 
 which she encountered. 
 
 They had reached the bridge which led to 
 the cottage — just as well that they did so — 
 and they paused to say farewell. 
 
 " I shall mark this day with a golden 
 letter," said Yandeleur, with a lingering clasp 
 of her hand ; " it is one that / shall never 
 forget, while you will not even give a passing 
 thought to the wandering fisherman, unless, 
 indeed, one of annoyance to think that he 
 interrupted your drawing." 
 
 ** No, indeed," began Eveline, but stopping 
 abashed, and endeavouring to withdraw the 
 hand of which Yandeleur had taken posses- 
 sion ; but he held it in a warm clasp, and ere 
 releasing it, he bent his head and kissed the 
 soft palm, and she blushed. It was an era in 
 her life — a moment not to be readily for- 
 gotten. 
 
 He stood looking at her till she was out of 
 sight. 
 
 " A charming and a lovely rustic," was his 
 private comment. " Well-bred, though, and 
 looks it — every inch of her — but a perfect 
 little rustic."
 
 76 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Eveline hastened home, her heart strangely 
 perturbed. The great era in a woman's life 
 had dawned — the first glimpse into that other 
 world had opened to her ; and shy, bashful, 
 yet knowing not wherefore, she instinctively 
 sought the privacy of her own room ere meet- 
 ing any one else. For the first time she 
 made her evenino^ toilette before lookino^ in 
 upon her two dear ones. 
 
 She was very silent, but after the evening 
 meal was over she took up her usual place at 
 her mother's feet. 
 
 Had she been alone with her she would 
 have poured out her heart to her ; but such 
 a confidence was too sacred to be uttered be- 
 fore a third, even though that third was Aunt 
 Mary ; so, 
 
 " Madre mia, I met the gray man again." 
 
 " The gray man !" exclaimed both ladies at 
 once. 
 
 " The gentleman I met yesterday," replied 
 Eveline, shyly. 
 
 '' You never told me of any one," replied 
 her mother. 
 
 " I remember," said Mrs. Dacres, " you did 
 say something about a friend of Mr. Owen's ; "
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 77 
 
 I dare say it was his brother-in-law. He is 
 rather an old man, and has remarkably white 
 hair. I wonder what has brought him down 
 here, for there has been a long-standing feud 
 between them V 
 
 " I don't think it is Mr. Owen's brother-in- 
 law, and his hair is not gray, only his clothes, 
 aunty," said Eveline, laughing. 
 " My dear, what do you mean ?" 
 " What I said, aunty. His hat was gray, 
 his coat was gray ; in short he was gray all 
 over ; you could only call him a gray man ; 
 but he was very pleasant nevertheless. He 
 knew who I was, and he knows what he calls 
 * our people at Gaveston Abbey,' and says 
 that they really are our cousins. Are they, 
 mamma ?" 
 
 " My dear child," replied her mother, "you 
 seem to have been very confidential with this 
 stranger ; who is he ?" 
 
 " I don't know, but he is a gentleman." 
 *' My dear Eveline," said Mrs. Dacres, " how 
 can you tell ? You must not make acquain- 
 tances like this. Why the man may belong 
 to a gang of burglars. Such things have been 
 known."
 
 78 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Eveline laughed. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, dear old aunty ; he is 
 no robber, but as well bred a gentleman as 
 Colonel Greville himself, and now we will 
 have some music."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 " Des. I never gave him cause. 
 
 EmiL But jealous souls will not be answered so ; 
 They are not ever jealous for the cause, 
 But jealous for they are jealous ; 'tis a monster, 
 Begot upon itself, born on itself." 
 
 Othello. 
 
 "• This is delightful !" cried Eveline, the next 
 morning, as Colonel Greville rapped at the 
 window of the breakfast-room where she and 
 Mrs. Dacres sat at their morning repast. 
 " When did you come ?" 
 
 " Last night, fair lady," said he, stepping 
 in. " Have you got anything for me to eat ?" 
 
 " A cup of cold tea and some toast to cor- 
 respond," laughed Eveline, ringing the bell for 
 some reinforcements to the table. " Why did 
 you not send up word that you were coming, 
 and then Aunt Mary would have ordered all 
 sorts of good things for you V* 
 
 '' I dare say I can make out a breakfast," he
 
 80 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 answered, greeting his sister. " I have done 
 all your commissions, Mary, and yours too, 
 little one ; the box will be up directly. I have 
 something here for you besides ;" and so saying 
 he put into her hands a small morocco case. 
 
 Her innocent expressions of delight at the 
 pretty bauble — a bracelet set with diamonds — 
 amply repaid him. 
 
 " Have you a mind for a walk this morn- 
 ing ?' he said presently. 
 
 " With you ? Of course I have ; I love a 
 walk with you, and you shall tell me all you 
 have been doing, for you have not written for 
 ages." 
 
 " And has it seemed so long to you; Eve- 
 line T said he, tenderly. 
 
 Eveline opened her eyes with amazement. 
 " Long ? of course it has, we should like to 
 hear every day." 
 
 Merrily and happily they pursued their 
 walk, but their pleasure was destined to have 
 a check. They met the man in gray ! 
 
 Eveline would have stopped to speak, but 
 Yandeleur, better acquainted with the eti- 
 quette of society, bowed and passed on, while 
 Nero bounded after him in friendly recognition.
 
 MRS. GREVTLLE. 81 
 
 Greville marked the dog's greeting ; and 
 the vivid blush and look of pleasure, changing 
 to one of disappointment on Eveline's trans- 
 parent countenance, were not lost upon him. 
 
 *'You did not tell me that you had any 
 acquaintances here ; who is he ?" He strove 
 to speak indifferently, but only succeeded in 
 being extremely curt and rude. 
 
 '' I really do not know, except that he is a 
 friend of Mr. Owen's and has been fishing 
 here," said Eveline, blushing still more deeply, 
 and wondering why her guardian spoke so 
 roughly. She related how their acquaintance 
 began, and that she had met him again yester- 
 day. Poor Eveline spoke timidly, for this 
 was the first time she had ever been accosted 
 in a rough voice. 
 
 *' And I suppose he came to meet you again 
 to-day," said Greville, grimly. 
 
 "Indeed you are wrong," she replied meekly, 
 for he told me that he was going to-day;" but 
 even as she spoke a delicious thrill stole over 
 her troubled heart as she wondered whether 
 he had postponed his departure in order to 
 see her again. 
 
 " He is not at the inn, or I should have 
 
 VOL. I. 6
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 heard of it," continued Colonel Greville, whose 
 equanimity was completely upset. 
 
 " He is staying at Mr. Owen's," replied 
 Eveline. The Colonel did not answer. All 
 pleasure was destroyed for the remainder of 
 that walk. The busy demon of jealousy was 
 aroused in his breast, not that he acknowledged 
 it, oh dear no ! It was his duty as her guar- 
 dian to be careful what acquaintances she made, 
 but he was extremely wroth that this good- 
 looking young man — so evidently a gentleman 
 — should have presumed to draw her into con- 
 versation. He had of course come this morn- 
 ing to meet her. Fortunate that he, Greville, 
 was with her ! And a grim smile came over 
 his face at the thought of the discomfiture 
 which he had inflicted on one in whom he in- 
 stinctively guessed a rival and a dangerous one. 
 
 They walked home nearly in silence. Eve- 
 line's gentle attempts to amuse him met with 
 no response — he could not forget the mantling 
 blush of pleasure that had crimsoned her face, 
 and the happy, half-shy smile that brightened 
 it as she recognised the '' gray man ;" and he 
 was excessively out of temper. 
 
 " Who the devil is he, and what the deuce
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 83 
 
 is lie doing down here ?" was the burden 
 of his thoughts, more emphatic than polite. 
 '' No, he would not come in, thanks all the 
 same ; he had letters to write." 
 
 He held the garden gate for her to pass 
 through, and then struck off to the inn — 
 raging — and stfilked ^ to his room where he 
 paced heavily up and down. 
 
 " Fool, dolt that I am !" he ejaculated at 
 intervals. " Forty -three, and she seventeen ! 
 How could I expect anything else ? Greville, 
 
 you are an ass, a d d ass !" This to his 
 
 reflection in the mirror. " But I'll find out 
 w^ho this man is," and seizing his wide-awake, 
 which he had flung violently into a corner of 
 the room, he darted out, his long, rapid strides 
 quickly covering the ground between the inn 
 and Mr. Owen's dwelling. 
 
 Mr. Owen, he learnt, had gone down to the 
 river, so thither Greville followed. 
 
 Mr. Owen was a burly, jovial Welsh squire, 
 who in virtue of his acres held some sway in 
 the simple neighbourhood; but it was recorded 
 of him that he greatly preferred a social tan- 
 kard of home-brewed with some of the farmers 
 to any more refined beverage or society. 
 
 6—2
 
 84 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 A substantial luncheon was spread on the 
 grass near him, to which he was doing rare 
 justice ; his deaf and dumb son was sullenly- 
 counting the contents of his fishing-basket, 
 pettishly refusing the food which his father 
 pressed on him. 
 
 Colonel Greville greeted tlie Squire, and 
 after some general conversation, carelessly 
 said, 
 
 "By-the-way, I met a gentleman with a 
 fishing-rod this morning. Do you know who 
 he is T 
 
 ** A good-looking chap in gray, vAih reddish 
 whiskers ?" asked the Squire. " Yes, indeed, 
 he is a first-rate fisherman ;" then turning to 
 his dumb child some rapid digital conversation 
 passed between them, interrupted by the 
 Squire's hilarity at some joke, which was not, 
 however, appreciated by the other, who re- 
 sented it with surly anger and was about to 
 walk away, but his father held him back, and 
 still boisterously laughing, spake a few words 
 with his fingers which changed the aspect of 
 afiairs altogether. The boy's moroseness 
 turned to an equally savage delight. He 
 threw his cap in the air, clapped his hands,
 
 MRS. GBEYILLE. 85 
 
 uttered the most horrible sounds, and finally 
 rolled on the ground, kicking his heels, unable 
 to contain the exuberance of his delight. 
 
 Greville looked on astonished, with an un- 
 comfortable feeling that possibly he himself 
 might be the subject of their joke. The colour 
 rose in his bronzed face, and drawing up his 
 tall figure till he seemed inches taller than 
 usual, he grimly remarked that " they seemed 
 amused !" 
 
 " Amused ! By Gad, sir, I should think I 
 w^s," chuckled the Squire, his fat, red hands 
 resting on his knees as he looked at his son 
 performing wonderful antics on the grass. The 
 tears fairly ran down his rubicund cheeks with 
 laughter, and then he applied himself to a 
 huge mug of ale. 
 
 Greville, terribly indignant, stood silent and 
 rigid, not choosing to compromise his dignity 
 by further questions. 
 
 "What an ill-bred old fool it is," very nearly 
 escaped his lips. 
 
 '' It's the best joke going !" gasped the 
 Squire, putting down the mug from which he 
 had taken a mighty draught ; ''I did not 
 know what ailed the lad the last day or two,
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 he's beenlnoping about, refusing his victuals, 
 and altogether contrary ; so now he says to 
 me, he says, ' Is that fishing chap come a- 
 courting of her V meaning the young lady at 
 the cottage, jerking his thumb over his shoul- 
 der and — Lord, Lord, it'll be the death of 
 me !" here another fit of laughter choked his 
 utterance ; " why, sir, Mr. Vandeleur is a 
 married man !" 
 
 The last words squeezed out of his laughter 
 in a shrill treble. 
 
 " Is the chap coming a-courting of her ?" he 
 repeated, in intense appreciation of the joke. 
 
 Greville's face relaxed, and if his relief were 
 less demonstrative than the dumb boy's, it 
 was no less intense. The black cloud that 
 had risen on his horizon lifted, and sunshine 
 showed again. 
 
 " Is this Mr. Vandeleur a friend of yours f 
 asked Greville. 
 
 " No, indeed, I never saw him before, but 
 I have some fishing to let in Scotland and he 
 came to see me about it, so I asked him to 
 stop a day or two while we waited for some 
 business matters to be settled. * Is the chap 
 come a-courting V It's the best joke I ever
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 87 
 
 heard. By Gad ! he's coming ! If he were 
 not such a proud one, I'd hke to tell him, but 
 one never knows how that sort of cattle takes 
 a joke," and the Squire shook his head know- 
 ingly, showing, if coarsely expressed, more 
 tact than one might have expected. 
 
 " I hardly think he would appreciate it,'' 
 said Greville, dryly ; " some men have an un- 
 accountable objection to making a lady's name 
 the subject of a jest." 
 
 The Squire looked at him curiously, but 
 Greville's impassive face was unreadable, so 
 he took another draught from the jug, and 
 when it was finished, Vandeleur came up and 
 inquired if the post had come in. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; there's the bag, and here's 
 the key. This is Colonel Greville, sir," he 
 continued, by way of introduction, ** guardian 
 to the young lady you saw painting." 
 
 The Squire's face threatened another explo- 
 sion ; but, catching Greville's eye, he re- 
 covered, and devoting himself to the luncheon, 
 pressed some on the two gentlemen. 
 
 " Come and dine with us this evening, 
 Colonel ; Mr. Vandeleur don't leave till to-
 
 88 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 morrow, and you will be better company tlian 
 
 we are." 
 
 Yandeleur's moustache twitched as he un- 
 slung his basket and emptied a quantity of 
 grilse and a sea trout on to the grass, saying, 
 " Not a bad morning's work/* 
 
 The dumb boy took up the trout, nodded, 
 making horrible, guttural sounds, expressive 
 of approval. 
 
 The Squire winked at Greville, but met 
 with no response from that iron face, and Yan- 
 deleur carelessly opened his letters. 
 
 " I am thinking of going to the Prairies," 
 said he, turning from a letter he was reading, 
 to Greville. " You know the country T 
 
 " I was there a couple of years. A wildish 
 life, rather — plenty of game.'' 
 
 " So I suppose. A place where it is as well 
 to sleep with a revolver under one's pillow," 
 said Yandeleur, with a light laugh. 
 
 " Just so ; life is of small value there." 
 
 " If you can give me any hints, I shall be 
 much obliged to you." 
 
 " Delighted to give you any information 
 that I possess," replied Greville, ''but beyond 
 that you must be prepared to rough it and
 
 UBS. GREVILLE. 89 
 
 trust to luck, I don t know that I can give 
 you much advice. 
 
 " Luck is a cardinal virtue in most phases 
 of life," said the other, laughing lightly, and 
 rolling up the loose leaf of his cigar. 
 
 Colonel Greville did dine at the Squire's, 
 and as he walked home afterwards, he ac- 
 knowledged that Vandeleur was a very plea- 
 sant fellow, whose genial, easy manner gave 
 him unje ne sais qiioi de caressant, which had 
 its charm for men, and which might easily 
 prove dangerously fascinating where women 
 were concerned. 
 
 " Queer, a young married fellow like that 
 going to the Prairies," soliloquised Greville, 
 on his way home. " How could I be such a 
 brute to you, my darling ?" 
 
 These last words had no natural connexion 
 with Mr. Vandeleur, but were called forth by 
 the reflection of a woman's figure on the blind 
 of a bed-room window, beneath which he was 
 standing. 
 
 " How late she is to-nio^ht. I wonder what 
 she is thinking of?" 
 
 Little clouds of blue smoke curled upwards 
 as he leant against a tree, watching the
 
 90 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 shadow flitting backwards and forwards in 
 the room above. 
 
 How he longed for the morrow that he 
 might make amends for his roughness this 
 day. How tender he would be ! and, remorse- 
 fully, he recalled her gentle attempts to rouse 
 him from his bearish mood, from which he 
 would not be entreated. 
 
 " Oh ! my darling ! you little know what 
 you are to me 1 I do love you ! Heaven 
 only knows how dearly !" 
 
 From which muttered ejaculations it may 
 be inferred that when the rosy god throws 
 his dart into mortal breast, he brings all men 
 to the same level, all hearts to one age. 
 
 When we grow too cold — too hard — too 
 old, if you will — to feel a throb of passion, 
 we are apt to laugh at youth's folly, or sneer 
 at the deeper love of maturer age ; but which 
 of us would not bring back, if we could, that 
 moment ''of delicious folly" when all the 
 world was brighter than it ever has been 
 since ? 
 
 The blind was drawn up, the window 
 opened, and Eveline leant out. It was not 
 her wont to be restless and feverish, but now
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 91 
 
 she was both, and the deep solemn hush of 
 night was grateful to her. She thought, 
 alack the day ! not of her guardian's crossness 
 to her, but of the stranger — the man whose 
 name she did not even know — she thought 
 of every word he had uttered — of the tender, 
 lingering clasp of his hand — of the kiss he 
 had pressed on hers, and then — oh ! Eveline ! 
 — she pressed the little hand to her own soft 
 rosy lips, and, though alone, she blushed 
 deeply. He seemed to stand before her even 
 now — she saw him leaning with indolent grace 
 against the bank, pulling Nero's ears, a liberty 
 which the dog had kindly permitted — she 
 saw him — good gracious ! a cigar ! some one 
 smoking under her window ! Could it be ? — 
 but the thought ended in a gasp as she hastily 
 drew back, quickly shut the window, and 
 pulled down the blind. She leant against the 
 wall, her heart beating fast. Presently she 
 blew out her candle, and, yielding to an irre- 
 sistible impulse, peeped out from under a 
 corner of the blind. 
 
 The night was dark, and all that she could 
 distinguish was a red, glowing star, not in 
 the heavens, but some six feet above the
 
 92 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 ground. Presently the clouds broke, the 
 moon shone forth, and cast her silvery light 
 on a figure beneath the tree ; but it was not 
 the slight graceful shape in gray which had 
 been haunting her thoughts all the day. 
 Growing bold by that discovery, she looked 
 again. Yes, surely ; a black beard reaching 
 to the waist ! 
 
 Throwing the window open, she leant out, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Why, Guardy, is that you keeping watch ? 
 Are there robbers about ? What a lovely 
 night ! May I come out ?" 
 
 Ah ! what would he not give to have her 
 there — his own, his very own ? But he knew 
 that all that his heart was bursting with, 
 would find its way to his lips were she with 
 him, and that that would ruin his hopes for 
 ever. He knew women well enough to have 
 wished that she had not opened her window 
 again to accost him so frankly. 
 
 " Not to-night, my darling ! it is very late, 
 too late for you, child, to be keeping vigils. 
 Good-night, my precious one !" 
 
 There was inefiable tenderness in his voice. 
 
 " Dear old Guardy !" said Eveline to her-
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 93 
 
 self, as she shut the window, "he is sorry for 
 being so cross to-day, and I daresay I wasn't 
 quite nice to him," for in her generous nature 
 she was always ready to take all blame to 
 herself, directly an offender showed the least 
 contrition. 
 
 So she went to bed, and dreamt that she 
 was wandering with the gray man along the 
 river-side, and that as she looked at him, a 
 long, black beard grew out of his face, and 
 which had an unaccountable resemblance to 
 Nero's ears. It was not becoming, even in 
 dreamland, but not at all peculiar in the 
 natural history of that country.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 '* Lady Cap. Tell me, daughter Juliet, 
 
 How stands your disposition to be married ] 
 
 Juliet. It is an honour that I dream not of." 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 *' All beauty, all life she was to him ; 
 He questioned not her love, 
 He only knew— he loved her !" 
 
 LOVELL. 
 
 '' Aunt Mary," said Eveline, tlie next day, 
 stopping short in one of Beethoven's sonatas, 
 and twirling round on the music-stool to face 
 Mrs. Dacres, " I have come to the conclusion 
 
 that my music-master from C has taught 
 
 me all that he knows. I don't play very well, 
 I know ; but I play as w^ell as he does ; and 
 / have it in me to play better, which he 
 hasn't ; only, I should like to hear some real 
 music ! And, aunty, I should like a singing- 
 master, for I think I have got a voice."
 
 MES. GREVILLE. 95 
 
 " Bless the cliild 1" cried Aunt Mary, look- 
 ing at her over her spectacles, " I am sure you 
 play very nicely, much better than I did at 
 your age, and you sing sweetly, my dear." 
 
 "You are a partial judge, aunty, and I 
 don t believe that you would scold if I sang 
 a sharp for a flat," said Eveline, leaving the 
 piano to come and kneel at her aunt's side, so 
 as to look up in the gentle old face, a childish 
 w^ay she had. '' I should like to sing 
 splendidly. Could you not invite a master to 
 come here and teach me ? You can tell him 
 I am half Italian, you know. We could sing 
 together for hours. Wouldn't it be deli- 
 
 ClOUS { 
 
 Aunt Mary's breath was fairly taken away 
 by the monstrous proposal, uttered too in such 
 perfect good faith. 
 
 " Oh, Arthur, I am so glad you have come 
 in," said she, as her brother opened the door ; 
 " this child is crazed about some extravagant 
 notions on music." 
 
 "Please, sir," said Eveline, demurely, 
 "please, sir, I want to learn to sing." 
 
 " Is that it ?" laughed he. " Well, the re- 
 quest is not unreasonable, only I don't see
 
 MRS, GREVILLE. 
 
 at this moment how to manage it, unless I 
 took you to London." 
 
 " To London !" exclaimed Eveline, spring- 
 ing to her feet, 'Ho London! but, no," she 
 added, in a lower tone, " I could not leave 
 my mother." 
 
 "We will think it over, my child. But 
 you have not asked me about my dinner- 
 party." 
 
 " What, at Mr. Owen's ? I hope you en- 
 joyed it," and Eveline sat down to the piano 
 again, running her fingers lightly over the 
 keys. Her back was to her guardian, so he 
 did not see the vivid blush that mantled on 
 her cheek, nor could he guess that her heart 
 was beating faster than usual, as she shyly 
 waited to hear something of the '^ gray man," 
 nor that she said so little because she dared 
 not trust her voice to say more. 
 
 "That gentleman whom we met yesterday, 
 Eveline, was there. He appears to know your 
 cousins very well. He is a pleasant fellow " — 
 the music went stealing on in soft, sweet ca- 
 dence, as the performer listened to every w^ord 
 — "he tells me that he is just starting for 
 the Prairies."
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 97 
 
 Colonel Greville would doubtless have said 
 more, but that the music came to an end with 
 a sudden crash of chords, and Eveline went to 
 the door. 
 
 " I am going up to my mother," she said. 
 "One moment," said Greville, laying his 
 hand on hers, which was already on the 
 handle, " do you think she is well enough to 
 see me ?" 
 
 " You are not going to speak about London, 
 are you ?" said Eveline, with sudden alarm. 
 " Please don't." 
 
 " Would you be afraid to come with me, 
 Eveline ?" he asked, as they crossed the 
 lobby. 
 
 " Afraid ? No, why should I be afraid ?" 
 She turned towards him, but there was some- 
 thing in the loving eyes that met hers — the 
 same look that had made hers droop before the 
 fisherman's gaze when he bid her farewell — 
 which made her draw shyly back. 
 
 " Madre mia," said she, running into her 
 mother s room, " are you well enough to see 
 Colonel Greville ? But you must not let him 
 worry you, darling, you look so white and 
 tired." 
 
 VOL. I. 7
 
 98 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 She did indeed look tired, so white, so 
 frail, so transparent — almost like one dead 
 already — the black pencilled eyebrows and 
 lashes painfully contrasting the white, wan 
 face on which they rested. 
 
 " What does he want, my child ?" she 
 asked. 
 
 " Something about my music, I fancy — some 
 nonsense that I w^as talking to la zia" said 
 Eveline, innocently. 
 
 " Is that all ? But something has troubled 
 you, my Eveline, what is it V' 
 
 She spoke with ineffable tenderness, as she 
 drew the golden head close to her, and kissed 
 the sweet upturned face. 
 
 The girl's first impulse was to bury her face 
 in her mother's bosom, and pour out her little 
 secret, not much of one after all, but to her 
 one that now covered her with shame — she 
 had been so ready to accept attentions from a 
 stranger who had evidently been amusing 
 himself at her expense, and her poor little 
 heart was very sore ; but a look at her mother s 
 wan and weary face banished in a moment all 
 thoughts of self The dreadful truth stood 
 before her — her mother was dying. She
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 99 
 
 clasped her in a passionate embrace, stifling a 
 wail of agony in the pillow. 
 
 What was self, what was the gray fisher- 
 man, what was anything, if that sweet, pre- 
 cious mother were going from her ? Her 
 whole frame shook with convulsive sobs, and 
 the piteous cry, " Madre ! Madre !" broke 
 from her lips. 
 
 It was almost more than Mrs. Gaveston 
 could bear, and knowing that she needed all 
 her strength for the interview with Colonel 
 Greville, she spoke soothingly to her child, 
 and then bid her send him to her. She 
 guessed his errand. 
 
 The weeping girl did as she was bid, and 
 then sought her own room, where alone she 
 could give vent to all the bitter sorrow of her 
 heart. She had never remembered her mother 
 other than an invalid, but the decay had been 
 so gradual, that not till now had the awfid 
 truth been clear to her, and now it came with 
 an appalhng shock, and with the passionate 
 keenness of youth, she imagined that her 
 mother would be taken from her then and 
 there, and she jealously counted the moments 
 
 7—2
 
 100 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 of which Colonel Greville's interview was 
 robbing her. 
 
 Left alone with Mrs, Gaveston, he grew 
 painfully nervous. That which had seemed 
 easy in idea became difficult in execution. 
 All his happiness was at stake, and when he 
 came to face the fact that he was going to ask 
 a mother — many years younger than himself 
 — leave to woo her daughter, a girl of seven- 
 teen, the words died in his throat. 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston saw and pitied his agitation ; 
 she had read his secret long ago. 
 
 " AmicOf' said she, laying her small, trans- 
 parent hand on his brown, muscular one, " I 
 think I know what it is that you would say. 
 Will you not tell it me V 
 
 " Mrs. Gaveston, I love your daughter," he 
 abruptly said. 
 
 '' I know you do," was the quiet answer. 
 
 " You know it, and you do not disapprove ? 
 You consent ?" he eagerly exclaimed. J 
 
 " I cannot disapprove of one whom I so 
 highly esteem, and Philip loved you ; but the 
 consent lies with Eveline. I wish that she 
 were older, for your sake." 
 
 " Eather say, would that I were younger,"
 
 MRS. GREVTLLE. 101 
 
 he cried, bitterly. " Is it not ever before me ? 
 Yet no one, be his years what they may, can 
 love her as I do. Only give her to me, and 
 every hour of my life shall be devoted to her 
 — shall be passed in securing her happiness." 
 " I am sure of it," said Mrs. Gaveston, in a 
 kind, soothing voice, '' and to no one would I 
 more confidently entrust my child's happiness. 
 And after all, you look," — she smiled as she 
 looked at the tower of strength before her — 
 " you look as if you would be a hale, strong 
 man forty years hence 1 And besides, dear 
 friend, my days are few now, and Aunt Mary 
 is old ; and if for your sake, I wish your ages 
 were nearer, for hers I can be only too grate- 
 ful to think I leave her in such hands." 
 
 "God bless you for your goodness," he 
 fervently said, " you may trust me." 
 
 " I feel it. But will you promise me one 
 thing, that if ever she wishes to come to the 
 true faith, that you will not hinder her ? I 
 have never spoken about it to her — I pro- 
 mised not — but, oh ! I have so prayed for her ! 
 I doy I shall so pray for her — pray that we 
 may meet in Heaven, and oh ! promise you 
 will not hinder her !" She sat up, clasping
 
 102 MBS. GREYILLE. 
 
 his hand, her large, lustrous black eyes gazing 
 pitifully into his. "And you, too," she con- 
 tinued, with a sudden consciousness of selfish 
 forgetfulness of him, "she will teach you 
 the truth, and then we shall all meet 
 again." 
 
 "I trust in God we shall," he replied 
 solemnly, " and I promise you that I will 
 never thwart her religious feelings." 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston sank back on her pillows, 
 murmuring some words in Italian. 
 
 She was much exhausted, and Greville, 
 with all the tenderness of a man in a sick 
 room, gently raised her head, gave her some 
 restorative, smoothed her pillows, and then 
 sat by her side chafing the little hand that 
 lay like the petal of a hly, and scarce larger, 
 in his broad palm. 
 
 Where do these strong, powerful men learn 
 to be such tender nurses ? Their very strength 
 seems to impart the gentleness which a 
 woman's arm so often lacks ? 
 
 " May I crave another boon at your hands?" 
 he said, when she was somewhat recovered, 
 " and that is, that you will let me plead my 
 own cause with Eveline. Let me try and win
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 103 
 
 her love by myself, and not owe it to your 
 influence." 
 
 " As you please, my friend ; but I tbink 
 that you are wrong. Eveline is so — " young, 
 sbe was about to say, but with the ready tact 
 of a foreigner she substituted — ''so unversed 
 in such things, that your feelings for her will 
 never present themselves to her mind. All 
 her life she has been taught to regard you as 
 a friend, and as such to love you dearly, and 
 I fear that she will not understand you." 
 
 But Greville was resolute on this point, 
 and the mother yielded. 
 
 Days grew into weeks, but Greville ad- 
 vanced no further in his suit. Never was 
 lover more devoted, more tender; but far 
 from appreciating, Eveline rather shrank from 
 the change ; it was unnatural to her — almost 
 unseemly — that her venerable guardian should 
 be the slave of her slightest word ; indeed, it 
 almost provoked her into telling him of it, for 
 the thought that he was seeking her for his 
 wife never for a moment occurred to her ; so, 
 thus completely at cross purposes, the weeks 
 slipped by. 
 
 Mrs. Gaveston saw with distress how fruit-
 
 104 MRS. GEEVILLE. 
 
 less was his suit, and knew that if he pressed 
 it, Eveline would unequivocally reject hiro. 
 Bound by her promise, she said nothing at 
 first, but feeling ere long that her very hours 
 were numbered, she resolved to speak to her 
 child ; for the thought of leaving her alone in 
 the world was more than she could bear. Her 
 sweet, gentle Eveline who had never had a 
 trouble, nor heard a harsh word — ah ! she 
 could never be left to the tender mercies of 
 the world ! and if she did not marry Greville 
 what would become of her when Aunt Mary 
 was gone ? It had been a cold, cruel world 
 to Mrs. Gaveston, and Greville alone had 
 stood between her and God only knew what 
 miseries, and she felt sure that if she imparted 
 to her child certain facts which had come 
 to her own knowledge, the flood-gates of 
 her gratitude, if not of her love, would be 
 opened, and she knew her generous nature so 
 well, that she had little doubt of her answer 
 when she learnt that she could requite by the 
 gift of her hand the immeasurable kindness 
 they had both received from Greville. 
 
 October had set in with incessant rain, and 
 heavy south-west gales ; trying weather to most.
 
 MRS. QREVILLE. 105 
 
 but especially so to tlie weak and suffering. 
 Mrs. Gaveston had latterly been unable to 
 leave her bed ; death was coming gently, but 
 very fast now. 
 
 It was a wild evening towards the end of 
 the month, and Eveline, who rarely left her 
 mother, was sitting by her side, theii' heads 
 on one pillow close together. 
 
 The tears silently ran from her eyes, but 
 she was very quiet. Not so the night with- 
 out. The wind in angry gusts drove the 
 pouring rain shivering against the windows, 
 and then lulHng for a moment to gather fresh 
 force, rushed madly among the trees, wreaking 
 its fury on those which stood alone and 
 unprotected, as a heavy "thud" more than 
 once could tell. Satiated for a moment, and 
 appalled, like a living thing, at the ruin it had 
 caused, again it paused, but only to come with 
 wilder violence on the house, threatening to 
 break in the casements in its wrath at the 
 obstacle it met with. 
 
 '' What a fearful night !" said Eveline, with 
 a shudder, and, drawing closer to her mother, 
 who putting up her hand to caress her child's 
 cheek, found it wet with tears.
 
 106 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 " Eveline, my precious child, what is it ? 
 Anima mm, what is it ? 
 
 '* Oh, mother, mother !" sobbed Eveline, 
 " it breaks my heart to see you so ill, to find 
 that nothing does you good. Ah ! Madre ! 
 don't leave your child !" 
 
 " Hush, hush, my dear one," said her mo- 
 ther tenderly. " It is hard to part, but even 
 harder for me, to whom you are so precious, 
 to think that I leave you with no one to care 
 for you. There is dear Aunt Mary, and she 
 loves you almost as well as I do, but she is 
 old and feeble." 
 
 "Aunt Mary too," said Eveline in a quiver- 
 ing voice, " is she dying ? Oh, mother ! take 
 me with you !" 
 
 " TacBy carina, tacel' said Mrs. Gaveston 
 finally. "I do not say our precious Aunt 
 Mary is dying, but for a year past I have seen 
 that she is breaking very much, and the 
 thought of leaving you, my only one, in the 
 sad world all alone, is worse, far worse, than 
 death to me. But, my own, there is one," 
 and she continued nervously, for she knew the 
 shock that her child would feel, " there is one 
 who loves you better than his life, and in
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 107 
 
 whose hands I would — ah ! how gladly — con- 
 fide you. Eveline, will you be his wife T 
 
 " His wife ? Whose wife V asked the girl, 
 amazed. 
 
 "Colonel GreviUe^s." 
 
 "Colonel Greville's ? My guardian T said 
 Eveline, thinking that she could not have 
 heard right. 
 
 " Why not, my child T 
 
 " Oh ! mother, he might be my grand- 
 father !'' 
 
 " He is only forty, after all." 
 
 " 'Forty -three" corrected seventeen. " I 
 love my guardian very dearly ; I will be 
 grateful to him all my life ; I will be a daugh- 
 ter to him as long as I live — but I cannot 
 marry him.'' 
 
 " Why not, dearest T 
 
 " I do not know, mamma ; I do not know 
 why myself, but some inner voice tells me that 
 such a marriage is impossible.'* 
 
 There was silence for a time, which Eveline 
 broke. 
 
 " Mother, darling, Colonel Greville has often 
 told me of the love that you bore my father ; 
 that there was nothing in the world that you
 
 108 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 would not gladly have borne for him ; that 
 you did forsake father, mother, country, for 
 him. Do you think that I would give up one 
 single hour of you for the love of all the 
 Colonel Grevilles in the world ? I could not 
 lov^e any one better than you, my own mother, 
 but I should like to love my husband as 
 welV 
 
 '' Can you not trust me, my child ? Can 
 you not believe that I would only advise you 
 for what I know is for your own welfare and 
 happiness ? Child, child, be guided by 
 me." 
 
 " In all but this, but in this I cannot. Do 
 not be vexed with me," she pleaded, on seeing 
 her mother turn her head wearily away. 
 
 " I am not vexed, but I wish that it were 
 possible for you to see with my eyes." 
 
 There was a long silence, which Mrs. 
 Gaveston broke. 
 
 " Eveline, listen to me. I have not spoken 
 to you about our aifairs, for I know how the 
 truth would chafe you, but I must tell you 
 now. When your dear father was taken from 
 me, you and I were left alone in the world. I 
 had offended my own family by my marriage,
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 109 
 
 and they discarded me ; your father was 
 equally repudiated by his family, and I was 
 left a widow not much older than you are 
 now, with you — an infant — friendless and 
 alone, or should have been but for Colonel 
 Greville; and but for him we should have 
 been penniless. For fifteen years he has been 
 our true and steadfast friend ; and a mere 
 chance revealed to me that the income on 
 which we have been living — that our every 
 comfort and every luxury have come from 
 him. I was such a mere child when he brought 
 me here — -I understood but little of business 
 matters — and I naturally believed that the 
 money which was paid me half-yearly came 
 from your father's property, for he was rich 
 when we were married. Colonel Greville 
 offered to arrange all my business affairs for 
 me, and I gratefully accepted his offer, little 
 thinking that he was generously giving us 
 from his own resources, and that I — that you 
 — have not a farthing but the pension paid 
 by the country.'' 
 
 " When did you learn all this, mother ?" 
 asked Eveline, in a low voice, 
 
 " About two months ago. I received a
 
 110 MRS. GBEVILLE. 
 
 letter from Colonel Greville's lawyer. I could 
 not understand it, and showed it to Father 
 Clement. He was going to London ; he saw 
 the lawyer and found out the truth. The 
 letter had been misdirected to me. It was 
 for Colonel Greville. Not even Aunt Mary 
 knows it ; and I little thought when I shared 
 expenses with her that I was giving her her 
 brother's money — or that when I died that 
 you would be left without a farthing. Am I 
 not right in saying that he is a generous, 
 noble-minded man, to whom a woman may 
 well confide her happiness ? And remember, 
 this was not done of late, but fifteen years 
 ago, when you were a baby, and when he was 
 engaged to a girl who jilted him in the most 
 heartless way for a richer man.'' 
 
 " What a wicked woman !" exclaimed Eve- 
 line. " He was hardly a loser." 
 
 "He thought difierently, and it was this 
 that drove him an alien from his country for 
 so many years." 
 
 " Does he know that this has come to your 
 knowledge ?" asked Eveline. 
 
 " What ? about the sorrow of his early 
 years V
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. Ill 
 
 "No, no — the other thing — his money — 
 his charity.'' 
 
 "No! God forbid that he should! No- 
 thing would wound him so deeply ; but do 
 not call it — charity — in that bitter voice ; it 
 was given in love, let it be taken in love." 
 
 "Ah, mother, I shall never be such an 
 angel as you are. But you say right. It would 
 truly pain his generous nature did he know 
 that his tender kindness has been discovered 
 by us." 
 
 " Don't you think he deserves the only 
 return we can make him, Eveline ?" 
 
 " Does he want to marry me ?" asked she, 
 but her voice had lost its musical ring. 
 
 "I have thought it a long time, and a 
 month ago he told me so." 
 
 " Did he bid you tell me ?" asked Eveline, 
 quickly. 
 
 " On the contrary, he begged me not ; he 
 said that he wished to win your love himself, 
 and to owe his happiness to you alone, and 
 not to my influence : he asked my permission 
 to try and win that love. I have more than 
 once besought him to let me speak to you, 
 but he has invariably answered that he* would
 
 112 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 not have you coerced — that though your love 
 would be more than life to him, unless it were 
 given freely, of your own will, he would 
 rather lay that life at your feet." 
 
 " That was noble of him, mother." 
 
 '' It was, in truth ! Oh ! Eveline, do not 
 scorn the love of such a man. If you do not 
 love him now, as you think you could love, 
 believe me, my child, that it will come, and 
 that no wife will be happier than you if you 
 marry him ; and remember, too, how happy 
 you can make him. Darling, for my sake." 
 
 There was a piteous entreaty on the poor 
 wasted face — in the weak, tremulous voice. 
 
 Eveline drew her mother's head on her 
 bosom, and kissed the weary eyehds, so soon 
 to close in their last long sleep. Braced by a 
 strong and generous resolution, her young 
 heart nerved itself to its pious task, and it 
 was in a quiet steady voice that she said — 
 
 " You did well to tell me, mother. How 
 you felt towards my father, I cannot know, 
 but I will marry Colonel Greville, and pro- 
 mise to be gentle, grateful, and kind to him 
 as lonof as I live." 
 
 *' Thank God for this 1" said the invalid, in
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 113 
 
 a voice of intense relief; '' and, Eveline, swear 
 to me — your dying mother — before the throne 
 of Heaven — that nothing — no one — shall ever 
 shake your loyalty to your husband." 
 
 The dying woman raised herself from her 
 daughter's arms, and looked her full in the 
 face, with feverish eagerness in the large black 
 eyes and on the quivering lips. It seemed as 
 if a vista of future dangers and shoals, which 
 have shipwrecked so many lives, rose up be- 
 fore her arrd spoke out in her agonised 
 face. What if the consent that she had so 
 earnestly sought should bring about her child's 
 misery ? 
 
 Eveline's calm, clear blue orbs met her 
 mother's frantic gaze with the pure, steady 
 look of childlike integrity. 
 
 " Mother, even as you were loyal to your 
 husband, so will I be to mine." 
 
 A sigh of intense relief — a relaxing of the 
 features — and the dying mother's head sank 
 softly back in her daughter's arms, and ere 
 long — worn out and exhausted — she slept. 
 
 Eveline softly laid the weary head on the 
 pillow, and sat by her side, her face buried in 
 her hands — regardless of time — of the furious 
 
 VOL. I. 8
 
 114 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 tempest outside — of all outer things. Her 
 young heart was crushed : the mother she 
 loved so dearly was dying — Aunt Mary, old . 
 and breaking — and she herself to be the wife 
 of her guardian. She shuddered as she thought 
 of it. 
 
 " Better earn my bread than that !" she 
 exclaimed, half aloud. Startled at her own 
 voice, she turned to her mother, fearing that 
 she had disturbed her, but she slept peace- 
 fully on, murmuring in her sleep — 
 
 " My child, I can die in peace, now ; God 
 bless you, my child !'' 
 
 The words came like a reproach to the poor 
 girl, who sank on her knees by the bed- 
 side. 
 
 The fire burnt low, and cast a dull, red 
 glow into the room — the storm raged on — 
 but Eveline never moved till the opening of 
 the door roused her. 
 
 It was Mrs. Dacres, who, startled at the 
 intense silence, walked quickly up to the bed. 
 
 " Hush ! she sleeps 1" said Eveline. 
 
 "And how peacefully," said the other, re- 
 assured from her first alarm. " How calm 
 and happy her dear face looks ! Dear child,
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 115 
 
 if you will go down, I will keep watch here. 
 My brother looks so dull and unhappy — will 
 you go and cheer him a little ?" 
 
 Eveline looked quickly at the speaker, but 
 the old lady's sweet face was as placid as 
 ever, and as innocent of anything like plot- 
 ting as a baby's. In truth, she never guessed 
 her brothers feeliugs towards the child she 
 had reared. 
 
 Eveline did her justice in a moment, 
 and with the quick contiicion that ever fol- 
 lowed her most triflino^ fault, she kissed the 
 withered cheek fondly^ mutely asking pardon 
 for having suspected her. She noiselessly 
 replenished the fire, bent once more over her 
 sleeping mother, gently kissed the wan fore- 
 head, and then sought her own room. 
 
 She bathed her face, smoothed her hair, and 
 then knelt down for a few minutes in earnest 
 prayer. When she rose from her knees there 
 was a calm, holy, but resolute expression on 
 her young face that had not been there half- 
 an-hour ago. 
 
 She went down to the drawing-room, very 
 unlike a young girl about to meet her lover ; 
 
 8—2
 
 116 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 her heart was sick within her, and her hand 
 trembled as she opened the door. 
 
 *' Is she worse to-night ?" asked Greville, 
 risinor to meet her. 
 
 o 
 
 " She is sleeping now," was all that she 
 could trust her voice to say as she sank wearily 
 on the sofa. 
 
 " Is Mary with her ?" he asked, coming over 
 to her and leaning his elbow on the corner of 
 the mantelpiece. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 No word was spoken for some minutes. 
 Evehne took some work from the table, and 
 tried to occupy herself. 
 
 The tempest went raging on, and an awful 
 gust seemed to make the house tremble. 
 
 '' What a fearful night ! " said she, 
 shuddering, scarce less at the storm than 
 at the silence which was becoming unbear- 
 able. 
 
 Her companion heard her not ; the tumult 
 in his own breast drowned all other sounds. 
 He was gazing down on her with passionate 
 yearning, yet unable to utter one word. 
 Often had he been near to speaking all that 
 filled his soul, and had as often refrained —
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 117 
 
 the intensity of his affection made him 
 timid. 
 
 What would not some women have given 
 for such love as this ? Why there were those 
 who would have knelt at his feet for a tithe 
 of what he lavished on this girl who shrank 
 from it, so strange are love's mysteries. 
 
 " Eveline !" 
 
 It was coming now — she felt it — she knew 
 it. Her hands fell on her lap and closed ner- 
 vously, like one striving to bear a great pain 
 without a murmur. 
 
 *' Eveline !" he said again, his voice tremu- 
 lous and husky with emotion. 
 
 The golden head drooped low, but there 
 was no answer. Had she spoken it would 
 have been a shriek. 
 
 Encouraged by her silence, he knelt at her 
 feet, and taking her hands in his, strove to 
 look in her face. 
 
 She slowly raised her head, but the hard 
 white rigid face which met his so shocked 
 him that he started to his feet. 
 
 " Good God ! Evehne, what is it ?" 
 
 Her white lips moved, but no sound came 
 fr-om them ; then the scene at her mother's
 
 118 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 bedside came vividly before her, and she burst 
 into a passion of tears. 
 
 " She is dying ! oh ! my mother !" 
 
 '* My poor child ! My precious one !" said 
 he, sitting down by her side, and gathering 
 her in his arms as he would a suffering child. 
 He drew her head on his breast, his black 
 beard mingling with her golden curls. He 
 longed to pour out in burning words the love 
 that shook his very soul, but with a strong- 
 effort he kept them back, and let her " rain 
 out the heavy mist of tears," gently smooth- 
 ing her head and pressing it closer to him, 
 uttering a fond epithet now and then, till, 
 soothed by his sympathy, she grew calmer. 
 
 " How kind and good he is to me ! Ah ! 
 I will love him dearly," and, as she thought 
 it she pressed almost imperceptibly closer to 
 him. It was the tiniest little caress, but love 
 is quick, and he felt it, and a great thrill went 
 through him. 
 
 He had often thought over what he would 
 say when this delicious moment came, but, of 
 course, every word went from him. Who 
 ever remembered in a moment of passion the 
 eloquent speech so often rehearsed in private
 
 MBS. GREYILLE, 11.) 
 
 — the speech that was to cany everything be- 
 fore it — to find its way to the very depths of 
 the heart ? Such speeches may, and often 
 do, beguile our lonely hours, but I don't think 
 they have any other result. 
 
 Greville's arms tightened round her, and 
 " Eveline, my own darling, will you be my 
 wife — more loved than ever wife was before V 
 was all he said — no word of his love, his 
 adoration of her. 
 
 " Look at me, darling ; tell me, will you 
 make me happy ?" and he gently raised the 
 flushed face to his. 
 
 Her truthful eyes did not flinch. 
 " Shall I really make you happy — happier 
 than you now are V she whispered. 
 What need to record his answer ? 
 When Eveline went to her mother that 
 night, she had her reward in the fervent 
 words of gratitude and thankfulness tliat the 
 invalid poured out, in the fervour of the 
 blessing that she invoked on her child as she 
 clasped her in her arms. Eveline did not 
 leave her that night ; the usual attendant 
 was sent to her own room, and the child kept 
 w^atch over the mother.
 
 120 MRS. GREVILLE, 
 
 In accordance with Mrs. Gaveston's wish, 
 the marriage took place at once. She was 
 sinking very fast, and her one desire seemed 
 to be only to live long enough to see her child 
 in safe hands. 
 
 Eveline was too oppressed with grief to 
 care what was done in the matter ; she was 
 quite passive, and let Colonel Greville arrange 
 everything as he chose. She never left her 
 mother's bedside, and was thus spared the 
 trial of being left alone with her lover — atrial 
 that she felt would be more than she could 
 endure. 
 
 It was a sad and mournful wedding which 
 took place a few days after the foregoing 
 conversation. No one was present but Mrs. 
 Dacres and the clergyman's wife who had 
 vainly striven to induct Eveline into the 
 mysteries of housekeeping. No bells were 
 rung, for who could say w4ien the marriage 
 peal would have to be changed for the funeral 
 knell ? 
 
 Quietly the little party walked back to the 
 cottage to resume their watch by the dying 
 mother. She was very calm and peaceful 
 now, very tranquil, and two days after the
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 121 
 
 marriage the end came. The priest bade 
 every one leave the room ; one lingermg kiss 
 between mother and child, and Colonel 
 Greville bore his fainting wife from the 
 room.
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 *' Oh woman ! in our hours of ease, 
 
 Uncertain, coy, and hard to please ; 
 
 * * ^ * * 
 
 ^\Tien pain and anguish wring the brow, 
 A ministering angel thou !'' 
 
 Scott. 
 
 Eveline was so shaken by her mother's death 
 and that of Mrs. Dacres', who, catching cold 
 at the funeral, was taken ill and died very 
 suddenly, that it was some time before 
 Colonel Greville could take her from the 
 scene of so much sorrow. 
 
 When she was sufficiently recovered to 
 bear the journey, he took her to Italy, and 
 neither of them having any living ties in 
 England, they made no fixed place of abode 
 anywhere, but wandered about for the first 
 few years of their married life wherever their
 
 MBS. GREVILLE. 123 
 
 — or more properly speaking, her — fancy took 
 them ; her fresh, keen enjoyment possessing 
 endless charm for one who only lived to 
 gratify his young wife, and blessed with 
 ample means he indulged her every wish. 
 
 And Eveline — was she happy ? I may 
 safely aver that she was ; not with the wild, 
 passionate happiness that comes to so many 
 for a brief period, and is lasting to so %'ei^ 
 few, but happy with a quiet, tender, grateful 
 affection ; and if at times he yearned for 
 something more, on the whole he was well 
 content and very proud of his wife, whose 
 girlish beauty and talents had developed be- 
 yond all expectation, and who, all uncon- 
 sciously to herself, commanded universal ad- 
 miration wherever they went. But nothing 
 could change the pure, simple nature, nor 
 spoil the childlike innocence which had, from 
 the first, so captivated Colonel GreviEe. 
 Living much in men's society (for Greville 
 cared little for the companionship of any 
 woman but that of his own wife) had given a 
 higher tone to her intellect ; for with all 
 deference to my own sex, I do think that we 
 are raised from much that is small, narrow-
 
 124 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 minded, and unworthy of us, by the com- 
 panionship of gentlemen-~gentlemen in the 
 true acceptation of the word, and none other 
 could claim intimacy with Greville. I am 
 far from thinking or saying that men are god- 
 like heroes or "monsters the world ne'er 
 saw f it is no question of whether their 
 faults and virtues or ours are the greatest — 
 they are different faults and virtues ; and the 
 former are, for the most part, kept out of our 
 sight ; and if we soften their sterner natures 
 and lead them more or less to holier things, 
 they teach us a wider charity, a higher sense 
 of honour, a keener love of truth — ay, and 
 a greater purity of mind and taste than we 
 are apt to learn among ourselves. 
 
 I can fancy the storm that I shall incur for 
 so bold an assertion, but I am an old woman 
 now, and speak with the knowledge of long 
 years and wide experience in all classes. Let 
 any pure minded woman ask herself if in 
 men's society she has ever heard the remarks 
 — the ideas — the conversations — that obtain 
 in female coteries, or in a tete-a-tete with a 
 friend of her own sex ? Doubtless I shall be 
 answered (for we are not logical), " And what
 
 MBS. GRETILLE. 125 
 
 may men's conversation be among them- 
 selves ?" 
 
 I neither know nor wish to know. Possibly 
 not fit for our ears ; but if so, it is never 
 brought before us. We only see the best side 
 of their nature, just as they see the best of 
 ours. Let us mutually profit. 
 
 That Eveline Greville was surrounded by 
 admirers, none can doubt, but her childlike 
 purity was in a measure its own safeguard, 
 to say nothing of her husband's devotion, 
 which took heed that no shoals nor breakers 
 should cross his darling's path. 
 
 Hers was a loyal nature, and though scarce 
 more than a child when she gave her mother 
 the solemn promise that she had asked, never 
 for a moment had her heart wavered in its 
 truth and integrity to the husband, whom, 
 nearly thirty years her senior, she had married 
 from a sense of duty and gratitude ; nor had 
 the possibility of caring for any other than the 
 kind, generous man, who had trusted his 
 happiness to her keeping — nor even of wish- 
 ing him younger or different to what he was 
 — ever crossed her loyal mind. 
 
 In after years how often did Eveline think
 
 126 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 of what her husband had been to her, how his 
 loving care had kept all dangers from her ! 
 how bitterly did she wail over the meagre 
 affection and gratitude that she had given 
 him ! for it was in these after years that she 
 learnt too truly that she had given him silver 
 for his gold — pure and abundant it is true — 
 but still not gold. But the knowledge came 
 too late, as self-reproach so often does, when 
 we would give all we possess but for one hour 
 in which to make amends — that one hour 
 which nothing can give back ! But the Gre- 
 villes were happy, ay, happier than many 
 who have married with wild, passionate love 
 throbbing in either heart, and who have started 
 on their life's journey with colours flying and 
 drums beating. How long does that golden 
 dream last? How long ere sharp, cutting 
 words are spoken, regardless of the pain they 
 inflict ? They are forgiven at first, but too 
 soon do — 
 
 " Ruder words again rusli in, 
 To spread the breach that words begin, 
 Till fast departing one by one, 
 The sweetnesses of love are gone;" 
 
 and thus does temper — that domestic curse — 
 lay the foundation of the wretched barrier
 
 JII^S. GREVILLE. 127 
 
 which, too often, rises between hearts that 
 once have loved, but now are parted for ever- 
 more. 
 
 The outward tie binds them still, but what 
 is that worth, when the sweet inward link is 
 broken ? But this is a digression. To return 
 to the Grevilles. They were in Eome, when 
 some business summoned them to Enofland. In 
 the hurried journey — what caused it, who can 
 tell ? but Greville, the strong, hale man, whose 
 iron frame had been proof against all illness 
 and privations, was struck down by paralysis. 
 
 We will not dwell on that painful time, nor 
 how, after long and anxious watching, the in- 
 valid was brought by easy stages to London, 
 where Mrs. Greville had written to an old 
 friend of her husband's to procure them a 
 house, " a bright, sunny situation," wrote she. 
 " I do not know London, so leave it all to you 
 — spare no expense, and please have every- 
 thing ready for us. I know that I need offer 
 no apology to so true a friend as you are." 
 
 Eobert Challenor did her bidding, got a 
 house ready in Park Lane, and then went 
 over to Paris, to help in bringing back his old 
 friend.
 
 128 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 It was a piteous thing to see the once power- 
 ful man — a very tower of strength — reduced 
 to worse than the helplessness of a child (for 
 he had lost the use of his limbs), and looking 
 to his fragile young wife for support. 
 
 He bore his terrible fate bravely and 
 patiently, as most men do bear the inevitable ; 
 and dear as he always had been to his wife, 
 he was tenfold dearer now ; prized as all things 
 are prized, when we see them slipping from 
 our grasp. Whatever her grief, she was 
 always cheerful with him ; her spirit was never 
 out of tune ; she guessed his slightest wish 
 before it was uttered ; she was never without 
 a fund of news — Heaven only knows how col- 
 lected, for she never left him — wherewith to 
 amuse him. 
 
 She alone could soothe the irritability caused 
 by his malady — she would draw the poor, 
 weary head on her bosom, and whisper fond, 
 caressing words as a mother to her child ; she 
 would sing to him for hours ; — nothing 
 wearied her ; — nothing shook the loving 
 patience with which she met his every whim 
 or caprice. 
 
 He could not endure her to be out of his sight
 
 MBS. GllEVILLE. 1^9 
 
 for a moment — ^slie was his sunshine — his one 
 pleasure ; and if his friends sometimes thought 
 him exiofeant where she was concerned, she re- 
 joiced at being able to requite in some measure 
 all that he had done for her and for her mother. 
 
 Mr. Challenor, a man of some eminence in 
 the political world, became a frequent visitor, 
 and always a welcome one, to the invalid. They 
 had been school-fellows ; they had travelled 
 together ; they had shot elephants — side by 
 side — in Africa ; they had visited together 
 most of the cities of Europe ; in short they 
 were fast friends, and few people stood as 
 high in Greville's estimation as Eoberc 
 Challenor. 
 
 Mrs. Challenor was very different to her 
 husband, Greville could not endure her, he 
 said that she grated him all over. She was a 
 cold, hard, ambitious woman, but had con- 
 ceived a real affection for Eveline, whose un- 
 remitting care of her invalid husband won her 
 admiration, for she could be a staunch friend, 
 though sometimes a bitter enemy. 
 
 But with the captious ness of an invalid, 
 Greville said one day after a visit from her : 
 
 " She sets my teeth on edge — I cannot stand 
 
 VOL. I. 9
 
 ],?0 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 her. Don't let her come near me any more. 
 What on earth Challenor saw in her^ passes 
 my comprehension." 
 
 "Let ns hope, for his sake, that there is 
 more than meets the eye," said Eveline, laugh- 
 ing ; " but I must agree that they do seem a 
 mal-assorti couple, reminding one of the Dutch 
 philosophy of two wrong halves coming to- 
 gether by accident. Still I do think that her 
 ambition for him acts as a spur. His speech 
 last night in the House is very clever. Let 
 me read it you ; you ought to know something 
 of it before he pays you his evening visit." 
 
 From this it may be inferred that Challenor 
 did not neglect his old friend, to whom he was 
 truly attached ; but I will not vouch that he 
 did not carry away with him recollections of 
 a sweet, gentle face, a soft, womanly manner, 
 and a low-toned silvery voice — ''a most ex- 
 cellent thing in woman "■ — that discussed his 
 speeches with him, and questioned his opinions 
 with an audacity that, coming from such lovely 
 lips, enchanted him, and made Greville laugh. 
 And often on his way to the House, after one 
 of these visits, it seemed to him that before 
 him floated a figure of matchless symmetry,
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 131 
 
 draped in some soft material that never 
 rustled, and which owned a face of heavenly 
 beauty ; and he would wonder whether, tended 
 by such an angel, he could not be as patient 
 as Greville. 
 
 Dangerous speculations. 
 
 9—2
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 " He faded, and so calm and meek, 
 So softly wan, so sweetly weak,. 
 So tearless, yet so tender, kind, 
 And grieved for those lie left behind ! 
 And not a word of murmur— not 
 A groan o'er his untimely lot." 
 
 Byron. 
 
 Two years passed on without any improve- 
 ment in Colonel Greville's state ; he was, in 
 fact, slowly sinking. 
 
 It had been an oppressingly hot day in July, 
 such a day as makes one long to be out of 
 town, breathing sweet country scents. The 
 sun was setting as he only sets in London — a 
 great globe of fire, looming out of a purple 
 mist. The trees were parched and dusty — 
 the grass burnt — all nature hot and panting, 
 except the paralysed man whose chair had 
 been wheeled to the window that he might
 
 MRS. GEEVILLE. 133 
 
 enjoy the last rays from the west. Hot as 
 the day was, a warm shawl was wrapped about 
 his knees, and a fire smouldered in the grate, 
 ready at any moment to be roused into a blaze, 
 but he nevertheless looked cold and pinched 
 as he lay back in his chair. The long, black 
 beard, once his pride, was shaven off, and there 
 was nothinof to hide the ravao^es of illness ; 
 the moutli was drawn ; the large black eyes 
 had sunk into deep caverns, hollowed out by 
 suffering ; it was a painful wreck of the once 
 stalwart mnn, of whom Mrs. Gaveston had 
 said, only six years before, that forty years 
 could hardly change him. 
 
 Eveline was kneeling by his side, his a,rm 
 was round her neck — held there by her warm, 
 soft clasp — while his eyes were fixed with that 
 far-away look peculiar to those who know 
 that they are dying. Who that has seen that 
 look has ever forgotten it ? What is it seeing ? 
 Any visible presence apparent only to those 
 about to quit the world ? God knows. 
 
 He had gazed thus so long that Eveline, 
 alarmed, drew his wasted hand closer to her 
 cheek. The mute caress recalled him to earth, 
 and her. A smile, if ought so anxious, so pain-
 
 134 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 fill, SO mournful, could be called one, passed 
 over his face. 
 
 " My precious one !" said he, turning to her, 
 " what will become of you when I am gone T 
 
 " Arthur," she whispered, drawing closer to 
 him, " are you feeling worse ?" 
 
 " No, my child ; better I think ; only I am 
 very cold." 
 
 She got up, closed the window, made up the 
 fire, wheeled his chair close to it, and rang 
 for some tea, the one thing that he liked. 
 
 The butler announced Mr. Challenor as he 
 brought in the tray. 
 
 *' Ah ! I am glad to see you," said the in- 
 valid ; "we were getting a little dull, and 
 wanted some one to cheer us." 
 
 Eobert Challenor was a middle-aged man 
 of moderate height, very slight and spare ol 
 figure, as most men are who work their brains 
 much : his face was decidedly hard favoured, but 
 redeemed by a good, square overhanging fore- 
 head, with a chin to match, both betokening 
 a firm, resolute character, which his friends 
 said his private life belied, as he was never 
 known to hold his own by the domestic fire- 
 side. His voice was his charm ; low and
 
 ^ MRS. GREVILLE. 135 
 
 gentle, but so deep, full- toned and sonorous 
 that one wondered where the lungs were that 
 gave forth that deep diapason. 
 
 From Ion Of control of his feelino-s he had 
 gained a calm, almost a cold, exterior ; and 
 none would have guessed from the outward 
 man that beneath lay an intense, passionate 
 nature. Mount Etna at rest looks cold and 
 hard enouo-h on the outside. 
 
 o 
 
 "What, no House to-night ?" said Eveline, 
 trying to speak cheerfully. 
 
 " Saturday," said he, shaking hands; ''and 
 how are you to-night, Greville ?" 
 
 A sliofht shake of the head, and the shadosv 
 of a smile, was all the answer he gave — au 
 answer he did not intend his wife to see ; but 
 her quick eye caught the signal, and she turned 
 to the tea-table to hide the sudden tears and 
 trembling lip ; then rallying, as though dread- 
 ing to hear her fears confirmed, she said in a 
 voice she strove to render steady, 
 
 " I am afraid I let him sit too long by the 
 open window, and he is a little chilled," (the 
 thermometer stood at eighty), she glanced at 
 Challenor with an appealing look as though 
 beseeching comfort from him.
 
 136 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 He turned to the fire, for that look was 
 more than he could stand, and uttered some 
 hanalite about English evenings. 
 
 Greville, in the tenderness of his great love, 
 could not bear to see her sad, and he said 
 cheerfully, so as to rouse them all, 
 
 " We have been reading your speech cf last 
 night, and my little Tory wife was quite elo- 
 quent in her anger with you." 
 
 "Xes ahsens, &g." replied Challenor, smiling, 
 " but in what have I fallen under your dis- 
 pleasure, fair lady ?" 
 
 " In that you are doing no good and much 
 eventual harm by your so-called Liberal mea- 
 sures,'*' retorted Eveline, as she brought the 
 tea to her husband, and stood between him 
 and the other, so that he should not see that 
 she had to raise the cup to the invalid's lips. 
 Always tender and thoughtful for him, she was 
 jealous that any one should see his utter help- 
 lessness. 
 
 " A sweeping accusation !" laughed Chal- 
 lenor. 
 
 *' I do call it class legislation when every 
 measure you pass is to benefit the shopkeepers : 
 wdiat Napoleon said in irony is fast becoming
 
 MBS. GREYILLE. 137 
 
 true," responded Eveline, warming on the 
 theme. 
 
 "Now let me convince you," began Chal- 
 lenor. 
 
 " You won't convince me, though you may 
 beat me in argument,'' she replied playfully. 
 
 " Are women ever convinced by argument?" 
 said Greville, somewhat restored by the tea. 
 
 " 1 am not sure about arguments," she an- 
 swered ; " it seems to me that the end of all 
 arguments is to leave people where they began, 
 ' of the same opinion still,' but instinct tells 
 us when we are right without arguing." 
 
 "Ah, that instinct," smiled Challenor, "it 
 is a marvellous faculty, but far too subtle for 
 our masculine comprehension." 
 
 " Now you are laughing at me ; but don't 
 suppose that women can't reason. We can, I 
 assure you ; only seeing the results quickly, it 
 saves time to step across the diameter, instead 
 of accompanying you slowly round the circle, 
 and that always puzzles a man." 
 
 " Well, it is wonderful how you ladies jump 
 to conclusions." 
 
 "And right ones, acknowledge!" insisted 
 Eveline.
 
 138 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 " Sometimes," conceded Challenor, with a 
 smile; *^ but I am not prepared to say how 
 such impulsive legislation would answer in 
 governing the country." 
 
 '^ I should be sorry to see women governing 
 the country," replied Mrs. Greville, laughing, 
 "but I do think that we could often prophesy 
 the results of your policy." 
 
 " Inasmuch ?" 
 
 " Inasmuch," she continued, undaunted, 
 " that your endeavours to do away with class 
 will lower the tone of society and will create 
 a feeling of discontent, to say nothing of 
 rebellion, in the very class that you wish to 
 raise." 
 
 " I deny wishing to abolish the distinction 
 of class, but I should like the distinction to 
 arise from moral and intellectual sources, 
 rather than from the accident of birth." 
 
 '' Do you then count ancient lineage, hon- 
 ourable descent, as nothing f exclaimed Eve- 
 line. 
 
 " We all count to Adam," said Challenor. 
 
 " A truism ; but I fancy you do take 
 some count of your horse's pedigree," a little 
 sarcastically, ''and deem him more or less
 
 / MRS. GREVILLE. 139 
 
 valuable according to the blood he shows ; 
 yet doubtless there is an Adam in the equine 
 
 history." 
 
 t/ 
 
 " Well answered. But still, why not give 
 to men with intellects capable of the greatest 
 improvement, facilities for rising? Why leave 
 them in brutish ignorance simply because an 
 accident has placed them in a lower rank ? 
 Let the upper classes raise themselves in the 
 same ratio ; let them use their greater oppor- 
 tunities to lift themselves in the moral and 
 intellectual scale, and you will still keep the 
 coveted distinction of class that you speak 
 of." 
 
 " I am afraid that my pretty politician is 
 fairly beat," said Colonel Greville. 
 
 *' Not a bit !" she cried, " I could say a 
 great deal on the necessity of the upper classes 
 being born demigods, if they are to be superior 
 
 to all others ; that Lord A is born to a 
 
 Marquisate, and countless acres — born a feu- 
 dal Lord — but not a Pitt. That Lord B — 's 
 lineage and immense wealth give him a de- 
 cided position ; he will never be a Socrates, 
 hut alivcujs a gentleman^ which your clever 
 shop-boy will never be — he hasn't the instinct
 
 140 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 of one. He may be a great genius, but he 
 will never cease to feel bitter and sore at his 
 'accident of birth/ and because he cannot 
 belong to a higher sphere will only care to 
 demolish it ; and yet I believe that that very 
 man would gladly change places with Lord 
 
 A or Lord B , intellect and all. 1 
 
 could say a great deal, but I will be merciful, 
 and give you music instead of politics." 
 
 She sat down to the piano, and, after 
 striking a few chords, wandered into some 
 recollections of Mozart, and presently her rich 
 full voice rose in the glorious strain of the 
 Agnus Dei of the Twelfth Mass. 
 
 Not a word was uttered when she ended, 
 but the hushed silence was the highest tribute 
 that she could have received. She came for- 
 ward, and, leaning over the back of her hus- 
 band's chair, asked him if he remembered 
 hearing it in the Vatican some years ago. 
 
 ''It was more magnificent and impressive 
 than I can say," she added turning to Chal- 
 lenor. '' I can quite understand religious 
 fervour and devotion being roused by such 
 glorious music — by the solemnity that sur- 
 rounds the Roman Catholic faith. Now, even
 
 ' MRS. GREVILLE. 141 
 
 you," nodding her head playfully at Challenor, 
 *' even you — too reasonable to be carried away 
 by imagination — were impressed just now by 
 the beauty of that music, and yet there was 
 but a piauo and one voice ; but when the 
 grand tones of an organ and a whole chorus 
 of human voices take up the strain, filling the 
 air with music — ah ! the heart aches v/ith all 
 it feels, and longs to feel !" 
 
 She spoke passionately, as she was apt to 
 do on that theme. 
 
 How often in after days did Challenor 
 recall her as he saw her then in all her 
 womanly beauty, standing against the still 
 red-lighted sky — her soft white dress hanging 
 in long graceful folds about her — the slight 
 delicate wrists and throat circled with plain 
 gold — the rapt expression of her up-turned 
 face. 
 
 She did not notice the silence that lasted 
 for a few minutes, and then Challenor took 
 his leave. 
 
 Once more alone together. 
 
 " Come nearer to me, my own," said Gre- 
 ville, looking back at her, as she leant over 
 him ; in a moment she was at his side on her
 
 142 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 knees : " I feel very weary to-night," and he 
 laid his head on her bosom. 
 
 She could not speak, but there was a mute 
 eloquence in the clinging way in which she 
 gathered him to her breast, as if she were pro- 
 tecting him from danger. It was very hard to 
 die, and he felt it. 
 
 *'No one will ever love you as I do, my 
 darling," he said, with ineffable tenderness. 
 
 " I know it ! I know it !" sobbed Eveline, 
 her tears raining down fast : "oh ! do not say 
 you must leave me, my own f 
 
 The dreaded fear was spoken, and all her 
 self-control went from her ; her head sank 
 down on his shoulder, and she sobbed pite- 
 ous] y. 
 
 The sight of her grief calmed him, and he 
 strove to soothe her. 
 
 " Hush ! my dearest one, I will not leave 
 you if I can help it. It is. a darksome jour- 
 ney to take without you, my best blessing." 
 
 His eyes sought hers with a yearning that 
 went straight to her heart ; she had not loved 
 him as he had longed to be loved by her, she 
 saw it — she felt it at last —and he was dying ! 
 Oh ! that the past could be recalled ! That
 
 ' MRS. GREVILLE. 143 
 
 vain cry so many of us make when too 
 late! 
 
 Their lips met in a long kiss, and he tried 
 to fold her in his arms, but they fell power- 
 less beside him ; and a bitter wailing cry 
 escaped him — a cry that went to her heart, 
 and drawing his thin haggard cheek to her 
 soft warm one, she sought to soothe him as a 
 mother would her child, till, calm and peace- 
 ful, his head sank forward in one of those 
 ftudden sleeps that so truly tell of coming 
 death. 
 
 He slept on, very quietly ; she hardly 
 dared breathe for fear of waking him; dreaded 
 lest the beating of her heart, which throbbed 
 louder every moment, should disturb him. 
 Still he slept on. Would he never wake ? 
 
 The shades were closing in ; the firelight 
 fell with fitful gleams on the surrounding 
 objects, lending them, to her excited fancy, a 
 weird and ghastly look ; she could not reach 
 the bell. She could not move, for she held 
 him in her arms, and the head seemed to grow 
 heavier every moment. 
 
 Was it all over ? Kind heaven forbid ! 
 
 She could scarce repress the shriek that
 
 144 MRS. GREVILLE, 
 
 rose to her lips, when quietly and calmly he 
 opened his eyes. 
 
 *^ My child ! my Eveline !" he began, but 
 the sentence was never finished. 
 
 Quick as thought she seized a restorative 
 that stood always at hand, and tried to pour 
 some down his throat, but a spasm drew his 
 face, and the liquid ran from his distorted 
 lips. 
 
 A shriek of anguish, and a rush to the bel] ; 
 the violent peal brought several servants run- 
 ning into the room. 
 
 Poor Greville lay back, not dsad, but speech- 
 less. Paralysis had again struck him, and for 
 the last time. 
 
 In vain were the best physicians summoned 
 — in vain all their skill. The King of Terrors 
 had flapped his wings over his victim, and 
 the chill had struck home — nor skill nor art 
 could avail any more. The last summons had 
 come, and he must go. 
 
 He lingered a day or two, and then died in 
 his wife's arms ; his loving eyes never leaving 
 her, and mutely speaking the deep, tender, 
 unvarying love that his tongue could no more 
 tell.
 
 / MRS. GREVILLE. 145 
 
 The noble, generous heart was stilled. 
 The voice that had never uttered a harsh 
 word to her was silent for ever more. For he 
 was dead. 
 
 Weep on, poor soul, weep on, for never 
 again shalt thou have such a friend on earth, 
 never again such a guarding, protecting love 
 to come betwixt thee and earthly ill. Better 
 if thou couldst die in that heavy swoon than 
 wake to battle with the world, armed only 
 with thy youth, thy beaut}', thy marvellous 
 fascination. 
 
 But death comes not because we deem it 
 would be better. Eveline had her appointed 
 ra,ce to run, and she lived. 
 
 For a time she was inconsolable, and in the 
 sorrow of her heart cried out that she was 
 desolate and alone. 
 
 Desolate and alone 1 
 
 Have any of my readers ever felt what 
 those words mean ? God forbid ! for they 
 mean that the heart has become a desert, 
 where nothing can ever live again, that an 
 icy barrier stands betwixt it and all human 
 sympathy, all comfort — they mean that a 
 plague-spot is written thereon, like the mark 
 
 VOL. 1. 10
 
 146 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 of Cain, warning all away from that black anc 
 dreary abyss. 
 
 Desolate and alone ! Bereft of human suc- 
 cour, and worst of all, bereft of inward 
 help. 
 
 Are all those suicides really insane on 
 whom that verdict is passed ? Forsaken of 
 man, deeming they are forsaken of God (" the 
 fool saith in his heart, there is no God,") who 
 knows what horrible blank despair, sapping 
 the last vestige of courage — a despair that is 
 not madness, for consciousness is left — may 
 have bowed down those unhappy ones who 
 think to end all with their earthly woes ? 
 
 Let us never talk of being alone and deso- 
 late so long as we can lift the heart upwards 
 and feel that there is One above, who, though 
 we come not to Him till every tie is riven, 
 every earthly hope exhausted, will not reject 
 us, nor refuse to bind up the broken heart, 
 though we come to Him last of all. 
 
 Ah, me ! how idly we use words some- 
 times ! 
 
 Mrs. Greville had gone down to her Welsh 
 cottage for her husband's funeral, and she 
 remained there. It was her childhood's home,
 
 / MRS. GREVILLE. 147 
 
 a place rendered doubly sacred now, for there 
 slept all whom she had loved — -mother, friend, 
 and husband : and for many months, deaf to 
 all entreaties, she shut herself up there with 
 her grief It was not good for her, for an 
 apathy and morbid feeling were stealing over 
 her. 
 
 He had died in July, and it was not till the 
 fair spring-time had come round again, that a 
 few very intimate friends were allowed to 
 break in on her solitude. They did her good, 
 and roused her to exertion, but she was vexed 
 and angry with herself for forgetting him 
 even for an hour ; for like all young people, 
 new to sorrow, she nursed and cherished it, 
 feeling there was an infidelity to the dead 
 in being happy, and in yielding to genial 
 influences around. 
 
 But youth will assert its blessed supremacy. 
 If its passions are keener, they are shorter 
 lived, their very intensity destroys them. 
 The fiercer the fire, the quicker it burns out. 
 Tis the law of nature, and the chains of grief 
 will glide ofP the young heart, and leave it 
 imfettered, without any effort of its own. 
 
 It is only as we grow older, and feel onl}? 
 
 10—2
 
 148 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 too well that we cannot forget, that we struggle 
 to do so — struggle to put from us the cruel, 
 aching ^pain, that we cannot get rid of, that 
 no opiate can soothe, no pleasure beguile. 
 The phantom of past happiness — a happiness 
 that perhaps we have murdered by our own 
 acts — stands in retributive memory before us, 
 defying us to put away remembrance. 
 
 We may smile, and laugh, and mix freely 
 with our fellow-men, but the spectre never 
 leaves us. Woe is me ! there is no " fabled 
 stream " for us who have outlived our youth, 
 but |not our sorrows. There is no earthly 
 future — no more rebounding into the realms 
 of earthly hope for us ; 
 
 " N"o clothing of the palpable and the familiar, 
 With golden exhalations of the dawn." 
 
 Our dawn has fled — our night has come, 
 
 " And though the eye may sparkle still, 'tis where the ice 
 
 appears : 
 Though wit may flow from fluent lips, and mirth distract 
 
 the breast 
 Through midnight hours that yield no more their former 
 
 hope of rest, 
 'Tis but as ivy leaves around the ruined turret wreath, 
 All green and wildly fresh without, but worn and gray 
 
 beneath."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 " Le plus grand effort de ramiti^ n'est pas de montrer nos 
 defauts a un ami, c'est de lui faire part des siens." 
 
 EOCHEFOUCAULD. 
 
 More than eighteen months had ghded by 
 since Colonel Greville's death, and his widow- 
 was still at the cottage which Mrs. Dacres 
 had many years before settled on the child she 
 had loved so well. 
 
 Mrs. Greville was very rich, for her husband 
 had left her everything, and she was thus 
 enabled to carry out many benevolent schemes 
 in a neighbourhood that was endeared to her 
 by all the sweet associations of childhood ; and 
 in promoting the happiness of others — in 
 relieving and consoling the sick and^ the poor 
 — her mind recovered its natural healthy tone ; 
 and as there was endless occupation in the ira-
 
 150 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 provement of her little property, and in culti- 
 vating talents with which she \^'as richly gifted, 
 and which had amply repaid the care bestowed 
 on them by her adoring husband, her life, if 
 quiet, was a very happy one, and far from 
 dull. 
 
 A few intimate friends occasionally visited 
 her, but no one had been able to lure her from 
 her retirement, 
 
 Her most frequent gaest was Lady Pamela 
 Lorton, the eldest daughter of Lord Oke- 
 hampton. Though utterly dissimilar, a very 
 warm friendship had sprung up between them, 
 and there was just that slight relationship 
 which is counted or ignored, according to the 
 amount of liking or disliking that is mutually 
 entertained ; and as Lady Pamela's mother 
 was sister to the present Earl of Pierrepoint, 
 there were sufficient grounds for calling them- 
 selves cousins. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Challenor had also been to see 
 her, conjugally, once or twice ; but he, who 
 sat for a borough in South Wales, found of 
 late that his constituents wanted much looking 
 after, and likewise discovered that if not the 
 nearest, the pleasantest route was by Llan-
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 151 
 
 fenydd, and so it came to pass that the little 
 inn often had the honour of putting up the 
 member for . 
 
 Mrs. Greville used to laugh at the solici- 
 tude that he displayed for his supporters, and 
 would playfully ask him if he expected a dis- 
 solution that he was so often among them, 
 little dreaming what was the attraction that 
 brought him that way, for never by word nor 
 look had he betrayed himself. 
 
 Quiet, calm almost to coldness in appear- 
 ance, he was about the last man any one 
 would have supposed cajoable of becoming the 
 slave of an engrossing passion, and yet he 
 loved Eveline Greville with a mad, hopeless 
 love — hopeless, for it was not possible for 
 him, who knew her so well, to misconstrue 
 her gentle, kindly friendship ; and the know- 
 ledge that the first wild word from him would 
 be his sentence of banishment, had hithei*to 
 kept his lips sealed, but not without a 
 struggle — a struggle so great, that he would 
 often take his farewell in so cold and formal 
 a manner, that Mrs. Greville was inclined to 
 pity the wife of one who, if clever, was very 
 hard and reserved ; and when she heard Mrs.
 
 152 21 RS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Challenor found fault with as being so void of 
 sensibility, she invariably took her part, feeling 
 that it was no wonder, considering the hard, 
 callous nature with which she was mated ; 
 but those who could have seen him in the 
 solitude of his chamber after one of those 
 partings that had called forth this judgment 
 would have given a very different verdict. 
 
 His head buried in his arms, his whole 
 frame shaken, he would resolve never again 
 to see the woman he loved, until he could 
 look on her sweet face unmoved, but 
 
 " Weak and irresolute is man, 
 The purpose of to-day, 
 Woven with pains into his plan, 
 To-morrow rends away," 
 
 And so, though each time that he left the 
 cottage he said it should be for the last time, 
 it never was the last. 
 
 January had come round again, and Mrs. 
 Challenor, having gone to spend some time 
 with a sister, her husband took the oppor- 
 tunity of running down to see how Mrs. Gre- 
 ville's schools were progressing — schools in 
 which he took great interest, though Eveline's 
 principles and his were at utter variance — she
 
 MRS. GREVJLLE. 153 
 
 holding to what she called good old times, and 
 making her scholars good simple Christians, 
 and fitting them by a knowledge of house- 
 wifery and needlework to be helpmeets for 
 men of their own class, while Challenor was 
 all for a more extended education ; but she 
 would playfully tell him that she was monarch 
 of all she surveyed, and would admit no 
 traitors to spoil her Utopia. 
 
 Challenor, a good deal to his mortification, 
 found Lady Pamela on this occasion at the 
 cottage. 
 
 He had an instinctive feeling that she read 
 him like a book, and that she might, at any 
 moment impart such information to her friend 
 as would put an end to visits which were the 
 charm of his life. 
 
 Lady Pamela was the same age as Eveline, 
 that is, about five-and-tvventy, but twice her 
 ao^e in shrewd knowledo-e of the world. No 
 two people could be more unlike. Where 
 one was confiding, trustful, gentle, and essen- 
 tially feminine, the other was suspicious, hard, 
 taking nothing on trust, clever, and a tho- 
 rough woman of the world ; but she was very 
 fond of Eveline, regarding her with a jDi'otect-
 
 154 MBS. GEEYILLE. 
 
 ing tenderness as one utterly unlit to take 
 care of herself. 
 
 Nor were they less unlike in person than in 
 mind. Lady Pamela was universally called 
 handsome, but she was not really entitled to 
 the appellation. Splendid brown eyes, a 
 small head crowned with glossy black hair, 
 the dazzling complexion of a young, healthy 
 Englishwoman, and a figure round and beau- 
 tiful as Hebe's, joined to a perfect knowledge 
 of the toilette, was quite sufficient to give 
 Lady Pamela Lorton the reputation of beauty, 
 and indeed she was a very brilliant, striking 
 woman. It would be difficult to imao^ine a 
 greater contrast than that she presented to 
 Eveline, who, delicately fair, with a com- 
 plexion like the inside of a shell, almost too 
 pure and transparent for health, and with a 
 wealth of golden hair — that yellow, sparkling 
 colour so rarely seen, except in children — 
 which fell in soft natural curls around her 
 white, swan-like throat, was as lovely a being 
 as ever bewitched a poet's dream. Her large, 
 wistful eyes of the deepest blue, were almost 
 too beautiful, for in them was that look
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 155 
 
 " Which shows, tho' wandering earthward now, 
 Her spirit*S> home is in the skies above ;" 
 
 but, richly fringed with long black lashes, and 
 surmounted by delicately pencilled eyebrows, 
 they could laugh as merrily as did the little 
 rosy mouth — a veritable Cupid's bow — that 
 broke into dimples whenever she smiled, 
 showing a most lovely row of little pearls. 
 Though taller and slighter than her cousin, 
 her figure was rounded in the most beautiful 
 proportions of mature womanhood, and those 
 who had once seen her narrow arched instep 
 and rounded ankle, or marked the matchless 
 beauty of her arms and wrists, no longer 
 wondered at the perfect grace of her every 
 movement. 
 
 Such was Eveline Greville, as she sat at 
 her writing-table with a heap of some asylum 
 cards at her side, and on the floor a number 
 of letters, she herself still occupied in run- 
 ning down the list of subscribers. 
 
 A blazing wood fire burnt on the hearth, 
 near which reclined Lady Pamela in an easy- 
 chau', a book and paper-cutter lying idly in 
 her lap, as she watched her cousin with quaint 
 wonderment.
 
 156 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 *^ I tell you what, ma belle amie," said she, 
 at last, " you will never get on in the world ; 
 you are too good-natured. Depend upon it, 
 it don't answer. Amiable people always go 
 to the wall. I don't say that the moral is 
 unimpeachable, but the fact is." 
 
 '' A propos de quoi, belle cousine ?" said 
 Eveline, keeping her finger on the last name 
 she had been considering, but turning her 
 head to Pamela; '^ I don't think that I have 
 been guilty of any particular amiability lately 
 that I deserve your censure." 
 
 " What do you call that V retorted the 
 other, pointing with the paper-cutter to the 
 heap of large square letters, all of one size, 
 that were scattered on the floor ; *' what 
 return do you expect to get for that ?" 
 
 " Well, the return of this orphan, I hope," 
 said Eveline, taking up a card. " It is a sad 
 case." 
 
 " My dear, there are heaps of sad cases in 
 the world, and if you set about relieving them, 
 you will find you will bring a hornet's nest 
 about your ears." 
 
 " But surely, Pam — " began Eveline. 
 
 " But surely, Eve," interrupted the other.
 
 3fRS. GREYILLE. 157 
 
 " I would not take that trouble," — nodding at 
 the obnoxious letters — " for any one living. 
 You go in for virtue being its own reward, 
 but that's an obsolete idea, and does not hold 
 now." 
 
 "I don't know about 'going in for any- 
 thing, but surely^ a quiet conscience is some- 
 thing." 
 
 "Undoubtedly," replied Pamela, *' but I 
 am quite sure that poring over those cards all 
 the morning would give me anything but a 
 quiet conscience. I should feel inclined to 
 consign them and their cause to Jericho. I 
 don't think I have a conscience — certainly it 
 never troubles me." 
 
 " Pamela !" remonstrated Eveline. 
 
 "Do you wish me to have a bad conscience ? 
 that's uncharitable." 
 
 " I wish you would not be so sarcastic," said 
 Eveline, folding another missive and adding it 
 to the heap. 
 
 " Perhaps you do it for a penance," sug- 
 gested Lady Pamela, looking towards the 
 window as she reclined indolently in her chair ; 
 " you ought to subject yourself to some mor-
 
 158 2II^S. GREVILLE, 
 
 tification for inflicting tortures on that unfor- 
 tunate wretch I see coming up the walk." 
 
 " Who is that ?" said Eveline. 
 
 " I do love that little innocent voice," said 
 the other, ironically. ''Do you know that you 
 have the making of a most thorough coquette 
 in you, and of the worst order, too — the senti- 
 mental ?" 
 
 " Ten votes. I wonder if I can get them," 
 said Eveline, absently, and not hstening to her 
 cousin, though her eyes were unconsciously 
 fixed upon her, as with one elbow resting on 
 the table she was nibbling the end of her pen, 
 calculating her chances on the matter before 
 her. 
 
 " Now if my butterflies do singe the down 
 on their wings," continued Pamela, " it may 
 smart a little, but they are none the worse, 
 and they come out as fresh as ever, while you 
 stick a red-hot needle right in their — what is 
 the thing they have ? — thorax." 
 
 "What on earth are you talking of?" ex 
 claimed Eveline, catching the last word. 
 
 " I was talking of your sins, anc. nking 
 of Mr. Challenor," retorted Pamela, "who ivas 
 coming up the walk, but as he has not put in
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 159 
 
 an appearance yet, I suppose is taking a slight 
 turn to compose his feelings ; perhaps his 
 speech." 
 
 " My dear child," said Eveline, laughing, 
 " if you knew Mr, Challenor as well as I do, 
 you would know that you are talking nonsense. 
 I am very fond of him, and he has a friendly 
 feeling for me because of old times ; but as to 
 his having a penchant f )r any woman living, 
 it is perfectly absurd. I don't think," she 
 said slowly, "he even cares much about his 
 wife." 
 
 " Not unlikely. I don't know many who 
 do." 
 
 Pamela took up her book, and Eveline her 
 pen, no more disturbed than if she had been 
 told that the figure of Pallas Athene on the 
 top of that club in Pall Mall was inclined to 
 like her. 
 
 " What brino^s Mr. Challenor here so often?" 
 said Pamela, suddenly dropping her book in 
 her lap. 
 
 " His constituents," said Eveline, quietly. 
 
 "Bah! M.P.'s dont care to be so much 
 among them. But since when has this un- 
 pronounceable place sent a member ?"
 
 160 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 "You are quite incorrigible," returned Eve- 
 line, not deigning any further enlightenment. 
 
 " I have heard that the nearest way home 
 is the long one round," replied Pamela, mis- 
 chievously, *' and doubtless this M.P. 'who 
 doesn't even care much for his wife,' generally 
 finds this the nearest way to his borough, 
 though I should say it was some thirty miles 
 round : but he has miscalculated to-day, for 
 it has taken him half an hour to do what any 
 loss circumlocuting mortal would have done in 
 ^we minutes. There he is." 
 
 A rinof at the bell confirmed her words. 
 
 " One comfort, Eveline, I have in this is that 
 you are heart whole." 
 
 Eveline turned round, her eyes flashing. 
 
 Pamela laughed, and the serva^nt announced 
 Mr. Challenor. 
 
 The next day Pamela was going home, 
 having extracted a promise from her cousin 
 that she would pay them a visit. 
 
 " Well, I confess I am anxious to see this 
 cousin of ours who has won your hard heart," 
 said Eveline. 
 
 Lady Pamela was engaged to Lord Gaveston. 
 
 " I am not ' all heart ' like that dear old 
 Jezebel in Dombey," replied Pamela, '' in fao^
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. ,161 
 
 I am not sure I have any; but Gaveston and I 
 suit each other, we shan't quarrel, we are both 
 good-tempered, he is too lazy to be anything 
 else, and I generally remark that the people 
 who have the fiercest quarrels are those who 
 are said to love each or,her most." 
 
 " I cannot imagine being even angry with 
 a person one loves," said Eveline. 
 
 " / can," was the response. " For a woman 
 who I suppose has seen a good deal of the 
 world, you are extraordinarily romantic." 
 
 " Strange as it may seem I have seen very 
 little of the world. The first seventeen years 
 of my life were spent in this very house, and 
 my psychological studies were restricted to 
 the villagers you have seen." 
 
 ''There were no M.P.'s then who made 
 short cuts this way ?" suggested Pamela, 
 "nor fishermen? which would be more natural 
 seeinof that there is a river here." 
 
 For the life of her Eveline could not prevent 
 a blush rising, and as Pamela had a way of 
 sitting exactly in front of her when she began 
 her cross-examinations, it was useless to try 
 and hide it, so she looked up, laughing, and 
 said, 
 
 VOL. I. 11
 
 162 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 " There ivas a fisherman once, but I never 
 even learnt his name." 
 
 " And yet you remember him ?" 
 
 " Yes, for he was the first gentleman, except 
 Colonel Grreville, I ever saw, and your remark 
 about fishermen brought the circumstance to 
 my mind." 
 
 '' Oh !" said Lady Pamela, dryly, " and I 
 suppose he was young and good-looking, or 
 you would not remember him so well after all 
 these years, for I have remarked you appre- 
 ciate good looks." 
 
 '' You should not quarrel with that," said 
 Eveline, smiling. 
 
 " H'm. How comes it that you have seen 
 so little of the world ?" asked Pamela, re- 
 turning to the old subject. " Rich, married, 
 and wandering half over Europe, I should 
 have thought you better informed." 
 
 " True, after my marriage we did travel a 
 
 great deal, but our 
 
 ' Wandering steps 
 Obedient to high thoughts, visited 
 The awful ruins of the days of old, 
 
 Where dead men 
 Hang their mute thoughts on the mute walls around.' 
 
 Our study was not man, but things ; we
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 163 
 
 entered very little into society, and as for a 
 season in London, I never was there till my 
 dear husband's illness brought us home." 
 
 " No wonder you are so fresh and unsophis- 
 ticated. There is nothing like London seasons 
 for robbing the heart of its bloom. I dare say 
 that the show is very charming to outsiders, 
 and to those who are permitted a casual 
 glance ; but when one sees the machinery that 
 makes the puppets dance — when one is, in 
 fact, one who helps to pull the strings — ah ! 
 bah ! it does not raise one's idea of human 
 nature. Envy, ill-nature, and perpetual 
 struggle; that's the machinery. It goes tear- 
 ing round like a great wheel, crushing every 
 one not strong enough to hold their own." 
 
 " Pamela, why are you so bitter ?" said 
 Eveline, gently. 
 
 " Bitter !" she repeated, " if you knew how 
 — but — " she stopped abruptly, and changing 
 from the momentary scorn to her usual half 
 flippant style, added, " I believe that I was 
 about to be romantic ! Vogue la galere, 
 when I am married you must come and stay 
 with me, Eve ; your pure nature does one 
 good." 
 
 J 1—2
 
 1G4 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 " I hope you will be very happy, Pamela." 
 
 " Oh, yes, my dear. I like Gaveston ; we 
 get on capitally; then the abbey is a dear old 
 place, and Pieirepoint is an old title, so you 
 need not show so much commiseration on that 
 jDretty, transparent face of yours. Ah ! here 
 comes the wolf in sheep's clothing. I am glad 
 you are coming to us next week. Quiet as 
 this place is, people will talk if he comes here 
 so often." 
 
 *' I have persuaded Mrs. Greville at last to 
 pay us a visit. It is quite time she came out 
 of her shell," Pamela was speaking to Chal- 
 lenor, as, dressed for her journey, she was 
 waiting while the servants were packing the 
 carriage. " Not but what it is a charming 
 shell," glancing round, "but it is not well to 
 live in this small circumference with only one'' 
 (she could not resist throwing this Parthian 
 dart) " or two people to come and see her." 
 
 Challenor stood his ground well and quoted, 
 
 " * Man in society is like a flower, 
 
 Blown in its native bed, 'tis there alone 
 
 His faculties expanded, in full bloom shine forth.' 
 
 I am sure it will a good thing for Mrs. Gre-
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 165 
 
 ville, and I am very certain it will be a great 
 pleasure to all lier friends." 
 
 " He did that well," said Pamela to herself, 
 " but he can't deceive me." Then Edoud, "vVnd 
 the little hypocrite likes society, only she is 
 too idle to 2ro out for it. She likes to be the 
 
 o 
 
 lily in her own garden and have her butterflies 
 come to her." 
 
 " ' Hatli not old custom made this life more sweet 
 Than that of painted pomp ] Are not these woods 
 More free from peril than the envious court V " 
 
 quoted Mrs. Gre ville, laughing. 
 
 " I am not so sure," replied Lady Pamela, 
 pointedly, with an almost imperceptible glance 
 at Challenor — marked by him, but unseen by 
 Mrs. Greville — "my memory is hardly as good 
 as yours ; but I think Shakespeare says some- 
 where, — 
 
 ' If we shall stand still 
 In fear our motion will be mock'd or carp'd at, 
 We should take root here where we sit, or sit 
 State statues only.' 
 
 Therefore I do lay my commands on you to 
 appear at Beaumanoir next week ; and," she 
 added in a lower tone, "leave off this heavy 
 black."
 
 166 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Eveline gently shook her head. 
 
 "Well, think about it. What an awful 
 time one's maid takes to put one's traps in 
 the carriage. I wonder if all those parcels 
 are hers or mine ?" 
 
 The last good-bye had been said, and Pamela 
 drove away, leaning back in the carriage, 
 looking very thoughtful. 
 
 "A child of ten would be less likely to 
 come to harm. She wants looking after, or, 
 without one thought of wrong doing, she will 
 get compromised. If she ivill keep that cot- 
 tage she must have a sheep-dog. She can't 
 live there alone. Men are so selfish. I dare 
 say that man is at her feet at this moment," 
 so ran her mental soliloquy. 
 
 Pamela was right in what she said. Eve- 
 line was just the woman on whom the breath 
 of scandal would alight. Her extreme beauty 
 and her absence of all evil-thinkino^ — to the 
 pure all things are pure — were the very 
 things that, living alone as she was, would 
 lay her open to censure.
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 " Have I, oh ! say, not found, beloved, 
 In thy tender eyes a light more sweet 
 Than morning's." 
 
 OwEX Meredith. 
 
 " For what's more monstrous, more a prodigy, 
 Than to hear you protest truth of affection 
 Unto a person you would dishonour 1 
 And what's greater dishonour, than defacing 
 Another's good with forfeiting your own ]" 
 
 Bex Joxsox. 
 
 Challenor had responded lightly enough to 
 Lady Pamela's thrust, but now that he was 
 left alone with Eveline his courage failed him. 
 He stood apart, near a window, turning over 
 a portfolio of drawings, but not heeding what 
 he looked at. His thouohts were wanderinor 
 back to the many quiet, happy hours that he 
 had spent in this very room alone with her, 
 with none others to share her conversation,
 
 168 MRS. GliEVILLE. 
 
 none others on whom her sweet smile could 
 fall, and now she was about to re-enter the 
 world, and all those " slow sweet hours '' 
 were at an end for him ! 
 
 Thus ran the burden of his thoughts, while 
 Eveline, accustomed to see him " moody,'' as 
 she called it, took no notice of a silence that 
 was of common occurrence with him. 
 
 '^ So you are really going to Beaumanoir," 
 said he, at last, holding a drawing in various 
 angles, so as to throw a better light on it. 
 
 "Not without a struggle, I confess," she 
 replied, taking up her work. " My life has 
 passed so peacefully here, that I have small 
 wish to leave it, and the thought of entering 
 the world alone, appals me, though I could 
 not be under kinder auspices than the Oke- 
 hamptons." 
 
 " Yet you will be welcomed, admired, loved, 
 wherever you go, and in that universal hom- 
 age, who can say how soon old scenes, old 
 friends, will be forgotten ?" 
 
 " Forgotten !" she exclaimed, surprised at 
 the bitterness in his tone. " Old friends for- 
 gotten ! Why should you think that ?" 
 
 " New scenes, new interests, new faces, are 
 very apt to efface old ones."
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 169 
 
 " Surely not," said Mrs. Greville, warmly, 
 " Is the human heart so small that it cannot 
 add to its store of remembrances, without dis- 
 placing old ones ? Because life leads us on- 
 wards, must we discard old memories ? I am 
 afraid that you get that notion from your 
 progressive policy, which looks upon a]l past 
 things as worse than useless, because they are 
 the past. I am a conservative, you know," 
 she continued, playfully, " and love old 
 times." 
 
 " I am conservative enough in some things, 
 God knows," he said, not moving his position, 
 but speaking with a sudden fervour that 
 startled her. " There are times that I would 
 never have changed could I prevent it." 
 
 " That is the best sentiment you have 
 uttered for a long time,'' said Eveline, lightly. 
 " Has something gone wrong with the educa- 
 tional plan, some pet scholar turned renegade, 
 or — not your constituents proving too trouble- 
 some ?" 
 
 "I was not thinking of constituents nor 
 schools," said he, drearily, " I was thinking 
 rather of the evanescence of human pleasure : 
 
 ' Man's yesterday may ne'er be like his morrow, 
 Nought may endure but mutability.' "
 
 170 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 " An unkindly and not a true sentiment," 
 rejoined Eveline, " taken in your mood." 
 
 ' The clouds that veil the midnight moon,' " 
 
 continuing his quotation, *' may pass away, 
 but the moon remains ; so will our affections. 
 Outer things nia;^^ change— they are the clouds 
 that break and speed away — but the affections, 
 the friendships remain to light the days as 
 each successive morrow brings fresh clouds 
 with it. You are in a gloomy frame of mind 
 to-day." 
 
 '' I was thinking that very probably, once 
 you leave this place, you will never re- 
 turn to it, and that all the happy hours I 
 have spent here have, with this visit, come to 
 an end." 
 
 " I hope not," returned Eveline ; " I sin- 
 cerely hope not. I have not the smallest idea 
 of ever giving up this dear old place, dearer 
 than I can say — the home of my happy child- 
 hood — endeared to me by the holiest and 
 most sacred of ties. Oh, no," she continued, 
 dropping her hands in her lap, and gazing 
 towards the sunlit landscape with fond re- 
 membrance, " I shall never give this up, and
 
 MR^. GREVILLE. 171 
 
 I hope," she added, cheerfully, "that you 
 and Mrs. Challenor will still take compassion 
 on me sometimes as heretofore." 
 
 Why did he not go then, whilst yet he held 
 the mastery over himself? 
 
 How often do we mar the good for which 
 we have toiled for years, b; yielding to the 
 fascination of a last look, a last word ? How 
 often do we allow the resolutions obtained by 
 a life's struggle, to be swept away like cob- 
 webs by one touch of that fatal last time ? 
 
 Something in her voice as she uttered the 
 last words warned him, with the subtle instinct 
 of love, that she mistrusted his friendship, 
 warned him that no farther mio-ht he o'o : but 
 like one who, looking from a great height, is 
 drawn by some horrible fascination to cast 
 himself down, well knowing: that destruction 
 lurks beneath, so was he impelled by her 
 very caution to cast himself over the precipice. 
 He knew that if he spoke the burning words 
 that scorched his brain, he would be lost — 
 he knew that the pure being, whom he wor- 
 shipped, would spurn and scorn him, and yet 
 they trembled on his lips. 
 
 He gazed on her one earnest moment as
 
 172 21MS. GREYILLE. 
 
 though to impress her image even more vividly 
 on his memory — she was bending over her 
 work-basket, the winter's sunhght falling on 
 her head, brinoino- out all the rich tints of her 
 rippling hair, and touching with a golden 
 sheen the curls that caressed her soft, white 
 throat. 
 
 How lovely, how womanly she looked ! but 
 not for him. He knew that they must pai't, 
 and he buried his face in his hands, and a deep, 
 smothered groan escaped his lips. 
 
 She thought that he was ill — in pain — and 
 rising hurriedly, she laid her hand on his 
 shoulder, and asked what ailed him. 
 
 Her slight touch sent a shiver through 
 him. He raised a haggard face that terrified 
 her, and the long pent-up passion broke forth 
 in a torrent of words which she had no power 
 to stop. Indeed, amazement held her speech- 
 less. TMs^ the cold, hard, iron-hearted man, 
 whose intellect gave no place for affection, for 
 tenderness ? TJiis the stern, calculating poli- 
 tician ? But when he fell at her feet, and 
 buried his face in her gown, her presence of 
 mind returned. 
 
 She ought no doubt to have been angry,
 
 MRS. GPiEVILLE. 173 
 
 indignant, and scornfully ordered him from 
 her presence ; but hers was one of those 
 tender, affectionate natures that " feels for 
 others' woes," that remembers past kindness, 
 that shrinks from inflicting pain. His long 
 friendship for her husband, his constant fore- 
 thought for him when he was struck down by 
 illness, his un varying kindness towards her- 
 self rose before her ; and pitying the man's 
 agony, she spoke gently, but bid him rise from 
 where it was no place for him to kneel. 
 
 He obeyed her like one in a dream, and, 
 with haggard eyes fixed on her kind, but un- 
 troubled ones, waited to hear the dojom he 
 already felt. Calm and gentle as was her voice, 
 her words cut him like a two-edged sword. 
 
 '' I cannot say how distressed I am. I am 
 sure you will believe me when I tell you that 
 I never had the faintest suspicion of this, or 
 we should both have been spared this sorrow. 
 No ; I am not angry," she said in answer to 
 his deprecating look, " for the sake of him 
 whose friend you were, and to whom you 
 were so kind in his hour of sorrow ; but what 
 would he say to this — of the friend he 
 honoured above all ?"
 
 174 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 " Oh, have pity ! have mercy !" groaned 
 Challenor ; *^you know not how I love you — - 
 how I worship you! I have struggled for 
 years against this madness, and in vain." 
 
 "For years ?" echoed Eveline, astounded. 
 
 "Ay ; ever since I have known you, and I 
 can no longfer hide it from vou.'^ 
 
 "Mr. Challenor, these are not words for 
 you to utter to any woman. If I have given 
 you cause to think that you might thus speak 
 to me, heaven knows it has been uninten- 
 tional, and I ask your forgiveness. Now we 
 must part." 
 
 " Ah, do not say so," he cried — her gentle 
 manner made him catch at a straw — " do not 
 send me from you ! Do not cast me into hope- 
 less misery ! Eveline, my devotion for you is 
 a love that will increase day by day ; nothing 
 can change it. I will give up everything — go 
 where you will — do anything — everything — 
 onlv do not bid me leave you! Eveline, have 
 pity ! — say one kind word." 
 
 " I fear that I have said too many, or you 
 would not speak thus to me," said Eveline, 
 coldly. "Forgive my saying so, but such love 
 from you is dishonour to me. They are hard
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 175 
 
 words for you to hear," she added, seeing a 
 shudder pass over him, " but they are true. I 
 cannot tell you how this has pained me, for it 
 has cost me my best friend, and the one in 
 whom I placed most faith." 
 
 He gave her one look — one piteous look — 
 such as one might see in the pleading eyes of 
 a dumb animal that has had its death wound 
 — but there was no relenting in the cold, 
 grave expression of that lovely face. 
 
 He knew his fate — he had known it all 
 along — yet had rushed on it with the blind 
 madness of passion. There was unutterable 
 anguish in the deep humility with which he 
 knelt down, kissed the hem of her dress, and 
 went without another word. 
 
 Eveline sat stupefied, like* one waking from 
 a horrible dream, and endeavoured to collect 
 her stunned senses. It had come so suddenly 
 — passed so quickly — that she could scarcely 
 realise it. The friendship of years destroyed 
 in a moment ! It was like the hewing down 
 of a tree in all its beauty ; and she sat men- 
 tally gazing on the wreck with unfeigned 
 sorrow — sorrow for both herself and him ; but 
 chiefly for him, for she guessed how much he
 
 176 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 must have suffered ere he allowed passion to 
 prevail over honour — ere he could have al- 
 lowed himself to insult her. At that last 
 thought, less gentle feelings took possession 
 of her, and she started to her feet, and ad- 
 • dressing the empty air, asked, " How he dared?" 
 Crushed to the earth, Challenor had left her, 
 scorning, hating himself for having betrayed his 
 feelings to the pure-hearted woman for whom 
 he would have laid down his life, and for 
 having shut out from hinlself, by his own act, 
 his one happiness — those sweet — alas I too 
 sweet ! — hours with her. Fool ! dolt that he 
 had been ! Could he not have kept his lips 
 sealed? • What could he have expected but 
 her scorn ? 
 
 He hastily packed his portmanteau, for he 
 never brought his servant to Llanfenydd, and 
 went back to London. 
 
 Anything for movement — quiet would drive 
 him mad. As it was, those long hours ere he 
 reached town seemed interminable, and jump- 
 ing into a cab, drove home ; but he had not 
 been expected; Mrs. Challenor was away, 
 and he left the cold, dreary house, and walked 
 down to his club.
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 177 
 
 Meeting one or two men whom he knew, 
 they stopped him to speak of some ministerial 
 matters, but he answered so strangely that they 
 spoke of it later in the evening in the smoking- 
 room, saying, " Challenor was over-working 
 himself, by Jove 1 They never saw a man so 
 altered : if he did not take care, he would 
 have a brain fever, or something of that 
 sort." 
 
 " What a bore at this time of year I" ob- 
 served Mr. Bob Markham ; ''and open wea- 
 ther, too. It is deuced hard that a fellow 
 should be worked all the year round to be 
 made ill in the huntinof season. I alwavs 
 pitied those poor devils in oiBce — one might 
 as well be a brute in a mill/' 
 
 " Some people would not be out of place 
 there, Bob," remarked a cynical-looking man, 
 speaking with the cigar between his teeth, a 
 cloud of smoke obscuring his face. 
 
 "Don't forget we go by the 10.40 train. 
 Bob," said Lord Gaveston, coming to the 
 rescue. " They expect us to luncheon at 
 Beaumanoir." 
 
 " All right, old fellow," was the answer, 
 and the talk merged into other topics. 
 
 VOL. I. 12
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 " Oh ! that for me some home like this would smile !" 
 
 " The light coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair, 
 And sport and flutter in the fields of air." 
 
 Pope. ' 
 
 Behold Beaumanoir, Lady Pamela's home ! 
 A palace almost in size, and situated in a 
 park of many miles in circumference, with 
 such timber as can only be seen in England. 
 The groves of trees now stretched forth their 
 giant arms in all the bareness of winter, leav- 
 ing the imagination to pause in wonderment 
 at what their glory must be in summer. Red 
 deer clustered on some of the farther heights, 
 while their tamer fallow brethren crouched in 
 ferny retreats nearer home ; and the small, 
 graceful red cattle from Devon held undis- 
 puted sway still nearer the abode of man, none
 
 MRS. GREVILLE, 179 
 
 other being ever allowed to graze in that 
 picturesque, undulating park. 
 
 The house was an immense pile of stone 
 building, two wings and a centre, with a 
 flight of steps under a portico, w^hich pro- 
 jected sufficiently to allow a carriage to stand 
 beneath. This said portico had been a source 
 of much discussion, much disapprobation, but 
 every one allow^ed its comfort, especially when 
 rain came dow^n in torrents, and people had 
 to come m or go out. So the portico re- 
 mained. 
 
 In the front, which looked south, were broad 
 gravelled terraces, with stone balustrades, 
 statues, and fountains. Evergreen shrubberies 
 were artistically arranged so as to take away 
 the stiff, formal look of such gardens in the 
 winter, when flowers will not grow ; the 
 lawns were of unspotted velvet ; not a daisy 
 reared its white head, or if it did, it lost it at 
 dawn, a victim to its temerity ; for the order 
 everywhere was perfect — speaking well for 
 the supervision exercised on all around. 
 
 The library — a long, lofty room with several 
 recessed windows, and a large square-bayed 
 one at the end, looking on to the carriage 
 
 12 — 2
 
 180 MBS. GREYILLE. 
 
 sweep, allowing those who felt so inclined to 
 watch all arrivals — was the usual morning 
 lounge. 
 
 It was shortly after her visit to Eveline 
 that Pamela was presiding one day over a 
 tea-table in the large bay-window. She w^as 
 surrounded by a group of young people, some 
 of whom were half lying on sofas, or curled 
 up in arm-chairs ; some standing about ; others 
 — -men — were sitting after the manner of their 
 kind, astride on their chairs, their arms folded 
 on the backs, making resting-places for their 
 chins, from which vantage-point they lazily 
 admired the popular Lady Pamela. 
 
 Near a fire piled up with pine-logs and 
 roots, sat Lady Okehampton, with a few 
 people of maturer age than those gathered in 
 the window. 
 
 Lady Okehampton, as kind and gentle a 
 lady as ever was given to worsted work — 
 which at this present moment was lying idly 
 in her lap, it being too dark for the intricacies 
 of cross-stitch — was very fond and proud of 
 her children, who did exactly as they liked 
 with her — an arrangement which suited all 
 parties perfectly well.
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 181 
 
 Her husband, the Earl of Okehampton, was 
 as handsome a specimen of a fine English 
 country gentleman as one might wish to see, 
 about fifty -five years of age, but hale and 
 strong as he had been twenty years ago ; tall, 
 high-bred, kindly, courteous, devoted to field- 
 sports, and the most popular M.F.H. the 
 county had ever had. 
 
 Their family, besides Pamela, consisted of 
 the next daughter Gwendoline, Lord Lorton 
 the eldest son, and some younger children. 
 
 A gentle hum of conversation was going on 
 by the fireside, and a far more noisy one at 
 the other end of the room in the bay-window. 
 
 " How awfully dull the country is getting," 
 exclaimed, a young lady, attired in a fanci- 
 ful but very becoming walking-costume. "I am 
 dying to get to town, ain't you, Pam V 
 
 " No, I can't say that I am. I feel very 
 farfrombeing moribund — duchess, will youhave 
 some tea ? I am not mad about London as 
 you are. I prefer the country at all seasons." 
 
 " I like London ; but we have had up to 
 now a delicious winter — plenty of skating, for 
 the lake froze better this year than I ever
 
 182 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 remember it," quoth Lady Gwendoline, a fair- 
 haired beauty in a riding-habit. 
 
 " That must have been no end nice," lan- 
 guidly observed Humphrey Devereux, a young 
 Guardsman, of stalwart frame, some six foot 
 high, who was lying in much exhaustion in 
 a corner of a sofa. 
 
 "Too fatiguing for you. You would not 
 have stood it,'' retorted Lady Gwendoline, 
 satirically; '' even I was tired one day." 
 
 " "Were you, really ? I dare say it would 
 have been very fatiguing," said the other, 
 unabashed, " still it would have been better 
 than the Tower. It is an awful place that 
 Tower.'' 
 
 " Do you mean the Tower of London ?" 
 asked a shy, young girl, evidently not one of 
 the initiated, and speaking in a tone of much 
 interest. 
 
 " They say it is somewhere in London, but 
 / should call it decidedly out of town," said 
 the soldier. 
 
 "But I mean the Tower," insisted the young 
 lady, better read in her English history than 
 in the annals of Mayfair, " where traitors
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 183 
 
 were imprisoned and beheaded — were you 
 there ? how horrible !" 
 
 " Yes, was it not T replied Mr. Devereux, 
 with the utmost gravity. " They only didn't 
 behead us — at least I don't think they did/' 
 and he felt his neck as though to make sure 
 it was safe. 
 
 ''The fact is, Miss Darrell," said Lord 
 Gaveston, sitting forward, and speaking con- 
 fidentially, '' the fact is, we are the body- 
 guard of her august Majesty, and as we 
 number pretty strong, the Horse Guards are 
 a little afraid of us (only don't repeat this, it 
 might do harm), so they shut us up in the 
 Tower for a few months, sometimes, to quell 
 our spirits a little. You see how it has af- 
 fected Devereux, poor fellow." 
 
 " Don't be a fool, Gaveston," said Lady 
 Pamela, too well-bred to allow a guest who 
 could not hold her own to be chafted under 
 her father's roof, ** and you, Lucy, don't be- 
 lieve a word he says. They are as jolly as 
 possible at the Tower, and have no end of fun ; 
 though they do get locked out sometimes, 
 like schoolboys, and I have heard of their 
 playing cards on fish stalls all night."
 
 184 MBS. GBEVILLE. 
 
 "I don't think that sounds very nice," 
 ventured Lucy, shyly. 
 
 " No indeed, Miss Darrell," said Devereux, 
 from the sofa, in the most injured voice, 
 "you little know what an ill-used, hai^d- 
 worked set of mortals we are." 
 
 " Far and away the idlest I ever knew," 
 said Lady Gwen, helping herself to a slice of 
 cake. 
 
 " Idle T exclaimed one of the young 
 gentlemen, lifting his chin from his arms, 
 "idle? why Bob Markham, there, has been 
 reading and studying all day long." 
 
 " AVhy, Bob," exclaimed Lord Gaveston, 
 pirouetting his chair round, " when did you 
 ever read anything beyond your betting- 
 book r 
 
 " He reads shocking bad books then," said 
 another, at which there was a laugh. 
 
 " By Jove ! there's a carriage !" cried Bob, 
 with sudden energy ; " who is it ? a little 
 widow !" 
 
 " By all that's lovely ! what a foot and 
 ankle !" exclaimed another, watching Eveline 
 get out of the carriage.
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 185 
 
 '' I say, you fellows," cried Gaveston, " this 
 is not the club window. 
 
 " Who's the divinity T asked Bob, return- 
 ing to the table. 
 
 " A great chum of Pam's," said Lady 
 Gwen, " she is a sort of a cousin of ours. 
 Her grandfather was our great aunt's only 
 something — T forget what." 
 
 " Father," suggested the Honourable Deve- 
 reux. 
 
 " Only father" said Lord Symperwell. 
 " Now, that's curious, I thought a fellow only 
 could have one father." 
 
 " Why, Symper, what a fellow you are," 
 ejaculated Bob; "can't a fellow have a father, 
 and a father-in-law, and a step-father, all at 
 once { 
 
 Mrs. Greville was here announced, and 
 Pamela had gone forward to greet her. Lady 
 Okehampton began to gather her worsteds 
 together to rise to meet her guest, but long 
 before she had done so, Eveline was at her 
 side picking up the balls that always rolled 
 away when her ladyship moved, and restored 
 them to their owner. 
 
 " So glad to see you, my dear," said she,
 
 186 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 *' I am very glad you have come to us. I 
 suppose you are quite frozen and tired. Did 
 you leave Lan — Lan ?" 
 
 " Llanfenydd," said Eveline, in her musical 
 voice, pronouncing the word with its soft 
 Gaelic accent. 
 
 " Yes, my dear, ifc is a dreadful word, but it 
 sounds very pretty when you say it. I am 
 sure you are very cold." 
 
 Eveline assured her she was neither cold 
 nor tired. 
 
 Pamela wanted to take her to the tea-table, 
 but Eveline glancing towards it, felt shy of so 
 many strangers, and preferred staying where 
 she was. 
 
 '' Duchess, let me introduce my cousin, Mrs. 
 Greville," said Lady OkehamptoD, turning to 
 a stout, handsome woman near her. 
 
 The duchess had heard a good deal of Mrs. 
 Greville, and had formed some plans of her 
 own respecting her and her son. Lord Planta- 
 genet Fitz-Henry — of small patrimony and 
 large expences — always providing Mrs. Gre- 
 ville were perfectly comme il faut. She was 
 favourably impressed, although the twilight 
 did not allow of any great inspection, and
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 187 
 
 Eveline had withdrawn from the heat and 
 glare of the tire ; but what she saw pleased 
 her, so she was cautiously civil, just so much 
 so that the scales could be turned either way 
 on further acquaintance, if necessary. 
 
 Fortunately, Eveline was unconscious of the 
 extreme condescension vouchsafed her, or she 
 would hardly have answered her grace with 
 the good humour she did. 
 
 " You will be glad to come to your room, 
 Eveline, I am sure," said Pamela, carrying her 
 off. 
 
 No sooner had they gone than the voices at 
 the end of the room broke forth. 
 
 " Now, Gwen, tell us who this lady in black 
 is," said Florence Kinnaird, the young lady 
 who voted the country dull. 
 
 " She is a chum of Pam's, and a kind of re- 
 lation of mamma's," replied her ladyship. "She 
 is not my friend, you know, and for all her 
 quiet manner, I believe she is a desperate flirt." 
 *' A flirt in weeds ! oh ! for shame," said 
 Jack Darrell, a devoted admirer of Lady 
 Gwendoline's. 
 
 " I think a widow's cap so becoming," quoth 
 Lucy.
 
 188 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 " I'll tell the curate you say so/' retorted 
 her brother. 
 
 " We have not even heard the name of the 
 divinity in the widow's cap, and I quite agree 
 with you, Miss Darrell, I have seen women 
 look very pretty in one," said Lord Gaveston. 
 
 " You ought to know all about her, Gave- 
 ston," said Everard Digby, a barrister, coming 
 forward, "had it not been for your father she 
 would have inherited the Pierrepoint estates.'' 
 
 " By Jove ! I did not know I'd had such a 
 narrow escape," quoth his lordship. A laugh 
 followed this sally. 
 
 " Well, she had, anyhow," returned Digby, 
 " she was grand-daughter of the late Lord 
 Pierrepoint, and as the estates are entailed on 
 the females, failing male heirs, she would 
 have succeeded ; so had it not been for your 
 father, Gaveston, she would have been in his 
 shoes." 
 
 " Rather large ones," remarked Bob Mark- 
 ham, with a vision of the foot and ankle he 
 had seen, " for I think Lord Pierrepoint's 
 gouty." 
 
 " And is she really so well off as is said ?" 
 asked the duchess, who had come up during
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 189 
 
 the conversation. " Tou seem to know uU 
 about her, Mr. Dig by." 
 
 " Greville left her everything, duchess ; she 
 can't have less than eight thousand a year at 
 least, all in the funds, too." 
 
 *' Really," replied her grace, suavely, " that 
 is a very nice fortune for a woman. Young, 
 and rather pretty, too, T should say. I think 
 it is almost time to dress for dinner," and her 
 grace glided away. 
 
 '' It must be awfully jolly to be a widow, 
 and have such lots of money," said Florence 
 Kinnaird. 
 
 " I think Mrs. Greville would give up all 
 her money to have her husband alive," said 
 Digby, rather gravely ; "I never witnessed 
 such devotion in my life as hers to him." 
 
 " And a — a — a w^hat sort of fellow w^as this 
 Greville ?" asked Devereux, still reposing 
 his weary limbs. 
 
 *' As good a fellow as ever lived," said Digby, 
 warmly. 
 
 ''' But he must have been thirty years older 
 than his wife, and was paralysed for a long 
 time before he died," said Lady Gwen. 
 
 *' Thirty years older than his wife!" said
 
 190 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Miss Kinnaird, "and she was devoted to him?" 
 she made up a face as though she were going 
 to whistle, but she didn t. " That bird won't 
 fly, Mr. Digby. Come, Gwen, it's time to 
 dress/' and the ladies walked off. 
 
 " That's a rum story of yours, Digby, I 
 don't quite believe in a woman loving a man 
 thirty years older than herself ; but I suppose 
 she is one of your model women, eh ?" 
 
 " I shall say nothing about her, you'll judge 
 for yourself." 
 
 This was said as the men strolled across the^ 
 hall, to have a smoke before dinner.
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " Rom. Oh she doth teach the torches to burn bright ! 
 Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear I 
 So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows, 
 As yonder lady o'er her fellows shows. 
 * * * * 
 
 I ne'er saw true beauty till this night." 
 
 Romeo and Juliet. 
 
 " Lor. Here will we sit and let the sounds of music creep 
 in our ears." — Meechant of Venice. 
 
 No little curiosity was displayed by tlie party 
 assembled in the Beaumanoir drawing-room 
 before dinner, respecting the young, beautiful, 
 wealthy Mrs. Greville, who did not make her 
 appearance till the gong had sounded. 
 Though little dreaming the ordeal that awaited 
 her, she was very shy on entering alone for the 
 first time, a room full of strangers ; but the 
 shyness sat on her as gracefully as on a young 
 fawn, and when she came through the folding 
 doors, thrown wide open by the footmen, into
 
 192 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 the brilliantly-lighted room, a murmur of ad- 
 miration arose. For once expectation was 
 surpassed by the reality. 
 
 Her fair skin was v/ell contrasted by the 
 black tulle dress ; and the black enamel jew- 
 elry, sparkling with diamonds, which circled 
 her tapering wrists and slender throat, still 
 further enhanced the purity of their whiteness. 
 Her hair, twisted in two heavy ropes round 
 the back of her head, ended in soft curls that 
 shaded her neck. 
 
 " Yery lovely, and perfectly well bred," said 
 the duchess to Lord Okehamj^ton, who stood 
 near her. 
 
 " She ought to be," he replied, " Gaveston 
 
 and Colonna." 
 
 " ' When Gavestons with Colonna wed, 
 The results are seen to be well-bred,' " 
 
 quoth Bob Markham, " that was rather a neat 
 
 epitaph for an extempore, I flatter myself" 
 
 " Epitaph I well done, Markham." 
 
 "Well, episode, epithet, epigram, I've got 
 
 it at last." 
 
 Lord Okehampton went forward to give his 
 
 arm to the beautiful stranger. She had never 
 
 seen him before for he had not been in Rome
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 193 
 
 when she had made the acquaintance of Lady 
 Okehampton and her two daughters ; she 
 raised her lovely eyes to his face, as she 
 thanked him with a smile that enslaved him 
 then and there. 
 
 '' I suppose my lady ought to introduce us 
 in proper form," said he, " but I claim a sort 
 of property in you, so we may dispense with 
 the ceremony." 
 
 "It is very pleasant to find relations in 
 those who are so kind," she answered, with a 
 smile. 
 
 Lady Okehampton made room for her on 
 the sofa. 
 
 Some of the men declared, " By Jove, she 
 was a stunner." 
 
 Lord Gaveston went up to Lady Okehamp- 
 ton, bending down to Miss Darrell as he passed 
 her, saying — 
 
 " Where is the widow's cap ? It would be a 
 sin to cover up that hair." 
 
 " She had one in her bonnet," replied matter- 
 of-fact Lucy. 
 
 " Aunt Mildred," he said, as he reached 
 Lady Okehampton, " will you present me ? I 
 find I am a cousin, and a nearer one than any 
 
 VOL. I. 13
 
 194 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 here. In fact, Mrs. Greville," he continued, 
 addressing Evehne, " I may say I am your 
 nearest relative in England. You have be- 
 haved in the most uncousinly manner, keeping 
 oat of our way all this time.'' 
 
 Eveline laughed, as she said — 
 
 " Well, at all events, I will confess to having 
 been very anxious to make your acquaintance. 
 You know that Pamela and I are great 
 friends.'' 
 
 ' " Ah, that last sentence has destroyed the 
 delightful illusion of the first one. I was just 
 thinking you had been entei'taining a proper 
 feeling for a kinsman. Let me take you into 
 dinner. It is quite romantic, finding an un- 
 known cousin." 
 
 " Bring Mrs. Greville next me," said Lord 
 Okehampton, who had the Duchess of Mont- 
 serrat on his arm. 
 
 ^^ We are all fighting for you already, you 
 see," said Gaveston, as he led her in to dinner. 
 
 Eveline laughed, that merry, silvery laugh, 
 that is so pleasant to hear, as she replied to 
 his badinage. 
 
 " Well, and how do you like us en famille V 
 asked Pamela, after dinner.
 
 2fnS. GBEVILLE. 195 
 
 " Very much, and I think Lord Gaveston 
 delightful," replied Eveline. 
 
 " I saw that you kept up a brisk flirtation 
 during dinner." 
 
 "With you opposite," laughed Mrs. Gre- 
 ville. "As our conversation was chiefly of 
 you, I think we may both be absolved. But, 
 honestly, I do like him very much, and unless 
 he belies his face, I think he is worthy even 
 of you. You were not half eloquent enough 
 about him." 
 
 " I am not romantic, you know/' rejoined 
 Pamela, but pleased at her friend's warm en- 
 comium, " and if I had depicted him all ray 
 fancy paints him," and Lady Pamela spoke in 
 the half-mocking tone under cover of which 
 she was apt to hide anything that savoured of 
 feeling, " you might have been disappointed, 
 and said, * Is that your hero ?' Ilow do you 
 like my father ?" 
 
 " My heau ideal of an English gentleman. 
 How cheery it is to belong to a large 
 family!" 
 
 " I don't know," returned Pamela ; " at least 
 the delight don't consist so much in the quan- 
 tity as the quality. Wc pull together, but I 
 
 13—2
 
 196 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 don't know that all large families do so simply 
 because they are large families." 
 
 " Well, I am quite prepared to claim cousin- 
 ship with any one who will own me/' said 
 Eveline, gaily. 
 
 " I am afraid you won't have many oppor- 
 tunities," said Pamela, " there are few Gave- 
 stons left ; Lord Pierrepoint has only two sons, 
 Charles — the other one — is in the Church, a 
 muscular, a very muscular Christian, six foot 
 four. His curacy is a sinecure, and when he 
 has the rectory it will be a greater one ; but I 
 like Charles, though, like Gaveston, he is 
 very lazy. It is in the blood." 
 
 " Pamela is always pitching into me for 
 laziness," said Lord Gaveston, who joined 
 them as his jiancee was speaking, and drew 
 a chair near them. " I always tell her there's 
 no use^ in needless expenditure of strength. 
 When all's done who's the better for it ? You 
 ought to stick up for a fellow, Mrs. Greville, 
 ibr you can have nothing to do down in your 
 2)lace. Where is it ?" 
 
 " In what you would call banishment," she 
 replied, laughing, ''but in a very beautiful 
 spot in Wales."
 
 MBS. GREVILLE. 197 
 
 " Isn't it awfully dull V 
 " Not in the least, and I hope that before 
 long you and Pamela will come and see my 
 little den. I can offer you fishing in the 
 way of sport." 
 
 " Do you think we cannot get on without 
 that help ? Well, perhaps you are right. 
 Vandeleur is one of the few men I know who 
 don't seem to care about it." 
 
 ''When he has a flirtation on hand," ob- 
 served Pamela. 
 
 "I really don't think that Van's a flirt," said 
 Lord Ga vest on, with that inflection on the 
 word 'really' which always betokens doubt. 
 " I am sure he is very attentive to that awful 
 wife of his, and he is a good deal at home." 
 
 " When he is at home," said Pamela, epi- 
 grammatically. 
 
 ''You are always hard on Vandeleur." 
 " I think not. I think him very pleasant, 
 — he has a charming manner, but I believe 
 him to be a very selfish and superficial man, 
 and he lives too much — " here she hesitated, 
 and Gaveston finished the sentence with a 
 lauofh. 
 
 " En gargon ? Do you know Henry Van-
 
 198 MMS, GUEVILLE. 
 
 deleiir ?" he asked, addressing Mrs. Greville. 
 " No? Well I thiDk him one of the nicest fel- 
 lows going, and if he does like talking to a 
 pretty woman, most of us pull an oar in that 
 boat ; and he is a capital shot, first-rate across 
 country, and reads, and that sort of thing ; 
 but it don't spoil him." 
 
 " Quite an admirable Crichton," laughed 
 Eveline. 
 
 '' I should hardly have accused Mr. Yan- 
 deleur of reading too much ; however, you will 
 judge for yourself, for he is coming to- 
 morrow," said Pamela. 
 
 " Mamma says there should be some music," 
 said a younger sister, a child of twelve, coming 
 up shyly. 
 
 " I think it is time for you to be in bed, 
 little one," said Pamela, " go and tell Gwen 
 to sing." 
 
 Lady Gwendoline was the centre of a group 
 at the other end of the room. She w^as on a 
 low prie-dieu chair, a solitaire board on her lap 
 — a game she affected, for not only did it show 
 off her perfect hands to great advantage, but 
 she knew that it invariably drew men round to 
 watch and tender advice, and Lady Gwen
 
 MRS. GREVTLLE. 199 
 
 loved admiration as the air she breathed. She 
 liked to keep a little court about her. Her 
 two female satelhtes were Miss Kinnaird, a 
 fast, fashionable young lady, and Lucy Darrell, 
 the rector s daughter, who worshipped with a 
 deep and humble worship, not entirely free 
 from awe. 
 
 *'I say, Gwen, when is Pamelas marriage 
 coming off, and where V asked Florence. 
 
 " After Easter — here," was the laconic an- 
 swer, as her ladyship, uncertain of the move, 
 poised a glass ball in her fairy fingers over 
 the board. 
 
 "Brevity is the soul of wit," said Jack 
 Darrell. 
 
 " Shan't you go up before Easter, then ?" 
 returned Florence. 
 
 " Certainly not. We never do." 
 
 " What a bore !" said Florence. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Kinnaird," said Lucy, " don't 
 you like the country ?" 
 
 Miss Kinnaird gave lier a supercilious look, 
 but did not deem it necessary to answer. 
 
 " That move will ruin you," and a shapely 
 brown hand interposed between the solitaire 
 board and Lady Gwen's white fingers.
 
 200 MBS. GREVILLE. 
 
 The speaker was a tall, dark man, in the 
 prime of life ; a heavy, black moustache was 
 the only hirsute appendage on a colourless, 
 sunburnt face, which was certainly handsome, 
 but hardly pleasant, so merciless, indomitable 
 was its expression. He was not popular with 
 men, who wondered what women saw in that 
 " black fellow," to like. That thev did like 
 him, and that he had been passionately loved, 
 more than one ugly story could tell. There was 
 a bold, highly rouged woman, more often seen 
 at the German gaming tables than anywhere 
 else, who had been in good society in England. 
 " Such an awful woman, my dear/' said her 
 countrywomen, when they spoke of her — with 
 a pious shudder. 
 
 Yet she had once been an honoured wife 
 and a happy mother. 
 
 None knew, though a few guessed that she 
 owed her fall to Humphrey Pierce. He spoiled 
 the bloom, then left the flower to wither or 
 live as chance might be. He soon tired of 
 her, but she never betrayed him, and after he 
 had left her, unable to bear her remorse and 
 her husband's trustful eyes, she one day left her 
 home, and was not heard of for many months ;
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 201 
 
 then some one saw her, reckless and flushed, 
 at Homburg, gambling with fierce excitement. 
 Anything to drown memory — the thought of 
 her young children — the kind husband — ay ! 
 and the recollection of one she still loved, and 
 whose face still haunted her dreams. 
 
 Years had passed since then, and she had 
 sunk lower and lower, and if he, the cause of 
 this ruin, ever thought of her, it was with a 
 shrug of disgust. 
 
 There had been a young loving girl whose 
 faith he had betrayed ; but she was the only 
 child of a widowed mother, and how could she 
 seek redress when he turned with a laugh from 
 her tear-stained face, as on her knees she be- 
 sought the only reparation that he could make. 
 The poor mother was fain to hush up the dis- 
 grace in silence ; and the deep, bitter, but 
 unavailing curse which she invoked on the 
 despoiler of her child was all the retribution 
 which he got, while his victim soon after died, 
 broken-hearted, and the mother was taken, a 
 harmless lunatic, to an asylum. 
 
 However much such things may be hushed 
 up, they do get abroad, and though they had 
 never been brought home to Pierce, he was
 
 202 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 more thao suspected by many men who knew 
 him, and with whom he was no favourite ; but 
 women thought differently. 
 
 Had he not brought back from India a re- 
 putation that was sure to raise him in their 
 estimation ? Had he not borne himself in the 
 thickest troop 
 
 " As doth a lion in a herd of neat 1 
 Or as a bear, encompass'd round with dogs, 
 Who, having pinch'd a few, and made them cry, 
 The rest stand all aloof, and bark at him ?" 
 
 The deep scar across his forehead was no dis- 
 sight in their eyes. 
 
 His immense physical strength and courage 
 had a strange fascination for them, as it ever 
 has with us women. He would back the most 
 vicious " Cruizer " with as much sang froid as 
 a lady mounts her hack, and long before he 
 was tired, the horse would give in from sheer 
 exhaustion. What could fatigue those iron 
 muscles that could bend a poker like a piece 
 of lead ? 
 
 Women ever give a higher meed of praise 
 to these physical feats, to mere animal courage, 
 than to the stern, quiet fortitude of the man 
 who, with a weak sickly ijhysique, has courage
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 203 
 
 to plunge the knife into the cancer of his 
 heart, and cut it out without a murmur. 
 
 It is our nature. Because we can and often 
 do endure great mental suffering — because we 
 must endure without a murmur — we think but 
 lightly of the same effort in the other sex. It 
 is the strong, physical courage, of which our 
 weaker frames are incapable, that so excites 
 our admiration. I fancy that it is only one of 
 his own sex who can enter into the poet's en- 
 thusiasm, about the man 
 
 " Who knew the right 
 And did it." 
 
 We do it — why not they ? 
 
 I have known timid, nervous women, who 
 would fear to cross a field with half- a dozen 
 milch cows in it, yet with calm, silent courage 
 pluck as it were their very hearts out, trample 
 them under foot, and die from the cruel wound 
 without uttering one audible word of com- 
 plaint, nor think they had done aught so great 
 after all. " Was it not right V would they 
 say. Surely such courage will be recorded on 
 high, where " man's strength is but as water." 
 
 This is a long digression, but old memories 
 and old scenes come before me sometimes, and
 
 204 MnS. GBEYILLE. 
 
 an old woman's garrulity gets the better of 
 me. 
 
 " That move will ruin your game/' had Sir 
 Humphrey Pierce said. 
 
 Lady Gwendoline looked up at the speaker. 
 She was a small fair creature, not more than 
 three-and-twenty, and looking years younger, 
 partly owing to the simplicity of her head- 
 dress — a most simple coiffure, apparently, but 
 her maid, who knew the art and care with 
 which each flaxen curl and bhie ribbon was 
 placed, could tell a different story. 
 
 The cold glitter of her steel blue eyes was 
 a strange contrast to the infantile face, till 
 one marked the resolute, thin lips, and then 
 one saw that eyes and mouth matched. 
 
 She had completely fascinated Sir Hum- 
 phrey Pierce, and she fully intended to marry 
 him — his family was ancient, his income enor- 
 mous, a most undeniable parti — but for 
 once he had met his match. 
 
 No man, no matter what his experience 
 may be, is a match for a woman of the world 
 who does not love him. If she does, vcb 
 victis ! The feeblest willow that bends to 
 the evening zephyr is stronger than she, but
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 205 
 
 let her have the calm use of her head and 
 she will have the best of it. 
 
 Here was this small, fair thing, whom he 
 could crush in his hand like a butterfly, 
 always defying him, fending off his attempts 
 at an offer, flourishing her small, puny 
 strength, so to say, in his face, and never let- 
 ting him go beyond the tether she allowed 
 him, " thus far and no farther." 
 
 She was a riddle to him. The opposition 
 of this fragile creature, undaunted and fear- 
 less, was not without its charm to one who 
 had hitherto made a rather personal applica- 
 tion of Caesar's motto. It was a novelty, 
 and he was as resolved to conquer and break 
 her will, as he had been to break that wild 
 chestnut horse of his. When she was out of 
 his sight he would laugh to think of that 
 soft, fair, childlike creature throwing down 
 the gauntlet and standing up to him ; but 
 once again within her elfin power, he felt it, 
 and was compelled to acknowledge it. 
 
 There was a defiant look in her cold, calm 
 eyes, as she raised them to his, without 
 moving the position of her hand. 
 
 " I don't agree with you.'"'
 
 206 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 " It would be strange if you did," said he, 
 withdrawing his hand. 
 
 The tinge of bitterness in his voice was 
 not lost on the fairy who smiled to herself 
 as she placed the ball in the hollow that she 
 had intended for its receptacle. She won her 
 game and handed the board to Sir Humphrey 
 with a triumphant look, and pouring the balls 
 from her own lap into that of Miss Kinnaird, 
 the Lady Gwendoline rose up. 
 
 "Come, Lucy," she said, turning to Miss 
 Darrell, "my lady has asked for music." 
 
 While Miss Darrell was sorting some. Lady 
 Gwendoline carelessly swept the strings of 
 her harp, bringing out a succession of plain- 
 tive minor chords, in strange variance with 
 the light badinage she was exchanging with 
 several men near her. 
 
 Sir Humphrey stood aloof, a dark look 
 lowering on his face. Apparently she did 
 not see him, but not a movement was lost on 
 her. She knew the fascination which music 
 had over him, and used it as one of her strong 
 weapons. Often, when making him smart 
 with a thousand little thorns that she ran 
 into him, she would,
 
 MJRS. GREYILLE. 207 
 
 " With ravisMng sound of her melodious harp, 
 Make music with his Mephistopheles," 
 
 and so bring him to her feet again. 
 
 She selected a melange of the Irish melo- 
 dies, and accompanied bj the faithful Lucy, 
 she played them with exquisite pathos. 
 
 Her back was turned to Pierce, but what 
 is that to a woman ? She knew that he was 
 coming towards her as perfectly as though 
 she held in her hands the strings that drew 
 him. She felt every step, and when he was 
 close to her she drew forth such tones from 
 her harp that, bending over her, he whis- 
 pered, 
 
 " Are you an angel or a devil ?'^ 
 
 She looked back at him over her shoulder 
 with a mocking smile, and began a little 
 Turkish air which she had heard him whistle. 
 
 In another part of the room Mr. Bigby 
 and Miss Constance Wilson were talking to- 
 gether. 
 
 Miss Wilson was one of those people one 
 occasionally meets in great houses, and of 
 whom one cannot help asking oneself, " How 
 comes she here ?" 
 
 She was neither young, nor pretty, nor of
 
 208 MRS. QREVILLE. 
 
 any attraction, nor extraction, but was one of 
 those people who do get asked about. She 
 was a wonderfully useful person, and never 
 let a chance slip. If a list had to be made 
 out, her nimble fingers were always ready ; if 
 any tiresome old lady had to be amused, no- 
 thing delighted Miss Wilson so much as 
 playing cribbage, backgammon — anything — 
 always, be it understood, if any one were 
 near to admire such unselfishness. But with 
 all this amiability few people liked Miss Wil- 
 son. Men especially distrusted her, so that 
 at ^YQ and thirty she was, much to her chag- 
 rin, Miss Wilson still, for marriage was to 
 her the only escape from grinding poverty at 
 home. 
 
 Lord Okehampton had fairly said " he 
 could not bear the woman, whose cunning eyes 
 and thin lips gave the lie to all her d — d 
 good nature," but his wife, if she did not like 
 her, found her useful ; she sorted her wools 
 so well, and always put her work right; ''and 
 besides," she said, " I hear there is something 
 between her and Mr. Digby, and it is a pity 
 not to let them meet." 
 
 " Digby is a greater fool than I take him
 
 MRS. GRETILLE, 209 
 
 for/' said my lord, " if he has any idea of 
 marrying Miss Wilson ; however, do as you 
 like, my dear." 
 
 So Miss Wilson was invited, and had been 
 some days at Beanmanoir when Eveline ar- 
 rived, during which time she had been doing 
 her best to captivate Mr. Digby, but he, see- 
 ing through her, was rather amused in watch- 
 ing her little game. 
 
 Heavens ! how furious she would have 
 been could she have known his thoughts ! 
 The moment that she saw him and Eveline 
 together she scented a rival, and forthwith 
 hated her ; and her hatred was not a thing to 
 laugh at. It was quiet, and sure as slow 
 poison. She could always bide her time, and 
 when it arrived it would find her cruel and 
 relentless as on the dav when she was stuno- 
 and if 
 
 " The venom clamours of a jealous M^oman 
 Poison more deadly than a mad dog's tooth," 
 
 and the '' whitest virtue be not proof against 
 back wounding calumny," woe betide those 
 on whom the slightest shadow has fallen if 
 they come across Miss Wilson's path ! 
 VOL. 1. 14
 
 210 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 " You seem old friends with that — person," 
 said Miss Wilson presently, to Dighy. 
 
 " That — 'person' — is Mrs. Greville, whom I 
 have had the honour of knowing some years," 
 said Digby, rather stiffly. 
 
 " Eather pretty, isn t she ?" continued 
 Constance. 
 
 " I think she is the most lovely woman I 
 ever saw," returned he, more warmly perhaps 
 than was qviite courteous to another woman. 
 
 " Wonderfully well dressed, certainly, but 
 surely those diamonds are a little — just a 
 little — over-much for a newly-made widow. 
 I cannot imagine a woman in her position 
 being able to think of ornaments, and choos- 
 ing mourning jewelry, can you?" 
 
 " Colonel Greville has been dead these two 
 years, and I happen to know that those very 
 ornaments were a present from himself years 
 ago ;" Digby was rather irate at the dispar- 
 aging tone that the other adopted. 
 
 " She is very young, evidently ; but really, 
 even her youth can hardly excuse her flirting 
 as she does ; aiid don't you think her rather 
 affected ?" 
 
 '* A beautiful, graceful, and agreeable
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 211 
 
 woman is apt to be called a flirt and affected 
 by those less gifted than herself, but my 
 cousin is neither the one nor the other/' said 
 a haughty voice near her. 
 
 Miss Wilson looked round in dismay. She 
 was afraid of out-spoken Lady Pamela ; and 
 that she, of all people, should have overheard 
 her remarks on Mrs. Greville — a cousin, too ! 
 
 Digby laughed, and Lady Pamela sailed 
 away. 
 
 " There's a woman here I hate," said she, 
 going over to her fiance, " and she must be 
 put down." 
 
 " I shouldn't have thought you'd want any 
 help in that line, ma helle'' returned Lord 
 Gaveston, lazily pulling his long whiskers and 
 regarding her with languid admiration. 
 
 " Not often," laughed Pamela, " but I do 
 now. You must ask her to sing : nothing 
 very terrible, you see." 
 
 " Will she come to grief?" 
 
 " Not at all ; she don't sing worse than 
 other people, only / don't choose to ask her." 
 
 '' Is that all ? Who's the lady ?" inquired 
 Gaveston. 
 
 ^' Miss WHson." 
 
 14—2
 
 212 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Lord Gaveston turned round and saw her 
 talking with Digby. 
 
 " Now, I call that downright cruelty. Ill 
 be hanged if I spoil sport ; I haven't the heart, 
 really." 
 
 " Very well, as you please," said Pamela, 
 and she went over to her mother. 
 
 " I think Miss Wilson ought to be asked 
 to sing, mamma ; she likes it, and people are 
 getting stupid." '^ 
 
 " By all means, my dear ; pray ask her. I 
 am sure she will, she is so obliging." 
 
 " Tell Mr. Digby to ask her, mamma," said 
 Pamela, with a malicious look. 
 
 Lady Okehampton did as she was bid ; and 
 while Miss Wilson was being led to the piano, 
 Pamela, laying her hand lightly on Eveline's 
 shoulder, said — 
 
 " You must sing 'Roberto,' presently — just 
 when I tell you." 
 
 As her ladyship had sarcastically said, Miss 
 Wilson did not sing worse than other people. 
 It was a very mediocre performance. It was 
 not noticed, and it covered much talking ; but 
 this was not the punishment that her ladyship 
 had in reserve for her.
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 213 
 
 " Mr. Markham/' said wicked Lady Pamela, 
 demurely, " do you know that Miss Wilson 
 sings ' Son virgine vezzoza,' divinely ? Do ask 
 her for it." 
 
 Bob Markham did as he was bid, and did it 
 so well that Miss Wilson, charmed, dashed 
 off in st3de. 
 
 " That's rum singing. Lady Pamela," said 
 Bob, with uplifted eyebrows. 
 Bob had a good ear for music. 
 " Don't you like it ?" quoth she, so gravely, 
 that Eveline laughed. 
 
 " I say, Pam, I call that a shame," said 
 Gaveston. 
 
 " She likes doing it. Don't distress your- 
 self," said Pamela, unconcernedly. 
 
 As soon as Miss Wilson finished, Lady 
 Pamela took Eveline to the piano. 
 
 " Lucy shall accompany you ; she accom- 
 panies very w^ell." 
 
 " So I remarked," said Eveline, turning to 
 Miss Darrell with a smile. 
 
 Eveline had a glorious voice, and all that 
 the best masters could do for it had been 
 done, which, wdth steady practice, had made
 
 214 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 her a vocalist rarely heard off the stage and 
 not often on it. 
 
 As soon as the first notes of Meyerbeer's 
 thrilling song swelled through the room, the 
 loud hum of talking ceased suddenly, as though 
 at the command of an enchantress — every one 
 hung entranced on the delicious voice, which 
 took them all by surprise and held them spell- 
 bound. Did not Orpheus draw stones and 
 trees by his music ? And is there not a 
 pov\^er in a very beautiful voice to which no 
 one is insensible ? and when to that is added 
 the most perfect tuition and skill, the effect is 
 magical. 
 
 Devoted to music as she was, she breathed 
 forth her very soul in those exquisite strains ; 
 for though as yet no love had ever been 
 awakened in her, it was there latent — want- 
 ing but the Promethean spark to call it into 
 life. Few could have believed that while she 
 made the hearts of her audience thrill, that 
 her own had never felt one throb of love — not 
 of that wild, passionate love which breathes 
 throughout that song of Meyerbeer's. 
 
 "Brava, carissima," whispered Lady Pamela,
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 215 
 
 but seeing the singer s eyes full of unshed 
 tears, she stopped. 
 
 Exclamations of delight, entreaties for more, 
 surrounded her, but Pamela would not allow 
 it, and taking her cousin's arm, she led her 
 away. 
 
 " How fond you seem of music," said Digby, 
 leaning over the sofa, where the cousins sat. 
 
 " I am indeed, a,nd it is a pleasure without 
 alloy," she answered. 
 
 " I don t know about that. How for those 
 who cannot excel as you do ?" 
 
 " Is not the charm of listening greater ? 
 But you sing yourself, perhaps ?" 
 
 Digby owned to something of the sort. 
 
 " Let us practise some duets to-morrow," 
 she said. 
 
 He looked and spoke his thanks, while Miss 
 "Wilson sat gnawing her heart in secret rage, 
 preparing poisoned shafts for her rival. 
 
 " You have not seen my room," said Pa- 
 mela, as the ladies went up to bed. " Come 
 with me," — this to Eveline.
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 " Beware the venom clamours of a jealous woman." 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 It was a charming room, that of Lady Pa- 
 mela, with all its white lace and pink 
 ribbons ; like its mistress, coquette jusqiiau 
 houts cles ongles. The dressing-table, orna- 
 mented with Dresden looking-glasses and 
 candelabra, a host of gold and cut-glass 
 bottles, and other knick-knacks, was a thing to 
 dream of : the white and gold Psyche, wherein 
 its owner could see that the folds of her in- 
 variably perfect toilette were settled to her 
 satisfaction, stood in a favourable light near 
 the window, which was draped with pink 
 velvet and white lace ; the writing-table, 
 strewed with every necessary and unnecessary 
 adjunct to correspondence, from the little
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 217 
 
 Cupid with finger on lip, that kept guard over 
 the golden apple full of ink, to the glass full 
 of hothouse flowers that stood near it, made 
 one pause in wonder how any writing could 
 be achieved there, so covered was it with 
 ornaments. A few gems in water-colours 
 adorned the walls, and a small book-case full 
 of well-chosen authors in more than one lan- 
 guage, showed that the Lady Pamela culti- 
 vated other tastes besides that of luxury. 
 On each side of the fireplace stood a comfort- 
 able hergere, in one of which she buried her- 
 self, and crossing her slender, high-arched feet 
 on the pink velvet fender-stool, she invited 
 her friend to make herself equally comfort- 
 able in the other. After some chat about 
 Gaveston, the coming marriage, the trousseau, 
 and so on, Pamela began : 
 
 "You have made an enemy to-night.'' 
 " I ?" quoth Eveline : " sorry to hear it. 
 Of whom ? and why ?" 
 
 " The whom, Miss Wilson. The ivhy, Mr. 
 Digby, my laconic friend ; and I rather helped 
 to put a little fuel on her fury. It is so plea- 
 sant to put an extinguisher on people's ill- 
 nature."
 
 218 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 " Oil on flames ! not spoken with your 
 usual discrimination/' laughed Eveline. 
 
 *' Ingrate that you are," said Pamela, in a 
 tragic tone. *' But I see you are not up in 
 Beaumanoir politics. Did you remark a soi- 
 disant girl dressed a la vieiye f Ah ! I thought 
 so. She talked a good deal to that good- 
 looking Mr. Digby, whom, by the way, you 
 seem to know very well. She wants to marry 
 him." 
 
 " Why shouldn't she ?" asked Eveline, 
 smothering a yawn. 
 
 " Because he don't seem to see it. The 
 reciprocity is all on one side." 
 
 " Poor Miss Wilson," said Eveline. 
 
 " Spare your pity," said Pamela, sarcasti- 
 cally, " there is not much of an affaire de cceur 
 there, though I must say she has worked with 
 an energy worthy of better things. Good 
 Heavens ! all that trouble to catch a man ! 
 Ever since he came she has been singing our 
 ears off, but unless I am much mistaken 
 Ulysses is wide awake. If she had not been 
 so ill-natured about you I would not have 
 made her sing Grisi's song. Was there ever 
 such an exhibition ?"
 
 3IBS. GREVILLE. 219 
 
 ** It was unfortunate, certainly." 
 
 " The worst of it is I don't believe she saw 
 it ; she is so eaten up with vanity that I verily 
 believe she thinks she could eclipse Grisi, — 
 but how you sang to-night, Eveline ! I don't 
 think that Mr. Digby will care to listen to her 
 again. She thought to have drawn him from 
 the vasty deep, and lo ! a widow appeareth 
 who hath already entangled him in her silken 
 nets/' 
 
 " Don't be absurd, Pamela," laughed her 
 cousin. *' Miss Wilson is welcome to marry 
 Mr. Digby as far as I am concerned." 
 
 " I do not in the least doubt it. You break 
 hearts without the smallest intention of heal- 
 ing them." 
 
 " What on earth have I to do with Miss 
 Wilson's lovers ?" exclaimed Eveline, half- 
 inclined to be vexed at the other's badi- 
 nage. 
 
 *' You are a dear little innocent woman, 
 and I dare say never saw that you have be- 
 witched my respected papa, as well as the 
 unhappy lawyer, and half the men in the 
 room," said Pamela, ironically. " I don't 
 wonder ; you are very lovely, Eveline," she
 
 220 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 continued, in her natural voice, looking round 
 at her cousin. 
 
 " ' A kindred feeling makes us wondrous 
 kind/ '' laughed Eveline. 
 
 " No, there is no vanity so foolish as that 
 which pretends to what it does not possess. 
 I have my good points, and with careful djess- 
 ing can make up pretty well, but you are 
 dangerously beautiful, and beware of Miss 
 Wilson ; I saw treachery lurking in her eye, 
 and remember — 
 
 ' 'Tis the bright day brings forth the adder.' 
 
 She was watching you like a cat." 
 
 "Our paths are not likely to run counter," 
 replied Eveline, " and I will keep out of Mr. 
 Digby's. I should be very sorry to interfere 
 with anybody's plans, especially in an affaire 
 cle cceur" 
 
 '' Ah, bah !" said Pamela, " c'est une affaire 
 de tSte, far more dangerous. By the way, how 
 long did Mr. Challenor stay after I left ?" 
 
 Eveline started, her brows contracted, and 
 her nostrils swelled, but recovering herself, 
 said, " He left immediately after you went, 
 but it is long past midnight, so pleasant 
 dreams to you."
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 221 
 
 Pamela caught both the hands that were 
 leaning on her chair, and throwing back her 
 head, looked archly at her captive. 
 
 " I am answered, ma mie; another time you 
 will believe me, I hope. Wait a moment, and 
 Fanchon will light you to bed. The hounds 
 meet^here to-morrow, so you will have the 
 happiness of seeing the elite of our neigh- 
 bourhood." 
 
 In another room of that large house, sat 
 Constance Wilson alone. 
 
 The fire had burnt out, but she had not 
 noticed it, as with clenched hands and set 
 teeth she sat there, thinking with hatred and 
 malice of Eveline and Digby. With the per- 
 versity of human nature, no sooner did she 
 perceive that she had lost her game, than she 
 tried to persuade herself she had been on the 
 point of winning it, that it was Mrs. Greville 
 who had robbed her of her lover, oblivious of 
 the fact that only that morning had Mr. 
 Digby made a trifling excuse for not practising 
 some songs with her, and had even refused her 
 kind offer of walking with him after luncheon. 
 
 The fact was Miss Wilson's attentions had 
 become rather irksome to the man of law, for
 
 222 MRS. ^REYILLE. 
 
 the last day or two, and he was quietly ridding 
 himself of them. She knew it — she had seen 
 it, but it was forgotten in her present wrath. 
 
 " To have toiled as I have done, eaten dirt, 
 been at their beck and call, and just as I 
 reached the top step of the ladder to be hurled 
 down by this smooth-faced intriguing widow ! 
 It is too hard, and all the weary work to begin 
 over again, or else the miserable poverty at 
 home ! Oh ! how I hate it ! But she shall 
 never be yours, Everard Digby, never ! not as 
 long as I have a breath of life in me. And it 
 shall go hard with me but what I will do her 
 a nice turn. Only let me watch, and the 
 weapons will be in my hands ; and then — take 
 care of yourself, Mrs. Greville !" with this 
 charitable injunction Miss Wilson, feeling 
 chilled, sought her couch, where the soft lux- 
 urious pillows and mattresses, the fine linen, 
 and thick warm [blankets made her involun- 
 tarily think of her own hard bed at home, the 
 scanty covering, which made every cloak and 
 shawl a welcome addition, the fireless grate, 
 and all the other little economies of " genteel 
 poverty." 
 
 " xVnd if it had not been for her I need
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 223 
 
 never have encountered them again. Am I 
 always to be thwarted? First by that horrid 
 Mrs. Maynard, and now by this baby-faced 
 widow ! never, Everard Digby !" and she drew 
 the bed-clothes closer about her ; *' I hate and 
 despise you, but you shall never marry that 
 woman !" 
 
 Let us hope that her dreams were more 
 kindly than her waking thoughts ! Meanw^hile 
 the cause of all this bitterness was sleeping 
 the peaceful sleep of one untroubled in head, 
 heart, or body.
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 "The liunt is up : the morn is bright and grny, 
 
 The fields are fragrant, and the woods are green ; 
 Uncouple here, and let us make a bay, 
 And ring a hunter's peal !" 
 
 Shakespeare. 
 
 How Digby spent the night I know not, but 
 it is on record that he, the latest of the late, 
 was first in the breakfast-room next morning. 
 He had heard Eveline, in answer to Lord 
 Okehampton, reply laughingly, *' she was a 
 country cousin and accustomed to early 
 hours," and on this had built a vague hope of 
 seeing her before the rest of the party as- 
 sembled, of holding her little hand in his, 
 and telling her again how she had enthralled 
 him with that song last night. In short, he 
 resolved to say a great many things to her in 
 those precious five minutes on which he had
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 225 
 
 counted. But in vain he waited ; he read 
 his letters, looked at the papers, starting 
 round each time the door opened, but only 
 servants appeared with preparations for the 
 large party expected. 
 
 " Hullo ! you up, old fellow ?" was Lord 
 Gaveston's greeting. 
 
 " Digby is nmsing his complexion," quoth 
 another. 
 
 " No, he hasn't been to bed yet, that's all," 
 said somebody else, chaffing him. 
 
 By degrees most of the party made their 
 appearance, and took their places at the well- 
 spread table, amid a buzz of voices and 
 laughter. Presently came a clattering of 
 hoofs on the gravel, spurs clanked, and more 
 men in their red coats (purple-stained tails 
 showing good service), came in amidst various 
 hearty greetings — " The top of the morning 
 to you, old fellow." " Well, Charley, how's 
 yourself?" "All right after that purl, Jones ?" 
 and so forth. 
 
 " Glad to see you all," was Lord Okehamp- 
 ton's general greeting. 
 
 " Good morning, my lord ; sp'endid day for 
 a lady's meet." 
 
 VOL. I. 15
 
 226 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 " More fit for that than going," said 
 another, shaking his head as he glanced at 
 the bright sunny landscape. " It's as warm 
 as May." 
 
 " Well, Phillips, it is all fair that the ladies 
 should have their turn," said Lord Okehamp- 
 ton, good humouredly, and looking round at 
 the many riding-habits that graced his table. 
 
 "We have had pretty good sport this sea- 
 son." 
 
 " Your lordship has given us some rare 
 good days." 
 
 " What a spin we had last Monday !" 
 
 " You were not there, Pierce, I think. A 
 good forty minutes without a check, and 
 killed in the open, a regular burster — not 
 half-a-dozen lived through it." 
 
 " Which means that you did," replied 
 Pierce. 
 
 Digby alone seemed to remark Mrs. Gre- 
 ville's absence, and asked Lady Pamela, next 
 whom he was sitting, where she was. 
 
 " Isn't she here T replied Pamela, looking 
 down her side of the table. " There she is," 
 nodding towards the window, as Eveline, with 
 the children, passed on her way to the hall ;
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 227 
 
 " let us make room for her/' she added, draw- 
 ing her chah' further ofP as the door opened 
 and Mrs. Greville appeared, looking more 
 lovely than ever, in her hat and feather, seal- 
 skin jacket, with her dress looped up over as 
 dainty a pair of feet and ankles as ever were 
 encased in make-believe strong boots. The 
 fresh morning air had given her a brilliant 
 colour, and added new lustre and depth to 
 her violet eyes. She stopped for a moment 
 at the door. 
 
 " Come here," said Lady Pamela, '^ come 
 under the shadow of my wing. You look 
 like a frightened stag." 
 
 " Not much alarmed," she said, smiling, 
 '^ only surprised ; I forgot the meet, and did 
 not expect such a multitude. Good morning, 
 Mr. Digby," she said to that gentleman, who 
 had started up as she entered. 
 
 Her hands were full of ferns and grasses, 
 so the afore-thought-of delight that he had 
 dwelt on of holding her little palm in his was 
 denied him. 
 
 Perhaps she remembered Pamela's words 
 over-night ; anyhow, that little black kid 
 gauntlet did not rest in his hand. 
 
 15—2
 
 223 MRS. GBEYILLE. 
 
 " Ah ! Mrs. Greville, I see you know where 
 to gather roses," said Lord Okehampton. 
 
 '' And ferns too," she rephed, archly, hold- 
 ing out her trophies. " I have been down to 
 the pool with your children." 
 
 " What a lovely woman ! who is she ?" was 
 asked by several of the men. " Who is the 
 
 owner 
 
 lucky 
 
 " The lucky owner is herself, and I have 
 the honour of calling her cousin," replied 
 Lord Gaveston, a trifle haughtily. 
 
 "Are we not to see you in the field?" asked 
 her host, the master of the hounds. " I can 
 mount you on a very quiet animal." 
 
 " No, thank you, I do not ride," said she. 
 
 "Well, of all the quiet little fibbers," be- 
 gan Lady Pamela, but was interrupted by a 
 general rising and a cry of, " Tally ho, here 
 they come !" as hounds, huntsmen, and whip- 
 pers-in trotted up before the house to show 
 themselves ere proceeding to the meet. 
 
 What can be more exhilarating than a good 
 meet in a good hunting country ? Let the 
 stay-at-homes and the sceptics say what they 
 will, and discuss the philosophy of hunting at 
 their leisure. Long live the hunt, and long
 
 MRS. GEEYILLE. 229 
 
 may it be ere it dies out of merry old Eng- 
 land ! 
 
 It was a brilliant morning. The slight 
 frost that still lingered on the earth was fast 
 dissolving into myriads of fairy rainbows be- 
 neath the warm kisses of the joyous sun ; a 
 soft southerly breeze dallied with the spark- 
 ling blades of grass, heavy with their wealth 
 of glittering jewels ; in short, it was the very 
 perfection of a "lady's day." 
 
 The crisp earth crackled under the springy, 
 elastic steps of the high-mettled horses as 
 they cantered over the turf; dapper little 
 grooms, walking the glossy hunters up and 
 down, exchanged good-morrows and prophe- 
 cies on the coming sport, but falling into imme- 
 diate silence as their masters came up in a 
 hand gallop on their hacks ; here and there a 
 farmer trotted up on his more or less symme- 
 trical, but sturdy, enduring animal. A crowd 
 of boys and idlers collected on the spot, some 
 eager to see the sport, some gaping with ever- 
 recurring interest at the goodly scene. Then 
 come the scarlet coats in rapid succession, 
 mingling in brilliant harmony with the green 
 turf, the bright bays, the glossy blacks, the
 
 230 MRS. GBEVILLE. 
 
 fretful chestnuts that pawed the earth, and 
 otherwise showed their impatience. 
 
 A fair sprinkling too there was of ladies, 
 for Beaumanoir was a show meet, and one or 
 two well-appointed carriages drove up. The 
 crowd rapidly increased, a buzz of expectation 
 was heard, as the arrival of the M. H. was 
 momentarily awaited. 
 
 Then came a sound of wheels tearing along 
 the road. In another moment a fiery pair of 
 blood bays dashed almost amid the crowd, 
 seemingly setting at nought the fairy fingers 
 that guided rather than held them. But a 
 child's strength, well managed, tells on the 
 delicate mouths of those thorouo^hbreds. A 
 sudden check well-nigh brought them on their 
 haunches, as the lady pulled up among the 
 goodly assemblage, to the annoyance of some, 
 but to the amusement and admiration of 
 most ; for a pretty woman driving a splendid 
 pair of horses may do a great deal in a 
 liunting country where men are lovers of 
 horseflesh, to say nothing of pretty women ; 
 besides, she was daughter to the master of 
 the hounds. 
 
 '' Good morning, Lady Gwendoline," and a
 
 21 RS. GREVILLE. 231 
 
 man in scarlet passed her, as the groom sprang 
 to the heads of her horses. 
 
 " By Jove ! what a splendid pair !" cried 
 another, with genuine enthusiasm, stopping 
 by the side of the phaeton. 
 
 '^ Are they not a splendid match ?" said 
 her ladyship. 
 
 " More than one for you ; take care you 
 don't come to grief 
 
 " Are you sure they are not too much for 
 you T said Pierce, riding up, and looking 
 rather nervously at the slight creature in the 
 phaeton, and then at the fretting horses, half- 
 maddened at the crowd around them. It 
 was he who had seen them, spoken of them, 
 and in fine, at Lord Okehampton's request, 
 had purchased them for him, and he felt no 
 little responsibility on seeing Lady Gwen 
 driving them. 
 
 *' Too much for me ?" she repeated, and 
 with pardonable vanity pulled a dog-skin 
 gauntlet from a hand and wrist that might 
 have served for a model, and clenching a tiny 
 fist with a resolute air, "why, I have the 
 strength of Hercules in my wrist 1"
 
 232 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 " Rather, say, the skill of Phaeton," lisped 
 a dandy, in pink. 
 
 "An unlucky simile," laughed Lady Gwen; 
 '^ did he not come to grief?" 
 
 "Hurrah! here they come!" cried a bright- 
 haired boy, cantering up with his father. 
 
 A large party was coming across the park, 
 the splendid pack in eager, restless impa- 
 tience, infusing fresh heart into men and 
 horses. Some few laggards came galloping 
 up. Ladies held their reins somewhat tighter 
 as their horses grew fidgety and began to 
 quiver with impatience. One or two fair 
 cheeks paled perceptibly, and one wondered 
 why on earth they came out hunting. Soon 
 the crowd moves on to covert. 
 
 Lady Gwen^s steeds were almost ungovern- 
 able, so maddened were they at the sight of 
 the hounds. The groom feared to let them go 
 lest they should dash into the midst of the 
 field, and fretting against the restraint, they 
 reared violently; but Lady Gwen sat per- 
 fectly calm, soothing them with her voice. 
 
 " Let them go, James," she cried. 
 
 " Beg pardon, my lady, but the crowd is so
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 233 
 
 thick there's no room to pass. Better wait a 
 few minutes, my lady." 
 
 Pierce had lingered behind, not a little un- 
 easy. He called his groom, who w^as on his 
 second horse, and dismounting, he bid him 
 take one to Beaumanoir, but to keep about, 
 as perhaps he would hunt later in the day. 
 
 Without a word he took his seat by Lady 
 Gwen's side. 
 
 " I want to see how they go. Will you 
 take me with you ?" he calmly said, not al- 
 lowing her to see his fear for her. " Your 
 light hand is the very thing for such thorough- 
 breds." 
 
 " You think I cannot manage them ?" said 
 Gwen, defiantly. 
 
 *' On the contrar}^," said he, leaning back 
 and folding his arms, " am I not trusting 
 myself to you in perfect confidence ? What a 
 field is out to-day !" he continued, gazing 
 ahead, apparently quite unconscious that the 
 horses were becoming very violent. 
 
 " Jump in," cried Gwen, and this time the 
 groom, reassured by Pierce's presence, did as 
 he was bid, and the two bays, after some 
 plunging, settled into a steady trot.
 
 234 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Meanwhile the field had moved on. The 
 huntsman threw the hounds into covert, cheer- 
 ing them on in a ringing voice. They were 
 not long at fault. A low whimpering soon 
 told the sport was found. 
 
 " Hark to Musical ! hark I hark !" rang in 
 echoing tones through the air, " Hark to Sym- 
 metry ! Hark ! hark ! to Harmony, Harmony !" 
 
 One hound after another took up the scent 
 and Reynard's hiding-place soon became too 
 hot for him. He broke away, stealing quietly 
 beneath the hedge-row for a moment, but 
 there was no cheating the keen-scenting 
 hounds — they were on his track directly — and 
 he led gallantly away for dear life, straight as 
 a dart from the bolt, while his enemies drop- 
 ping into silence settled fairly to him. 
 
 " Hold on, gentlemen T cried the huntsman, 
 as he always does, waving to some whose im- 
 patient animals would scarce be held in. 
 "Hold on ! Give time ! Don't ride over hounds ! 
 Now then, they settle to him, the beauties ! 
 Now then, sirs, if you please, catch them if 
 you can !" 
 
 Av/ay they go in an unbroken line, with 
 heads well down, across the field, down the
 
 MRS. GREY I LIE. 235 
 
 hill, while up the acclivity threads the fox at 
 a gallant pace, quickly followed by the un- 
 swerving hounds. Brightly gleam the satin 
 coats of the horses, their swelling nostrils and 
 straining eyes telling how ill they brook the 
 restraint upon them. Away they go ! The 
 ground trembles under the thunder of their 
 hoofs, nothing to stop them, not till they near 
 the big fence, at the end of the field. Lord 
 Okehampton flies over, Gaveston follows, with 
 a bit of a crash, and looks back to see how 
 Pamela fares. She clears it, with several 
 inches to spare, and they follow side by side. 
 A minute more, and the mass dwindles out of 
 sight, mere specks in the distance. It is a 
 goodly scene, and one that makes the heart 
 bound again. 
 
 Gwen followed for some time by the road, 
 then pulling up to reconnoitre, exclaimed, 
 " He will make for Timothy's gorse ;" and 
 started like a mad woman down a lane to the 
 left, cheering on her steeds, which partook of 
 their mistress's ardour. They swept past 
 everything, and though never breaking from 
 theii' trot, the hght carriage seemed borne on 
 wings. Away they flew, up hill and down,
 
 236 MRS. GEEVILLE. 
 
 without relaxing their pace, while the fairy 
 creature who drove them, steadily held the 
 reins hand over hand, her boasted strength 
 taxed to the utmost, for they were pulling 
 hard now. Pierce lay back, in perfect noncha- 
 lance, outwardly, but never losing sight for a 
 moment of the horses, and the little hands 
 that held the reins. 
 
 *' Tally ho !" he cried, suddenly, as the fox 
 crossed the road, just in front of them. 
 
 " Timothy's gorse, as I said," cried Gwen. 
 " I shall beat them yet !" and in her wild im- 
 patience she cut the high mettled horses across 
 the haunches ; excited as they were, the lash 
 maddened them, and they started at the top 
 of their speed down the road. No hand could 
 check them now, certainly not their driver's. 
 
 " A good ' give and take' pull is your only 
 chance," said Pierce, coolly. 
 
 Gwen did so, but the result was only to pull 
 her nearly off her seat. 
 
 " You had better give me the reins," said 
 Pierce, " there is a steep hill a quarter of a 
 mile on." 
 
 ''I can hold them,'^ she cried, teeth and 
 brow set.
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 237 
 
 '* As you please," returned the other, lean- 
 iDg back. There was in truth a steep dechvity, 
 and the groom turned pale as the carriage 
 went over the brow. A stumble, the least 
 check, and in that headlong course the results 
 m\ist have been disastrous. 
 
 This time Pierce did not ask, but with that 
 quiet decision which few women ever resist, he 
 took reins and whip from her. Gwen clasped 
 her hands firmly together, and looked on in 
 silence. 
 
 Down they go at top speed — the incline is 
 great — will they reach the bottom in safety ? 
 
 The traces slacken — the collars draoc — an- 
 other moment, and there must be a horrible 
 crash, and a heap amidst kicking horses. 
 
 Lady Gwen turned white, and shut her 
 eyes. The animals were now fairly frightened, 
 for the carriage was overpowering them. 
 Pierce held them in firmly, cheered them with 
 his voice, and touched them with the whip. 
 The pace increases — the traces tighten — an- 
 other touch, and they go at lightning speed — 
 no running away, but well in hand, and urged 
 on to their utmost efforts. 
 
 A minute more, and they reach the bottom
 
 238 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 and begin to ascend the opposite side at a 
 gallop, but it soon stops, and tbe horses, 
 trembling, and in a perfect lather, slowly walk 
 up. 
 
 Pierce handed back the reins, and folding 
 his arms, coolly remarked — ■ 
 
 *' They have nice mouths, but they can 
 pull." At the top of the hill Lady Gwen 
 drew up. 
 
 " Thank you,'' said she, '' you did that very 
 well, and saved our Hves." 
 
 He gave her one look, beneath which hers 
 fell ; her fright had somewhat subdued her. 
 
 " Here are the hounds, my lady !" cried 
 James, excitedly, pointing to the right, where 
 the stream came on at a splitting pace. They 
 were making rather a circuit, but Lady Gwen 
 saved the angle and drove up as the huntsman 
 rescued poor Reynard's brush from the hun- 
 gry jaws. 
 
 "You were right about this place,'' said 
 Pierce, who was now standing by her side, 
 "but what made you guess that he would 
 make for it ?" 
 
 " It was no guess, I saw him break away, 
 and recognised him for the same that gave us
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 239 
 
 such a splendid run last week, and he ran to 
 earth here. None other had so black a brush 
 with so white a tip.'' 
 
 " After that, none other can claim it, besides 
 you were first in at the death," said Pierce, as, 
 throwing a sovereign in the cap, he took the 
 brush from the huntsman, and brought it to 
 her. "I will not offer my services any more, 
 your horses will go quietly enough," and 
 raising his hat, he went to look for his man, 
 who was sure to be close at hand. 
 
 Lady Gwen drove home. She had been 
 vanquished, but somehow it did not vex her. 
 His consummate coolness and skill won her 
 admiration, and had saved her from a horrible 
 accident, and she was very thankful. He had 
 treated the matter so lightly, too — he had 
 behaved well — yes, very well.
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 " Shifting and various is the plan 
 By which Heaven rules the affairs of man." 
 
 COWPER. 
 
 There was a very large party tliat evening at 
 dinner. Gaveston took Eveline, and as they 
 crossed the hall, he told her that Yandeleur 
 had arrived. 
 
 " I wonder if you will like him ; I lioipe you 
 will, for he is a great friend of mine," said he. 
 
 " This Mr. Yandeleur must be very charm- 
 ing, or ought to be," said Eveline, " he seems 
 a universal favourite." 
 
 " Well, he is just one of those men that 
 everyone does like ; he is an immense favourite 
 with ladies." . 
 
 "I am not certain — in all deference be it 
 said — that that is a recommendation to our 
 favour," said she, archly.
 
 2fRS. GREVILLE. 241 
 
 " Yandeleur is no lady-killer/' replied Ga- 
 veston, " he is a really good fellow." 
 
 Vandeleur having arrived by a late train 
 made a hasty, though, as always, a perfect 
 toilette, and met his hostess as she was bring- 
 ing up the rear of her guests on their way to 
 the dining-room. He sat a long way down 
 on the same side of the table as Eveline, so 
 she did not see him, and not seeing him forgot 
 his existence. 
 
 This was her first dinner-party in England, 
 and she was much amused listening to the 
 various scraps of talk that caught her ear 
 from time to time. Her life abroad, where 
 girls are rarely seen in society, and when seen 
 are rarely heard, was not calculated to make 
 her admire the style of conversation of a fast 
 English young lady, and Miss Kinnaird's 
 shrill accents fell with no little astonishment 
 on her uneducated ears. 
 
 This young lady, who sat near her, seemed 
 thoroughly aufcdt with the fashionable scandal 
 of the day, and discussed subjects somewhat 
 risques with an aplomb that horrified Mrs. 
 Greville's old-fashioned ideas. 
 
 " How shocked you look," said Gaveston, 
 
 VOL. I. 16
 
 242 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 amused. '^ I see you do not know many fast 
 young ladies ; and, indeed, I know few faster 
 than — " and he inclined his head towards 
 Florence. 
 
 " And do you like it ?" asked Eveline, se- 
 riously. 
 
 " H — m, it amuses me," said the other. 
 *' Now there's Miss Darrell, a pattern little 
 miss, but very slow except when one gets a rise 
 out of her, not very difficult either. You must 
 come and see us at Gaveston. You have never 
 been there even as a child ? Well, it is a nice 
 old place. Digby says it ought to be yours." 
 
 '' Mine !" laughed Eveline, " that must be a 
 great stretch of imagination." 
 
 "Do you think that is a case?" asked 
 Gaveston. 
 
 That, meant Digby and Constance, whom 
 good-natured Lady Okehampton had sent in 
 together, fully persuaded that she had thereby 
 made two people happy. 
 
 " I am not a clairvoyante," answered Eveline, 
 laughing. " Is it the custom for ladies in the 
 country to talk so much about hunting ? They 
 seem to know as much about it as men." 
 
 '' How charmingly fresh you are ! I see you
 
 MBS. GREVILLE. 243 
 
 have to begin your education," said Lord Ga- 
 veston. '' After you have been here a month 
 or so, you will be quite as keen about a run 
 as that lady opposite, who has attracted your 
 admiration, I remark/' 
 
 " Who is she ?" asked Eveline, cautiously. 
 
 '^ Lady Dashaway, the great huntress here. 
 She is no great friend of mine, so you need not 
 look so very cautious," he said, with a smile, 
 for Eveline's face was a terrible tell-tale. 
 " That is her husband — for the chronique 
 scandaleuse, I refer you to Miss Kinnaird." 
 
 " Lord Gaveston," remonstrated Mrs. Gre- 
 ville. 
 
 He laughed lightly, and turned to his other 
 neighbour. On her other side was the cheery, 
 
 handsome Dean of , as fond of talking to a 
 
 pretty woman as any one else, and who, by 
 virtue of his age and cloth, allowed himself 
 any amount of flirting, under the guise of good 
 advice. His wife loved him too well, and was 
 too well assured of his affection, ever to feel 
 the least shadow of annoyance, and if any one 
 ever told her how the Dean had been flirting 
 with some one, she would say with her bright 
 smile, bright still in spite of her forty years, 
 
 16—2
 
 244 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 " Then I am sure she is very pretty. I must 
 be introduced to her." 
 
 '' What is the Dean lecturing you about ?" 
 said Lord Okehampton, " I recognise the tone 
 of old. I was his fag at Eton, Mrs. Greville, 
 so you see I speak avec connaissance de cause. 
 Then we went to Christ Church together. He 
 went in for hard study, while I rather pre- 
 ferred hunting and tandem-driving, which 
 used to bring forth solemn lectures from 
 him." 
 
 " And they never had the smallest effect on 
 him, Mrs. Greville," retorted the Dean ; " he 
 was always in scrapes." 
 
 " But never found out," added Lord Oke- 
 hampton. 
 
 "A valuable maxim," said Gaveston, ''no- 
 thing so fatal as breaking the eleventh com- 
 mandment." 
 
 " Your morals will get quite corrupted here," 
 said the Dean to Mrs. Greville, " I shall have 
 to carry you off to the deanery, and keep you 
 under my own wing." 
 
 '' There spoke the Dean of ," said Lord 
 
 Okehampton, laughing. " He takes especial 
 charge of his lambs, when they are young
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 245 
 
 and handsome — you will find him a most care- 
 ful shepherd, Mrs. Greville." 
 
 The Dean made some answer in Latin, of 
 which Eveline only caught the words " offen- 
 deris clericum'^ and then old college re- 
 miniscences broke in, more amusing to those 
 of their own generation than to her, so she 
 turned her attention to her farther neigh- 
 bours. 
 
 "You are very good-natured. Miss Kinnaird," 
 she heard a gentleman say, very ironically. 
 
 " I ? pas si hete,'' she retorted. 
 
 " So you were not at the Beeches last 
 week r 
 
 " No. Were you ?" responded Miss Kin- 
 naird. 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 "Who was there? of the cabal I mean," 
 said Florence. 
 
 " All," said the gentleman, devoting himself 
 to a mayonnaise. " Everybody except Louisa." 
 
 " And why didn't Helen ask her ?" 
 
 " I couldn't make out; there was no end of 
 a row about it, but Talbot was as close as 
 wax ; no getting anything out of him." 
 
 " He will tell mCj' said Florence.
 
 246 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 "Not even you — irresistible as you are. 
 Helen miglit. Women do talk sometimes/' 
 
 " How charmed you would be if I sat here 
 silent," said Florence, ironically. 
 
 " You couldn't if you tried. Don't attempt 
 it — the pensive Madonna style don't suit 
 you." 
 
 " I don't go in for sentiment — a bread and 
 butter miss." 
 
 One of those universal crashes of voices 
 which occur from time to time at large dinner 
 parties, and in which, it would seem that 
 everybody had come to a mutual agreement 
 of talking down everybody else, here drowned 
 each individual voice. 
 
 " I agree with you," said Gaveston, reading 
 Mrs. Greville's countenance ; " these big feeds 
 are intolerable." 
 
 " I never said so," stammered Mrs. Gre- 
 ville, blushing like a girl. 
 
 " You only thought so," replied Gaveston, 
 laughing, *' but it don't do to philosophise on 
 such matters. Take the goods the gods pro- 
 vide," — here he helped himself to loate de 
 foie gras — " and, when the cook est un mortel 
 divin — be thankful."
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 247 
 
 Notwithstanding this advice, she was very 
 glad when Lady Okehampton made the signal 
 to move, for she felt very depressed, and the 
 loss of her good, kind husband came so pain- 
 fully upon her, that instead of following the 
 ladies to the drawing-room, she sought the 
 privacy of her own room, and here Lady 
 Pamela found her sitting in the semi-darkness 
 of the firelight. 
 
 " What is the matter, ma mie f she asked 
 caressingly, and laying her hand on her 
 shoulder. 
 
 " Nothing, really ; only a fit of low spirits 
 for which I ought to be ashamed of indulg- 
 ing." 
 
 "It does not answer, dear," said her cousin, 
 tenderly. " It is a trial for you coming 
 amongst all these people, but you behaved 
 beautifully ; and now I dare say that you 
 have been crying and spoiling your pretty 
 face. Ah ! I thought so," and relentless 
 Pamela lighted the candles on the mantel- 
 piece, and Eveline with an attempt at a laugh, 
 which was half a sob, got up to bathe her 
 face. " Shall I ring for your maid V 
 
 " Oh no," said Eveline, drying her curls
 
 248 MRS. GREVJLLE. 
 
 that had fallen into the water, " I do not 
 want her." 
 
 " I wonder how many people believe that 
 all those curls are your own ?" said Pamela, 
 watching her cousin brush out the still damp 
 hair and curl it up again. '' I don't think 
 you could make yourself ugly if you tried," 
 she continued, taking her arm as they left 
 the room ; " most women look hideous after 
 crying : red noses, swollen faces, puffy eyelids. 
 I don't wonder at men hating to see it. Let 
 us go the other way, I hear the men coming 
 out of the dining-room. I must introduce 
 Mr. Vandeleur to you. I think you will find 
 him a congenial spirit ; he is rather a flirt, 
 which will be a bond of union." 
 
 " I thought you said he was married ?" 
 
 '' Ca nempeche pas — a code of morality 
 which has received royal sanction," replied 
 the other, in a half-sarcastic tone, "and as 
 you will discover for yourself, when you have 
 been through a London season, my unsophis- 
 ticated friend." 
 
 Her Grace of Montserrat being vastly pleased 
 with Mrs. Greville, cast her ducal smiles 
 upon her, and this latter, unconscious of the
 
 MRS. GEEYTLLE. 249 
 
 existence of Lord Plantao-enet, thouo^lit her a 
 most charming woman ; and few women could 
 make themselves more so than Gertrude 
 Montserrat, when she so pleased. 
 
 She was asking Eveline to come on to them 
 when she left Beaumanoir. 
 
 " I am afraid I shall be very quiet/' she 
 said, " for the duke is abroad, but I can fancy 
 that a quiet visit will be more congenial to 
 you just now. A fresh entrance in the world 
 after a great sorrow is always painful at first 
 — it will wear off — but I have remarked more 
 than once how greatly this crowd oppresses 
 you, poor child." 
 
 Mrs. Greville, touched at the kindly sym- 
 pathy which read her feelings, pressed the 
 duchess's hand ; she would have preferred 
 talkinof with one towards whom she was in- 
 stinctively drawn, but such a songstress as 
 Mrs. Greville was not allowed to subside in a 
 corner of a sofa in that manner, so, rising to 
 a somewhat clamorous demand, she sat down 
 to the piano. 
 
 Not being asked for any particular song, 
 her thoughts wandered to those touching 
 lines of Byron s which have been so beauti-
 
 250 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 fully set to music, and which, well known as 
 they are, I may be forgiven for here quoting : 
 
 " Bright be the place of thy soul, 
 No lovelier spirit than thine 
 E'er burst from its mortal control, 
 In the orbs of the blessed to shine. 
 
 " On earth thou wert all but divine. 
 As thy soul shall immortally be, 
 And our sorrow may cease to repine 
 When we know that thy God is with thee. 
 
 " Light be the turf on thy tomb ! 
 May its verdure like emeralds be ; 
 There should not be a shadow of gloom 
 In aught that reminds us of thee. 
 
 " Young flowers and an evergreen tree 
 May spring from the spot of thy rest, 
 But nor cypress nor yew let us see, 
 For why should we mourn for the blest ?" 
 
 More than one eye was moist, as, with a 
 pathos not to be described, the last notes fell 
 quivering from her lips. 
 
 " Why, indeed T asked a voice at her side, 
 a voice that was strange to her, yet one in 
 which lingered the echo of long-forgotten 
 tones, though when or where heard she 
 could not tell ; but turning, she saw — yes, it 
 was — older, very sunburnt, much altered, but 
 — the gray fisherman of the Welsh river !
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 251 
 
 '* Mr. Vandeleur tells me that he made 
 your acquaintance many years ago," said Lady 
 Pamela. "You never told me this." 
 
 " I did not know Mr. Vandeleur by name 
 till this moment," she replied, blushing beau- 
 tifully, and offering her hand. 
 
 ** So you really recollected me V he asked, 
 later in the evening, drawing a chair to her 
 side in the most confiding manner, and 
 completely fascinated by his beautiful com- 
 panion. 
 
 " My recollections of that time are so few," 
 she began, apologising. 
 
 " / want no excuse for so flattering a me- 
 mory," he murmured in an undertone. "How 
 strange to meet here after so many years." 
 
 " Ah, you prognosticated that," said Eve- 
 line, with a blush and a smile. 
 
 " I had the advantage in those days — I 
 knew who you were ; but now that we know 
 each other, you must accord me the privileges 
 of an old friend who knew you when you 
 were a child — and such a bright, happy 
 child !" his voice had the old dangerous tone, 
 caressing, yet respectful, and which again 
 thrilled through her.
 
 252 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 *' And what has become of the old Welsh 
 squire ? I forget his name, but he had a deaf 
 and dumb son." 
 
 " The old man is dead, and the son 
 spends his time chiefly in Scotland and 
 Norway." 
 
 " Lady Pamela tells me that you live the 
 life of a recluse down there," continued Van- 
 deleur. 
 
 *^ I love the place. It is my home ; and 
 all those who were dearest to me sleep in its 
 peaceful churchyard." 
 
 *' You have had much sorrow since those 
 early days," said Vandeleur, his eyes and 
 voice rather than his words saying how he 
 longed to dry the tears that trembled on the 
 dark lashes. 
 
 '* My sorrow^s have been indeed great, yet 
 there are harsher ones in the world, and I am 
 ungrateful to complain." 
 
 Pamela had glanced more than once at 
 them, as absorbed in their conversation, one, 
 at all events, she felt sure, was unconscious of 
 the conspicuousness that they were attaching 
 to themselves, and seeing the tear-laden eyes 
 raised for a moment and then droop beneath
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 253 
 
 Yandeleur's look, she was too true a friend 
 not to come at once to the rescue. 
 
 " Mr. Vandeleur, Lord Gaveston wants 
 your opinion on the drawings of some car- 
 riages that have come on approval. Will you 
 give him the benefit of your good taste ?" 
 
 Few things pleased him better than such 
 an appeal. Lady Pamela knew this, and she 
 took the chair he vacated, with the satirical 
 smile that too often hovered on her ripe lips. 
 
 Not unmarked had been that, flirtation. 
 Miss Wilson at once made it her business to 
 learn all that she could of Mr. Yandeleur and 
 his antecedents, and a cruel light came into 
 her eyes, as with the prescience of hatred and 
 envy, she thought that already she detected 
 a beacon. Seeing the circle that drew round 
 Mrs. Greville, she hated her — hated her for 
 her soft beauty, for her winning ways, for her 
 fascinathig manner, and for the wealth that 
 could command every wish, and she longed, 
 she said, to see that proud head in the 
 dust. 
 
 Vandeleur was en pcnjs de connaissance, 
 and so many of the guests engrossed him, 
 that he could not again approach the lovely
 
 254 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Mrs. Greville ; but when the ladies were re- 
 tiring, he found himself at the door as she 
 passed, and pressed her hand with a warm 
 lingering clasp as he wished her good-night.
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 '' Here nymphs relate 
 The dark decrees and will of fate." 
 
 Matthew Green. 
 
 "Is it not strange that your Admirable 
 Crichton and my gray fisherman are one and 
 the same man ?" said Mrs. Greville, settling 
 herself in an arm-chair in Lady Pamela's 
 room. "Why does not his wife come, with 
 him?" 
 
 " It might be better if she did," said the 
 other, dryly. 
 
 " Does she not care for him ? Surely she 
 must : he seems so very kind." 
 
 " Kind manners in public don't always make 
 happy homes in private," quoth Lady Pamela. 
 " Not but what I believe that Mr. Yandeleur 
 is kind to his wife when they are together,
 
 256 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 whicli is not very often. But of her feelings 
 I cannot speak. He belongs to her, and that 
 invests him with a halo in her eyes ; but I 
 suppose that she is fond of him, for she is 
 very jealous. Not without cause, if all be 
 true." 
 
 " Jealousy hardly proves love," replied 
 Mrs. Greville. " You remember what Eoche- 
 foucauld says : ' II y a dans la jalousie 
 plus d'amour propre que d'amour; il y a 
 une certaine sorte d'amour dont I'exces em- 
 peche la jalousie.' I can fancy that. Per- 
 fect love cannot feel distrust, and what is 
 jealousy but distrust ?" 
 
 " Perhaps," replied Pamela, musing ; " but 
 also it is a feeling lolus fort que sou I could 
 be jealous." 
 
 " Most unjustifiable, if you were," laughed 
 her cousin. 
 
 " Gaveston is fond of me," said Pamela, 
 dreamily, as if thinking of something else. 
 *' Eveline, were you ever in love ?" 
 
 " I loved my husband very dearly." 
 
 " That is evading my question. I know 
 that you loved him, and how devoted you 
 were to him in that trying illness. But were
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 257 
 
 you ever really in love ? You know what I 
 mean." 
 
 Eveline shook her head. There seemed 
 almost a treachery to the dead in such an 
 admission, and she made it silently. 
 
 " Then remember my advice. Only give 
 your love to a man who is worthy of it — who 
 will treasure it as a priceless gift ; for of all 
 beautiful thiDgs, a woman's love is the most 
 so. There rnay be men worthy of it, though I 
 have never met one. When you love, Eve- 
 line, it will be with all your heart and soul — 
 with hopeless idolatry. I came on a passage 
 in Owen Meredith to-day, which struck me 
 as applicable to you, so I learnt it by heart 
 for your benefit, 
 
 ' Nor do I question what thou art, 
 Nor what thy life in great or small. 
 Thou art, I know, what all 
 My heart must beat or break for/ 
 
 That will be your feeling when you fall in 
 love." 
 
 " You do not seem to allow me any discri- 
 mination in my choice," laughingly said. Mrs. 
 Greville. 
 
 "My dear, people have none when they 
 VOL. I. 17
 
 258 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 fall in love," said Pamela, sententiously. " No- 
 body loves a being as be or sbe is, but clotbes 
 some ideal witb a buman form tbat takes tbe 
 fancy, 
 
 ' Things base and vile, holding no quantity, 
 Love can transpose to form and dignity.' " 
 
 " I do not at all agree," rejoined Eveline, 
 warmlyi 
 
 " Naturally," returned Pamela, " seeing by 
 your own confession tbat you never bave 
 bad tbe disease. But bow else do you account 
 for tbose awakenings from dreams — tbose 
 perceptions of faults wbere virtues dwelt be- 
 fore ? They did not spring suddenly into life ; 
 tbey bad existed all along, only tbat we did 
 not — would not — see wbat was patent to all 
 tbe world till some cause or otber unbound 
 our own eyes." 
 
 ** Yet I tbink I could see tbe faults, and 
 love tbe man all tbe same," said Eveline, in 
 ber balf sby manner wben talking of ber 
 feelings. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," replied Pamela ; " you 
 would believe in bim firmly — deem eacb fault 
 a virtue — and all tbe rest of tbe rubbisb witb 
 wbicb women will sbut tbeir senses, till some
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 259 
 
 day the lovely bubble bursts, and then they 
 see that they have been worshipping nothing 
 but a drop of soapy water/' 
 
 '^You speak bitterly, Pamela. Surely, 
 Gaveston is not the soapy drop ?" said Eve- 
 line, wistfully. 
 
 " No ; he is better than I deserve. I was 
 not thinking of him : indeed, I was not think- 
 ing of any one in particular ; I spoke generally, 
 for I see that you will have plenty of adorers 
 at your feet — only be sure and select the 
 right one. Your heart is too good a one to 
 be made a man's plaything of" 
 
 *' According to your theory, I shall not 
 have much option in my choice ; but when I 
 want a garb for the ideal hero who is to steal 
 not only my peace but my common sense, I 
 will come to you to select him," said Mrs. 
 Greville, laughing. 
 
 *' Would to Heaven you would !" replied 
 Pamela,, more seriously than the occasion 
 seemed to warrant. " Could women only 
 exercise a little common sense in such matters, 
 there would be less misery in the world. But 
 there, my dear, we are all alike in that mat- 
 ter," she added, en hddinant, "and you wiU 
 
 17—2
 
 260 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 be far above the clouds long before you tell 
 me, while I shall be making frantic but in- 
 effectual clutches at the tail of your skirt. 
 Good gracious, it is to-morrow morning ! — 
 let us go to bed."
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 Eero. " But nature never framed a woman's heart 
 Of prouder stuff than that of Beatrice : 
 Disdain and scorn ride sparkling in her eyes 
 Misprising what they look on. * * * 
 * * * * She cannot love, 
 Nor take no shape nor project of affection, 
 She is so self-endeared." 
 
 Much Ado about Nothing. 
 
 Tro. " Even as one heat another heat expels. 
 
 Or as one nail by strength drives out another, 
 So the remembrance of my former love 
 Is by a newer object quite forgotten. 
 
 * 
 At first I did adore a twinkling star, 
 But now I worship a celestial sun." 
 
 Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 When Yandeleur and Gaveston met in the 
 passage on their way to the smoking-room the 
 former spoke most rapturously of Mrs. Gre- 
 
 ville. 
 
 " She is very lovely, is she not ?" said
 
 262 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 Gaveston, "I thought you would like her. 
 She and Pam are great chums." 
 
 Mrs. Greville haunted Yandeleur's thoughts 
 all that night, waking or sleeping he saw those 
 glorious blue eyes before him, and the lovely 
 bashful look, as she recognised him ; and he 
 resolved not to allow her evident liking for 
 him to fade away through any fault of his. 
 He knew women well, and was fond of them 
 — well he might be, for they had treated him 
 far too kindly, and more than one lese-majeste 
 had been forgiven in an ensuing friendship. 
 
 And his wife ? I hear my readers exclaim. 
 Ay, his wife, for this gay Lothario was a 
 married man. Perhaps had she been of a 
 more congenial nature, Yandeleur might have 
 developed into a better man ; but hers was a 
 cold, hard, suspicious nature, with a stern, un- 
 compromising sense of duty, which, with her, 
 took the place of affection. Untempted her- 
 self, she made allowances for none — the least 
 deviation from the right path was visited by 
 her as an unpardonable enormity — and what- 
 ever the world might say of her husband, no 
 breath had ever touched Mrs. Yandeleur.
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 263 
 
 "Not prudery's self could e'er have found 
 Against her, accusation's ground, 
 Nor pity's self could e'er have traced 
 One virtue that her heart had graced, 
 'Twixt vice and virtue, both sedate, 
 She only was immaculate." 
 
 How little when we pride ourselves on our 
 own strength and truth, do we take into con- 
 sideration the extraneous circumstances that 
 keep them intact. 
 
 We think ourselves an impregnable — an 
 unassailable fortress, and forget the moat that 
 surrounds it, the garrison that guards it. But 
 let down the draw-bridge — take away the 
 brave and gallant guard, and what becomes of 
 the stronghold that erstwhile so proudly 
 boasted of its strength ? The castle is the same 
 — its strength or its weakness unaltered ; but 
 the outward support is gone. 
 
 So with us women — too often do we rear 
 our heads in conscious pride of our own virtue, 
 our unsullied life, and draw our skirts around 
 us with a scornful shudder, as we pass one, 
 who — less fortunate than ourselves — was 
 compelled to stand alone, and has fallen. 
 We have no pity — none. She ought to have 
 taken care of herself; she was old enough.
 
 264 MBS. GREVILLE. 
 
 True she oiight-^as we all ought to do raany 
 things, and fail. But when we condemn 
 so pitilessly, do we ever pause to think of 
 the strong wall that loving hands — or may 
 be circumstances — have built around our im- 
 maculate selves ? Do we ever remember that 
 an unseen influence has kept temptation from 
 us — not that we have resisted it ? Does it 
 ever occur to us that were we left alone and 
 undefended, it is just possible that we, too, 
 might succumb ? That we are often strong 
 because — untempted ? 
 
 Let none think that I am defending sin — 
 God forbid ; but I would claim some pity for 
 the sinner, who, for aught we know, carries 
 about a bitterer punishment than any we can 
 inflict. Let us all 'be thankful that there is 
 another tribunal besides that of the social 
 Eumenides, where all will need — and obtain 
 — mercy. 
 
 Mrs. Yandeleur did her duty by her hus- 
 band — in her own estimation — to her children 
 and to her parents, whom she had refused to 
 leave on her marriage ; but somehow she had 
 not been successful in making virtue lovely, 
 and though she shuddered at the thought of
 
 MRS. GREVILLE, 265 
 
 pitying a sinner, and washed her hands of 
 
 such, and thanked Heaven she was not as 
 
 they, no one would say to her, 
 
 " Why do people love you *? 
 And wherefore are you gentle, strong, and valiant ?" 
 
 Mrs. Vandeleur's is not a singular character: 
 there are many like her. Their marriage had 
 not been one of predilection, but it was one 
 which offered many worldly advantages, and 
 had been accepted on those terms. Perhaps 
 he did not find his wife so charming on nearer 
 acquaintance as he had supposed, or perhaps 
 the chains of matrimony slightly galled the 
 gay butterfly ; anyhow, as she preferred living 
 with her parents, he returned a good deal to 
 his bachelor habits, and with bachelor habits 
 came bachelor thoughts. 
 
 It is to be hoped that his wife lived in ig- 
 norance of her lord's doings — probably she did, 
 for it would never have occurred to her that 
 anyone belonging to her could be other than im- 
 maculate. He wrote her a daily letter in his 
 absences, he had an enormous respect for her, 
 and rarely flirted in her presence. With his 
 light easy temperament, and somewhat elastic 
 morality, and with that ideal appreciation of
 
 266 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 good — common to irresolute characters, who 
 admire without attempting to imitate — Mrs. 
 Yandeleur was the very woman to inspire him 
 with the deepest respect, and she was by no 
 means singular in her belief that a man who 
 so admires what is great and noble in others, 
 must possess those attributes himself. 
 
 Everything went on very pleasantly in their 
 menage, she had plenty to do at home ; and 
 he loved to be caressed and dorlote by women 
 of the world, who always welcomed the charm- 
 ing Mr. Vandeleur in their circles. Many and 
 very sentimental had been his flirtations, but 
 not till he saw Mrs. Greville did he think that 
 he had ever seen his heau ideal ; but then she 
 stood before him. He did not analyse his 
 thoughts — he was not much given that way 
 — but she filled them, she had bewitched him, 
 and he looked forward to a very delightful, 
 confiding friendship between himself and this 
 lovely woman.
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 " The hearts of old gave hands, 
 But our new heraldry is — hands, not hearts." 
 
 Shaeespeaee. 
 
 Sir Humphrey Pierce was leaving Beau- 
 manoir, but he was no nearer knowing his 
 fate than he had been for the last year. It 
 was not to be borne, and he was determined 
 to have it out with Gwen before he left. The 
 difficulty was to get a tete-a-tete with her. 
 Surrounded by her satellites, she was as 
 difficult of access as any one of the luminaries 
 above. Though it galled him horribly, he 
 determined to ask Florence Kinnaird to help 
 him. Anything was better than this suspense, 
 in which pride was as much galled as love. 
 
 The ladies were in the library. Some few 
 of the men, finding metal more attractive 
 there than in the stables, had joined them,
 
 268 MRS, GEEVILLE. 
 
 and were idling away the morning as best 
 they could. Some of the ladies were working, 
 others writing ; Eveline was sketching the 
 view from the window ; Pamela sat near her, 
 knitting, the one feminine work she affected ; 
 Gwen and Florence doing nothing ; Yande- 
 leur, with the ease of a thorough man of the 
 world and a spoilt one, had drawn his chair 
 close to Eveline, as if it were a matter of 
 course that he should do just as he liked ; 
 Gaveston was occupied in unwinding Pamela's 
 ball of worsted. 
 
 " I wish you would come out, Pam," said 
 he ; " it really is a shame to waste this fine 
 day." 
 
 '' I hate going out before luncheon," she 
 replied ; ''men are so idle they never have any- 
 thing to do if their guns and horses are not 
 available. Now, just look at my wool !" and 
 with a comical look of dismay she took up the 
 tangled mass into which he had converted it. 
 
 " What on earth is a fellow to do ?" asked 
 he, plaintively. 
 
 " Look at Mr. Digby," retorted Pamela ; 
 " see how he studies the paper — the politics 
 of his country ! Now, that I call improving."
 
 MRS. GREYJLLE. 
 
 " I don't believe he has read a word," re- 
 pUed Gaveston, sotto voce. *'Digby," cried 
 he, aloud, " any news in the paper ?" 
 
 Digby lowered the Times, from behind 
 which he had been covertly watching Mrs. 
 Greville, and encouraging a very cordial dis- 
 like to Yandeleur ; but he was nob a man to 
 be taken unawares, and he quietly replied, 
 
 " I was looking over a case I am interested 
 in. No," he continued, folding the sheet 
 carefully, and running his eye over it. " No- 
 thing much — there never is at this time of 
 year. There is a good deal about the Franco- 
 Sardinian marriage." 
 
 " He got out of that very well," whispered 
 Gaveston ; "he never once turned the paper ; 
 I watched him." 
 
 " Gwen, this is awfully slow," said Florence ; 
 " I do think mornings among dowagers ought 
 to be prohibited. Gome and have a game of 
 billiards." 
 
 "What a restless being you are," said 
 Gwen ; " can't you be quiet for once ?" 
 
 "It is lawyers who can't be quiet," said 
 Florence. " Mr. Digby, you are a lawyer. 
 Do you know why ? Gwen, I can't stop to
 
 270 MRS. GEEYILLE. 
 
 give the answer — come along," and tlie two 
 young ladies left the room, followed by Pierce 
 and one or two others. 
 
 " What's the answer ?'' was asked, as soon 
 as they were outside the door. 
 
 " Because they lie first on one side, then on 
 the other, and even in the grave they lie 
 stilV replied Miss Kinnaird. 
 
 Gwen turned upon her : 
 
 "It is well you did not say that before Mr. 
 Digby, our guest." 
 
 " Well, I didn t ; I told you I couldn't," 
 said Florence. 
 
 " Now or never/' thought Pierce. " Miss 
 Kinnaird," he said aloud, " as you are fond of 
 riddles, will you read me this one ?" 
 
 Florence lingered behind. She knew well 
 enough it was no common riddle that he 
 wanted answered. 
 
 " What is it ?" she asked. 
 
 " It is to ask your help. Will you give it 
 me?" 
 
 " My help, Sir Humphrey ? What 
 for ?" 
 
 " To procure me an interview with Lady 
 Gwendoline. I am leaving Beaumanoir to-
 
 MRS. GBEYILLE. 271 
 
 day, and I must speak to her. Will you help 
 me?" 
 
 " How on earth am I to do so ? If Gwen 
 does not choose to give you this t^te-a-tete, 
 what can I do ?" 
 
 " A woman's wit never yet failed her," said 
 Pierce. " Ask her to come out riding — any- 
 thing — and then leave us." 
 
 " And make Gwen quarrel with me ? No, 
 thank you," said the young lady, shaking her 
 head ; " that don't suit my book at all." 
 
 " Why should she quarrel with you ? A 
 clever woman Hke you would never betray 
 herself." 
 
 " I don't know," replied Miss Kinnaird ; 
 " and Gwen is as shai-p as forty needles. She 
 would never forgive me. No ; you must 
 manage it yourself" 
 
 " How can I?" retorted Pierce; ''you never 
 leave her for a moment." 
 
 As he spoke, he took a small morocco case 
 out of his pocket and absently opened it. 
 
 '* How lovely !" exclaimed Florence, as the 
 sunlight danced on the diamonds. " Is that 
 for Gwen ?" 
 
 " I don't know. Would you like it ?" He
 
 272 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 asked this with a look that Florence under- 
 stood. It might hQ hers ; and, after all, what 
 he asked was nothing so very much. She 
 hesitated, and seeing her hesitation, he clasped 
 the bracelet on her arm, sneering at the 
 woman the while. 
 
 " Let it stay there, and do what I ask 
 
 you." 
 
 Florence coloured, wavered, looked at the 
 bracelet : it was too handsome to part with. 
 
 *' If I do what you ask, you will keep faith 
 with me ?' she said. 
 
 '' Men don t break faith, whatever women 
 do,'' said he, contemptuously. 
 
 '' I don't know that," retorted Florence. "I 
 don't think men ever keep faith with women, 
 though in this case you have most to lose ; 
 for Gwen would despise a man who could not 
 fiorht his own battles." 
 
 o 
 
 " Diamond cut diamond ! yes, or no ?" 
 
 '* Well,' yes," decided Florence, looking at 
 the bauble. 
 
 Pierce strolled back to the library. 
 
 Florence stayed a few moments, and then 
 ran up to her own room to lock up her bracelet. 
 It would never do to show it yet.
 
 MRS. GBEVILLE, 273 
 
 " And after all, I don't see why Gwen 
 should not put him out of his misery. 
 I don't beheve she will accept him, but 
 that's not my affair, and I think I see 
 the way to doing a stroke of business for 
 myself." 
 
 Thus soliloquizuig, Miss Kinnaird walked 
 into the bilhard-room where a noisy party was 
 playing pool. 
 
 " You're a nice one ! you propose billiards 
 and then shirk," said Bob Markham. 
 
 " Not a bit of it. Here, 111 join the pool," 
 replied Florence, taking a cue. 
 
 " What is every one going to do this after- 
 noon T she presently asked, as she made a 
 clever stroke. 
 
 " My lord said we were to shoot the home 
 coverts after luncheon," said Bob, taking aim 
 at his ball. 
 
 " Hullo, Bob ! you are yellow, not red !" 
 was shouted at him. 
 
 " What a pity," replied he, crossing over to 
 the other side of the table ; " the red lies 
 there so nicely." 
 
 *' Florence, you and I will drive in the 
 
 VOL. I. 1^
 
 274 3£RS. GREVILLE. 
 
 pony-carriage, and do some shopping," said 
 Gwen. " Is it my turn ?" 
 
 " Shopping in the village is awful slow," 
 said Miss Kinnaird, balancing her cue in her 
 hand. '' Let's ride." 
 
 " What's the good of riding ? the hounds 
 are not out to-day," replied Lady Gwen. 
 
 " I want to see the old castle again, to 
 finish my sketch," rejoined Florence; "I don't 
 draw like Mrs. Greville, but I should like to 
 do the old ruins. By-the-way, Mr. Twyr- 
 rhitt," she added, turning to a more than 
 middle-aged man, who for some time past had 
 been much taken with the liveliness of Miss 
 Kinnaird, '' you are a great judge of the pic- 
 turesque ; do come and gis^e me the benefit 
 of your advice. Have you seen Mrs. Gre- 
 ville's portfolio ? I never knew an amateur 
 draw like her." 
 
 Mr. Twyrrhitt thought her very amiable to 
 so warmly praise in another the talent she 
 confessed she could not emulate ; and, pleased 
 at the opinion she had of his advice, said he 
 thought that sljy drew very nicely herself 
 
 " Oh, no ; I am fond of it, but I have no 
 talent," said she modestly. "Gwen, will you
 
 MRS. GEEVILLE. 275 
 
 come ? and if Mr. Twyrrhitt does not care 
 about shooting, could he not come with us ?" 
 
 "By all means, if he likes," said Lady 
 Gwen. 
 
 " Oh, do, Mr. Twyrrhitt ; you are such a 
 judge, and I am dying for your opinion," cried 
 Florence, enthusiastically. 
 
 The Lady Gwen raised her eyebrows and 
 played her stroke. 
 
 " Don't die. Miss Kinnaird," said one of the 
 men ; " we can't spare you." 
 
 " Don't be a fool," replied the young lady 
 to him ; and turning to Mr. Twyrrhitt, she 
 received his assurance that he should be 
 charmed to accompany her. 
 
 The gong here summoned them to luncheon, 
 and the game was hurriedly ended. 
 
 Pierce — hat and whip in hand — lounged 
 into the hall as the party emerged from the 
 billiard-room. 
 
 " What, off. Pierce ?" said Lord Okehamp- 
 ton. *' Come and have some lunch first." 
 
 " Thankee, no, I must get home," said 
 Pierce, '' I am expecting some fellows at my 
 place, and I have only time to pay my devoirs 
 to my lady." 
 
 18—2
 
 276 MRS, GREVILLE. 
 
 " There she is," said Lord Okehampton, as 
 the ladies, obedient to the gong, left the 
 library for the dining-room. " Duchess, let me 
 offer my arm." 
 
 As Pierce crossed over to Lady Okehampton 
 he stopped to pick up a glove which Florence 
 dropped. 
 
 "Three o'clock — Rougemont Castle — Gwen, 
 Twyrrhitt, and myself," was hurriedly whis- 
 pered to him. 
 
 Pierce made no sign, presented the glove to 
 Miss Kinnaird, and went up to Lady Oke- 
 hampton, said a few civil words to her, and 
 bowing somewhat distantly to Gwen, took his 
 leave. 
 
 Gwen shrugged her shoulders, and went 
 into luncheon. 
 
 " So you are making up to that old man, 
 Flo," said she, as somewhat later they came 
 down the lobby, dressed for riding. 
 
 " Might do worse ; he's awfully rich." 
 
 " How you can make up to a man," quoth 
 Gwen, "/don't know." 
 
 " Well I never !" ejaculated Florence, 
 *' How many men have you got dangling on 
 your hook ?"
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 277 
 
 " Their doing, Dot mine" said her ladyship, 
 buttoning her glove. "Here is Mr. Twyrrhitt." 
 
 They had ridden about four or five miles, 
 when Pierce crossed their path, expressing 
 surprise, but more pleasure at so fortunate a 
 meeting ; he joined Lady Gwen — the two 
 others rather lingering behind. 
 
 Presently he rode forward to open a gate 
 which obstructed their way, but his horse ob- 
 jected to the proceeding, and turning sulky 
 swerved each time that he approached it. 
 
 Pierce at last caug^ht the latch with the 
 crook of his whip, and then the brute, deter- 
 mined not to be done, jammed himself upon the 
 gate, crushing his rider's leg against the post. 
 
 Pierce lost his temper, and a desperate 
 struggle ensued. Restrained as by a vice 
 between his rider's knees, and by the iron hand 
 that gave him no chance of getting his head, 
 the horse staggered beneath the blows that 
 fell like rain, now on his flanks, now on his 
 shoulders, but still refused to approach the 
 gate, and viciously endeavoured to crush his 
 master against the wall, but Pierce stuck out 
 his foot, and not all the animal's strength 
 could break down the barrier.
 
 278 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 It was rather a grand sight, this struggle 
 between brute force and human will, as with 
 dogged resolution each strove for the mastery. 
 
 Again and again the horse cowered to the 
 ground, but was recovered by the man's con- 
 summate horsemanship ; he turned, he backed, 
 he reared, but could not escape the shower of 
 blows that fell without mercy ; then gathering 
 his legs altogether he gave a buck-jump that 
 would have unseated many a rider, but Pierce 
 sat him like a centaur ; his bronzed face was 
 sallow with anger ; he would conquer the 
 beast if he stayed there all night — an event 
 which looked not unlikely, as the horse, in a 
 lather, with great weals standing out on his 
 skin, resolutely refused to approach the gate 
 in question. 
 
 '' Let me open it," said Gwen, at last, sick- 
 ened at the sight. 
 
 " No ! he shall do it !" replied Pierce, from 
 between his teeth. " It is sheer vice." 
 
 " This is quite horrible," said Florence, as 
 fresh punishment fell like hail on the horse. 
 
 He gave in at last — broken, subdued, and 
 cowed — but very sulky, and darted back from 
 the cause of contention ; but warned byaheavy 
 blow on his bruised body, he at last allowed
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 279 
 
 Pierce to hold open tlie gate, while the others 
 rode through. 
 
 Humphrey apologised to Gwen for punish- 
 ing his horse in her presence, " but I could 
 not let him get the better of me," he said. 
 
 *' Poor brute ! you have beaten him to a 
 jelly," said she; "but, horrible as the sight 
 was, I own to being fascinated, as I wondered 
 which would conquer." 
 
 '* Did you think that 1 should give in ?" 
 asked he, avec intention, " I never give in 
 where I have resolved ; never, Lady Gwen." 
 
 A shiver passed through her, he frightened 
 her ; she put hjer horse to a gallop. 
 
 Arrived at the ruins, they put their horses 
 up at the farm, and wandered off in search of 
 the view that Miss Kinnaird wanted. 
 
 It was no difficult matter to separate, the 
 less so as Gwen thought the ride had been 
 proposed for Florence's especial benefit, and 
 she fell into the trap at once. 
 
 "What do you think, Mr. Twyrrhitt, is the 
 light better here ?" 
 
 Mr. Twyrrhitt thought it would be better a 
 little farther on — where they were quite out 
 of sight of the two others. 
 
 " What an advantage it is to have so good
 
 280 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 a judge to help me/' said Florence, artlessly. 
 " I never have any one to help me in anything. 
 You know I am an orphan, and though my 
 uncle and aunt are very kind to me, you know 
 it is very different to having a mother to care 
 for and love me." 
 
 Florence was getting quite sentimental, and 
 heaved a sigh. 
 
 " But surely you have many who love you V 
 said her cavalier, touched at the forlorn pic- 
 ture that she had conjured up for his benefit. 
 
 " People are very kind to poor little me, but — 
 love r and the tone of her voice spoke volumes. 
 
 " Poor little thing !" said he, pityingly, 
 edging nearer to her and looking at the sad 
 profile that was bent over her drawing. 
 
 She had much ado to keep her countenance. 
 
 " But I must not weary you with my sor- 
 rows," she said, looking up with a mournful, 
 beseeching smile, that made the old fellow's 
 heart throb in the most unusual way. 
 
 " You don't weary me," said he, tenderly. 
 
 (" It's coming now," thought Florence.) 
 
 *' You don't weary me, but I don't like to 
 think that you are unhappy." 
 
 " Tt is very wrong to tell you all this, but
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 281 
 
 you are so kind and sympathising," and she 
 gave him a grateful look. *' I always try to 
 laugh and look gay — it is the only return I 
 can make for Lady Okehampton's great kind- 
 ness, but it is very hard work sometimes to 
 smile with an aching heart." 
 
 " You make mine ache to hear you. I can- 
 not bear to think that you, so young, so 
 pretty, should carry a load of care about with 
 you," responded Mr. Twyrrhitt. 
 
 " Forget what I said," replied Florence, 
 with an admirable imitation of a little hysteric 
 laugh — " forget what I said ; I like to think 
 that I have your sympathy and friendship, 
 that will be a great happiness to me. Is this 
 right ?" and sighing deeply as if trying to put 
 self aside in that one gasp, she handed him 
 her block. 
 
 He took it, but did not look at it ; on the 
 contrary, he laid it down and took her hand 
 instead. 
 
 " Miss Kinnaird, Florence, will my sym- 
 pathy, my friendship, ay ! more than that, 
 my love, really make you happy ? I am old 
 enough to be — well — much older than you 
 are, but could my love content you ? Could
 
 282 MRS. GBEVILLE. 
 
 you be happy as an old man's wife ?" he added, 
 yet more tenderly, and her head drooping 
 forward, he was encouraged to pass his arm 
 round her. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Twyrrhitt, you are too good to 
 me," she murmured ; '' who would not be 
 happy as your wife ? One so good and noble 
 as you are !" 
 
 Much more was said, till Florence, who, 
 having gained her point, was somewhat bored, 
 proposed rejoining Lady Gwendoline. 
 
 " Not yet, dearest, my own Florence now," 
 replied her lover ; " who knows, they may be 
 as happy as we are." 
 
 " What, with that dreadfully cruel man ?" 
 exclaimed Florence, with a charming little 
 shudder, and drawing a little nearer, as if for 
 protection, to her elderly swain. 
 
 ** Darling !" he whispered. 
 
 " These are quaint old ruins, are they not ?" 
 said Gwen, looking idly round ; " what novels 
 call * frowning.'" 
 
 *' I dare say many a brow has frowned here, 
 and many a shriek arisen from that dungeon," 
 said Pierce. " It is no doubt a subterranean
 
 MRS. GREYILLE. 283 
 
 place, where man's vengeance Las wreaked it- 
 self ere now." 
 
 " What a very unpleasant idea," said Gwen. 
 
 " In former days men made their own laws, 
 and rendered account to no one. Less 
 civilised than the present age, they rarely put 
 a bridle on their passions either for good or 
 evil," said Pierce. 
 
 " Perhaps people felt more keenly in those 
 days." 
 
 " I doubt it," replied Pierce ; " we hide our 
 feelings better now, but, believe me, the 
 human breast is torn by pangs and hopes as 
 fierce now as in the days of the old crusaders. 
 Civilisation makes us less lawless, but not less 
 keen of feeling, nor less susceptible of beauty's 
 power — and beauty's cruelty," he added, in a 
 lower tone. 
 
 " Where can Florence have gone ?" said her 
 ladyship, about to rise. 
 
 " Stay, Lady Gwen," interposed Pierce, 
 " they are very happy, I can see them through 
 this loop-hole ; it would be cruel to break such 
 an interesting tete-d-teie." 
 
 " Surely Florence is not turning that old 
 man into ridicule !" cried Gwen.
 
 284 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 " Not now, at aiiy rate. I know that lie is 
 fascinated, for he said last night in the smok- 
 ing-room that Miss Kinnaird was the most 
 artless, charming girl he had ever seen." 
 
 Gwen sank back on her stony seat, and 
 began decapitating the long blades of grass 
 with her dainty whip. She knew it was 
 coming. Should she await it or not ? For a 
 whole year she had baffled him ; should she 
 still do so, or make an end of it ? The master 
 passion got the best of the argument, and she 
 looked up at him w^ith a defiant, mutine ex- 
 pression, and met a gaze that made her eyes 
 droop. She was but a woman after all. 
 
 Pierce saw his advantage, and knew that 
 the day was his own. 
 
 " Lady Gwendoline, I told you a little while 
 ago that I never faltered where I had resolved. 
 Till I saw you I never saw the woman I cared 
 to call my wife ; but then I swore that no 
 other woman would I marry, and that no man 
 but myself should ever call you his." 
 
 " I think you threaten me, Sir Humphrey," 
 said Gwen, with a haughtiness one hardly 
 could have expected from so small and fair a 
 creature.
 
 3JRS. GREYILLE. 285 
 
 " Far from it/' said he, very softly, " 1 
 simply tell you the resolution I made. I can- 
 not compel you to be my wife, but by the 
 Heaven above," he added, vehemently, " you 
 shall belong to no other man ! Even were 
 it at the steps of the altar, I would drag him 
 from you I Gwendoline, you must be mine/' 
 She had started to her feet, and drawing 
 herself up against the wall, looked at him with 
 a cold defiance, to which no words can do 
 justice. 
 
 ** That is for me to decide," she said. 
 She looked very lovely standing there, 
 calmly confronting him. Her flaxen hair and 
 fair throat stood in admirable relief from the 
 rich, brown madder of the old ruined wall, 
 against which she leant. Not a particle of 
 fear, which many a woman would have felt, 
 lingered in her cold light-blue eyes, which 
 were fixed on her lover. She looked more like 
 some spirit that would vanish at an earthly 
 touch, than a mortal woman. 
 
 " Forgive my rough wooing," said he, more 
 humbly, but looking at her with an admira- 
 tion he did not attempt to conceal, " but you 
 have made me desperate, and for a year past
 
 286 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 have driven me nearly beside myself. Be 
 merciful now, Lady Gwen. You know your 
 power. You have made me suffer enough. 
 Will you not make amends at last ?" 
 
 A faint smile stole over her face ; she liked 
 to have that stern, lawless man humbled be- 
 fore her, and she watched her triumph with 
 pleasure, while he, almost trembling, waited 
 for the words that should decide his fate. 
 
 She held out her hand. 
 
 *'Let it be peace," she said. 
 
 " Peace !" he exclaimed. " There is no 
 peace in such happiness as this !" and before 
 she could have imagined such an outrage, he had 
 caught her to his breast, and had passionately 
 kissed her lips. 
 
 '' How dare you ?" she cried, indignantly, 
 as she released herself. 
 
 " Forgive me, dearest, how could I help it ?" 
 with more humility in his words than in his 
 voice. 
 
 " You had better ride home now, Sir Hum- 
 phrey," said Gwen, coldly. 
 
 " Surely I may ride back with you ?" cried 
 he. 
 
 " Certainly not. Nor for several days need
 
 MRS, GREVILLE. 287 
 
 you give yourself the trouble of calling at 
 Beaumanoir ; besides you have your shooting 
 party to attend to." 
 
 Lady Gwen was firm, and Sir Humphrey 
 was forced to leave her, and she sat musing 
 some little time alone. 
 
 "At all events it is done," she said. "It 
 is getting horribly cold. Florence ! Florence ! 
 where are you?" she cried. "Are you not 
 frozen? I am," she continued, as she saw them. 
 They had started up on hearing her voice. " I 
 am sure you must both be perished sitting here, 
 drawing ; quant a moi a fire and a book would 
 be pleasanter ;" she shivered as she spoke. 
 
 " Dear Gwen, I am so sorry, but a good 
 gallop will warm us. Let us go for the 
 horses," said Florence, " doing" a little bit of 
 modest shyness. " Where is Sir Humphrey ?" 
 
 " Gone home long ago," replied Gwen, care- 
 lessly, as she sprang into her saddle from a 
 stone. 
 
 Florence was assisted to hers by Mr. Twyr- 
 rhitt, and Gwen saw at a glance how it was 
 with them. 
 
 " I suppose I may congratulate you," said 
 she, when they reached home.
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 Florence nodded. " It is all settled ; come 
 to my room and talk it over," said she, anxious 
 to learn the result of Pierce's interview, and 
 above all to find out whether he had betrayed 
 her. 
 
 " No, I am going for some tea,'' said Gwen, 
 carelessly, and turning into the library. 
 
 Florence felt uncomfortable, for she could 
 not make out from her friend's manner whe- 
 ther she suspected her intervention or not ; 
 and she knew that Lady Gwen would never 
 forgive her for entrapping her, as she would 
 call it, into an interview with any one, no 
 matter what the result might be. 
 
 Bat selfish as Gwen was, and great as 
 were her faults, she came of a race that knows 
 not what deceit nor underhand dealing: are, 
 and she had not the remotest notion that 
 Pierce and Florence had been in league against 
 her. 
 
 When her mother went to dress for dinner, 
 Gwen went with her. Young ladies when 
 they "tell mamma," are apt to burst into 
 tears and her arms at the same time — at least, 
 so one reads — but Gwen was not of the 
 romantic order. Finding her mother's maid
 
 31 US, GREVILLE, 289 
 
 in her dressing-room, she desired her to leave 
 them for a little time. 
 
 " I will soon deliver my lady to your tender 
 mercy, Dawes ; but I want to speak to her 
 now, and you can cogitate meantime." 
 
 '•' Law ! my lady," said the old servant, " I 
 suppose that's one of them French words, but 
 I am too old to learn them now." 
 
 " Not too old to learn French taste, Dawes. 
 You made her ladyship quite a guy last night, 
 with that mass of ribbons and flowers. Don't 
 put so much top -hamper on to-night ; and 
 now be off with you, like a good soul." 
 
 "Did I really look so badly dressed, my 
 dear T asked her mother ; " I thought Dawes 
 did my head rather nicely." 
 
 " And so she does, mother ; only I like to 
 bully Dawes, she looks so very respectful — 
 never very sure if I am in earnest or not. 
 Poor old Dawes ! how angry she used to be 
 with me in the nursery ! I think she grew a 
 little awed when I became 'my lady.'" 
 
 Lady Gwen stood by the fire, one foot on 
 the fender, while her mother sank into a fau- 
 teuil and warmed her feet. 
 
 VOL. I. 19
 
 290 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 " Mr. Twyrrhitt has proposed to Florence, 
 and she has accepted him," began Gwen. 
 
 '' Dear me, Gwen, surely he is very old for 
 her, and she is so very lively," remonstrated 
 Lady Okehampton. 
 
 " They have settled it, anyhow ; so you will 
 have to think of some wedding presents, 
 mother." 
 
 " My dear, are they going to be married 
 directly ?" said Lady Okehampton, aghast. 
 
 " I daresay they will wait a day or two," 
 laughed Gwen. " They only settled it this 
 afternoon. And, mother. Sir Humphrey has 
 proposed to me." 
 
 " And you ?" said her ladyship, her breath 
 taken away by the suddenness of the two 
 events. 
 
 '' And I — have accepted him." 
 
 '^ I never guessed you liked him, my dear. 
 Of course, 1 saw he admired you ; but, Gwen, 
 is this for your happiness ?" said the mother, 
 anxiously. 
 
 " I hope so, mamma. Don't look so solemn," 
 8aid Gwen, lightly. 
 
 ** I don't know why, but I am always a
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 291 
 
 little afraid of Sir Humphrey/' said Lady 
 Okehampton, nervously. 
 
 " Only because lie is rather silent and very 
 dark," laughed Gwen. *' No need for fear, 
 mother ; and you will acknowledge his birth 
 is undeniable, and his place the finest in the 
 county." 
 
 " True, my dear," said the gentle lady ; but 
 her maternal instinct told her he was not a 
 kindly-natured man, and she feared for her 
 child. 
 
 " Will you tell ' my lord,' mother ?" 
 
 " Isn't Sir Humphrey here, my dear ? No ; 
 I remember, he went away to-day. Surely, 
 he ought to have told your father before he 
 left." 
 
 " Perhaps he would, only there was nothing 
 to tell then, mamma. We met him out riding, 
 and I would not let him come back with us. 
 And now I will ring for the venerable Dawes, 
 or you will be late for dinner." 
 
 *' Did Mr. Digby also propose to Miss 
 Wilson ? He went to-day." 
 
 " Not that I know of," said Gwen : *' and I 
 think, mother, you must give up that dream. 
 He has not the smallest intention of proposing 
 
 19—2
 
 '292 MRS. GEEYILLE. 
 
 to Miss Wilson. If lie proposes to any one, 
 it will be to Mrs. Greville. Remember 
 what I told you about top-hamper, Dawes," 
 added Gwen, laughing, as she left the 
 room.
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 " II y a des symptomes d'amour aussi sur que des symp- 
 tomes de maladie : on a froid, on a chaud en meme temps : 
 on est du meme sentiment, on se rencontre dans la fa9on de 
 juger ; on approuve les memes choses ; on aime les memes 
 gens ; on aime les lieux oil Ton a commence a s'aimer et 
 tout cela sans qu'on s'en doute." — Peince de Ligne. 
 
 During the ensuing week, most of the guests 
 at Beaumanoir had taken their departure ; 
 and as the three pairs of lovers were a good 
 deal engrossed with each other, Vandeleur, 
 who still remained, was thrown very much 
 into Mrs. Greville's society, and finding a 
 great deal in common, they were gradually 
 led into an intimacy more fascinating than 
 prudent — all the more dangerous, that Eve- 
 line was too pure-hearted to give a thought 
 to the possibility of evil arising from a plea-
 
 294 MnS. GREVILLE. 
 
 sant, kindly friendship. All was bright and 
 sunny, and there was no one standing by 
 with the lead to warn her of the gradual 
 shallowing of the waters over which she was 
 sailing so confidently. 
 
 Friendships between man and woman are 
 always dangerous, though the parties most 
 concerned never believe this till too late ; and 
 here let me remark that such friendships only 
 occur when the hearts of both are unoccupied 
 — hence the cause of peril. These sentimental 
 friendships never take place where the soul 
 has found its sister — when the sympathy for 
 which it craves is legitimately supplied. 
 
 And love comes so gently, so softly, that 
 the poor, deluded mortals walk blindly on, 
 getting more and more entangled in the golden 
 web, till, one day, their eyes are suddenly 
 opened, and they find that the flimsy fetters 
 have become adamantine chains which they 
 are powerless to break. And if these fetters 
 bind them to those to whom they have no 
 right to be bound, woe betide the day of 
 reckoning when the golden chains are snapt 
 asunder ! For they loill be snapt by one of 
 the two — leaving the other one staring, gaping
 
 MRS. GEE V ILL E. 295 
 
 aghast at the awful ruin everywhere. In vain 
 will this last one shrink from the bitter truth, 
 and shut eyes and heart to the horrible reality. 
 It cannot be hidden. The pedestal on which 
 had stood the beloved idol is vacant — nothing- 
 remains but the broken fraofments of the 
 fetters wherewith the two had once been 
 bound. And what remedy is there ? None ! 
 
 The sunshine of life is gone — a dark and 
 dreary night has usurped the brilliant day, 
 and the burden — a crushed and hopeless heart 
 — must be borne till life's journey is over ; 
 and if the loss of self-esteem be added to 
 such misery, angels may well weep over the 
 ruin. 
 
 And did Vandeleur not know the danger 
 he was bringing on that fair, trusting woman ? 
 God knows. 
 
 I do not know the workinsjs of men's 
 hearts. They have never been laid bare to 
 me, save sometimes in the bitter remorse of 
 death-bed repentance, and such moments give 
 but little insight to what the human heart 
 may feel in hours of happiness and self-indul- 
 gence. 
 
 We women are apt to deify a man into a
 
 296 3fRS. GEEYILLE. 
 
 perfect being tlie world ne'er saw; or run 
 into an opposite extreme, and accredit him 
 with a cruelty and baseness which he as little 
 deserves ; so I will leave Yandeleur's feelings 
 alone, and simply state facts as I know them, 
 for, reader, I am telling you a true story, 
 one which doubtless has been enacted again 
 and again, and will be to the end of 
 time. 
 
 '* And so you are going to Eossmoor T It 
 was Yandeleur who spoke. Their pleasant 
 visit had come to an end, but both were an- 
 ticipating a renewal of their agreeable inter- 
 course before very long, for though Mrs. Gre- 
 ville was still undecided, she was a good deal 
 swayed by his continual advice to her of 
 taking a house in town, which he represented 
 to her as by far the best thing for her. '' I 
 am glad you are going to Eossmoor at once, 
 instead of returning to your Welsh hills, 
 where I am sure you feed morbid feelings 
 — the worst thing possible for you." 
 
 *' You are wrong in that. I do not think 
 I am morbid now, whatever I may have been. 
 I have too many interests and occupations to 
 yield to sickly fancies ; but I do cling to
 
 2fliS. GREVILLE. 297 
 
 scenes of old associations more dearly than I 
 quite knew, till now that I am separated from 
 them. When those who were dearest have 
 passed away, there is much that is consoling 
 in being near the hallowed ground where 
 they sleep ;" Mrs. Greville bent her head for- 
 ward on her hand as she spoke, to hide the 
 emotion that past' recollections had called 
 forth. 
 
 Mr. Vandeleur saw it, and, in his newly- 
 awakened feelings of tender friendship for 
 her, was minded to comfort her with his 
 brotherly affection ; but thinking better of it, 
 he turned his back to the fire, a rAnglaise, 
 seeking, even as a Delphic prophetess, in- 
 spiration from warmth — and besought her 
 not to encourage such sad thoughts. 
 
 " What creed so cruel," he conthiued, '' as 
 that which bids us believe that even death 
 can separate us from those we loved ? Surely 
 their spirits linger with us on earth. I love 
 to think that those who were dear to me are 
 still watching over me, longing and praying 
 for my happiness with the same fervour that 
 they felt when on earth." 
 
 How far Mr. Vandeleur's ministering angels
 
 298 . MRS. GBEVILLE. 
 
 approved of his mode of being happy, is not 
 recorded. 
 
 " It is a loving behef/' replied Mrs. Gre- 
 ville, looking up, the tears still bedewing her 
 dark lashes, " and to those who hold it, I can 
 quite understand the consolation that it brings 
 them." 
 
 " It does indeed," said -Vandeleur, warmly, 
 and somewhat carried away by his imagina- 
 tion, as was not unfrequently the case when 
 he was enacting the part of consoler to a 
 pretty woman, " it does indeed. I too have 
 known sorrow. I have lost a mother I 
 adored, and a very dear sister ; but I never 
 can believe that they are far from me. And 
 since I have known you, I could almost be- 
 lieve that my own sweet sister Eveline — 
 her name was the same as yours — had re- 
 turned to me in life, so greatly do you remind 
 me of her." 
 
 " Do I really ?" said Mrs. Greville, touched 
 at the pathos in his voice. 
 
 " And will you not be a sister to me?" said 
 Yandeleur, sitting down on a low chair at her 
 side, speaking in a voice he well knew how to 
 modulate, " and let me be a brother to you, a
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 299 
 
 friend in whom you may trust — confide ? 
 You may indeed trust me." 
 
 " Of that I am sure/' said Eveline, warmly, 
 and holding out her hand with a gesture of 
 confidence and kindly deprecation of the ne- 
 cessity of any such assurance on his part. 
 
 " Like you, I have neither brother nor 
 sister," said Yandeleur. 
 
 "No, but you have your wife and chil- 
 dren, ties still more sacred," replied Mrs. 
 Greville. 
 
 " They should be ; and my wife is a most 
 admirable woman, as near perfection as a 
 woman can be ; but her father and mine 
 settled the marriage when we were very 
 young, and — there it is — nothing very roman- 
 tic, you see." 
 
 " The bare facts of life are rarely romantic, 
 I fancy," returned Eveline. " In a painting 
 it is the soft nuances, the tender shades that 
 lead the severe outline into the coolest grays, 
 or the most glowing tints ; so in our lives, is 
 it not the inner workings of the heart, the 
 hopes, the aspirations, the disappointments of 
 which no one is cognisant but ourselves, that . 
 fill up our outhne? The outline is patent to
 
 300 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 all, but the shadows and lights are known 
 only to ourselves." 
 
 " Your imaginative natures dwell more on 
 the ideal than our harder ones/' said Yande- 
 leur, pleased at her simile ; " it is that which 
 lends such a charm to women and makes 
 their sympathy so sweet to us. We men are 
 made of sterner stuff." 
 
 " And yet I have sometimes thought that 
 there is more real tenderness in man than in 
 woman ; at least, I have found it so," returned 
 Mrs. Greville, musingly. 
 
 " Not unlikely," answered Yandeleur, with 
 a smile, *' but I did not mean that we were 
 sterner of heart — only of imagination, living 
 less in the ideal than ladies do." 
 
 *^ In other words, you are the workers and 
 we the dreamers," said Eveline, archly. 
 
 " We have our dreams, too, and our wishes 
 also, and mine at this moment is, to know 
 when I shall see you again. Shall you be in 
 town soon ?" 
 
 " Not the slightest prospect ; when I leave 
 Rossmoor I go home," replied Eveline. 
 
 '* Have all my arguments then failed ? Do 
 you return to your old morbid love of soli-
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 301 
 
 tude ? I am sure that none of your friends 
 will counsel so unwise and unkind a step," 
 said Yandeleur, disappointed. 
 
 '' I don't know that I have any friends who 
 care sufficiently about me to counsel me one 
 way or the other," was Eveline's answer. 
 
 " You do yourself and your friends injus- 
 tice. What do you call these hospitable 
 people here V 
 
 Vandeleur liked playing the mentor to such 
 a pretty woman. 
 
 " Most kind and hospitable," said Eveline, 
 warmly ; " and Pamela is my greatest friend ; 
 but when she is married, new ties and duties 
 will occupy her, and we shall no longer be to 
 each other what we havp been. Do not think 
 I speak bitterly; I simply state a fact." 
 
 " Do you think, then, that marriage pre- 
 cludes friendship ?" asked the other, assiduously 
 snipping up bits of cotton which he was mea- 
 suring carefully off the reel. 
 
 " To a certain extent, yes," answered Eve- 
 line. " Certainly between women, though few 
 vvould allow it. Perhaps we are more cxi- 
 jeantes than men. Now, you may not see 
 your dearest friend for a year or more, and
 
 302 MRS. GREVILLE. 
 
 you meet again as if nothing had happened — 
 as if you had parted but yesterday. We 
 can't do that." 
 
 " No. I am aware ladies have a great deal 
 to talk about — their new bonnets, the last 
 marriage, and so forth ; and if a long silence 
 occurs, the effort to get over the amount of 
 talking lost in that interval must be im- 
 mense,'' said he seriously. 
 
 *' Don't be so absurd," said Eveline, laugh- 
 ing. 
 
 " Come, I have roused you from that very 
 melancholy vein you were falling into. You said 
 just now that you would allow me the privi- 
 lege of being your friend, your brother ; you 
 will then trust to me, will you not ? I only 
 advise you for your good." 
 
 Eveline looked up, laughing, and answered 
 in Rochefoucauld's words, — 
 
 *' Nous ne trouvons guere de gens de bon 
 sens que ceux qui sont de notre avis." 
 
 "A la bonne heure," replied the other. 
 " You will think me sensible, then, for you 
 are half wishing to come to London, I see 
 that. Eemember, nowhere wdll you hear such 
 music as in "
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 303 
 
 A sneeze, vainly smothered in a handker- 
 chief, came from the window. 
 
 Both looked up. 
 
 " Deuce take her !" thought Yandeleur ; 
 " when did she come in ?" But aloud he said, 
 with perfect sang-froid, "Ah, I have been 
 expecting that for the last half-hour, Miss 
 Wilson. I knew you would catch cold. Win- 
 dows are apt to be draughty in winter, and I 
 wondered that you sat there so long. Mrs. 
 Greville," he resumed, coolly, as though no- 
 thing had interrupted his conversation, " I 
 see that the fine arts have a chance of inducing 
 you to come out of your banishment ; and 
 though your friends must not flatter them- 
 selves that they have had any participation 
 in the step, I hope that I, among the many, 
 may benefit by it, and that you will allow me 
 to introduce my wife to you." 
 
 Mrs. Greville expressed her pleasure, and 
 Vandeleur, shaking hands with her, left the 
 room, saying to Miss Wilson, as he passed her 
 where she was sitting hidden by the curtain, 
 " that he trusted her cold would not be 
 serious," a benevolent hope scarce borne out 
 by his feelings.
 
 304 MRS. GREYILLE. 
 
 " I never saw you, Miss Wilson," said Eve- 
 line, going up to her. " Are you not cold out 
 here ?" 
 
 "No, I don't suppose you did see me. I 
 never care to roast myself over the fire." 
 
 " Well, I confess 1 do," laughed Eveline. 
 " As everybody is out hunting, I am going to 
 practise. Shall we sing something together T 
 
 No. Miss Wilson had letters to write, and 
 was going to her own room. Not sorry to be 
 quit of so morose a companion, Eveline left 
 her. She found Lady Okehampton in the 
 music-room. 
 
 "Shall I disturb you V asked Eveline. 
 
 " Not the least, my dear. I have got my 
 work in a terrible mess,'' she said, in a despair- 
 ing voice. 
 
 " Let me see," said Eveline, sitting down 
 on the foot-stool, " I am a great hand at un- 
 picking ;" and she took the worsted work, 
 while Lady Okehampton sank back m her 
 chair, saying, — 
 
 " I am quite tired trying to find out where 
 I am wrong, and I am positively ashamed to 
 trouble that good-natured Miss Wilson any 
 more."
 
 MRS. GREVILLE. 305 
 
 Eveline's dexterous fingers flew over the work 
 while she chatted away to the other about the 
 double wedding, asked about Miss Kinnaird's 
 marriage, and listened with interest to the 
 many little trifles that Lady Okehampton, 
 like many others, loved to dilate on, but which 
 rarely find a listener. However, Eveline was 
 a good one, and so quickly passed the morn- 
 ing that both were surprised when the gong 
 sounded for luncheon. 
 
 " How the time has flown ! and what a 
 quantity of work you have done, and never 
 unpicked a stitch ! Let us come to luncheon ; 
 we shall only have the children to-day, for I 
 don t suppose any one has come in." And 
 linking her arm in EveHne s, they went to the 
 dining-room. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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